Fix You

Try

After that day, Dick hadn't asked to be taken to the bathroom again, though Bruce still did it. Dick avoided the mirror at all costs, not wanting to see the pale face of the stranger ever again. He became even quieter, rarely uttering a word, something so unusual for the boy that Bruce once had Leslie check to make sure he hadn't damaged his vocal cords. Bruce, Alfred, and Leslie all pleaded with him to talk, but still he kept his silence and refused to be swayed.

As it was, he refused a lot of things. Talking being only the least of them. Eating being the greatest. After the second night of turning away at the sight of food and even jerking violently when Alfred tried to 'feed' him, Leslie 'installed' the feeding tube. It hurt horribly but Dick didn't complain. He'd felt a twist of guilt at the sight Alfred's face as the long tube was fed down his nose and throat, but he just couldn't handle the thought of food. Even the smell made his stomach turn so violently that he wanted to throw up – he did throw up once. He felt sick nearly all the time, but food made it ten times worse.

Another thing he refused was 'therapy' of any sort. He wouldn't talk, wouldn't cooperate. When Leslie came over, he glared at her or looked away. She would try to get him to move his arm and he'd refuse. He actually hadn't done anything with his right arm all. Bruce had put it in a sling and Dick kept it that way. It was out of sight and immobile. Like it should be. Eventually Leslie got exasperated with him and, pinching her nose, demanded Bruce bring him into Gotham General (not her own personal clinic, because it wasn't the safest place and because Bruce had to be seen at least once taking his ward in for a check-up). It was the probably one of the single worst experiences of Dick's life.

The visit took place about a week and a half after Dick had woken up and he was currently off the morphine drip (though he now took more pills than he could count), and had been with the feeding tube for a week or so. Bruce had brought a wheelchair into Dick's bedroom and picked the boy up and placed him in it before wheeling him out. Bruce had then carried Dick down the stairs (wheelchair and all, much to Dick's embarrassment) and Alfred had driven them both to the hospital. The results were less than encouraging, including orders to start physical therapy as well as orders to eat – Dick was still severely underweight, even with the heavy leg brace on.

So physical therapy started, something else that Dick often refused. With the knowledge that he would never fully be recovered still engulfing his mind, the boy had very little motivation to do anything. The man Leslie had hired didn't help matters either – he was a very nice, young doctor, but was far too lenient with Dick and often gave into the boy's stubbornness. He told Bruce and Leslie that Dick just needed time to 'adjust' and that his refusal would turn into acceptance soon enough. After of week of Dick refusing to do anything, however, Leslie grumbled and groaned and took over. Any leniency was gone.

Bruce tried to participate in the therapy as well, but, considering it normally took place in the morning and afternoon, and Bruce was still trying to manage his company through all of this (though he did take considerable time off, something that caused the guilty feelings to threaten Dick's obstinacy), Leslie or Alfred was the typical therapists. And as more time passed, Alfred more and more was in charge of the sessions.

Dick didn't mean to fail so utterly at the therapy, but it hurt and he didn't care. Normally he wasn't one to let pain dictate anything in his life, but this was pain unlike Dick had ever experienced. It was always there, throbbing and twinging and stabbing, and, even with all the drugs, it halted any advances Dick ever tried to make. It was like it was dogging his steps, never letting him get farther than a few feet away before it pounced and dragged him back to his cage. And there was nothing left that made Dick want to try to beat it. So he made little to no progress in therapy, barely moving his leg and never moving his arm.