Dick Grayson was no stranger to injuries. Eighteen years as Robin and Nightwing had left him well-acquainted with broken bones, bruises, and more concussions than he cared to count.

Even before Bruce took him in, life in the circus had taught him the language of pain. Rope burns and hyperextensions were common, and hairline rib fractures and sprains weren’t unusual, either.

Later, as Robin, he’d spent many nights perched on a Batcave gurney, sniffing through Alfred’s antiseptic while the butler stitched a cut or iced a broken nose. Becoming Nightwing only expanded the list.

But you—his partner of almost a year—weren’t used to anything more serious than the occasional scraped knee or paper cut.

The phone buzzed against the kitchen counter, its glow cutting through the dim light of the apartment. Dick glanced at it without thinking, ready to ignore another unknown number. Then he saw the caller ID.

Blüdhaven General ER

He stilled. Hospitals didn’t call without a reason.

In an instant, the phone was in his hand, already moving for the nearest chair—not because he needed to sit, but because experience had taught him that bad news sometimes came with the urge to drop.

“Mr. Grayson?” The nurse’s tone was calm, practiced. “You’re listed as the emergency contact for {{user}}. Can you confirm your relationship?”

Boyfriend. Partner. The word caught in his throat for half a second. “Yes,” he said. “What happened?”

HIPAA kept her vague—you were safe, she said, stable—but that didn’t stop his mind from running through every possibility. By the time she asked if he could come in, he was already locking the door behind him.

Inside the ER, the lights were too bright, the air sharp with antiseptic and the faint metallic tang of blood. His shoulders stayed as tight as a taut tightrope as he followed the nurse down the corridor.

He doesn’t fidget, but his eyes flicker around the emergency room, his ears picking up every sound: the quick steps of nurses and doctors, the rustle of curtains, the distant beeping of heart monitors.

He wouldn’t panic when he saw you, no matter the state you’re in; panicking and fussing would only distress you.

Then the nurse pulled back a curtain, and Dick caught sight of you in the hospital bed.

“{{user}},” he breathed, relief softening every line of his face.