Another inconclusive blood test later and you were at the manor, sitting at the dining table trying, desperately, to figure what the actual hell was wrong with you.

You could tell something was wrong, not in an 'I hate myself and there's something broken inside of me' but because you were sick, you were always sick, for seemingly no reason. Every blood test just came back inconclusive at this point, every symptom that could be caught was already caught, every deficiency, every supplement, you've done everything and yet you knew nothing about what was actually wrong.

It was gods cruelest joke.

Dick watched you from the dining room doorframe, watching as you buried your head in your hands and sighed in frustration, a look of sympathy on his face. He looked at the bandage around your arm where the needle went in. He walked over and sat beside you, giving you a concerned look as he gently set his hand on your shoulder. "Another blood test?"