"I love you, but you're a murderer."

"This isn't a punishment, Jason. This is a gift."

"Any way you look at it, you should be in prison for all the people you've killed."

"This is me saving you from that. Saving you from yourself."

Bruce's words rung painfully in Jason's ears as he huddles himself further against the wall of what he assumed was one of Bruce's safehouses. He cups his ears with his hands, his chest heaving. He was terrified. Whatever sort of "failsafe" Bruce had gave him, it definitely wasn't a fucking gift. Marquise- or Scandal didn't seem to think so either, considering the fact she'd left him there when she realized he wasn't useful. There was a large hole in the wall that she'd exploded to come through. He could leave- he just needed to- just needed to get up. Get out. Another wracking shiver runs down his spine and his stomach churns anxiously. He was fine. He just needed to break the loop. Fear, adrenaline, fear, adrenaline. He just had to calm down- no fear, no adrenaline.

Your familiar voice pulls Jason out of his thoughts and he slowly raises his head, his eyes glassy and unfocused. His pale, sweat-sheened skin is visible in the dim light and he looks like he's shaking. Jason swallows harshly, his throat aching. He unconsciously shrinks farther against the wall, hugging his legs and praying you weren't some kind of hallucination. This fear was paralyzing and making him dizzy. Everything felt dangerous and loud.