This is for FuzzyBee013's contest: Sick and Hurt Challenge

I own nothing.

WARNINGS: gore, blood, MINOR language, and FLUFF!

* no slash * just fluff and funniness

"Maybe you should just let me breathe-"

"I'm trying to protect you," Bruce argued. His navy eyes were biting at me sharply, and I couldn't help but take an aggressive offense.

"Well, maybe you aren't protecting me! Ever think about that?"

Bruce seethed, his fists hard at his sides. His jaw was set tightly, and I could tell he was trying to keep his anger in check. We both have anger problems, don't get me wrong, and we fight as much as we don't, but still...

"You are sixteen- you need to learn to grow up."

Ooh... That was the wrong thing to say.

I felt my heart drop like a hammer, and my vocal cords cracked and grew dry. My face went slack- I felt it, and Bruce's eyes instantly showed his sudden sorrow. He reached out a hand, his lips moving slowly as he groped for words. "Richard... Dick, I-"

"No!" I screamed at him, feeling tears coming to my eyes. I took a step back, my eyebrows furrowed tightly as I tried to keep from crying. "You- You- I- I grew up when I was eight!" I roared at him, my hands balled up. I wanted to punch him, to kick him, to bite him- yes. Bite.

Anything to get my point across.

"I grew up when I watched my parents being murdered!" I screamed at him, my voice bouncing off the halls in the Manor. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I shook my head before hissing, "I hate you..."

I turned and ran, not looking back.

Bruce didn't come after me.


I rode down the four-lane street, the wind blowing my black hair into my face. I wasn't wearing my helmet, mostly to just piss off Bruce, but I did really like those cold breezes in my hair... It reminded me of when my mother would rub my scalp in the winter, to warm her fingers and my head.

The sky was black, and street lamps and light poles littered around, giving adequate enough light for me to drive.

Bub, bub, bub, bub, bub, bub, bub, bub-

My cycle starting drifting onto the white dots. I swerved back into my lane, trying to ignore the numerous horns I heard blaring at me. My ears felt like they were bleeding, my head was throbbing, and tears still ran down my cheeks, under my normal black sports glasses. Blinking back more tears, I sped forward, in between two cars, and jetted across the intersection just before the light turned red.

More honking, but I ignored it.

I began to wonder where I was headed. Looking up, I almost smiled when I saw Mount Justice in the distance. I could relax, chill, not worry about Bruce or my 'lack of maturity'. I could just... be...





I am the most idiotic, the stupidest, the most ignorant and un-asterous fool in the whole-frickin'-world.

I crashed into a light pole.


When I was having my mind-monologue, I veered off again, only this time, there wasn't just white dots and an empty street in front of me.

There was a light pole.


I was sprawled out supine, both arms out like a bird. (Don't even think about the jokes.) I couldn't feel my left leg, which scared the heck out of me. Warm, wet stuff ran down the side of my face and my neck. My right arm hurt very, very badly. I first tested my neck to see if it could possibly be broken, and, after assessing that it wasn't, I craned it to see my arm.

I almost threw up the very nice Salmon that Alfred had cooked earlier that night.

I had been wearing a short-sleeved shirt, unalike my normal hoodie and jacket combo, and now, my arm was shredded. Shredded. Several of my fingers looked broken, and you could barely see any skin through the red that oozed out freely. A bit of pink and white peered out of my forearm- muscle and bone.

I heaved, sending puke out over my torso.

My torso.

Aw, crap.

My chest had a long gash in it that was letting blood soak out into my white shirt, causing it to stick to my skin. Not to mention the puke that- we won't go there.

I saw why I couldn't feel my left leg.

My bike- a once beautiful little red and black little thing, tailored to my ability (height), was lying over my leg. It's grill was ripped off, and the front wheel was torn through-and-through. The handle was underneath my knee, while the rest of the bike bit down into the flesh of my shin.

Alarms blared, and I could just barely make out flashing lights on the horizon.

Aw, crap...

A warm hand touched my face lightly, and I flinched, taking in a hiss of air. Blinking harshly, I looked up and saw a woman in all white- her hair pulled back in a bun. "You're gonna be okay," she said loudly, strongly, and gestured for something.

