It was all you could do. You stayed silent and shook, a physical reaction to the stress and fear you were feeling with your fingers digging into your hair.

Fear toxin invaded your every sense—a cruel invention of Crane—the Scarecrow.

You were alone—locked in a room you could physically escape from but were unable to with the sheer terror coursing through your system.

It was taking you back to a place that you didn’t want to be—never ever again—heart threatening the break free of your ribs.

And then it all stops, the constant crashing fear that had been drowning you felt like it finally had a chance to drain.

Someone had injected you with an antidote into your side—giving you immediate relief.

“{{user}},” a voice cut through to your ringing ears as you were gathered into his arms—his arms, “I have you, {{user}}.”

You trembled against Bruce, feeling vulnerable, exhausted and exposed.

He subconsciously tightened his grip, running a hand through your hair as he murmured into your locks, “You’re alright, you’re alright, I’m here. It’s over, you’re not there anymore.”

For a person like you, for one that which in the hands of others, cruelty had known no bounds…the fear gas took you to a very dark place.

He rocked you back and forth slowly, gently pushing the hair out of your eyes as he held you.

“You’re okay,” the dark knight repeated for what felt like the thousandth time, readjusting his grip on you.

And god, that look in your eyes shredded his heart.