A/N: Just a reminder - italics are usually used for thoughts to oneself. Thanks! :)
Well, that's unfortunate.
"Robin, report."
Two fingers are hanging at a weird angle and my thumb is dislocated.
"Just some scratches, no big deal."
I can take care of myself.
"Location."
"North side of the building, just finished off some henchmen, now securing them."
If I can get my hand to cooperate.
"ETA."
"Five minutes."
I can finish tying ten of them up and fix my thumb and splint my fingers together in five minutes…
"Um, maybe ten minutes. Some of them are waking up."
One guy opened his eyes for a few seconds, it's not exactly a lie.
"Take care of them and meet me around front."
"Copy that."
Robin carefully lifted his right hand to inspect the damage, supporting it by holding his wrist with his left hand. The thumb he could fix, although it was really going to hurt. But the two fingers…they were probably broken. He needed Alfred to help with that, but Alfred was back at the Batcave. Which meant if Robin didn't want Batman to see the injury from his idiotic mistake, he was going to have to do the best he could to hide it. And if the fingers were continually moving around, there was no way he was going to be able to hide the pain.
There was nothing useful in his utility belt. Robin had neglected to restock his supply of medical Bat-tape when he had used the last of it two weeks ago. Another idiotic mistake that would disappoint Batman.
"That don't look so good, kid."
One of the henchmen had woken up and was staring at the thirteen-year-old with a slight grin. Robin scowled – he didn't need anyone to point it out to him – and lowered his arm. Six of the men were out cold and tied up. Three of them were tied up but beginning to stir. And the man who had spoken was, unfortunately, the only one not restrained.
"Prolly shoulda taken care a me first," the man stated as he stood up. "Now that I know yer weak spot, I kin take you down easy."
"It's 'easily', not 'easy', and no, you can't," Robin replied.
"Don't need a grammar lesson, kid," the man snapped.
"Then learn to speak the language correctly," the boy commented with a shrug.
The man didn't know it, but Robin was already prepared for him. During the conversation, the thirteen-year-old had unobtrusively removed a Bat-a-rang from the side pocket of his utility belt. Quickly raising his right hand, Robin threw it at the man's forehead. It was a perfect shot, and the henchman dropped to the ground.
"Crap," Robin whispered as he grabbed his right wrist with his left hand again. "Crap, crap, crap."
He was right-handed, and the Bat-a-rangs were in the pocket on his right hip, and he had thrown it with his right hand. The hand that was now swollen and was sending bolts of lightning up his arm.
"Robin."
Batman's voice was demanding details. It had been ten minutes, and Robin hadn't joined him yet.
"One woke up, had to take him out again."
"You're injured."
It was a comment, not a question. Robin had to think fast.
"Guess the scratch on my forehead is more like a cut," he stated.
It was true, the injury would probably need stitches, so technically Robin hadn't lied.
"Secure the criminal and get out here. Commissioner Gordon is on his way."
"Copy that," Robin responded, gritting his teeth and trying to block out the pain in his hand.
The Bat-communicator went silent, and the Boy Wonder walked over to the recently-fallen henchman. Instead of using the last of his Bat-rope, Robin took out his Bat-cuffs and secured them around the man's wrists. Tying a knot with his swollen hand was out of the question.
Glancing around the room, Robin searched for something that could be used as a make-shift splint. They were in an industrial building, a storage room full of odds and ends, so he was hopeful that something useful would pop out at him.
Robin made a quick circuit of the room and saw nothing helpful. Lots of old radios and car parts and tools, none of which would work as a splint. And then, just as he was going to give up, he saw a roll of black electrical tape. It was on the floor in a dark corner, almost invisible.
The Boy Wonder knelt down and grabbed the roll with his left hand. His right was pretty much useless now. Using only his left hand, Robin was able to slowly pull off a short piece. It instantly disintegrated, too old to hold anything together.
"Robin."
Now Batman's voice was impatient, Robin had no choice but to leave.
"On my way," he responded.
Clenching his jaw, he grabbed his thumb and shoved it back into place.
"Daaaaaang it!" he exclaimed.
Taking a deep breath, he began walking toward the front of the building, hoping that the natural swing of his arms would cause his hand to go numb. It didn't. The pain intensified, but there was no way Robin was going to tell Batman that he had jammed his fingers on a door because the guy he had been about to punch had moved. It was a mistake the Caped Crusader would never make, so the thirteen-year-old wasn't going to disappoint the man by admitting it.
He glanced down at his hand and sighed. It was now turning purple, there was no way Batman wouldn't see the injury.
Unless I get him to focus on my forehead.
Robin quickly reached up and reopened the cut. A dribble of blood leaked out and traveled down his nose. He pinched the edges of the injury, forcing more blood to slide down his face. Then he swiped at it with the back of his left hand, smearing the blood on both his hand and cheeks.
That will keep his attention.
Batman came into view, and Robin was by his side fifteen seconds later.
"You're bleeding," the man stated.