An ambulance.

She was an ER.

I hated hospitals.

And Bruce would know...

"N-No..." I tried to say, but it came out a moan. The woman smiled gently, though I could see the fear in her eyes. I wasn't in that bad of shape... Was I?

Apparently so, since I felt a collar being placed around my neck. Someone hefted up my bike, and I felt a whoosh of liquid run out of my leg. "Get some pressure on that!" I heard someone shout. "And get the stretcher out! Now!"

Another person- an African man- knelt down next to me. He put a hand on my shoulder and began to inspect what I guessed was a large gash on my face. "Why you not wearin' a helmet, son?" he asked with a chuckle, trying to brush off the situation.

I tried to chuckle, but a snort of blood came out of my mouth, and I gasped for air. Quickly, the man had out a rag and was wiping up the red. He smiled, showing off pearly teeth. "I know why you weren't wearin' a helmet. You're a teen- that's why."

I smirked slightly, then hissed in pain as someone touched my leg.

A stretcher was slid under my body- it jostled my leg and hit a few bruises- but I managed to only grunt in pain a few times.

They wheeled me into the ambulance. By now, the shock and adrenaline was leaving my system, and I could feel every nerve, aver busted blood vessel, every broken bone, bruise, and torn muscle in my body. Someone put a needle into my arm, and I felt a sudden release of pain as painkillers flooded my system.

I managed to mumble, "Thank you..." before black shadows appeared.


I woke up what I supposed was several hours later.

The scratchy sheets- stark white- and bright lights in the ceiling, blinding me, provided the information I needed to evaluate that I was, indeed, at a hospital. I felt intense, searing pain in my arm. Turning my head a bit, I saw that it was wrapped up firmly in gauze. But it didn't look like they had done surgery just yet. From what I had seen earlier, I would definitely be needing surgery. My leg, I saw upon further inspection, was wrapped up. It was no more than gashes, which had been stitched, from what I could feel.

Craning my neck further (with a sharp pain), I saw the clock read: 11:30PM.

After me and Bruce had our 'spouts', I could often be out until 5AM. Bruce wouldn't be worrying- and a good thing, too. Alfred would be up, though, cleaning his heart out until I returned and he could lecture me, then send me up for a bath and some sleep while he fixed me some soup.

A gentle knocking came at the door, and I looked over to see another lady with a tight bun- only hers was bleached blonde- and greenish-turquoise scrubs. She smiled at me from behind large, Harry Potter-glasses and clicked her tongue playfully. "You've got yourself in a tizzy, kid."

I rolled my eyes, but smiled all the same.

She brought out a clipboard out and began to take some notes on my heart monitor and IV fluids. She looked at me, lips pursed. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Dick," I said softly, hoping she wouldn't ask for a last name.

She did.

"Do you have a last name?"

Reluctantly, I said, "Grayson..."

She nodded, not seeming to take note of my fame. She wrote down my name, then looked up. "Can you tell me how old you are?"

"Sixteen- almost seventeen."

She nodded. "Where are you?"

"... A hospital?"

She giggled. "What city, kid?"


She nodded, writing down more notes. "Good. Now," she looked up at me, "I'm going to need a name or number of someone to call for you- since you're still a minor, someone has to sign over some papers so that we can operate on your hand."

Oh, boy...

I did not want Bruce getting wind of this...

I licked my lips and breathed out through my nose before saying, "My cousin, Wally West, is taking care of me this week. You can call him- his number should be in Central City files."

She nodded, her pursed lips making a clicking noise. "Got it. Oh, and my name is Cherrie."

I nodded. "Thanks, Cherrie."

She did something with the clipboard, because it disappeared, and then walked back over to my IV. "Are you still in pain?"

Reluctantly, I nodded. She repeated my movement, and then injected the IV bag with a needle of painkillers. "Thanks," I muttered, but it came out more of a, "Tblnksd..."

And I was enveloped by black.


The ginger yawned into the phone, nodding off slightly as he tried to listen to his friend without nodding off. "Right... Right..."

"Wally, are you even listening to what I'm saying?"

