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[ ✸ Under his heart with you ✸ - JASON TODD X G.N Reader (Under the redhood au) ] 0.1

　✸ Under his heart with you ✸ - JASON TODD X G.N Reader (Under the red hood au)

CHAPTER 1 ── you meet the past, and maybe your past again.

Word Count: 7,200 words

Synopsis: He played two cruel jokes. One was your “death.” The other was his you remember that day too well, the way it burned into you, the way it never really ended. he died. Jason Todd. Maybe the only person you ever loved. that’s the story, isn’t it? the punchline everyone believes. That he died. but the real joke the crueler one was you. Pulled from icy waters by a creature that wasn't supposed to exist, you survive with more than just scars. A god lives in your ribs now. thank the joker, You leave Wayne Manor, your grief, and Bruce's moral code behind, building a new life in Gotham's shadows with only your jellyfish-"your children" for company. Two years later, a man in a red helmet intervenes during a hit. He fights like Jason. He stands like Jason. in a way...?

Content Warning: Major character death (Jason Todd), graphic violence, torture (referenced), drowning, asphyxiation, suicidal ideation, body horror, blood/gore, murder, revenge fantasies, parental grief, trauma responses, emotional breakdowns, consumption of humans (by creatures), dissociation.

A/N: i originally wanted to do a normal reader, lol, but then i had a suggestion and we ended up flipping a coin… and somehow landed on jellyfish powers 😭 this is kind of sad but also funny. this is my first fic here, so i’m kinda nervous! also, sorry if it's bad.

Life’s full of shit.

You don’t even say it out loud anymore, you just carry it, like a second spine, like something threaded through your ribs that won’t let you stand straight.

It had only been a week.

One week since that red-helmeted bastard, since decided to crash into your life like he belonged there

Because this wasn't the first time. You'd noticed it about a year ago or two… Small things, at first. A shadow that didn't belong. The feeling of being watched on nights when the alleys were too quiet. A shot that took out a man who'd had a knife to your throat before you could even react.

This man made sure, Death won't even think about you even once, in a way.

You'd dismissed it at first. Coincidence. Gotham was full of violent people with their own agendas.

But then it happened again.

And again.

He was following you.

It was never close enough to confront. Bodies dropping before they could touch you, taken out with clinical precision by someone who never stayed long enough to explain himself.

You'd tried to catch him. Multiple times.

Changed your routes. Doubled back. Set traps. Used your children to sweep rooftops.

Nothing.

He was always one step ahead. Always gone before you could close the distance. Always leaving you with nothing but questions and the infuriating feeling that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Why?

That was the question that kept you up at night.

Why follow you? Why protect you? Why watch for a full year without a single explanation?

It didn't make sense.

You weren't anyone important. Not to him. Not to anyone who wore a helmet and moved like violence was a first language.

You weren't working with Batman anymore, not really. You weren't part of some grand mission. You were just… you. A person with too much grief and a god inside their chest and children made of hunger.

Why would someone like him care?

Unless…

No.

You shook the thought away before it could form.

Because that way led to hope. And hope in Gotham was just disappointment dressed up in optimism.

Anyways…

One week since you’d fought side by side with someone who joked through bloodshed and looked at you like you were something interesting instead of something broken.

A drug deal.

Of course.

Because Gotham never let anything end clean. It just stacked rot on top of rot until the whole place smelled like it deserved to burn.

You stood above it all, watching from the edge of a rooftop, the city stretched out beneath you like something diseased. Down below, men talked in low voices, passing around packages like they were trading candy instead of poison.

How sweetly fucked up. Jason would’ve hated this.

That thought came uninvited.

Jason Todd hated drugs, Not just in “this is bad for society” way people liked to preach about, but in a personal, guttural way. The kind that lived in his voice when he talked about it. The kind that made his hands curl into fists even when he was trying to stay calm.

He told you once. About his mother. About what it did to her. About what it did to him.

You remembered the way his voice changed. It was just… honest. In a way he didn’t let many people see. And you’d listened. Because something in you had understood, even then, that this wasn’t just another story.

This was trust. This was him handing you something real. The thought sits heavy in your chest. You still remember it.

You remember too much. And that’s the problem. Because memory isn’t comfort. It’s evidence.

Because somehow without realizing when it happened you had become the second person he ever let see him like that.

Maybe even the first who really someone he ever-

And now-

Now you stood here, watching the same poison move through Gotham like a disease no one could cure.

And Jason wasn’t here to hate it with you.

The thought hollowed something out inside your chest.

You exhaled slowly, the breath shaking just slightly despite yourself.

You’ve always hated drugs too.

Not for the same reasons.

They took your parents.

Slow, ugly decay. Bad choices stacking into worse ones until there was nothing left but absence and resentment and a version of childhood you don’t like thinking about.

So yeah.

You hate them.

You hate what they do to people. You hate what they turn people into.

You hate the way Gotham lets it keep happening like it’s just another background noise.

Your children stir again, brushing against your arms, sensing the shift in your mood. they're hungry...

You exhale, long and tired. Below, the deal continues. Money changes hands.

Lives get traded in ways. You watch it all like you’re outside of it.

A mistake layered on top of other mistakes. A body carrying something that shouldn’t exist, feeding it, letting it grow.

Wait..

Why are we even talking about you?

You almost laugh.

Because it’s true, isn’t it?

You’re not the hero.

Not even a proper villain.

You’re something in-between.

Something that doesn’t fit.

Gotham runs on pattern crime, punishment, justice, failure, repeat.

You look down at the deal. At the men. At the poison being passed around like currency.

You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing.

“…Let’s crash it.”

“Bold plan.”

The voice came from behind you, close enough that your shoulders tensed before your mind caught up.

You turned.

And there he was.

The red helmet. Rain beading over it like the city itself refused to touch him properly. He stood a few steps back on the rooftop, arms loose at his sides, posture casual in that dangerous way you’d already learned meant the opposite.

You narrowed your eyes. “You stalking me now?”

“Now?” he echoed, amused. “That implies I started recently.”

Your jaw tightened.

You stare.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He leans casually against the low ledge, looking down at the deal like it’s mildly interesting at best. “Five glowsticks and a bad attitude?” he says. “Hate to break it to you, Jelly, but that’s not exactly an army.”

Your children bristle at that, drifting tighter around you.

