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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"...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."

"Uh-huh," Steph says, steering him over to the bed and resisting the temptation to dump him unceremoniously. "Keep talking."

Dick shakes his head. "You'll kill me."

"Yep. I expect so. Wouldn't it be better to have it over and done with, rather than having it hanging over your head?" She eases the skaterug down and pushes him gently. "Lie back. You gotta rest. But not before you tell me what you've done this time."

Dick complies. "I could just pretend to be asleep," he mumbles. Like that's going to work, now that he's said.

"I would poke you, if you tried," Steph informs him, perching on the edge of the bed. "Talk, Boy Wonder."

"I went out," he finally says, again. "On the streets."

"Like that?" Steph enquires, rather icily. "I'm assuming you didn't run home and change into your jeans before you came here."

Dick shakes his head. "Like this. FOr the past month."

"You were right," Steph says. "I am going to kill you. You IDIOT!"

Breath.

"Okay. No. I'm calm. Why, Richard Grayson, have you been going out on the streets without any form of armour or protection whatsoever? Is there, say, a reason behind this apparent madness? Any mitigating circumstances at all?"

Dick just closes his eyes and shakes his head again. He can't claim there's a reason when there isn't.

At least none he can logic out for himself.

"Oh, Dick." She can't stay angry, not when he's so obviously in pain, even if he deserves it. "Go to sleep, bro. I'll yell at you later. When you're, y'know, less breaky and bleedy." She pets his head. "You idiot."

"I'm sorry," he has to say, and offers her the best smile he can muster.

"Go to sleep," Steph says, unhappily. "I'll get a doctor to look at you in the morning." And a shrink, she thinks, although who knows better than she how Bats react to that kind of advice.

It's easier to see how much they need therapy now that she's dead.

She waits till his eyes close and then draws a blanket over him and goes downstairs to worry.

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