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Alfred sighs to himself, a disapproving sort of frown finding its way onto his face as he listens to your raised voice, you and Dick butting heads again. It's not uncommon for you to find reason to argue with the others, but it is tiresome - frustrating to him that you can't seem to lay down this constant fight of yours that you live with.
And Dick? Well, as he spits an insult back and you and you shove at his chest, Alfred idly thinks that maybe he's your worst target so far. Dick Grayson may be kind under typical circumstances, but anger like this brings out the worst in him.
"At least Bruce wanted me," he snaps at you. "You just shoved your way in."
That doesn't just stop you, it stops everyone in their tracks. It especially stops Bruce, who had come into the Cave when he'd gotten word from Alfred about another fight. And there's just… silence at first. You, staring up at Dick with wide, hurt eyes while his anger slowly melts, regret replacing it.
"Hey, I didn't mean -" but you don't stay to listen, fleeing past Bruce and out of the Cave, despite his calls of your name. You don't stick around to hear the way Bruce rips into Dick about it, berating him for even suggesting such a thing, before he follows you up to the Manor.
Alone in your room, with the walls closing in on you and your lungs squeezing painfully, your breath catches as you hear footsteps approaching. Bruce's knocks on your door are as gentle as the way he calls your name, asking you to please open the door .
You don't.
How can you? He's right, he's right, he's right - Bruce didn't want you. How much trouble have you caused since you got here? - too much , your brain supplies. And Dick is right, Bruce didn't want you… he couldn't have. You, with your headstrong determination, pushing your way into anything and everything that you'd ever wanted. You, with your heels always dug in and your arms always crossed and your shoulders always squared. How could he possibly want that?
You pace behind your locked door, pulling on your hair as your breath quickens, words you've heard a million times running through your head.
Spoiled, selfish, stubborn -
Bruce's voice on the other side of the door isn't enough to drown it out, his promises of, "I love you, we all love you. Dick didn't mean that, and he'll apologize to you when you're ready. Please come out, sweetheart… I love you, and you have always been wanted by me. You've always been wanted by this family."
You stare at the door as if glaring hard enough would make it soundproof, your breath still coming out in short little gasps as you clench your fists, nails digging into the skin of your palms. You watch through blurred vision as Bruce's shadow shifts and darkens under the door - you watch as he settles on the other side of the wood, determined not to leave you to do this alone.
"You come out whenever you're ready, sweetheart," he says gently. "I'll be here."
You scoff, turning abruptly away from the door - away from him. He won't stay - he won't, he won't, he won't -
"I won't leave you." Bruce's voice is heard again and you squeeze your eyes shut. It's like he knows , and you can't figure out how, can't fathom the idea that he really has been paying attention all this time, that he knows you and your ticks and your traumas. You curl up on top of your bed, determined to just shut down until it's all over - until he gives up and leaves you be. Maybe then you can leave, too - leave for real. Maybe it would all be better if you slipped out quietly, off into the city, into someone else life and away from this one. Maybe there really wasn't room for you in this family.
When you wake later, the first thing you're forced to notice is the throbbing behind your eyes and the light that streams in through the window, the sun beginning to set and bathing you in a halo-like glow. Sitting up, you notice a shadow still stationed on the other side of your door, having stayed, unmoving, for as long as you'd been hiding.
Getting up slowly, you make your way to it, sitting down with your back against the door and letting your head thump rather loudly against the wood of it. It's only then that Bruce moves, shifting on the other side. You clench your fists on your lap as words get caught on their way out. I'm sorry, I love you, thank you for staying.
"Why are you still there?" Is all that ends up coming out, the words harsh as they cut through the air. You flinch at hearing them, your own voice hatefully foreign to you.
"Because I love you," Bruce says simply, like it's such an easy thing. "And I promised I wouldn't leave you." You sit still after that, turning what he's said over in your mind again and again and again before standing abruptly and wrenching your door open, relying on Bruce's reflexes to get himself up and standing by the time you do.
Fortunately, he's always been a little faster than you, always a little better. By the time you're looking at him, he's standing in your doorway, his shoulders slumped as he slouches down to look you in the eye. He's making himself smaller , you realize, something that feels like regret eating away at you. He's making himself small and it's your fault .
But Bruce isn't looking at you like he blames you, and the way he ever so gently puts his hands on your shoulders and presses a kiss to the crown of your head speaks only of love. Only of forgiveness. You stand straighter when he does, a silent urge for him to do this same - for him to be tall for you. Maybe then, you wouldn't have to be.
