When Dick found out his heart was damaged, he didn't really know how to take it. He remembered sitting hooked up to various machines and the months of extensive testing vaguely aware something was wrong but not really comprehending how permanent it would be. Bruce was always paranoid so he assumed that all the trouble they were going through was just to let him sleep at night. He knew his heart was going too fast and that the panic attack he had previously wasn't actually a panic attack but when you were a kid, no matter how mature you thought you were, it didn't sink in that something couldn't be fixed. Adults fixed things so he wrongly assumed there would be a surgery or pill he'd have to take then never worry about it again.

In one of the appointments, it finally sunk in that this wasn't going to end with a one-and-done solution. Although Leslie was ready to assure him he could live a relatively average life and said he could still be Robin (despite her being unhappy with him being Robin in the first place), he was filled with dread. 

He remembered everything feeling fuzzy as he walked through the benefits and takebacks of each route they could take as it sunk in that this wouldn't be a quick fix but a lifelong condition he'd have to monitor. Something that could take his already dangerous job and triple the odds. He'd always been a fan of defying the odds but even he could feel the gravity of the very real prospect of ending up in an early grave.

Leslie gave them a moment alone to talk through their options and out of all the things he could've said, he asked if he could still be Robin. She said that he could be but he knew Bruce well enough to know the man had the final say. Of course, he would still be Robin whether his mentor liked it, but he still wanted some approval. 

"It'll be incredibly dangerous," Bruce began. It wasn't a no. Most likely because his mentor was just as sure he'd continue to be Robin no matter what.

"Isn't it already?"

"More so now," he continued undeterred. 

"You're not wrong." The older hummed and looked between the different pamphlets they were instructed to look over. 

"I think an ICD will be the most beneficial. It'll give you some more freedom but it looks like medication is going to be involved either way."

"Yeah, less time in the hospital would be nice. Dr Leslie said I'll need a medical card, should we make one for Robin too?"

"That'd be for the best."

"Could we make it bat-themed?"

"The ICD or the medical card?"

"Both."

"I didn't finish medical school so let's start with the card and see where we end up."

It was common knowledge among those in his circle that he had an ICD but no one brought it up unless it was necessary. He guessed it was to save him the leg work of having to explain himself constantly so he got used to not telling anyone either. Life moved on, he found a routine that worked for him and some days he forgot there had been anything wrong in the first place. To the point, he forgot to mention it to the team when Young Justice was formed.

Occasionally, he got odd looks from Connor but he never thought much of them. He couldn't be sure the looks were intentional since the clone was still working on his facial expressions having not been alive in the formative years to mimic them. He'd match them with a smile, assuming that's what Connor meant to do, and the clone would look away as if caught doing something wrong. Maybe he hadn't been meaning to be noticed or maybe he was trying to learn how to exist from someone who had a lot more experience in doing so. Either way, he didn't care to bring it up. 

Then, when the team were sharing a rare quiet moment, it seemed to get too much for Connor and he suddenly turned to Robin with a slightly frustrated expression.

"Your heart sounds weird," he stated suspiciously, almost as though he thought there was a joke he wasn't in on. 

"Connor," M'gann chastised. She wasn't too well versed in Earth customs but she was sure that was a rude thing to say. Robin held a hand up to show he didn't take offence. He tried to be patient when it came to Connor. The guy hadn't been alive very long and didn't have the years of socialising to know what was acceptable to say or how to phrase something in the tone he meant it. Social norms weren't a top priority for him when he was intended to be a weapon.

"What do you mean weird?"

"It sounds like something is resetting it sometimes. Like it wants to go faster but something stops it and you take random deep breaths whenever it happens."

"Oh, that? It's my ICD," he explained. Whilst Connor seemed pleased with the explanation, his teammates were now full of questions. 

"What's an ICD?" M'gann inquired.

"It's an implantable cardioverter-defibrillator. Helps keep my heart in check."

"Why would your heart need to be kept in check?" Kaldur asked.

"It beats too fast so to stop that, the ICD gives it a shock to keep the rhythm steady."

"But aren't pacemakers for old people?" Artemis commented.

"It's not the same as a pacemaker but generally yeah because they're more likely to have another heart attack." 

"Wait, you've had a heart attack? When? Why?" 

He pondered the questions for a moment. They didn't necessarily fall into classified information that would reveal his identity and they'd solved the mole issue already. He doubted any of them could trace it back to Dick Grayson. There was also the possibility of them needing to know in case he had a medical emergency. He'd been lucky to not have anything serious happen but he wasn't naive enough to assume It would never happen. 

"When I was a kid, I had a silent heart attack. My doctor thinks I likely already had an irregular heartbeat before and then the heart attack happened because of some other stuff I was going through." Wally gave him a comforting squeeze of the shoulder despite it not being necessary. He appreciated the gesture though. "So after that, we decided an ICD would be best for me. It's all internal, I go for checkups every once in a while and then I'll get a replacement surgery when I'm older."

"Why wouldn't you tell us that? That seems rather important," Kaldur said. There was an underlying question of how dangerous this was. An uglier question of whether he should be here in his condition that he didn't have time for.

"It's on my medical records and I carry a medical card. If anything happened, you'd find out. Honestly, it just slipped my mind. You have to admit our first year as a team was a bit busy." He let that sink in and hoped they heard there was no way he was going to let this affect his job. 

