Chapter Text
“Why did you do this?”
Dick stayed quiet until he realised that Bruce’s question wasn’t rhetorical. He was expecting an answer. Like Dick’s input wouldn’t be dismissed the moment he put it out there.
He wanted to crawl into his skull. If the man could be consistent his life would be so much easier. He chose his words carefully.
“I knew that I would have a better chance of resolving the situation with zero casualties.”
“By offering yourself instead?”
He said it in a gruff tone, not nearly as pained as Dick expected. Dick locked eyes with him. A pale blue, wrinkled with age and worry. Past that, a recognition.
There was no point dancing around this.
“Wouldn’t you?”
Bruce’s mouth twitched. Practically a full body flinch coming from him.
“You’re not-”
Dick closed his eyes. He wouldn’t sit here and listen to Bruce’s hypocrisy again. Thankfully, Bruce went silent.
Bruce inhaled, as though he was about to say something.
“Go on,” Dick said, opening his eyes. Bruce’s hesitation usually meant honesty. Usually.
“I-.” He took a breath. “You never rely on me.”
Dick stayed silent.
“You didn’t tell me this even happened.”
He had that guilty look again.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle me telling you Bruce! I mean, c’mon. You-”
Dick paused. Saying it felt like an insult. It felt like betrayal, condescension and arrogance. But he was sure of this. He was sure.
“You’re suicidal, Bruce.”
The older man froze.
Despite their dangerous occupation, the Grayson’s never strayed into danger purposefully. They indulged in every sensation life could grant them. Their emotions, their love of life, plastered themselves all over their bodies.
Dick could recognise their horror, shock, and fading adrenaline the night they died. He had to be dragged away from their bodies. He’d wanted to claw it off of them.
It was partly why he put on the Robin suit, designed after their costumes.
If emotions could linger even after death, if they could plaster themselves to an emblem that could extend beyond life, then Robin could be a powerful symbol.
The relief and hope that so many felt after Robin rescued them would remain on the fabric and reach the next person faster and faster, until the colours became emblematic of hope itself.
After the circus, he knew he had no life. Revenge fogged his mind, and after that, there was nothing.
Bruce went through the same thing as Dick, but had the audacity to either want to live nor die. He’d tease both life and death, and then hop away from it, seemingly feeling nothing about either concept.
When you grow up with someone that teeters on the edge of living, you believe you can nudge them just enough that they land securely on the side of life. As their attachment to you grows, you become one of their reasons for living.
When someone’s life is dependent on you, you cannot depend on them.
“I wouldn’t have killed myself Dick-”
“No,” he interrupted. He had to push back a sigh. “That’s not what I’m saying. You just, you wouldn’t have done me any good.”
Bruce stayed silent.
He just wished he would ask what Dick would’ve wanted. But he watched as Bruce sank into his own guilt.
“I’m gonna go find the others,” he said. When he reached the door, he turned to face his dad, still kneeling on the floor. “B, you need help. I won’t rely on you until you get it.”
He left the room still shaking.
His hands wouldn’t stop, and the hallway seemed so long. The closest door was Cass’ room. She and Bruce always hung out at nighttime, when neither of them could sleep. Dick heard them laughing in Bruce’s office regularly.
He wondered about Cass’ loyalty to Bruce. It was staggering. He’d watched it pull Steph away from Cass, he’d watched her struggle with what it meant to have your father figure, mentor and saviour all in one.
He recognised something there.
He passed her door without going in.
He reached Steph’s door. He thought about her and Jason. The two with the most disgust for Bruce. It would make sense for them to never tell Bruce about what happened. Maybe Bruce didn’t regard it as such a betrayal like he did with Dick.
He reached Tim’s door. It was stupid, because Tim was most definitely not inside, but he knocked.
The door opened.
Dick frowned.
“Why’re you here?” he asked.
Tim didn’t respond. His eyes raked over Dick’s torso.
Right. Still shirtless.
“In my room?” he asked. His gaze lingered on Dick’s ribs. Dick didn’t look down. Some things he didn’t want to remember.
Tim shook his head.
“Come in, lemme get you a shirt.”
He tossed a hoodie at Dick and sank into one of his beanbags.
“Bruce ran to his office and I assumed you’d done something. I thought I’d stay nearby.”
Dick huffed.
“Ha. Yeah, good move. Can you text Duke and tell him I’m okay?”
