"You sure you're feeling well enough for patrol, Dick?"

"For the millionth time, I told you, I feel great!" If he wasn't in such a good mood, he might be more annoyed, but… The teen grinned widely as he flipped forward into a handstand. "Think I can beat my record? Bet I can hold it for ten minutes this time."

"Take it easy," Bruce warned, frowning disapprovingly. "Just yesterday, your fever was 102 and you were almost comatose."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, you were worried." He flipped forward to a standing position. "But I'm okay now. Seriously, I feel better than okay, really. I feel like I could punch Riddler into next week!" He smirked as he threw a fake punch. "You don't have to be suspicious of everything, you know. Now, c'mon, villains don't wait for us to get there."

Bruce followed the flipping teenager down to the batcave, frowning all the while.


"Just- Just punch him! He's just a kid! Can't be that hard!"

It was amazing that after five years, the thugs still underestimated Batman's chipper partner. The major villains had more or less learned that he was much more than he seemed, but their hired help never seemed to understood how a child, then a teen, could ever, well… kick their asses. Which Dick -under the name Robin- was very proficient at. Though there was a throbbing bruise on his cheek from when he'd misjudged an attack, minor wounds were always bound to happen and it did nothing to discourage his mood.

Adrenaline buzzed pleasantly in his chest as he dodged another hit, grinning as his attacker fell forward with the misplaced energy. Defense was the best offense, right? Bruce had hammered that pretty hard in training. When his friend started fumbling with his revolver, he ran forward, aiming a kick at his chest. As always, he was simply intending it to throw the man back a few feet- and usually most of them would drop the gun in surprise. He'd done it a million times.

What he wasn't expecting was the unmistakable crack of bone, and the man's scream in pain as he was thrown a good fifteen feet away.

His first reaction was to freeze in surprise, completely shocked. I didn't hit him that hard, he thought furiously. How could I have? Dick was much stronger than the average fourteen year old, he knew that… but to break ribs? Accidently? It just didn't happen.

In his shocked state, it was too late that he heard the cocking of a gun behind him, and he barely had time to turn in alarm. Before the man could fire, however, out of the darkness came a black fist, and a well placed attack left the thug crumpled on the ground. In less than a moment later, Batman's quick fingers emptied the gun. As the unused bullets fell to the ground, he finally walked forward to his partner.

"Robin," he began disapprovingly, sending a gaze to the hyperventilating man in the corner, hands clutching at his broken ribs. "What did you do?"

For a moment, he couldn't reply, his chest constricting. Something was very wrong, and it wasn't just the fact Bruce was angry. God, why was it so hard to breathe, suddenly? His fists shook.

"I…I didn't mean..." He bit his lip. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" It wasn't often that accusing voice was used on anything other than a criminal, and subconsciously Dick tensed.

Defensive words played on the tip of his tongue, but they all caught in the back of his throat; black started to creep into the side of his vision, and his eyes widened. "I'm gonna-"

The darkness had almost completely taken over before he could finish, but Bruce must have understood anyway. As his knees buckled, the last thing he remembered was strong arms wrapping around him just before he hit the ground.


"He won't understand, you know."

The room was still white, and this time there was no chair. The man was simply sitting cross-legged on the floor, golden eyes staring curiously.

Dick frowned, crossing his arms as he sat across from the other. "You again."

Something akin to a smile teased at the man's lips. "Yes. Me. Who else would I be?"

Silence.

"So, who are you?" Dick questioned suspiciously, leaning forward. "Like, I'm seriously confused. I thought you were just a hallucination when I was sick. Something I made up in my head."

"No. I am much more than that." He was slightly offended, but also amused at the same time if his tone was anything to go by. But despite Dick's training, it was difficult to tell. His facial features barely moved, except for his lips and eyes. It was… unsettling.

"Then what are you then? A villain trying to drive me crazy? An alien? A ghost?"

"No, no, and I suppose you could consider me close enough to the last." The man stood, sighing. "It's been many, many years since I've gone by my given name, but the title I am used to is not mine anymore." Those golden pupils bore into Dick's skull. "My name used to… is now… William. William Cobb, little bird."

"'Little bird'?" Dick quoted, raising a brow. He was used to being called something like bird-boy or whatever, but… a dark feeling in his stomach told him this wasn't the same thing. This didn't have anything to do with being Robin.

"You don't remember that last hour, do you." It wasn't a question. "When I told you."

"Something about…" Dick's face scrunched in confusion. "...a nursery rhyme?"

"It doesn't matter. When they take you it will all become clear. Make no mistake, little bird. There's no where you can fly that they can't find you."

"'They'?! Who is 'they'?"

"He won't understand," William repeated, finger coming up to his lips. "What you are. Who you are. That's why you can never tell him."


Though later he would think it didn't quite qualify as a nightmare, he still awoke gasping. Once he regained his breath, an uncharacteristic frown replaced the usual beaming smile.

