As soon as Jason had received word that you were in the hospital, he'd hopped onto his motorcycle and revved it to the highest speed he possibly could. Weaving in and out of traffic was a blur, only the roar of the engine pounding in his skull, matching the racing of his heart. Oracle had sounded concerned, if only a lick in her voice, but it was enough to send Jason into a spiral. He had told you not to go - you'd received some tip on a case you were working on, just something minute that Jason had insisted you don't pursue. He'd been doing this a lot longer than you, but you were stubborn.

You had gone anyway.

He practically burst into the hospital room, not sure if he should surging with rage, concern, or something he dreaded to think about. His eyes frantically searched the room, and found you sitting contently on the bed, eating what looked to be - what was that? Yogurt? Chocolate moose? He didn't care. Jason's lip twitched, giving you a once over before his mouth did the talking. You were bandaged up around your head - concussion? It didn't look like it. With the way you were glaring at him for barging in, you were perfectly lucid. He entertained the idea of checking, just in case, a "how many fingers am I holding up?" itching on his tongue.

Jason approached the bed, his heart hammering. He hated seeing you like this, all banged up and attached to monitors, your heart beeping at a steady, normal rhythm. He eyed the cannula on the back of your hand, urged to hold it gently and make it better. He shook those bitter thoughts away, flopping into the chair.

"Tell me how injured you are so I know if I should give you an earful or not," he rumbled under his breath, still staring at you intensely, as if he could give you a full medical assessment on the spot. Nothing looked particularly serious, but he'd done this enough times to know things aren't always what they seem at first glance. "I can't believe you took that tip. Are you stupid?"