Who: Jason, Tim, +OPEN to threads from those who know about his safehouse When: 1/16 Where: His Crime Alley safehouse What: Jason needs drugs, and Tim is a dealer. Except by "drugs", he means the hard antibiotics. The one upshot of getting texts from Tim was that it meant he got to leave Cap and Eddie; if he spent one more day on the couch, listening to those two fuss in their unique ways, he was going to scream and shoot somebody. As he'd already been shot once, he would make sure that it was somebody else, and he liked Cap and apparently they needed Eddie. Because even if he disagreed with the new plan, it was now in motion, and all he could do was explain how much it was going to suck, and couldn't even get away from Eddie's bluster of retorts. Then Cap would slide in, make them disengage, until he got bored of watching whatever was on TV and started the whole thing all over again.
It did him good to be out and about. He couldn't quite get his mouth around it, but it had also done him good to rest the leg, get antibiotics and real food into him - and fluids that weren't coffee or booze. He was just bored, and restless, and that had always made him destructive. Pushing against the pain of the leg to limp into what was laughingly called his safehouse was probably a more constructive use of his energy than picking fights with the two people he was living with.
He left the door unlocked, managed to drag himself to his own battered and bloodstained couch, and dropped onto it. Rearranging his leg took a bit of effort, but as of right now, his ribs hurt far more than his leg; the antibiotics from Cap had helped the gunshot wound start to close already, but broken bones always took time, even if those were ribs.
But once he got himself settled, it didn't matter that he was in a place that at least someone had picked over the cabinets for anything he'd left behind in the open, or that the couch sagged because it did double-duty as his bed, or that the heat had been turned off for a period of time there. There was no ex-Riddler fussing over bloodstains in his upholstery, no Cap glowering as he got to his feet to deal with taking a casserole out of the oven. There was just sweet, sweet silence.