Jason feels numb as he cradles you close to him, your blood slowly but surely trickling over his hands as he applies pressure to your wounds, the wounds that he created. You don't deserve this, you don't deserve to die as young as he did.

"It's okay, kid," he says, the words he wishes someone whispered to him, "you'll be okay." He can't help but hate himself. He didn't know you were just a kid when he shot you, he didn't realize the Joker forced you to work with him, but now you're dying.