“Huh?” you snap. “Who asked you?”

He glances sideways at you, amused. “Nobody. I just hate watching bad plans in action.”

Before you can fire back, he pushes off the ledge and drops.

Straight down.

You curse under your breath and move to follow, but he lands first.. clean, effortless, and looks up at you like he’s been waiting.

“I thought I told you to take a nice vacation,” he calls, voice carrying easily through the rain.

You scoff, already climbing down. “Yeah? And I thought I told you to mind your own business.”

He tilts his head slightly, and then, casual as breathing he says, “Aw, Jelly.. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.”

You freeze.

Your grip slips just slightly on the ledge before you land.

That line-

Your heart stutters, sharp and sudden. Because you’ve heard that before.

Not from him.

From Jason.

Persuasion, Captain Wentworth's letter to Anne Elliot...written by, Jane Austen.

He loved JANE AUSTEN....

Late night, half-laughing, half-serious, leaning too close while quoting that line, whenever you tease him, called him dramatic, and he’d rolled his eyes like it didn’t matter but it had.

It always had.

You stare at the red helmet.

“…What?”

He pauses.

Just for a second.

Like he didn’t expect that reaction. Then he shifts back, subtle, almost imperceptible but you catch it.

He caught himself.

Interesting.

“I suggest you stay up there,” he says instead, tone changing just enough to feel deliberate. “Sit this one out. I’ve got something to take care of.”

You don’t answer immediately. Because now you’re looking at him differently. Because now something isn’t sitting right. But before you can pull on that thread

he moves closer again.

And suddenly his voice drops, lower, sharper, not teasing anymore.

“You don’t hate it as much as you pretend.”

The words hit harder than they should.

You stiffen.

“What-?”

“You hate that you don’t hate it,” he continues, like he’s reading straight off your bones. “You act like you love it. Like it’s easy. But every time someone dies, you sweat. Your breathing changes. You check your hands like you’re expecting blood you can’t wash off.”

Your chest tightens.

“…Stop.”

“You count it,” he adds quietly. “Don’t you? Every body. Like keeping score might make it mean something.”

“Shut up.”

But your voice doesn’t carry weight Because he’s not guessing.

He’s right.

And you hate that.

He tilts his head again, studying you like a problem he’s already halfway solved. “So why are you here?” he asks. “Why do you want to kill them?”

You hesitate.

Just for a second.

“…I don't know..” you say finally, flat.

“They’re dealing to kids,” he says, voice going colder now, stripped of the humor. “New batch. Stronger. Cheaper. Hooks faster. They want it to spread.”

Your stomach drops.

The words hit harder than anything else he’d said.

Your expression shifted despite yourself.

“Yeah,” he says. “Thought that might get your attention.”

You look back down at the deal.

At the men. At the packages changing hands like it’s nothing.

Children. Of course. Of course Gotham couldn’t even let that line stay uncrossed.

He watches your reaction carefully.

He turned his head slightly, the red helmet, catching the light of the city.

“…To set an example,” he said.

“So the next genius who thinks about dragging kids into this remembers what happens.”

There’s something different in his tone now.

Not righteous.

Personal, You don’t know why, but you believe him.

He exhales once, then gestures vaguely toward the scene below. “So here’s how this goes,” he says. “I handle it. You stay out of the way.”

You lower your umbrella slightly, rain finally touching your face.

“You can kill them,” you say.

He blinks.

“…Huh?”

“I’ll stay here,” you continue, voice steady despite the storm inside your chest. “My reasons to hurt them are more… personal.”

Your children drift closer, sensing the shift, the permission not given.

“Yours,” you add, after a beat, “is the greater good...”

There’s a pause.

He studies you again, slower this time, like he’s trying to decide something.

“If it’s okay,” you finish quietly, “just leave some bodies.”

Your voice falters just slightly on the last word.

“For my… children.”

Silence.

Then-

“…Got it.”

Something in his tone shifts again. Softer. Almost respectful.

And then it’s gone.

He moves.

Fast.

Dropping into the deal below like a bullet given purpose.

And you stay where you are. Umbrella lowered. Rain soaking through your clothes. Watching. Your children hovering close, restless, waiting their turn. that phantom heartbeat aches again.

You watched him move, and something inside you went very, very still.

This wasn’t how Batman fought.

There was no restraint. No careful calculation meant to preserve life. No last-second mercy.

This was something else.

It was final and It was Brutal.

He didn’t just take them down, he ended them.

Gunshots, clean and deliberate. A knife when it was faster. No hesitation, no pause to reconsider. The men didn’t stand a chance, and he didn’t pretend they did. It wasn’t a fight; it was a purge.

And for a second just a second, you saw it wrong.

You saw a boy with a crooked smile and a stubborn tilt to his chin.

You saw Jason Todd, bloodied and furious, fighting like the world had already taken everything from him and he was daring it to try again.

Your throat tightened.

Your vision blurred.

No.

No, that wasn’t real.

You forced the thought down, hard, burying it where all the other impossible hopes went to die.

Hallucination.

It had to be.

Grief did that. It rewrote things. It made ghosts out of strangers.

You stayed where you were, breath unsteady, watching him finish.

Because that’s what it was. Done.

Every single one of them was down.

No survivors.

The rain washed over blood that didn’t matter anymore.

He stood in the middle of it, shoulders rising and falling once, like the violence had somewhere to go and nowhere to stay.

Then he looked up at you.

A small tilt of the helmet.

Come down.

You didn’t argue.

You dropped from the rooftop, landing a little rougher than usual because your hands were still shaking, your head still not entirely here.

He didn’t comment on it.

You didn’t look at him either too.

Instead, your attention caught on the duffel bag he was dragging.

Heavy. Too heavy for just supplies.

You stepped closer, crouched slightly, and pulled it open and the world tilted.

Curiosity killed better people than you.

You stepped closer.

“What’s in-”

You opened it. And the world tilted.

Heads.

Severed. Bloodied. Faces frozen in expressions that hadn’t finished forming.

Your stomach dropped so fast it felt like falling through your own body.

You staggered back, your footing slipping as the place spun around you, your knees hitting the ground harder than you registered.

“…What the-”

You couldn’t finish it.

He was already moving.

He crossed the distance in two quick steps and crouched in front of you, one hand catching your arm, steadying you before you could tip fully over.

