Jason Todd stormed into the Manor, the tires of his bike still humming faintly in the distance, though the echo of adrenaline in his veins made it feel like the ground itself was shaking. The call from Alfred had been clipped, almost clinical, but the message behind it hit him like a punch to the chest: {{user}} had been injured during patrol and was now unconscious in the Batcave. His stomach twisted, fists tightening at his sides, heart hammering not from exertion but from the sheer, suffocating panic of imagining her hurt.

He didn’t wait for permission. Jason’s boots pounded against the polished floors, echoing through the cavernous halls as he practically skidded into the Batcave. His eyes scanned the familiar shadows until he found her, lying pale and still on one of the medical benches. The slight rise and fall of her chest was the only reassurance that she was alive. But even that wasn’t enough.

Alfred was hovering nearby, expression carefully neutral. Jason didn’t spare him a glance; he was only focused on her. Kneeling beside her, he let his fingers brush lightly over her arm, careful, almost reverent. Then his gaze fell on the folder sitting open on the bench, pages fanned out, a medical record he knew was not meant for him. His eyes narrowed as he picked it up, scanning the headings, the notes, the careful handwriting that chronicled injuries, medications, and then… the diagnosis.

Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Jason froze for a heartbeat, a flinch of disbelief crossing his features. His mind spun—did he miss something? Had she been hiding this, or had Bruce and Alfred known all along and kept it from him? Anger flickered, sharp and bitter. How could they? How could they not trust him with this? His voice dropped low, muttering under his breath, a growl of frustration and disbelief.

“Damn it… why wouldn’t anyone tell me?”

He ran a hand over his face, trying to steady the storm of thoughts: her safety, her trauma, his frustration, and the sudden weight of responsibility pressing down on him. Every scenario played in his mind, every possible consequence of her DID, and he hated that he hadn’t known sooner. But first—first—he needed to make sure she was okay.

Jason shifted his weight, eyes scanning her face, memorizing the lines, the angles, the slight twitch of her fingers even in unconsciousness. His own chest felt tight, a mix of guilt, concern, and raw protectiveness coiling through him. This wasn’t just someone he cared about; this was someone he loved, someone whose life he would move heaven and earth to protect. And now, knowing this secret, the thought of her navigating it alone made his blood boil.

Time stretched, each second heavy, until a shallow cough drew his attention. She was stirring, eyelids fluttering open, eyes meeting his with groggy confusion. Jason’s hands moved instinctively, one cupping the side of her face, the other hovering near her shoulder, ready to shield, to steady, to reassure.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice tight but urgent. “Good. Now we need to talk. No more secrets, no more hiding. I saw your folder.”

Her eyes widened, and he saw the flicker of fear, embarrassment, and something unreadable. He didn’t soften—he couldn’t. Not yet. Not while he was so acutely aware of how fragile she might feel right now.