A/N: For Dick and Dami Week 2019 over on tumblr, day 3: Injury/Fear Gas.

Dick had to stop with his mask halfway to his face, grimacing as the movement caused his ribs to scream at him. He set the mask down again to steady himself.

The mirror was cool against his forehead, and he watched his reflection until his breath fogged the surface in slow, even gusts. Then he steeled himself and straightened his back again.

When he checked, he could only see the faintest of bulk around his ribs through his Nightwing costume, and he was looking for it. If he was careful, Damian would have no idea of the extensive bandaging during tonight's patrol. It was imperative it stayed that way.

The brothers were in separate cities again, living their own lives. Damian didn't want space, but he needed it if he was going to have any chance to bond with Bruce. So far, things had been getting better, from what Dick heard. But tonight was a rare night, planned a few weeks in advance. Bruce was out of town for a Wayne Enterprises conference; Tim and Cass were back in town to keep Gotham sane in Batman's absence. Robin wasn't allowed on patrol without a partner yet.

And, well, Nightwing was available.

After checking that the spirit gum was still tacky, Dick lifted his mask to his face again. This time he ignored the twinges of pain in his ribs. Under the bandages and the topical anesthetic, there were a smattering of deep purple bruises up his left side, hip to shoulder. Getting thrown from a moving vehicle into a concrete wall would do that. Nothing was broken; he had checked. Bruised, maybe even fractured, but nothing serious.

Didn't mean he was going to tell Alfred.

As if on cue, there was a soft tap at his bedroom window. Dick couldn't help his grin as he slid it open. "Hey, kiddo. You're early."

Robin shrugged. "The others wanted to get a head start, so they dropped me off early." He stepped inside, gracefully but with a bit of bounce in his step. There was a bag in his hands. "Agent A insisted I bring you food."

Dick laughed. "Can you put it in the kitchen for me? I have one last thing to do before we set out."

Damian tutted. "Burning moonlight," he muttered.

Dick hesitated before he returned to the bathroom. "Hey, Robin?"

Damian stopped halfway through unpacking homemade bread and were those cookies? "What?"

Dick couldn't help it, bending down and wrapping an arm around him. "Missed you."

The corners of Damian's lips lifted, and he leaned slightly into the embrace. Dick hid his wince behind Damian's shoulder. "Tt. Of course you did. Who else would keep you on track during patrol?"

Dick rolled his eyes teasingly. "Yeah, yeah. Just a minute, okay?"

Damian waved his hand dismissively, frowning at the cupboard full of cereal and protein bars he opened.

The second Dick shut the bathroom door behind him, he took a deep breath. Immediately regretted it. He ran some water through his hair, pulling it back out of his face in the Nightwing style, and used it as an excuse to splash some of the excess in his face.

He was still fixing his escrima to his back when he opened the bathroom door, only to almost run into Damian. The boy's brow was furrowed, and he held up a prescription bottle. "What is this?"

Shit. Dick didn't need to read the fine print to know it was his painkillers. Feigning nonchalance, he asked, "Where'd you find those?"

"They were sitting on the counter." Damian rolled the bottle in his hand. "You've been injured."

Dick took the bottle from the boy's hands. "Nah, Jason was here a few nights ago. I told him to put it away, but you know him."

Dick put the bottle away, in the hidden medicine cabinet behind the fake wall under his sink. Damian watched his actions, eyes narrowed. Dick fought the urge to hold his breath. Finally, after what felt like forever but must have been only half a second, Damian shook his head. "Todd is an imbecile."

Dick bit his tongue as he rose back to standing, ribs and back aching. "You ready?"

Instantly, Damian's posture shifted into something excited. "I've been waiting on you."

Dick grinned. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

They both slipped out the window of Dick's top-floor apartment.

And if Dick's breath caught when he ducked through, Damian didn't notice.

It became very clear, very quickly, that Dick's goal of making it through the entire patrol was a fantasy.

"He's headed to the alley by Finnley's," Robin huffed, somehow keeping pace with the much taller vigilante.

Nightwing squinted at the man they were chasing. Would-be mugger, wielding a knife and terrible breath. They had been chasing him for nearly five minutes now, and every time either of Dick's feet hit the pavement his ribs jarred, making him short of breath faster than would be normal for him. "Yeah," he said, eloquently. Then, he was struck with an idea. "We can cut him off—"

"You follow, I'll go ahead," Robin said brusquely.

"Wait, Robin—" Nightwing protested. But the kid was already grappeling up the nearest wall, out of earshot.

Dick rolled his eyes. Maybe he had been spending too much time with Bruce.

As predicted, the mugger stumbled as he changed course toward the diner. Dick had no choice but to follow, hoping that Robin was being smart with his poor choices.

He wasn't expecting to round the corner at the end and get a stomach-full of knife.

He gasped, reacting on instinct to knock the attacker back. The man had a wild look in his eyes, and he yelled as he swung the bloody knife toward Nightwing again.

Dick dodged, managing to disarm the mugger in the process.

The man, fueled by adrenaline, swung his fist out, landing it squarely over Dick's left ribs.

