so i was supposed to post this before peacing out but i guess i forgot so here it is now

TW: VOMIT//ALLUSIONS TO SH

https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/self-harm/useful-contacts/

https://www.benice.org/get-help/crisis-hotline

https://www.samaritans.org/how-we-can-help/if-youre-having-difficult-time/if-you-want-self-harm/

Fevers were always hard on Dick. His brain was immediately fried like an egg in the Arizona heat and his emotions were all over the place as his body processed the infection coursing through him. Most of the time, he was funny thanks to how loopy the heat, as well as the medicine, made him but they weren't too sure what to expect this time given the circumstances. It wouldn't be their good old Dick Grayson who had a casual acceptance of his traumas and wasn't any more stressed than someone who did backflips of buildings usually was. It would be Dick Grayson who was pushing himself to do right by his family even if it killed him in the process and his grieving process on pause for the betterment of others. The stress from that combined with his fevered mind could lead to something else entirely. They couldn't wait for the fever to break despite it only just making itself known now and they knew he'd be a pain in the ass after. Somehow wrangling in a vigilante hell-bent on helping was better than seeing him whimper and worry over the state of the family without him to guide them. 

They'd left him to his own devices whilst they held the family meeting deciding their plan of attack and were about to check up on him when the phone rang. "Master Jason, fetch Dr Leslie to make a house call. I want a second opinion on the cut." Jason felt his heart leap to his throat at that but didn't say anything, choosing to hop into action and make his way to the car. "I will handle the phone whilst one of you sits with Master Dick whilst I'm busy." With a flurry of nods as a silent promise to do as they were told, Alfred went to get it and immediately frowned once he made his greeting. 

"Finally! I've been trying to get ahold of one of you all day," Barbara huffed on the other side. He opened his mouth to tell her this wasn't a good time but she continued with her furious rant. "I need Dick to send that work back ASAP. He said he'd get it done by midday but I need it back earlier and he promised me that he'd be able to do that if needed but here I am running around like a chicken without a head because he isn't answering his phone. Did Tim break it for parts or was it Cass this time?" He waited patiently until she gave him the pause to interrupt.

"Misstress Barbara, Master Dick is terribly sick," he stated in a firm tone to make sure she heard him correctly. 

"What?" she asked softly, the bite she previously had now subdued. He didn't blame her for being on edge. They were all on edge at this point, still finding growing pains in a world without Bruce Wayne, and Dick getting sick wasn't going to help in that but here they were. 

"He was injured. Nothing intense had it been seen to but you see, it wasn't. We believe he sustained it on Wednesday and it has since grown infected. Antibiotics and fever reducers shall be his best friends during this time." He heard her curse under her breath and bite at her nails. Had he not dealt with Bruce for the last how many years, he would've been in the same state. Now he was able to manage the anxiety that came with events like this. Not that it was a good thing.

"What do you mean an injury wasn't seen to? He promised me everyone was still getting checked for them after patrol," she asked worriedly.

"He was checking everyone. I believe he became so overwhelmed with work and everyone else that he forgot his duties to himself." She hummed softly and he heard her sigh to herself. "I'll have Master Tim finish the work for you but I'm afraid it won't be done very soon."

"No, of course, that's fine. I should've done it in the first place but then Dick offered- is he okay? Well, is he going to be okay? Do I need to call anyone?"

"He'll be okay with time Miss. I think we're okay for now but I suggest letting the League know he's not suitable to be called in under any circumstances. His fever is high but it hasn't broken yet. I fear the extent as to which he's pushed himself."

"I'm here if you need me, Alfred. Keep me updated on his condition."

"Of course."

The drive to Leslie was probably worth fifty different fines but Jason wasn't in the mood to care about things they could pay off with a heartbeat. Dick needed a doctor and he was going to get him one. The car screeched to a halt outside her building and he ran inside, dashing up the steps and throwing open doors until he found her office. She sighed when she heard the door slam against the wall but when she glanced up and saw his expression, she quickly changed her attitude. "Jason?" 

"It's Dick," he replied. "He got a cut infected and now he's got a fever."

"That doesn't seem to warrant you crashing into my office. You lot tend to break yourselves then sew one another back together without much trouble," she pointed out, although she did swiftly busy herself with getting ready for the house call.

"Alfred wants you," he said simply. It was small, anyone would miss it but neither of them could. If Alfred wanted a doctor then he suspected that things could get worse and would get worse despite his actions. He'd sewn up every member of the family so far for years then proceeded to nurse them back to health and unless it was life-threatening, he'd deal with it on his own without her involvement. Calling this in suggested something no one wanted to think about but had to. Leslie's actions soon sped up upon the new context and she gave him the nod to go once she put her bag over her shoulder. He ran back out with the doctor hot on his heels and led her to the car where she swiftly got inside. 

"What am I dealing with exactly?" she asked as he started the car.

"Infected cut most likely from your run of the mill knife and the cut definitely wasn't cleaned upon getting it. He uh he didn't notice he even had it until today," Jason explained, now growing awkward. She was going to ask why. He knew that she would because she was a smart woman who knew Dick wouldn't just miss a potentially infected cut for no reason. He didn't have to glance over at her to know she was giving him a confused look. "He's been exhausted lately so he just missed it."

