Chapter Text
A familiar scene played out in front of Jason, and suddenly he was 10 again. Catherine – mom – laid out on the floor, shallow breaths, heavy lidded eyes, and an unreadable expression which could only see fog. He could see the syringe fallen beside her palms, almost empty, the remnants slowly dropping one by one on the floor. She woke up in the morning, going about her day as usual until the night came back to the familiar sight. He didn’t remember if she ever noticed, how many times he sanitised the syringe, cleaned up the living room, wiped away all sorts of white powders from every surface, and put a blanket over her knocked out state. But she always smiled at him, treated him with as much love as she could muster up, and that was enough for him. Enough for him to not run away.
Tim’s voice brought him back to his body, a green fog nearing to overwhelm his sight. He pushed it away with practiced precision, his attention finally looking at the two bottles of pills in his brother’s hands.
“Wait, they’re not exactly anxiety meds,” Tim continued examining the details, “But from what I can tell, these are not to be used in these dosages unless you want to drug an elephant.” Jason pushed away his elevated heartbeat, forcing himself to voice his rational assumptions, “You think he tried to—”
“No, his body isn’t showing any signs of that.”
Both their gazes reached to Dick’s limp trembling body on the bed, his eyes twitching as his jaw remained tightened. Jason couldn’t help but notice Dick’s white knuckled grip on the sheets on top of him. He sighed – shuddered – turning back to Tim, whose forehead was now covered in sweat, his skin paler than usual, “Why didn’t he tell us anything?”
Jason could only scoff, “Dickwing sharing his feelings? Yeah, right.”
Tim seemed to agree, despite his attempt at looking surprised.
“He’s even worse than Bruce in that department.”
A sudden voice startled their discussion.
--
Dick sat on the bed, sagged and defeated in posture. Jason noticed Dick’s arms and chest filled with scars he hadn’t seen before, and an almost healed wound at his abdomen. They all were familiar with the dangers of their patrols, they were trained enough to leave as unscathed as possible from any situation, yet here Dick was, looking as if this was his first time in the vigilante world. Jason didn’t voice his concerns, still irritated from the push he received from Dick – of all people -, something about it not sitting right with him.
“Ready to talk now?”
A ghost of shadow settled on Dick’s expression, as if Jason had asked him to give him his kidneys, - no wait, he’d probably give them happily if he asked that – Tim kept a hand on Dick’s shoulder, and Jason could swear that he saw Dick flinch at the touch, but the reaction left as soon as it came, not leaving any room for either of them to question it.
“Talk about what?”
Oh, Jason could choke him for such obvious ignorance, at least put in some effort with the lie.
“Fuck! Do you think we’re stupid dickhead??”
A small chuckle left Dick, tinged with something that got on Jason’s nerves more than his pathetic brother’s pathetic lie.
Tim’s brows furrowed in concern, as he finally spoke up, “Dick, what’s going on?”
Dick didn’t give them anything to work with, other than a silent stare in the corner of the room. Jason followed his gaze, only to find the corner completely empty, confusion festering in his chest. He looked back at Dick, who now stared at him, as if seeing a ghost, “Jason.”
“What?” His reply was gentler than he meant it to be, but one look at Dick and he understood why he reacted like that. His eyes seemed to haze as he continued glancing between the empty corner and Jason, eyes filling up and reddening. The tremble was back in his limbs as he couldn’t seem to just get it together. Still, Jason couldn’t get himself to feel irritated as he saw Dick struggling to hold onto reality.
“Please go away.” Dick didn’t seem to be addressing anyone in particular, and it only made Jason look away. This was ridiculous. He knew he should’ve just left instead of listening to the replacement. The thud in his heart, the clench in his throat and chest, unable to look at Dick’s condition; Jason didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t care. He definitely didn’t care. This was the least of his worries.
“Please. Please leave me alone Jaybird. I can't do this goawaygoawaygoawaygoaway.”
Yet, here he was, almost on the verge of tears at the sight of his big brother.
He hadn’t called Jason that nickname for almost 6 years now. The hollow inside his chest only seemed to get bigger at the sound, every breath harder to take than the previous one.
“Do you— want Hood gone?” Tim glanced at Jason warily, who couldn’t stop his emotions seeping from his expressions.
Am I causing this?
“No no no Jason can’t— can’t leave again— Robin— little wing please go away— I can’t— I don’t—"
The realisation that dawned upon Jason only made him want to disappear.
