A Robin's identity

Injury

"Miss, please may I go to the bathroom?"

"Go on, Grayson."

"Thank you."

Dick ran out of the room quickly and with a quick glance back and forth yanked off his shirt and scruffed up his hair. He began to run towards the boys bathroom, already slipping out of his pants and balling up his clothes. When he reached the bathroom he shoved his clothes in the ceiling and grabbed his spare utility belt. Clambering up into the vents, putting on his mask, crawling through the vents, clipping on his cape, dropping out of the vents. Fresh air! But no time to breath it in, he had to run. Just moments ago, his hidden ear piece had cackled to life with two beeps and a click. Translation; code emergency bomb. Aim, fire, shoot. Soon enough he was grappling across the city to the narrows, where his maps indicated the bomb to be. Without a word, he and Batman were working as a team, taking out lackeys. In less than five minutes, the villain was down. Robin launched himself at the bomb and opened it up.

With a smirk, he grabbed a handful of wires. What a simple bomb. It was almost laughable. All too easy for him. He cut a wire doing the same for some others until, in less than ten seconds, the bomb was disarmed. Giving Batsie as salute, Robin flew across the city in a manner much like his namesake. Once he'd crawled through the vents again, he set himself up in a stall. He pulled off his mask, cape and was pulling off his belt when he noticed a light sting on his left side. Lifting his shirt, he frowned. Of course he got injured. Well, it wasn't too bad so he might as well bandage it and go to class again.

Actually, that might need stitches. Shrugging, he put his lifted shirt in his mouth and pulled his first aid kit from the ceiling above him. It only needed a few stitches, which he could handle himself. In, out. In, out. In, out. Tie, cut. Sorted! With a proud smile, grabbed pristine white bandages from the box and began to wrap his wound. Perfect! Quickly assessing for other wounds, he wrapped a cut on his bicep. His suit was trashed with blood now, so he put it in a rucksack he had hidden before he put on his shirt and pants. Now that he was dressed, the only thing out of place was his hair. Using gel to it back, he posed a little in the mirror. Like he'd never flown through Gotham!

"Yo, Grayson! What happened?" Barbara handed him his school bag while he shoved his suit in his locker.

"Beep, beep, click. The narrows. New wannabe villain. Easy win."

"Ah, that's why he called you even though it was my turn then."

"Well I am the expert here!" Dick winked.

"Whatever, let's get to our next lesson."

.•°TimeSkipWithStyleAndAPose°•.

"Hey, Circus Freak! Wake up! Or maybe I should make you!" Dick was insanely tired. Sir had tried to wake him up but been unable to. With him having left the classroom a moment ago to print a document off for the class, the bullies roamed free.

"Go away Mark, I'm tired."

"No! You better get up, orphan."

Dick just groaned and dropped his head none too gently onto the desk. Mark growled, grabbing him and - just as the teacher entered - pulling him to the floor. That made him jump up. Out of instinct, he rolled and sat up. Groggily blinking, he stretched. Then he realised something. Dampness near his belly button. Eyes widening, he glanced down at his side. No stain. The blood hadn't gotten that far yet, good.

"You shouldn't have done that! You could've hurt him, Mark!"

"I didn't do anything! Even ask the kid!"

The teacher looked at Dick, who stared right back. "Well, Grayson?"

"Well I'm not hurt so even if he did that, it doesn't matter."

"Mark, don't do that again. Detention after school for the rest of the week."

Simultaneously, they glanced at Dick. One, a look of pure hatred and anger. The other of worry and sympathy. Dick stood up and began walking to his chair.

"Wait a minute, you are hurt!"

"W- ...what?"

"That's blood! That's definitely blood!"

"Blood?"

"Stop playing games. Pull off your shirt young man."

"Ah... no thanks?"

"Now!"

Hands shaking, he reached for his shirt buttons and began to undo them. The class gasped at the tens, if not hundreds, of scars. Not only that, but at the huge bandage around his waist. It was soaked red on the right - Dick's left. No longer self conscious due to his concentration in his wound, Dick frowned lightly. "That's worse that I thought. Tsk! Barbs?"

As if on cue, she threw a roll of bandages at him. As far as she was concerned, this wasn't a negotiable situation nor one that either of them could stop or avoid. He lifted his hand and caught the roll effortlessly. With a pair of scissors off of the nearest desk, he cut of the remaining bandages, aware that they were falling off due to the weight of the blood. "Well done Dick."

"Shut up Barbs, it's Mark's fault the stitches snapped. You know better than anyone how good I am at stitching wounds."

"Nah, B and A know even better."

"If you say so." The stitches were still in tact, so he gave them a series of gentle tugs. Once satisfied, he began to wrap them. At this point most of the class had fainted or was staring in speechless shock. Snip!

"Can I have my bandages back now?"

"Yeah, sure." He launched them across the room and into her bag.

With an eye roll, she thanked him.

And then, in unison, the conscious class members blinked and opened it their mouths. "What?!"