As promised, chapter 10 is done! Thank you all so much for the reviews on the last chapter, I'm glad you liked Wally's little speech so much! These reviews keep me writing so keep them coming!

Still don't own Young Justice

It was exactly three hours since Dick had started laughing. He was still conscious and still chucking madly. His lungs were straining to expand enough for him to survive and his face was contorted into a painful grimace through the plastic smile.

Alfred was toying with the shelves of medical supplies but not really cleaning or organizing anything. Every few seconds the old butler glanced over at the boy and a pained look crossed his face. Then he returned to fiddling with boxes of pills in the cabinets.

Bruce was glaring fixedly at a screen on one of the many machines throughout the batcave. He was still in full Batman uniform, but the cowl was pulled down to hang loosely around his neck. He had been standing statue still for ten minutes, hardly blinking and never once wavering from his position.

The atmosphere in the dimly lit cave was thick and expectant. The air was like molasses going down the throats of the two older men. If not for Dick's laughter there would not have been a perceivable sound anywhere in the cave.

Every so often there was a break in the boy's chuckles, during which he would gasp quickly for air. Usually, he inhaled too quickly and choked, causing a sort of half-laughing, half-coughing sound to pierce the air. Dick had long since stopped crying, as if he had run out of tears, but he had curled tightly into a ball, from which came the torturous sounds.

Another five tense minutes passed, during which Bruce blinked exactly six times, Alfred glanced at Dick fifty-five times, and Dick shed a single tear that rolled slowly down his nose and dripped onto his knee.

Finally, a small beep emitted from the machine in front of Bruce and a transparent liquid was poured into a small syringe.

In one fluid motion Bruce grabbed the syringe, walked ten steps toward Dick, and emptied the liquid into the boy's arm.

Alfred counted ten seconds until Dick's laughter died completely. Another three while the boy gasped. Five for a short coughing fit. One for a glance at Bruce and then Dick passed out, a fading grin still etched on his face.

Bruce lowered the boy gently onto the medical bed and looked at the many machines that were monitoring his vital functions. Heartbeat was slowing down, blood pressure returning to normal, but his breathing was still weak.

Alfred already had a breathing mask handy and was slipping it onto Dick's face even as Bruce was about to ask for it. The man tried to say something, but only managed small, indistinct sounds. Alfred seemed to understand, however, and gave his charge a small, relieved smile.

The first thought that entered Dick's mind when he woke up was air. Sweet, fresh air! Oh, how he had missed it!

He took a minute to simply breathe and enjoy the sensation of his chest rising and falling as air filled his lungs. Then he became aware of his surrounding and opened his eyes blearily.

He was lying in his bed at the manor, and judging from the light coming through the window it was some time in the early morning. Beside his bed was a chair occupied by the slumbering figure of Bruce Wayne. His head was resting against his chest and he looked as though he had been sitting there for a long time.

Dick shifted slightly in bed and felt a sharp pain in his left arm. He hissed slightly and the memories came flooding back. Sportsmaster...blowing up the suitcase...laughing again...the bullet.

Experimental movement of his hand and arm revealed that the wound was tightly bandaged and around the middle of his upper arm. It didn't seem to be a major injury, but it sure did hurt a lot.

The shifting of bedsheets had woken up Bruce, ever the light sleeper, and Dick looked over as the man gave a small grunt and opened his eyes. He quickly saw that Dick was awake and immediately lost all outer signs of grogginess as he fixed his son with a penetrating gaze before asking, "How do you feel?" His voice was rough and cracked; he had obviously been waiting for hours for Dick to wake up.

Dick opened his mouth and tried to talk, but as soon as the first sound left his lips his throat burned with pain. He grabbed his throat and squeezed his eyes shut for a minute. When he looked up again, Bruce was watching him with a concerned look.

"What's wrong? Does your throat hurt?" the man asked quickly. Dick nodded. "The laughing must have damaged your vocal cords, I thought this would happen."

Dick raised en eyebrow and mouthed, How long was I asleep?

"Only six hours. We moved you here after three once your breathing regulated," came the answer.

The venom? Dick asked, glad he was so used to communicating silently with his mentor.

"New formula. It activates upon ingestion and then returns later, immune to our antidote for the most part, but not entirely. The partial effects saved your life by allowing you to breathe a bit," Bruce answered. He looked as though he could still hardly believe Dick hadn't died. It was hard for Dick to believe, too, once the realization hit him.

He shifted slightly to sit up more in bed, but winced as he put weight on his bound arm. Bruce of course noticed and asked, "How does your arm feel?"

Dick conveyed in a look exactly how his arm felt and Bruce's eyes hardened a bit with worry. Then he thought for a moment before saying carefully, "Do you...remember anything from when you were laughing?"

Dick thought carefully. He remembered getting shot...then a lot of pain in his arm as someone...Zatanna?...cleaned it. Then he recalled Bruce's loud voice talking to his teammates, then soft words of encouragement as they travelled to the batcave. Then...Dick shuddered and focused on his breathing as he remembered when Bruce took the bullet out of his arm. That had gotten through the numbness from laughing for so long. He glanced at Bruce, who understood immediately what he was thinking about.

"I'm sorry about that, but nothing would stay in your system long enough to take effect and I had to get the bullet out-"

Dick cut off the explanation with a hand on his father's arm and a glare that said very clearly, "It's fine. I get it."

Bruce sighed and rested a hand on top of Dick's. For a moment, they stayed silent, each lost in their own separate thoughts. Bruce wondered how long Dick would be unable to talk, while Dick's thoughts wandered elsewhere.

For a second Dick marveled at his survival before thinking again about his hours of laughing. He didn't tell Bruce, but during that whole time, past the pain, he had felt terrified. It had been one of the many times he had thought about the possibility of his death, but it was one of the few where he knew he had no control over the outcome. The feeling of helplessness had terrified him, and it had consumed his thoughts while he laughed.

Something of his thoughts must have showed on his face, for Bruce suddenly looked concerned again, but he remained silent, which Dick was glad for. He didn't want to admit his fears, even though he knew Bruce wouldn't think he was weak.

To smooth over the moment, Dick mouthed, Can I have a drink?

"I'll be right back," Bruce said as he got up to get some water. Dick watched silently as his bedroom door closed with a soft snap. When Bruce returned a few minutes later with a glass of water, Dick was fast asleep with his head still turned toward the door.

Finally! Robin's all better! But is this the end of hiss troubles? I hope you liked this one and don't forget to review! Chapter 11 will be up as soon as I can manage, so until then, stay whelmed!