As much as Dick loved talking with little kids and teenagers on random playgrounds and schoolyards, he knew he didn't want any children.

Well, not just yet, anyways. Maybe later.

But the kid lying in bed next to him was slowly driving Dick on the way to losing his mind.

"Why do you call yourself Dick?" Gar inquired, eyes widening. "Oh, is Dick the short version of Dickson? No, wait. That's a stupid name."

"My real name is Richard." Dick said out loud, fingers tapping on his mug filled with lukewarm coffee. "Others just call me Dick."

Gar seemed to look at him from head to toe before he leaned back in the bed. "Dick suits you better." Silence. "Not that you're really a dick or anything."

After a while, the boy turned back to meet Dick's eyes.

"Dick?"

"Yes, Gar?"

"Do you do meth?"

"What kind of question is that?" Dick turned to the kid wearily. "Do I look like I do meth to you?

A pause.

"Actually, don't answer that."

"Just out of curiosity."

"Gar, can you please just go to sleep?" Dick almost begged. He had been listening to Gar talk for a full hour, and this kid had so many things to say. It just never seemed to end.

The boy had had a constant fever during the day, and Dick had insisted that Gar get immediately into one of the emergency beds they kept in the guest rooms at the police station. He had complained that he felt fine, but Dick knew better. He had been sweating profusely, and Dick had managed to grab a bucket of water and a clean cloth to help him cool off.

"I'm not tired." Gar replied as he pulled the sheets up to his chin.

"Well, I am."

"Then go to sleep. There's another bed right there."

"I can't. You have a high fever, I have to look after you."

Gar shook his head. "Look, as long as I'm not coughing up blood or anything, I'm fine."

"Nope, I'm not moving from this chair."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Your choice. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Noted."

Another pregnant pause followed, and Gar shifted his body so that he was facing Dick, and his back against the wall. "Dick? Can I ask you something?"

"As long as it's not about karate and police cars."

There was a faint smile on Gar's lips that vanished as soon as it had appeared. "Dick, do I..." He hesitated, but soon, continued.

"... do I look like a freak to you?"

This inquiry made Dick snap back into full focus. A strong urge to protect rose up from inside his chest, his mind. "Of course not." He replied in a softer tone, narrowing his eyebrows. "What reason is there to make me think you're a freak?"

"The hair, maybe. I dunno." Gar shrugged, sliding a hand underneath the pillow, looking up at Dick. "Can't think of any other specific reasons, really."

"What happened with your hair?" Dick asked, leaning his elbows on his knees and hunching his shoulders. "Did you dye it?"

"No, never." He exhaled. "I used to have black hair, but... one day it just started turning green." He raised his hands up next to his head. "I don't know the biology for it, don't ask how."

"Is that even possible?"

"What did I just say?"

Another uncomfortable silence followed, and Dick eventually had to clear his throat to break the tension that had begun dragging on for way too long. His hand picked up the neatly-folded wet cloth and he dunked it into the small bucket of cold water at his feet. After wringing the water out, Dick brought the cloth up and wiped the beads of sweat that had formed on the kid's forehead. He make extra care not to touch the gauze-taped wound.

"Some people like to judge by appearances." He said with a small sigh. "They judge based on looks, gender... hair. But, somehow I know, Gar, that you're not a single thing those Ryder boys called you. You're not an idiot, not a coward, and definitely not a freak." Dick removed the cloth from Gar's face as gave the boy the warmest smile he could muster.

"You're a good kid, Gar."

Gar said nothing, but a ghost of small smile could be seen on his features. He curled up underneath the covers and yawned.

"Dick?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you helping me?"

Dick pondered for an answer. "It's my job and duty."

"Taking care of a sick kid in bed is your duty?"

"Yeah, something like that."

Dick heard a quiet laugh before silence followed, and it wasn't long after that moment when Gar's breathing steadied. Dick looked down onto the bed to see the teen fast asleep, hands curled at his chest and features painless and peaceful.

With a smile, Dick looked at the clock; it displayed eight o'clock in the afternoon. With a soft sigh, Dick wet the rag, wrung it, and after placing the neatly-folded cloth onto Gar's forehead, he stood up and left the room to get some work done as quick as possible.