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Dick barely makes it out of the cave before he's falling against the wall, barely managing to keep himself upright. No one is around, thank God, most of the family still loitering down in the secrets beneath the Manor and Alfred still distracted in the kitchen only a few rooms away. He's fine, really, he is. The hand clutching his ribs is slick with blood but he's perfectly fine.
He takes a few moments to compose himself, sucking in measured breath after measured breath and trying to keep his legs from collapsing beneath him. He can make it to his room, surely, before his limbs physically can't hold him up anymore. With a muted grunt he pushes himself off the wall with his free hand and continues the agonizing trek through the Manor, heart hammering in his chest and cold nerves coiling in his gut at the mere idea of getting caught. He doesn't want to be worried over or bullied down into the Medbay for treatment. He wants nothing more than to crawl into bed and just exist for a while. It's sheer power of will that gets him up the stairs and down the hall, practically dragging himself through his doors and shutting them quietly behind him. He can't, however, make it to his bed.
He melts back against the door instead, sliding gracelessly to the floor with a dull thump. God, his side is on fire, pulsing in time with his fluttering heartbeat. He doesn't know for sure what happened. He's sure he got stabbed with something, a sharp edge slipping deep between his ribs, but he can't really track when exactly in the night it happened. It doesn't really matter, does it? He's fled up to his room to lick his wounds in peace away from his family. He feels suspiciously like an animal trying to outrun death. Escaping off into the night only to die alone.
He doesn't know why he did it. He very easily could have pulled away the second skin of the Nightwing suit and asked for a patch job when he discovered the sluggishly bleeding wound carved into his skin. Instead, he'd seen the blood smeared across his chest and the gash gushing red, felt the pain slam into him, and he'd kind of lost himself in it. It'd been a long week. He had two fights with Tim, a screaming match with Bruce, and an argument with Barbara under his belt and Bludhaven was taking every ounce of spar energy he had left with some deal stirring up panic in the underground. He's just so tired and the pain feels almost nice. He doesn't want it to end yet, he's not ready for the anesthesia.
Part of him wonders, bitterly, if Bruce will even notice. He can't imagine it now. It leaves a hollow pit in his chest, growing until it's lodged in his throat. He remembers back in his Robin days when Bruce noticed every little thing he did. It drove him mad sometimes but when it came to bad days and rough nights Bruce was always there with a warm hand on his shoulder and a silent comfort that he'd never have to suffer alone. He feels that loneliness like a physical ache now. The family has grown in leaps and bounds since then. Three becoming five becoming eight becoming ten. Dick loves them all so much it hurts sometimes but that doesn't mean he doesn't yearn for when things were simpler. Back when he was an only child and he didn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was just a kid then. A kid with horrifying trauma looming over him but a dad that loved him. A guardian that treated him with compassion and respect on the good days.
He smiles softly despite the burning in his eyes and the emptiness swallowing him from the inside out. His hand is pressing harshly against his side and for a minute the world whites out with the pain. He should call for Alfred. He knows he should. The blood is seeping through his fingers, soaking his shirt, dripping down onto the pristine carpet. He's losing feeling in his fingers and he knows it's bad. He's not ready yet.
He wonders if Bruce ever thinks about back then. Back when it was just Batman and Robin, partners. Before Jason, before his death tore a hole in Bruce that will never really heal. Before Bruce had decided that Dick wasn't good enough for the field in a moment of panic. Before things got complicated and messy. Before everything got lost in the unrelenting flow of time. He wonders if Bruce misses it the same way Dick does, sometimes. He's afraid of the answer.
Dick swallows thickly, the tears blurring his vision but not quite bubbling over. It only takes a moment for it to really hit how much everything's changed over the years. He can still easily picture himself in the big top under the spotlight, the roar of the crowds and the gasps of awe, and it makes his stomach twist. He can see the circus lights and hear the bustle of the other carnies around him, merrily keeping the show going and laughing loudly. He can distinctly remember how cold the Cave felt when he was young but how the energy buzzing through him kept him warm. He remembers the safety of Batman's cape and anticipation for his first night as Robin. The memories are so clear but that only makes them hurt so much more because those feelings are long gone. Taking the time to reminisce only rubs salt in the wound. He'll never be that kid again. He'll never get to be that happy circus performer, surrounded by wonder and warmth. He'll never get to be that bright-eyed kid ready for his first night out as a hero.
Everything is so different now but somehow it feels like everything is simultaneously the same. He's still a performer under sparkling lights. Bruce is still a partner at his side. He still jumps from rooftop to rooftop with bright eyes and a carefree grin. It's not the same but it's not different.
Everything is gone but the evolution is still right in front of him.
His chest feels tight and his breath hitches in his throat. He closes his eyes tightly, finally squeezing the tears out and sending them tumbling in thick rivulets down his face. He drops his head back against the door with a jarring whack. God, he hates this. Hates this feeling eating him alive. He sniffles and grits his teeth, trying desperately to keep the sob building in his chest down. God, it's been so long since he was small, hasn't it? The world has destroyed itself and built itself back up around him and yet everything is the same as it's always been. How is it all the same but it still hurts so much?
