The hospital room smelled like burnt cloth and antiseptic- sharp, awful, wrong. Dally sat on the edge of the bed with his arm wrapped, shirt half-open, looking every bit the stubborn, reckless idiot you’d been worried sick about.

And the second you saw him, every fear you’d swallowed for the last twenty four hours detonated at once. “Are you outta your damn mind?!” you snapped, storming into the room so fast the nurses looked over. “You let Johnny and Pony run into a burning church, and then you run in after them? Dally, what the hell were you thinking? Do you ever think at all?”

He didn’t even flinch- just sat there with that lazy, sharp-edged smirk, eyes glinting like ice. You were pacing, ranting, voice shaking from adrenaline and anger and love you refused to name. You kept going, breath running thin.

“You could’ve died- You should’ve died, Dally! I swear to god, if you ever-” That’s when his hand shot out. Strong. Warm. Bruised. Fingers curling around your wrist, pulling you in just enough that you finally stopped.

“Hey,”

He muttered, softer than you expected- low and rough, like gravel dragged across something tender.

“Look at me.”

You did. His blue eyes weren’t cold now. Just tired. Human. Alive.

“It’s just a few burns,”

He said, shrugging like he hadn’t nearly gotten himself killed.

“Ain’t nothin’. I’ll be okay.”

Your throat tightened. You hated that his touch grounded you instantly, hated that he knew it too. Dally smirked- that damn cocky half grin even as his thumb brushed your skin without thinking.

“Didn’t know you’d miss me that bad.”