Bart knows Tim needs to relax and let his body heal. That he didn't need to be hospitalized is wonderful, but there's only so much pushing one should do. So he's tried to urge his best friend to relax, to slow down, as hypocritical as that feels sometimes. Others, he's just trying to help with the mood.

Like now. He's in the kitchen, pretending to ignore the Robin-shaped lump on the couch with a tablet compulsively researching everything he can find about recent events as he simmers milk in a saucepan, making cocoa in what clearly the slowest way imaginable. But it also means it's rich and creamy, and not powdery and gross like the instant. He'd made an effort to learn for these moments.

"So, do you want me to add anything flavor-wise? I've got a bunch of spices that could work for something more like mexican chocolate, or raspberry or..." Well, he was mostly pretending to ignore what Tim was doing, not that he was there.