Dick wasn’t talking to him. He was talking to a ghost.
His ghost.
His thoughts couldn’t stay in denial of the situation, trying to force his entire body to move in front of his big brother and tell him that it was okay, he was alive. He is well. He loves him. Yet his nervous system decided to shut down at the thoughts, not a single muscle moving, his voice not reaching his throat. He shuddered, trying to do something, something to calm Dick down, but he could only stare at him in utter shock, eyes widened and tears pooling. Tim gave Jason a similar look he was giving Dick, and it only made Jason want to run away.
“Tissues— Where are— I need— Oh god— it’s everywhere.”
Tim quickly grabbed a packet of wet wipes from the drawers near the bed, hurriedly handing them to Dick. He pulled one wipe out as he started wiping his palms. Tim could only look at him in more confusion and concern, seemingly out of words at the situation. It only made sense, Jason thought. Watching his usually cool and calm, collected brother losing his mind isn’t something anyone would like – or think of - to prepare contingencies for.
He continued wiping his hands at the wet tissue and Jason could do nothing but gulp. He noticed the scratches on Dick’s palms and he could only imagine that this wasn’t the first time he was forcibly trying to clean his already clean hands.
“What do I—I don’t know what to— the blood— it won’t— won’t leave I—" His sobs consumed his words, his already incoherent sentences now undecipherable to them. As Jason tried to extract himself from the daze and finally lift his hands, a familiar figure rushed into the room, making Tim move away on instinct as he settled on the bed beside Dick. Jason didn’t know whether to sigh in relief or tense up further.
--
Bruce stood alone in the Batcave, getting into his suit, checking his utilities, looking at the time. He did what he always does, routine by routine, yet, his mind couldn’t settle down like usual, right before every patrol. Dick was not himself tonight, and while he was not the most open person, this time his condition made Bruce far more concerned than any other day. The heavy dark circles, lost weight, longer hair, newer scars, and the hesitant voice.
Dick not telling any of them about his arrival was weird in itself, but Bruce had noticed that hitch in his voice, when he called him a week ago. He knew Dick too well; after all, most of his tells were Bruce’s own. Just before leaving for patrol, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to just get one look at him, just to make sure he was fine, and that he was worrying about nothing.
He found the door to Dick’s room opened, raising a brow as he stepped closer, Dick’s voice reaching him, “Tissues— Where are— I need— Oh god— it’s everywhere.” His throat dried up, colour draining from his skin. Dick was— it was a panic attack. And from the sound of it, one of the worst ones he’s had ever since Bruce took him in.
He made his way to the room, the air leaving his lungs as he saw Dick’s hazy eyes, his hands rubbing together around a piece of tissue. He scanned the room in a quick sweep, his eyes landing on the 2 bottles kept on a table nearby. He understood the situation all too well. He made his way to the bed, as Tim moved, giving him space to settle down. His sight didn’t leave Dick for even a second as he saw him continuously rubbing his hands against the tissue, sweat and tears and snot covering his face and chest. There were too many new scars, and Bruce didn’t want to think about it.
He reached out to him, putting a gentle hand on Dick’s shoulder. His chest clenched as he saw him flinch at the touch, his body too warm and trembling at the contact. He gently took the tissue out of his hands, noticing the swelled scratches in Dick’s palms, and he didn’t want to think about that either. He needed to ground him. That’s all that mattered in the moment. He reminded himself.
“Dick, I need you to take a deep breath.”
There were one too many hiccups in the way as Dick quietly nodded, seeming to somewhat calm at his voice and Bruce could only push his tears back. He choked a cough at the action, but finally managed to inhale.
“Good, now exhale at a count of 3.”
3…2…1… Another fit of hiccups as Dick followed.
“That was perfect Chum, now stay with me, once again.” The nickname seemed to leave Bruce as naturally as breathing, suddenly finding himself holding the 9-year-old boy who had just lost his parents right in front of his eyes. He swallowed a sob, forcing a breath himself as he moved closer to Dick, who only continued flinching at the contacts, the tears seeming to not stop pouring at all.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
“It won’t— it won’t go a-away B.” Dick’s voice broke, the tears spilling over his chest, his palms now a darker shade of pink as his eyes stayed pinned on them. Bruce could only imagine what his eyes must be seeing in that moment. He noticed the tears and snot and sweat reaching his mouth, which only made Bruce’s heart heavier. He pulled out a tissue from the packet of wipes kept on the bed, gently dabbing it at Dick’s face. He flinched at the touch again, slowly settling into Bruce’s patterned dabs.
