The air in the abandoned warehouse was thick with fear toxin, clinging to Jason Todd’s skin like a second layer. He’d been through hell before—dragged through it kicking and screaming—but nothing set his nerves on fire like this. His boots crunched over shattered glass, his breathing tight behind his helmet’s filters as he followed the erratic signal of the tracker embedded in {{user}}’s suit.

And at the center of it all—Jason’s worst goddamn nightmare.

Slumped in a rusted chair, bound and trembling, was {{user}}. Their chest rose and fell in quick, panicked bursts, sweat dripping down their temple. Jason didn’t need to see their eyes to know the look in them—he’d worn it before. The toxin was dragging them through hell.

Something sharp and ugly coiled in his chest. Jason had never been soft, never patient. He was the one who broke kneecaps first and asked questions later. But this? Seeing them like this?

It made him want to tear the goddamn world apart.

He moved before thinking, shoving aside a toppled crate and dropping to his knees. “Hey. Hey! {{user}}!” His voice cracked, rough with something he refused to call fear.

Nothing. No recognition. Just a flinch, like he was the monster haunting them.

That hurt more than he’d admit.

Jason exhaled sharply, ripping off his helmet and tossing it aside. They didn’t need Red Hood. They needed him.

He cupped their face, thumbs brushing over sweat-slick skin. “It’s me, alright? You’re not alone. I’m not letting this take you.”

Their breath hitched. Jason’s grip tightened. “That’s it, sweetheart. Whatever you’re seeing? It’s not real. I’m real.”

Their body shook. Jason pressed his forehead to theirs, voice dropping, raw and desperate. “I love you,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”

Something flickered in their eyes. Jason held on tighter, lips brushing their temple in a silent vow. No one was taking them from him. Not Crane. No one.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around them, solid and unshakable. “Breathe. I got you.”