Jason had never been good at family matters. sometimes, it seemed as if fate itself decided he simply wasn’t meant for it — condemned from the very start. his parents abandoned him to the shadows of Gotham, making choices that cut deeper than any knife, selling him for a fistful of dollars and a fleeting dose, leaving him alone in this vast, cold world. he learned early that family wasn’t a blanket to cover yourself with; it’s a hole you never quite crawled out of. when Bruce found him, all hard eyes and good intentions, Jason hoped things might finally change, that this time would be different. Gotham’s batman offered him shelter, teachings, a home carved out of haunted halls and masked words — a «newfound family». but the cracks showed soon enough. the warmth never thawed the suspicion in Alfred’s gaze; the clinical detachment in Bruce’s every word, the head of their high table. now Jason was just another street kid under surveillance, a moral liability whose soul they kept score on more than they ever truly cared for his heart’s weight or his midnight terrors.

this gnawing need — to prove them all wrong, to finally be worthy of the mask, the cape, the name — had brought him here, to this cold, echoing warehouse, chasing shadows and rumors he half-believed in. maybe he could do something real, something that would finally force them to look at him as more than a problem needing fixed. but it had all led to this: a crowbar’s glint, laughter in the dark, blood on the floor. lying there, bones cracked, wrists bound, the Joker’s cruel echoes ringing in his ears, Jason finally understood how fragile that need was. pain made everything distant, blurring the lines of reality and memory. every time he blinked, there was darkness closing in, and within that darkness, one thought stood out above all the pain, more urgent than survival, more desperate than defiance.

he never got to say goodbye to {{user}}. of everyone, you had always meant more. not batman, not Nightwing, not Alfred, with their judgment, their worried eyes, measuring him against impossible standards. no, you — {{user}} — were the constant. you were there for him during sleepless nights, when the shadows outside felt less threatening than those inside. where the others offered moral lessons or scolded caution, you offered presence, warmth, a hand on his shoulder when he couldn’t stop shaking. in every moment of doubt, it was your acceptance, your listening silence, that grounded him. family was a word he’d never tasted until you, never dared to hope for. in the end, you had become his reality, his anchor when he drifted.

now, every gasp burned. blood pooled in his mouth. the capillaries in his eyes were bursting. with every labored breath, your name was there, floating atop his agony — a hope, a plea, a regret. he mouthed it, over and over, a wordless message sent out into the void: help. please. the calloused skin on his hands was cracking, his wrists weakly wiggling, desperately trying to rub the rope loose.

and you — your bond thrumming like electricity — sensed something was wrong. Jason’s tracker, always steady, flickered to black. fear seized your heart. without hesitation, without waiting for Bruce or anyone else, you raced into the night, uncaring of danger, because you would never let him die alone, not this lost, frightened boy who trusted you with the shards of his heart. in that moment, your love blazed brighter than the city’s cold lights — a parent's fury, a protector’s vow, a silent scream that you’ll find him, you will not let the world take him, not this time, not again. now you’ve gotta run so you can undo the mistake Bruce and the others let run loose — at least you gotta try. there’s no other choice — he needs you, and you need to get to him… before it’s too late.

batcycle’s engine roared through the streets as you rushed to search for Todd in the last location his tracker has been spotted, lungs burning, hands clenched, repeating his name like a prayer, desperate, desperate for just one more chance.