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He didn't see the guy until it was too late. The wire wrapped around his throat and he felt a foot in his back, bracing to pull the wire tighter.
Jason could feel it cutting into his neck, cutting into the scar tissue that was already there.
For a second, he was back there. Laying on his side, the Joker looming above him, cackling at Bruce. He was bleeding out, neck slit open by his own father's hand.
Then the pressure was gone and Jason was on the floor again. Bleeding.
There were hands on his face and he hadn't realized that his vision had gone dark until it began to clear. He noticed the ringing in his ears when it faded, replaced with the sound of ragged breathing. His chest hurt. His throat hurt.
"That's it, Jay-lad. Just breathe."
"B?" He croaked, his vocal cords rattling weakly to produce the wheezing words. "You...cut me again?"
Bruce made a choking sound and the hands left Jason's face. Jason blinked and Bruce was gone. Dick was crouching over him now, hands wrapped around Jason's throat, putting pressure on the wound, but not so much that it felt like he was choking again. "It wasn't B, Little Wing. I promise. It was just one of Sionis' thugs. He had a wire around your throat. B got him off of you, you're okay."
"Bruce." A sob worked a way out of his raw, swollen throat. "Bruce, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—I just hurt so much, I-I—"
Bruce was back, face twisted in an uncharacteristic display of pain. "Jason. Jason, don't be—Son, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Jay-lad. I never should have—"
He reached out, but froze when Jason flinched. He snatched the hand back like it had been burned, his face turning pale.
"I w-won't do it again," Jason babbled. "Please don't—I'll be good, I can be better, please…"
"Jason, no, son, you don't have to—" Bruce choked again and covered his face.
"He's delirious, B. Don't...don't take it personally."
"Dickie?" He'd forgotten Dick was there. "Tell him I'm better now? Please tell him. I don't want to die again. I know I deserve it…" It hurt to sob, even worse than it hurt to talk. "But...I'm scared, Dickie. I—"
Dick gasped, his eyes wet, voice thick, shaking. "You don't deserve it, little brother. You're good. I'll tell him. You're so good. He knows. I promise he knows."
"He does? He thinks…" His eyelids were so heavy. Was he dying again? He didn't think so, now. Dick had said he was okay. He trusted Dick.
"That's it, Jay. Just rest. Tim's on his way to pick us up. We're gonna go home and Alfie's gonna fix you up."
He let his eyes slip shut. "Alfie? He's not afraid of me?"
Someone was sobbing. Someone other than him. "None of us are afraid of you, Little Wing. No one."
Dick's words washed over him and he let himself relax. Bruce didn't hate him. He was here, Dick was here, and they didn't hate him. Bruce knew he was good. Bruce hadn't cut him again?
He heard the roar of an engine and muffled voices around him. Strong hands were lifting him and he was enveloped by warmth. His face was pressed against something that smelled familiar. Calming.
He didn't know where he was anymore, but he knew that he was safe now.