Work Text:
When Billy walked from the kitchen and sat down at their dining table, his long sleeves carefully and neatly pulled down to his wrists and a slight tremble in the hand that held his bowl of soup, Moist just sighed and pushed his chair back to stand with an exasperated expression.
Billy pointedly ignored him, reaching out a hand to pick up his spoon - grimacing as he noted the red spot that was gradually growing on his sleeve.
"Let me see," as Moist rounded the table to walk up to Billy's side he picked up a kitchen rag and wiped some of the moisture off his hands (it was impossible to completely dry himself, but it was something), falling into a familiar routine as Billy kept his eyes lowered and trained on the table in front of him, his bowl of microwaved soup slowly cooling as it went untouched.
"It's not-" Billy started as he slowly placed his spoon back down, but Moist quickly cut him off, setting the now drenched rag back on the table.
"Billy," Moist sounded... disappointed, he sounded tired, "let me see."
Billy pursed his lips, his trembling fingers curling into a fist as he avoided Moist's disapproving look, but he obediently rolled up his sleeve, inhaling sharply as it tugged and scraped against what it had been hiding.
"..." Moist said nothing as he pulled a chair up to sit at Billy's side, reaching out to tenderly grab his wrist and pull his arm over to examine it, "another accident, then?"
Moist might not be a big name villain, he might not have the best ability, but Billy knew he wasn't dumb. Billy knew Moist could connect the dots between when his 'accidents' had started happening and how they had seemingly increased in occurrence over time.
"Yeah..." Billy muttered, shame creating a deep pit in his stomach at his friend's tone, "another accident."
His forearm was a mess, a long cut stretching down from his elbow to about halfway to his hand. A pair of band-aid's were hastily stuck over a single patch of gauze - which was already soaked with blood and halfway fallen off.
"I'd be surprised at how you managed to cut yourself this badly while you were just microwaving soup, but it seems you can cut yourself doing anything these days," Moist dryly stated as he carefully peeled the band-aids back, Billy hissing through his teeth as the adhesive ripped his arm hair away. Billy's arms and legs were a testament to Moist's statement, covered with pink and reddened scabs.
Covered with the evidence of his accidents.
He had had a lot of accidents recently.
Moist reached over to the first aid kid that had become a permanent centerpiece on the table, flicking it opening it with ease (Billy had removed the latches on a lot of the household objects years ago to help with Moist's slipperiness) and pulling out a roll of bandages and some squares of gauze.
Billy had lost count of how many times he had needed to restock the first aid kit, how many rolls of bandages and stacks of gauze he had went through in the last few weeks.
"You know, you've always been clumsy but you weren't this clumsy before," Moist didn't look up as he spoke, his face trained in concentration as he wiped away the blood that surrounded the cut with a square of white guaze that quickly turned pink.
"Before what?" Billy put on an expression of confusion, his eyebrows drawing together, but it was feigned.
Billy knew what 'before' was.
"Before Penny died," Moist answered anyways, blunt and straightforward.
Billy stilled, his eyes shooting back to look at Moist at the brief but direct mention of her. Billy didn't respond verbally, only stiffening slightly and glancing away from Moist as the man continued to clean, the cut stinging and throbbing as Moist swiped the gauze over it.
"It's not..." Billy started, before pausing as he tried to collect his words, "it's not like that."
It wasn't like that. Billy was just clumsy, they were accidents.
"Not like what?" Moist looked up at Billy now, an undecipherable look in his eyes, "I didn't say it was 'like' anything."
Billy couldn't hold Moist's gaze, glancing away after a moment of the man looking at him with dull eyes. Moist stayed quiet and returned to placing squares of gauze against Billy's wrist.
"...I heard Captain Hammer is going to therapy, you know," Moist broke the silence, beginning to wrap Billy's arm with the roll of bandages, "one of his ex-fan girls is a receptionist where he goes. She's your fan girl now apparently, so she told me."
"...oh?" Billy's eyebrows furrowed, the villain confused at the seemingly random change of topic.
"Yeah," Moist paused for a moment, "I guess he was more affected by her death than we thought."
"Why are you telling me this?" Billy asked briskly, emotions that he didn't want to deal with - emotions that had been chasing him ever since her death - stirring in his cracked and cold heart, "why would I care about Captain Hammer of all people going to therapy?"
"I just thought you should know," Moist shrugged, "maybe you should consider it."
"Consider it?"
"Therapy," Moist replied simply, "I think it would be good for you."
Billy didn't respond, only twisting his face up as Moist's movements tugged at the wound.
It wasn't long until Moist was finished, standing to throw away the small pile of bloodied band-aid's and gauze before returning to stand at Billy's side.
"Don't hide it next time," Moist rested a (rather moist) hand on Billy's shoulder for a moment as he stood, "I'll be here. As I always am." Moist had patched Billy up more than he could count ever since that day. Leaving Billy to think over his words, the villain's friend walked away and disappeared into the apartment.
Billy remained where he was, with a bowl of cold soup and a strip of bandages tightly wrapped around his arm, his teeth clenched together as he stared at nothing.