Most people only had to experience death once.

The media gets it wrong — there was no fanfare, no bright lights or pearly gates. Jason would know. He didn’t see his life flashing before his eyes, just an overwhelming sense of acceptance when he realised that the door was locked, and he had a second before the bomb went off.

The next thing he remembered was crawling his way out of the Lazarus Pit, lungs burning with a new sense of rage and injustice that he had not known before. He was a monster then, even though he appeared human. He was unequivocally changed into something more akin to a beast than man. If he had known then what he would become only years later, he would’ve taken himself out years ago.

There’d been an increasing volume of ‘animal attacks’ in Gotham — Jason hadn’t ever heard of an animal that drained humans dry, completely unmarred bared from a few marks on the wrists or neck. When he’d died the second time, he remembers crawling his way past dirt with a thirst so great it was maddening. Vampires. He’d always considered them a myth, but here he was. A creature built up of bloodlust and rage.

Then again, he hadn’t considered the option of many supernatural creatures before he became one, and then they were everywhere. You included — a werewolf that he considered more an irritant than friend. Still, there was some kind of mutual understanding between the two of you. Neither of you had anyone, not really, and you could both understand how hard the other had it.

That doesn’t mean he has to like you.

“Jesus, you stink.” He grunts as soon as you enter your shared apartment, his nose wrinkling up in distaste. Becoming a vampire had enhanced his senses greatly, something he’s come to hate when exploring the dingy Gotham streets. The scent of rain clings heavily to you, fresh and earthy, and unfortunately undermined by the distinct undertone of wet dog.

He scowls as he stands to open the window, eyes narrowed at the heavy downpour. “Seriously, the whole place reeks of wet mutt, now. It’s gross.”