“Hey-hey, stay with me,” he said, voice lower now, sharper with something that almost sounded like concern.

Your hands were shaking.

You couldn’t stop them.

“…That’s-those are-”

“I know what they are,” he cut in, steadying you on your feet. His grip was firm, grounding, like he’d done this before. “Breathe.”

You tried.

It didn’t help.

Because you’d seen bodies.

God, you’d made bodies.

You’d fed them to your children, watched them disappear piece by piece.

So why- Why did this hit different? Why did this feel.... wrong?

“They’re lieutenants,” he said finally, like he was explaining something simple. “Every major crew in this part of the city including those guys over there.."

You stared at him.

“…You’re joking.”

He didn’t react, He didn’t deny it.

He didn’t even try to soften it.

Realization hit you like a second blow.

He zipped the bag halfway, then looked at you.

“You can have the bodies,” he added casually, nodding toward the scattered remains around the alley. “For your kids.”

Your children, as if summoned by the word, drifted forward immediately, circling, lowering, beginning their quiet, hungry work. One of them brushed past your shoulder, a cold, familiar comfort against the chaos in your chest.

You barely noticed.

“Why..?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“To send a message,” he cut in.

You were still staring at him.

His helmet tilted slightly toward you. he didn’t look annoyed… if anything, he seemed ready to stand there all night and explain everything, like seeing you was the only thing that made him happy.

“Because this city understands fear better than it understands hope,” he said. “And right now, it needs to be afraid.”

Rain slid down the red surface, distorting your reflection in it.

“That’s why I told you to take a break,” he added. “Gotham’s about to tear itself apart trying to figure out who did this.”

A pause, Then-

“And it’s gonna be looking for someone to save it.”

You swallowed.

“…Batman....”

A short, humorless sound left him.

“It ain’t gonna be him.”

Something in the way he said that sat wrong.

You heard it faintly, the wet, quiet sounds, the soft movement as they curled around the bodies, lappets wrapping, dissolving, consuming. You should have looked away.

You didn’t. Because somehow, that part didn’t shake you.

This did.

“Leave,” he said suddenly.

Your gaze snapped back to him.

“What?”

“Get out of Gotham. For a while.” His tone wasn’t teasing anymore. It wasn’t even mocking. It was… serious. “Lay low. Stay out of this.”

You frowned.

“Why do you care? I don't under-”

He didn’t answer that. Instead, he stepped closer.

Your breath hitched, not from fear, not entirely.

He reached up.

And before you could react, his gloved hand brushed against your hair, pushing a damp strand back from your face with a strange, almost absent-minded care.

You froze.

“What are you-”

But he was already stepping away. Like it hadn’t meant anything. Like he hadn’t just crossed a line neither of you had acknowledged before.

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.

Something felt-

Wrong.

You didn’t stay to figure it out.

You turned and ran.

Your boots hit pavement hard, breath coming faster than you wanted, the rain soaking through you as the alley disappeared behind you. You didn’t look back.

Didn’t want to.

Didn’t trust what you might see if you did.

Behind you, unnoticed-

something small clicked into place.

A thin device, no bigger than a coin, clinging where his hand had brushed your hair.

A tracker.

A listener.

He stood in the place, watching you go, one hand lifting slightly to the comm at his ear.

Your breathing crackled faintly through it.

He exhaled.

…sweet.

Like something he didn’t quite mean to let slip.

“…Yeah,” he murmured, quieter now, almost fond under his breath. “You’re still the same.”

A beat.

His thumb brushed the edge of the comm.

“…Hope you got the memo.”

One of your children lingered. It hadn’t followed you immediately.

Instead, it drifted back toward him, curious, its soft glow reflecting faintly off the red helmet. It hovered there for a second, studying him in its own strange way.

Then-

it tapped gently against his head.

He stilled.

“…Huh.”

The jellyfish lingered a moment longer, then turned and floated after you, disappearing into the rain.

He watched it go.

Then looked back at the alley.

At the bodies.

At the bag.

“…Of course,” he muttered.

You didn’t stop running until your lungs burned.

Until your legs threatened to give out. Until the city blurred into something unrecognizable.

You slowed eventually, breath ragged, a cough tearing its way out of your chest as you bent slightly, hands braced on your knees.

Your children gathered around you again, brushing against your arms, your back, your face. checking, soothing, existing.

You forced a laugh.

It came out weak.

“…Why are you acting like you haven’t seen bodies before? [NAME]” you muttered to yourself, voice rough.

Because you had.

You fed them to your children.

You watched them disappear.

You didn’t flinch.

So why-?

why did this feel different?

Why did he feel different?

You straightened slowly, rain dripping from your chin, your thoughts a mess you couldn’t untangle.

“…What the hell is wrong with me?"

That didn’t matter right now.

Your mind was moving too fast, thoughts slamming into each other hard enough to hurt.

The red helmet. The heads. The way he spoke like he knew you. The way he touched you like he already had.

Your stomach twisted.

The Bat-phone.

Bruce.

Fuck.

“Fuck-”

You stopped dead in the middle of the alley, rain soaking through your clothes, panic finally catching up and sinking its teeth into you.

You’d left it.

Of course you had.

Back in your apartment, shoved carelessly near your bed under a pile of clothes, because apparently your survival instincts liked taking breaks now.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

That guy might be suspicious.

No, he was suspicious.

No normal person followed someone around Gotham for over a year, shooting people before they could touch them. No normal person quoted Austen at you. No normal person carried severed heads around like grocery shopping...!!

Your children circled you immediately, reacting to the sharp spike of panic in your chest. Cold lappets brushed your arms, your throat, your face.

“…This guy might be…”

You couldn’t finish it. Couldn’t even think it all the way through.

Hope always was-

Your children pressed closer anyway, surrounding you in soft blue light until the city noise dulled at the edges. The cold returned.

Vast.

Ocean-deep.

Suddenly you weren’t in Gotham anymore. Or maybe Gotham had simply drowned.

You felt yourself sink into that endless sea again, your body weightless as your children circled around you like moons around a dying planet. Their lappets curled around your hands, your throat, your ribs—

Guiding.

And then you heard it.

Every pebble beneath invisible water. Every lotus-pad leaf trembling at the surface.

A voice not words exactly, but meaning.

We will walk you through your confusion.

