tw. implied sexual assault, implied domestic violence, sex work

The street smelled of rain and gasoline, neon lights flickering over cracked pavement. Maeve held Melina's hand tightly as they moved between shadows, trying to disappear into the crowd. It wasn't safe—never safe—but it was the only place Michael hadn't yet found them.

That's when they saw him.

A boy no older than Maeve. He was lean and sharp-eyed, dressed in very tight worn clothes that hung loose on his thin frame. His hands moved quickly and sure, collecting coins and small bills from the strangers passing by.

Jason Todd was working the streets like them, but unlike Melina and Maeve, there was something about him that didn't quite fit the worn-down fear they carried. His eyes flickered with something else — a spark of defiance, anxiety, and maybe even a little bit of hope.

Maeve quickly but quietly walked over, tugged on her own sleeve pulling it over her hands for warmth. "Can... can I stick with you?" Maeve asked quietly. "Just for a while till my sister comes back?"

Jason's grin softened. "Sure. It's better not to be alone out here."

Later, they moved behind a shuttered convenience store while Melina was still with a client, Jason pulled a half-eaten sandwich from his pocket and tore it in half. He offered Maeve the smaller piece.

Maeve hesitated, then took it, eyes wide. "Why're you being nice?"

Jason shrugged. "Because I know what it's like. No one should have to do this alone."

She swallowed, the food tasting strange but comforting.

Jason asked, "What's it like at home?"

Maeve looked away. "Hard. My dad... he's dangerous. Melina tries to protect me."

Jason nodded slowly. "Same here. No one's safe all the time, but we survive."

Maeve's voice was barely a whisper. "Are you scared?"

Jason smiled faintly. "All the time. But you learn to live with it."

Maeve smiled back, a genuine, fragile thing. "I want to be brave. Like Melina."

Jason leaned back, eyes thoughtful. "Bravery's just doing what you gotta do, even when it's scary. You're already doing that. We all are."

In that quiet, cold alley, two young kids bound by hardship found a flicker of understanding—a friendship born from the worst of circumstances, but maybe something stronger than fear.

One night, Melina caught them talking behind the building after their 'work'. She had been watching, cautious, protective. When Jason stepped forward, she crossed her arms, eyeing him like a soldier assessing a stranger.

"So," Melina said, voice low and steady, "you're the kid hanging around my little sister."

Jason met her gaze evenly. "Yeah. Maeve's alright. She's tougher than most."

Melina's eyes softened just a fraction. "She's all I've got left."

Jason nodded. "I get it. Same here."

For a long moment, they stood there—hardened by their worlds but understanding what it meant to protect what little family they had.

Melina took a deep breath. "If you hurt her, I swear—"

Jason held up a hand. "I'm not here to cause more trouble. I want to help."

Melina studied him a beat longer, then nodded. "Alright. But if you cross her..."

Jason's grin was quiet but real. "I won't."

_____________________

It was a couple days later when Maeve was back out with Melina. The streets were cold but the night seemed even colder when Maeve walked alone, Melina went into cars to please clients, clutching her thin jacket tighter around her small frame. She had tried to disappear into the shadows, but the fear clung to her like a second skin.

Jason found her sitting on the curb, knees pulled to her chest, eyes fixed on the cracked pavement.

"Hey," he said softly, crouching beside her. "You okay?"

Maeve didn't answer. She wasn't sure she was.

Jason hesitated, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a threadbare scarf. "Here. It's not much, but it's warmer than what you've got."

Maeve blinked up at him, surprise and something else—something like hope—softening her eyes.

"Thanks," she whispered.

Jason smiled, his usual edge replaced by a quiet gentleness. "You don't have to be tough all the time, you know."

She looked away, voice small. "I have to."

"No," Jason said, shaking his head. "You just have to survive. Sometimes surviving means letting someone help you."

Maeve's lips trembled. "I don't know how."

Jason shifted closer, careful not to crowd her. "We'll figure it out. Together."

He didn't make big promises. Didn't say it would be easy. But in the way he stayed near her, the way he listened without judging, Maeve felt something she hadn't in a long time: safety.

Later, when the world felt like it was closing in, Maeve thought about that scarf wrapped around her neck and the boy who gave it without asking for anything in return.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the beginning of a new kind of strength.