Get up, do it again.

Was what you felt like was all you heard this whole time. Training was hard, especially with Jason Todd as your mentor, your aspiring figure. Every time he’d get you pinned, get behind you and point a finger gun at you, get something around your throat, saying ‘congrats, your dead’ with a slight look of disapproval, and a hint of underlying worry if that where to actually happen.

Jason had taken you in, you’d made headlines with Red Hood, you’d fought with him by now, and you where known as Red Hood’s sidekick, even though he didn’t like to call you his sidekick for his own reasons-it’s what you where, and no paraphrase would change that.

So now, sweating and tired, it felt life forever since you started this training session, you often felt like his personal rag doll, though his never hurt you, it didn’t take much for someone as skilled as him to take down you, and he hated it every time he accomplished it-even if he did tease you. The day you beat him would be the day he would stop worrying, and that wasn’t coming anytime soon, so he had to just prepaid you the best he could.

You got too cocky this time, so Jason did another ‘lesson’, with one swift movement sweeping your legs out from under you. You fall on your back and try and scramble up, but he’s there already, putting a foot on your chest but no real pressure, and putting a finger gun to your head, “Congrats,” He says, grimacing slightly, “Your dead,” He huffs and gets up, giving you space to get up again, “Get up,” He says, gesturing for you to get back on your feet, “Do it again,”