His vision was blurry as his eyes flickered open, almost as quickly as the fluorescent lights above him. What had happened? Why did his head hurt like he it had just been smashed in with a hammer twenty times? Why was he asking so many questions?

He looked around, shuffling up the bed to press his back to the headboard. The room wasn't bad- it wasn't nice, either. The walls were white, the floors were white, everything was white. Even he was wearing white. How peculiar.

It was a bad mistake to try to stand up. The room swirled, head aching viciously in protest and stopping the moment he sat back down. It wasn't like he could do much if he was able to stand, anyway. There were handcuffs chaining his left wrist to one of the metal poles that made up the bed.

The bed that was surprisingly comfortable, he might add. Who knew that a hospital cot could offer so much undesired comfort?

And as he lay back to rest his head on the bland white pillow and throw the bland white sheets over his bland white-covered body, the door slammed open and the covers went drifting into the floor with the gentleness of a cloud. Robin shot up in the bed, staring at the figure with a snarl.

He saw black and orange and a cruel-ish blue eye, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't identify the stranger that was slowly striding over to his side. The clanging of steel-toed boots brung hazy memories to his mind, but the minute that the mystery man cuffed his chin roughly and brought his eyes up to him, his thoughts dissipated and he was left in a scene of white.

"H-hello..?"

God, he sounded weak. Weak and pathetic. Something that didn't describe him at all. He wasn't useless, nor weak, nor anywhere close to bloody pathetic. But... next to this mystery man... he was.

The man's grip on his chin loosened ever so slightly. Robin could just barely see his cold blue eye soften with warmth. "Yes, my son?"

Wait.

What?

No. No, this was all wrong. He wasn't- this mystery bloody man was not his father. Robin knew it. He could feel it. This man.. This man was not his father, and he was going to make sure he knew it!

The mystery man could surely see Robin's rage rising with the redness of his cheeks and ears and the way his white teeth grit together so strongly. "Calm down, boy," said the man, his voice smoother than silk. "You've always had such a temper."

Robin was furious now. He would have clenched his hands into fists if he had had the strength. But unfortunately, he didn't. And he would have slugged this man too. What a shame.

Such a bloody shame.

"You're not my father," Robin growled, eyes narrowed. And then widened, as he was overtaken with a flurry of panic. His mask! His mask! It wasn't there!

In an instant his hands flew up to cover his face, but by then, it was obviously too late. The mysterious stranger had seen all. Robin let his arms drift down to his sides as he gave the man the dirtiest glare he could muster.

He only laughed, blue eyes turning cold as he gripped his chin so tightly that it would leave a bruise and forced a struggling Robin to stare directly at him. "I don't see why you're being so difficult, boy. Did you get amnesia when that car hit you?"

Robin blinked. Car? What car? Was that why his body hurt something fierce? And how... Curious, it was that he didn't remember a thing.

The man loosened his iron hold on Robin's chin and walked away. Robin could essentially feel the smirk on the man's lips. But no matter how suspicious that feeling was, there was only one thought on Robin's mind as he lay down to stare up at the bland white ceiling.

A shiver ran up his spine as he turned onto his side, only to wince as something within him moved around and forced him to lay on his back once more.

Was this man really his father?