"Hm?" Wally hummed sleepily.

Across the line, Roy rolled his eyes to the back of his head. "Dude, Lian's with Ollie and Dinah for the weekend- do you and Dick wanna hang out? I mean, it's been forever since we have."

Wally yawned, and Roy rolled his eyes again. The speedster stretched, standing and going into his apartment's kitchen to get some milk. "Yeah, sure. Sounds cool."

Suddenly, Wally's phone beeped. He looked at the screen.

Incoming Call: Unknown

He sighed/growled, then spoke to Roy, "Hang on, I've got another call."


Wally pressed a few buttons, then said, "This is Wally West."

"Hello, Mr. West. This is Cherrie Smiths with the Gotham Memorial Hospital." Wally's heart dropped into his stomach, and he felt his eyes widen. "I'm calling about your cousin, Dick Grayson. He's been in a motorcycle accident- he's stable, but he needs surgery for his arm. It seems to have gotten tangled up in his bike's chains and grill. We need you to sign him over, as he is staying with you this week."

"He is staying with me," Wally spoke nonchalantly. "Okay, well, you said he's gonna be okay, right?" The ginger tried to hide his worry, but the nurse must have heard it.

"Yes- he should be alright..." she seemed hesitant. "But, his arm is rather torn. He needs surgery, and as soon as possible-"

"Right, right," Wally spoke as he pulled on a jacket. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you, sir."


He turned back over onto Roy's call. "Roy, I need you to meet me at Gotham Memorial Hospital."

"Gotham Memo- oh, God... Is Dick okay?"

Wally licked his lips, sighing. "From what I can tell, yeah, but-"

"'K. I'll meet you there in twenty."

"Got it."


I opened my eyes slowly, mad at myself for falling asleep again. My head was still throbbing, but I couldn't hardly feel my leg. My arm was blazing with pain still, though, very sadly. The lights only added to my headache, and I winced, blowing air out of my nose.

They dimmed down.

"Thanks..." I muttered, still high off of my painkillers.

"I'm gonna kill you, ya' know that?"

Yay! Wally's here!

The young adult came up and dragged a chair over to the bedside. He ran his fingers through his red fluff, sighing heavily. "I had a long day, Dick, and you are not really helping."

I managed a small smirk, laced with pain. Wally's eyes were worried, and he tried to cover it all up in his jokes- like usual.

He took my good hand and gave me a gentle squeeze. "How you feel?"

I grunted, and he snickered slightly. "Yeah. Thought so."

There was a long silence. Wally swallowed and said, "You and Bruce got into a fight, huh?"

I moaned. "You're not gonna' tell him, are you?"

Wally cocked an eyebrow. "And face the wrath of Daddy-Bats? I think not."

I sighed with relief.

Cherrie came to the door, smiling. She saw Wally and sighed. "Thank you for coming, Mr. West."

Wally nodded. "Yeah- no prob. Dick's more like a brother than a cousin to me." I blushed, making a mental note to get my revenge later.

Cherrie handed Wally a clipboard, pointing at different spots for him to sign. "Here... Here... Here... aaaand there."

Wally handed her the clipboard, smirking his his new-found 'heart-breaker' stare. I saw Cherrie's grip on her clipboard tightening, and her cheeks turned a light pink. She suddenly turned my way and shot me an encouraging smile. "The doctor will be ready for you in about thirty minutes, okay, Dick?"

I shrugged, too groggy to do or care about anything.

Cherrie nodded and turned to leave.

After she was gone, Wally got a bit antsy. I frowned at him, trying to keep my eyes open. Everything was going foggy. "Wh'as wrong, Wall?"

Wally bit his lower lip. "I- uh- I called- uh... Roy's coming-"


I shouted a bit louder than I should have, and a few nurses and doctors came running. They glared at Wally, who turned red. "Um... sorry."

After they left, I shot Wally the best Bat-glare I could muster on these dumb, yet heavenly, painkillers. "You... called... Roy?"

"Is there a problem with that?" came the familiar bad-boy tone from the door.

