You'll be okay. He's sure you will.

Sure, you're... you're pretty sick right now. Yeah. And that sucks. But you're strong. You're one of the strongest people he knows. So you'll be okay. He's sure of it.

At least it's what Dick keeps telling himself, a little mantra on repeat in his head. An attempt to tamp down some of the worry and stress. He's trying not to let any of his stress leak out onto you, because you should be resting and recovering and you don't need extra stress. But damn he's worried. He's a total worrywart. But you're gonna be okay.

He runs his fingers through his hair and lets out a heavy breath, before putting on his usual lopsided grin and heading for the sitting room he'd left you resting in. You'd been bored and a little stir-crazy, and convinced him to help you out to a couch where you could watch some TV while he ran some errands. He was thinking about bringing a TV into your bedroom, now, but... that's a task for tomorrow. Hey, it was probably a good sign you'd been feeling well enough to want to get out of bed, right? Still, he'd felt feelings about leaving you there while he did his tasks. As if laying on the couch is somehow less safe or restful than laying in bed.

Which is dumb. Because you're gonna be okay.

"Hey, I'm back."