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It was fucking embarrassing, was what it was. It hadn't even been a Nightwing injury. Tim was never going to let him live this down, and it was all over the news already: Richie Wayne hit in his own driveway by drunk heiress in her daddy's Benz, leg broken in three places.
He hobbled into their apartment six hours later than he meant to be, in a cast from knee to toes.
Jason was slouched uncomfortably on the couch where he'd clearly fallen asleep waiting for Dick to get back.
Dick blinked at him. "What the fuck?" he asked.
Jason startled upright, going from horizontal to vertical faster than his brain woke up.
Dick managed to dodge the object Jason flung at him, mostly because Jason flung it with his casted right arm, and the throw went wide. As it bounced off the wall near his head, Dick recognized Jason's current book.
"Uh," Jason said. His left hand was clenched tightly around his right elbow, above the cast. He'd hurt himself throwing the book. "Hey Pretty Bird," he said sheepishly.
Dick swung a few steps forward on his crutches. "So," he said dryly. "You do your arm before or after Tim texted about my leg?"
Jason blinked mostly-blue eyes innocently. "Which is the answer that makes you tease me less?" he asked.
"Jaybird, I got hit by a drunk driving party girl, I will be offering zero judgments about injuries for seven to ten business days."
"Fair, truce?" Jason offered, stepping into arm's reach to cup Dick's cheek with his left had. "Hey," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Dick's mouth.
"Hey," Dick murmured back. "You all right?"
"Yeah," Jason grumbled. "Doc set me fine, they're clean breaks."
"They?" Dick echoed.
"Calm down, Mr. Three Oblique Fractures of the Shin, it's fine. Two breaks, one each bone in my forearm, neither displaced, one just a hairline."
Dick relaxed. It would be a pain in the ass, but it would heal cleanly.
"You hungry?" Jason asked. "I was going to cook, but," he waved his cast vaguely. "We could order?"
"You could give me directions?" Dick offered, waving both of his working hands.
Jason glared at Dick's cast. "If you sit on the barstool," he said slowly.
Dick rolled his eyes, but accepted this.
With working legs and one good hand, Jason brought Dick ingredients and utensils, and Dick, with two hands, opened, chopped, and mixed. Jason leaned up against Dick's back, cast hooked around Dick's middle, and used his left hand to stir the pan while Dick finished chopping and adding vegetables to their very simple stir fry.
Dick leaned his head back against Jason's shoulder, and felt Jason nuzzle a kiss against his ear. "Actually this is fun," Jason murmured into his hair. "I mean, I wouldn't want to watch you manhandle my chef's knife ever again, but I do like cooking with you."
Dick huffed a laugh. "When you have two hands again, you'll have to teach me to chop properly."
"Damn right," Jason murmured, pressing another kiss to his ear, and then he went to put the colander in the sink and drain the noodles.
Dick seasoned the vegetables again, scooching his stool closer to the stove.
Jason leaned into his back again, resting his forehead against Dick's head for a moment.
Dick braced himself more evenly and let Jason lean on him. "Jaybird?" he asked quietly.
"Long night," Jason murmured. "Stupid bullshit with stupid Ghost Dragons, was worried about you, then I fucked my arm up, had to go to Doc's."
"Bed after food," Dick promised, adding the noodles to the stir fry.
Jason hummed against his neck and then pulled away with a regretful sigh. He fetched two bowls, and then draped himself right back against Dick's back while Dick served the food. Dick nudged Jason carefully with his elbow. "Come on, eat, so we can go to bed."
Dick was starving, after an evening of only stupid finger foods at the party, and then five hours past his scheduled supper in the ER. He found himself almost inhaling the noodles, and by sound against his shoulder, Jason was doing the same.
They made their way to the bedroom, and took turns peeling each other carefully out of clothes over casts. Dick really wanted a shower, but didn't have the energy for the effort that would require, so he contented himself with a washcloth and Jason's good arm around his waist so he wouldn't fall over while he leaned his crutches on the wall to brush his teeth.
Jason stabbed himself accidentally with his toothbrush, trying to brush left handed.
Dick managed not to laugh, and a good thing too, because two minutes later Jason had to catch him when he tripped on an escrima stick, rolled free from its usual spot under the nightstand.
"We're a mess," Jason murmured, tumbling Dick carefully to bed and rolling in after.
"We're lucky Tim's not here," Dick agreed. "He'd never let us live it down."
"Hate to break it, Pretty Bird, but he already knows we're useless," Jason disagreed, casually rearranging Dick one handed, cast and all.
Dick hummed happily, leaning in to tuck his face into Jason's neck. Jason carefully propped Dick's casted leg between his own, where Dick couldn't move it, and then draped his casted arm over Dick's midsection. Neither of them were particularly restless sleepers, and the most they were likely to shift in the night would be for Jason to roll himself on top of Dick like a strangely-shaped weighted blanket.
Jason breathed out into Dick's hair, the soft ruffle of his breath and the steady beat of his heart against Dick's chest all he needed to relax entirely, feel sleep tugging at the edges of his limbs. "Love you, Pretty Bird," Jason mumbled against his hairline.
"Love you too," Dick replied into Jason's throat, lifting his chin for a languid kiss, until neither of them could keep their eyes open. "Night," he mumbled, and pressed his face back into Jason's neck.
Jason's answer was a soft exhale, already more asleep than awake, as his limbs grew heavier over Dick. The weight of it sank him all the way into sleep.