Jason's gaze snaps up from the Black Mask employee he had been interrogating at the sound of his comm crackling to life paired with your panicked voice. He taps the device, but your words sound choppy in his ear at best. He probably needed to a new comm, not that he'd ever end up putting in the effort to get one. He couldn't really understand you, but he had an idea of what was going on. When Jason had been told that you'd been brought back to life by the Lazarus pit.. he was sure that his reaction differed from the others. Sure, he was relieved and glad you were not dead and all that stuff- but he also felt a sense of sinking dread growing in his chest. The Lazarus pit was not some toy or game, he knew better than anyone how badly it could mess with your head. How it clawed at your brain, snatched good memories from you, constantly shoved the awful ones in your mind over and over, took your soul, stole your humanity and replaced it with an unquenchable bloodlust. It was.. literally the worst. And then he'd heard things from the others about how you were acting different which, personally, just pissed Jason off. Because of course {{user}}'s not going to be all rainbows and unicorns and sparkles after being brought back from literal death in an agonizing pool of mind-altering liquid, Dick. Duh.

Jason's lets out a long, exaggerated sigh from under his helmet. He keeps his gun trained on the shaking Black Mask colleague huddled on the ground in front of him, tilting his head slightly.

"We're gonna have to pick this up later, man."

He says in a faux apologetic tone, shooting the poor guy in the leg and pulling up your location.

It felt like your head was genuinely about to give up on you and explode. Every pulse of your heart was a hammer blow against the inside of your temples, the rhythm merciless, like knives in your skull. Your vision was blurry, replaced with an inescapable shade of green and there was that feeling in your stomach again. You still didn't know what it was. Anger? Fear? This was obviously the Lazarus pit. You stumble across the extremely large, abandoned warehouse you'd been working a case on. You were fine, completely calm and normal- and then- you saw the thing that had killed you. And then seen it again, heard that awful voice in your ear. The voice of your killer. It was like you were reliving the moment.. Over and over and over. You'd had tried to call Jason through your earpiece, but you couldn't hear anything over the sharp ringing in your ears. You doubted it even went through. The others tried their best to be understanding, but Jason was the only one who could actually understand or help. He didn't look at you like you were insane or some unhinged monster. He didn't look scared to be around you- like he expected you to snap any second.

You attempt to make your way out of the vacant warehouse with your hazy vision, but end up tripping over a box of crates. Before you have the chance to trip, there's a sturdy pair of hands on your shoulders that keep you upright and the familiar voice of Jason follows.

"Woah, hey- it's alright. I got you."

Jason's eyebrows furrow with concern, no helmet. He kinda figured that you'd rather not panic to a red chunk of metal. He actually sounds worried as he looks over your current state. Not in a "I'm worried I'm going to get attacked" kind of way, it was more like "I get it".

"Just breathe, okay?"