"Is it scary?" Zatanna asked softly.

"No, not really. A billion things can kill me, my heart just happens to be one of them. It's only the same as M'gann and Kaldur not being able to withstand higher temperatures. You learn how to work around it. I've not had a health scare in a while and Bats doesn't plan on letting that happen."

"I wish you would've told us sooner," Kaldur said.

"Yeah, it's been annoying me for the past year," Connor complained.

For the next few months, Dick noticed his teammates pay extra attention to him. He spent every day of it waiting for things to go back to normal. He knew they were only worried and they reminded him a lot of Bruce when they first found out something was wrong but he didn't want his heart condition to take away from being a hero. Dick didn't want to be a great hero despite his condition. He wanted to be a great hero with one. Many wouldn't see the difference but he could feel it in every unnecessary defence and every empathetic look.

In their eyes, he was no longer Robin who defied the odds to save the world. He was Robin who was one mission away from running out of luck.

He wasn't sure if Wally had a chat with their friends or if it was the shock finally wearing off when things got back to how they were. Whatever it was, he was thankful for it. He didn't want to be the person to tell them their worry was unwelcome. They cared about him and worry was just care in a different form. He couldn't tell them to stop it because they wouldn't be able to. 

If his neglect to mention his heart condition became more intentional rather than forgetfulness after that, he wouldn't admit to it. Dick would never deny his heart condition or the side effects he faced but he wouldn't announce them either. 

Years would pass and people would flow in and out of his life. He'd watch as his title was passed down beyond his control and feel the resentment fade as each new owner brought something new to the role. Dick wouldn't say it was an improvement every time, that would mean that someone wasn't as good as the person before or after. It was becoming personalised as it shifted to fit the needs of whoever wore the mask. 

Each person would get the basic rundown at some point, usually from Bruce rather than from the source. Dick had a heart condition that required an ICD and would be barred from missions that could interfere with it. Those were few and far between but if there was ever a hint of an EMP attack or something similar he'd be benched. He used to be bitter but as he grew up, he appreciated that even with all he could do sometimes it was better to stay at home than cause an extra risk to a mission or investigation. 

Most would forget because Dick didn't look like the typical person with a heart condition. He was in an adrenaline-pumping job, he seemed physically fit and the medication he took to keep his heart healthy was always mixed in with other prescriptions to keep him going. 

A few months after Bruce disappeared and he was looking after Damian, he was set for a replacement of his ICD. He put it off knowing that Damian needed him and he couldn't risk the recovery time. Gotham needed Batman and Damian needed Robin. He remembered sitting down with Leslie and asking how long he could go without the revision surgery. She gave him the firm answer of this time next year. He went to the manor that evening and sat down with Alfred once he was sure Damian was in bed.

"I don't think this is wise," Alfred stated firmly. He had a sour look on his face, the one he wore when he couldn't deny an argument but hated it all the same. The butler understood why Dick didn't want to go through the surgery. It would be at least a month before he could think about going back to exercising and another month after that before he could see the night under the cowl of Batman. Damian was antsy to go out as Robin every night and would still go out without Batman no matter what.

"I think it's for the best. I'm not saying I'd never get the surgery or that I'd wait until next year. We just can't risk Damian going out on his own when we don't have back up."

"You have Mr Kent."

"Clark has his own stuff going on. The entire League does. Tim is out God knows where and-"

"Sir, deep breaths," he advised, putting a hand on Dick's shoulder. He hadn't even noticed his breathing getting out of hand. If he was going to make this battery last then he'd have to keep calm. There was so much going on, so many things that were far out of his control yet he was expected to manage it. He never wanted to be Batman but he supposed it was inevitable as the eldest. "They're all on your side."

"Not all of them," he reminisced, hoping Tim was alright wherever he was.

"I can't force you to have the surgery but I can strongly advise you to reconsider."

"What about Damian? He just lost his father, he's stuck here and he doesn't need me going under the knife to worry about. If something happened during that surgery, anything at all, I don't know that he'd handle it in the right way. It's all too fragile right now."

"And what do you expect him to do if your ICD doesn't work as intended? You may not have another heart attack but you could have some sort of medical issue that puts you in hospital longer than the initial recovery time and may force you to get the replacement either way." It was a good point, the acrobat couldn't argue with that but he could pretend it was never presented.

"I've made my mind up. This is the safer option and I'll revise it when the time is right. Damian needs me. I've got my meds, the ICD runs for 5-6 years and I'm on the 5th. It'll be okay."

"I hope so."

Bruce would then return and come close to needing his own ICD when he found out the surgery had been postponed.

"Why on Earth would you put it off?" he asked, the family present when he found out. Dick wasn't sure who told him but he had a sneaking feeling it was Alfred since he'd been nagging him about it. 

"You put off your surgery because of me?" Damian questioned. He was the spitting image of his father, with furrowed eyebrows and crossed arms mirrored in the same way. It would be adorable if Dick weren't being scolded.

"It wasn't a good time."

"Oh, but having another heart attack would make it a great time?" Tim commented.

"Nothing out of you, DIY splenectomy."

"Distracting from the point won't get you anywhere," Jason murmured not to give advice but to be a smartass. 

"Fine, I'll book it now but in my defence, I passed every check-up I had."

"You better. You're not having another heart attack on my watch."

"Don't jinx it."