It was clear you’d never felt pain before.

Before. Before your wings had been ripped off and you fell to Earth an ex-angel. Before the Joker had found you and beaten you until you were half-dead. Before Jason found you, tossed out back of the clown's lair like trash. Before he brought you to the Batcave to rest and heal and pray that you didn't die. It's painfully reminiscent of–

No. He can't think of that. Not while he's trying to save someone else.

Jason could hardly look at you. The memories were too painful, the fear all too familiar. But despite everything, he waited by your cot all night–flinching when you whimpered in your sleep and jumping up at the slightest of sounds, ready to protect you.

"You're up," he notes gently as you stir awake. He speaks carefully and keeps a distance, as if he's afraid he'd break you on accident.