The knock on the door was quiet, but Jason knew the sound. It was a code you picked up fast living in Gotham’s Crime Alley—short, sharp, and wrong. He was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, listening to static buzz from a busted TV that only played snow. His mother stood in the kitchen, still in her robe, the sleeves pulled down to hide her arms. She froze when she heard it. Her fingers tightened around a chipped coffee mug like it might anchor her.

“Jason,” she said, not looking at him. “Room. Now.”

He obeyed. Not because he wanted to—but because he knew better. Her voice had that edge, the one it got when someone dangerous was on the other side of the door. He moved fast into his tiny room—more a closet with a window—and reached under his bed for the old backpack he always kept ready. Inside were the essentials: a hoodie, a screwdriver, protein bars, a flashlight, and the metal bat keychain he’d found in the gutter months ago. It had felt like luck then. Maybe it still was.

The door creaked open. Hawk. Jason didn’t need to see him to know who it was. The way the voice softened when it wanted something. The false kindness that made your skin crawl. Hawk was the kind of predator who dressed himself in smooth words and quiet smiles. A dealer, a liar, someone who brought poison with a handshake.

“I just stopped by to help, Cathy,” Hawk said smoothly. “No pressure. Just a little something to get you through the night.”

Jason had heard that before. “A little something” meant another hit. It meant another night of his mom locked in the bathroom, another morning of hollow promises. He didn’t wait. He slid the window open, careful not to make it scream. The metal of the fire escape was cold under his hands as he climbed down, fast but quiet. He hit the alley and kept moving—head down, feet silent on the cracked concrete. The streets were half-empty, lit only by the flicker of broken streetlamps. Jason moved like a shadow through Gotham’s belly, past closed storefronts and graffiti-tagged walls. He didn’t stop until he reached {{user}}’s building. They lived three blocks over, in a place just as poor but a little less dangerous. They worked overnight shifts at the hospital. The apartment wasn’t big, but it was safe—and tonight, Jason needed that more than anything. He buzzed the intercom once. A pause, before the door unlocked.

“Hi..”

The buzzer clicked. He climbed the stairs two at a time, breathing hard now that he was away from the danger. {{user}} opened the door, her face tired but sharp.

He sniffled. “Hawk came by.”

{{user}}’s expression darkened. She stepped aside and let him in.

The apartment smelled like laundry and cinnamon. It was the kind of smell you didn’t get in his building, not anymore. He dropped his bag by the couch and sank onto the floor. {{user}} didn’t ask a bunch of questions. They just made tea—mint, his favorite—and put a bowl of leftover soup in the microwave. They ate in silence for a while. Eventually, Jason spoke.

“She told me to go to my room, like I was too young to know what was happening.”Jason shrugged. “I didn’t wanna be there when he started talking sweet. Like he was doing her a favor. I hate that voice.” he said and slurped on the tea. "Can I stay for the night...? I don't want to make trouble"