One bright, weekend-ish morning I am dragged out of bed.

THUMP.

THUMP.

THUMP.

Head, body, useless legs.

They hit the ground in that order.

I cracked open my eyes just a tiny little bit, wincing at the harsh light that beamed down on me like one of those megawatt spotlights. It was like being a vampire, and going outside for the first time on a bright, sunny summer day.

But there was a shadow cast across me(ha! literal metaphors!). I tilted my head back just a little to see a dark, shadowy man, about six feet tall w/ broad shoulders and lots of muscles. The man looked down at me with an angry expression on his face, fingers cracking as he balled his hands into fists.

Hi, Bruce.

I blinked at him and he blinked at me. Blink. Blink. He looked considerably worse since the last time I saw him. Hair dishevelled, bags under his eyes-which were bloodshot-and rumpled suit, which is saying something. Brucie's suit is never rumpled! Alfred makes sure of that.

"We're going to the hospital," Bruce announced in that dramatic way of his, and I nearly choked on my own upside-down spit.

Because, WHAT?!

I thought I was done with that place. It's chalky smell, it's perfect(not!) ceiling, the shrill company of the heart monitor and all the other machines whirring and clicking, all serving one purpose:to keep me alive. And the dark, bitter chocolate, crunching down and spiralling down down down into my soul.

But, apparently not. I needed to go back, for some reason. When I first got back to the manor, I wanted nothing more than to be in the hospital(as crazy as that sounds). But, now-seems like the place has grown on me, despite everything, just like four years before. The bed's comfier, at least.

"Checkup," Bruce said in a Batman-like voice. Whenever I heard that voice on patrol, it basically meant Playtime's over, pal. It also happened to mean danger (well, actually, it meant you're pissing The Batman off, but same thing) "Get up."

Large hands encircle my legs with room to spare, lifting me to my feet effortlessly. I gulp, glancing at Bruce's dark dark blue eyes. I know this is Batman, one of the 'good' guys, but it still freaks me out. How easily people can break me-flesh, bones, stuff like that-all Bruce had to do was squeeze, twist, snap the bone in half.

No, it doesn't take a car to take away the use of my legs. All it needs are somebody strong, and just the right tools. No, no, it doesn't take a large, speeding machine made of hard metal colliding into me. It only takes some hands and-bam!-I'm done for. I didn't need some kind of special accident that made the front covers to cripple. I didn't need that fancy SUV, I just needed a hand. And a bend, snap, more legs for that guy! I guess the whole experience was sort of humbling, in a horrible sort of way. I had thought I was invincible before all this. Like I was Superman, and nothing could touch me. But, really, two freakin' muscled hands(attached to arms, attached to…)to break me. And not even Bane's, either.

Bruce had tried to fire me as Robin before. (It didn't work, til now) He thought I couldn't handle myself out there, that it would be too easy for criminals to get to me. I had taken offense then.

But, now I see, he had every reason and more to be worried. How eye-opening.

How awakening this experience has been.

My arms drag the floor that hasn't been cleaned in years as Bruce sets me into the wheelchair, but I push myself out before I even touch the leather. I cling to his jacket, struggling to keep myself up. "No," I croak, glaring at the monstrous device. "I don't want to get into that thing. Don't make me. Please."

Jostling movement, a swaying back and forth uncontrollably as I flew upside down to a cursed black monstrous device. I glared at it.

"No," I whispered. My voice was croaky and hoarse, due to lack of use, and extremely quiet, too. But it got the message across. I didn't want to go near that thing.

The moving stopped, but I was still swaying annoying in the air. "No?" Oh, I couldn't see it, but I just knew Bruce had that frown on his face! The I-know-I'm-right-and-the-fact-that-you-think-otherwise-is-just-preposterous-but-I'll-see-what-it-is-anyway frown. (that is an extremely long name! And that's why I call it 'that frown'...)

I shook my head, which caused my body to spin like a swing with it's chains wrapped around eachother. Bruce grabbed my shirt with one hand, and I stopped spinning. Ugh, that made me sick. How much do I weigh now, anyway, if Bruce can hold my entire body weight up with one hand?

"I don't want to go in that...thing." I explained with my reluctant vocal chords. Bruce seemed to understand that. After all, he's the one who I got the stubbornness trait from.

"You know you have to get in it eventually, right?"He checks.

I feel a weight drop in my stomach. He's right, like always, I guess. I have the rest of my life to live out, if nothing happens, and I can't get around without a wheelchair forever. It's just not possible. But I nod anyway.

So he swung me onto his back in the form of a piggy back, and carried me down the stairs that way. I could feel this small smile on my face, and carefully gripped his broad, muscled shoulders. Piggy back rides have always been a special part of me. My father and John giving me piggy back rides, making these cool swaying movements and bopping up and down. Crawling onto Wally's back for a little ride at the speed of sound. Running down the halls w/ a shrieking Timmy on my back, clammy hands gripping my shirt and face…

I nearly smacked myself, if I hadn't needed both hands to keep myself from toppling down the stairs and making my already banged-up brain fly all over the place upon impact with notorious staircase. The dream world isn't a real place, Dick, none of it ever happened.

