Warning: Language . . .

When Dick opened his eyes, it was to darkness. His breath caught in his throat at the thought that his healing ability had left him at the worst possible time. But then when he turned his head he caught sight of a light beneath a door. The relief that flooded his system left him weak.

He sat up carefully. He was in a bed, but he knew in an instant it wasn't his. He wasn't home. Suddenly the door opened and the large frame of Batman was silhouetted.

"You're awake," he said, moving toward the bed.

His cowl was down, but the cape gave away the costume. Dick was in his room at the mountain. His headache remained and his eyes hurt at the light, but, even as he recognized this, the headache faded away and his eyes were soothed. So, he could still heal himself.

Thank God!

"I'm awake," he croaked. Robin cleared his throat and repeated himself. "I'm awake." His voice sounded normal the second time.

The light came on a second later and Bruce was sitting beside him. "You can see?"

At this, Robin smiled. He could see. "I can. But it was scary there for a while. How'd I get here?"

"I brought you here after discharging you from the hospital," Bruce told him.

Robin gaped. "What?"

"What did you think would happen after passing out in a public park?" Bruce asked.

Memories of the day moved through his mind.

"I guess I kind of overdid it?"

"You guess?"

Bruce moved to the desk in the corner of the room and picked up a remote. The small TV in the corner suddenly came to life. On it, was news reports of the miracle healings that took place in and around Miller Creek Park in Happy Harbor, Delaware. Robin blinked. There were quite a few, and that didn't even count the bird, the dog, and the rose.

"Oh."

"Oh? That's all you can say? Dick, you healed five people the day before yesterday," Bruce snapped.

The day before yesterday? How long had he been out of it?

"Eight," Dick coughed lightly in his anxiety.

"What was that?"

Dick sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I kind of healed eight people. I guess three people haven't owned up or didn't connect their improvements with the 'miracles'."

Bruce stared at him, speechless, and that made Dick very nervous. The things that came from the kind of activities that stunned Bruce speechless didn't end happily – At least not when it stemmed from Dick's activities.

Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound, he thought, using one of Alfred's old terms.

"And some of the things weren't actually people." Dick blew out his breath.

Now, Bruce was frowning sharply, but he suddenly found his tongue. "What? What sort of things?"

"A bird's broken wing, a dog's ear, and a rose stem."

"A . . . A rose." He repeated it like he couldn't believe his ears.

Dick shrugged. "It stung a bit at the time, but the pain faded like all the rest of it."

"Ah, but there you would be wrong," Bruce reminded him. "When you were released from the hospital, your medical records now state you have the beginnings of emphysema and a precancerous tumor in one of your lungs . . ."

"The right one," Dick muttered.

Bruce glared at him. "In the right lung, correct." He continued. "You have arthritis in all of the joints of your hands and arms as well as your legs and feet."

Dick winced at the memory of that terrible, bone-deep ache.

"And then there is the blindness."

"But I don't have any of that any more," Dick began, in his defense.

"Don't! Just . . . don't!" Bruce snapped abruptly.

Dick bit his lip and glanced up warily. Just how mad was he? Bruce's glare was worse than the batglare, he quickly determined, and he felt his spine wilting under Bruce's merciless gaze.

Yup, pretty darn mad . . .

"Damn it, Dick! What were you thinking . . .?" Bruce began; his voice picking up volume in his agitation. He paced the length of the too small room.

"That I can heal practically everything! I was just trying to help them, and I wanted to test what I could actually do!" Dick interrupted with his best defense.

"The key word in that first sentence would be 'practically'." Bruce barked, spinning around to pin Dick in yet another glare.

Dick's mouth snapped closed and he unconsciously scooted back on his bed until he was pressed against the wall. He drew his knees up; wrapping his arms around him. He got it. He really did. He had scared Bruce and, admittedly, Dick had scared himself. Waking up to darkness after losing one's vision had made his heart pound.

Bruce stared at him for a long moment and then heaved a sigh. For Bruce, it was as dramatic as anything out of Hollywood. He walked over and sat down on the bed next to his son. Dick traced the stitching in the quilt with his finger, afraid to look up into the disappointment that he knew would be evident in Bruce's eyes. He had only wanted to help people, and healing people of their illnesses and injuries and disabilities now, too, was fulfilling; easily as much as putting away the bad guys.

After a long stretch of silence, he couldn't stand it any longer. Dick looked up. It was all Bruce had been waiting for, and he reached over and pulled the young teen into his arms. Startled, Dick hesitated only briefly before throwing his arms around Bruce's middle.

"I'm afraid of this new ability of yours, Dick," Bruce admitted. "Clark says it should make me worry less about you, but it seems too good to be true and I cannot help but wait for the other shoe to drop. Is it permanent? Is there a limit? What happens to you if you smash into that limit head first? What if next time is the last time, and you keep the affliction? What if next time, you run headlong and fearless into a bullet only to find that last time was the last time it worked?"

His next words came out quietly; almost too low for even Dick to hear. "What if I lose you for real next time . . .?"

Dick looked up at the man who had voluntarily stepped into the role of his father. "I can't hoard this ability, Dad. I can't just not do anything when someone is hurt; not when I know I can help them. I'm just not made that way. I'm sorry . . . Please understand."

"No. No. Don't be sorry, son. I'm afraid I understand all too well," Bruce murmured; slowly releasing the boy. "You wouldn't be who you are otherwise. But, please, have a care for the people you might be leaving behind. Deal?"

Dick sat back. "I'll do my best. I promise."

Another sigh, but this one was full more with relief than with drama.

"That's all anyone can ask of you, son," Bruce told him. "That you do your best."

"So, are we okay now?" Dick asked hopefully.

Bruce cleared his throat. "We are . . . Although, you will probably be more okay day after tomorrow."

Dick's face scrunched in confusion. "Why do you say that?"

"Because by then you should be all healed up nicely from the soreness you'll have after spending tomorrow washing every car that Bruce Wayne owns," he smirked.

"Every car?!" There were twenty-three of them! Dick would have to wake and start washing at dawn!

"And once you finish with them, you can head down to the Batcave and start on every vehicle that belongs to Batman as well."

Dick gaped. "B-But I can't finish all that in just a day!"

Bruce waved a hand magnanimously. "Well, since you are grounded for the entire weekend, I suppose what you don't finish tomorrow, you can get to the day after."

Dick blew out a breath as he nodded in reluctant compliance. "I guess it beats spending the weekend scraping bat guano with a butter knife."

The bark of laughter that remark sparked surprised them both. "Like Alfred would allow you to use one of his butter knives . . ."

Dick smiled weakly. He was glad Bruce was no longer so angry with him, but he was not looking forward to morning. Why couldn't Wally's MoD have given him super speed?

"Good lad," Bruce ruffled his hair and stood up. "I suggest you get some rest while you can. Five a.m. comes early."

Dick groaned and slid down in bed. Bruce pulled up the covers, and took a seat in the chair next to the bed. It didn't take a detective to realize that this was where Bruce had spent the past twenty-four hours, and would be spending the next six. Dick knew better than to suggest he go home. He closed his eyes, satisfied that the darkness wasn't permanent, and that his father would be nearby if it became necessary for him to slay a boy's nightmares.

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