Dick Grayson one shots

High

Whumptober day 25: surgery

Dick hated surgeries. Something almost ironic considering how often he found himself under the knife.

This particular detail was the reason he was curled up on his bed pretending to be taking a nap.

The weather recently had taken a dive in the colder direction, and with it had come his yearly flare up of tonsillitis. He hadn't expected it so early in the year and was now more or less stuck at the manor until it went away.

He tried to even out his ragged breaths when he heard someone step into his room, rapping lightly with their knuckles on the door. He hardly dared breathe, knowing if anyone found out he was sick it wouldn't be long before Bruce was scheduling a tonsillectomy.

The fear seemed silly even to him, but he couldn't help it.

Whoever had entered the room exited, leaving the door open just a crack.

Dick let out a breath, burying his face in the cool pillow. His throat ached, but he couldn't bring himself to get up to grab some painkillers. Maybe a nap would be a good idea.

—

Dick blearily blinked his eyes open, a hand shaking his shoulder.

"It's time for patrol," Tim said when he saw Dick had opened his eyes. "Alfred has some dinner for you down in the cave."

Dick nodded, yawning widely, glad Jason didn't wait for a response as he wasn't quite sure he could trust his voice if he were to speak. He stood, closing his eyes for a moment as his head pounded.

Nothing an ibuprofen wouldn't take care of.

He sipped a cup of water, wincing with each painful swallow. As he made his way down to the cave he debated how suspicious it would look for him to stay in from patrol. Too suspicious.

The painkillers started dulling the pounding in his head and the aching of his throat by the time everyone was ready to head out for patrol, something he was extremely grateful for.

He grabbed the dinner Alfred had packed up for him and stowed it on his bike. "Thanks Alf," he said, sending the man a smile as he hopped onto his bike and rode off toward the city.

—

As a father Bruce tended to be somewhat of an absentee parent. That was, however, something he'd learned to be wary of as Batman. Quiet children didn't always mean everything was going well.

At Alfred's insistence, a pressure sensor was installed in each of the bat family's suits, somewhere tailored to their own unique fighting style. When activated, it would send a specialized chime over the comm link, something that could, of course, be silenced on the receiver's end if need be.

Dick's sensor was on the heel of his palm and tended to be one of the more frequently triggered chimes due to the ludicrous number of back handsprings and cartwheels he managed to perform while fighting. His escrima sticks occasionally triggered it as well.

Needless to say, Bruce was worried when he hadn't heard the familiar trill of his eldest's chime in nearly 4 hours. "Nightwing, status report,' he called, trying to keep his voice gruff and unbothered.

No response.

"Goldie's been awfully quiet tonight," Jason commented.

Bruce hummed in agreement. "Agent A, update on Wing's vitals and position please," he said.

There was no response from Alfred, and it took a reminder from Tim before Bruce remembered the butler request for a night off from being 'the man in the chair' as it was.