"I plan to." And he did, once he wasn't bleeding and aching and drunk on way too much Tequila. He really needed to quit drinking Tequila. It just led him to punching things and bad decisions. And getting stabbed, apparently.

Tim put his hand where Billy guided it, pressing it to the wound. He made the smallest of noises in the back of his throat, eyes closing briefly. He could've done this himself. He could've gone home and dumped alcohol on it and bandaged it up. He was capable of that. But it felt nice to let himself be taken care of, and since he could manage it under the guise of being too drunk or too inexperienced, he was okay with it. He got to his feet, drawing in a slow breath, and wound up leaning partially against Billy. It was easier than standing upright.