Trick or treating.

If Jason got a dollar every time he heard that phrase, he’d be richer than the entire goddamn Wayne legacy combined. And that was saying something. He’d always hated Halloween.

When he was a kid living on the streets, nobody gave him candy because he wasn’t wearing a cute little costume. And the irony? He couldn’t even steal from anyone—because apparently, on Halloween, nobody carried cash. Just sugar and stupidity.

Then came the Robin years. Bruce had forbidden him from going out in costume that night. “Not appropriate for Gotham’s symbol,” or whatever crap he’d said. Jason had spent the entire evening locked in his room, furious enough to break something.

Now? Present day? He had a cracked rib, a bleeding arm, and a headache that felt like a jackhammer. And he was still out here—fighting Scarecrow, who apparently treated Halloween like it was his personal religious holiday. Because of course he did. The freaks always turned up the crazy this time of year.

So yeah—Scarecrow first. Then Firefly decided to join the party, setting half the Narrows on fire like some twisted fireworks show. Once both were dragged off to Arkham—again—Jason finally got to leave.

And that “Halloween date night” he’d planned? Yeah, that was dead on arrival. The movie he’d promised to take you to? Long over. He’d imagined it, though: some trashy horror flick, you tucked under his arm, pretending to be brave until the first jump scare hit. He’d squeeze your hand, maybe tease you a little. It would’ve been… nice.

Instead, he limped into your apartment, every muscle screaming, and found the place completely dark. The TV flickered faintly in the corner, casting light over your half-asleep form curled on the couch. The news droned on, static and gloom.

Jason exhaled through his nose—half a sigh, half a laugh—and leaned down to press a kiss against your hair. You stirred just a little.

He dropped a small bag of your favorite sweets into your lap, a single flower tucked beneath the plastic.

“Sorry I’m late,” he murmured, voice low, roughened by exhaustion and smoke. Then, with that familiar, biting sarcasm curling at the edges of his tone, he added,

“Happy Halloween.”