"Where are you guys going?" A little voice piped up from below. Bruce looked down. I looked down, from my towering position as a giraffe up above.

Tim.

Hi, Tim.

The six year old stared up at us with those creepy Bruce-like eyes, playing with a small red fire truck toy. Ah, Just in time to see me ride piggy back like some a six year old. Three cheers for maturity!

"We're going to the hospital, for Dick's check in." Bruce, surprisingly, responded first. And you told me it was a check up, Bruce, a check up! Lies. The world is full of lies.

"Oh!" Tim jumped in excitement, the fire truck falling to the ground, excited like there was some kind of party and he was just invited. If 'party' was boring, depressing hospital shenanigans and an invitation was splattered across a SUV, then totally. "I'll go get Jason, and Damian! They can come, too! It'll be fun."

I hit my head onto Bruce's shoulder as a way of harming myself for this kid's stupidity. And here I thought he was smart…. News Flash, Tim! Hospitals are boring, depressing-ass places you never, ever want to go to! Ever! This...tragedy...isn't a comedy!

Bruce winced a little, but I'm sure he's fine. High pain threshold, remember? "Tim, I'm not sure if that'll be a good idea-"

But Tim was already gone.

POOF! Almost like the kid had magical abilities or something!

He was back an instant later with Jason and Damian in tow. Well, either magical powers or superspeed. If so, then Tim was officially the longest meta to ever be in Gotham.

"Great," I muttered into Bruce's dark, hairy hair. "Now all we need is Alfred, and it'll be an official family vacation to the hospital! Fan-fucking-tastic."

"Language," Bruce muttered back, but didn't disagree. Whcih is really just Batman's way of saying I totally agree with you , but, for some reason, can't actually support you aloud for some odd reason.

"Tim said that we're going to the hospital!" Jason said, and even I could tell the smile was fake from my perch on Bruce's shoulders, embarassingly like a little kid.

"Not all of us," Bruce said, in defense of moi. Thank you, Bruce.

"But we want to!" Tim insisted, stomping his foot. His eyes watered and he stared up at us with eyes twice the size of what they were usually were and a perfect pout forming onto his face. I winced, knowing just who taught him that. Oops.

"It'll be really boring,"Bruce warned for me, but I could tell he was sold. Jason noticed me looking, smiled at me. I went back to hiding in Bruce's shoulder. I know this sounds childish, but I don't want them to see me like this. Broken, scared, unable to do anything and-dare I say it?-given up. Cowardly. I had never even danced with the thought of just accepting it, but now….I'm not sure. Maybe that's the real reason I don't want them in that terrible, dreaded hospital. You don't need to say it. I know it's selfish, but…

I peeked over Bruce's shoulder to see my brothers. They all looked up to me, once upon a time...for the first time, I'm almost convinced these notions aren't as selfish as I once thought. Just possibly. Maybe.

"Oh, alright,"Bruce says. I groan and mutter something into his shirt, where nobody can hear (which is probably a good thing). He never was one to resist puppy eyes. That, combined with a pout and he's done for.

Bruce is unmovable. You'll never win an arguement with him. Jeesh.

"Yay!" Tim cheers, dropping Jason and Damian's hands to do an odd little football touchdown dance...thing. A celebatory dance. Yay. Hospitals are totally a place you want to go for a family vacation. Move over Magic Kingdom, Gotham General's coming through!

"We're going with them, Damian!" Tim says, and he attempts to dance with the three year old. I roll my eyes.

"Yay!" Damian echoes, his shorter legs struggling to keep up with Tim.

Jason crossed arms, looking positively pensive and annoyed as the younger danced around him. "Are we going or not?" the ten year old asked.

"Yeah,"Bruce said. "Let's go!"

Let's not and say we did. But we did anyway, marching out into the cool December air. The air stings in my throat and makes my eyes water, and I'm reminded just how long it has been since I've been outside. When I was exiting that dreaded hospital. And now we're all going back. Before all this, I was outside all the time. Patrolling, climbing trees (and usually falling out of them when I was younger, where all those 'Dickie got hurt falling from a tree' excuse came from, even though I haven't fallen from one in years), playing trampoline soccer with Jason, Bruce's 'wilderness survival training', etc. But, now. I hardly ever go out.

Only when there's a hospital involved, I guess. That's actually kind of depressing.

There's a limo(to which I say, seriously?!)with Alfred standing by it, holding the door open like some kind of cheffeaur. He just raises an eyebrow when he notices the extras. "I was not under the impression all of us where coming along on this checkup, Master Bruce."

"Change of plans," Bruce says with a shrug. Yeah, an unexpected family vacation.

A/N: Because this has become so hard to write and it'll probably take another month-two months to write what I want to accomplish in this chapter, I'm just gonna split it into parts.