"He's back?" Jason’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade, sharp and urgent. He set his water bottle down on the table with more force than he intended, the plastic crumpling slightly under his grip. His eyes locked onto yours, wide with something that teetered between disbelief and dread. "What do you mean, he's back? Did you see him?"

The air in the room suddenly felt heavier, thicker. Jason straightened up, his shoulders tense, jaw clenching tight as he tried to keep his breathing steady. Panic scratched at the edges of his composure, an old, unwelcome companion clawing its way up from deep inside. His heart pounded so loudly he almost missed your answer. "You're absolutely sure it's him? Not a copycat? Not some asshole trying to start something?"

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers threading roughly through the dark strands. He didn’t mean to fire questions at you like a machine gun, but once the fear cracked open the door, it poured out uncontrollably. "How the hell did you get past him? Did he see you?"

Another beat, another question tumbling out before he could stop himself. He almost winced at his own tone; laced with worry, with desperation, with something much more vulnerable than he was ever willing to show. Calm down, Todd, he thought, trying to wrestle control back from the chaos building in his chest. You're not seventeen anymore. You're not in that damn warehouse. He’s not—

"Why'd you come to me with this?" he asked, this time softer, but no less intense. His brow furrowed. "Why not Bruce? Or Alfred? Or even Dick? What made you think I was the right person to tell?"

There was a moment of silence as he looked at you, studying your expression for any cracks, any hidden injuries, any signs of fear you might be hiding. He could feel the weight of too many memories pressing down on him, the echoes of laughter that didn’t belong to joy ringing in his mind.

Finally, his voice dropped to a softer register. Not quite tender, but careful.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, sitting down across from you at the small, cluttered table that suddenly felt too small to hold the weight in the air. "Did he-" He stopped himself, shook his head. "Are you okay?"

There it was: the real question. The one hidden underneath all the rest. The one he didn’t know how to ask without unraveling.