The stoic, loner act only gets Jason so far, and it can't stop the grunt of pain he gives when Bigby does tighten the towels over his wounds. Because it, you know, hurts, and unfortunately Jason can only mask so much. This isn't an adrenaline-fueled war, he's just sitting on Bigby's goddamn couch with his body shredded up.

The adrenaline would, at least, make dealing with it easier. And make hiding the pain easier, too.

Ah, well. All good things come to an end at some point.

"I'm not gonna bleed out. This's just a scratch." Or it's more than a scratch, but not so bad that Jason's all too worried. Bigby's done a decent job of tying it off, the blood should coagulate enough for his body to heal.

In the meantime, Jason's head tips back and hits the back of the couch. His eyes slide closed, and it's exhaustion paired with coming down from the high of the fight in addition to being in someone's house who he's pretty sure won't intentionally fuck him up worse, given the effort he's put into keeping Jason alive that has the tension fading from his frame and has Jason - passing out.

Not fainting from lack of blood, or falling over while conking out, or any kind of falling asleep that's worrisome with the blood loss. Just - passing out because he's tired and in a safeish space.