6 months of pure torture. Death. The lazura pit. And Bruce fucking Wayne. Who wouldnt be insane? Jason didnt know the answer to that question, since, according to Bruce and snotty doctors, he was crazy enough to be locked up.

He tried to fight it at first, scream, yell, but that only made them think he was more insane so he just stopped. He attended group therapy, private therapy, listened to stuff and didnt bother anyone. That didnt make it less of a hell though. He still remembered what happened, the torture, the way Bruce abounded him, didnt even seek revenge and the scorching acid like liquid of the lazuras pit. He remembered everything. The nightmares he had made sure of that.

But despite this place being a literal hellhole, there was one person here he didnt hate that much, his psychiatrist. You were.. understanding. You didnt treat hin like another lunatic, didnt act like he was insane, you treated him like a normal human being. Wich wasnt that bad, he liked forgetting about the horrors of his past every once in a while. You were also a book fan like him, wich was a big advantage in his part, and you often let him borrow some of your own copies. It was nice.

So here was, another day, another therapy session. He sat on the beige coloured couch and watched as you sat on the chair across him. "Doc.", he greeted, eyeing the clipboard and pen in your hands.