( they're bleeding! oh no. they are dead. )

[nomeals]

 

You or your meme partner has been hurt, but don't worry! This time around it's not that bad. You can still limp your way out of this mess. 

INJURIES. 
1. Sprain/strain. How did you screw up walking? 
2. Broken bones. Simple fractures still hurt. 
3. Cuts. Hopefully one of you has a sewing kit. 
4. Burns. Location, location, location. Let's pray this one isn't on your ass. 
5. Concussion. No, they're most likely not holding up fifteen fingers. 
6. Other. I'm not a doctor. 

HOW'D IT HAPPEN. 
1. Stupidity. You did this to yourself. 
2. Accident. Is an unintentional attack still an attack? 
3. Attack. Don't lie, you deserved it. 
4. Other. It's probably still your own fault. 

WHERE'D IT HAPPEN. 
1. Home. Did you remember to invest in a first aid kit? 
2. School/Work. This should be excellent for getting you out of doing stuff! 
3. Outdoors. Predators like the smell of blood. Clean up asap. 
4. In the water. Hopefully there aren't any sharks! 
5. Other. Like a hospital. That'd be handy.

Comments

[dickybird]

"Nothing to mess up. All my leads went cold, you can actually take a look at everything if you want. A fresh pair of eyes might help."

When they land on the balcony he ensures to drop directly down, unlike his usual way of swinging over the side. The grapple retracts, is stowed on his belt, and Dick lifts Tim easily into his arms to carry him inside to the couch.

"Alright, so you take off your boots and I'll grab some ice."

On the coffee table nearby is Dick's laptop which he opens up as an invitation for Tim to browse, if he needs a distraction to stop feeling so much like an outside element.

[overlyprecocious]

It's definitely something to do. Getting his boots off is a little harder than he'd like because the ankle's already swelling, but he manages it and pokes it a little. He's pretty sure it's not broken, but it's hard to know for sure without an x-ray.

Then he glances at the laptop to see what Dick was working on while he waits.

[dickybird]

Gang-related intakes of firearms in the hundreds, way more of an influx than either Bludhaven or Gotham needs but not so much that he wants to call in Bruce yet. It started out in Bludhaven and it's Dick's case, rooting through the hierarchy switches of several inter-related cabals of power, and it might be proving a wild goose-chase at current but he can resolve it. He knows he can. It's all a matter of discovering which people are financing the faux-companies involved then shutting them down.

Dick returns with a first-aid kit and a packet of ziplocked ice wrapped in a towel. Peeling off his mask, he sits on the edge of the coffee table and leans forward to get a better look at Tim's ankle, gently coaxing him to move it a little, prodding carefully at the muscles where the weight won't distribute to the bone too much.

"Yikes, I'm sensing a week off the streets is headed your way. On a scale of one to you wanting to hit me, how bad does it hurt?"

[overlyprecocious]

He sucks in a breath again and maybe kind of goes a tiny bit white but no, okay, he's got this. He just needs a second.

"I don't... want to hit you?" Well, no, he kinda does. If Dick doesn't stop trying to move it in the next few seconds.

[dickybird]

Squinting at him, Dick pulls a face and sits back with his wrists draped on his knees.

"Ye-aaah, I think we should call Alfred right now. That's not a suggestion, by the way."

Witness Dick logging into the holo-computer on his sleeve's tech.

/sliiiiides some character backstory in

[overlyprecocious]

"It's not that bad?"

Yeah, okay, even he doesn't sound very convinced by that. The situation is kinda rapidly devolving from this is bad but manageable to nope nope nope, and it's occurring to him that sometimes things don't hurt as much as first less because they're not that bad and more because your body just stops accepting that input for a while.

Ugh. Broken bones usually take what, 4-6 weeks to heal? His parents aren't due back from their current trip for at least a month, he can totally heal enough in that time to pretend nothing happened, probably.

gobbles it up and writes a novel

[dickybird]

The look Dick gives him says that Tim has a higher chance of backflipping all around the apartment than stopping the call going through.

"Penny-One, it's Nightwing. I have Robin and ... uh, we need a favor."

'How may I be of assistance, sir?'

Dick glances up at Tim, the polite but undeniable suspicion in Alfred's voice evident. "We ran into each other while I was out tonight, one of the meatheads we were taking down messed up Robin's ankle. My fault, I wasn't expecting company. We think it might be broken."

