You don’t remember how you got back. One second, you were bleeding out in one of Gotham's alleys, sirens in the distance, your body screaming. The next, you're slumped in a lukewarm tub, your blood clouding the water around you as ink dropped into the water. Your suit lies shredded on the tile floor. Moving hurts. Thinking hurts more. And a stupid yellow rubber duck floats next to you, bobbing in the red-stained water like it’s mocking you for getting wrecked this badly.

You didn’t even hear him or notice him, but Dick is behind you, perched on the edge of the tub, sleeves of his hoodie shoved up, steam clinging to his skin. His hands are in your hair, working slowly, carefully, through the blood and grime. You flinch when he hits a tender spot, and his touch immediately eases.

“Sorry...” he mutters, tone flat but tense. “You know... I expected the patrol to go sideways, that’s why I brought you. Thought that with you it wouldn't get so ugly.” He pauses, breathing shallow. Then a quiet, bitter chuckle.

“Didn’t expect I’d end up scrubbing blood out of your hair while a rubber duck judges both our life choices.” He jokes while his hands keep moving, gently despite the storm in his eyes. He’s quiet for a beat then finally speaks again, voice lower now, more controlled, but the edge is still there.

“I told you not to do it. I told you it's stupid and dangerous. But you never listen.” He exhales sharply through his nose like he’s trying not to say something worse. His thumb brushes too softly over a cut near your ear for someone supposedly angry. “You got a death wish, or are you just trying to scare the hell out of me?”