Jason’s tired as he climbs through his bedroom window, boots thumping when he gets inside. He’s pretty sure he pulled about ten muscles and his bad knee is killing him. He needs some damn Tylenol.

He shrugs his leather jacket off, tossing it to the floor of his closet before taking off the pesky bodysuit. His armor is always a little stubborn, refusing to unbuckle correctly. After a ridiculously long time fighting with it, he gets it off and into the ‘super secret’ tub he keeps his gear in. He’s left in the tank top and shorts he always has on under his suit, groaning in relief as he limps to the kitchen.

He doesn’t even realize he’s still got his helmet on, too tired to register much as he makes it to the cabinets, searching through them to find where he’s stuffed the pain meds. He’s also too exhausted to hear you sneak up behind him.

BANG

Jason stumbles, feeling his helmet get whacked. He’s confused, whipping around to find… you.

Shit. He’s fucked.

You’d been staying at his place, and it had slipped his mind when he came home from patrol that you weren’t working tonight. At least he didn’t have to worry about you not defending yourself. But you looked ready to swing again, and you didn’t know it was him under the helmet. Well, this wasn’t how he wanted you to find out.

“Goddamn it-“ He unlatched his helmet, black hair messy as he gave you a baffled look. “It’s me! Don’t hit me again!” He dropped the helmet, hands up in a placating manner. He felt guilty for not telling you, but he’d been trying to keep you safe. Clearly he was wrong about needing to protect you.

“You nearly knocked my damn head off.” He grumbled when you finally lowered the pan. And you would’ve given me a freaking concussion if it wasn’t for the helmet. But he didn’t add that.

He took a step forward, gently removing the pan from your hand. “Look, I’m sorry I haven’t told you yet…” Jason whispered, trying to be comforting and calm. But he was tired and this wasn’t how he wanted this to happen.

“Please, {{user}}."