“I- I keep trying- I’ve been trying- months now— it won’t go away.”
He ran his fingers through Dick’s sweaty hair, pushing them away from his face as his heart swelled, finally seeing him lean into the touch rather than flinching at it, “I know Chum, it’s going to be okay.”
“How do you know that?”
Bruce couldn’t help himself to his voice, he was his 9-year-old crying in his arms, uncertain about what he should do now that his entire world shattered. He remembered the exact moment he had asked him the same question before, only forming a sad smile on Bruce’s face, as he repeated what he had said 16 years ago, “I just do.”
And that seemed to calm his son down a bit more, just like it did all those years ago.
“Now Chum, I want you to do something for me.”
Dick nodded, just like the little boy, his breath slightly shallowing.
“I want you to lay down and close your eyes. You can’t wake up unless we wake you up, got it?”
“N-no. Please. I need— I need the pills. I can’t sleep without them.”
Bruce sighed, his heart thundering in his chest at the sight. He didn’t rely on the pills as much as he used to anymore, but they barely kept the nightmares away, he gestured at Jason to get him one of the bottles, seeing his second son almost just as worse as his eldest. He couldn’t help but feel helpless at the sight.
“Fine. Just one.” He poured a single pill in his palm, reading the label of the bottle to make sure it was the correct one; after finishing his examination and confirming that these weren’t something that Dick really shouldn’t be consuming— he kept the pill on Dick’s swollen palm, handing him a glass of water along with it. He winced as he saw Dick swallowing the pill dry, reminding him too much of himself during his first few years as a vigilante. He let out a breath of relief as he also drank the water after swallowing the pill, hopefully giving his dry mouth some relief.
He noticed a sense of calm finally falling over Dick, as he sighed. He was just as hazy and out-of-conscious, the pill noticeably kicking in, “Why didn’t you let me kill him B?” His words were slurred, but there wasn’t any hiccup or hesitation behind them anymore. Bruce sat up straighter at the question, not needing to know who was the “him” in question. Everyone in this family only ever wanted to kill that one person more than anyone, and Bruce didn’t even want to think what Jason’s expression looked right about then.
Before Bruce could manage to actually speak in regards to the question, he noticed Dick’s eyes fluttering shut as his breath eventually evened out. Bruce continued still in his place as Tim moved further, making Dick lay down on his back as his eyes closed, putting his sheets on him.
Bruce looked at Dick’s tightly knit expressions, holding onto his sleep for the smallest amounts of peace he could get, and it only made Bruce’s gut twist. For how long has he been like this?
“I should’ve noticed.” Tim’s voice finally broke the silence, his voice almost ready to break at the slightest of triggers. Both Bruce and Jason turned to him, slightly shocked, and out of words, “What does that mean?” Jason managed to ask, his voice hoarse.
“When we caught the Joker in Bludhaven. Dick has been a bit different ever since.”
“That’s not true! He was fine just a few months ago, sending everyone those cringe cat puns and shit.” Jason interjected, “The Joker was caught in Bludhaven almost 6 months ago!”
“No, he—” Tim sighed, rubbing at his forehead, his fingers sliding down, pinching the bridge of his nose, “—I didn’t tell anyone but, he almost killed Joker. He barely survived after the fight.”
Bruce gave Tim a pointed look, his frustration overtaking the anger at not including the important detail in the report, “Why didn’t you inform us that?”
“If you were in my place, you wouldn’t have either!” Tim’s voice rose defensively, just not loud enough to wake Dick up, “I could tell Dick was trying to hold back and— he seemed really out of it, from his texts that day. I didn’t want him to get yelled at in that condition, and I knew you would’ve given him an earful.”
“That is not an excuse Tim, maybe we could’ve helped him if we knew about it.” Bruce’s voice contained a chill that only made Tim further more defensive, “Are you blaming me for his condition??”
Bruce sighed, regret washing over his tongue, “Sorry, I just—”
“—Yeah, me too.” Tim sighed alongside.
“We should let him sleep.” Jason spoke up; his conscience was not even present in the room with them anymore. He just wanted to go back to his shitty apartment, away from the huge manor and the pile of unpleasant – pleasant – memories.
