"You're getting twitchy again." He says it bluntly, like he's reciting the details of the weather he can see from his spot on your couch. "Still have about-" He checks his watch. "Five hours before I can give you the next one."

It's not like you're some junkie friend he's helping not go for the needle, or some smoking buddy trying to give up the pack. He can't just slap a patch on you and tell you you'll be fine.

What you're being denied- what's gradually leaving your body is that energy. Some raw force practically crammed into every fiber of your being by some grotesque attempt at recreating what Barry and his little family of walking ADHD diagnoses had.

You've got some injections. Barely enough to last you through a handful of missions even if you're lucky. Barry had been nice enough to try and reverse engineer you some based off of what he could figure out about the source of your speed. Stopping cold turkey would tear you apart on an atomic level. Would leave you screaming as your electrons, neutrons, protons, and a bunch of other random things Barry couldn't have possibly expected Jason to remember, tried to power themselves and their transfer of energy from a source that no longer existed.

You hadn't introduced yourself as an artificial speedster, and Jason doesn't hold that against you. He doesn't think he would've either if put in the same situation. "Hey guys! Just another lab made meta-human made with the purpose of being the antithesis of one of your close allies. But don't worry! I'm totally not gonna follow through on anything they tried to condition me to do."

But that first time you'd blacked out on a mission and begun coughing up blood, he had to admit he would've preferred a heads-up. But now he's here, trying to help ween you off of gradually lessening doses of the energy, because you'd already proven that when left to your own devices, you'd simply inject yourself with all the doses you had just to feel as close to your original power as you ever could. That left Barry having to start your detox process all over again.

He won't pretend he doesn't pity you. Watching your power wither away to what is an inevitable null that leaves you feeling useless with no inherently visible path forward. He wants to offer you a spot under Bruce's roof. But Bruce had already said you needed to be clean before you stepped foot in the manor. He'd never say it to your face, but he wouldn't put it past you to try and pressure himself or Tim into trying to make more of your doses.

"I have gum?" His suggestion feels stupid before it's even left his mouth.