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He's been doing this for years. He was just thirteen when he first put on the Robin suit. And it was magical.
Being Robin always made Jason feel like he was magic. He was invincible and strong and worthy and enough and important. He had a purpose. For so much of his life, he was the one taking care of his mom and then she died. She died and it left him cold and alone and on the streets. But Robin brought him importance and safety and warmth. Being Robin meant he lived in a home where he was cared for and never asked to care for them. Not that he ever minded caring for his mom because he never did. But it was nice not having to take care of himself, even if he always did anyway. Being Robin gave him freedom and he got to kick ass. He got to go out there and he got to help Batman bring down some of the worst of the worst. He was enough and important. And worthy. But he wasn't invincible. Because the Joker killed him.
He died and that was that. Robin wasn't magic or invincible. Robin was just some kid in a mask and cape. But, then a betrayal to death and fate happened and Jason's alive again. He came back and became Red Hood because the Joker was alive and well, Bruce had a new Robin, and the world left Jason behind.
He came back and it's as if he wasn't even wanted. He became Red Hood for people like him. The ones left behind. The ones Bruce won't help in the way he should. Jason became Red Hood, knowing this life only leads to pain and death, to do what Bruce is too cowardly to do. He became Red Hood to be the voice for all the victims like him. That could have been saved if the hard choices were just made but weren't. He is their voice and their protector. So, he's been doing this for years. And the missions that go south, still never get any easier.
There's a loud thud coming from your window, snapping you from your shallow sleep on the couch. You sit up quickly, your head slightly spinning with the sudden movement and you look over to your window, seeing the reflective red helmet shining back at you in the low light of the city and your apartment.
Jason takes the helmet, a mild quiver to his fingertips. "Sorry." Jason mutters. "Did I wake you?"
You shake your head, moving to your knees so you can get a better look at him. "No, I was just lying down." You lie, knowing he hates waking you up and you hadn't been asleep more than twenty minutes anyway.
"That's good." Jason clears his throat but he hasn't made any attempt to get up off the floor or make direct eye contact with you.
It's all feeling heavy. His head, his eyes, his limps. Everything around him feels like it's starting to close in. The adrenaline is crashing and everything feels like it's about to suck the last breath from his lungs. It all hurts and aches and he usually handles it well, the injuries just come with the territory. He's used to the pain but then nights like tonight happen and everything hurts. Every passed injury is echoing in pain, coming back for vengeance. The autopsy scars burn even though they shouldn't, his face feels numb even though those injuries have been long healed from the pit. Every haunted injury comes back with a shattering echo.