They all collectively turned to look at Dick, who finally managed to relax under the sheets, slowly breathing, even though the tension in shoulder was still persevering, “Let’s leave.”
--
It was 5 in the morning, Gotham’s quiet sun on a slow verge of rising. It was still dark, dark enough for everyone to be out on patrol, and Dick was more than glad about it. His stomach rumbled as he slipped out of bed, everything about the past few hours seeming like nothing but a haze. He pulled out a fresh superman t-shirt from the closet, carefully putting it on as he avoided brushing it against his abdomen; a small wince left him anyway.
His eyes burned with every blink, as he splashed water on his face— noticing their swell and redness, a sigh leaving him, so nothing out of the ordinary.
His steps were quiet, other than the slight creek of the manor’s wooden floor. He made his way to the stairs, the night slowly coming back to him. The memories made him freeze midway, staring into the distance.
Jason and Tim saw him.
Bruce saw him.
He couldn’t remember whatever he might have mumbled to them, a groan catching in his throat, which ached at the sudden sound. It was already difficult enough for him to face them, now with them knowing? He should just pack up and leave. But that wasn’t viable, knowing the three of them.
“I know Chum, it’s going to be okay.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
An old memory flashed in his head at last night’s words, and he couldn’t help the tears welling up at the thought. He remembered how furious he was, how broken he was – is – 16 years ago, he remembered how Bruce held him so close until the tears stopped leaving his eyes, until he finally cracked a smile. He couldn’t help the small smile – first in so many months – as he remembered Bruce calling him ‘Chum’. That name was something Bruce never passed on, unlike Robin. While he was grateful for his siblings, a small part of him couldn’t help the joy of having something for himself between him and his dad.
Maybe it won’t be so bad. To let them know.
The familiarity of the manor once again greeted him with cold air, as he made his way to the kitchen, pulling out an electrolyte drink from the refrigerator. He sat on the stool near the kitchen island, swirling the bottle as his thoughts started jumbling up again.
Almost reliving the horror of seeing the 12-year-old Jason and 20-year-old Jason in the same room at the same time, he shuddered, his eyes finding the familiar sight of the little Robin, “You should tell them, they’ll help.” The tiny voice said.
The words didn’t leave the tip of Dick’s tongue, making him nod absent-mindedly.
“I’ll help.”
He knew the boy was not talking about himself.
He could only imagine Jason and Tim’s horror last night. He had definitely slipped up some old nicknames and brought up unpleasant memories for Jason. Dick was nice to Jason before, sure; but he was also unbelievably distant. None of that was Jason’s own fault – it was Bruce’s – but Dick couldn’t imagine those nicknames bringing a huge surge of happy memories.
Another groan left him at the thoughts; it was his fault really— coming to the manor like this wasn’t a wise decision. After chugging down the bottle, he started making his way back to his room, even if he wasn’t planning to leave immediately, he was definitely leaving that day. Any more time in the manor and he might just give them all more nightmares than they already had.
His steps were slow and careful, a small trail of blood leaving behind his steps. He knew it wasn’t real, yet every part of him wanted to scream once again, find a mop and rub the wood to rot until the blood left it. His eyes found his palms once again, still aching from the burn of his scratches, now ladened with blood. A few tears started falling again, even if this time a sob didn’t choke him. He knew none of it was real and yet it made him want to hide away from the world anyway. Telling anyone won’t do anything. Their blood was on his hands; he had no right to unburden himself on them.
“Richard?”
Damian’s voice echoed in his ears, as his hands instinctively wiped away the tears from his face – his face is all bloody now -, “Oh hey Dami. What’s up?” He forced a smile.
Damian looked at him a moment longer than comfortable – just like Bruce – until he shook his head and made his way towards him, “Would you like to train together?”
“Sure, buddy.” This time, the smile turned genuine at the sight of the boy. He knew Damian had picked up on Dick’s demeanour, but he didn’t realise how much he appreciated him not asking anything about it.
They made their way to the backyard instead of the Batcave, finding Cass meditating under a tree. “You guys didn’t go for patrol last night?”
“Father had some business with the Alien, so they both took over the patrol. Despite my disagreement.”
“Wow, how could he do that to you?” A small smirk formed on his lips as Damian gruntled, passing him a wooden staff.
His palms burnt harder at the contact with the staff, as he quickly stifled his wince before Damian could notice. Of course, he noticed anyway. A confused look looming over his expressions. He still didn’t question it, getting in position with his wooden swords.