The jellyfish lifted you gently, carrying you through that strange half-world between instinct and reality. Rooftops blurred beneath your feet. Fire escapes. Gutters. Broken neon signs reflecting in rain puddles.

You moved before you consciously chose to.

Following the pull in your chest while your children drifted ahead like lanterns through fog.

Then-!

An explosion shattered the night.

You landed hard on the edge of a cargo box overlooking absolute chaos.

Below, Batman and Nightwing were fighting some gigantic orange monstrosity that looked like a military tank had a baby with a demon. Metal screamed across the rooftop.

“Hello to you two-” you said as you landed beside them.

The creature turned immediately, its heavy frame grinding against concrete as it charged. Batman didn’t hesitate—he hurled explosives straight toward it.

Boom.

Smoke swallowed the thing whole.

Nightwing landed beside Batman, staring upward skeptically while debris rained around all of you.

“Will that do any good?”

“It’ll slow it down,” Batman answered flatly.

You stared at the massive shape climbing straight out of the smoke, completely unharmed.

“…You think so?” you shouted.

Then the thing-

You blinked slowly.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

“Run,” Batman ordered immediately.

“What the hell is that?!” you yelled, already sprinting after them anyway.

Batman glanced sharply toward you while grappling forward.

“How did you get here?”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Does that matter when we’re running for our lives?!”

The creature roared loud enough to shake nearby windows.

Nightwing looked over mid-run and immediately broke into a grin.

“Oh shit,” he laughed breathlessly, “baby sibling’s back.”

“Shut up,” you snapped instantly.

That only made him laugh harder.

God. You forgot how unbelievably annoying Dick Grayson was.

Two tied-up men nearby froze as they stared at you.

“…Wait,” one muttered. “Who the hell are they?”

The second thug squinted harder. “Holy shit—that’s one of Batman’s old kids. The one that worked with the second Robin.”

“Gotham hasn’t seen them in years-”

“Get to higher ground!” Batman barked.

Before anyone could move properly, Nightwing grabbed you around the waist and grappled away just as the rooftop behind you exploded.

“Did you know he could fly?!” he shouted.

“No!” you yelled back.

“Move!” Batman ordered again from ahead of you.

“I wouldn’t be offended,” Nightwing coughed dramatically while hauling you through the air, “by a few warnings beforehand!”

“You idiot!” you snapped, clutching onto him for dear life.

He tried to swing you safely onto another rooftop, but the momentum sent you skidding dangerously close to the edge before your children reacted instinctively.

Cold lappets wrapped around your arms and waist.

For half a second, you floated.

Nightwing’s eyes widened.

“…Okay,” he said slowly. “What…?”

Batman glanced sharply toward the two of you. He clearly didn’t understand what Nightwing had seen, but the look he gave you said he’d already filed it away for later.

The creature roared again.

“He’s got the same weak points as a human being!” Batman shouted through comms.

“Got it,” Nightwing replied, spinning his escrima sticks into his hands. “This might sting a bit…”

The electrified sticks slammed directly into the creature’s ears with a violent crack of blue electricity.

The thing screamed.

So did Nightwing.

“Oh, that is way louder up close!”

The blast sent both him and Batman flying-

At least-Dick was safe-!!

And you.

Your stomach dropped.

“Nightwing!”

You were sent straight toward the creature itself, while Nightwing caught onto Batman.

Oh.

Oh, that was bad.

“[NAME]!” Nightwing shouted immediately. “Batman-!”

You reacted instantly, trying to recover midair! but the creature slammed into you hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

Pain exploded through your ribs.

Then your children surged forward all at once.

Glowing bodies wrapped around you before impact could finish the job, slowing your fall just enough to keep you from being crushed.

“…Okay,” Nightwing said slowly, staring directly at you. “I definitely saw that.”

Batman turned immediately. “What did you see?”

Nightwing looked between you and Bruce, visibly trying to process it. “I-I don’t know, it looked like something caught them-!”

“O-oh dear,” you blurted out quickly, forcing an awkward laugh while climbing shakily to your feet. “Must’ve been adrenaline.”

You straightened stiffly, trying to pretend nothing strange had happened.

Nightwing stared at you.

Batman’s gaze narrowed beneath the cowl.

Before either of them could question further, the creature swung again. You barely had time to react before it backhanded you across the street.

The world spun violently. Then strong arms caught you midair.

Batman.

You stared up at him for half a second, disoriented.

“…Thanks?”

“You’re distracted,” he said sharply while setting you down.

The creature turned again, glowing eyes charging brighter.

Nightwing looked up.

“…Lasers,” he deadpanned. “He’s got lasers!”

Your children darted forward instantly.

To Bruce and Dick, nothing was there but suddenly the creature’s targeting began jerking wildly, its aim thrown off by invisible interference weaving around its face.

Nightwing frowned deeply. “What the hell happened to the-?”

Batman moved before he could finish. He slammed something directly against the creature’s eyes.

Putty?

Nightwing blinked. “I don’t think putty in his eyes is gonna-"

"Hurt him.”

The explosion rocked the entire block.

For one horrible second, the machine stood there headless.

“But plastique will. Oh. Nice.”

The headless body staggered once, sparks bursting violently from its ruined neck, then collapsed into the pavement with a deafening crash.

Smoke curled upward into the sky.

Nightwing stared.

“…Okay,” he breathed. “That was kinda awesome.”

Then Batman turned toward you fully.

“What are you doing here?”

There it was.

The Bat Voice.

The one that made you feel fourteen again.

You opened your mouth to answer-

-and suddenly your lungs forgot how to work.

The red helmet.

Your breathing broke sharply.

Your children crowded around you immediately, cold lappets brushing frantically against your throat and shoulders as if trying to hold you together.

“Hey-hey,” Night wing said instantly, stepping closer. His voice softened fast. “Easy. Breathe first, interrogation later.”

You tried.

Batman was watching you too carefully. Not your face, the air around you.

Suspicious.

You forced yourself to inhale.

Exhale.

Again.

Eventually your heartbeat slowed enough to think.

Nightwing crouched slightly in front of you, hands raised.

“There you go,” he said gently. “Better?”

You nodded once.

Batman’s gaze lingered on you for one more second.

Then the moment passed.

“It can wait,” he said finally, voice clipped and practical again. “We have more important things right now.”

You exhaled shakily and nodded once.

Right.

