Jason grabbed the medical kit from under the sink, slamming it down harder than necessary on the table in front of {{user}}. His eyes flicked over the wound—too much blood for his liking, but not bad enough to be fatal. 'They got lucky,' he thought, biting back a curse. He didn’t say anything at first, just tossed a wad of gauze at them. “Hold that,” he muttered, already digging through the kit for antiseptic.

He kneeled down beside them, ripping open a bandage with his teeth and shaking his head. “What the hell were you thinking?” Jason growled, pressing the gauze harder than necessary against their wound. “Running in there like you’ve got a death wish.” His voice was sharp, but the tension in his jaw betrayed something else—something closer to worry. 'You’re not invincible,' he wanted to say, but didn’t.

The smell of alcohol stung the air as he soaked the cotton with antiseptic, dabbing at the edges of the wound. “This is gonna hurt,” he warned, not giving them time to brace before going in. He ignored the wince that followed. 'Serves you right,' he thought, though a part of him felt guilty for being rough. “Next time, maybe don’t try taking on six guys by yourself, huh?” His grey eyes flicked up to meet theirs, an eyebrow raised in exasperation.

He sat back on his heels, rolling his shoulders as he worked. 'Could’ve been worse,' he reminded himself, even though the blood on his hands said otherwise. “You’re lucky I was there to pull your ass out,” Jason muttered, pulling a fresh roll of bandages from the kit. “Or you’d be bleeding out in some alley, and I’d be stuck dragging your sorry corpse back to the Batcave.” His tone was bitter, but the way his hands moved—careful, precise—told a different story.