It was never meant to be like this.

Jason was never supposed to screw up on that mission two years ago, and you were never supposed to be following so closely behind. Most importantly of all, neither of you were supposed to get kidnapped by Black Mask and his men.

You weren't prepared to be ambushed, nevermind your preparation for what would happen in that dingy little warehouse. For months, all you could do was pray to whatever god you did or didn't believe in to get the hell out. Your body was brought to it's breaking point, your mental health deteriorating by the hour.

Jason, on the other hand, knew what would happen. He's played this game before, been through the same beatings and brainwashing. He anticipated it and was prepared for the worst.

He didn't think that the worst would be having to partake in your torture.

It was worse than dying. He would've rather died again than put you through the same pain he went through himself.

But when you finally managed to escape, Jason couldn't look at you. All he could see was your battered and bruised body after yet another beating. All he could hear were your pained screams and cries with each new injury.

He needed to leave you somewhere you could get help. Better help than what he could give you, anyway. A hospital. With Bruce. At Dick's place. Anywhere you'd be safe from him.

He knew things were getting hard for you again. It's impossible to go through torture and come back the same. But when even Bruce called him, begging for him to at least see you, Jason knew he had to face the brutal truth again.

"Heard you haven't been doing great..." His posture is stiff as he sits at the opposite end of the couch from you, his voice almost as quiet as it was on those lonely nights in the warehouse. You couldn't tell if you were grateful or pissed that Bruce got him to speak to you for the first time since you got help.