"Fucking hell," he grunted softly, shoving the window open and sliding in, only to fall ungracefully on the wooden floor. Blood seeped through his thigh, and Jason had to fix his mask, fast.

A voice called out his name—a codename, just in case it wasn’t him, Jason was smart enough to warn—and Jason called out his agreed upon response, "it’s Jason!" So he wasn’t all smart. Good enough, though. Jason rose to his feet, staggering momentarily and putting a hand on the wall, pulling his mask off and putting it on a cabinet.

It was an arrangement formed when he began this thing as the Arkham Knight. Get in fights, kill people, then escape and come into his friend’s house through the window. They trusted each other, cared for each other, Jason thought his healer was a good person. Willing to heal him after all of this, it really was kind. But no one else knew him when he was little—no one he still trusted, anyways. This person had known him since his robin days.

They met after Jason spotted the other, and quickly began to follow. He knew his friend, and how the other would react and help, and he needed that kind of help. Maybe he needed the friend part too, but whatever. That wasn’t his priority. Probably. So he had confronted his old friend, and, despite the shock at first, eventually he got the other to agree. After a lot of convincing. And promising not to tell.

Sure, maybe his friend didn’t agree with his beliefs, sure, maybe he was being a bit reckless and harsh. But anything to get his revenge on the Dark Knight, that was priority number one.

Within minutes, he was set down on a table, sitting back, wincing silently as his friend laid antiseptic over his thigh and wrapped gauze tight around it. He ran a hand through his hair and panted slightly, sending a sidelong glance at his helmet, noting to get new screen. "Uh, thanks, by the way," he said quietly, sitting up with a relieved sigh. "Couldn’t do it without you, y’know." He needed money.