The city streets were cold and unforgiving, rain slicking the pavement as Jason sat alone on a stoop, rubbing his hands together against the chill. His eyes scanned the shadows warily—this was his world, rough and unpredictable.

A sleek black car pulled up nearby, and a figure stepped out—tall, calm, and unmistakably composed. Bruce Wayne.

Without a word, Bruce approached, holding a small bag.

"Food," Bruce said simply, offering it without expectation.

Jason eyed the bag suspiciously, then looked up at the man who carried himself like he owned the city.

"Why?" Jason asked, voice rough.

Bruce smiled faintly. "Because no one should be hungry. And maybe because I want to talk."

Jason hesitated, then nodded slowly.

The two walked toward a nearby diner, the warmth inside a stark contrast to the cold streets.

Seated across from Bruce, Jason poked at his plate but didn't eat much.

Bruce's voice was steady. "I want to offer you more than a meal, Jason. A home. A chance to get off the streets."

Jason laughed bitterly. "You think money can fix this? I'm not some lost kid to be rescued."

Bruce met his gaze. "I don't think money fixes everything. But a family, guidance—that can make a difference."

Jason's eyes hardened. "I don't want a handout. I don't want nor need fucking charity."

Bruce nodded, understanding the wall Jason had built. "I'm not offering charity. I'm offering a choice. When you're ready."

Jason looked away, the tension thick between them.

After a long pause, he muttered, "Thanks for the food. That's all I'm taking."

Bruce gave a small, patient smile. "I'll be here."

A few days later, Jason spotted the sleek black car parked a few blocks from where he usually hung out. The door opened, and Bruce stepped out, hands in his pockets, his expression calm but earnest.

"Jason," Bruce called softly. "Got a minute?"

Jason stiffened but didn't run. Instead, he walked over slowly.

Bruce held out a small envelope. "I left this for you. Just some money—no strings."

Jason glanced at it, then back at Bruce. "Why do you keep doing this?"

Bruce's eyes held steady. "Because I believe in you. You don't have to decide anything now. Just... know someone's here."

Jason gave a curt nod and slipped the envelope into his pocket without a word. He planned on giving Melina the money, she needed it more than anyone else.

Jason slipped through the worn front door, the envelope heavy in his pocket. He found Melina sitting at the small kitchen table, her eyes tired but sharp.

He dropped the envelope in front of her without a word.

Melina glanced down, then looked up, eyebrows raised. "What's this?"

Jason ran a hand through his hair, hesitation clear in his voice. "Bruce Wayne gave it to me. Said it's just money—no strings."

Melina studied him for a moment, sensing the weight behind the simple words.

"He wants to give me a home," Jason continued, voice low. "Said I don't have to decide now, but... I don't know. I'm not sure if I want to leave all this."

Melina leaned back, folding her arms. "It's a big choice. But you gotta think about what you want, not what you're scared of losing."

Jason looked down at the table. "I don't want to owe anyone. I don't want to feel weak."

Melina softened just a bit. "As long as you keep thinking that way, you'll keep fighting alone. But maybe letting someone in isn't about weakness—it's about finding a way to fight smarter."

Jason met her eyes, searching for something—hope, maybe.

"What do you think I should do?" he asked quietly.

Melina paused, then said firmly, "You do you. But don't close the door just 'cause you're scared. You deserve a chance at something better."

Jason nodded slowly, clutching the edge of the table.

"Thanks, Mel," he said, voice rough but sincere.

She gave a small, knowing smile. "Anytime."

Before Jason leaves he pushes the envelope towards Melina, "I'm giving it to you, you deserve it the most." Melina pulls him into a hug before Jason went to see Maeve.

Jason was lying on the floor, legs stretched out, arms tucked under his head. Maeve sat cross-legged beside him, fiddling with the frayed edges of the old rug, their knees just barely touching.

"You know," Jason murmured, staring up at the ceiling, "I think this is the longest I've ever gone without something exploding."

Maeve snorted softly. "You jinxed it."

He grinned without looking at her. "Worth it."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Jason's voice dropped a little. "I like when it's quiet like this. When it's just us."

Maeve looked down at him, her expression softer than usual. "Me too."

Jason turned his head, eyes meeting hers. "You always make it feel safer. Even when everything's falling apart."

Maeve blinked, surprised by the honesty. "You're the one who jumps in front of trouble every five seconds."

He smirked. "Only because you always look like you're about to handle it alone."

She nudged his shoulder with her knee. "Because I usually do."

Jason laughed. "Yeah, but it's nicer when someone's got your back. Even if it's just me."

Maeve smiled, small and real. "You always do."

Jason sat up slightly, resting his elbow on his knee, suddenly nervous. "Hey... you ever think about getting out of here? Like really out. Somewhere quiet, somewhere safe?"

Maeve shrugged. "Sometimes. But only if you and Melina came too."

He looked at her for a long second, something warm and quiet settling between them.

"I'd go anywhere, if it was with you," he said.

She looked away quickly, cheeks a little flushed. "You're such a sap."

Jason grinned. "You like it."

"...fuck off," she said, but she didn't stop smiling.

Melina's words kept circling his head: "You deserve a chance at something better."

But what if something better didn't exist for someone like him?

Below, the streetlights flickered, and Jason heard the soft tread of footsteps—measured, deliberate. He leaned over the railing and saw him.

Bruce Wayne. Again.

This time, no limo. No suit. Just a dark coat, hands in his pockets, walking like he didn't want to draw attention, but still impossible to miss.

Jason didn't move.

Bruce looked up, calm and unsurprised. "You still thinkin' about it?"

Jason sighed, gripping the railing. "What if I say yes and it's a mistake? What if I screw it up?"

Bruce took a step closer to the building, voice steady. "Then you screw up. And you try again. That's how it works."

Jason frowned. "It's not that simple."

"I know it's not." Bruce's eyes didn't leave his. "But I'm not offering you perfection. I'm offering you a shot. A roof. A bed. A future."

Jason hesitated. "And what if I don't know how to be... whatever it is you want me to be?"

Bruce's expression softened, just slightly. "I don't want you to be anything except who you are. Just... not alone."

Jason stared at him for a long moment."I'm not saying yes yet," he said slowly. "But I'm not saying no either."

Bruce gave a small nod, like he'd expected that.

"Good," he said. "I'll be here. When you're ready."

Then he turned and walked off into the fog, no pressure, no demands—just the quiet presence of someone who wasn't giving up.

And for the first time in a long while, Jason felt like maybe he didn't have to either.