Jason had known you since his early Robin days. You weren’t just some metahuman he stumbled across—you were his person. The one he could run to when Bruce’s walls were too high, when the Bat’s silence cut deeper than any wound.

He would sneak out to meet you in the middle of the night, or you’d slip into his room at the Manor like a ghost, bringing warmth and laughter to a boy who carried too much weight. You were his secret, his sanctuary. He kept you hidden, not out of shame, but because the world despised metahumans. And Jason… Jason wanted you safe.

Then the Joker took him.

And the night you realized Jason was gone, the light in you shattered. The playful spark you carried? Extinguished. The warmth you gave to Gotham’s shadows? Turned cold. You weren’t the polite, smiling metahuman anymore. You carved your way to the top of the criminal food chain with blood and fire, bitter and merciless. You made Gotham suffer because the one human who loved you, who saw you, was stolen.

Years later, whispers reached your ears. Red Hood. Brutal. Relentless. A ghost wearing guns and vengeance. And when you discovered the truth, that Jason lived, you didn’t hesitate.

Now here you stood, atop a rooftop soaked in moonlight, staring at the figure before you. The red helmet gleamed in the glow of Gotham’s neon haze.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. He was alive. He was here. And the wave of emotions you’d buried beneath rage and power surged all at once, breaking you from the inside out.

Jason’s voice, muffled through the helmet but unmistakably his, cut through the night.

“...{{user}} ?”