milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Dick Grayson is an idiot. Some times more than others, and right now? Way more than usual. This is proven by nothing else than his physical appearance as he stumbles into the bar in dirty jeans and a hoodie. His brace is gone ( back in the alley, broken, gone ), and his leg ( already hurt, he's an idiot, why did he go ) is bleeding enough to leave a significant amount of the ripped jeans. It's admirable he's even managing to stand up, but he doesn't keep this admirable tactic up for long. Just flops down into the nearest chair and attempts not to break something as a way to take his mind off of the pain.

Okay. This boy? Needs -help-.

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"Great." Dick slumps more in the chair ( might as well ) and lets his head clunk back against the table. He didn't want to worry anybody. Especially her. He just couldn't pull himself out of here... fuck.

Steph returns, laden with medical supplies, and promptly dumps them on the ground. "What happened?" She peers at his leg, biting her lip. "I'm gonna have to cut your jeans off. They're not, like, designer or anything, are they? Oh, man, that looks nasty. Maybe I should get a real healer. Dick..."

"No. No healer," Dick says firmly. As firmly as he can at the moment, anyway. "I can fix this."

"You can - Dick, are you on something? Look at you, you're a mess!" Steph is tempted to smack him, but the way he looks now - yeah, probably not a good idea. "What did you do?"

She fishes out a batarang and starts cutting his jeans off, just above the (oh my god it's bleeding so much I really need a healer!) stab wound.

"I don't know," he mumbles. He should be able to take this, he can take it, it's just a damn stab wound... he's had worse... "It's fine."

He doesn't sound convincing at all.

Steph is very obviously Not Convinced. She glares at him, when she can spare focus from cleaning and bandaging his leg and trying not to look at the bullet wound a couple of inches above the stab. It's not that she doesn't have scars of her own, but it's different when they're on her brother. And when she caused them. But she's gotta focus on Dick, not her own angst, right now.

"There are healers in this bar who could fix you in, like, a second," she informs him. "There's probably doctors who could do a better job of bandaging than I could. I only have, like, basic training from Batman. What do you mean you don't know what happened?"

The temptation to smack is growing.

"They don't need to waste their magic on me. They might need it for something else." Dick can't get over the bat training in this case. It might stop the pain, but it's not what he should ever choose to use. "And I don't know -why- it happened. I know how. Or something."

He doesn't make much sense at this point.

"You're probably in shock," Steph informs him, and searches through her pile of Stuff. There's a flask of brandy there, and she ponders briefly the possibilities of 'strictly for medicinal purposes, Bar, really' before figuring the Bar probably knows anyway. "Here, swallow. And Dick, you're not leaving until you're better, by the way."

"I have to leave. I have to tell him, I have to get it, I..." He swallows the brandy, only because he can't think of a way to fight it off. "No shock. Shock's bad."

"Dick! Right, I'm bloody getting a healer, if you don't start making sense!"

Steph is now officially Very Worried. Dick is Dick. He's not supposed to be like this!

Dick scrubs at his face with a hand. "I have to go home," he finally says weakly.

"You can't even stand up!"

"I don't want to worry you." He has no idea how he can think about that right now, but of course he can. "I'll be fine..."

"Dick!" Steph throws her hands up in frustration. "You'll worry me a lot bloody more if you go running out of here when you've just been stabbed in the freaking thigh. You're not going anywhere!"

"...do whatever you need to do," he says finally. Healer, whatever. He'll give in. It hurts too damn much to fight.

Steph has bandaged and cleaned the wound fairly neatly. She really wants to get a magic healer, but not when Dick's so woozy he can't give consent, because she knows what they're like about magic.

"You're coming upstairs to rest," she says, "and I don't wanna hear any complaining. You're not leaving till you sleep properly."

She shakes her skate-rug out of her pocket, snapping it into rigidity, and pushes it towards him. "Sit on this and I'll take you upstairs. That way you don't have to move."

Dick just complies, which probably speaks volumes about his mental and physical state. "Thanks," He finally says.

"Dick," Steph says, pushing him along - a rather complicated manouevre, since he seems inclined to overbalance - "what happened?"

Her room is the only place she can think of with beds, and he really needs sleep, but she needs to know if anyone's chasing him or is likely to come looking.

He senses her unspoken question, somehow. "Nothing's coming. It was just something on the street. It's fine."

"Dick," Steph says sternly, "you're Nightwing. You've been doing this for probably longer than I've even been alive. If something stabbed you, it wasn't just something on the street. Tell me about it."

"I'm not going to tell you I was an idiot. It doesn't work that way." And yet apparently it does, since he just told her. Right.

Steph raises an eyebrow, and continues to push, letting silence speak for itself.

Dick shakes his head. "I can't tell you."

Silence seems to work, when it comes to getting bat-boys to fill it in. Steph props him against the corridor wall while she opens her door and kicks some of the mess out of the way.

Dick would normally joke about the mess, but he's not even looking at it right now. "I was out, okay? That's all."