Just Robin Oneshots pt 4

Sicktember: Day One

Prompt: "I'm not hungover, I'm just sick"

"He smelt like a brewery," Bruce insisted to Alfred. The pair were in the kitchen whilst Dick was upstairs, throwing up whatever he'd eaten prior. Although with how long he'd been vomiting, he was probably down to just throwing up the water they'd given him and any painkillers along with it. 

Of course, Bruce was sympathetic to that fact. He would never wish his ward to be so miserably sick and if the world did his bidding, Dick would never get so much as a cold. His sympathy found some bounds in knowing the sickness was self-induced. He naturally expected to find Dick with his head in the toilet after a heavy night of drinking at some point but he assumed, incorrectly it seems, that he wouldn't be faced with it for another seven years. Maybe six or five if Dick fell into the popular crowd at university.

"He's fourteen," Alfred replied dismissively. "I highly doubt that he would drink in the first place but also within the home of one of your colleagues is an absurd assumption. If he somehow did all that and managed to drink too much, I can tell you that we wouldn't hear a peep from him. It's hard enough getting a straight answer when he's got so much as a papercut."

"They're teenagers."

"And why would Barry have alcohol? It's my understanding it has very little effect on him."

"There's still his wife." Alfred tutted. "So, you're saying it's impossible for a bunch of teenagers to rebel once in a while? Even I snuck some of Dad's liquor when I was his age."

"I'm not saying it's impossible but I am saying it's unlikely and uncharacteristic. They're vigilantes, for heaven's sake."

"All the more reason for them to get in over their heads trying to prove they're mature enough." 

"Have you asked Master Dick about it?"

"Of course not. He'll just say no."

"I still suggest you ask him. If he did drink last night then he's already facing the worst of it. There'd be little point in lying now." Bruce sighed. 

As much as he trusted his butler's advice and valued his opinions, this missed the mark. Dick knew how serious it was if he was caught underage drinking. He knew it wasn't something his mentor tolerated and he risked immediate benching until he proved himself worthy of the title again. Even if he was throwing his guts up. Then again, maybe he was out of it enough not to think of lying. It was worth a shot he supposed. He could hopefully pin down which of the idiots his ward was friends with had suggested and provided the alcohol in the first place.

With a glass of water Alfred had sent him up with, Bruce entered Dick's bedroom. His ward had the covers over his chest but had kicked his legs out, successfully tangling himself with the fabric and pulling his pyjama pants up to his knees. He had a desktop fan pointed directly at his face which was sweaty and pale. He almost looked miserable enough for Bruce to save his questioning for another day. Almost.