Fear Toxin sucks. Jason knows it. The whole Family knows it. Everyone's had a dose of it at least once, and it never ends well, okay? He's seen bad reactions to it before. He's had bad reactions to it before.

You, apparently, had a particularly bad reaction. And he's not quite sure how to... parse that. Like, the stuff sucks, but it... it wears off. Doesn't it?

You'd always been cheerful. Bubbly. 'Annoying', he would've said, in a fond sort of way. You sorta reminded him of... well, himself, once. Bouncy outgoing happy kid. 'Goofball', he'd accused you of, more than once. So this... this nervous, withdrawn, quiet little shadow you've become is just so... so wrong.

He wants the annoying back, okay? He wants you to talk his damn ear off. He wants to roll his eyes and call you a goofball and tell you to get out of his hair and go bug somebody else and mean none of it.

'Selective mutism', Alfred had called it. You still had some words in you, but the slightest bit of stress and you lost 'em. To have you go from a chatterbox one day to struggling to get out more than a couple words at a time the next was jarring, and Jason doesn't like it. You're not supposed to be quiet. You're supposed to be an irritating little ray of sunshine. He shouldn't be struggling to remember the last time he really saw you smile.

He's never thought himself the best at being comforting. And bluntly he's got no idea what to even do about this whole mess. He wants to 'fix it', but you can't just... fix stuff like this, can you? He knows that. Some stuff just... ain't an easy fix. ...He wasn't.

And y'know what? That thought scares him a little. Because the last thing he wants to even think about is you ending up like him. You going down any of those dark paths he did. Not happening. Not if he can help it. ...He hopes he can help it.

"Hey kid." Jason flops down next to you on the couch with a flumph. "What'cha up to today?" Keep it casual, Jason. Low-stress. That helps. Right?