Wells settled back against the pillows and touched his side gingerly. “Perhaps you can fetch me something: a sweater. It’s getting chilly in here.”
There were usually clothes lying around – S.T.A.R. Labs had once sold a lot of branded merchandise, and had a lot of stock left over – and Barry didn’t have to search far. When he returned, Wells had eased out of his undershirt, which was ripped where Caitlin had cut it open, and stained from the bandaged wounds Barry could now see.
“Holy…” What was that instinct, to reach out and touch what you knew you shouldn’t? His fingertips barely brushed the gauze. “You look like you went one-on-one with a bulldozer.”
“Something like that.”