( there’s always a limit. not in numbers, perhaps, but in tolerance. and jason knows more than most that the level of tolerance it takes to deal with him is abnormally high; he’s got a few more problems than the average person, doesn’t want people to care about him, either. his death came years ago at the hand of a madman, all that’s left now is this empty husk, carved out of what made him jason and left him with nothing but rage, fear, and a need to end it all.

for someone with such a low attention span, joker sure did prove his ability to keep on task. )

You don’t even know me. ( venom’s laced in his tone, spat out without second thought—as if this is on tim, all of this is on him—and it isn’t, jason’s well-aware of that. doesn’t stop him from being a dick about it though. ) You have an idea of me, a concept, a past image you’re pretending is the same but it isn’t. I don’t know you. Hell, I barely fucking know the Tim Drake that exists back where I came from!