The bright lights were the main reason on why his eyes stung. The air smelt sickening, with a tint of staleness. His arms hurt. His writs were tied to the hard bed he was currently lying on. There was a steady and annoying 'beep, beep, beep' that was hard to tune out.

Unfortunately, Dick was used to the situation. The feel, smell, and taste of a hospital were etched into his mind, and the certain taste of pudding in the back of his mouth helped him conclude that he was in the hospital. Again. For the hundredth time in his life, he lay connected to a heart monitor and blood bags. Dick slowly craned his neck, looking at the table that was next to the hospital bed. On the table, there was a tray. On the tray, there was a hell of a lot of pudding cups. Vanilla ones, and Dick loathed vanilla pudding. He preferred the chocolate, and ever since he was a child, all of the hospitals he had been hospitalized in served the best chocolate pudding. It rivaled even the great Alfred Pennyworth's cooking. So, all of that meant, that someone had been eating all of Dick's pudding's. The hospital only gave out pudding to the patients, and Dick would have never ordered the vanilla. Since Dick was currently stuck in one room, with no other patients, that meant it was one of the people that was his friend, or someone he knew, came to visit him and ordered vanilla pudding for him, but ate it themselves. That was rude! But that also meant- God what drugs had they given him? Dick had never before thought about pudding for more than three minutes.

Snapping out of his pudding filled thoughts—boy, what he would give for some delicious hospital chocolate pudding right now- he looked to the right, and saw a chair. The chair had a slight indent in the middle of the plump cushion. That indent showed that someone had been sitting there recently. And judging by the size of the indent, and the indent of the indent, it was a man's bottom that had sat down on that chair. And judging by the width of the indent of the indent, the man had just left. And- nope, he was not going to start another long rant, much less about the indent of an indent in a cushioned chair. Speaking of cushions, when had the hospital beds gotten so hard? Dick swore that his back was already gaining scoliosis, and the restraints didn't help. Why was he restrained anyways? There was only one time in his life that he had had to be strapped down onto a bed in the hospital. There had been a run in with Poison Ivy, and Dick had given his rebreather to Barbara, and had gotten the face full of pink chemicals instead of her. He had had to be restrained, for the chemicals were starting to work on his mind. What had he done wrong this time? He couldn't move his legs either, and what would have happened if he suddenly wanted to itch something so bad? With that thought in mind, his nose started to feely itchy, the unwelcome restraints causing Dick to sneeze. He could literally see the box of tissues on the table. Due to the restraints, Dick couldn't move his arms one foot to his left, and grab a tissue. IT WAS SO FAR, YET SO CLOSE!

Dick felt like crap; he suddenly had a case of ADHD, snot that he could not wipe off on his face, and yet another itch next to his mouth. He huffed and kicked the thin hospital sheets in annoyance, the restraints on his ankles only enabling him to twist his foot. The sheet was on the floor in no time, and Dick could only snort as he discovered the garb he was in. Really, the hospital scrubs needed a heavy remodeling. He sneezed again, the chilly air pressing against him.

Dick grunted, this was almost as bad as the time Two-Face had bashed his face in. "UGH!" He yelled, frustrated, and feeling the sudden urge to throw something at someone. Weren't there supposed to be people in a hospital? Where were the doctors, the nurses, and the surgeons?

Suddenly, with Dick's enhanced hearing, he heard several people approaching his room. Finally. Maybe he could get out of the restraints and get a tissue.

The door opened, and Dick could hear the excited voices of nurses.

"Did you see all the injuries he sported?" One female voice stated, a slight bewilderment in her tone.

"I didn't know that the sons of billionaire's got hurt so much." Another female questioned, and Dick could practically see her brain trying to work out how he had gotten so many scars.

Hah, such simple-minded things.

"But Bruce explained everything, remember? Were you even there for that meeting? He talked about Richards activities, hiking, camping, and other outdoor stuff."

Ugh, why would they trust someone so easily, just because he's a billionaire?

"Nah, I forgot he was there. I was out in the back, takin' a smoke."

Why would they slowly kill themselves with such a mindless activity as a 'smoke'? Are they all to weak to resist the temptation?

"Whoa! How could you forget something like that?! Bruce Wayne is like, the Prince of Gotham! Maybe I'll be able to work at Wayne Enterprises, since I attended the meeting!"

As if they would be able to work in such a prestigious place. Their brains simply wouldn't be able to comprehend the calculations there. Right… Dick?

Wait what? Just now, Dick had mistaken the voice in his head part of the side effects of ADHD. Now, the voice had just addressed him. Through all the things he had faced in the past, being diagnosed with schizophrenia seemed like it was the worst out of all of it.

He knew of the symptoms of schizophrenia. When he and Batman had fought against Jonathon Crane, the Scarecrow, they had entered Crane's mind. There had been voices, voices that were jam-packed throughout his brain. Jonathon had a severe case of schizophrenia. What would happen if he had schizophrenia? Would he be as crazy as Jonathon Crane?!

Dick wasn't sure what was real and what was not anymore.

"Dick?" The soothing voice of Bruce Wayne sounded above him, and Dick nodded his head. Even if he couldn't tell what reality was compared to fake, Bruce could always be trusted.

Suddenly, the restraints were moving! Dick moved his right arm, testing it out. It was stiff, how long had he been in the hospital?

"Bruce," Dick said rolling the name off of his dehydrated tongue.

"Dick, please tell me how much you remember!" Bruce asked, worry laced in his tone. He took Dick's hands into his own, and squeezed.

"What?" Dick was confused. Why did Bruce sound so urgent?

"Please." It was scary for Batman to say 'please'. Bruce had never said that word to him with so much sincerity before.

"Well, weren't you teaching Damian how to strike a man without killing?" Dick whispered, lowering his voice so that the other people in the room couldn't hear him.

Bruce looked at him, grim and sad.

"Dick, that was a week ago. Damian learned how to do that a week ago, in the Batcave."

"Shhh!" Dick said, wobbly testing his free legs by walking on the ground. "They'll hear you!" He gestured at the group of female nurses, whom were huddled in one end of the room, whispering to each other in hushed voices that Dick could not here.

Bruce gave him a look.

"Dick, there's no one in here. I swept the room for bugs. There are none. I also disabled the cameras. What in the world are you talking about?"

Dick's eyes widened. He turned his head to look at Bruce, and then back at the nurses. They weren't there anymore.

Great. He had amnesia and schizophrenia. What else could be wrong with him?

Bruce walked towards Dick, and suddenly the voice in his head multiplied.

Get away from him, now Dick!

Don't let him touch you!

He's lying!

Don't believe anything he's about to say!

"They said that there could have been possible brain damage…" Bruce said, reaching over to hold Dick's hand.

The voices grew louder.

"SHUT UP!" Dick roared, lost in between reality and fantasy.

The voices stopped at once, but the yell left Bruce blinking rapidly, trying to process what just happened.

Dick frantically looked around the room, his eyes bulging with fake anticipation for something that would never come. What if Bruce was only a figment of his imagination? What if all of this was some horrible nightmare?

Dick threw his hands in the air, exasperated with himself. He slumped back onto the bed, and cried. "Bruce, there are voices in my head!"

AUTHORS NOTE: THIS IS THE END OF THE FIRST PART OF THE STORY. THERE WILL BE A SEQUEL CALLED "VOICES IN MY HEAD", EXPLAINING ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TO OWLMAN, HOW DICK WAS CURED, AND THE PAIN OF WHAT DICK HAS TO FACE WITH AMNESIA AND SCHIZOPHRENIA. THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR.