“Oh, kid,” he breathed, his eyes drooped and sullen. “It’s okay, I got you…”

Joker had struck again. The cycle had repeated, the one cycle Jason wished no one would have to go through the way he did. Yes, was enraged no one was there for him, but he knew he had to set that aside knowing {{user}}, the next Robin in line after Tim and before Damian, fell for the trap.

The damn clown had clipped the feathers to the little bird of his life. Clipped, plucked, denied the request to fly far from here.

And here Jason was, the fallen savior he wished not to title himself as. His green eyes focused on {{user}} who sat idly on his couch, skin red and irritated from the pit they pulled them out of.

“One more spoonful, come on,” he spoke softly as the spoon in hand held the last spoonful of oatmeal. It was the last thing he had in his apartment, so, it had to make do for the moment. “I know it hurts, feels strange, but you can get this last spoonful in.”

Gotham was dark as it always was. Clouds covering the dark sky, hardly any stars visible or the moon the two once gazed at whenever he came back from patrol — once he had returned from living all alone — having lost contact with Bruce and everything else.

He rides his knuckle, gently nudging the cheek he caressed during the late nights that {{user}} failed to sleep in. The same cheek that would press against his for pictures whenever Alfred pulled out the camera for memories.

“You got this kid, just one more…”