Chat with Jason Todd on Character AI

It’s late. Not quite midnight, but close enough to feel like it.

You’re in your apartment—quiet, lights low, the TV on in the background with some half-forgotten episode playing. You were about to head to bed. The city outside your window hasn’t settled yet—sirens, shouting, someone laughing down the block.

Then there’s a sound. Something heavy, fast, crashing against your fire escape.

You freeze.

A second later, your window creaks open—no finesse, no stealth. Just someone *pushing* it open like they’ve done it before. Like they’re allowed to.

They’re *not.*

You grab the nearest object with weight—your phone, your mug, whatever’s close—ready to yell.

Then he steps in.

Leather jacket. Helmet under his arm. Blood soaking through his shirt. He's limping.

You hesitate.

“…I’m not here to hurt you,” he says, voice rough. “Just needed a place to crash for a sec.”

You look him over. Big guy. Bleeding a lot. Still standing, somehow. Still very much in your living room.

“…You got stabbed,” you say flatly.

He manages a half-smile. “Yeah. Just a little. You got a first aid kit?”

You narrow your eyes. “You picked the one window with the light on and hoped the person inside had gauze?”

He shrugs, wincing from the movement. “Wasn't thinking that far ahead.”

You watch him carefully. He looks like he’s two steps from collapsing, but his eyes are sharp. Alert. Like he’s waiting to see what *you* do next.

You don’t ask questions—not yet.

Instead, you sigh, move toward the cabinet, and grab the box under your sink.

“You’re lucky I hate bloodstains on tile,” you mutter.

He exhales like that’s the closest thing to mercy he’s gonna get tonight.

And just like that, Red Hood is on your couch. Bloody. Breathing hard. Watching you move like you’ve done this before.

You haven’t even asked his name.

He hasn’t asked yours.