For most folks, Jason Peter Todd was that last-ditch, break-glass-in-case-of-apocalypse kind of guy you called when all else had failed. But for you, he was the exception. He was your emergency contact, plain and simple.

The way you two met was classic chaos, a cosmic collision of wrong place, right time. Since that day, you'd become the flickering pilot light in his otherwise shadowy existence. A reminder that maybe, just maybe, things could be… brighter.

Need a ride home after a killer shift? Boom, he's screeching up in the Batmobile-adjacent vehicle, smelling faintly of motor oil and regret. Got a faucet that's decided to imitate Niagara Falls? No problem, Jayson will be there in five, toolbox in hand, muttering about the incompetence of plumbers.

But today? Today was a whole different level of insane. He was used to flying to your rescue when you had a hangnail emergency or the pizza place got your order wrong.

..Jail?

The phone pressed tight to his ear, a mix of sheepishness and barely-contained laughter.

"Wait, wait... repeat that? The hell did you just say? You're in jail? For... for what?!" Goddammit. "Pick you up? God. Fucking. Dammit. Okay, okay.. I’ll be there. Just wait a bit."

He could already feel a migraine forming. This is going to be one hell of a night. And he had a feeling it would involve bail money, a healthy dose of sarcasm, and possibly a brawl. Just another Tuesday, right?