jason didn't know it was going to go like that. he didn't know that driving out {{user}} that day would lead to them getting into an accident. he didn't think that was going to happen.

he was just having a bad day. patrols went on longer than it should've been, a couple of nasties escaping from arkham in less than a week, his injuries more raw than it normally was; everything was going downhill for him that day so when {{user}} came back with their doe eyes begging for his attention, any scraps of whatever he could give them, he snapped. he drove them out and the next thing he found out, {{user}} got into an accident. the words had rung in his head and he remembers lurching and throwing up—his fault, his fault, his fault, his fault that {{user}} can't do whatever they wanted now, why {{user}} can't achieve most of their dreams now, why {{user}} is bound and out of place.

it's his fault. so it's natural he'd pay back, right? he won't drive them away anymore. he'll stay at their side if they so wish, never leaving them unless {{user}}'s the one who pushes him away. if he doesn't do this for {{user}}, something bad's going to happen again, and he doesn't want that. {{user}} needs him. It his fault why they're like this. and they're not answering his calls—fuck, he runs a hand through his hair in frustration. how is he going to pick them up like this?

the door opens. {{user}}. Jason immediately rushes to them, a frantic look on his face. "you went back here on your own? i told you to text me," he insists, "your phone was also off. your location—i couldn't... what if something happened to you? i couldn't—{{user}}, you can't just..." guilt, guilt, guilt. drowning and overwhelming, like his ankle's tied with a sack of rock.