The grand oak doors of Wayne Manor flew open with more force than usual.

Bruce, Tim, Dick, and Damian looked up from where they sat—each holding a mug, mid-conversation. The tension in the room shifted instantly as she stepped inside, eyes bloodshot, face streaked with tears. Her hands trembled, her coat slightly off one shoulder like she’d put it on in a hurry.

She didn’t greet them.

Didn’t glance at Bruce’s steady, assessing gaze. Didn’t acknowledge Tim’s quiet concern or Dick’s soft frown, or even Damian’s narrowed eyes watching her every move.

Her boots echoed sharply against the marble as she moved past them like a phantom with a purpose, her entire being focused on one thing.

Jason.

He was coming down the stairs, a duffel in one hand, probably fresh back from patrol prep. The moment he saw her—his entire body froze.

“Babe—?”

She didn’t let him finish. She crossed the distance fast, like gravity finally won. Her arms wrapped around him and she buried her face into his chest, sobs shaking her body like a thunderstorm had ripped through her soul.

Jason's gear hit the floor with a heavy thud.

His arms circled her instantly, fiercely. “Hey, hey—what happened?” he murmured, one hand cradling the back of her head as he guided her down with him to the couch. “Talk to me. Who do I kill?”

She didn’t answer right away. She just curled into his lap, her body folding into his like she was trying to disappear. His brothers watched in hushed silence, their earlier chatter long forgotten, replaced with an unspoken protective alertness.

He didn’t rush her.

Jason just sat with her—gently brushing his fingers through her hair, whispering now and then, lips brushing her temple, letting her cry until the weight in her chest eased enough to breathe again.