A/n: Guys, I'm still alive! I'm still sick though, if having symptoms yet no fever still counts as being sick yet somehow my mom managed to get the fever and nothing else so idk what life is at this point. Nevertheless, this fic isn't about me (officially) and so time to make Dickie boy go through my shit to make me feel a bit better.

Warning, disclaimer, obligation to mention that it happens idk: this chapter does resort to swearing at some points (let's ignore the one swear word already appearing in the a/n above lol). Nothing too bad, but at this point I don't have a real swear word count since it'll just be if I feel like it then it's going in. Anyway, go ahead and read now if you're chill with a bit of dirty language.

Oh, no wait, actual TW: mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation/attempts. Not Dick's own for once tho hehe.

His lunch break rolled around too slow.

By then, he already felt like curling up and sleeping and just becoming a robin in a nest of blankets because everywhere he went was too cold. The faint wind seemed to go through his thin jacket to his bones.

In all fairness, his sick state hadn't actually changed much - in fact, if anything it had improved since his throat was somewhat back to normal - but his sinuses were still blocked half the time while the other half, his nose was runny, all around just being a righteous bitch. Plus the fact that he'd definitely somehow managed to do something to his leg since both now - another development that he had absolutely no inkling of how it happened - were incredibly sore so anything even resembling a crouch hurt like hell. He'd been through three tissues, two tylenols and one cup of tea already and it was only noon.

The stupid urge to cry popped up again and he shoved it further back down into whatever crack in the manhole to the sewers it'd slipped out of in the first place.

Of course, all of that had been during or after one of his cases had quickly derailed into a suicide prevention, so now not only did he have to stay healthy for whatever important things he had to deal with still, he also had to stay not sick enough for a literal life-or-death situation which wasn't even his own life or death. Not that he minded in the least; if he could save this one person's life even by just offering support if they needed it, at his own cost or not, he didn't care at all about him getting sick or not anymore. In fact, after that he'd pretty much put his sickness the furthest away from his mind, this suicidal person - someone he actually knew personally, them being a neighbour - taking the forefront of his mind.

It's why as the day progressed, he didn't actually know if the slight nausea he was feeling was another symptom of a sickness, or related to knowing a person sort of close to him had just attempted suicide and now kind of depended on him as a lifeline. Again, not something he'd trade the world for - too many people had died on his watch, and wasn't preventing loss of life the reason he'd become a vigilante and for that matter a police officer too? - but he was just a little tired.

As his shift at work ended, he'd had to go with the neighbour to find a trusted therapist to talk to and offer comfort while they booked an appointment, his tension about their mental state alleviating the slightest bit just by them actually showing up which he made a point of saying he was proud of them for it. Then he'd had to rush to the first class of an extra course he'd taken for his job, one on… something or the other.

That class in itself had been kind of fun, a distraction from life if nothing else, and by the end of it he wasn't actually much better but he felt like it. Getting home didn't take long after that and he quickly found himself flopped on the couch again, exhausted. Patrol and heading up the lead from the day before were still far from his mind when he finally got up and made another cup of tea, yet another teabag sacrificed in the noble cause of preventing a sickness he was quite sure by now he already had.

Oh well. He might as well just take the same advice he'd given his neighbour and take life day by day, hour by hour if he needed to. For him, that meant unexpectedly taking an hour passed out on the couch after he'd finished with the tea so that by the time he woke up, he had to make the call pretty soon about patrol or not.

In the end, he let the lead he was supposed to follow up make the decision for him. If it could be held off for anther day, then he'd take the night off. If it couldn't, then he'd put on the costume and go out regardless of his health or not - even if Bruce probably wouldn't have approved, but guess what? Bruce wasn't there to bench him. He smirked at that thought, until it turned into a frown.

Hadn't he been thinking about heading over to Gotham sometime soon? But he didn't want to get the whole family sick if he did turn out to be sick so maybe he'd just postpone it for longer. Whatever. Either way he had time to decide later, unlike with his decision on patrol.

It was only when he opened his laptop did he realise how sore his eyes were. Well, actually they weren't sore at all, but more on the verge of being sore, just like he was on the verge of having a bad headache. It was a funny feeling, that. Like he felt it but not enough for it to actually be sore or hurting. If he was any worse off, he might have actually laughed out loud at that, but he still had that much in him to not.

Patrol, right.

Ten minutes of unfocused work later, he decided the lead could wait. Probably. If it couldn't, well then he'd just have to find another one. This wasn't a case where it'd end in Bludhaven blown up or anything so it was fine for now. Especially since it'd be risky having him out there anyway only for him to botch it up because he can't even focus on research so how can he focus on the field?

Another rest day it is then.

He made a quick dinner. Again, he knew he should take a second helping, but he couldn't bring himself too because quite frankly, he wasn't:t entirely sure he could keep it down and he really didn't want to throw up today. Any day, actually, but not the point. Or was it exactly the point? Hm…

Sleep. That was what he needed. A good night's sleep and he'd be fine. Probably. Ugh if only his stupid sinuses would clear up…

One last cup of tea, and he took a grand total of six minutes before he was out completely, snoring wrapped under two blankets on his bed.

A/n: Sorry if it seemed a little… disjointed? Distant? No plot really? But I can admit this definitely isn't my best work, but then again. I'm not really at my best right now either am I? Anyway, no idea where this will go - I know what I want to happen, but it really does depend on how I'm feeling which will effect what happens to Dick, which sort of makes this more of a journal for me than a fanfic but hey whatever, I'm tired and should probably sleep now. If you want better Dick Grayson angst/hurt/comfort/sickfic whtvr from me, then just check out one of my other dcu fics honestly, but I'm still happy you're here if you are, so thank you.

Anyway, stay safe and hopefully - provided I don't completely get annihilated by whatever this thing is that I'm dealing with - see ya soon.

- CrowofArcadiaOaks