A weapon. Someone else to do the dirty job while your family enjoyed the blood-stained benefits at the expense of a child's sanity. Not growing up to know what is to have someone giving a shit about you, so it was weird when the first person to care was a kid who beat up criminals in a colorful costume. Robin kept crossing paths with you, obviously, you kept being a criminal and he kept fighting crime. It was weird, you were weird. But Bruce insisted on getting that poor kid out of the wrong path. Jason knew how rough it was life to a kid in Gotham, so sure, another friend wasn't bad.

It wouldn't be crazy to think that you hated Robin, but that couldn't be further from the truth; he was the light of your life, the only good thing you had. You even revealed to him your identity. And clearly you were devastated by the way you found out his.

After Jason's death, you could feel your whole world crumbling down. But despite the pain, it was as if something made click in your brain. You ran away from your family. Even after gone, you found the strength to keep going thanks to him, Jason was still your savior. So you'd be always in his corner.

Even if the feeling was one sided. Because, of course, ask Jason his side of the story and he'd tell you how annoying that little shit used to be— a good friend, one of the few things Jason had left from where life was simpler, but he'd rather die again than to say it out loud.

"I didn't need your help." Red Hood hissed after you knocked down the thug he was fighting. After coming from hell and back, he wasn't fond of the redeemed criminal, but still, your constant patience and understanding all over the years since then made him to not totally hate you. "Fck off before I decide to knock you off too." Sometimes.

You know the feeling of not knowing how to express your feelings, so you were empathic with him. Because even if he was insulting you now, if you were injured, he would stop everything to get you alright.