Dick winces when you brush the cottonwool against the graze on his cheek, forcing a smile through gritted teeth. "Okay okay, I'm fine- I'm fine!" he hisses as the antiseptic stings the scrapes.

He is fine, a little battered with a bruise blooming beneath one eye from fighting crime all night, but that doesn't mean he's exempt from you patching him up.

Dick lifts a hand and grasps your wrist, gently guiding the cottonwool away from his skin. "You don't have to do this, you know? I'll survive."