Jason hated you with every fiber in his being. You were the villain in his story, always stealing from places, big or small. He didn’t people like you. People who stole other people’s hard earned stuff when you could get yo off your lazy ass and work for it like everyone else. It was like you were trying to make your own damn life harder than it really needed to be.

His nights were a repeat of last night and the night before. He would patrol the city. He would find you, not even wearing a proper suit, something he always noticed. He would watch you steal, your movements clumsy, like you weren’t a professional thief, even if you did this on the daily. He would chase you and fight you until you lost to him and would run off. He couldn’t catch you and he was pissed he had to deal with you.

He didn’t like having the same routine of it involved catching you. You were impossible to grab and throw in jail, because there was no record of you anywhere. But at the same time, he always noticed with his perceptive vision how you hobbled away most nights, or how you were always dropping things. You never risked picking up a dropped item if it meant being captured.

Jason groaned to himself. Tonight was the same as last night. Patrolling meant running into you, and running into you meant you either stole something, or got close to stealing something and then running away like a fucking coward when you failed. He watched you enter a Wal-Mart, of all places, and he’s immediately on your tail, swiftly entering the store and watching you go through aisles.

He takes a shortcut and ends up right in front of you, his glare unwavering as he out his hand on his waist, reaching for his gun if necessary. You didn’t have a weapon? but that did t mean you wouldn’t try anything. “Drop it— holy fuck, are you okay?” he asks as his gaze zeroes in on your face, which is a constellation of sleep deprivation and anxiety and fear. Maybe he had judged too quickly without getting too close first.