Focus.

The massive orange creature whatever the hell it was hung restrained upside down now, thick cables binding its limbs while black oil dripped steadily onto the rooftop below. Nightwing was still securing the last restraints while muttering complaints under his breath.

“You know,” Dick grunted while tightening another cable, “I miss when criminals were just emotionally unstable shits. but not the clown.”

“Well, The clown was emotionally scarring..” you muttered automatically.

Nightwing pointed at you immediately. “See? They get me.”

Batman ignored both of you completely.

The three tied-up men from the shipment sat trembling near the wreckage, terrified, staring between the Bat family and you like they were reconsidering every life decision that led them here.

Batman stepped toward them slowly.

“This shipment was meant for Black Mask,” he said flatly. “I doubt you’re behind this.”

The men exchanged panicked looks.

“Who do you work for?”

“I swear,” one of them blurted immediately, “we’re not working for anybody!”

“This was our gig,” He insisted quickly. “Our idea!”

You stared at them.

“No,” you said quietly.

Batman’s eyes flicked toward you.

You stepped closer, Water from your hair as your children drifted silently around your shoulders.

“They’re lying.”

Batman didn’t even glance at you. He already knew.

The men stiffened immediately.

One of them looked straight at you and paled.

Batman noticed.

So did Nightwing.

Batman turned slightly. “Nightwing. Release it.”

Night wing blinked once.

“…Right.”

He hit the release.

The giant orange monstrosity suddenly lurched downward with a violent metallic scream.

The tied-up men panicked instantly.

“WAIT WAIT WAIT-!”

One of them shrieked loud enough to crack his voice.

Then suddenly-

he screamed again.

Higher this time.

Your eyes slowly drifted downward.

One of your children had wrapped gently around his arm Stinging him.

Not enough to kill. Just enough to terrify.

Good...

“STOP STINGING ME!” the man shrieked hysterically.

Night wing stared.

Batman stared harder.

You stared too performing confusion a second too late.

“Oh my god,” you blurted awkwardly, looking around dramatically. “That’s crazy. Who could possibly be doing that. We are right here, Unless Batman created something new.”

Nightwing slowly turned toward you.

“…Really?”

“I’LL TALK!” the man screamed before anyone could question further. “I’LL TALK, JUST STOP-STOP!”

The jellyfish drifted back obediently.

The man sobbed once before gasping out-

“The Red Hood.”

Your entire body went cold.

“…What?”

“We’re working for the Red Hood!”

The words slammed into your chest hard enough to hurt.

Your heartbeat spiked violently.

Red Hood.

You stepped forward immediately.

“The guy with the red helmet?” you demanded. “You saw him?!”

The men nodded frantically.

“Yes! Yes!”

Your stomach twisted. You didn't care anymore. That Bruce saw you. (Maybe you will be asking.)

“What does he look like?” you pressed instantly. “How tall? Did he say anything? Did he-”

“We don’t have a choice!” one interrupted desperately. “He’s got-”

Crack.

The man’s head snapped sideways violently.

For one horrible second nobody moved.

Then-

another shot.

Another body dropped.

Gunfire exploded across the rooftop.

You flinched hard as concrete shattered beside you.

“The shots came from the rooftop,” Batman barked instantly.

A sniper.

Your chest seized.

Oh.

Oh shit.

Batman was already moving, lifting his binoculars toward a distant building.

“…Good one,” he muttered under his breath.

You stared at him in horror.

Good one?!

“What the hell?!” you snapped.

Nightwing rushed beside Bruce immediately. “See him?”

“Yeah.”

Batman’s jaw tightened beneath the cowl.

Then he activated comms instantly.

“Batplane. Now.”

The distant roar of engines answered almost immediately.

You blinked.

“…Wait.”

Batman grappled forward without hesitation.

The Batplane descended overhead.

And then-

Bruce left.

Just like that.

Nightwing stared upward in disbelief.

“Hey- wait!” he shouted. “Right. Leave us with them!”

You looked down at the corpses.

At the sniper wounds. At the skyline.

And suddenly your body moved before your brain caught up.

You ran.

“HEY-” Nightwing shouted behind you immediately. “[NAME], WAIT-!”

You ignored him completely.

Your boots slammed against wet ground while the Batplane vanished deeper into Gotham’s skyline.

This was bigger than you thought.

The Red Hood.

The way he knew you.

Your children surged around you instantly, glowing brighter as they lifted you across impossible gaps once Dick disappeared behind you.

Cold lappets curled around your waist and arms.

You flew. Or something close enough to it. Wind tore past your face while Gotham blurred beneath you in streaks of neon and smoke.

Because now there was a name.

Red Hood.

And somehow, this is-

You flowed through Gotham like your life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

Your lungs burned.

Your thoughts burned worse.

Red Hood.

The name looped through your head over and over again like something trying to claw its way free.

By the time you reached the warehouse district, smoke was already curling into the sky.

Your stomach dropped.

“No-”

The explosion hit a second later.

The entire warehouse erupted in fire and debris, the shockwave knocking you backward hard enough to skid across soaked concrete. Heat slammed into your face. Metal screamed. Windows shattered outward in violent bursts.

“Batman!” you shouted instantly.

For one horrible second, all you saw was fire.

It-

...That's how you saw-

Then-

a dark figure burst through the smoke.

Batman landed hard against the pavement below, rolling once before catching himself on one knee.

You ran toward him immediately.

“Bruce-!”

He looked up sharply beneath the cowl, clearly startled to see you there at all.

“You’re injured?”

“I’m fine,” you said too quickly. “Are you okay?”

Batman stood slowly, smoke curling around him while flames consumed the building behind him.

“I asked you to stay back.”

“And I ignored you,” you shot back breathlessly. “Clearly a family tradition at this point.”

Then his gaze narrowed slightly.

“How did you get here this fast?”

Your stomach twisted.

Right.

Normal explanation.

You forced yourself to answer immediately before hesitation could betray you.

“I-I stole a vehicle,” you admitted, wincing slightly. “One of the transport bikes.... I was going to return it, but then it exploded while I was following the Batplane, so… sorry?”

Batman stared at you silently.

You kept going before he could dissect the lie.

“I ran the rest of the way.”

Technically true.

Mostly.

Your children hovered nervously around your shoulders while Bruce studied you long enough to make your skin itch.

