tw. domestic violence, overdose, minor character death

It was just past midnight when Jason showed up outside the apartment building by the fire escape, his hoodie soaked through from the rain, his knuckles raw and scraped.

Maeve saw him from the window and didn't hesitate. She slipped out the fire escape and ran down the stairs barefoot, heart pounding.

When she reached him, he didn't speak.

He didn't need to.

His eyes said everything—wide and hollow, filled with a grief too big for his small, weathered frame. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Like he'd been running not from someone, but from something inside himself.

"What happened?" Maeve asked, stepping in front of him, already knowing the answer.

Jason opened his mouth, but no words came out. His shoulders trembled, not from the cold, but from everything he was trying not to feel.

Maeve reached for his hand, gently peeling open his fist.

"Jason..." Her voice cracked. "Is it your mom?"

He nodded once. A jerky, broken movement.

"I found her," he whispered. "She was—she overdosed. Alone. In the damn alley behind the liquor store."

Maeve's breath caught, tears rising instantly.

He looked down at her, eyes wet, voice sharp with guilt. "I should've been there. I should've checked on her. She wasn't—she wasn't perfect, but she was mine."

Maeve stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his soaked hoodie, pressing her forehead to his chest.

"You were just a kid," she said quietly. "You were surviving. That's all you could do."

"I let her die."

"No," Maeve said fiercely. "You didn't. She was sick. And you've been carrying the weight of everyone around you like it's your job to save them all. But it's not. You're allowed to hurt. You're allowed to break."

Jason stood frozen for a moment, then his hands came up, clutching her like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

"I don't know what to do without her," he choked.

Maeve, holding him tightly, whispered, "Then don't do it without me."

Maeve hasn't seen Jason in approximately a week. The last time she was with him was when his mother died. She knew it would hit Jason hard, he loved her despite her addiction and how she was hardly ever there for him. She had hoped Jason would let her help him through it. Let her comfort him for once instead of him comforting her.

When Maeve finally caught sight of Jason after a week of disappearance, a week of thinking he had been dead somewhere in Gotham. She was surprised. Jason looked worse than before.

It was rare to see Jason shaken. He wore his toughness like a second skin—always quick with a smart remark, always watching everyone else's back. But tonight, Maeve could see it—the crack in his armor.

They walked to a fire escape behind a building on their working street, the air still and cold, the city humming softly below them. Jason sat hunched over, his elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.

Maeve climbed up it and sat beside him without a word.

He didn't look at her.

"Everything okay?" she asked gently.

Jason gave a humorless laugh. "Yeah. Sure. Just peachy."

She didn't push. Didn't demand he explain. She just waited.

Finally, after a long silence, he said, "Saw my old man tonight. Didn't know he was still around. Thought he might've OD'd or disappeared by now. But of course he had to come back once she's gone."

Maeve stayed quiet, her heart aching for him.

"He didn't even recognize me," Jason continued, voice hollow. "Walked right past me. Like I was just another kid on the sidewalk. Maybe that's all I ever was"Maeve reached out, her hand small but steady as she placed it over his.

"You're not just some kid," she said. "Not to me."

Jason blinked, looking at her for the first time.

"You always show up," she continued. "You share your food. You protect people who don't even ask for it. That's not nothing, Jason."

He looked down, eyes glassy. "I don't know how to be anything else."

"You don't have to," Maeve said softly. "Just... be you. That's enough."

Jason looked at her then—really looked—and for the first time, she saw the scared kid behind the street-smart shell.

Maeve leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. "You don't always have to be strong for everyone. I can be strong for you sometimes too."

Jason exhaled slowly, letting the weight fall off his chest, just a little.

And for that night, under the stars and city haze, they sat in silence—two kids who had lost too much, but found a piece of safety in each other