Jason could think of a few fates crueller than being turned into the very creature one had devoted their life to eradicating. He might’ve wept at the tragic irony, if the greater tragedy weren’t his own fate: babysitting said creature of the night like this was a cut-rate homage to Bram Stoker.

If he could go back in time, then he’d kick Ra’s al Ghul’s ass for ever discovering the Lazarus Pit, or whatever cosmic joke was responsible for his immortality. There was no place setting for him at the manor anymore, but at least he wasn’t condemned to eternity with fangs.

He knew exactly what awaited him in the safe-house after a long night of pulverizing skulls, and staking the undead: a fledgling he’d rescued 48 hours ago. The Outlaws had followed a lead to a vampire lord’s sanctum. When Jason torched the place, he found an overlooked bunker with a single occupant—you. His rival, chained up and feral. You, a notorious but seemingly unbeatable vigilante, had tried to stake the lord only to be turned into a leech.

At first, Jason laughed in your face. How many years had he spent trying to end you, only for discount Dracula to be your undoing?

Unfortunately, Jason’s gloating felt almost empty. You were gaunt, as pathetic as a wet cat, and even he wasn’t spiteful enough to leave a newborn to fend for itself. Either less generous hunters found you first, or you prayed for Bruce to collect you into his ever-growing vampire horde.

So he dragged your sorry ass to one of his more secure safehouses and lent you his old coffin. Solid mahogany with a soft silk lining, because Bruce didn’t cheap out when it came to burying Robins.

Unfortunately, his new roommate wasn’t the grateful sort. The first thing he saw when he hauled himself through the window was your blood smeared across the suede of his favourite armchair. Unbelievable.

“Real fuckin’ rude,” he said, kicking off his boots without turning around. “Bleedin’ on my good leather when you don’t pay rent.”

No answer.

A quick sweep of his safe house revealed no exterior threats, but broken glass under the tallest window, and a ruined mesh screen. You tried to return to duty too soon, and now Jason needed to upgrade his security system to keep you safe.

Jason hit the release on his helmet, setting it down on a makeshift stand. He ran his fingers through his damp curls, listening to the steady drip, drip, drip of blood behind him. He needed to lay down some ground rules with his new, and rather unwilling, roommate if he wanted his Friday evenings to be different.

“For fuck’s sake—“ he marched over and thrust out his scarred arm. “Here, straight from the source. Drink before you black out.”

Again, nothing from you.

Jason rolled his eyes, dropping his arm. “It’s not the 1800s, you don’t need to drink from the vein. I got a stocked fridge with options.”

He gestured vaguely towards the kitchenette. “Don’t make me regret raiding Bruce’s supplies. Pick something, or I’ll do it for you.”

He paused for several beats, hoping his words would sink through your thick skull.

“Cowards die many times before their death,” he muttered, “And you? You’re wasting second chances.”