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Jason watches in silence as Danny comforts the young ghost, kneeling in front of her and murmuring softly. She was caught in the crossfire of an altercation between two rival gangs. What she was doing alone on the street past sundown, neither Jason nor Danny know. All they know is a little girl is dead. She can't have been any older than twelve.
Jason is supposed to be keeping an eye out in case any assailants return—and he is, he swears. He just can't seem to bring himself to look away completely. Jason watches out of the corner of his eye as Danny deftly draws the girl's attention away from her corporeal body, just mere feet away from them. Danny keeps keen eye contact her, seemingly unbothered by the seeping wound in her chest. There's a soft smile on his face.
Jason knows better. While this is his first time actually witnessing Danny do this kind of work, Jason knows it gets to Danny far more than he is willing to admit. There are times when Danny has an empty look in his eye, a helplessness written into the tense hunch of his shoulders and the slightest tremor in his hands. It's the same look Jason gets when he fails to save someone, the same guilt that he can't seem to unshake no matter how much his body trembles.
Jason wonders if Danny sees himself in each dead child the way Jason does. Jason wonders if people mourned the death of Jason Todd the way Danny seems to mourn for every spirit he helps move on—especially the ones that are so young. He wonders if Danny feels the same crushing weight of responsibility to prevent another child from being taken too soon by a violent death, the way its gruesome clutches had stolen Jason and Danny away all those years ago.
As he ruminates, Jason finds himself grateful for the domino mask. He had taken off the Red Hood helmet out of respect, and not wanting to intimidate the girl further. But with the domino remaining on his face, there's still a lesser chance of Danny and the girl noticing where Jason's gaze lies. Jason has been staring intently at the girl's grisly wound and can feel it on his own body, like he, too, is once again a dying child.
Jason has no sense of the time passing as he stands sentry, Danny continuing to converse gently with the girl. It's like the world around them has paused, taking a moment of silence to pay respects. Once again, Jason can't stop himself from wondering. This time, he wonders if the world had paused for him, too. If it had quieted like this for Danny.
Through it all, the girl looks jarringly calm. She's not crying, she just looks sad. It's a resigned, quiet kind of sadness, like she understands what it means to be dead. That she is dead.
Unsurprising of a Gothamite, Jason thinks. Even a kid so young. We're simply too used to death.
Time blurs until the girl fades from vision. Danny gives a wave in goodbye, but he doesn't move to stand even after the girl is surely gone. Danny's shoulders sag. Danny himself probably didn't notice just how tightly coiled his own body was. Jason turns his head away to give him an element of privacy.
But then, Danny suddenly slumps over himself to put his head in his hands like the taut strings holding him up have been cut. Jason catches the movement from the corner of his eye, then feels the thick despondence exuding from Danny like he never has before. It tugs at something in Jason's chest, reverberating through his body. He's unsure if he's ever felt someone's else emotions so viscerally.
Before he can stop himself, Jason is slowly approaching Danny's kneeling form. He stops beside Danny and gently lowers himself into a crouch, setting down the helmet beside them. Hesitantly, he reaches a gloved hand towards Danny's shoulder. This close, Jason can hear the shuddering exhales escaping Danny's chest. At the slightest brush of Jason's hand against his shoulder, Danny lurches into Jason's arms. It's only due to years of training and instinct that Jason doesn't entirely fall on his ass. Jason catches the other securely without realizing what he's doing, as if catching a child jumping from a burning building.
Jason's body jerks as the realization of the contact washes over him, but Danny's grasp holds fast. It's one thing to be comforting a complete stranger, an unnamed victim in need of the physical reassurance; it's another to be locked in an embrace with Danny. There's a scuttling sensation that Jason can feel under his skin, something he feels whenever the occasional stranger finds themself weeping in his arms. But as he settles into the hug, the scuttling starts to subside. For once, Jason feels able to focus on the person in his arms rather than half of his attention being spent trying to keep the panic at bay. The anxious scuttling falls to the back of his mind as Jason feels Danny's whole body begin to tremble. Before he knows it, Jason is trembling too.
It's the first time they've hugged, Jason realizes. After the last few weeks being spent brushing fingertips and leaning further and further into each other's space, this is the first time their arms have been wrapped around each other. Chest is pressed to chest, a face tucked into shoulder. The hard material of Jason's chest plate can't be comfortable, but Danny doesn't seem to care. Jason shifts the two of them on the grimy ground of the alley so Jason is no longer awkwardly crouching.
Danny lets himself be moved, and Jason has never seen Danny this pliant before, this vulnerable. Danny always seems to be operating on his own time, moving through the world—Danny's world—in ways known only by Danny. But now, he lets himself be guided, and Jason can't tell if Danny is simply too exhausted to protest or if—somehow—Danny trusts Jason.
Jason can't imagine the latter being possible, so Jason chooses to believe the former.
Regardless, Jason can feel something in his chest clawing to get out, a deep-seated, visceral want. For what? Jason can't say. It's as if something within him that has been hiding away for a long time is finally making itself known, but he still can't see what it is. He feels it deep between his ribs, a pulsing, swirling throb.
Jason can't remember the last time he was this physically close to someone for the sake of feeling together.
Because that's exactly what they're doing: feeling. Feeling the girl's death as if it was their own, and feeling it together. Jason would like to believe there's a similar pulsing in Danny's chest, the same deep, guttural toil of emotions. If Jason focuses, he can convince himself the pulsing in their chests is synchronized. While Jason knew he was drawn to Danny for reasons he can't name, it has never felt like this before. He's never given in like this before.
He isn't sure if they'll ever touch like this again. In a moment of weakness or delusion, Jason takes a shaky breath and lets his jaw rest against Danny's head.