It was a quiet night in Gotham. The kind of silence that clawed at the back of your neck and made you feel like something was watching. People liked to think quiet meant safety—a break in the chaos. But Jason knew better. Gotham didn’t do peace. Not for long. And sure enough, halfway through his patrol, the sky split open.

Rain came down hard—vicious, punishing. It pelted the rooftops like a hail of bullets, sending the few people still outside scattering for shelter. Jason cursed under his breath as he called it early and headed home. Nights like this never ended well.

He scaled the fire escape with practiced ease, boots slipping slightly on the slick metal rungs. The apartment window creaked open, and he stepped inside, landing with a dull thud onto the worn floorboards. Water rolled off his armor in rivulets, pooling beneath him. He stood still for a second, letting out a slow breath through gritted teeth. Rain hammered the roof overhead like war drums. His fingers worked at the clasps on his armor, stripping it off with rough, mechanical movements. It landed in a heavy heap on the floor.

Thankfully, the undersuit beneath was dry—not warm, but at least not freezing. One small mercy. Still, tension curled in his gut like smoke.

“{{user}}?” he called out to his boyfriend, voice echoing through the dim apartment.

He was supposed to be here. Benched. Injured. Healing after that run-in with Scarecrow—after the gas. Jason’s jaw clenched. The memory of {{user}}’s terrified eyes, the shaking hands, the hoarse screaming in the dark—it hadn’t faded. Not even close.

He stepped through the hallway, boots squeaking faintly against the wood, eyes scanning for any sign of movement. The bedroom was dark. But the bathroom light was on.

A bad sign. Jason’s stomach dropped.

He reached for the bathroom doorknob. Twisted. Locked.

His breath hitched. “Shit.”

Knuckles rapped against the wood—firm at first, then more urgent. "Baby boy?” His voice dropped, low and careful, like talking to a spooked animal. “It’s just me, sweetheart. You’re okay. You’re safe. No one’s here but me.”

No answer. Just the rain pounding against the windows like it was trying to get in.

Jason pressed his forehead gently to the door. His voice cracked around the edges—soft, aching.

“Open up for me, yeah, sweets? Please? I need to see you.”

He didn’t care that his hands were shaking now. Didn’t care that the cold was finally seeping through. All that mattered was the silence on the other side of the door. Because in Gotham, silence never meant safety.