[ Dick's stomach definitely thinks it's date-ish. He wishes it would get the memo. ]

Yeah, yeah. No wild parties. You know I hate pain meds anyway. Makes my head all... [ vague loopy hand gesture.

He takes the crutches, balancing again easily as he heads in the door. He wants to say thank you, or sorry, or what does this mean?, or let's forget this ever happened, or maybe all of the above. But he doesn't. ]

Go to bed, dude. You look terrible.