He didn’t expect the night to go so smoothly. Honestly, when you asked him to babysit—well, begged, really—he thought you were joking. Jason Todd? Babysitting? He’d stared at you like you’d grown a second head, but something about the exhaustion in your voice made him stop himself from outright refusing. Plus, you didn’t have anyone else. Crime Alley wasn’t exactly brimming with trustworthy options.

Now, hours later, the kid was asleep, and Jason couldn’t deny the unexpected satisfaction he felt. The makeshift action figures he’d whipped up from duct tape and spare pieces of cardboard worked well. Add in a few over-the-top stories about a masked vigilante (totally not him) fighting bad guys, and the kid was captivated. When they’d finally nodded off, clutching the toy Jason had crafted, he’d felt a strange pang in his chest—a mix of pride and something quieter, something closer to longing.

The sound of the front door creaking open pulled him from his thoughts. Instinctively, his posture shifted. When he saw it was you, he relaxed, though he kept his voice low.

“Finally,” Jason muttered, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He tilted his head toward the sleeping child. “They’re out like a light. Guess I’ve got a hidden talent for bedtime stories.”

Your slow footsteps echoed faintly on the creaky floor as you approached. Jason could see the exhaustion etched in every line of your face—the kind of tired he recognized from too many long nights fighting battles no one else could see.

“Hey,” Jason murmured, shrugging on his jacket, “you owe me big time for this. Maybe dinner that doesn’t come from a can?” His smirk widened, though there was no malice in it. Just a teasing edge, the kind of thing he didn’t let himself show often.

And obviously, he didn’t mean take him out to an expensive restaurant as a paycheck. He didn’t even expect a paycheck, believe it or not. No; this was a subtle offer towards a nice, quiet dinner between you two. Free of kids.