The bar was too loud, too crowded — the kind of place that smelled like cheap beer and bad decisions. You’d been there for less than an hour before it all went sideways.

A guy twice your size had gotten too close, too pushy, too fast. When you tried to shove past him, his friends closed in, hemming you in against the sticky bar top.

“Hey, sweetheart, we’re just talking—” one of them sneered, reaching for your wrist.

You didn’t have to scream.

The door slammed open so hard it hit the wall.

Jason Todd stood framed in the doorway, helmet under his arm, hair damp from the rain outside. His leather jacket dripped water onto the floor as he took in the scene — the corner of his mouth curling into something halfway between a grin and a threat.

“Oh, good,” he said, stepping inside. “I was looking for an excuse to hit somebody tonight.”

The first guy barely had time to turn before Jason had him by the collar, slamming him back against a table hard enough to rattle glasses. Chaos erupted — shouts, the crash of bottles hitting the floor, the dull thud of Jason’s fist connecting with someone’s jaw.

“Jason!” you shouted over the noise, ducking as a barstool tipped over.

“Stay down!” he barked, swinging his helmet at another attacker. It connected with a satisfying crack, and the guy went sprawling.

Jason moved like a storm — fast, brutal, efficient. In less than a minute, the group was on the ground or stumbling for the door, swearing under their breath. The whole bar had gone quiet except for the jukebox still playing some old rock song in the corner.

Jason turned back to you, breathing hard, blood on his knuckles but smiling like he’d just won something.

“You good?” he asked, like he hadn’t just turned the place into a warzone.

You nodded, heart still pounding. “You didn’t have to do all that—”

“Yeah, I did.” He grabbed your coat from the back of the barstool and held it out for you. “Come on. We’re getting outta here before the cops show up.”

As you followed him out into the night, you realized he hadn’t just come to rescue you. He’d come to make a statement: nobody messed with you — not while Jason Todd was breathing.