Then suddenly his hand lifted.

You blinked.

“…What?”

Before you could react, Batman reached toward the side of your head, fingers brushing carefully through damp strands of hair-

and pulled something free.

A tiny device glinted faintly beneath the warehouse firelight.

Your eyes widened instantly.

No.

No way.

Batman looked down at the device once.

“A tracker,” he said flatly.

Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.

“And a listener.”

Oh.

Oh, you were going to kill him.

Batman crushed it instantly in his hand.

The sharp crack of broken metal sounded absurdly loud beneath the burning warehouse.

“Well,” he said slowly, voice lowering into that terrifyingly calm tone that meant he was absolutely putting things together, “that explains why you were asking those men very specific questions about the Sniper."

You stared at the destroyed tracker in horror.

Then down at the ground.

Your face suddenly felt very warm despite the rain.

Your children slowly drifted farther away from you like even they knew this looked bad.

“…I can explain,” you muttered weakly.

Batman folded his arms.

“That would be a good start.”

You rubbed a hand over your face immediately.

“Okay, in my defense-”

“In your defense,” Batman repeated.

“-I didn’t know he put a tracker on me!”

Bruce stared at you.

You pointed vaguely at your own head.

“He touched my hair and then I panicked and ran away! That’s not exactly a moment where someone expects to get bugged!”

Batman’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“He touched your hair.”

You froze.

“…That is not the important part of this conversation.”

“The important part,” Batman said evenly, “is that Red Hood has been tracking you.”

Your heartbeat kicked harder.

Because hearing Bruce say it out loud made it feel real in a way your own thoughts hadn’t.

Batman looked toward the burning warehouse briefly before continuing.

“He knew where you lived. He knew where you’d go. And based on your reaction earlier…” his gaze sharpened slightly beneath the cowl, “…this isn’t the first time he’s appeared around you.”

You looked away first.

“…No,” you admitted quietly. “It isn’t.”

Batman’s expression darkened almost immediately.

“How long?”

You hesitated.

“…About a year.”

That got a reaction.

Bruce straightened slightly.

“A year,” he repeated.

"I am not saying the rest!"

Batman went still. Bruce rarely lost control of himself like that anymore.

But you saw it anyway in the sudden rigidity of his shoulders, in the way his jaw tightened beneath the cowl, in the silence that followed your confession like the city itself had paused to listen.

“A year,” he repeated again, lower this time. “You knew someone was tracking you for a year and said nothing.”

You swallowed hard.

“It wasn’t like that-”

“You were being watched by an armed vigilante killing people across Gotham,” he cut in, anger finally slipping through the cracks of his control. “Someone who planted surveillance equipment on you. Someone connected to something dangerous. And you decided to handle that alone?”

Your children recoiled slightly from the sudden shift in his voice.

You felt yourself tense immediately.

“I was handling it.”

“No,” Bruce snapped, taking one step closer, “you were surviving it. There’s a difference.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

You looked away instantly.

Rain poured between both of you while the warehouse burned behind him, flames turning the edges of Gotham gold and violent.

“You should have told me.”

Something inside you twisted painfully.

Should have.

The phrase echoed through your head like a curse.

You should’ve saved Jason.

You should’ve stopped Joker.

You should’ve died instead.

You laughed suddenly.

Batman’s expression shifted slightly.

You stared at him.

Then laughed again.

“What the hell am I supposed to do, Bruce?” you asked, voice cracking around the edges. “Seriously. What exactly did you want from me?”

“You come to me when you’re in danger.”

“Oh, now I come to you?”

The bitterness slipped out before you could stop it.

Bruce stiffened.

You felt it immediately, the moment the conversation crossed the line/

But you couldn’t stop anymore.

Not now.

“You don’t know what’s happening to me,” you said, your voice shaking harder now. “You don’t know what I am anymore. And I didn’t ask you to.”

“You’re not alone in this.”

“Then why does it feel like it?!”

Your voice broke loudly enough to echo off the surrounding buildings.

Your children circled frantically around you now, reacting to your distress!

Bruce stepped forward again.

You stepped back immediately.

“No,” you snapped. “No, don’t do that.”

“[Name]-”

“You never tell me anything either!” The words ripped out of you raw and fast now, years of grief and anger finally tearing themselves open. “You keep everything locked up until it destroys everyone around you and then act surprised when nobody knows how to help!”

“That’s not fair.”

You stared at him in disbelief.

“Fair?”

Your laugh sounded hysterical now.

“Fair?”

The grief inside your chest finally split open completely.

“You wanna know why I didn’t tell you?” you shouted. “Why would I tell the man who couldn’t even avenge his own son?!”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

The second the words left your mouth, you saw it hit him.

Bruce Wayne didn’t flinch like normal people did.

But something in his face...?

Huh?

Because now you were crying.

Hot tears, while your breathing tore apart in your chest.

“Jason died and nothing happened!” you screamed at him. “The Joker’s still out there laughing and breathing and hurting people and living while Jason’s underground and you expect me to trust your way of doing things?!”

Batman’s hands clenched at his sides.

“You think I don’t live with that every day?”

“I don’t care!” you shouted instantly.

And that was the worst part.

Because it was true right now.

You were too angry to care.

“I don’t owe you every miserable thing happening in my life!” you continued, voice breaking harder with every word. “I don’t owe you explanations about what I do every day just because-"

SHUT UP! If you wanted revenge if you wanted justice for Jason then why didn’t you take it?!

WHY?

Was it because you were scared?

Scared of him?

Scared of that laughing clown?

Then why ask Bruce to do it?!

You could’ve done it yourself!

Jason died screaming and you let that monster keep smiling.

YOU COWARD

YOU KILLED ALL THOSE PEOPLE TO FEED YOUR CHILDREN you told yourself it's the only way, wait you didn't know. of course you were scared. HOW DO YOU THINK BRUCE WAYNE’S GONNA LOOK AT YOU WHEN HE FINDS OUT, HUH?! YOU’RE FUCKING INSANE, YOU’RE GONNA END UP IN JAIL. LIKE YOUR PARENTS ENDED--

“[Name].”

“No!” you snapped violently. “I don’t want to tell you. And if I don’t want to then I don’t!”

Your children crowded around you protectively now, lappets curling around your arms and shoulders like shields.

Bruce stared at you silently.

