Look at you, he says, as if Jason isn't well-aware of the state he's in. As if he doesn't know he's still bleeding from where the glass has embedded itself into his back, or how fucked his hand is, or how his arm is still broken, and he's opting to ignore it entirely. Because if he ignores a problem long enough, it'll eventually go away. Right? Right.

The frustrated sigh is a little too familiar, and Jason doesn't like it. His brow furrows, pulling in a shaky breath through his nose despite how much that hurts, too. It's fine, he'll get over it. He always does.

"Been there, done that." Died, anyway. "One round of crawling out of my grave was plenty." His voice is - a little defensive. On edge. Like he's getting ready for yet another fight, despite being on the ground still. "It wasn't gonna get to that point, we were just fucking around."