i used to have this teacher in primary school who would tell the story of when he was a kid he got hit by a car whilst riding his bike and hit his head. He continued to ride home and go to sleep, then he woke up to his mum trying to shake him awake. He'd tell it with the moral being you need to tell people when you hit your head because concussions are dangerous 

if any of you were around for my concussion era, you know I did not take that warning seriously because I am dumb

seriously though, try and get to a doctor when you hit your head and have a headache following it - concussions are not fun and that's coming from me having a pretty minor concussion that left me with a consistent headache for at least a month during exam season

For as much as Batman insisted that he always had his sights on Robin, he couldn't watch over him everywhere. He could argue it was due to Robin's small size or that when you were surrounded by people hell-bent on killing you and destroying the city your focus changed to fight or flight. He could argue all of that but he didn't. He knew that when he lost Robin in a fight, it was because he'd allowed it to happen. Either through training Robin to disappear or because he disappeared to gain the advantages. 

Nine times out of ten, it worked out well. That one dreaded time when it went wrong still surprised him. Those times he'd wonder how in the world he allowed him to not only get out of his line of sight but also be there in the first place. How could he have ever looked upon this little kid and moved on to making a suit for him? Then time would pass and he'd remember why. Dick would go out there and do it anyway, woefully underskilled and no one to call when he got in over his head.

Even though he'd always remember why, that wouldn't stop him from forgetting. It also wouldn't stop him from regretting ever letting Robin get more than a few feet away from him. No matter what was happening around him, he should've been able to keep close.

Near the end of the fight, Batman looked around amongst the bodies of incapacitated henchmen and the gangster who thought he would be the beginning of the next biggest crime family in Gotham. 

"Robin," he called out almost absentmindedly. The kid liked to wander and during the end of a fight on his side, he made himself busy performing tricks to an unconscious crowd. When he heard his name, he knew to find his way back and get ready for whatever trouble would come next. Batman sent out the signal for the police to come clean up the mess and waited for his protege. Only, Robin wasn't trotting up to him with a few new scrapes and bruises. He wasn't coming at all. "Robin!" he called louder. Maybe he'd wandered too far.

Batman waited a minute or two before deciding he was better off looking for Robin himself. He stepped over the bodies and was silently thankful for the colourful suit he'd initially been resistant to. It worked like a homing beacon at the end of the battle. Whilst Batman represented the dark and vengeance, Robin's traffic light colours seemed to inspire hope and provide light. That's what he'd seen online. Whether he believed it entirely or not, the sentiment was there. 

"Robin!" 

Was the fight still going on for his protege? Were there a few stragglers that decided picking on the kid would be easier than fighting him? He wouldn't be blown away by the revelation. Everyone wanted the credit for landing a punch on Batman but when it came down to it, they would rather their chances punching a child. As morally reprehensible as that was, it was clearly the smarter move. 

"Robin!"

He couldn't hear any fighting. No quips from his pint-size protege or the sound of fast light feet evading punches. A heavy ball of worry formed in his stomach. Robin was now a year into the job and whilst he'd improved, every dog had its day. He could still be overwhelmed, beaten, or distracted. He was small enough to kidnap without much fanfare too. Batman's pace sped up and he honed in on any bright colours that came into sight. Most of which were the lights from various advertising boards or fluorescent yellow streetlights. Then, he finally saw green.

Robin was hunched down by a wall, his head in his hands. Around him was a small section of thugs who were fast enough to get away from Batman but dumb enough to go after Robin instead. He frowned to himself but tried to reason Robin was simply tired. It was getting late and the kid was still young. He'd be tired anyway even if he wasn't fighting. He could just be taking a minute. Adrenaline running through someone could leave them lightheaded when the reason they were terrified was out cold. 

"Robin?" A beat passed. A beat too long. Robin lifted his head up and stared almost past Batman's shoulder rather than his face. Another beat passed before he took his hands away and used them to push himself up onto his feet like a baby deer standing up for the first time. His feet knocked into each other and it seemed to take great effort to walk closer, in a winding line rather than straight. "Are you okay?"

"Ba-man?" Robin mumbled the lenses of his mask widening. For a kid, he took pain like a champ. It could be attributed to his childhood of acrobatics or maybe his pain tolerance was wired weirdly. Either way, it made it so that when his bottom lip trembled, Batman knew something was wrong. He knew when it looked like Robin was ready to start wailing, there was a very good reason why. The trickle of blood from the boy's hairline told him that reason should worry him too. 

