Skin bruised and cut, Tim crashed into his apartment after barely managing to force the window open. He collapsed onto the floor of his bedroom, glad he had picked an apartment with carpets, and for a bit just stayed there in exhaustion.

But his floor-laying time was cut short by the sound of his roommate, confused, outside of his door. "Give— give me a moment!" Tim called out, tired. He managed to drag himself up and change out of his Red Robin suit, into a hoodie and just shorts. For a minute he looked through his bathroom, shuffling through the drawers and muttering out a fuck when he found he had no gauze, no bandaids, no painkillers.

Defeated, He staggered over to the door and pushed it open, the action feeling much more difficult than normal. His roommate didn’t know he was the Red Robin—he couldn’t risk it, one person knew, and then the whole world did.

"Whats up?" he tried, with a sheepish, tired smile, carefully watching his shocked roommates face. He glanced back into the room, to see if he hid the costume well enough and—

Oh. Oh fuck. He wiped some of the dripping blood from his eye to make sure—shit. The suit was right there, badly shoved under his bed. Tim’s eyes widened and he quickly ushered his roommate out of the room. "What about we stay out here?" he laughed nervously, shutting the door behind him with his foot, keeping pressure on the chest wound. He was cooked.