“You can’t do that yourself?” Tim said, even as he began typing.
“I could, but he won’t believe it coming from me.”
Tim hummed and shut off his phone. He looked up at Dick, who was still holding the hoodie in his arms.
“I get the feeling he shouldn’t.”
Dick squeezed the hoodie, trying to keep himself present. The material was soft, but had gotten tatty over time. He assumed it was one of Steph’s hoodies.
Pulling it over his head, he tried not to wince. His shoulder throbbed and stung. No wonder Slade was fascinated by it.
By the time he had it on, he was sweating through the pain. Tim was staring at him.
“I want to kill him.”
Dick blinked.
He’d heard the stories, the lengths Tim went to to preserve life. How he’d had to persuade Steph to do the same.
“What?”
Tim swallowed. He didn’t repeat himself.
Dick slowly lowered himself onto the other beanbag. Pain clawed up his spine. His ribs were tender, protesting at the position. His shoulder was still fucking throbbing.
He breathed through it.
“I don’t want you to,” he said. Tim sat up straight.
“I know that-”
Dick shook his head.
“You don’t know why, I don’t think.”
Tim leaned forwards, expression open. He was nearly always like that with Dick. Open, ready to learn, to connect and understand Dick with such earnestness - it shocked Dick every time.
“When I was first starting out as Robin, I didn’t get it. I’d see rapists escape justice time and time again, and it frustrated me. The victims were always so…it was harrowing. I remember being extra harsh with this one guy, until the victim screamed at me to not kill him. I wasn’t going to obviously, but these were early days, so people didn’t know. I didn’t get it at all. I asked her why she was so worried about him. I mean, really, he had fucked her up. Badly. She told me he was her brother.”
Tim sucked in a breath.
“I know. She said she couldn’t imagine going to his funeral and facing her family. And I imagined it. Everyone mourning his life, celebrating his good moments. I wouldn’t be able to stand it either.”
“To be fair, I’m not sure Deathstroke has any good moments,” Tim said, trying for levity.
Dick laughed.
“Sure, but his kids might disagree with you.”
Tim nodded.
“Yeah, I didn’t think about that.”
“Not many people think of him as a dad like,” Dick said. “Point is, there are people in his life that are going to mourn him. They might not like that they mourn him, but they will. You know how Steph felt when her dad died?”
Tim raised his brows.
“She told you about that?”
“Yeah.”
“I remember she said how painful it was to know that he’d never improve. That was it for him, but also for her relationship with him. She and her Mum would never get another glimpse of the man that they loved.”
He said it softly, like he was repeating something he’d promised he wouldn’t. Sometimes Dick forgot how private Steph was.
“It’s a terrible feeling, to have that potential ripped away from you,” Dick said quietly. Tim nodded. Tim experienced it with his own father, and Dick watched him mourn.
It was why he came to Tim at this moment. Tim understood. It is something that Jason disregards in his work, something that they’ll never fully agree on.
Very few victims want revenge, very few want to watch their rapist be mourned. And yet, Jason causes those funerals in the victim's name.
Tim stared at the floor like he was trying to figure something out. Eventually, he sighed.
“I can’t figure out what I should do.”
Dick smiled.
“Have you considered asking me?”
Tim flushed.
“Uh, no, I didn’t,” he said with a small smile.
“Well?”
“What do you want me to do for you, Dick?”
Dick opened his arms up for a hug. Tim wrapped himself around his brother as gently as possible.
“I want you to be there for me.”
Tim leaned back.
“That’s it?”
Dick nodded.
“It’s not that I don’t want to or anything like that, it's just…I expected more to do.”
“I think we don’t value emotional labour very much in this family,” he said slowly. “We don’t see it as work, and we get surprised when it feels like work. It makes it very easy to turn away from it. Violence, revenge, even ‘saving’ someone, it’s all very physical with us. But have you ever gone back to check on a victim after the rescue?”
Tim nodded slowly.
“They’re always still recovering,” he mumbled. “It’s sometimes messy.”
“Very. I don’t need saving. I’m out. I may be dealing with some PTSD, but I’m physically safe. I just need help mentally, which will be a lot of work. There’s no ‘just’ about it.”
“You're right, I think,” Tim said. “I hadn’t thought of it like that at all.” He looked up at Dick. “I still want to help.”
Dick smiled.
“Thankyou.”