Damian lunged at him with his incredible speed, carefully heading towards Dick’s usual weak spots. Knowingly, Dick blocked the swords with his staff, the strain on his scratches fuelling the sudden rise of adrenaline in his veins. He was slower than usual, his movements sluggish with the lack of sleep and a hungry stomach, but he managed to parry Damian’s movements, his muscle memory backing up his reflexes.
They sparred for another half an hour, a few snarls leaving Damian every time Dick managed to counter his somewhat more calculated moves. Dick chuckled in relief, thankfully not having lost his edge despite the nightmare of last night’s.
They both settled down on the grass, their chests heaving as their breaths caught up. They felt a cool solid on their cheeks, eyes glancing up and finding Cass holding two bottles of water. They sat up, taking the bottles as Cass settled on Dick’s left.
“You still need to work on your flexibility while handling the swords.” Dick pointed out. Damian nodded, carefully eyeing his wooden sword. His gaze landed on Dick’s swollen palms, eyes burrowing in concern until he looked away.
“I couldn’t wash away the blood from my hands after that first one.” Cassandra spoke up, her eyes gazing distantly at the clouds. Damian nodded alongside, adding to her, “Mother made me wrap my hands in bandages after every mission… so that I wouldn’t go insane.”
Dick didn’t know if he was breathing or not, tears forming in his eyes again but he didn’t think he had any more left, “I tried… I can’t— I can’t seem to get rid of it.” He finally managed.
“It felt like it will never get easier. I couldn’t speak to tell anyone how i felt. Until I met you guys. You.” She kept a light hand on the side of his arm, giving him a soft smile, “Things aren’t… easy here either. But you guys make it bearable.”
Damian didn’t add anything to it, only grunting in agreement as he moved just a little bit closer to Dick.
“Come on Dickhead, you know we’ll be there. They’ll drag me out just to make sure I’m here with you idiots.” Jason’s voice startled him, his tears only silently flowing, suddenly unsure where to look as Jason entered the backyard.
He settled down beside Cass, lying down on the grass with his hands beneath his head, “Thanks for trying. You know, to kill him.”
To Dick’s surprise, no one reacted to that information, only processing it as something obvious.
Steph and Tim entered after a few moments, settling down in front of them. Dick could see that Tim had not had a wink of sleep during the entire night, in comparison to the freshly energetic Steph beside him. Before Dick could muster up an apology, Tim cut him off, “I’m sorry for not noticing sooner.”
“It’s not your job to do that—” Dick flinched at his own voice, a sharp pain spiking up his throat as tears once again threatened to fill his eyes, “—I’m sorry that I can’t protect you guys from getting hurt.”
“Don’t spew bullshit Dickwing.”
“Todd is correct. It is not your responsibility Richard.”
“And getting hurt on this job is inevitable.” Stephanie added.
He sighed, wiping away the unshed tears. Bruce walked into the backyard, still in his suit, without the cowl. He settled down in front of him, between Steph and Tim, as he opened the first aid kit he brought along.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Bruce’s voice had been a whisper, and from the looks everyone had on their faces, Dick concluded that they thankfully didn’t understand what Bruce was talking about. Except maybe Jason.
“I just—”
“No. It wasn’t, Chum.”
Dick pressed his lips together, swallowing away the rebuttal at the nickname. He winced as Bruce dabbed a wet cotton ball on his palms, cleaning away the sweat and dirt. He pulled out a balm and bandages, applying them slowly as the rest of them got busy in their chatters. “If I don’t see you having 3 meals a day properly for the next 4 months, you’ll be grounded.”
A chuckle left Dick, as Bruce continued bandaging his palms carefully, “I’m 25, you know.”
“Yet here I am, wrapping bandages on my child’s palms after he hurt himself.”
Dick couldn’t help the smile at the light humour, a weight in his chest suddenly missing, a breath finally leaving him. The first rays of the sun finally reached them, as the group collectively winced at the sunlight. The act made Cassandra chuckle.
“Oh dear, it seems like everyone is gathered out here.” Alfred’s voice reached their ears, perking up at the company, “Shall I bring breakfast here for everyone to enjoy?”
“Yes, that would be nice. Thank you Alfred.” Dick smiled at him, Alfred’s expression softening, “Very well, Master Dick.”
Maybe things will get better.