Gotham felt bigger at night.

Jason had only been Robin for a year, but he still caught himself staring up at the skyline like it might swallow him whole. Thirteen and trying so hard to be brave. He kept his shoulders squared the way Bruce did, cape snapping behind him as they moved across the rooftops. He wanted to look fearless. Wanted Bruce to see him as capable.

He still tripped on uneven ledges sometimes.

They were tracking a weapons shipment through the Narrows when everything went wrong.

It happened fast—too fast. One second Jason was at Bruce’s shoulder, the next there was a sharp metallic clink against the pavement.

Bruce turned.

“Jason—!”

White.

The flashbang detonated in a burst of light and sound so violent it swallowed the world. Jason’s vision went blank, ears ringing like church bells inside his skull. He staggered back, disoriented, hands flying up too late. The world tilted. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Panic rushed in where his training should’ve been.

He tried to call out—“Bruce!”—but it came out small and swallowed by the ringing.

Something hit him from the side.

Hard.

A shoulder drove into his ribs and sent him flying. He barely registered the alley wall before he slammed into it, air exploding from his lungs. Pain flared sharp and hot along his side. He slid down the brick, vision swimming back in blurry fragments. He tasted copper.

A hand shoved him down when he tried to rise.

His head cracked against the pavement.

For a second, there was nothing.

When the world returned, it came in pieces: the smell of damp garbage, distant footsteps, the fading echo of gunfire. The light was gone. The ringing dulled to a whine. His temple throbbed, something warm slipping down the side of his face. He touched it and his glove came away dark.

Blood.

Jason blinked hard, fighting tears that burned more from frustration than pain. His ribs screamed when he tried to sit up. He sucked in a breath and regretted it instantly.

He just… didn’t know what to do.

Bruce wasn’t there.

The alley felt too big. Too empty.

For one horrible second, Jason was back in Crime Alley at eight years old, alone and scrambling, every sound a threat.

He hated that feeling.

Boots hit pavement behind him.

Jason jerked, trying to push himself up despite the pain, fists clenched—

“Easy! Easy, kid.”

The voice cut through the panic like a rope thrown to someone drowning.

Dick landed beside him, escrima sticks already drawn, eyes scanning the alley before snapping back to Jason. Even through the mask, the worry was obvious.

“What happened?” Dick demanded, sharp but controlled.

Jason swallowed. His throat felt tight. “Flashbang,” he managed, voice rough. “Couldn’t see. Someone—” He gestured weakly to his ribs. “Hit me. I think they ran.”

Dick’s jaw tightened. “You were alone?”

Jason bristled instinctively. “I wasn’t trying to be—”

“I know.” The edge softened immediately. Dick crouched in front of him. “Hey. Look at me.”

Jason did.

Dick’s gloved hands hovered for a second before gently checking the side of Jason’s head. “You’re bleeding a little. Nothing scary. Probably a mild concussion. Can you focus on me?”

Jason nodded, blinking. “Yeah.”

“Any nausea?”

“Just… hurts.”

Dick huffed a quiet breath. “Yeah. Getting body-slammed into a wall will do that.”

Jason tried to laugh but it came out shaky.

And then, before he could stop himself, his voice cracked. “I couldn’t see him, Dick. I didn’t know what to do.”

Dick pulled him into a hug.

Not a side squeeze. Not a quick shoulder clap.

A full, firm hug, one hand cradling the back of Jason’s head carefully away from the bruise.

Jason stiffened in surprise—then melted into it.

“You did fine,” Dick said quietly. “You’re upright. You’re talking. You didn’t freeze. That’s surviving, Jay.”

“C’mon,” Dick said softly after a moment, helping him stand and keeping a steadying arm around him. “Let’s go find Bruce before he blames himself into a spiral.”

They found Bruce two blocks over, finishing off the last of the gunmen with brutal efficiency.