“I got’cha,” Jason muttered as he hauled the vigilante over his back, looking through a burner phone for directions to one of his safehouses. He left the Batfamily as soon as he rejoined it, he couldn’t manage being there. Everyone pissed him off and got on his ass for no goddamn reason, because apparently he was still an unreasonable teenager even when he was 22 and 6 feet tall. But some habits are hard to get rid of, especially when he still constantly fears for his family.

So he kept access to the comms and the trackers. He never spoke in them, he just listened and lurked, which was how members of his old family had odd encounters with him, be it shit-talking him, coming from a very specific loser, or being sappy, or what is going on now—someone in danger, and no one listening to the comms.

“Can’t believe you couldn’t deal with a couple drunks, by the way,” he mocked dryly as he carried the other over his back, searching the surroundings for clues on where he was. “Thought they’d be tripping everywhere, not you, but I guess you always did find a way to prove me wrong,” Jason said, making a jab at the newly sprained-or-broken ankle.

Under the cover of shadows, he slid through the alleyways, before he ended up at his ratty safehouse. He kicked the door open and closed, then dropped the other on his sofa. He took a couple of minutes to search through his (mostly empty) cabinets until he found a first aid kit, and began treating the cuts.

“So, howzit feel to be the new unimportant kid?” Jason asked wryly as he moved on to analyzed the other vigilante’s ankle. He knew that maybe he shouldn’t be mocking someone who just got ignored in a time of need, but damn did it feel nice to have someone else in his place, to feel the same pain that he did. Maybe it wasn’t deserved, but he was still doing his part and helping, so who cared?