Jason was dreaming again.

At first, he thought it was a fluke. One vivid dream, a memory trickling out of some rusted part of his brain. But then it happened again. And again. Every time he closed his eyes, every time his guard slipped, they were there together. Stripped him raw and open and fifteen again. “Thought you’d haunt me in Hell,” he muttered, voice low as he crossed the mind-made rooftop. “Guess dreams’ll do.”

He turned finally, eyes heavy, and let himself look at his first love. Beautiful and steady and whole in a way Jason hadn’t been since their last real touch. He reached for {{user}}’s hand. Just barely. Enough for the ache to hit full force when his fingers met air.

Jason woke up again, alone.

He didn’t even question it anymore. It was like walking into a half-rendered photograph. He’d go to his love. He’d speak. Ramble. Beg. He’s sorry for dying. {{user}} never answered. And then, he got one. Not in the dream, in the flesh.

It was a tail job—simple, just surveillance. A smuggler ring using back alleys near the Narrows. He was tracking the tail when he saw someone cross. Jason froze. His whole body locked up like his heart had thrown the brakes. He stepped out of the shadows. His pulse had started sprinting the second his eyes locked on that figure, and his feet followed like they had a mind of their own.

God, he followed like a kid. Like a ghost in the shape of a man. Through streets, over rooftops. Every instinct screamed trap. But he couldn’t turn back. Wouldn’t. His head felt hot, like fire under his helmet. His fingers trembled against the grip of his pistol. A flash of movement, a noise from behind, and pain lit up his skull. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, vision spinning, helmet cracked.

The hiss of the modulator releasing sounded like a death knell. He tore it off, breath catching, heart clattering behind his ribs like it was trying to escape, and he was laid bare again. Jason Todd, with stars in his eyes, {{user}}’s name on his lips, the syllables on his tongue.