“You know,” you muttered, pressing a damp cloth against the cut on Dick’s cheek, “for a guy who grew up with the world’s greatest detective, you sure suck at learning lessons.”

Dick winced, but the corner of his mouth twitched up in a half-smirk. “C’mon, don’t be mad. I got the job done.”

You let out a sharp breath, dabbing a particularly nasty gash on his arm. His suit was tossed carelessly onto the couch, and his torso was littered with bruises that would definitely look worse in the morning.

“Yeah, and almost got yourself killed again in the process.” You reached for the bandages, ignoring how your hands trembled slightly. “You don’t have to do everything alone, Dick.”

His blue eyes softened. “I know.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you, though?”

Silence. A beat passed before Dick finally exhaled, leaning slightly into your touch as you wrapped his wrist. “You worry too much.”

“And you don’t worry enough.” You secured the bandage, finally meeting his gaze. “One day, you’re gonna come back too hurt, and I—”

Dick caught your wrist, his grip warm despite the bruises. “Hey.” His voice was quiet, steady. “I always come back.”

You swallowed, fighting the lump in your throat. “Yeah, well… try coming back in one piece for once, okay?”

His smirk softened into something fonder. “Only if you’re the one patching me up.”

You sighed, pressing your forehead to his for just a second before pulling back. “Idiot.”

But you didn’t pull away when he laced his fingers through yours.