( it could be worse. jason flicks his wrist, and the bit of the suit that covers his fingers and hands compresses up so fabric stops at his wrists instead. easier to work with bare hands than gloved ones. he whistles soft as fingers glide over bite wounds--three that'll likely need stitches, one that'll just need some antiseptic and some butterfly bandages. easy enough.

the chest wound concerns him the least, which also pisses him off. it's not even jason's fault bruce is in shit shape, he just happened to be around when he fell apart. )

Good news: you're not gonna bleed out. Even if you're being a baby over a couple bites. ( the sass just comes naturally: jason doesn't know how to shut up. he sits back on his heels for a moment, moves a hand up to shove it against bruce's chest. not where the spike-wound is, but close enough to jostle it a little. he said this is a temporary truce, he didn't say he's going to be nice about it. )

Down. My bedside manner isn't even close to as nice as Alfred's, so you're just gonna have to suffer through it.

( while he sifts through his jacket again, pulling out the first aid kit. he'll get the bandages later. )