Moist remembers the first time he had to patch Billy up. It was Billy, not Dr. Horrible. Dr. Horrible didn't feel pain; he let Billy do that for him. But Moist didn't know of Dr. Horrible at that point; Moist was blissfully unaware that Dr. Horrible and Billy were two (really four) different people. Moist only knew of Billy dressed as Dr. Horrible. And now that he thought about it, he wished it had stayed that way.

It was their first time out on a heist. It wasn't at a bank, or at some kind of lab to get some weird named chemical for the acid grout, or casings for the flash grenades, or even fog-juice for the disappear things Billy had tried once. Moist later learned that they were never going to try them again, and it caused some poor kid to have an asthma attack and Billy wasn't able to sleep for weeks when he found out about it. Billy was nice like that.

No, their first ever heist was at a drug store. Of all places, of all things, Billy chose to hold up a drug store. And for their latest shipment of aspirin. Moist was beyond confused. Even more so when the clerk handed him the case of said aspirin, and Billy calmly asked the freaked out teen if ketoprofen would work better for long term pain or sudden jolts. Confused, the kid asked where it hurt. Billy didn't know, just wondered which would be better for what. Moist was holding a box that was quickly turning to mush, and cleared his throat to catch his friend's attention. With a start and a twitch of fright, Dr. Horrible straightened up and announce loudly that he was going to leave now. That's when the ceiling fell on his head. That's when the annoying voice of Captain Hammer laughed at the plaster covered villain.

That's when Moist understood why Billy chose this place and this time. It was a kind of a test. Made sense, after all he was applying to be a henchman. His henchman. Dr. Horrible's henchman. Whatever, it all worked in Moist's head anyway. Dr. Horrible's nemesis was Captain Hammer, so what better way to make sure that this is really what Moist wants to do than to have him meet the "good guy" himself? Moist held the boxes of pain-killers, sure they were going to need them, and watched as the two supers traded insults. Billy complained about getting dust in his eyes, Hammer snided that that was what the goggles were for. Billy commented that they were for welding, not for keeping dust out of your eyes, that's what safety goggles were for. Hammer snarked that he should be wearing safety goggles because-

Ouch, that had to hurt. Hammer didn't finish his sentence with words. He didn't need too. Instead his right fist went into Billy's nose. Billy went flying into a counter. Moist dropped the box and went to help his boss out and to his feet. He didn't get a chance too. A hand as big as his head grabbed the back of his shirt and threw him across the room.

"Don' dutch him!" He could hear Billy crunch out of the display, try and defend him, trying to protect his friend. Moist couldn't move. He didn't know what he had hit, but he couldn't see, he couldn't move. But he could hear. He heard everything. Heard all the insults, all the sickening thumps of flesh on flesh as Hammer knocked Billy senseless, the screams of pain and the calls of agony. All of them were his friend's. Slowly his vision came back, only to have a very bruised face land in his lap.

"Really, you're useless." Hammer gloated. Billy glanced up at him, apologetically, eyes almost swollen shut, goggles falling into his bluegrays. That hurt more than anything Hammer had done to him. The look from Billy, the one that struck a nerve deeper than Moist ever thought possible. Moist picked up Billy's head, putting it down on the floor as he stood. Hammer was gloating to the clerks, who were all doe-eyed and oblivious to how overkill it was. Calmly walking over to a chair at the cosmetics counter, Moist picked it up. It had a great texture, so he could grip it without fear of it going away from him.

"Hey, douche bag." Captain Hammer turned around; Moist noted that he had to remember to laugh at that later. "Bang this." He noted that he had to remember to laugh at that too. Then he chucked the chair.

Which bounced off the hero's chest like he had thrown a plushie. Moist doesn't remember much after that. But he does remember waking up with barley a scratch. Which was a little odd. How had he passed out? Eh, whatever. But he was in an alley. And Billy was next to him, out cold. Poor guy's face looked like it was on the wrong side of a bee hive. Getting him home was hard. Doc was light, very very light. Happened to a vegetarian that didn't each much. (Though he was oh-so-toned.) No, what made it hard was bringing Doc around. He couldn't carry Billy, he'd drop him! And that was the last thing his boss needed. So he tried to rouse him, get him to open his eyes, get him to take some of his weight.