I groaned, pulling my pillow over my face. A strong hand ripped it off and showed two blue eyes, boring into my skull. "Richard John Grayson, I am going to kick your a-"

"Language," Wally chided Roy. The archer just looked at Wally, and the room shifted down about three degrees.

Yeah. That's Roy for 'ya.

Then, the Archer-glare turned to me. But it busted like a bubble when Roy saw the bloody gauze on my head and arm. He murmured a four-letter word under his breath and came around to my other side, fingers lightly tracing up and down my arm. Then, his glare stiffened again. "Dick... Were you wearing your helmet?"

"You don't wear a helmet!"

Roy bristled. "That- that's besides the point!"

"That is completely on the point!"

"Never mind," the red-head glowered, turning back to my arm. After a few moments, he pulled out his cell phone.

My eyes widened. "What're you doing?"

"Calling Bru-"

In a flash of red and blue jeans, Wally had Roy's phone across the room. "No you're not!"

Roy scowled firmly. "Uh- yes, I am. I don't know about you, but I'd rather have Dick in trouble than me when Bruce finds out."

I dropped my jaw, then crossed my arms to the best of my abilities. "Traitor..."

"Yes, yes I am."

He slapped Wally on the back of the head, earning an 'ouch!' from the speedster, and grabbed his cell. Before Wally could stop seeing double to react, Roy had Bruce on the line on speaker.

"Harper," I almost jumped when Bruce spoke. His voice wasn't angry, like how I had always expected it to be. It sounded... weary... frightened? No- Bruce didn't get frightened... Nervous? Nervous, definitely. "Harper, have you heard from Dick?"

Roy began to massage his temples with one had, his palm stretched across his forehead. "Yeah, he's here. We're... at the hospital."


I winced as Roy came over, tossing the phone onto my lap. "Language, Bruce," he said, "you're on speaker."

Instead of hearing him yelling and screaming like how I normally got, I heard Bruce's voice crack. "Dick... Richard, are you okay? What happened?"

I bit my lower lip. "I- I crashed the bike..."

Wait for it... Wait for it...

Bruce sighed heavily. "Are you okay?"


I cleared my throat. "Uhm... Y-yeah... I mean, I've gotta get some surgery-"

"What hospital are you at?"

I winced. The angry voice was coming out. Bruce would never forgive me for this.

"Really, Bruce, it's- like- almost 1AM. You don't have to-"

"Richard John Grayson-" Ooh! That's twice I've pissed people off enough so that they use my full name tonight! YAY! "- you are my son. I'm coming. Harper, what hospital?"

Roy loomed over the bed, his shadow casting demons over me (because Roy can totally do that). "Memorial."

"Got it. I'll be over in five, Dick. And don't you even think about trying to escape from the hospital- because I will find you. Just like that time in Guam-"

"Ooooookay," I said, pulling the phone to my lips. "I'ma' waitin', Bruce."


Cherrie came back into the room, looking grim. "Are you ready, Dick?"

Believe it or not, I've never had surgery. Really. I mean, I've had bullets removed and stitches done up, taped-up ribs, stuff like that- but not surgery.

I felt my hands get clammy, and I could feel the blood drain from my face. My breath came in quicker, and I felt my heart drop into my stomach. Sweat poured down my face, and I got scared.

Yes, me, Robin: the Boy Wonder, Richard Grayson of the Fearless Flying Graysons, was scared out of mind.

Roy was talking to the nurse about the surgery details, leaving me to wallow.

Wally looked over and instantly recognized my stress. He walked over slowly and crouched down to be face-to-face with me. I tried not to look into his eyes, as I felt tears welling up in mine. He licked his lips nervously and took a hand, wiping hair from my face. "You need a haircut, buddy."

I tried to chuckle, but it came out more of a whimper. He sighed, kneeling down onto his knee and taking my hand. I smirked slightly. "Oh, so you're proposing?"

He snorted. "To you? No way- there are much more attractive men out there."

I swatted his head.

Wincing, rubbing his neck, Wally said, "Between you and Roy, I'm gonna be the one needing surgery now!"

I felt my muscles tense up at the word 'surgery'. Wally must have felt it, too, because he squeezed my good hand tighter. "You're gonna be okay, Dickie. You know that, right? It's not as big a deal as-"

"I've never had surgery before," I managed to say. My voice cracked, and tears welled up further.

