“No,” Jason breathed, ripping off his helmet and flinging it carelessly aside. The sound was half-sob, half-curse, the word small against the thunder in his chest. He pressed both hands against the bullet wound—his bullet, his hands—trying to bridge the impossible with brute force.

This was supposed to be some random goody-two-shoes vigilante: an obstacle to step over on the way to taking out Bruce. Not this. Not the face that lived in his earliest, cleanest memories. Not the single person who had ever taught him what unconditional love could look like.

Blood darkened his gloves in a sick, spreading bloom. It clung to his fingers as if refusing to let go. He scooped {{user}} up with reckless tenderness, cradling the weight of them against his chest like a shield against a world that had just broken. “Damn it,” he hissed, teeth bared. Fury and terror were stitched together in his hands—fury at what he’d done, terror at what it meant. “Hey! Stay with me. Keep your eyes open!”

He searched {{user}}'s face for any sign of recognition, any flutter of a lash, a squeeze of a hand—anything to tell him he hadn’t already crossed the line into irreversible. Jason swallowed hard and fumbled inside his armor for the emergency gauze he always—stupidly, wisely—carried. His fingers shook, but he worked with the mechanical calm of someone who’d trained for violence and now needed to apply that training to salvation.

“Hang in there,” he muttered, packing the wound as best he could, fingers learning a rhythm that kept panic from totally taking over. He kept talking to them, words tumbling out in a jagged, pleading stream—reminders of stupid jokes they’d shared, half-forgotten promises, the memory of one lazy summer afternoon that had always been his anchor.

When he finally leaned his forehead against their temple, the rain of adrenaline in him slowed enough for one terrible clarity to land. He wouldn’t let them go without a fight. Not now. Not after everything.

“Don’t you die on me,” he whispered, voice raw and small, as if the world could be convinced to hold its breath until he figured out how to make the wrong right.