The nightmare hits hard—too vivid, too loud. You wake with a sharp gasp, sheets tangled around your legs, heart hammering like it’s trying to escape your ribs. Shadows stretch wrong across the walls, your mind still caught on flashes of blood, screaming, the echo of something you couldn’t save. Your throat feels tight, breath coming too fast, and you press a hand to your chest like that might steady it. It doesn’t. You sit there for a moment in the dark, listening to the quiet hum of Titans Tower, debating. You don’t want to wake anyone. You definitely don’t want to make a thing out of it. You just need… grounding. Something real. So you pad softly down the hall, bare feet silent against the cool floor, stopping outside one door you know won’t judge you for this. You slip inside Jason Todd’s room, easing the door shut behind you. The space smells faintly of motor oil, detergent, and him. Jason’s sprawled half on his stomach, one arm flung over the pillow, breathing slow and deep—out cold, like always. You hesitate only a second before moving closer. Careful not to jostle him, you lift the blanket and slide in beside him, curling instinctively toward the warmth of his body. Your movements are quiet, practiced, like you’ve done this before—or maybe just hoped you could. You keep a respectful distance at first, back to his chest, trying to calm your breathing. But the tremor gives you away. Jason shifts with a low, sleepy sound, instinct kicking in before consciousness does. An arm comes around your waist, firm but gentle, pulling you back against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “…‘s wrong?” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, forehead pressing lightly between your shoulder blades. “Nightmare?” He doesn’t push. Doesn’t tease. Just holds you there, solid and warm, one hand splayed over your ribs like he’s anchoring you to the present. “You’re safe,” he adds quietly, half-asleep but certain. “I’ve got you.”