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Dick lies on his side, still on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulder has he shakes violently, breathing shallow and ragged.
And– he hates blood loss.
He hates how it makes him feel, he hates his stupid O negative blood, and he hates to admit that he was wrong for not listening to Bruce, who’s been telling him that the Cave ran out of O negative blood months ago.
A low groan escapes his chapped lips, head buried in the blanket as he curls onto himself tighter. The world spins around him, ears ringing loudly– and he wishes he could just sleep, but he can’t.
“I h-hate– blood loss.”
“Really, Grayson?” Damian sighs, a plate in hand, “I’ve never heard you say such a thing. Never, I swear, ignoring the fifty times you’ve said those exact same words in the past forty minutes.”
Dick grunts, attempting– and failing miserably– to shove Damian off the couch.
“Come on, now, you need to eat something,” the youngest urges, holding out a plate of walnuts and scrambled eggs, “You need to replenish your strength and iron levels. As I’m sure you know, eggs are a great source of iron, protein, and other essential vitamins. As a matter of fact, one hundred grams of eggs contain approximately one point three milligrams of iron, and–”
“D-Dami,” Dick calls, weak, “spare m-me the info d-dump, pl’se? Not that I d-don’t apprec-appreciate it, but–”
Damian tuts. “I am barely trying to keep you awake, Grayson. I am well aware that Father has taught you everything you need to know regarding nutritional values.”
The eldest sighs, defeated. “M’fine, I can sl-sleep.”
“Gordon was very explicit, no sleeping until you’ve had proper food, finished your IV therapy, and started the transfusion. The blood shall be here in about an hour, weather permitting.” Damian says, eyes glancing up at the half-empty bag.
Dick lets out such a woeful sound that Damian’s heart almost clenches in pity.
“M’tired.”
“I know, Grayson.” he hums, “But I don’t appreciate you trying to kill yourself by suffocating, not after Gordon and I worked hard to save you tonight.” he adds, lowing the blanket so that it rests under Dick’s chin, and not above his head.
“Eat your eggs.”
A moan. “M’cold.”
“That would be the blood loss. You’ll feel better once you eat.”
After an instant, Dick nods weakly, and gingerly makes a move to sit up– he’s not even halfway upright before his arms give out just under his weight, and he starts plummeting to the side. Damian instantly lunges to keep his brother upright, careful to avoid his wrapped torso.
The youngest grabs a couple of spare pillows and props them up behind Dick’s back, so that he’s not entirely horizontal– because the last thing Damian wants to deal with, tonight, is Grayson choking on scrambled eggs.
Once Damian’s satisfied with Dick’s position, he sets the full plate on his lap, and hands him a spoon.
Dick instantly makes a face, and Damian rolls his eyes.
“What, did you want ketchup or something?”
“Th-that too, but–” Dick slowly lifts his arm, hand trembling uncontrollably as he makes an attempt at grabbing the spoon. “C-can’t. Tir’d.”
The youngest blinks.
“That bad?”
A nod. “I h-hate blo–”
“Grayson, I swear!” Damian sighs, exasperated. He stands. “I’m gonna go grab the ketchup. Do not move. And do not fall asleep. If you do, I’ll know, and I’ll send Gordon over, and she’s not going to be as lenient. You hear me?”
Dick scoffs, mildly amused.
“Th’nks.”
Damian leaves, and the eldest lets his eyes fall shut– just for a minute. The thought of eating makes his stomach churn, saliva already coating his teeth and tongue and–
He moans, head lolling, sweaty bangs sticking to his clammy, cold forehead. Everything hurts.
But Dick knows that his brother is right – he needs to stay conscious and alert. He blinks, eyes open barely past a squint, vision blurred.
“...back. Grayson, wake up.”
“M’awake.” he slurs, blinking again.
Damian tuts.
“Here.” he says, as he pours a tiny bit of ketchup on Dick’s eggs.
“Hn?”
“I can only give you so much ketchup in your condition, Grayson. Once you’ve recovered, you will be allowed to have all the ketchup you please.” Damian explains.
He stares at the spoon, then at his oldest brother, then at the spoon again.
“Do you– do you need me to feed you?” he asks, and Dick blinks at how unphased by the question Damian looks.
Because the eldest had expected him to blush, embarrassed or angry or mortified, but– Damian’s expression is somewhat tight, now. Worried, even.
Oh.
Dick’s heart clenches. “I c-can do it.”
