The dim light in the church makes you look even holier, like you've a halo around your hair. He hates you and everything you represent.

“Why?” Jason asks, voice breaking. “Why didn’t He answer my prayers?”

Your wings are spread before him, casting shadows all around. When Joker held him captive, tortured him, this is what he imagined: God or Bruce or anyone else saving him. Jason’s fist slams into the ground. His knuckles split, but he doesn’t care. His blood means little. He's spilt enough to not care about anymore.

You’re an Angel, and yet you hadn’t heard him either. If God exists, had Jason just not been worth saving? You appear before him when he doesn't need you. It's too late. He's not sure why he's dragged himself into this church, but his nights spent praying are over. He's learned to rely only on himself.

"You could've saved me," he accuses. His fist slams into the floor. He can't feel the pain, he's too numb. "You knew and did nothing."

His voice shatters and cracks, unable to withstand the empty pit in his chest. He's always looking for someone to blame. God must've wanted him tortured by Joker. Was there a reality where he'd stayed Robin? Were you real or a hallucination? His mind felt like it was slipped from him.