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"You look like shit."
The weak rasp roused Tim from his deeply uncomfortable and entirely ineffectual dozing. He rolled his head from one side to the other so he could look at his bully, hearing several concerning clicking noises in his neck. Pale and dressed in a threadbare hospital gown, Dick looked about how Tim felt.
He sat up straighter in the cheap chair stationed at the foot of the hospital bed. He watched goose bumps spring up and down the length of Dick's arm. "At least I don't have swiss cheese for lungs," Tim said, his voice low and cracked from disuse.
Dick smacked his gums, looking around the dreary hospital room, but he didn't ask for water and Tim was too drained to get up unprompted. "How long have I been out?"
"Not long. They’d already taken you for scans by the time I got here, and you were in surgery for less than an hour."
"What about the idiot that shot me?"
"Probably in the waiting room praying you pull through so he doesn't lose his pension."
"God I hate undercover cop work."
Tim hummed. "Your partner managed to hit two pedestrians and a gyro truck too. You were the worst off though." His eyes fell to the lump under Dick's thin cotton gown - the bandages over his incision sight plus the drain. The standard issue BPD bullet proof vest had prevented an actual entry, but the already broken ribs he'd gone to work with had splintered under the pressure and punctured his right lung. Idiots. All of them.
Their eyes met and it felt a little like they were the same person, just in two different bodies. "And you're my babysitter?"
"The others would be here, but it's a busy night. You picked a really inconvenient time to get shot."
"My bad. I'll make sure to clear it with you in advance next time."
"I would appreciate at least forty-eight hours notice."
It was familiar banter. They were joking with each other, but too tired to laugh or even smile.
"I've been trying to help out remotely," Tim continued, "But my brain is still just-" he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, "-mush."
"The flu has barely left your body. Would it make a difference if I told you that you should rest?"
"Would it make a difference if I told you to rest?" Tim shot back, though there was no heat in it. Tim's emotional reservoir was a dried up crater. Dick and he didn’t waste time nagging each other; they knew each other too well for that. It was something Tim loved about their-... whatever they were.
Dick gave the barest shake of his head. "Hurts too much. And it's too exposed here."
Tim nodded, staring at the ground. "I get that." He didn't bother asking if Dick wanted more meds. "We'll get you moved soon as possible. A Bludhaven county hospital would not have been my choice, but you had to go and get hurt on the job."
Dick grunted. His eyes fell shut, but only for a moment. He looked truly miserable, exhausted in the most bone deep way. It felt like an honor in a way, being allowed to see him like that. Dick Grayson performed like he breathed – like he could control it at will, but mostly did it without thinking. Something shallow and selfish in him was giddy at being the only one at his bedside, privy to his vulnerability and charged with protecting it. But it was nauseating too, to see Dick bereft of his signature golden glow.
"Well," Tim braced his hands on his thighs, "I can't sleep either. Mind if I join you?" He nodded to the bed that was one step above a straw mattress.
Dick didn't answer, but he didn't protest when Tim stood and walked around the side of the bed. He even wiggled over to free up a bit of space on the side that an IV and drainage tube wasn't coming out of.
With all the care his frayed body could manage, Tim kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, his front pressed to Dick's side. Some nurse or doctor would come in soon and yell at him for it probably, but he’d stopped by an ATM on the way for a reason. There was really supposed to be a healthcare professional present already anyway, were they not receiving care at Bludhaven County Hospital. BCH – The fast food of medical services.
Dick shivered, then winced at the movement. He wiggled the fingers of one icy hand under Tim’s thigh for warmth. Tim unzipped his hoodie and stretched it over as much of Dick as he could to share his body heat, for all the good it did. It seemed to comfort Dick at least, however marginally. He turned his head and the cold tip of his nose brushed Tim’s chin. He draped his hand over the exposed skin of Dick’s bicep to curb the chills.
It felt like they'd used up all the words they were capable of. The quiet was nice, though. He tucked his free arm under his head to supplement the paper-thin pillow and kept his eyes on the door. It wouldn't make much of a difference, but he hoped it made Dick feel better anyway. He knew if their roles were reversed, Dick would be the only one he’d want as his guard.
I’m glad you’re here, he imagined Dick saying.
Me too, Tim would respond. And I always will be.