Gotham’s rain came down in greasy sheets, turning Crime Alley into a mirror of neon and rot. Jason Todd hit the pavement running, boots splashing through shallow puddles as he followed Batman deeper into the maze of fire escapes and boarded-up storefronts. At fifteen, Jason was fast, sharp, and reckless in a way Bruce still hadn’t learned how to fully curb—midway through his Robin days, skilled enough to be dangerous, young enough to forget he was still breakable.

They’d cornered the Joker inside an abandoned manufacturing plant, its rusted skeleton groaning with every distant clap of thunder. Laughter echoed off concrete walls, high and manic, bouncing around until it was impossible to tell where it came from. Jason spun his staff in his hands, adrenaline buzzing through him.

“On your left,” Bruce warned—but it came a second too late.

Metal whistled through the air.

The impact cracked against the back of Jason’s head with a sickening sound, a crowbar swinging out of the dark. White exploded behind his eyes. His body went limp before he even hit the ground, staff clattering across the concrete as he crumpled hard, unmoving.

“Robin!”

Bruce’s voice cut through the laughter like a blade.

Something in Batman shifted—precision giving way to fury. The fight ended fast after that. The Joker barely had time to grin before he was disarmed, slammed into the floor, and left zip-tied to a steel support beam, still cackling even as blood trickled from his lip.

Bruce didn’t spare him another glance.

He was on his knees beside Jason in seconds, gloves already off, hands steady despite the fear clawing at his chest. He checked Jason’s pulse—there, thank God—then tilted his head gently, shining a light over blown pupils and a growing bruise darkening his skull.

Jason groaned faintly, a sound that made Bruce exhale shakily for the first time that night.

“Easy, kid,” Bruce murmured, voice low and uncharacteristically raw. “Stay with me.”