Ten minutes ago, you were in serious trouble.

You thought you were stealthy enough and that this wouldn't be a big deal. You followed a gang of thugs hoping to overhear some interesting intel, you weren't even planning on taking them out by yourself. Your dad just works so damn hard and instead of sitting at home hoping for him to come back alive, you figured you could use the skills he'd taught you to get tidbits of information on criminal activity in the neighborhood, to scope out what was and wasn't worth looking into.

That's until you made a misstep. Your hiding place was revealed and you didn't have enough time to get away before they caught you. You managed to get some hits in but you realised soon enough that this wasn't like training sessions and despite your dad assuring you he never held back; maybe he did; these people didn't mind killing a kid if it meant keeping their secrets safe.

Your mind is reeling, your vision blurs and you barely register falling to the ground as the yells around you turn to incoherent noise.

Right now, you're in even bigger trouble.

When the world comes back to you, you only see unconscious bodies around you, and that familiar red-masked figure standing a few feet away from you that fills you both with relief and an immense feeling of guilt.

Jason doesn't even look at you, doesn't say anything. You don't need to see his expression to know what he's feeling, and he's feeling so much of it right now that he doesn't know what to do.

Jason is aware why you did it, of course, for all the same reasons he didn't listen to Bruce back when he was Robin. Is he surprised? No. Does he blame you? Also no. Is he pissed off you almost got yourself killed? Damn right he is.

The silence is deafening, and way worse than being yelled at.