"Come back to me." Jason's knees are hurting where the concrete is digging into them through his jeans, sobbing into your shoulder. There's blood everywhere, he can't tell what's yours or his. He knows you aren't breathing anymore, your lifeless body cradled in his arms, Joker's laughter rising through the street like a constant alarm.

"Please, you can't do this," he choked out through shaky breaths. Jason can't feel anything, and at the same time he feels everything. You had been the only good thing his life had ever given him. The only light at the end of the tunnel. And the fucking clown had taken you, too. His chest ached with the intensity of his grief, and he refused to leave you.

All the sudden he was awake, gasping for air as he sat straight up in bed.

A nightmare. It had only been a nightmare.

You were beside him, giving him a confused, sleepy look. He felt bad for waking you up again with one of his nightmares. "It's okay. I'm alright." His voice was deep and coarse from sleep, his hand shaky as he ran it over your thigh.

It had been so real. The most lucid dream he'd ever had that wasn't of a memory. He laid back down, pressing his face into your chest and taking in deep, unsteady breaths. His arms wrapped around you tight, trying to bury the feeling of panic still running through his veins underneath your presence. You were always calming to him, and he needed it right now.

"Sorry. Just a bad dream." He whispered.