'I see.' Yeah, there's no way Alfred's swallowing that. At least he doesn't call Dick out on his terrible lying. 'I suggest that you both change your attire and drive directly to the hospital. I will notify the staff ahead of time and the trip there will prove shorter than to the cave if the injury is more grievous than preciously believed.'

"Okay. Could you ... not bother the big guy with this just yet? Just so he doesn't worry."

'Perish the thought, sir.'

"Thanks, I'll keep you informed." Closing the call, Dick gives Tim a helpless shrug. "Looks like we're going out again tonight, Baby Bird."

[overlyprecocious]

Well, there goes his hopes and dreams of squeaking through this under the radar without Tim Drake officially getting hurt. Even if Bruce is kinda his guardian while they're out of the country, someone's going to have to tell his parents.

(He can probably handle that. It's just a matter of figuring out a way to say no, I'm fine, there's nothing you could do here anyway that bridges the gap between their desire to not cut the trip short and their need to not feel like bad parents.)

But okay, right, they're not at that point yet. He kinda zoned out for a second there, but he's back now. "Great." Does he even have civilian clothes here? Maybe. Alfred's pretty thorough about stuff like that.

[dickybird]

Tsking, Dick leans over and buffs a kiss against one very grumpy temple, patting him on the shoulder.

"Cheer up, we'll still get gloriously unhealthy take-out later. What do you want to do now, Tim, do you need some help getting out of the uniform? Want me to leave you to it and find something for you to change into?"

Thanks to Alfred's foresight, the bedrooms are stocked with emergency clothing in three sizes (four, if you count the contents of a lost boy's box in Dick's wardrobe).

[overlyprecocious]

The kiss only makes Tim scowl harder and bat him away because Dick, c'mon, he's not a little kid! "I can do it myself." And even if he can't do it himself, he's going to do it himself anyway rather than feel that stupid.

[dickybird]

"Okay."

A wave of nostalgia carries him en route to find Tim some clothes, his smile waning along the way.

'I'm fine!' A furious Robin tries to rub the pain out of his wrist, twisting away from Dick in the cave. 'It's just sore, it'll be fine in the morning. You're such an old woman, Grayson.'

'So let Alfred take a look at it, if it's nothing you can go straight to bed.'

'Get out of my way! You don't even live here anymore, you're not wanted. Not by me and not by Bruce. You're not Robin, I am, and I can take care of myself!'

A green tshirt and jeans, a grey hoodie, and some regular sneakers. That's what Dick returns with to drop on the arm-rest behind Tim, already dressed in something similar.

"I've gotta find my wallet, then we can go."

Just like a vigilante, he supposes, to know where his grappling gun is but not his ID or credit card.

ahahah ow.

[overlyprecocious]

"Okay." Through hard work and determination, Tim's managed to get out of the Robin suit on his own. Getting into civilian clothes is comparatively way easier, but it's still a pain (literally). He doesn't even bother trying to put a shoe on the hurt foot. It wouldn't exactly help.

He grabs the ice pack, too, cause he might as well start icing it on the way. "Ready."

gently breaks my own heart

[dickybird]

"Good job."

Wallet, keys, and phone all found, he would offer a piggyback but Tim's prickliness makes Dick think twice, instead sliding an arm under his shoulders and steadying him on the way out.

The ride down thirty floors in the elevator is quiet.

I know that feel.

[overlyprecocious]

Tim's kind of preoccupied on the ride down, anyway. Anytime his parents try to get involved in his life, there's a risk that they're going to ruin the delicate balance he has going that lets him be Robin. It's stupid that this is all over a cat that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

(There's always the opposite option, too, that they won't try to get involved at all, just say feel better and see you in a month, which he guesses would be... better. Easier, definitely.)

They may have to reconsider their current configuration at the bottom, though. There's really only so far he can go on one foot, and jarring his ankle trying isn't doing it or him any favors. Getting to the elevator is one thing, but staring at the path in front of them is... "This isn't going to work."

[dickybird]

If he said he wasn't pleased to crouch down and look over a shoulder, ready for Tim to climb on his back, Dick would be an even worse liar than he currently is outside of official missions. His smile is genuine.

"C'mon, up and on slowly. I'll try not to jostle your bad leg."

[overlyprecocious]

Tim might snort and roll his eyes a little at the obvious enthusiasm, but he climbs on anyway. (He may or may not mutter "weirdo" mostly affectionately in the process. Who can fathom the workings of the Dick mind?)