Dick's vision went white, and he fell to a knee, clutching his left side like he would split in half if he let go.

The man took the opportunity to turn and continue down the alley. He didn't make it far. Nightwing opened watering eyes at the soft thud of flesh on flesh, watching Robin dispatch the mugger with unfamiliar smoothness. Even gasping for breath as he was, Nightwing smiled at the nostalgia of it. Robin's form had improved.

"Nightwing!" Booted feet ran up next to him, then knees were dropping into his vision. "Nightwing, status?"

Dick, still clutching his side, shook off a hovering hand and rose to his feet. "I'm okay, I'm fine."

"You've been stabbed," Robin grumbled.

Dick looked down. There was a slightly darker patch around a slit in his uniform. He was bleeding. "Oh, right."

They stumbled back into Dick's apartment, Dick smearing blood all over Damian's cape where the smaller boy supported him.

"I don't understand what happened," Damian said. He dragged a towel off a rack and laid it out on the floor. Dick only half-protested as he was gently but forcibly told to lie down on it.

Dick shrugged (with one shoulder; the other was still keeping his left side from falling off). "He got the jump on me."

Damian cursed as he pulled Dick's first aid from beneath the sink.

"Hey," Dick reprimanded. "Language."

That, at least, got Damian to scowl up at him. Dick grinned, moving to sit up. "Come on, I can take care of this. It's not even that bad; I think it just barely grazed me."

"Tt. Don't be ridiculous. If you try to do it from your angle, you'll make an even bigger mess." Damian set a firm hand against his shoulder and pushed down. "I can do this. Pennyworth taught me."

Dick acquiesced, albeit reluctantly. He unzipped the top half of his suit and let Damian help him peel it off. Then he closed his eyes, knowing what was coming.

Damian went quiet, staring at the white bandages wrapped around Dick's chest. His eyes flicked up to Dick's, then returned. "What is this?"

Dick took a breath to explain. It was too deep; he grimaced.

Damian was already cutting the bandages away with the first aid scissors. When he uncovered the mottled skin, his jaw went tight.

Yep, definitely had spent too much time around Bruce. Dick rested his head back against the floor.

"You're hurt."

Dick flinched at the tone. It wasn't angry, it was disappointed. "Damian—" he was cut off by Damian probing the worst of the bruises with two fingers. "Ow! You should warn somebody before—"

"They're fractured."

Dick blinked, looking down at his own bruising. It did look a little worse. "In my defense, it wasn't that bad before tonight."

Damian sat back on his heels. "You knew you were hurt, and you went on patrol? Like this? You could have gotten yourself—" he cut himself off, and Dick watched a dark cloud pass over his face. "You lied to me."

Dick wiped a hand down his face. "This isn't how tonight was supposed to go."

Damian's lips were pursed. "No, it wasn't."

And there were words to say, Dick was sure, but he couldn't find them. Instead, he reached a hand up to rest on Damian's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Damian shrugged Dick's hand off, and Dick pulled it back like he had been burned. The smaller boy pulled antiseptic from the first aid and poured it over the bleeding cut without warning.

Dick hissed at the sting. "I deserved that."

Damian didn't react, only numbly wiped the remainder away and said, "You're lucky. It looks shallow."

The next few minutes passed in silence, Damian cleaning and patching up the cut, and, with Dick's help, wrapping his ribs in fresh bandages. Dick watched the kid chew on his bottom lip for the majority of it, and knew that pressing would only make him shrink into himself.

It wasn't until Dick was sitting up again that Damian voiced his thoughts. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Dick blinked, trying to come up with an answer that didn't sound juvenile after the fact.

Damian filled the quiet with his own answers. "Do you not trust me? Did you think I would think less of you because of an injury like that?"

Oh. Oh. Dick had a flashback to Damian's first few weeks as Robin. The kid hid a sprained ankle for days before Dick confronted him about it, and then only because it was obviously getting worse. And Damian had been terrified of being found out.

Talia had taught him to be.

Dick's stomach rolled at the thought that his own stupidity was making Damian question his place in the family. Again.

"No," he said, with as much certainty as he could imbue in the word. "No, Damian, that's not it." He pulled the boy down—he yelped with surprise—into a hug. Didn't even care how much it hurt. "I trust you with my life. I just—I haven't seen you in a long time, and I didn't want you to worry about me."

Damian went still in his arms, and then abruptly snorted. "That's stupid." He sat up and finally peeled off his own domino to look at Dick. "I'm always worried about you, you stupid oaf. It's my job."

Dick couldn't help but smile. "I guess you're right." He shifted, winced, and apologetically asked, "If you can help me up, I can go ahead and call Tim and Cass and have them come pick you up."

Damian frowned. "Oh."

Dick was quick to catch onto his hesitation. "Unless you want to stay?"

Damian looked like he was going to protest, so he continued, "I need someone to make sure I don't do anything stupid again."

Damian was trying to hide his smile, but Dick knew him to well to miss it. "I suppose you're correct. There's only one way to fix fractured ribs, I'm afraid."

And so that's how Dick found himself on the couch, empty ice cream containers on the floor, little furnace of a brother curled into his good side, fast asleep.