Batman kneeled in front of his ward, putting stable hands on his arms since he seemed to wobble with whichever way the wind blew. 

"Sit rep?" he asked. He'd usually ask the question more sternly. It was important for Robin to learn it wasn't optional. It was as much a question as it was a demand. He had to learn that no matter how much pain he was in, he had to communicate the injuries to get help. In this case, however, worry overwhelmed a potential teaching moment and Batman could reason what caused the line of red tracing the younger's face.

"Hm?"

"What happened?" he rephrased. 

"Head," Robin whined. He raised an uncoordinated hand and gestured vaguely to the top of his head. "Hit me." Concussion. It'd explain the confusion, the lack of response previously and his mumbled words. 

"Did you lose consciousness?" Robin watched him blankly. "Did you go to sleep?" He shrugged his shoulders and sucked in a breath as though he were ready to start sobbing. He held strong though and just let it back out with a shuddering whimper. "Did they punch you?" It took a beat too long to get an answer but when Batman received one it was in the form of an accusatory finger pointing at a bat. "Okay, we're going to take a trip to the doctor. She's going to make you feel all better."

"All better," Robin repeated. He held up his hands and Batman didn't hesitate to pick him up, carrying him through the maze of men on the floor. It'd be faster this way anyway.

When they got to the Batmobile, Batman peeled away the domino mask and grabbed a penlight from the glove box. He turned it on and did a quick assessment of Robin's pupils. They reacted to the light and they weren't blown out. The tiniest part of the worry that churned in Batman's stomach broke off and burned in the stomach acid. He then tilted Robin's head forward to get a look at the wound. The problem with head wounds, aside from the fact it would likely give someone a concussion, was they bled a lot. They bled for the sake of bleeding. A small cut could soak a rag in blood, and then it only needs a few stitches to fix. 

Whilst the bat had definitely given a concussion and Batman relented that he could only see so much armed with a penlight, the wound itself was manageable. It was the length of the tip of his pinky and had quickly tangled Robin's hair in sticky blood but some stitches would do the job. For now, Batman set the car on an automated route to Leslie and spent the car ride with a bandage pressed against the wound.

Leslie fixed Batman with a glare when he came in holding a rolled up bandage to Robin's head with the boy cradled in his arms. He withered under her eyes. Not much could shake Batman but a doctor looking at him like he was the stupidest man on earth could come damn close to it. She silently led him into a room and directed him to set Robin on the bed. 

"What's the problem now? Head bashed in my Two Face? Nearly sliced in half by Poison Ivy?" Leslie asked, gathering the supplies she needed. 

"Hit in the head with a bat. Possible concussion."

"Did he lose consciousness?"

"He doesn't know. I don't know how long it's been since he got hit but pupils are responsive and not blown out," he explained. Hopefully that would put him in the good graces of the doctor for a little bit. 

"Dick, say these words back to me. Dog, cat, house."

"Dog, cat, house," Dick repeated after a brief staring contest. 

"Good, now remember those for me. I'm so forgetful nowadays so I'll need you to keep them in your mind," she instructed. He nodded slowly. "Now follow my finger for me." She moved her finger left to right and his eyes moved left to right. "Hold my hands and squeeze." Judging by her grimace, Bruce decided it must've been a positive result. "Good. Let's move onto this head wound shall we?"

After an examination, she decided glue would be fine to keep the wound closed. Dick winced and hissed through it but knew better than try to pull away no matter how much it hurt. He let a few tears slipped and glanced to Bruce almost as though he was asking for approval. The billionaire gave him a sincere nod and held his hand. He'd deal with the guilt of that interaction later. 

"Oh gosh, I've forgotten those three words I told you before. Do you remember what those were?" she asked as she finished up.

"Dog, cat, house," he answered proudly, the pause he'd had before now negligible.

"That's right, thank you. It looks like we're all done for now. Bruce, I want you to bring him in two days from now. Any changes in his behaviour or decline in general wellness, bring him in immediately. Got that?"

"Got it," Bruce replied like a scolded child. 

"Good. Maybe consider adding a helmet to his suit."