"Okay, ready." He almost, almost adds something dumb and silly like onwards, noble steed but he's not quite that far gone yet.

[dickybird]

Trying not to jostle Tim's injured leg, Dick holds him securely under his knees and acts as a willing ferry as they cross the atrium to the front desk to request a car. No ordering cabs for Bruce Wayne's ward and co, nope! After so many years it's finally less weird to hear himself called that as the receptionist makes the appropriate arrangements, the initial disconnect he had felt in his early teens having given way. And who is this? the lash-batting woman asks Dick, who answers with a charming smile, "My cousin. Couch-climbing accident."

If he twirls around slowly on the spot while they wait, that's just because the floor is so nicely polished and Why Not. Tim, the poor kid, deserves some fun tonight after spraining more than his ankle in that alley; his pride could use a little healing, too.

The car arrives and Dick thanks the driver who opens the door, personally helping Tim in the back-seat.

[overlyprecocious]

Tim snorts a little when Dick starts twirling because c'mon, Dick, he's practically an adult! He doesn't object, though, because if Dick wants to be ridiculous, he can be ridiculous.

After a little shuffling around, Tim finds a way to sit so that his ankle is at least a little bit elevated and has the ice pack nestled on top of it. He gets quiet again on the drive to the hospital, trying to re-focus on some of the pain management techniques he knows.

Then Tim's phone goes off, because of course it does. He glances at the screen and groans. "It's B."

[dickybird]

That's his job as an (unofficial) big brother, to do dumb stuff and give Tim the option of dissing him. As long as Dick gives him the choice of having fun, too, he doesn't mind being the butt of his own jokes.

The quiet in the car as Tim regulates his breathing, like the clever bean he is, finally gets disturbed by Bruce's call. Dick holds out a hand for the phone.

"He must've got around Alfred somehow. Pass it here."

[overlyprecocious]

"He'll know something's up anyway if you answer it," Tim points out, but he hands it over anyway. Better Dick than him.

[dickybird]

"True, but which of us has been told off more?"

Fearlessly (at least, he hopes it looks that way) he brings the phone to his ear and hits connect.

"Hi, it's me ... He's fine, he's right beside me. We're on our way to — uh, sure. It was, yes, it was my fault, he just wanted to help me out and there was a lot more going on than I — no, I didn't ask him. He can make his own decisions. I remember, but he's not — yes, okay, I will. Of course!"

For Tim's benefit, he rolls his eyes.

"Okay, tell Alfred thanks. I'll let Tim know, yeah. Yes. Seeya. Phew," he adds once the calls ends. "So Alfred's the one who's going to let your parents know what happened as soon as we get you checked out and stuff, B says you're to let yourself heal and stay at the penthouse until you're better. I guess that makes us roomies?"

[overlyprecocious]

"Okay." He's a little relieved that Alfred's gonna be the one to handle his parents, even if he feels bad that everyone else is taking the fall for his stupid mistake. "Thank you. For, um, telling him it was your fault. You didn't have to."

[dickybird]

"He would've been wondering why I was around to pick you up anyway, it's no problem." An idea strikes as the car makes a turn. "If you don't mind wearing," here he taps his eyes to mean the mask, "some accessories, I can patch up a link to your friends while you're grounded."

That way, Tim doesn't have to rely on Dick alone for company, although there's a good chance the rotation of who is available at Mount Justice for a chat will vary wildly.

[overlyprecocious]

He brightens up at that visibly. "Cool." It's not that he hates Dick's company or anything, but it'd be nice to not get cut off from his friends just cause of a stupid mistake.

Thanks to Alfred calling ahead and the attached Wayne name, when they arrive at the hospital, Tim's seen pretty much immediately. Dick's not allowed to come with since he isn't family, but it's not too long before he's allowed to come sit with Tim in a private room while he waits for the x-ray results. By that time, Tim's been given something a little stronger for the pain. If nothing else, it's turning some stupid show someone put on the television for him fascinating, and HD gives Dick a slightly distracted wave when he comes in.

[dickybird]

He tries to wheedle his way in to stay with Tim when the nurses state he isn't family, but they have none of his charming smiles and Dick is forced to sit by uselessly in the waiting room until ushered through. By the time he finds him again, he's antsy.

"Hey, you okay?" Is it him, or is Tim a little woosy when he waves? Uh oh. On impulse, he feels the back of Tim's forehead with his hand. "Need a drink or something?"