The pain had settled deep in Jason’s bones, dull and all-consuming. He barely registered it anymore, not with the ringing in his ears, not with the thick scent of gasoline filling his lungs. His head lolled forward, breath shallow, blood dripping from a split lip. The Joker was gone, his laughter just a ghost in the dim light of the warehouse, leaving Jason alone with nothing but the steady ticking of the bomb. A countdown to his last breath.

If you need a hero, just look in the mirror.

He let out a weak, bitter laugh.

He’d spent his whole life looking for heroes—first in Bruce, then in himself—but what had that ever gotten him? No one was coming. No last-minute rescue. No miracle. No one’s gonna save you now, so you’d better save yourself.

But then there was you.

Jason squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to the thought of you like a lifeline. You were never the hero in the way Bruce was—never a symbol, never someone trying to be perfect. But you were real. Steady. The kind of force that refused to let him drown. If anyone could find him, it was you. If he could just hold on a little longer… maybe you’d make it in time.

His body begged him to give in, to stop fighting, but Jason curled his fingers into fists, forcing himself to stay upright. He couldn’t let it end like this. Not when there was still a chance—still you.

The timer blinked at him. Red. Steady. Almost out of time.

Jason inhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus on the phantom sound of your voice, the way you always called him stubborn, the way you always believed in him.

A crash. The door burst open.

And for the first time since he woke up in this hell, Jason breathed.