A/N: Sorry for the shortie. Whumptober is hard!


"Open your eyes," Bruce commanded.

"No," Dick mumbled petulantly.

"You have a concussion, I need you to stay awake."

"No."

"Richard John Grayson, open your eyes right now or you will not get Alfred's cookies for a week!"

Bruce was frustrated. Batman and Robin had returned from patrol ten minutes ago, Robin with a severe concussion from his head hitting a wall, and Batman with a knife wound in his arm. The latter had easily been taken care of with stitches. The former was a waiting game, but waiting with closed eyes meant Dick was flirting with a dangerous line.

"If you go to sleep, you might not wake up," Bruce declared, trying to scare the eleven-year-old into opening his eyes.

"Tired."

"I know, which is why I need you to open your dang eyes!" the man almost yelled.

"No," Dick repeated for what felt, to Bruce, like the thousandth time.

"Fine, go into a coma and sleep forever. Is that really what you want to do?!"

There was a long pause, almost a minute, then Dick whispered, "No."

"Master Bruce, that was too far," Alfred commented, his voice slightly reprimanding. "You don't need to terrify Master Dick."

"Then he needs to open his eyes!" Bruce finally shouted.

"Am I…dying?" Dick softly asked, a tinge of fear surrounding the words. "I don't want to die."

Bruce sighed, knowing Alfred had been correct.

"Dick, you are not dying. You have a severe concussion, but you won't even come close to dying if you will just stay awake for at least three hours."

"So if I don't make it three hours, then I'll die?"

Dang it.

Bruce grimaced at the thought and tried again.

"No, not necess…"

"Master Bruce, he's eleven!" Alfred exclaimed.

"Um, prob…well, I don't…"

The pause was long enough for Dick to ask, "Probably yes, or probably no?"

Alfred nearly rolled his eyes as he walked over to the medical area where Dick was currently lying on one of the beds.

"Master Dick, you will not die. Your concussion is severe, which means you need to stay awake, as Master Bruce explained. The recommendation is at least three hours, young sir. However, if you can make it to just one hour, I'm certain that you will be fine."

"Certain?" both Bruce and Dick repeated.

"My dear boys, let me ask you a question. Of the three of us, who has been a field medic in the military?"

There was no response to that.

"Do either of you know what a field medic does?" the butler continued.

"A doctor?" Dick guessed.

"Correct, young sir. I do not have a doctoral degree, but I do have several years of experience treating members of the Royal Air Force, the Royal Marines, the British Secret Service, and the Special Air Service. Do you think any of those men or women ever received a concussion while fighting?"

"Yes," Bruce mumbled.

"Who, Master Bruce, do you think treated those concussed men and women?"

"You," the younger man grumbled.

"Therefore, Master Dick, I am certain that one hour will be sufficient. More than one hour is better, young sir, in that Master Bruce is correct. Will you keep your eyes open for just one hour, Master Dick?"

Dick slowly opened his eyes, and the men studied the light-blue circles. The pupils were dilated and cloudy, and the color was dimmer than usual.

"Will you tell me stories about being a doctor?" the boy asked.

"Of course, Master Dick," Alfred replied with a slight grin. "But the moment your eyes close, the stories end. Trust me, young sir, I have many interesting tales to tell that you don't want to miss."

Bruce helped the eleven-year-old sit up and Alfred motioned to a chair.

"It will be easier if he is comfortably sitting, Master Bruce."

The younger man nodded, picked Dick up, and gently placed him on a nearby chair.

"You, too, sir," Alfred lightly commanded. "You lost blood, and you need to rest. Sit down while I regale Master Dick with stories from my time in the British military."

Bruce did as he was told, glancing at Dick as he sat down. The boy's eyes were wide open, excitement dancing through the clouds bouncing around inside them.

"There was a time…"


Dick kept his eyes open for over two hours, a compromise that Alfred communicated to Bruce when their eyes connected at the one-hour mark. When the light-blue circles disappeared, Bruce picked him up and started walking toward the stairs.

"Kindness and understanding usually work better than commands and threats, sir," Alfred stated quietly.

Bruce paused, then pretended he hadn't heard the comment and continued to the Manor and up to Dick's bedroom.

Why does he always have to be so wise?

THE END