A knock on his door startles him. He jerks up on instinct and spasms against the pain that flairs through him. "Hey, Dickwad," Jason calls from the other side, a dull drawl speaking to how much he really didn't want to be there. "Bruce noticed you fled, wanted me to come check up on you." Ha, of course. That answers one of Dick's questions at least.
Dick swallows, gasps softly, and tries to blink away the tears but they just kept coming. He knows if he says something the knot in his throat will be obvious. If he says nothing Jason won't leave. He remembers when Jason was small. All guarded expressions and eager eyes. He doesn't see much of that in Jason these days. Hell, most of what Jason directs at him is fury and Golden Boy remarks Dick never signed up for. A memory of Jason's awed expression meeting the first Robin flashes through Dick's head. He'd been such an ass then and Jason had tried so hard to play it cool. Dick quickly slaps his free hand over his mouth to muffle the sob that rips itself from his lips, choking on the agony that follows.
"Alright, you have three seconds before I'm kicking this door in." Jason's voice filters in from the other side. Dick really hopes he's kidding. Mostly because the door is unlocked and he isn't really in the mood to be sent across the room just because Jason didn't want to try the handle. Dick tries to scrub away the tears on his face but gives up rather quickly seeing as now that the floodgates have opened they don't seem keen on stopping. Great. He's sure this isn't going to be horrifically embarrassing or anything. Bleeding out in his own room crying to himself. What a good look.
Luckily the handle clicks and the door opens, light from the hallway flooding in and really hammering home that he'd been sitting on the floor in the dark this whole time. He blinks rapidly against the sudden assault and accidentally helps a few more tears bubble over. He ducks his head quickly, grimacing as he curls up a bit tighter to try and hide how pitiful he really looks before Jason steps into the room.
"You look like shit," Is the first thing Jason says before he shuts the door behind him and lowers himself onto the ground next to Dick. That.. wasn't what Dick was expecting.
Dick offers a wet laugh, sniffing, "Thanks," he mutters.
"Shit, dude," Jason mutters, turning to really look Dick over. Dick doesn't look up to meet his eyes. "The hell you doing?" He prods. It's awkward but not because Jason's really bad at this kind of thing, more because the two of them don't usually get caught in talks like this. Especially not with Jason being on this side of the conversation.
"What's it look like?" Dick throws back, taking in an even breath and letting out a shuddering exhale. "I'm just enjoying my night."
"Bullshit," Jason huffs, "Don't give me that right now, I'm not in the mood."
"Then why are you here?" Dick snaps. It's not as angry as it usually would've been. He just sounds tired. God, he's so tired. Of all of this. Years and years and years of this life and his past haunting him with golden memories he'll never get to live again. He doesn't want to think about it anymore.
"Jesus Christ. I'm here because no one wants to see you moping around and crying, you ass. You ran out of the cave like a bat outta hell, no shit one of us is gonna come and check up on you." Jason runs a hand through his hair, scowl firmly positioned on his face, and for all his talk he doesn't look like he's planning on going anywhere.
Dick wonders if Jason knew that they all felt the same about him. He wonders if Jason knows that Dick's sorry for taking his shit with Bruce out on him. He wonders if Jason knows that he wished he was there, that he could have done more. Jason can't possibly know how much Dick regrets about their relationship, how much Dick wishes he could change. Jason doesn't know how helpless and despaired Dick was when he came home and found a grave. The wound on his side twinges. He feels so cold. He doesn't want to do that to Jason.
"Hey Jay," He mumbles.
"Yeah?" Jason turns to him, giving Dick his full attention, and warmth sparks in the black hole that's made it's home in his chest. Dick winces, peeling his arm away from his ribs and giving Jason a full view of the red painting half his arm and gluing his shirt to his chest. "Shit." Jason seethes, scrambling to his feet. "You moron, what the fuck?" Jason rips off his hoodie and slams it into Dick's side, pressing down with one hand while he throws the door back open with the other and screams down the hall, "Alfred! Bring a suturing kit, will you? Dick got stabbed!"
Dick grins when Jason turns furious eyes back to him, trying to keep his vision clear, "Sorry."
Jason rolls his eyes and presses down a bit harder, lips twitching upwards when Dick groans, "You're an idiot. Why the hell didn't you ask for help?" It's a loaded question in this family, one that Jason can probably guess the answer to if he had enough time.
"I don't want your help," Dick answers stiffly, letting his eyes flutter shut. Jason flicks him on the forehead, grinning when Dick opens his eyes enough to glare up at him.
"Well," Jason shrugs, grin falling away to a stiff frown. He won't meet Dick's eyes. "Well, you have it."
Oh. This time the tears the blur his vision are accompanied by something soft and warm, a genuine love and happiness gently blanketing the hopeless emptiness that had been swarming him all night, "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
Jason still won't meet his eyes but he nods, a tension silently bleeding from his shoulders, "Good." Dick's eyes flutter shut again and he can't manage to drag them back open. "I'm not going anywhere, Grayson."