Sighing, he stretched.

"I hope that's not an every night thing," he murmured, an unsettling feeling settling in his stomach as he stood. Unlike the last time, the dream wasn't muddled in his mind this time. Clear as day, he remembered every moment. Strange. Oh well. He shoved the thought away and finally looked himself over, as he always did when he had been knocked out… or had passed out, in this case.

He was no longer in his Robin uniform, but instead in some pajamas, which wasn't a surprise. It wasn't the best thing to sleep in. His visible arms looked fine, not a bruise or even small cut to be seen, which was good, and he wasn't sore at all. However, hunger gnawed at his stomach, and thirst at his throat, which meant that he'd been asleep for at least four hours

Wonder how long I've been out, he thought as he walked towards the mirror. And then promptly froze.

No way… not for that long.

He looked relatively normal, except for the fact the bruise he'd earned during the last escapade had completely disappeared. His fingers came up to hesitantly prod at the spot the bruise had been, but there was no pain whatsoever.

Alarmed, he quickly paced over to the door, fingers forceful as they curled around the doorknob. He pulled back when he felt the metal begin to bend under his fingers. For what felt like forever he stared, white faced, at the imprints his fingers had left.

"What the hell!" His first thought spilled from his lips, unfiltered in his state of shock. His second, however, did not exit his lips but was just as clear, anyway.

I need to tell Bruce.

Sudden super powers didn't just happen. Either like some sort of radiation or explosion happened, or you were born an alien or something. Fourteen year olds didn't just wake up with enhanced strength and healing. He hadn't been exposed to anything unusual recently, as far as he could remember- but if anyone could get to the bottom of this sudden mystery, it was Bruce.

He paused in his quiet stride down the stairs as angry words echoed from the first floor. Curious, he peaked over the side of the staircase below.

Bruce had crossed his arms angrily, frowning as he paced.

"I knew I should have kept him home," he fumed. "Now he's gone and broken some thug's ribs, and then he just passed out."

"Master Bruce…" Alfred's calm, firm voice lilted up the stairs. "You know it's very out of character for Master Dick to use excess force. I doubt he truly meant to."

"I know that," Bruce snapped, though his tone was not as much angry as annoyed. And was slight worry undertoning his words? "But that doesn't excuse his actions, and I can't have him on the field if he can't control himself. It takes a lot of energy and purpose to break ribs- and if he did it accidently, something is very wrong and I can't very well let him out either. Not until I know what the hell is happening."

Dick tensed, and his fingers dropped from the railing as his heart stopped. His fingers clenched into fists as for a moment he couldn't breathe. No. No, Bruce couldn't take away the one thing that truly made him feel alive-

"Well, he is a teenager, Master Bruce," Alfred pointed out, finally walking forward into Dick's line of sight. As always, he was calm and composed, his unflappable manner always present. "Perhaps he simply lost his temper for a short period. More control comes with time and maturity, and while it might be a good idea to give him a short break from vigilantism for a few nights, I don't think it's productive to bench him for a prolonged period of time."

Breath filled his lungs in relief, fists releasing.

Bruce sighed, rage finally seeping from his body as his posture relax. "I suppose. He didn't really do that much damage. But he said it was an accident. If it really was, I can't let him go out until I know what's wrong."

He won't understand, he remembered. That's why you can never tell him.

He let his footsteps get loud and echoing as he practically jumped down the stairs, full false grin out for the world to see. Bruce and Alfred silenced as he approached. Obviously, he wasn't meant to hear the previous conversation. If he could help it, they would never know he did.

"You're awake," Bruce said, face emotionless.

Dick took a deep breath, and lied.

"I'm sorry," he began, faking a sheepish smile. "I… um, lied about the guy's ribs. He said some pretty nasty stuff and I kinda lost my temper. I didn't really realize how much force I was using until it was too late… and I guess you were right about me still being sick. I should've listened."

Bruce visibly relaxed, but his face was stern. He looked exhausted if the heavy bags and the slightly sluggish movements were any indication… which, Dick realized, is probably why he got away with lying to the greatest detective in the world. "You shouldn't have lied, and you definitely shouldn't have lost control like that. You're going to stay home the next few days because of it." Pause. "But… you're young. It doesn't completely excuse it, but it's more understandable. We'll do some extra sessions on control. It should fix -or at least help- the problem."

A small expression of grim discontentment settled on Dick's features right on cue as he nodded, mumbling an understanding, but disappointed reply. Bruce was satisfied with that, and walked away to do something or other. Dick instantly turned to Alfred, and before long he had some food prepared for the starving teen.

He hated lying, but he wasn't going to give up being Robin because of it.

You made a mistake, the voice inside said. It's just going to get worse and you're not going to be able to hide it. You can't ignore it forever.

Watch me, he thought back to it, trying to ignore the sinking in his stomach as he took a bite of his sandwich.

Watch me.