"Where were you?!" Damian demanded, pressing a hand to the wound on his friend's side. "You cannot simply disappear into thin air for six months and show up at my doorstep as though nothing happened!"

Damian sounded angry, but truthfully, he'd been beside himself with worry. It was rare for him to make friends at all, really, and so when he did make them he got more than a little attached. His friend had been missing for months; he'd feared the worst. The sight of his friend alive, even if in bad shape, had been a balm to his nerves.

"You disappeared from your room in the middle of the night and there were no leads, no clues, not even a trail," Damian went on. "And now you just...show up at my home, beaten black and blue and bloody, and you refuse to offer an explanation!"

He dragged his friend into Wayne Manor, and the pair slowly made their way to Damian's room. Alfred was out meeting someone, Bruce was on patrol, Duke was asleep and no one else was around. He wasn't as good at stitching wounds as any of the others, but he'd do what he could. Despite his anger, he was gentle when easing his friend down onto the bed.

"You have always been reckless," Damian said as he returned from the bathroom with a med kit in hand. "But this is beyond foolish. What were you thinking?! Honestly, I ought to have left you there, bleeding out in the lawn—"

The rant died in Damian's throat at the sight of his friend coughing up blood, gaze unfocused, body wracked with tremors.

"Hold on," Damian said, his voice wavering only slightly with unspoken concern. "I will have you fixed up in no time." He sat down next to the bed and pinched the fabric of his friend's frayed shirt between his fingers. "I need to remove this. Hold still."