“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Jason lies. Poorly, at that. It’s not that he’s a bad liar, but there’s a very obvious stab wound that he’s clutching while bleeding out all over the kitchen floor. The one you’d mopped not even 24 hours ago. He tried to keep it clean this time, really.

He doesn’t know why you’re so insistent with cleaning up every single scrape and bruise on him. You’re just his roommate. And his childhood friend that mourned his death before you both reunited—

Still, you’re just a roommate now. He’s sure you’ve moved on from whatever friendship you had before. Jason had been hesitant to come back into your life. He watched you from afar, just to make sure you were doing fine. Coming back into your life would’ve only complicated it. Maybe Dick’s right. Maybe he’s more selfish than he thinks, because he still revealed himself to you despite knowing he shouldn’t.

“‘S a scratch,” he grumbles, not taking his hand off the ‘scratch’. He’s pretty sure he’s not only concussed, but also in dire need of stitches. “Go back to bed.”

He’s survived worse without you.