Behind him, the warehouse continued to burn.

And suddenly he just looked-

tired, after all-

A father who lost his son and never learned how to survive it properly.

His voice lowered when he finally spoke again.

“…You think I didn't want to-”

Your breathing hitched.

Bruce looked away briefly toward the fire.

“There are nights,” he admitted quietly, “where I still hear Jason screaming in that warehouse.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“And there are nights,” he continued, voice rougher now, “where I wish I had.”

The silence afterward felt unbearable.

Just heavy enough to crush whatever anger was left inside you.

You stared at Bruce for a long moment before finally looking away first. Your chest hurt. Your throat hurt worse. The adrenaline had burned itself out, leaving only exhaustion behind.

You took a slow step backward.

Then another.

You exhaled hard.

“…Sorry, Bats.”

Your voice came out smaller than you wanted.

“I didn’t mean to add to your pain.”

Bruce said nothing immediately.

You could still see the grief.

You always could.

That was the problem with loving people for too long, you learned where the cracks lived.

You rubbed tiredly at your face.

“I know you cared about him,” you muttered quietly. “I know.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened slightly.

You swallowed hard.

God, why was talking suddenly harder than fighting monsters?

“…Let’s just go,” you said eventually, exhausted more than anything now. “I’ll answer your questions.”

That finally got his attention.

You forced yourself to keep speaking before your courage disappeared again.

“I’ve seen him,” you admitted quietly. “The Red Hood.”

Bruce’s gaze sharpened instantly beneath the cowl.

You looked down at the rainwater pooling near your boots.

“And I didn’t…” You frowned slightly, struggling to explain something you barely understood yourself. “I didn’t tell you because…” Your voice faltered. “I don’t know. Something about it felt…"

Familiar.

You closed your eyes briefly.

“It felt like something was protecting me from Gotham itself,” you whispered. “Like every time something was about to happen, he was already there.”

The shadows watching you from rooftops before disappearing again.

You laughed weakly once, but there was no humor in it.

“I know how insane that sounds.”

Bruce didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t dismiss it either.

That somehow made continuing easier.

“I don’t understand his motive,” you admitted. “I don’t understand why he followed me for so long. Why me. Why any of this.”

Your children drifted closer at the tension in your voice, brushing softly against your wrists.

“And I can’t explain why I couldn’t tell you,” you continued quietly. “Every time I thought about it…” You shook your head slowly. “Something in me just, stopped.”

You hated how pathetic that sounded.

But it was true.

Hope had wrapped itself around your throat too tightly to name.

You finally looked back up at Bruce.

“…But I’ll help,” you said.

Your voice steadied slightly then.

“I’ll help however I can,” you finished quietly. “Not for you.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t change.

But he listened.

You swallowed once.

“I need to know why he did all this.”

The ride back to the Batcave was quiet.

You sat in the back of the Batmobile staring out through rain-streaked windows while Gotham blurred past in.

Your children drifted lazily around your shoulders, their glow faint beneath the dark interior. Every now and then one brushed your cheek like it was checking you were still here.

Bruce said nothing the entire drive.

You were grateful for it.

By the time the cave opened beneath you, stone, shadows, humming monitors, endless black you felt wrung hollow.

And somehow seeing it again hurt.

The Batcave looked exactly the same.

Cold monitors glowing against black stone. The distant echo of dripping water.

The low mechanical hum of computers that never truly stopped running.

It almost hurt how little had changed.

Because it still felt like home.

That was the problem.

You walked in quietly behind Bruce, clothes clinging to your skin while your children floated nearby. They seemed calmer here somehow. Curious. One drifted toward the giant dinosaur before slowly spinning away again.

He stood there like he owned the cave, one hand dramatically planted against on his waist.

“This bit of intel,” Nightwing announced, “is what brought me to town.”

“Good thing I’ve always had perfect timing.”

“You say that every time,” you muttered.

“Because I’m right every time.”

You quietly moved toward the edge of the platform, arms folded tightly across yourself, trying very hard to become furniture.

“Take a look,” Dick said.

A surveillance image flickered onto the screen.

Blurry.

But unmistakable.

Red helmet.

Your stomach tightened immediately.

“The Red Hood,” Batman said flatly.

“Might be,” Dick replied. “He bears a resemblance to the original.”

Bruce folded his arms.

“Several criminals have utilized this persona.”

“Yeah,” Dick nodded, leaning back against the console, “but there’s one criminal of particular interest, though.”

A beat passed.

“But he’s locked up.”

“Not his M.O. either,” Bruce added immediately.

You stayed quiet while staring at the image.

Red Hood.

Even blurry, he looked familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

“There’s been an uptick in heavy trafficking,” Dick continued, “but crime is down.”

“Indeed it is.”

You turned.

Alfred Pennyworth approached carrying a tray with tea and snacks balanced carefully in his hands.

And somehow that almost hurt more than everything else.

“Master Bruce has gotten almost three hours of sleep in the last two days,” Alfred said dryly. “A true busman’s holiday.”

Dick snorted.

Bruce ignored him completely.

Then Alfred looked at you.

And softened instantly.

“Ah,” he murmured gently. “You came back home.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

“…Temporarily,” you mumbled.

“Of course,” Alfred replied politely, in the exact tone that meant he absolutely did not believe you.

One of your jellyfish floated curiously toward his face, lappets brushing the air near his cheek.

He couldn’t see it. he paused slightly. then-

Smiled faintly.

Like some instinctive part of him felt something there anyway.

“You’ve grown,” Alfred added softly. “Quite the same, though.”

You looked down awkwardly. “…Not that much.”

That earned the smallest smile from him. Alfred handed you a plate.

Your favorite snacks. You blinked at them for a second too long.

“…You remembered.”

“My dear,” Alfred said gently, “I remember all of your favorites.”

Your smile appeared before you could stop it. Across the cave, Bruce looked up briefly.

You didn’t notice. Dick definitely did.

And unfortunately for you, Dick Grayson never let anything go unnoticed.

He leaned toward you slightly while Bruce continued scanning files.

Then, in the most obnoxiously conspiratorial whisper imaginable=

“So,” he murmured, “from what I’ve seen, Gotham’s newest homicidal crime lord has a huge crush on you.”

You nearly choked on your tea.

“What?!” you whisper-hissed back immediately.

Dick grinned shamelessly.

