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Shit.
Heath sat up in bed, a sharp jabbing feeling reaching from the first layer of skin to deep in his ribs. One he knew all too well. The numbness of an injury wearing off, being replaced by a bruise forming, and a painful one at that. The kind that turns a nasty green and aches into your bones, inhibits your movements. After the scuffle he’d gotten into the day before, having the bruise isn’t surprising to him. What is surprising? How bad it really hurts.
When he’d gotten home, he’d thrown his jacket off and collapsed into bed before he’d even changed clothes. ‘I’ll shower in the morning’ being his motto after fights. He hadn’t looked to see how bad it was. He thought it was fine. It didn’t hurt more than a sting, after all. But now? He had to see.
He gingerly gets out of bed, being sure to do so quietly as to not wake Beckett who’s snoring as per usual, and heads to the bathroom. He moves softly across the wooden flooring, trying desperately not to make any noise, which he almost succeeds in until he carelessly opens the creaky bathroom door. It lets out a wail, which causes him to leave it just cracked enough to fit himself through and stop touching it. He had something more important to attend to.
He flicks the bathroom light on, eyes adjusting poorly to the light. The counter is… messy, to say the least, With Amari’s nightmarishly long skincare routine not put away. He needs to remind her to deal with that in the morning. RIght, he has to do this. He takes a deep breath and lifts his tank top off, setting it in the dry sink.
Jesus, that’s way worse than he thought.
A deep red and purple mark covers part of his left ribs, the yellow-ish outline extending out to cover half of his torso. He studies it, gently poking at it and sharply inhaling. He’d be out of commission for a few days
This could’ve all been avoidable had he not been so confrontational. He knows that. Not that that can be undone now. If he hadn't-
His regretful thoughts are interrupted by the door opening fully with a quick loud screech, someone who doesn’t care who they wake up no doubt. Dixon. Heath instinctually flinches, the pain of movement making him pull in more air through his teeth, then relaxes when he sees who it actually is.
Dixon presumably looks at him, kinda hard to tell with the bangs.
“Shit dude, I knew they hit you, but I didn't know they hit you that bad.”
Great opener. Heath shifts to face Dixon in the doorway.
“Yeah. Uh, it’s bad.”
Heath replies, voice having that gravelly morning quality. He and Dixon don’t talk that much so the conversation is… awkward, to say the least. Dixon tilts his head down a little, clearly looking at the bruise now and not Heath’s face.
“D’you want an ice pack?”
Dixon offers, hand resting on the back of his neck as he looks back up at Heath. Heath tilts his head. Of course he would, but why exactly was he of all people offering?
“Sure, I guess.”
Dixon shrugs at this and does a little head motion to get Heath to follow him. Great. He’s not bringing him one, he’s making him come with. Honestly fuck this guy. Heath sighs and follows, moving in a slower more delicate manner so as to not hurt himself more. Dixon was at first walking ahead of him, but slows to walk next to him as they traverse the factory-turned-headquarters that is their house to get to the staircase. After some awkward silence, Dixon speaks.
“...How the hell did that even happen?”
Dixon questions, seeing how bad Heath has to nurse the bruise while he’s walking to keep it from hurting.
“That stupid bird bastard swooped down and hit me full body like a wrecking ball.”
Heath replies. It’s a bit of an understatement. The Crow had knocked the wind out of Heath so bad he was out cold for a good ten minutes. It was a miracle this wasn’t worse. Sure, he’d provoked it, but still. Dixon mouth displays.. Pity? Neutrality? Frankly, it’s not obvious.
“If it makes you feel better, I got him pretty hard in the face while you were out. Wouldn’t doubt I broke his nose.
Dixon replies with a small egotistical laugh. Honestly it does make him feel a little better to know karma got him quick. Heath replies silently with a tired smile, one Dixon can’t see anyways, as they finally make it to the stairwell that leads almost directly to the kitchen. As they go down the half-creaky stairs, Heath does something unusual for himself and uses the railing. As soon as they're down the stairs and in the quant kitchen/dining area, Heath sits down on the wooden dining room chair while DIxon digs through the freezer. The shape of the bruise is now a little more recognizable to Heath. The bird-like feet of the Crow. He needs to have Ness see if he has any broken ribs in the morning. Dixon sets the paper towel covered ice pack on the table in front of Heath, then walks over to the tea cabinet full of random items they have in the dining area. He pulls out a beach towel with a dumb cat print. He takes the towel and faces Heath.
“Can I touch you?”
Dixon asks. Heath doesn’t get why he asked.
“Yeah. It’s fine.”
Heath says in reply and Dixon grabs the ice pack, gently touching it to Heath’s bruise. Heath inhales sharply, eye pressing closed. He instinctively goes to grabs it, hand resting on top of Dixons.
“Actually, good idea. Hold that there.”
He comments, hands letting Heath hold the ice pack while he grabs the towel. He wraps it over Heath like a sash.
“You can let go.”
He says, tying the towel onto him so it holds the ice pack. Heath has to get used to the cold, but this should vaguely help. Dixon sits down at the chair diagonal to Heath. His mouth conveys a different emotion, but it’s not one Heath recognizes from him. It’s usually just anger, cockiness, or pain. This is something else.
“Talk to Ness in the morning… that’s going to hurt a hell of a lot more once you wake up.”
Dixon says. This concern is making Heath’s heart vaguely flutter when it shouldn’t.
“I’m fine, I swear.”
Heath says with joking exasperation. Dixon replies with an unconvinced look.
“You sure?”
“...Yeah. I’m okay. Just a little sore.”