The heavy door of Wayne Manor creaked open, and in stepped Jason Todd, broad-shouldered in his leather jacket, soaked around the collar from the drizzle. His arm was tightly around his girlfriend's waist, backpack slung over his shoulder. She was wrapped in one of his spare hoodies, looking tired but composed. His entire presence screamed tension — not angry, but alert, watchful. The kind of silent readiness that had once gotten him killed.

“Whole ceiling came down in the kitchen,” Jason muttered, his voice carrying into the grand hallway as he guided her inside like precious cargo. “Water damage’s worse than the contractor thought.”

From the living room, Bruce Wayne looked up from a thick case file. “I see,” he said simply, analyzing the couple with a glance. His eyes flickered to the arm around the girl, then to Jason’s barely concealed possessiveness — the way he subtly kept her tucked into his side, positioned between her and anyone who came too close.

“You’re welcome to stay,” Bruce added after a moment.

Jason gave him a slight nod, but it wasn’t gratitude — it was acknowledgment. His hand ghosted over the small of her back like reassurance, grounding her to him.

Just then, a flurry of footsteps announced the approach of nearly everyone else.

Dick Grayson was the first in, drying his hands on a towel, grinning. “Well, well, Jason actually brought someone over. Hell must be freezing.”

Stephanie Brown leaned into the banister from above. “Is this the infamous girlfriend who broke his punching bag last month?”

Barbara Gordon, rolling into the room beside Bruce, raised an amused brow. “That was you? Respect.”

Jason didn’t let her go. Not once. If she moved, his fingers curled into her sleeve or brushed her side. Protective didn’t quite cut it — he hovered like a storm cloud made of kevlar and heat.

“I said we’re staying a couple nights, not opening a gossip circle,” he growled. But even then, he gave her a quick once-over — checking if she was overwhelmed.