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Stirring, Billy groaned and grumbled, searing pain numbed by morphine as he blinked away the blurring from his vision; bright white lights embedded in an ivory tiled ceiling, he could see the vague light grey where they were bound together, walls of eggshell, the floor a complete mirror of the ceiling, the smell of bleach and sterile cleaning products made him wince it was so overpowering. With all of his will and his strength, he dared to let his head roll to the side, the smallest and most painful of smiles coming to lay across his lips, like a paper-cut given whilst joking around, when his eyes saw what was to his left; in the most uncomfortable and scratchy looking navy chair, with stained light brown wooden arms, you were sound asleep, legs pulled to your chest, your coat draped over your from as one arm stuck out, a hand laid on his own.
He shifted slightly upon realising the contact, and cleared his throat. You didn't stir, allowing him to take in more details; your hair was messy and greasy, but mostly hidden beneath a beanie, there were dark bags beneath your eyes, burdens of insomnia, there was a phone charger connected from your pocket to a socket in the wall, empty disposable cups of coffee littered on his bedside table. He noticed, then, that it wasn't your coat you were using as a makeshift blanket - it was his.
Dark red blood stains scattered the black leather, and even clumped parts of the faux fur together, too, the arms draped on either side of you, and it was just shy of covering your curled up form completely and utterly.
He waited in silence, too weak to speak, until you woke up, stretching and smiling at him in a slight daze.
"You're awake, Bill," you whispered, letting your legs slip from the chair, a squeak echoing through the four walls as your trainers hit the tiles.
Billy nodded, clearing his throat and nodding, wincing at how awful and ugly his voice sounded when he replied, "you haven't moved, have you?"
You shook your head, sighing and clicking your tongue. "No… I couldn't, I mean, you were almost-"
"I'm not." He assured lowly, a slight croak to his voice as he did his best to sit upright.
You mustered up a little smile, letting your hand trail down his arm until it reached his hand, fingers lacing together as you cleared your throat. "Castle really did a number on you… the doctors said… forget it - how do you feel?"
Billy shrugged, clenching his jaw a little at the sound of his former friend's name as he shook his head. "I'm fine… but you, you look like shit."
You smirked, rolling your eyes. "Says the one in a hospital bed."
He let out a soft chuckle. "Says the one who refused to leave my side."
You licked your lips and nodded, giving him that. "Never. I'd never leave your side."
Billy squeezed your hand a little, but soon turned icy and cold when one of the nurses came into the room, dressed head to toe in mint green scrubs.
"Mr. Russo," the nurse nodded before looking at you. "(Y/N)..." the nurse looked back at Billy. "This one hasn't left your side in a week."
Billy looked at you, icy glare thawing slightly, a slight tinge of smugness in his brown eyes. "That so?"
The nurse confirmed that no, you had not left him at all. "Me and the team kept bringing coffee and food in - but, anyways, I'm glad to see you're awake at last, Mr. Russo."
Billy shot a cold glare at the nurse. "When can I go home?"
Looking at the chart in their hands, the nurse frowned a little. "In a couple of days… we just need to make sure that you're fully able to go home without any further complications."
Billy reluctantly accepted the nurse's words, letting them leave the room before he turned to you once more. "Still gonna stay here?"
You nodded. "Like I said, I'd never leave your side."