Getting to know you

Sore, but what can you do?

Dick groaned as he woke up, not an unusual beginning since that cold night six weeks ago. He'd been moved to the manor, where his siblings had been babying him for days. He wasn't going to lie, it was kind of nice. They would often end up piled on his bed, watching movies. He'd found a deep love for Disney movies, and often caused the songs to get stuck in his and his sibling's heads.

His head throbbed dully, just enough to remind him he had a concussion. He was getting over his hypothermia, finding it easier to stay awake and stay warm. His hands were a different story. They still hurt, and he didn't move them much. The skin had been torn so badly, and it was taking forever to heal.

Alfred had let him start to walk around the manor some. He didn't go far, usually only far enough to go to the living room. He often limped along, his arms wrapped around his stomach. There was nothing wrong with his abdomen, it just felt better to walk that way.

Dick groaned again as he sat up, wincing as he forgot about his hands. Again. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, wobbling a little. He headed to his medicine cabinet, behind the mirror in the bathroom. Bruce had stocked it with a few pain relievers, so Dick didn't have to go to the cave.

Using his fingers instead of his palms, Dick carefully opened the cabinet and took out a bottle of reliever. It was frustrating to open, but it was worth it. The reliever made his pain so dull, he never felt it. He didn't have an addiction, the Court would have beat that out of him, but he was fascinated with the way the pain seemed to disappear when he took the small white pills.

Alfred started into the room as Dick walked out. "Breakfast is ready, Master Dick." "Thanks, Alf. You're the best." "I'm merely doing my job, but you flatter me so." "Do you know when I can get back on the flute?" "When your hands heal. I don't want the injuries getting worse, or infected." Dick sighed, holding his arms. "Once they heal, I promise we can continue. Until then, get some rest. Come eat, talk with the others. They're still worried about you." "I know."

Alfred frowned. "Are you feeling alright, Master Dick?" "Yeah, I'm just getting a little bored. With my hands in the condition they are..." "I understand, Master Dick. But you need to rest them, or it will only take longer. I've seen it many times, and pushing them to their limits will not help." Alfred put his arm around Dick's shoulders. Dick sighed again and walked with Alfred, holding his stomach again.

He sat down in his usual seat, quieter than usual. He could barely eat, something diluting his appetite. He felt weird, he felt wrong. Something was wrong. "Are you ok, Dick? You're looking kinda of pale, even for you." "I'm not hungry. I feel...I don't know. I just feel wrong, I can't explain it." "Physical or emotional wrong?" "Physical." Dick was starting to feel woozy.

Tim put a hand on his forehead. "You feel fine. We should probably get Alfred to check you out." "Yeah." Dick held his head with one hand, gently rubbing his temple. Something was definitely wrong. Why was he hot? The room was too hot.

"Let's get you back to bed, you're not looking too good." Bruce stood up. "It's ok, I can keep going." "Dick, I don't want you pushing yourself you far. You're sick, and you need to rest." "I'll be ok." "Not if Alfred catches you walking around sick." "I just got over hypothermia, how can I be sick again?" "I don't know, and that's why you need to rest. Let's get you to bed."

Dick groaned at the idea of spending days in his bed again, but allowed Bruce to lead him up. He gripped his stomach, hoping he didn't throw up. He'd gotten extremely nauseous the moment he stood up. "We may need to make a quick trip to the bathroom, before I throw up." Bruce frowned, wrapping an arm around Dick's waist. Dick leaned into him, clutching his stomach in fear of throwing up now.

Bruce led him to the bathroom in his room, directing him to the toilet. Dick crouched down in front of it and groaned. "I hate this." "I know, Dickie. It sucks." Dick gagged, unable to bring himself to throw up. He shook and muttered incoherent curses, squeezing his stomach in an attempt to relieve pain. Bruce ran his fingers through Dick's hair, trying to comfort his sick son.

Dick gagged twice more before finally throwing up. Bruce held his hair back, keeping it out of his way. Dick coughed, trying to get as much bile out of his mouth as possible. When Bruce was sure Dick was done, he slowly picked the sixteen year old up, cradling him. Dick leaned into Bruce as he walked, groaning.

Bruce set Dick on the bed, laying him above the covers. He'd felt the heat radiating off Dick's skin, and knew he didn't need to be under the blankets. Dick was starting to sweat, panting. Bruce shushed him and kissed his forehead. "It's alright, Dick. We're going to bring Leslie over. She's a doctor, and she'll be able to help."

Dick paled further, if that was possible. "No, no, no. No doctors." Bruce frowned. What was Dick so afraid of? "Dick, what's going on?" Dick didn't reply, just kept repeating no doctors. Bruce ran his fingers through Dick's hair and shushed him. "It's ok. She's not going to hurt you."

"That's all they do." Dick whimpered. "What?" "All they do is hurt you, shining bright light in your eyes, forcing needles and painful fluids into your body, until you can't take it anymore. No doctors." "You seemed fine at the hospital." "If you show fear, you get punished." So that's what was wrong.

"She's not part of the Court, Dickie. I promise, she's not going to hurt you. I'll be here the whole time." "Promise?" "Promise. It'll be ok." Bruce grabbed Dick's hands. Dick could get that kicked puppy look sometimes, and Bruce couldn't stand to see Dick looked that. He brought joy to the family, even without realizing it.

Leslie walked in about ten minutes later. Dick leaned into Bruce, trying to hide how scared he was. After what the Court had done, he was terrified of doctors. He preferred not going near them.

"So, what's going on?" "We don't really know. He's very nauseous, burning up, and he couldn't eat. It wasn't slow, though. It just hit him." Dick hid his face in the pillow, trying to ignore the chills he got down his spine.

Leslie frowned. She knelt down and placed a hand on Dick's forehead. It was definitely too hot. "Has he had any other sicknesses recently?" "Hypothermia." "So this is the new Wayne. Bit of a hero, huh? The problem is actually the solution. His body is overheating itself to warm up from hypothermia. It'll take a few days for him to get over it, and he'll be feeling very nauseous the first day or two. I wouldn't advise walking around, but if you want a different view, you can ask a family member to help you. Keep as few covers on him as you can."

Bruce nodded, sighing. "Thanks, Leslie. We were getting a little worried." "I can see why. Keep this hero alive, Bruce. There's not many like him." She brushed Dick's hair out of his face before walking off.

"See? That wasn't so bad." "Still don't like em." "You don't have to like them, just cooperate with them. And don't be scared to go to one for help. Leslie is the best doctor, and is always willing to help us." "What did she man when she said 'keep this hero alive'?"

"She was talking about Jason. After about two years, Joker killed him. But Ra's Al Ghul resurrected him, and he turned into the Red Hood. He used to kill, but doesn't anymore, and he can't home. She's telling me make sure it doesn't happen again. We nearly lost you, Dick. We don't…I don't want to lose anyone else."

Dick snuggled into Bruce. "You won't. You got me to help in time, and we both know my training was going well. With a few more months, I'll be the best of them all." "There's no doubt about that. Just don't tell your brothers. They'll kill me for saying it." "They can't take a little competition, they need to step up their game."