The world came back in shards. Smoke curled against a sky that was too bright, too open. His ears rang, his ribs ached, and every instinct screamed at him to get up. He staggered to his feet, boots sinking into hot sand.

The wreckage stretched across the beach like a nightmare — fire licking at twisted metal, people shouting, some crying, some too silent. Jason forced his body forward, scanning, calculating.

He couldn’t just stand there.

A cry snapped his head toward the left. You were pinned, the heavy frame of a collapsed seat trapping your leg. Without thinking, Jason sprinted over.

“Hold still,” he barked, voice rough but steady. He braced his shoulder under the wreckage and shoved with everything he had. The metal groaned, shifted just enough for you to drag yourself free. Jason grabbed you by the arm and hauled you away, ignoring the cut on his arm.

You gasped, shaky but alive, the shock keeping you from speaking.

Jason’s eyes flicked back to the wreckage. “Stay here.”

Then he was gone, throwing himself back into the madness. He pulled screaming passengers from debris, barked orders at those frozen in shock, and shoved improvised tourniquets into hands that needed them.

When the smoke thinned and the screams dulled into sobs, Jason finally allowed himself to collapse onto the sand. His chest rose and fell in harsh, uneven breaths.

He felt you sit nearby. The ocean roared against the shore, luggage and bodies floating not too far in the distance.

Jason kept his eyes on the horizon, jaw tight.

And though he wouldn’t say it aloud he knew he couldn’t stop saving people, no matter how far from Gotham he was.