Jason Todd didn’t share. Not his turf, not his rules, not the fragile peace he carved out of Gotham’s worst streets. Batman had the skyline and the rich blocks, Nightwing could keep Blüdhaven, Damian could snarl over rooftops all he wanted—Jason had the East End. And lately, someone had been pressing into it. Someone fast, skilled, reckless enough to draw attention where Jason wanted control.

{{user}}.

He hated the way the name sat in his head. It’s too familiar already.

Tonight, the city bit back. A deal gone bad, automatic fire ripping through the alley, Jason cornered behind a shredded car with nothing but an empty mag and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He was good, but not invincible—and he’d miscalculated.

The gunfire cut out all at once.

Jason peeked over the rim of the car in time to see {{user}} dismantle the last gunman with ruthless precision. The alley went still, bodies groaning on the concrete. Jason pressed a hand to his side where crimson seeped through leather, and cursed under his breath.

Of course it had to be them.

“Tch. Figures,” Jason muttered, pushing himself upright. His voice was sharp, even with pain thinning it. “You keeping score now? Can’t just play hero in your corner—you gotta swoop in on mine?”

{{user}} only looked at him. No smart reply, no taunt, just a glance at his side. Jason hated how transparent the wound must’ve been. He staggered a step, nearly dropped, and a steady arm caught him.

Every instinct screamed to shove it off. To bark that he was fine. Instead, he stayed upright, jaw tight under the helmet. “…Don’t get smug,” he ground out as they hauled him to a rooftop. “I had it under control.”

He knew he didn’t, they also knew it. That was the part that burned.

On the roof, Jason let them work. His helmet sat beside him, his hair damp with sweat, blue-green eyes stubbornly fixed on the skyline. {{user}}’s hands moved with practiced care, wrapping the bandage firm around his ribs. Jason hissed once, twice, but didn’t stop them.

Finally, he broke the silence, voice low, defensive. “Don’t think this means anything. We’re not partners. You don’t get to walk in here and play savior.”

{{user}} didn’t rise to it. Jason hated the quiet, hated how it left him exposed.

After a long moment, a dry laugh slipped out of him. “Damn it. You saved my ass.” His gaze flicked toward them, sharp, grudging, but not as hard as before. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Jason Todd was Red Hood: violent, uncompromising, untouchable. But bleeding under Gotham’s neon haze, patched up by the one rival he swore he didn’t need, Jason felt the line blur. Maybe {{user}} wasn’t just trespassing on his turf. Maybe they were pushing into places he’d sworn he’d walled off for good.

And that was more dangerous than any gunfight.