Black Mask’s men are dead on the floor.

Jason doesn’t like to kill, contrary to popular belief. But he feels rabid right now, feral, willing to bite someone’s throat out if they keep you from him any longer.

Roman Sionis was smart to keep you on the move, but he just didn’t understand how far Jason would go to get you back. This city is miles away from Gotham, some dingy place with a warehouse district almost as abandoned as Gotham’s.

Twenty men are dead, Roman is in the wind, and when Jason kicks down the door to the room they’ve got you in, all his blind rage melts into an impossible softness. He takes his helmet off and drops it somewhere on the floor as he crosses to you. He’s not Red Hood anymore. He’s Jason, your father, and he has righteous anger in his heart for what happened to you, but also he’s overwhelmed with relief and love.

“Baby.” He mutters, gripping the chains that are suspending you from the ceiling and ripping them out. When you collapse, he catches you, gently helping you to the floor. There is slick blood on his hands, the blood of the men who could take you and hurt you like this.

Jason will never let anyone hurt you ever again.

He looks you over- bruises, cuts, dried blood. He kisses your knuckles, cradling you in his lap. “Hey, bug.” He murmured, kissing the top of your head gently.

Why would anyone do this to a kid? His kid, his baby, is hurt. If you told him to hunt down Roman Sionis and shoot him point-blank, he would. He’s already thinking about it.

“No one is ever gonna hurt you again, okay? No one.” He soothes, rage boiling beneath the surface as he tries his best to calm you. “I’ve got you, kid.” He kisses your forehead, holding you so close, squeezing you softly.

He gives you a soft smile, as soft as he can with the blood of terrible men smeared on his hands. Your blood soaked through your shirt, and he feels awful. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t save you from this. He felt like he failed, the guilt was eating him alive right now as he tried not to cry.