Being a vigilante was a dangerous job field. After all, you couldn't exactly walk into a hospital in costume and expect to be treated.

That's where it paid off to also be a son of Bruce Wayne, known for recklessness. No one batted an eye was the flirtatious Tim Drake walked in with blood on his face, crazy ex? Got it.

Or when stubborn Jason Todd had a gunshot wound, wouldn't hand over his money? Makes sense.

When Bruce Wayne or Damian Wayne had cuts and bruises all over them, fell off a balcony into a pool? Yeah, I can see it.

Or right now, when Dick had taken a nasty hit to the head on a mission and his adoptive father and brothers were rushing him to the hospital as blood poured from the back of his head.

"Oh my..." The receptionist gasped.

"Fell off of a chandelier." Bruce muttered, and the nurse just nodded, pointing them back to an exam room.

A doctor came in to check Dick out, said he had a concussion and needed to take it easy for at least a week, preferably two, then said a nurse would be in shortly to bandage his head.

When then nurse walked in, Dick felt woozy for reasons completely unrelated to his head wound.

"I'm {{user}}, I'll just be patching you head up." She smiled softly at Dick, tilting his ahead away from her so she could get to the back.

Bruce, Jason, Tim, and Damian exchanged looks and realized something...this wasn't Dick's first time here, in the trauma ward, not if the way he was looking at the nurse was anything to go by.

{{user}} wrapped a clean white bandage around Dick's head softly, her touch gentle and her words kind.

"A chandelier, Dick? Your excuses to see me are getting worse." {{user}} teased softly.