Chapter Text
A month after the events of Off the Record:
Dick was in the living room doing some studying with Aunt Harriet lightly scolding him for not studying enough. Since the ordeal with the Joker and accidentally revealing his identity to Chief O’Hara, Dick hadn’t been his usual self. He had tried to continue with life like nothing had happened but it was slowly eating him up inside and knowing he had lied to Bruce was making it so much worse. Guilt hanged over him like a dark cloud; followed him around, chained to his mind, slowly enveloping his brain. He knew his school work was beginning to suffer because he couldn’t take his mind off of what happened. He wondered if he should tell Bruce the truth; he knew he would be furious with him for keeping that a secret and lying to him.
Dick had zoned out and wasn’t paying attention to what Aunt Harriet was saying until she raised her voice, clearly not happy with him ignoring her words. He couldn’t care less about his studying at that moment. What he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts, try and figure out what to do with his dilemma.
“Dick, you have to pay attention or you’ll never get good grades” Aunt Harriet shook her head sounding disappointed in the young teen.
“Sorry, Aunt Harriet. I’m feeling a bit unwell, think I need to go lie down” Dick lied, hoping his aunt would take pity on him if he faked an illness.
“Why didn’t you say? I’ll get you a glass of warm milk and you must go rest” Aunt Harriet hurried off to the kitchen.
Dick breathed a sigh of relief and closed his book. He rubbed his forehead while staring at the floor. Aunt Harriet returned swiftly with a glass of milk which Dick downed as fast as he could, then left to go to his room. Once alone, Dick led on his bed with a sorrowful look on his face. His mind ran through multiple scenarios and he kept coming back to the same conclusion: he could not tell Bruce the truth. He feared that if he did, he would be kicked out, he would be banned from being Robin ever again. He decided he had to keep up this façade or else.
3 Months later:
Struggling was putting it lightly. Seeing Chief O’Hara pretty much every week was borderline torturous for poor Robin. He avoided eye contact with the police chief, avoided being alone with him at all costs. How he had managed 4 months without blabbering all to Bruce amazed the boy wonder. He never really kept anything from his guardian. Luckily, Bruce was none the wiser. On the outside, Dick was his usual self but, on the inside, he was falling apart and only had himself to blame.
To Dick, it was all his fault. He should have done a better job of hiding his identity but he was an idiot and a fool. Self-hatred seeped through his mind and body. It consumed him every day. He would scold himself and force himself to do better at everything he did. He decided to focus on school work, that would help surly… but it didn’t. There was a battle going on in his head. On one hand, he wanted to run to Bruce and tell him everything no matter what the punishment would be. On the other hand, he wanted to keep quiet, he deserved the mental torture he was putting himself through.
Then one day, the thoughts came into his head. Dick was surprised at himself and angry that he would ever think such things. He pushed the thoughts away, paid attention to literally anything else when they popped into his mind. If anyone knew what he was thinking, they would lock him up and have his mind checked. He wasn’t crazy. Besides, they were just fleeting thoughts, as if he was actually going to act on them. He would never deliberately hurt himself or even consider taking his own life, so he ignored the thoughts and carried on as normal as he could be.
Another 3 months later:
Dick was nearing braking point by now. Still keeping up the calm and happy exterior all the while screaming internally. The thoughts and urges had grown stronger, he could no longer ignore them. Almost after every outing as Batman and Robin, Dick would come up the batpoles and have the urge to do something to himself. He fought his mind daily, not wanting to give in but after a particular incident, Dick lost to his mind.
Catwoman had been giving the dynamic duo the run around. They had been locked in a battle between her and 2 henchmen. Her weapon this time were sharpened nails laced with some sort of sleeping drug. Of course, Robin had to be scratched didn’t he. He was out like a light, 4 claw marks just under his elbow on the inside of his arm. This is what set it all off. Batman had instructed Alfred to bandage the wounds when they arrive back in the Batcave. Robin studied the scratches as Alfred wound a bandage round them. It stung when it first happened but the pain wasn’t too bad now. Robin didn’t want to admit it to himself but he kind of liked the pain, in a punishing sort of way. It was his own fault for getting scratched by not fighting well enough, so this was his punishment for being useless.
After getting patched up, Dick went to his room to be alone and contemplate. He had messed up big time by revealing his identity and lying about it. He needed to be punished, he needed to punish himself. He made his way downstairs and when the coast was clear, he swiped a small knife from the kitchen, small enough to conceal under his jumper sleave. When back in the safety of his room, Dick actually began to think about this decision. He knew it wasn’t really a good idea but he needed a way of punishing himself; this was it. He pulled down his trousers to expose his thighs. This was possibly the only place he could hurt himself and get away with it.
With a deep breath, Dick pressed the knife along his skin, drawing blood as he did so. The pain wasn’t instant but when it did register, Dick sharply inhaled and hissed. It hurt but it felt right, this was what he needed to do. He made another cut and another. Three lines across his left thigh. Guilt overcame Dick as he thought clearly for a moment. He quickly grabbed a handkerchief and pressed down on the self-inflicted wounds. He cursed under his breath, then mentally scolded himself for cursing. Maybe cutting wasn’t the answer.
A month later, again:
After the first time, Dick told himself he wouldn’t cut again since it wasn’t going to solve anything but he found himself wanting the pain as punishment. It had become a routine, almost. Every time he and Batman had successfully put some criminal behind bars or in the state pen, Dick would go upstairs and run through everything that he had done. He would go cut himself as punishment if he thought he’d done anything wrong. There were a few times where he almost got caught by Aunt Harriet, Bruce or Alfred. He wondered if they suspected anything. If they did, why hadn’t they said anything to him? They probably didn’t care, Dick thought. He sighed knowing that wasn’t true.
Dick was currently sat on his bed doing his homework, he wasn’t really doing much of it as his mind was elsewhere. He had cut earlier in the day, worse that what he normally did and he was worried that he might need stitches. The two cuts he had made were deeper, he purposefully pressed the knife into his skin with more force than usual. He had messed up, got himself stuck in a trap set by the Riddler and Batman had to go rescue him, resulting in Batman getting injured. Luckily, not badly injured; just a slight bump to the head that needed an ice pack put on it for a while. Batman gave him a short lecture after capturing the Riddler, that he shouldn’t have gone off by himself to investigate without saying where exactly he was going. After thinking through it, Dick knew what he did was stupid and it was all his fault that Bruce was nursing a headache. That’s why he had to cut, to also feel pain.
Placing his half done homework to one side, Dick pulled his trousers down to inspect his wounds. It had been maybe 3 hours since he had done it. He frowned at his scarred thighs and at the fresh cuts that clearly did need some stitches and proper care or they would get infected. A part of him wanted to do further damage; more pain, a worse punishment. He pulled up his trousers and lay down on his bed wondering if everyone was just better off without him. As he lay there, his mind thought back to a conversation he had with Bruce a long while ago; the time he was under the influence of cataphrenic:
Dick: "I'm the worst sidekick ever. You would be better off without me, everyone would. I should just leave or..."
Bruce: "I would most definitely not be better off without you, chum…” "Promise me that if you ever feel like this again for any reason you will talk to me right away no matter what or where."
Dick sighed; he did promise Bruce that if he ever thought anything like that ever again, he would tell him. He swallowed and made up his mind that Bruce needed to be told… everything.