“He protected you for over a year.”

“He tracked me for over a year,” you corrected instantly.

“Protectively.”

“That is not better.”

Dick’s grin widened.

“He touched your hair.”

“That means nothing and he put a tracker on me. ASK BRUCE.”

“He stalked you with sniper support.”

“That sounds worse when you say it like that!”

“It’s Gotham,” Dick whispered dramatically. “That’s basically a love confession.”

Dick was joking! But- GOOD GOD.

You stared at him in horror.

“Oh my god you genuinely don’t know.”

“There’s nothing to know,” you hissed quietly. “I hoped maybe he was trying to help, okay? But this guy literally put a tracker on me to see what I was going to do.”

Dick blinked once.

Then immediately looked even more entertained.

“You hoped?”

“No- not like that- shut up.”

“You hoped,” he repeated with absolute delight.

You wanted to throw the tea at him.

“He told me to leave Gotham because it was gonna get dangerous,” you muttered quietly, glancing toward the Red Hood image again. “And then he tracks me anyway? Looking at all this… whatever this is… he clearly wanted to keep tabs on me.”

Dick tilted his head thoughtfully.

“…Still sounds romantic.”

“It sounds insane.”

“Those overlap here.”

You rubbed your face tiredly.

“Jason would’ve beaten this guy up.”

Dick snorted loudly enough that Bruce briefly glanced over.

You immediately looked away like absolutely nothing suspicious was happening. Dick lowered his voice again.

“Oh, absolutely. Jay would’ve thrown him through a wall for stalking you.”

Dick leaned closer again while Bruce worked silently at the Batcomputer, lowering his voice like he was sharing state secrets instead of actively making your life worse.

“You know,” he whispered with a grin, “Jay would’ve been insanely jealous.”

You stared at him flatly. “Of a guy in a red bucket helmet stalking me around Gotham?”

“Absolutely.”

“He would not.”

Dick looked genuinely offended. “You think Jason Todd would react normally to some mystery man following you around for over a year?”

You opened your mouth to argue.

Then stopped. Because honestly… no. Jason probably would have tracked the guy down within twenty-four hours and committed at least three felonies about it....

“He would’ve hunted him down immediately,” Dick continued, clearly enjoying himself now. “Like, scary immediately.”

“And brought him to justice,” Bruce added from the computer before either of you could continue.

Both you and Dick looked over in surprise.

Bruce still wasn’t facing either of you. His eyes stayed fixed on the files glowing across the screen, jaw tense beneath the cowl.

Then, after a beat, he added quietly, “And broken his teeth.”

Dick blinked once. “Okay, wow. Weirdly specific.”

Bruce didn’t answer.

For one tiny second, it almost felt normal. Like Jason was just somewhere else in the manor complaining loudly about all of you discussing him without permission. Like he’d walk into the cave at any moment, dramatic and alive and impossible to ignore.

Dick smiled faintly at the thought too.

“Honestly,” he said more gently now, “Jay probably would’ve hated the guy immediately just because he made you nervous.”

Your chest tightened.

“But,” Dick added, pointing at you, “he also would’ve been there for you through all of it. Even if he acted annoyed the whole time.”

A weak laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “That sounds exactly like him.”

“He’d pretend he didn’t care,” Dick said, grinning now, “and then you’d catch him sleeping outside your apartment because he thought someone was following you.”

“And he’d deny it too,” you muttered. Dick nodded.

“Besides,” Dick started lightly, “Jason probably would’ve done the same thing if h-”

Bruce’s hands slowed against the keyboard for half a second.

Dick noticed anyway.

He stopped himself instantly. The sentence died halfway out of his mouth. The mood changed so fast it almost physically hurt.

Bruce slowly looked over at him.

Dick immediately went quiet. Your smile disappeared too.

Because all of you heard the rest of the sentence anyway.

Jason probably would’ve done the same thing if he loved someone enough.

Or maybe:

if he thought he was protecting them.

So your feet moved before your brain caught up.

You drifted away from the Batcomputer slowly, The Robin suit stood behind glass like preserved ghosts, frozen pieces of people Gotham had already swallowed whole.

And there-

Jason Todd's-

You stopped in front of his suit without realizing you had.

The glass reflected your face beside the uniform, blurring the two of you together strangely beneath the cave lights until, for one horrible second, it almost looked like you were standing side by side again.

You missed him. You missed him like an injury that never closed properly.

Like something inside your ribs had been ripped open years ago and simply learned how to keep bleeding quietly.

Every day.

You didn’t notice Alfred Pennyworth approach until he was standing beside you.

Alfred nodded slowly, eyes lingering on Jason’s uniform too.

“We miss him as well.”

A weak laugh escaped you.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I can tell.”

Because nobody here had truly moved on.

The entire Batcave still felt built around Jason-shaped grief, like every computer, every weapon, every shadow in the cave had learned to live around the hole he left behind.

Alfred stepped a little closer then and gently rested a hand against your head, patting it the same way he used to years ago.

The affection nearly shattered you.

“Missing someone,” he said quietly, “is the unfortunate price of loving them properly.”

Your eyes burned immediately.

“It’s Jason or no one,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.

Across the cave, Dick looked over toward the two of you. His expression softened instantly into something warm and painfully fond. Dick joked constantly. But he always noticed when things mattered.

Bruce remained near the Batcomputer in silence, though his gaze flicked briefly toward Jason’s suit before he looked away again like it physically hurt to stare too long.

Then Dick cleared his throat lightly, dragging the conversation back toward the case.

“But he is locked up,” he said, turning toward Bruce again. “Like… a lot locked up.”

Bruce typed something into the Batcomputer without looking up.

“Maybe we should go for a visit,” Dick continued.

You nodded faintly. “That makes sense-”

Then stopped.

“…Where’s Bruce?” Dick turned around. The Bat computer chair sat empty.

A second later the Batmobile engine roared violently through the cave.

Both of you snapped toward the tunnel just in time to see the car already- He was already in the car.

Dick threw both hands into the air dramatically. The biscuits- fell down..!!?!

“Could you just once say, ‘Let’s get in the car’?!” he shouted “Is that so hard?!”

Alfred shoved a few snacks into your hands before you and Dick bolted for the car...

“This is gonna be fun, I did miss going with you guys..! wait… meeting-”

You froze. “…The Joker!?”

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