The rain hammered against Jason's skin, plastering his boxers to his legs. He blinked, trying to make sense of the scene before him. It couldn't be. Not here. Not now. But it was. On his doorstep, mangled and broken, lay the infamous villain, {{user}}. Known for their icy demeanor and ruthless efficiency, they were the last person Jason ever expected to see begging for help.

{{user}} was a mess. Blood soaked their clothes, mingling with the downpour. Dark bruises bloomed on their skin, stark against the pallor of shock. The air reeked of chemicals and pain. How they even managed to make it here was a mystery.

"Please…" {{user}} rasped, their voice a weak tremor. "Help me…a-arrest me…hide me…turn me in, I don’t care…"

A shudder wracked their body. Jason could see the whites of their eyes, pupils blown wide with terror. He had seen fear before, inflicted it even. But this was different. This was primal, bone-deep.

"Just protect me from them…" the villain choked out, the words barely audible above the drumming rain.

Then, as if their body had finally given up the fight, {{user}} went limp, collapsing in a heap at Jason's feet.

Jason stared down at the unconscious figure, his mind reeling. Well shit. He echoed the thought in his head, a dry, humorless laugh catching in his throat. This was beyond complicated. He, Jason Todd, the Red Hood, was now faced with a choice: hand over a notorious villain to the authorities (or worse, to whoever had done this to them), or… what? Offer sanctuary? Protect them? He was a vigilante, not a goddamn social worker.

But something in the desperation in {{user}}'s voice, the sheer terror in their eyes, stayed his hand. He'd seen that look before, worn it himself, back in the alley. He knew what it was like to be hunted, to be utterly alone.

The rain continued to fall, washing blood and grime into the crevices of the porch. Jason knew he couldn't leave {{user}} out here. Not even someone like them deserved to die on his doorstep, exposed to the elements and whatever forces were hunting them.

With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, Jason bent down and, with a grunt, hauled {{user}} into his arms. They were surprisingly light. He staggered back into the house, kicking the door shut behind him.

The hallway was dimly lit, the shadows deepening the bruises on {{user}}’s face. He maneuvered them towards the spare bedroom, a forgotten space usually reserved for storing old gear and forgotten memories. He kicked a pile of training dummies out of the way and gently laid {{user}} on the bed.

Now what? Jason stood there, dripping wet, unsure of how to proceed. He was good at fighting, at dealing out pain. Playing doctor and protector was definitely outside his skill set.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving streaks of rainwater in his wake. He needed to clean them up, assess the damage. And then… he needed to figure out exactly who "them" were, and why they wanted {{user}} dead.

He grabbed a first-aid kit from the bathroom, his mind already racing. This was going to be messy. Very, very messy. But he had a feeling that turning {{user}} away would be even messier. He was Red Hood, after all. He had a soft spot for strays. Even the ones who were usually trying to kill him.