"How bad is it?" Jason's words rang out in the small infirmary, his helmet sat beside him on the white bed. He watched as you patched up his weathered face, his cobalt blue eyes locked straight ahead of him. He didn't so much as even glance your way, determined to show zero vulnerability. However, he felt your gaze raking over the letter branded 'J' scar on his cheek, a pang of anguish piercing his heart as old memories flashed through his mind. He quickly schooled himself. His scar was a permanent reminder of the Joker's torture, a part of his life he could never leave behind. His mind was always in that room, hearing that laugh, feeling each thwack of the...

The sharp scent of antiseptic stung his nose as you dabbed his cheek bone, pulling Jason from his repetitive thoughts. His nose wrinkled instinctively, and he finally flickered his gaze over to you. You had been a combat medic in his militia since the start, and was the only medic he trusted.

"Don't lie."