Wally looked incredulous. "Really?"


He sighed, not knowing what else to say. Nervous fingers made their way through red fluff again, and Wally gently smiled at me. "I'll be right outside that door. I'll be waiting for you, Dickie. Roy, too. And Bruce."

I swallowed. "We- we had an argument today..."

He smirked. "'Ya don't say?"

I ignored his joke and nodded. "Yeah. He- we- we fought about how he hasn't been letting me out lately. It's like I'm on a two-foot chain! I just can't... I can't..." I sighed. I've sighed a lot, so far, but it seems to get across my feelings well.

Wally nodded. "Well, you always argue with your... mentors." I nodded slightly. "I remember how much I fought with Uncle Barry... God, I ran off so much... Then, he-" Wally stiffened. "After he died, I lost a part of myself. We had fights, sure, but we were as close as anything..." He eyed me, and I looked pointedly down at my injured leg. "Dick, Bruce may not be your father, but he's your dad."


The nurse came over and began to wheel me out with the help of a doctor. I grabbed Roy's hand as we went, and he patted my shoulder. "I'll be waiting for you, Dick. Don't worry- I'll be here."

I nodded, still feeling the cold sweat running down my neck. The doors opened, and, from then on, everything was blank.


Bruce slammed open the doors to the hospital. Everyone's eyes tuned in on the man, and when they recognized him as the one of the world's richest billionaires, cell phones and camera along with pen pads whipped out.

Bruce shoved away a reporter (what was a reporter doing at the hospital?) and darted up to the front desk. The receptionist looked nervous, flattered, and giddy at the arrival of the famous man. "Dick Grayson," he said quickly, "where is he?"

The Asian woman quickly typed away at the computer, and then squinted at the fine print. "He's in surgery-"


Bruce looked up to see two red-heads jogging over to him. One of them seemed to almost vibrate. "Wallace, Harper, what-"

Roy grabbed Bruce's bicep. "They just wheeled him in. You barely missed-"

"Is he okay?"

Wally turned to Roy and nodded. "Fairly."

"Fairly?" Bruce's voice was laced with venom.

People were staring and clicking all sorts of pictures. Wally quickly led Roy and Bruce out into the barren hall. Two security guards darted forward and blocked off the crazies from following the men into the hall.

Bruce sat down on a chair, putting his face in his hands. He groaned in his throat, trying to hide his fear.

Yes, fear.

Normally, he masked his fear with anger.

But not this time.

Looking up at the two younger men, Bruce's fear was evident in his eyes. "How is he?"

Wally shoved his hands into his pockets nonchalantly, but his eyes were nervously flitting around. "He- he kinda got his arm torn up a bit-"


Roy butted in. "The nurse said it got caught on the chains and grill of his bike. It's torn pretty bad- extreme damage to the muscle tissue and bone- and he's going to need some pretty intensive PT."

Wally's green eyes widened. "That- that bad?"

"I didn't want to worry you." He shrugged.

Wally looked like he was about to pounce on Roy, but Bruce stood. "How long is this going to take?"

Roy shrugged. "We just have to wait."


Five hours.


All three men stood abruptly when the doors opened. Out wheeled the white bed, Dick now placed on it again. His arm looked tiny in the numerous bandages and such that covered him from above his elbow to the tip of his middle finger. His face was pale, and he had clearly just woken up. His eyes were glazed over slightly, and his head lolled around. Wally smirked and drew a Sharpie out of his back pocket, but, with a look from Bruce, he threw it in the trash.

Cherrie walked in front of the bed, and the men walked behind, back to the room. The two doctors nodded to her, and she smiled back, excusing them. When Cherrie's eyes fell on Bruce, she looked ready to faint.

"M-M-M-Mr. W-W-Wayne, sir! Oh, m-m-my! I-I- Can I help you?"

Bruce took a moment, watching Dick as he lolled around, half conscious, half not. Wally was poking his cheek, clearly entertained, while Roy was looking deathly at the speedster. "Yes," the billionaire spoke. "Can I have the stats?"