He gently grabbed Robin's chin and tilted the boy's head back in order to better examine the wound. Reaching into his utility pocket with his other hand, Batman retrieved a piece of Bat-gauze and placed it on the cut.
"Hold that," he demanded, and Robin complied.
"Is everyone secure?" the Caped Crusader asked as he let go of the Boy Wonder's chin.
Robin nodded, not trusting his voice. If Batman heard even a slight tinge of pain in his tone, the man would search until he found the actual injury.
"Why is there blood on your hand?" he suddenly asked.
Robin, without thinking, lifted his right hand. His left was still holding the gauze, so the movement had been automatic. Luckily, Batman was examining his left hand, looking for the source of the blood.
"I wiped it across my forehead to get the blood off my nose," the boy responded truthfully.
Batman nodded shortly, then asked, "And your other hand?"
Dang it.
Robin hadn't dropped his right hand quickly enough. Batman was observant, and the thirteen-year-old internally yelled at himself for the stupid mistake.
"It's fine," he tried.
"Show me," Batman commanded.
Reluctantly, Robin slowly lifted his swollen, purple right hand. He tried to cover up the two broken fingers with his other two, but they wouldn't move.
Batman carefully grabbed the wrist, stared at Robin intently, and waited for an explanation.
Make up something cool.
Nothing came to his mind. Batman raised his eyebrows and continued to wait.
"Uh…"
"Don't lie to me, Robin," Batman said with a slight glare.
"I, uh, punched a guy who had abs of steel."
Batman stared at the boy skeptically, and Robin sighed.
Dropping his head, the Boy Wonder mumbled, "I missed a punch and hit a door instead."
"I didn't catch that. Repeat."
Batman had caught most of it, but had decided that Robin needed to learn a lesson.
"I missed a punch and hit a door," the thirteen-year-old repeated, his voice a little louder.
"Robin."
The Boy Wonder didn't acknowledge the calm demand, so the Caped Crusader repeated his earlier action. Gently, he put his hand under Robin's chin and lifted his head.
"Everyone makes mistakes, chum. The bigger mistake was trying to hide this from me. I've told you this before: never hide injuries, it only makes them worse."
"But you…"
"I am an adult and can listen to my body and take care of myself. You are still learning, and you tend to ignore your body when it tells you to stop or slow down."
"I can take care of myself," Robin muttered. "I reset my thumb," he stated louder, a touch of pride in his voice.
"You…"
Batman sighed and shook his head as he let go of Robin's chin. Two broken fingers and a dislocated thumb, and the answer Robin had given him when he had first asked for a report was, "Just some scratches, no big deal."
Reaching into his utility belt, the man pulled out his roll of medical Bat-tape and used it to secure the two fingers together. Robin flinched and bit his tongue but stayed silent.
"What else?" Batman asked when he finished.
I may or may not have rolled my ankle and sprained it.
"That's pretty much it," the boy replied, still attempting to technically tell the truth.
"Robin," Batman growled. "Pretty much?"
"I bit my tongue when you were wrapping my fingers."
"Hmmmm," the Caped Crusader murmured. "Is that all?"
There was no way to get around that question. 'All' meant everything, and the Boy Wonder didn't want to tell Batman an outright lie.
"Uh, I sprained my ankle?"
"Robin, what did I just tell you?!" Batman exclaimed.
"Um, don't hide injuries?"
"And yet here you are, telling me you are fine while standing on an ankle that could be broken!"
"It's not broken," Robin responded.
"Yet," Batman growled. "How were going to keep me from finding out about it?"
Silence. The thirteen-year-old had no answer to that.
"Were you even going to ask Alfred for help?"
"Um, don't they kind of heal on their own?" he questioned softly.
Throwing his hands in the air, Batman turned around and stalked away. Yelling at the boy would do no good; in fact, it would probably convince him to hide all of his injuries.
"Batmobile, now," the man grumbled.
Robin was in and buckled before Batman sat down in the driver's seat.
"How are you still so fast on a bum ankle?"
"I told you, it's not broken."
"You and your dang high pain tolerance," Batman muttered, irritation in his voice.
With a sigh, Robin admitted, "I think I also have a fractured rib. That's, um, everything."
Batman clenched his jaw and tightened his hands on the steering wheel.
"You're grounded for a week," he growled.
"But…"
"Your body needs time to heal. And you need to learn to listen to your body."
"I'll tell you everything, all the time! Please don't ground me!"
"Your body needs time to heal," Batman repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Two weeks later:
"…and a scratch on my knee and a splinter in my hand but I already pulled it out and my knuckle made a popping sound when I hit a guy but it doesn't hurt – I think it was just my knuckle cracking – and I have a bruise on my elbow from hitting another guy's head and there's…"
"Robin!" Batman grumbled loudly.
"But you said to tell you everything!"
"The big injuries, not every tiny thing. The ones that need stitches, or splints, or gauze, or tape, or other major things like that."
"I need a bandaid on my knee, does that count?"
Batman groaned, and Robin smirked.
THE END