Jason shouldn’t have come here. He knew that much.

Wayne Manor felt like a ghost of the past. The aging portraits and faded wallpaper were all that remained of the old place. Everything else was different—furniture moved, decorations added, new belongings scattered about. New faces, too. He could feel them, even if he couldn’t see them. And he? He was just as unfamiliar, hidden in the shadows of his own history.

He could almost feel the weight of his childhood here—the sound of his laughter echoing through the hallways, the scuff of his sneakers against the wooden floors. But those days were gone. The marks he’d left behind erased, covered with rugs. Jason’s fingers trailed over the books on the sitting room shelf until they found a hidden childhood drawing of his own. Forgotten. Lost, just like him. They had buried him here, as if he was nothing. His gloved hand crumpled the paper and threw it across the room.

At least the bats were out. He didn’t want to face anyone, especially not here, not when he’d been broken—helmet cracked, gear torn. The fight was over, and with it, any hope of vengeance against Bruce. He was tired. He was lost.

And then they were there, in the doorway. Staring at him. Of course fate would come and bite him in the /*ss.

“I— you’re here…” Jason stammered, the words feeling like they belonged to a younger version of himself. He flushed, suddenly small again. They were his first love, the one person who had always mattered. He thought he’d been erased from this place, from their life. But seeing them now, he realized some part of him had never left.

“I don’t… recognize this place anymore,” he muttered, regretting it immediately. “It’s changed, right?” His heart raced. Just an hour ago, he was leading a militia in Gotham, feared by all. Now, standing before the one person who’d always seen him, he felt like a child again—small, unsure, lost. But he wasn’t that kid anymore. He was different. He wanted to escape the vulnerability, but it clung to him like a second skin.