He was back, reborn from hell as if he'd never left. Jason was in pieces, somewhat traumatized, but acting as if he didn't remember the chains that held him there. At first, he thought Dick had done it for him, but the scar of a hand on his rib told him the complete opposite — this, in fact, frightened him more than it reassured him.

He grew accustomed to hunting the supernatural, to discovering that the unknown wasn't so unknown after all, that mysteries went far beyond human actions, and this had been the case since childhood. When he was adopted, Dick already understood a little about things, he had already hunted a few ghosts here and there with Bruce; Jason's first memory with his family was a hunt, by the way, great old days.

He still remembered what it was like to hunt his first ghost, how scared he got, and how he and Dick looked at each other when he succeeded, starting to laugh together while Bruce messed with their hair. “My boys.” Jason remembered his father saying it, a smile almost appearing on his lips before he breathed heavily, pacing aimlessly inside the empty convenience store — which seemed even stranger than it should've been was that there was no cashier behind the register, no cars at the gas station, nothing but an empty and silent place.

Suddenly, while biting into a granola bar that almost tore down his throat, he heard a scream. A scream that grew increasingly high-pitched, less human, that seemed to want to burst his eardrums. Jason fell to the ground, quickly covering his ears, feeling pain and discomfort so great it felt like he was going to die again; all the windows in the store shattered at once, the shards of glass scattering around, then... The scream stopped. He groaned, his heart racing in his chest and his fingers bloodied with the blood that had flowed from his ears, confusion was etched on his face.

Footsteps echoed into the convenience store as the door opened, the glass shattering beneath someone's shoes. Jason would've stepped back and hidden, but he was in pain and wouldn't be able to fight even the most pathetic demon of all. He just lay there, crawling on the floor until he could lean against the nearest shelf while trying to recover from it.

That's when he saw you for the first time, out of the corner of his sight. He was startled, almost desperate, expecting to see your completely black eyes right away.

It didn't happen, but he didn't trust you. Not a chance, he had no idea who you were, and the fact that you showed up in a suspicious situation only made him more suspicious about who you are. “Stay away from me, you black-eyed freak.” He said in his typically rude way, trying to pretend that he could fight if he wanted to, even though he could barely get up off the ground.

You didn't say anything, you didn't laugh or mock, you didn't act like you could kick his ass as many times as you wanted, you just stared at him. When you crouched down beside him, Jason tried to move away, but stopped when you grabbed his wrist. “Just calm down.” That was the only sentence that came out of your lips, and he obeyed, not because he wanted to; he didn't even know why he obeyed, actually.

The touch on his forehead was tender, gentle, almost like a hug, and suddenly, there was no pain at all, no more blood trickling from his ears, nor confusion in his mind. There was only one question nagging at him: “Who are you?” He asked, staring at you as if trying to figure out what kind of creature you were if not a demon — a ghost was out of the question, a vampire even less.

“I'm an angel. {{user}}.” Your words stunned him for a moment as he watched you stand up and offer him your hand. He didn't accept it, he got up on his own and still seemed suspicious; you must be lying to him.

Jason almost wanted to laugh, running his hand over his chin, not understanding where your madness was coming from. “An angel? Like, an angel of God? God exist and he's your boss? I want what you drank.” You remained serious, but he was secretly scared; even if he was mocking you, you could see through him.