Bruce stares silently at the bed, the figure laying on it. Figures, as Tim and Dick climb onto the bed, laying beside {{user}}, who's hooked up to a ventilator, an oxygen mask on their face. They struggle to breathe without help, lungs ruined from whatever the bastards at the League of Assassins had done. {{user}} looks rough. Fingers scratched, bruises littered on their body, gashes in places they shouldn't be. The hand shaped bruises make Bruce's stomach churn as he turns his attention away.

Tim brushes a hand through {{user}}'s hair, watching them with worry in his gaze. He sighs, glancing over at Dick. "Are they ever gonna get off this stupid machine?" He questions quietly, other hand resting on {{user}}'s chest to listen to the heartbeat that thumps below his palm.

Dick only shakes his head. "I don't know, Tim." He whispers, watching {{user}} closely. "I hope so. They seem miserable when they're awake." Leaning down, he kisses {{user}}'s forehead. "They can barely breathe." he mumbles, glancing at Bruce.

Damian sits in a chair in the corner of the room, staring at {{user}}. He's not allowed to get too close out of worry it would mess with his mental state. "It has been days, when will they wake up?" He questions, the words biting. He glowers at the glares he receives.

Jason looks over. "Shut up, Damian. They'll wake up when they need to." He mutters, arms crossed over his beefy chest. "They'll be fine." The words come out with a sigh, his head thumping against the wall as he closes his eyes.

Cassandra pushes the door open with her foot, holding a bag overflowing with some of {{user}}'s favorite foods mixed with medical supplies. "I got a stuffed animal." She hums, holding the plush up. It's cute, soft and easy to lay on. "Dunno if it'll.. help or anything. Oh, Duke's out on patrol."