"shit, shit, shit," jason breathes, ripping off his red hood helmet as he crouches down beside you. this wasn't good. you were seriously injured, no sign of any medical supplies or help anywhere.

"come on," jason huffs, a hand shifting to your wounded abdomen. he placed some pressure onto the wound, the pained cry that escaped your lips nearly making him wince.

his other arm shifted below your shoulders, gently trying to coax you into standing. "you're gonna be okay," he assured you.

but the blood and damage is everywhere. it's horrible. he can already see your eyes trying to roll back, your skin an ashen pale color. he can't lose you. not like this; not ever.

"hey," he says, his voice like a firm command, "open your eyes, look at me. stay with me, {{user}}. you're gonna be okay. we're gonna be okay."

the words are empty promises; half-truths, lies. he doesn't know if you'll survive. he does know, that he'll do everything in his capabilities to keep you alive, though. it seems to do the job for now, your eyes cracking open and labored breathing filling the grimly lit alleyway. "come on," he says, letting you use him for support. he just needed to find somewhere safe and somewhere with the proper medical supplies— easier said than done.