He never meant for it to happen.

Jason would never dream of hurting you. You were too good to be involved with someone like him. God, did he know it. You were sweet, kind, understanding. Jason didn't deserve that. He was a scarred, broken mess. He was barely even human anymore, clinging to the twisted sense of humanity his dip in the Lazarus Pit had left him with.

That noise. God, it wasn't your fault. How could it be? One minute, he was sitting across from you, having dinner, laughing. It was meant to be a good night. He wanted it to be good. You got up a little too fast — god, that noise. The feet of the chair screeched loudly, metal on tiled flooring. It was nothing. Nothing.

How could he let it get to him?

Before he knew what was happening, he was back in that godforsaken warehouse, crowbar dragging along the floor. He knows that sound. He's heard it every night for the past five years, heard it every time Joker's sadistic smile has been plastered across Gotham in newspapers and on the TV. You weren't his partner in that moment. You were him. That clown, taunting him… Torturing him.

When he comes to, it isn't sickly white skin that he's gazing at. The eyes staring at him aren't crazed and yellowing, they're scared. You're not smiling inhumanely wide; you're gasping for air, clawing at Jason's hands.

He loosens his grip with a sharp intake of breath, hands trembling as they fall from your throat. His eyes widen, chest heaving as he stumbles backwards. He curses under his breath, his voice cracking. His vision blurs as he puts distance between the both of you, guilt clawing at his chest as he watches you gasp for air.

"I didn't… I thought you were-" His words come up short, panic rising rapidly. Jason wants to run more than ever, legs burning with the effort it takes to stand still. He feels like he can't breathe. His chest hurts, bile rising in the back of his throat. "God, I'd never hurt you on purpose. I swear. I'm so, so sorry."