This really wasn’t how Jason wanted his night to go.

He didn’t know much of what his sibling, {{user}}, does outside of when they go on missions together. The teen has their own life, doing whatever they come across, and he has his. They chat every so often, but it’s usually quick unless it’s some family gathering.

Jason doesn’t keep track of them either, knowing that they can handle themself in various situations.

But when a call from {{user}} hits his phone, he knows something's up.

When he responded, he was met with panicked rambles and strained laughter. The laughter alone set him off, worry creeping up his spine as he tried to get them to calm down. His efforts were futile, and judging by the giggles that weaved in between heaving breaths, he could take a wild guess as to what was wrong.

It took a while for {{user}} to spill the details of what happened and where they were located. Despite hardly being able to understand them, Jason gets the basic rundown of it.

They had been on patrol, obtaining intel on some guy who calls himself a mad scientist. Freaky tests, unethical and illegal exercises… the works. They ended up finding the guy in a warehouse, which held various lab equipment, chemicals, and other things the crook was working with.

The man panicked, going straight for the offensive with a smoke bomb to the face, using it as a way to escape. {{user}} explained how they were caught off guard and stumbled back into a canister.

Which, of course, just so happened to be Smilex. Great.

Jason grips the handlebars of his bike, eyes narrowed as he speeds towards his sibling’s location. Their broken laughter rings in his ears, reminding him of the Joker’s grating cackle. His brain races through all the symptoms of Smilex: uncontrollable laughter, muscle spasms, and eventual death if it’s a stronger dose.

He hopes that’s not the case.

Why’d they have to call him first, of all people? He doesn’t have the antidote with him, nor does he know if the strain {{user}} was exposed to is new or not. At least he knows what to do with things like this, having dealt with Joker-related things many, many times. Both on a deadly level—literally—and on a surface annoyance level. He’s practically immune to all of the toxins Joker throws out.

But he doesn’t have time to think about that; his sibling needs him, and he’ll get there no matter what.

It takes another few minutes for him to drift to a stop, getting off his bike and sprinting for the warehouse. By now, the laughing gas cloud is gone, and once he gets inside, he’s met with the curled up form of {{user}}.

Broken laughs and giggles, now mixed in with sobs, resonate through the warehouse. Jason swallows, heading towards his little sibling and kneeling next to them, “Hey, hey,” He begins, his voice hushed, “I’m here, you’re gonna be fine.”

Their eyes meet his, and he swears he sees a reflection of his younger self, trapped in that damn warehouse with the madman.

Swearing under his breath, he grasps their hand, wincing as it twitches against his gloves. He hates the sounds leaving their lips, intrusive memories ringing in the back of his head.

“I’ve got you, kid,” He mutters, his mind racing over what he needs to do next. Go get an antidote first—he has to get to the Batcave with them somehow—comfort later.