"It's true, though, isn't it? You ask, something pained in your voice that you can't quite hide.
"It's not." There's a way he says it, like it's written in some holy text somewhere and he's promising it now because faith demands it. "You are always wanted here. And you always will be."
"What if I never believe that?"
"Then we'll keep telling you." You shoot Bruce a look at his assuredness, one that just makes him smile down at you.
"Even Dick?" You ask, uneasiness finding its home in you despite your clenched fists and set jaw.
"Especially Dick, he answers easily. "I'm sure he'll spend a very long time trying to make up for this. He never means it, you know - there's this anger in him that he can't quite shake sometimes." Your shoulders slump at his words and you drop your chin, eyes trained on the floor.
"Yea," your voice is bitter. "That, I understand."
You find, later that night, that you wish Dick didn't care quite so much. Your mask covers your face, the hard set of your jaw and the annoyance that pulls down your brows, but in the faint moonlight of the docks, you're sure Dick can see the taught pull of your shoulders.
Thank god it's a slow night , you find yourself thinking as you perch on the edge of a rooftop, kicking your legs over the edge. You know he's around, watching and waiting and trying to find a moment to approach you. You think you'll have to find the moment for him when Nightwing finally sits next to you, his movements silent and slow. He looks at you long and hard, his own eyes hidden behind his mask as you stare out at the water, waiting for him to decide how this will all go.
"I don't always say the right thing," is what he ends up confessing. "And it wasn't fair for you to be on the receiving end of that. I'm… sorry."
"I started it," you say simply. "You shouldn't apologize for biting back."
"No," Dick says carefully, tapping his finger on his thigh. "But I should apologize for how I did it." You look at him, then, eyes searching his face and cursing the masks you both wear, layers of protection against anyone who would try to know you.
"Did you mean it?" You finally ask. "Is it true? Because if it is… if it is, then you should only apologize for lying to me up till now."
"It's not ," Dick answers, and there's something in the clear ring of his voice that reminds you of Bruce. Your lips twitch into a smile as you think of how unhappy he'd be to find that out. "Things with Bruce and I… well, I'm sure you know they weren't always good."
"I don't actually know everything," you huff back. "Even my eavesdropping has limitations - especially with all of you. You're a lot harder to hide from than everyone else." Dick grins at that, a self-satisfied sort of thing that makes you regret speaking.
"Well, it's lucky, I guess," he goes on. "The Bruce you know now - he's a lot better than he was in the beginning."
"Don't you think we all are?" You ask before you can stop yourself, eyes snapping back out to the water as you desperately try to close yourself off from him, heart hammering at the response you're sure to get. There is no part of you that's getting better. There is no part of you that can be good . But Dick just readjusts how he's sitting, sliding closer so that your shoulders bump and he can tap your hands with his own, a silent chide for the way you twist your fingers nervously.
"You're right," he says plainly, and suddenly you're glad for the masks. You're not sure what would happen if you looked over and saw that big brother, sick-with-pride look he's so fond of. "When Jason came along, it felt a bit too much like being replaced. I know it was a long time ago, but… maybe I still feel it a bit more than I should - whenever anyone new comes along. It's not your fault… it's not your fault and I'm glad you're here."
You sigh at his words, tipping back until you're laying on the rooftop, your legs still kicking over the edge as you pretend to look up at the stars, blinking tears away rapidly behind your mask. You're sure he knows, but you're also sure he's too kind to say anything, laying back with you and interlocking his hands behind his head to lean on.
There's a lot you think you should say right now. I'm sorry, I love you, thank you for coming back for me. Thank you for not leaving me behind. Thank you for not giving up on me.
"What are you hanging around here tonight for, anyway?" Is what comes out instead, but you find you aren't so bothered by it this time.
"Want me to stick around? Finish your patrol with you?" Is his only answer. You huff.
"I don't need help taking care of the docks. I've been doing that longer than I've been involved with you idiots." Dick laughs, loud enough that you groan and roll away from him, standing up and crossing your arms.
"Well, you never know, then," he responds easily as he swings himself to his feet. "Maybe we could learn something from each other."
"Fine," you snipe back, but you can't help the way you bounce on the balls of your feet, a weight you hadn't realized you'd been carrying starting to lift. "Maybe we can."