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"No wait, don't tell me," Artemis holds up a hand, silencing Robin (for once). She squints at him, leaning on her bow like a cane. Which is actually not good for her bow at all. She stops immediately, rubbing away the imaginary dirt. Sometimes she loses her mind a little around Dick, y'know? It happens. "You have... the bird flu."
"Wow." If Dick's tone was any flatter, water wouldn't roll off it. His lips tighten, before a monstrous sneeze throws his head back. He overbalances, landed flat on his butt, pulling his cape taut. He flails widely, trying to maintain his balancing in an upright sitting position. But despite his pinwheeling arms, the angle of his back caused by his trapped cape tips him slowly onto his back. He's splayed out on the rooftop, all gangly limbs and sulky silence.
Artemis should feel bad. Dick without coordination is like... normal people without cable. (For instance, Artemis was super upset when her mom downgraded the cable package, thus canceling any plans she had of watching Pretty Little Liars. Don't judge; they have nice clothes.)
Instead she laughs. And she wheezes, then snorts so hard that she crashes to her hands knees, sucking in harsh breath after harsh breath. She keeps glancing up to look at Dick's expression, because he's furious, muttering quicksilver words in an unfamiliar language, staring dead ahead into the heavens. And his voice. Usually super supple and playful? Now it's bogged down by about a metric shitton of snot. And he sounds like a bad rendition Patrick Starr. She would kiss Wolf if she had a recorder on her right now.
When she finally calms down, she crawls toward Dick on her hands and knees, clicking her bow back onto its holster on her back. "Hey. Hey." She pokes his ribs.
"Shut up, if I wish hard enough, maybe I'll be dead and this won't've happened."
"Fine, Wonder Boy, whatever, but if you get me sick, I'll hawk a loogie on you," she informs him, cozying up to his side. He's pretty floppy and unrespondant (Artemis will be gracious and say that's because of the disease he's carrying), so she positions him at her will, settling with his head on her chest (not squishing her boobs, though, ouch), and an arm cradling his back.
"Y'know, I bet your mom makes a really good soup that would cure my-"
"Not on your life, squirt."