With the new batch of Scarecrow's fear toxin ready to be dispersed across Gotham, accidents were bound to happen. It just pained Jason to think you would ever have to be the recipient of one of those accidents, especially if it involved a mind numbing trip through fear toxin. It had been a clumsy soldier that caused it, and you'd inhaled the fumes before damage control could rush in to minimise casualties. You barely even remembered what happened to yourself after that, only consumed in the darkest corners of your mind, where you felt like you were being driven insane.

Militia soldiers had been forced to drag you to a cell before you got your hands on any weapons - then they would have really faced the Arkham Knight's wrath. Hurting you was bad enough, if this resulted in your death, you wouldn't be the only casualty that came out of this accident. Jason moved through the facility with purpose, the soldiers knowing to stay clear of him or else.

"Where are they?" He'd barked, the modulation of his helmet making the tone of his voice almost seem like it was crackling with real electricity. He entered your cell with the antidote in hand, clenched so hard between his fingers that he was surprised the glass hadn't shattered just yet. His gut twisted at the sight of you, his own sharp breaths thrumming with rage. This wasn't his intention - Jason didn't want to see you hurting. Didn't want to imagine how his imposing figure in the doorway was altering the mind-curdling images you were seeing under the influence, his jaw clenching tight.

But he bit his tongue. Talking might make you worse. He wasn't going to coddle you into coming to him. He didn't have time for that. Kicking and screaming, he'd administer the antidote no matter what, and then he'd be by your side every step of the way for your recovery.