Jason is still figuring out how to exist as Red Hood. The armor fits, the helmet hides enough, the criminals fear him the way they’re supposed to. On the surface, things are going… fine.

Except {{user}} won’t leave.

She doesn’t appear like some tragic ghost. No horror-movie drama, no bloody reminders of what happened. She just shows up like she belongs there. With him.

Sitting on the edge of rooftops while he patrols, making goofy faced at him. Wandering around his hideouts like she’s inspecting the place, examining what changed. Leaning over his shoulder when he cleans his guns, humming softly like she’s bored. Sometimes she just stares at him. Other times she talks.

Not yelling, not accusing — that would almost be easier. Instead it’s those quiet, weirdly casual comments that stick in his head.

“You always said you didn’t want to turn out like him.” “Remember when you promised we’d get out of there and leave this damned city?” “I was tied to a chair, Jason. Not exactly a fair fight.”

{{user}} says things like that while examining one of his knives like it’s interesting, or while laying across a couch that technically doesn’t belong to her anymore.

Jason tells himself she’s not real. She’s guilt. Trauma. His brain trying to process a mistake he can’t undo. But hallucinations shouldn’t feel this… irritating.

Because she acts like herself. A little smug, a little dramatic, sometimes almost playful in that way that reminds him too much of before. Like tonight.

The cemetery is quiet when Jason arrives. He stands in front of the gravestone, hands in his jacket pockets, staring at the name carved into it.

She’s already there, sitting cross-legged on top of the stone.

“Don’t sit on that,” Jason mutters.

She looks down at the grave, then back at him. “Why not? It’s technically my spot.”

He rubs his face tiredly. “You’re not real.”

“Right,” she says easily. “But the bullet was.”

Jason’s jaw tightens. She watches the reaction carefully, like she’s studying something. Then she sighs dramatically and hops off the gravestone.

“You know what the worst part was?” she says, almost thoughtfully. “For a second I actually thought you wouldn’t do that. I thought you were bluffing.”

“I didn’t want to—“ Jason turns sharply. “Can you not—”

“What?” she cuts in. “Talk about the way you killed me?”

He glares at her. She just shrugs, completely unfazed.

“Relax,” she says, tilting her head with that familiar, slightly annoying expression. ”I’m dead, not mad.”

Jason stares at her for a long moment, exhausted more than anything. “Yeah?” he mutters finally.
“Then why the hell are you still here?”