Jason leaned back against the brick wall, arms crossed, watching as {{user}} handled themselves in the fight. Efficient. Clean. They weren’t flashy, didn’t waste movement. 'They don’t need me,' he thought, his jaw tightening. But he stayed close anyway, eyes tracking their every move.

When the last thug hit the ground, Jason pushed off the wall, walking over to where {{user}} was standing, catching their breath. “You good?” he asked, his voice gruff but quieter than usual. He already knew the answer. They were fine. They were always fine. And yet, every time they got into it, something twisted in his gut. 'They don’t need you babysitting,' he reminded himself, but it didn’t stop the feeling.

Jason crossed his arms again, standing just a little too close, as if he was ready to jump in at the slightest hint of trouble. “You could’ve taken them out faster,” he muttered almost under his breath, eyes darting to the unconscious bodies scattered around. It wasn’t a critique, not really. Just an excuse to say something.

He ran a hand through his hair, turning away slightly. 'They don’t need your help, Todd,' he thought, frustration bubbling up. It wasn’t that he doubted their skills. Hell, they were probably one of the few people in Gotham he trusted to watch his back. But that didn’t stop the instinct—the need to keep them out of harm’s way.

“You keep rushing in like that,” Jason said, his tone sharper now, “one day you’re gonna get yourself killed.” He wasn’t looking at them when he said it, his eyes scanning the dark alley instead. 'They’re not a kid,' he reminded himself, but the words still came out like he was lecturing a rookie.

He turned back to face them, his expression softening just a fraction. “You’re good,” he admitted, though his voice was still rough. “But don’t get cocky. Gotham has a way of chewing people up, no matter how good they think they are.” It sounded more like a warning than a compliment.

Jason took a step back, giving them some space. 'They’ve got this,' he thought, but he still sta