"Some exhaustion to miss that," she commented.

"Here are the notes. Bruce died, Dick took over running things, took on too much on his own and now we're here where his brain is gonna be sunny side up if we can't bring his fever down."

"I feel as though you've missed out quite a few points here," she prodded.

"Maybe we all made it worse. Maybe we knew he was taking on too much but we didn't want him to stop. We're all mentally ill people who gave our childhoods for people we've never even met, what more do you expect?"

"I won't judge you for grieving in your own ways but I need to know what his state was prior to the infection. I don't care if you enabled the behaviour or not. You need to be honest with me here so I know where I'm starting from. How bad was he?"

"I thought he did it on purpose." That was all she needed and the journey fell into silence.

Everyone aside from Jason and Alfred gathered in Dick's room to find him no longer in his bed but on his knees in the bathroom looking positively sickly. He had his head resting on the side of the toilet and his arms wrapped around his midsection tightly. They'd never seen him look so miserable. As they approached, his stomach spasmed and he gagged into the toilet bowl only for nothing but bile to come up. There was nothing in him to throw up at this point. Cass was the first to approach him and put a hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles as he hacked. He'd taken his shirt off at some point, having balled it up and strewn it on the other side of the bathroom which left his clammy skin bare to her palm. She almost flinched at how warm it was and they all grew concerned at the red beginning to swell beneath the dressing Alfred had applied not long before. It was a good thing Jason was fetching a doctor but all of them had that dreaded thought of what if. What if they hadn't been there when he collapsed? What if they never noticed? What if he collapsed somewhere a lot less safe than their gym? "Cass?" Dick asked, his voice sounding like he'd swallowed gravel. "What're you doin' in my bathroom?"

"Looking after you," she answered simply. He hummed and his fever glazed eyes travelled to the others. He narrowed his eyes before his body decided to try and empty his already empty stomach. When he came up for air, tears were trailing down his face but he didn't seem to notice them as he made no attempt to wipe them away.

"But I'm not supposed to be home," he stated. "Malone didn't answer. Spyral gotta...Tiger?" They cringed at him. This was getting worse and worse. Trust Dick to get sick and take a turn so suddenly with the doctor on the way. Maybe his body was taking this moment to break down as much as it could after all the stress it had been put under. They couldn't blame him.

"The fever is definitely settling in," Tim muttered, voicing what they were all thinking. Dick frowned and spat into the bowl before making a move to get up on shaking legs. He would've fallen flat on his face had Cass not held onto him so quickly and tightly as he swayed. "Let's get you to bed huh? We should get those ice packs back on quick," Tim commented as he got on the other side of his brother to help him toward the bed. 

"Ice packs? You'll waste em," Dick complained as he stumbled forward. 

"We're rich, I think we can afford it." They forced him to get beneath the covers and replaced the ice packs, ignoring the chill it gave him. Damian picked up the discarded flannel they'd been using as a cold compress and frowned at how warm it still was, returning to the bathroom to wet it with cold water. 

"Is Tiger okay?"

"Shh now, you need rest," Steph told him. He frowned but didn't attempt to get up, just pushed some hair that had fallen out of her ponytail out of her face and behind her ear. She smiled to herself at how concentrated he was to do that simple task. "Thanks."

"You've got nice hair. You should be a model." She laughed softly. 

"I'll think about it."

"Kori had great hair. Used to braid my mullet back in the day," he rambled, his eyelids drooping. He moved his hand away to poke at the ice packs then looked back at them with a quizzical look when Damian returned the flannel to his forehead. "Am I sick?"

"Yeah but we're gonna take real good care of you," she assured him. He hummed and continued to poke at the bag of ice. They couldn't help but find joy in him getting infatuated with something so simple. It was keeping him occupied at the very least and they didn't want him running around too much with his seemingly compromised dressing.

"Aren't you gonna get sick?" he asked worriedly. The ice could only hold his attention for so long.

"It's not that type of sick," Tim answered. "You got a cut infected."

"Oh. Is that why it hurts?"

"It hurts?" 

"No?" he responded quietly. He whimpered softly and turned his head away to sleep. They let him drift off, knowing he needed the rest, and remained quiet until they were sure he was out for the count.

"Is he always like this when he has a fever?" Duke asked.

"He's loopy but never that bad," Tim answered. He remembered when he was Robin and Dick had gone out on patrol with him for a reason he couldn't recall. It was all fun and games until he didn't notice the gun trained on him and Dick took the bullet for him. There was a minor infection following that but it had been comical really which offset his guilt for not seeing the gun. Dick would just talk nonsense or ask the weirdest of questions. 

"If he's getting confused about his whereabouts then it must be higher than we thought," Damian commented. He fixed the compress against the older's forehead from where it slipped, pressing it so the cool water dribbled out in hopes of keeping him a little cooler. 

"Leslie should be here soon," Steph assured him. "I'm sure she'll give him something to help and then he'll pull through. We'll be coaxing him down from the chandelier in no time."

"How do you know that?" Duke asked quietly.

"Because he's Dick. He always bounces back."