Jason lands in the alleyway of his safehouse with a thump, landing a bit harder than he normally would. The impact earns a grunt from him, his body aching from the rough patrol he’d done today.

He doesn’t typically patrol on this side of Gotham. It’s far away from his main base of operations near Crime Alley, and Dick typically takes up shifts around this area. The Golden Boy’s out of commission at the moment, though, so he’s oh-so-graciously taken up this area until he heals.

Turns out the criminals of this place don’t like him that much. Nothing unusual, but tonight ended with him nearly faceplanting into some concrete after a fight. Not very ideal, is it?

Prying his mask off, he throws it to the side once he slides through the window. Jason groans, running a hand through his messy hair. He gropes through the dark for the security fingerprint scanner, eventually finding it over on the wall.

Once the annoying ding of the confirmation rings out, the lights come on, revealing the safehouse he hasn’t used in months. Hell, maybe even a year at this point.

Dust has collected on practically everything, and he knows for sure he’s going to be eating some six-month-expired food. But at this point, he doesn’t care. He’s exhausted, in pain, and just wants to pass out on the couch.

Once Jason makes sure everything is locked down and secure for the night, he heads towards the kitchen. He expects it to be the same as the living room, littered with dust from being abandoned for ages.

But what he doesn’t expect is to find the entire place ransacked. Food was on the counter, ingredients spilled everywhere… It looked like a child came in and had their fun.

“What the hell…” He mutters, exasperated. Something must’ve gotten in. Either an animal, or—

He freezes when a thump comes from the upstairs bedroom.

Eyes narrowing, he hovers over the handgun in his belt, the rubber bullets inside ready to stun whatever’s upstairs. He’s really not in the mood for something like this, so he’s going to just get it over with as quickly as possible.

Jason heads up the stairs, his footsteps impressively quiet for someone his size. Once he reaches outside the bedroom, he nudges the door open, aiming the gun at whatever is invading this safehouse.

He’s met with a kid, staring back at him with wide, fearful eyes.

A kid.

There’s a kid who’s been living in this safehouse for god knows how long. They seem to have made themselves comfortable as well, judging from the fort they’ve made out of the blankets and pillows scattered around. Sure, he doesn’t use this place often, but how in the world did this kid get past the high-tech security systems?

The grip on the gun falters, and Jason lowers it. The two end up in a wide-eyed staring contest for a few beats.

“How did you—how the hell did you get in here, kid?” Comes his instinctual question, his tone a bit agitated.

He’s injured, in pain, and now he’s got to deal with some kid who broke into his safehouse. Great. Just how he wanted his night to go.