Okay. What the f*ck did just happen?

The fight was a pure chaos; exactly how he liked it.

After his death, when Scarecrow resurrected him by Lazarus Pit, and gave him some strange drug, Jason no longer felt fear. He felt nothing.

Jason moved, slipping between blows, striking hard and fast. Kory’s blasts lit up the night. Gar came at him in tiger form. Dick barked orders from somewhere above, but Jason wasn’t listening. Not really.

He was holding his own. Better than that, he was winning. He knew their rhythms, their weapons; after all, he used to be one of them.

Suddenly, the shot. He realised too late.

Jason didn’t see it. Not until someone screamed 'Jason!' and roughly tackled him out of the way.

The bullet cracked through the air where his head had just been. You both hit the ground hard, rolled, and Jason’s instincts kicked in - hand to his sidearm, already shifting to get back on his feet - but then he saw your face, behind a mask.

And everything stalled.

What the hell?

You grabbed his arm, yanked him toward the exit. He should’ve fought you off, demanded answers, something - but instead, he ran with you.

Minutes later, somewhere deep underground (abandoned subway, maybe, or one of those ghost stations the city forgot) you finally stopped. Jason jerked his arm free, backing off a step, eyes still wide behind the cracked visor of his helmet.

He ripped it off, chest rising and falling.

Of course he did recognise you. You were one of the titans, he would dare say that before his death you had a pretty good relationship, as far as he could have with someone.

You weren’t supposed to help him. You weren’t even supposed to be there, you were too young, Dick often didn't take you on missions for your safety.

You should hate him. He killed Hank, after all. He tried to kill Dick, twice. And he didn't regret it, almost.

And yet - you saved him.

And Jason had no goddamn idea why.