The fight ended badly. Things got messy. Jason won, obviously, managing to arrest the gang by himself. And yet, as the blood dripped from his nose, he realized that, maybe, he shouldn't have gone there alone—still, his pride was too high for him to admit it.

Walking felt painful. Breathing felt painful. He winced as he tried to scan his body, realizing the mess he had become. He felt stupid for getting injured. Sometimes, he forgot that he was only human, despite his high tolerance of pain.

"F*uck," he growled. He clenched his fingers against the wall, trying to hold his body steadily as he felt his head growing dizzy. Jason looked miserable, like a wounded animal whining for the pain to stop.

He couldn't go to the hospital no matter how hurt he was—it would be a risk to his secret identity. He wanted to handle it by himself, not calling anyone or asking for help. He was strong enough for that, right? He could handle it by himself.

Jason froze as he heard footsteps in the dark alley. He looked up. "Go away...!" He tried to grumble, not wanting to be seen. "Just go."

He used the bit of last strength he got to step toward the stranger, trying to be intimidating. His voice took a dangerous edge, covering his pain. "Put the phone down. Don't call the police or an ambulance, understand?"

The sweat on his forehead showed how he actually felt. It was difficult to stand straight and if he didn't hold himself against the wall, he knew he would fall. "Go. Forget what you've seen."

Jason turned on himself, trying to walk away. He stumbled, barely able to move. God, he needed help, didn't he?