She nodded. "Yes... Uhm- It- it seems that everything went well. D-Dick lost some blood, well, a lot actually, with his leg, chest, and arm combined- but his leg and arm are fine- his leg it too, now- oh! No! I mean, his leg and chest are fine, and his arm is now-"

Bruce took the clipboard from her. He mumbled under his breath as he read, "Blood loss... PT... suggested two months- Two months of PT?" he asked incredulously. She nodded.

"It was a rather... gory wound. It was difficult to fix- his muscles have been wounded severely, and he will need to build them back up." At least she wasn't blubbering now.

"Thank you..."

"Cherrie," she said seductively.

Bruce nodded, looking annoyed slightly (though Cherrie clearly didn't see it). "Cherrie."

She excused herself, and Bruce turned to go and sit next to Dick. The boy moved slightly, mumbling softly. Bruce grabbed his good hand, massaging it gently. "Dick... Dick, can you hear me?"


"Dick... hear... Dick? Can you... Dick... Can you hear me?"

"B-Bruce?" I moaned, turning my head to squint at the shadow next to me. Sure enough, there he was- slicked-back black hair, bags under his eyes, and stubble on his chin.

"Dick," he sighed with relief, brushing some hair from my face.

I smiled wearily. Everything was still foggy, gray and fuzzy around the edges. "Where- Where am... I'm at the hospital?"

Bruce nodded gently. "Yes. You're safe, Dick. You're okay."

Roy slapped Wally's arm and dragged him out of the room.

"Bruce..." I said softly. Something was weighing down on my conscience.

Bruce may not be your father, but he's your dad.

"Yes, Dick?"

I blinked in the harsh lights. My heart felt like lead, and my conscience was squelching the life out of me. "I- I'm sorry..."

Bruce smiled gently. "No, Dick, I'm sorry... I said things, and I-"

"I disrespected you," I whispered, tears coming to my eyes. "I- I don't want you to die... And- and I not- I not- I haven't told you how much... Thank you..."

Bruce's eyes widened for a moment, then he looked at me somewhat suspiciously. "For what?"

I smiled gently, sadly. "Taking in a circus-orphan freak... I know I've been such a burden, especially these past few years- I've just been an ass, and I'm so sorry-"

Bruce shushed me, wiping more hair from my face. "No, no, no, no, Dick... Richard, you have given me so much in my life. You're the only reason I can smile-" He paused. "Well, you, Alfred, and Tim."

I chuckled. "Hey- where is Tim?"

"I think he's in bed."


Bruce shrugged, and I chuckled. "We really need to work on your parenting skills."

Bruce visibly flinched, and I hissed. "Oh, God, Bruce I didn't mean it like-"

"I know," he assured me, squeezing my hand. He sighed. "I love you, Dick, and I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

Bruce may not be your father, but he's your dad.

I smiled. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I'll try not to be a pain."

He chuckled and ruffled up my hair. "You'd better not be."

I tried to stifle a yawn, but, being the World's Greatest Detective, Bruce saw it. He stood and turned out the lights, then sat back down. I winced slightly, trying to turn over onto my side. Bruce gently pulled on my shoulder to help me. He gently pulled the scratchy sheets over my shoulders and began to stroke my hair gently, like how he used to when I was eight. I sighed, happily this time, closing my eyes.

"That feels good..."

Bruce chuckled. "I'm glad..." The silence that ensued was awkward. But, everything was good between us now. It's just that way. Bruce doesn't talk much, I talk too much. Bruce gets upset easily, I get pissed easily. I don't like to talk about my feelings, Bruce doesn't either.

In an odd sort of way, we mesh.

We may be different, but, hey, we're Bats. We don't need to talk to get across a message. The simple air of the room played out our feelings like Beethoven's First. I sighed, letting my weary body relax.

"I love you, Dad."

I felt Bruce's hand go rigid at this, and I smiled. Soon enough, though, the shock was over, and he replied softly, "I love you, too, Son... I love you, too..."

Aww! Yay! Silly, sappy, sobby father/son fluffs!

Okay, this story was SUPPOSED to be mainly KF/RA/R, but not really anymore... Sry