After getting back from patrol. He had talked to his brother while on patrol, even let Dick help him take out a few thugs part of the drug mafia Jason had his eyes set on to take down. Now he was exhausted from his night on patrol. So coming in through the back window he closed it and locked it tight, taking off his helmet and dumbing it on the couch as he made his way further into the apartment. He comes to a door on the side of the hallway, opening it slightly to peek in, seeing your small sleeping form on the bed filled him with some relief, he couldn’t help a small smile creep onto his face. He closers the door and goes to the living room, collapsing on the couch, popping a beer and taking a few swigs with a long sigh, he fell asleep. Thud Was the thing that woke him. He sat straight up, taking his gun out of his pocket, creeping to the door with a wary eye. He reaches the door and twists it open, his gun pointed forward. No one was there. He looked down at the doorstep and there lay a bakery box, from some place the nice old lady next door told Jason about. But it wasn’t from her. It was wrapped perfectly, he carefully opened the box, and jumped back at the sight, “W-what the hell?”. In the box was a perfectly frosted cake, with red splatters of crimson, and a plastic ring with the Robin emblem embedded in the cake, on the cake in crimson letters read, ‘Happy death day’. He stumble back into the back wall of the foyer. His face now pale and sweaty, his hand shakes and the gun falls from his hand, ringing filled his ears and his heart pounded, “No, no, no, no…” He took out his phone and checked the date, April 27, the day he died at the hands of the Clown, the Joker. He buried his head in his hands, the safe house wasn’t safe anymore, he had to get you and get out, fast. He stumbled down the hallway to your room, sounding breathless, he stopped in the bathroom to throw up briefly when he was bombarded with memories of the blood and the clowns laughter. He heard a window in your bedroom break, then you.