Sour Candy | T. Drake ✔

[40] Stitches

Dora's lips pursed together into a slight frown as she saw the scars etched on his back, thin but deep gashes that were still bleeding. He had dropped by after patrol and was injured so she had forced him to show her what injury he had suffered.

And right then she had made him sit down on the stool, removing his cape and shirt as she thought about how to treat the cuts. She judged that a few of those gashes were deep enough to require stitches while the rest could be okay after some tincturing.

"Tim, what the hell did you get yourself into this time?" She fetched her medical kit as well as a towel and antiseptic.

"A rough patrol night, nothing extraordinary," he replied.

"And you came here because...?"

"Because if I went back home like this, I will get banned from patrol again," he mumbled.

She spread the towel on his back which was soaked in antiseptic and he tried to suppress the sharp pain that had stabbed him. "Next time, I will ban you from patrol if you dare do anything like this."

He protested, "Dora, no..."

"Don't underestimate me, I can be an even strict person than Bruce and I will ban you for a whole year instead of just a month."

"Look it isn't my fault," he tried to defend himself, "if I had known Cheetah was lurking around to attack me, I wouldn't have gone alone, I would have taken Cassie."

"Liar, you still would have gone by yourself," she smacked his head lightly and despite the pain, a soft chuckle resonated from him.

He tried to argue against it but couldn't find any valid point so he gave in, "why do you know me so well, Dora?"

"You're such an idiot that I sometimes forget some people consider you a genius," she remarked, removing the towel as she gently dabbed away at the excess blood, "now sit still while I stitch these up. If you move and the needle pricks you, I won't be responsible."

"How bad is it?"

She sighed, taking out her phone as she took a picture of his back that was literally riddled with thin gashes then showed it to him.

"Oh shit," he winced, "it felt so much better when I couldn't see it."

"Still, Timothy. Sit still. And don't talk even because I don't want to be diverted while I work."

Very carefully, she started to stitch the deep gashes, being cautious not to hurt him any more than he had already been.

"Done?"

"No, two more," she mumbled, working on the last two cuts.

Finally, when the stitches were all done, she cleansed the cuts again, applying a thin layer of ointment on the reddened scars.

"Now we'll have to wait for a few minutes so that it won't hurt when I'll wrap the bandage," she instructed him, "you can talk now."

"Thank goodness," he breathed in relief, holding his hand out towards her which she took, and right next moment, he had pulled her in front of him, gripping both her hands in his own. "Thank you so much, Dora."

"You're not welcome," she looked away, keeping up a stern expression on her face.

"What? Are you angry at me?"

"Can't you see?"

He pouted, "Dora, don't do this to me."

"Maybe if you knew I can stay angry at you for days if you go risk your life again then perhaps you will stop being such a self-sacrificial little shit."