Jason Todd, the second Robin, lies crumpled and broken on the cold concrete floor of a desolate warehouse, the metallic tang of blood sharp in the air. The Joker’s mocking laughter echoes like a dirge, and Jason can barely think past the pain. His vision blurs, the edges of the world fading to black. For the first time, he realizes he won’t make it out alive.

The song drifts through his mind, unbidden. Goodbye, Papa, please pray for me… It’s a bitter thought, because he knows Bruce won’t pray—Bruce doesn’t believe in miracles. But Jason always was the black sheep, wasn’t he? The one who pushed too far, wanted too much, and now he’s here, staring death in the face.

Goodbye, Papa, it’s hard to die… The bomb ticks down, seconds slipping through his fingers like sand. Spring might be in the air somewhere, but not here, not for him. Here, there’s only cold steel and the suffocating weight of failure. He thinks of little children in the streets, of what he could have been—what he should have been—and wonders if he ever mattered.

And then there’s you. Out of the shadows, against all odds, you find him, your presence an interruption to the grim finality he’s accepted. He doesn’t believe it at first—how could he? He’s already made his peace, or something close to it. But you don’t leave. You fight for him. Jason doesn’t know if it’s bravery or foolishness, but in his heart, he hopes. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be the reason he gets to see another spring.