And he tries, he really does. With great effort, Dick forces himself to sit a bit more up, leaning against the thick pillows for support. He grabs the plate with one hand, the spoon with the other– it shakes in his hold, and Dick prays that he’s not going to make a mess right on Barbara’s settee.
An automatic door slides open, making Dick jolt slightly, the egg flakes he’d managed to scoop up with sheer, unprecedented determination falling back on the plate.
“Hey,” Barbara calls with a smile, moving closer to Dick, “how are we feeling, big guy?”
He sighs, not strong enough to muster a serious answer or crack a joke to reassure her that he’s fine, because he’s not. He hates blood loss.
She offers an apologetic smile, then glances at Damian, who sits criss-cross on the couch, allowing Barbara more space to get closer to Dick. With practised ease, she moves herself from the wheelchair to the couch, extending a hand to move the sweaty hair from Dick’s face.
“He was just about to eat his eggs. And walnuts.” Damian supplies, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to feed him. His body is too weak, at the moment, for hand-eye coordinated manoeuvres.”
“M’sorry–”
“The apology is not needed, Grayson. I am merely stating the facts and reporting them to Gordon.” Damian says, tone even, expression unreadable.
Barbara smiles, gentle, “I see. Thank you, Dami, you’re being very helpful, and kind.”
She then looks at Dick. “Would you like me to feed you instead? Would that make you feel more comfortable? I think I have a few minutes, if–”
“Gordon,” Damian interrupts, “I sincerely do not mind feeding Grayson right now. But I do mind that the blood is delivered to this secret address safely for all parts involved, and as much as I’m sure I could take over your duty easily, if needed, I– I would rather you handled it.” he finished, averting his gaze, scratching at the back of his neck.
She blinks, then laughs. “Spending time with Dick is good for you, you’re a good kid.”
“I just want Grayson to be safe.” he explains, rolling his eyes.
“Okay, you’re right.” she exhales, “What do you say, Boy Wonder?”
Dick shrugs, “I c-can feed m-myself.”
After an instant, Barbara nods. She moves and plants a gentle kiss atop of Dick’s head, then on Damian’s– he doesn’t squirm, doesn’t tell her to stop. Dick smiles, faint, gratitude flooding his heart. He reaches out a shaky hand out, clasping Barbara’s and squeezing it affectionately– and she does the same, giving him another warm kiss on the cheek.
Once Barbara leaves, already back on the phone with the medical couriers– stuck in the blizzard, predictably– Damian gently pries the spoon from Dick’s shaky hand, and scoops up some egg flakes.
Dick doesn’t open his mouth, and instead squeezes his eyes tight.
“Gi’me a mom’nt.”
Damian watches him closely, his brow furrowed in concern. “Come on, Grayson, you can do this," he says as encouragingly as he can, “Just a few bites, and you’ll start feeling better.”
Dick nods weakly, but still doesn’t open his mouth. He shakes in place, a hand rising– quaking and clammy– as he presses it against his eyes, moaning.
He leans back against the pillows, eyelids heavy and drooping, exhaustion weighing him down, pulling him into a deep, dreamless sleep. He almost–
“Grayson. Richard. Stay with me,” Damian calls, pleads. “You can’t afford to faint, remember? Stay awake and please eat.”
Dick struggles to keep his eyes open, to focus on Damian’s worried eyes. Another wave of nausea washing over him, threatening to pull him under– he gags, but nothing comes out.
“Hey. Come on, Grayson, breathe,” Damian instructs, his voice firm but gentle. “Is it the smell of eggs? Is it bothering you?”
Before Dick can confirm or deny, Damian grabs the plate, still full, and takes it to the far end of the room, taking back with him only the walnuts and the knife.
“There, no more eggs.” he says, and cracks the walnuts open, holding their content to Dick’s mouth, piece by piece. “Eat.”
“Hnn.”
“Grayson, please.” Damian says, “It’s only going to take a minute, okay? Then you can sleep.”
That has Dick pry one eye open. “Pr’mise?”
And– that’s the thing about white lies: Damian has only recently learnt the meaning of the term, and still somewhat struggles when it comes to discerning good lies from bad lies. White lies are minor lies that are told to avoid hurting someone’s feelings, or to maintain harmony in a social situation– Father had explained.
Damian knows that telling Dick that he can go to sleep right after eating that meagre portion– when in reality he won’t let him– will hurt Dick’s feelings, but he also believes that Dick recovering his strengths is far more important, because it’s a matter of life and death, isn’t it?
So, Damian nods. “Yes, I promise.”