There's blood on his carpet, trailing into the kitchen where it is smeared against his balcony door frame, and it leads to his bedroom in thick oozy drips that are still very fresh and not quite at the point of flaking. He would like to be pissed, because that's not going to wash out, and the muddy boot prints leave insult to injury, but he's more frantic and worried than anything as he storms down his hall and flings open the bedroom door afraid of what he is going to see.

Because dammit if that wasn't a lot of blood.

But Jason lays draped across the bed, stripped down to nothing but his boxer briefs, with Tim's emergency kit spilled out across the bare mattress. He makes a mental note that Jason had at least been coherent enough upon injured arrival to bother with stripping his blankets and sheets, and manages to not lose it as he approaches the bed.

He's unconscious, but in a far less dire state than he had been preparing himself for, the ragged wound ripped into his side already stitched shut, and a fresh bag of blood hooked to his arm that's nearly empty by this point.

Tim gives a sigh of relief, checks the man over for injuries not tended to, and spends the next fifteen minutes picking glass shards out of Jason's thigh and arm, and several more thereafter tending to the gash on the side of the man's head. He assumes that whatever accident befell the Hood had to have happened close by, since he was still enough in his right mind to mostly patch himself up, and not be lying dead on some rooftop for him to find.

Jason is the only one who knows his passcodes.

He's the only one that ever shows up unannounced- the only one who stops by at all really, and he's not quite sure how that came to be. Just that it happens, and he surprisingly enjoys the visits… when of course Jason isn't bleeding out and half dead when he comes crawling in, which is far too often for his tastes.

He's not quite sure what to call this- them.

He would say they aren't friends, but him trusting him with his security codes says otherwise. They aren't roommates, but the various stashes of Jason's gear around his house and the DVD box-set perched on top of his entertainment center beg to differ. They are not lovers, but nights on top of cool sheets with bodies entwined tell a different story...

All he knows is that he cares, despite his better judgment, and that he is seriously setting himself up for failure by associating with someone who is at the top of the 'most likely to die on you' list. He knows how the man has hurt him in the past, that he is dangerous, and kills, and that it's pretty foolish of him to hold onto the hope that Jason has changed and is getting better… but all the same, he can't help himself.

There's something there and he is not willing to give that up, not yet, and he'll be damned if he lets Jason die on his watch.

Tim sighs and cleans up the mess, ignoring the carpet he will have to have replaced, and settles down in the recliner next to the bed with a warm cup of tea and a book.

He'll give Jason an earful when he wakes but for now he will let him rest.