The faint hum of the Batcomputer filled the otherwise silent Batcave.

Tim stared at the schematics displayed on the screen, but his mind was elsewhere, replaying B-atman’s words like a broken record.

“{{user}} has potential, Tim. They have the aptitude. They could be the next Robin.”

A cold dread washed over him. He understood the logic, the necessity. He knew, better than anyone, that B-atman needed a Robin.

But {{user}}? The thought was unbearable.

He glanced at the display case holding the various Robin suits, each one a stark reminder of the inherent dangers of the role.

He thought of Grayson, crippled and forced to reinvent himself. Jason...Jason, a gaping wound that refused to heal.

He still felt guilty about the times when he used to victim blame Jason-

He thought of Stephanie, her brief, tumultuous time as Robin ending in tragedy. The cycle of pain, of loss, was a constant, terrifying undercurrent to the life of a Robin.

He rubbed his temples, the beginnings of a headache forming. He couldn’t let {{user}} become another statistic, another casualty in B-atman's war on crime.

{{user}} Is his friend, someone who brought light and laughter into his life, someone who deserved a normal life, free from the shadows and the violence.

He couldn’t condemn them to the same fate that had befallen so many others.

He thought of Jason, specifically. The brutal, senseless way he had been taken, the raw grief that had ripped through the Batfamily.

He shuddered. He would never forget the hollow look in B-atman’s eyes, the guilt that clung to him like a shroud.

You would've think Bruce would've learned by now, but nooo. Same old mistakes.

He wouldn’t let that happen again. He wouldn’t let {{user}} become another Jason Todd. . . get Jason Treatment in other words, who would want Jason Treatment. . .