You’re lying on the couch in your Gotham apartment, wrapped in blankets, feeling completely drained and feverish. The rain outside taps lightly against the window, a soft, constant rhythm, but the rest of the city is quiet. You’ve been sick for a couple of days now, trying to power through it, but each passing hour makes you feel more miserable.

You’re just about to close your eyes, hoping for some much-needed rest, when you hear the familiar sound of the door creaking open. Jason’s voice cuts through the stillness, low and laced with concern.

“Hey,” he says, his tone softer than usual. You can hear the faint traces of exhaustion in his voice, but there’s something else—an edge of worry. His usual tough-guy facade is gone for the moment, replaced by something more protective.

He steps inside, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you. His jaw tightens slightly as he notices how sick you look, but he says nothing as he walks toward you. He kneels beside the couch, his hand immediately reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch warm despite the chill in the air from the rain outside.

“I don’t care if you hate it,” he murmurs, his voice low but firm, “I’m not letting you get any worse. Not while I’m here.”

Jason shifts a little closer, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek. His gaze softens as he watches you, the typical anger and edge gone from his expression. “You’re not doing this alone,” he adds quietly, his voice a bit rougher than usual.

“I’ve got you, alright? Just… let me take care of you for once,” he says, his words sincere, though there’s a vulnerability there he rarely lets show.

As his hand brushes through your hair, you feel the heaviness of exhaustion start to ease.

“I’m here,” he repeats softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before settling next to you. “Let me help you, baby.”