He staggered slightly, revealing his presence—scaring the person he was watching. Jason watched as he saw eyes light up with recognition, and then expected what should come next what someone you think is dead is suddenly alive: fear.

No doubt he looked dead. Jason could hardly breath and his eyes watered constantly, like he was trying not to break into sobs. Every time he stepped he stumbled, blood was all over his body, and he smelled worse than death.

"I’m… I’m sorry," he managed, voice cracking and his bottom lip wobbling. He’s lost, he’s scared—he doesn’t know what to do or where to go, where should he? "I— I didn’t mean to get kidnapped, I promise, I was just being reckless and I’m sorry."

Jason remembered when the Joker got to him. Remembered very well, actually. Joker blew up a school, and all he could remember was seeing red. Joker needed to die for that, he needed to die. But now he was having second thoughts, what if he was wrong all along? What if he went through all that just to be wrong? But Jason had gone off on his own, turned his comms and tracer off, and left for Arkham Asylum.

The next thing he could remember he was tied to a chair. Then he was tied to that chair for two years. His legs were shaking now, it was difficult to walk, and his posture had worsened.

"I’m sorry, I— please don’t let me, please don’t run," he begged, lurching forward only to stumble and nearly fall. But he was caught. Being touched for the first time in a while was sudden, and he didn’t know why he felt like throwing up and melting at the same time. But he leaned into it.