So they limped home, one arm around Moist's neck, Billy's other arm around his ribs. Moist had his other hand supporting his friend's elbow. They moved slowly, having to pause now and again for Billy to gasp in some air and spit out rust colored something or other. Moist didn't want to know what it was. Not really. He'd probably have to find out eventually, as the rib thing didn't sound like fun. But right now, he didn't want to deal with it. Up the stairs (Looking back on that, the elevator never worked in all those years in that dump) and into the lab. It was the brightest place. There was nothing in it for the light to be sucked into. Into the chair his friend went, nodding off slightly.

Moist went to work, cleaning the cuts, the bruises, the massive amount of red that poured from a horribly broken nose. All the while trying to keep Billy awake. The gloves came off first, Billy grunting in pain with each careful tug. His hand had been stepped on by the steel-toed boots of the jerkwad that had done this to them. Free of the white gauntlet, Moist could see the bluish purple that indicated broken bones. He couldn't fix that, but he could keep it from hurting too much for the time being.

So the hand had a lotion of something Doc had made slathered on it, wrapped in gauze. His other hand was fine, but the glove had to come off anyway. The smock was removed, carefully, as every movement made Billy cry out in pain. Not even a month. Moist had been living here not even a month and he was freaked out. Taking care of Billy like this, what had his friend done when he had lived alone?! The smock off, the tight fighting shirt had to be cut off (Moist owed him a new one later) because of his shoulder. It was swollen to the size of a pineapple, and about the same color as an eggplant. He was not going to be using his left side much. Wrapped and bandaged as best as could be expected, Moist wished he knew how to put a dislocated shoulder back into place. A make-shift sling, and it was onto the rest of his buddy.

The deep mark around Doc's neck suggested that he had been chocked. The thought of those massive paws crushing the life out of his companion sickened Moist. But there was nothing he could do about it now. It too was wrapped, as well as his discolored chest. His face was special; busted lip, black eye, broken nose, a missing tooth, a golf ball sized lump just under the hairline… just more wrappings to keep pressure. There was nothing they could do right now about it. Neither could afford a hospital, and the doctor's office didn't open until six. Billy had made a comment some weeks later about a doctor needing a doctor. But he was a medical engineer. Sure, he had two PhD's by age twenty two, but the sight of blood made him pass out in his high school bio lab.

So the two stayed up all night. They sat, and talked. Or, as best as they could. Moist found a small lump on the back of his head. With a bit of ice he was fine, it wouldn't bother him any. His wet scalp made the fist slip when it hit him, only making him pass out from shock rather than any actual pain. If only Billy was as lucky.

"Thanks Doc." He had to keep Billy awake. It sounded so clichéd, so false… keeping someone with a concussion from falling asleep. It wasn't always necessary, unless there were signs to suggest trouble most of the time they were fine. Not always, but most of the time. But Moist only knew what he had seen in the movies. And you never let someone with a knock on the head sleep without real and thorough medical attention. That and he wanted to reassure himself that Billy wasn't mad at him.

"For what?" Billy's voice sounded horrible. Scratchy, from having his throat almost crushed by the Neanderthal. And tired, so very very tired.

"You stood up for me back there."

"Yeah? You threw a chair at him."

"I'm protected, I have a union. You have nothing. Look what he did to you! You shouldn't have stood up for me like that."

"You're my friend Moist."

That was all Billy had to say. The conversation turned to different things throughout the night. Morning came, and Moist helped Doc onto a bus and into help. Four fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, three cracked metacarpals, a slight concussion, broken nose, and the order of limited talking and off your feet for a few weeks. They had gotten mugged according to the medical file; wallets stolen so they didn't have any I.D., and only the money they could scrounge from their apartment, nowhere near enough for the hospital. No questions asked. But Moist gained a bit of pride that day. Billy was his friend, and he was Billy's friend. They'd watch after each other.

Moist will never forget his first time patching Billy up. He only wished he could do it now.