Work Text:
He remembers pain.
He remembers endless, searing agony. Every nerve in his body lighting up in response to the drug-laced bullet lodged in his shoulder. Blood spilling out of him. Uncountable time before someone finds him. He knows it was almost too late. He knows he almost died.
It’s sad, really. He really feels like crying. But at the same time, he’s more content than he’s been since the last time he almost died.
Because his brothers are each curled around him. Damian is on his stomach. Tim is pressed into the side without the bullet wound. His head is on Jason’s chest, one of Jason’s hands curled in his hair. He’s so goddamn grateful for almost dying, because the last time even one of his brothers touched him was two weeks ago.
It seems to take him getting gravely injured for his family to touch him. After near-death experiences are the one time he doesn’t have to plead.
He’s content with the events, even as his shoulder throbs and his head aches. Because his brothers are cuddling him. Willingly. And he didn’t even have to approach them. It only ever happens like this.
He doesn’t have to ask for a hug. He doesn’t have to beg for contact.
It’s always been like this.
Bruce was never a tactile person. That was always… harder, for Dick. Sometimes, he could pounce on Bruce when he wasn’t working, and take a hug, and Bruce would never, ever push him off. But Bruce never touched him. Bruce sometimes told him no, when he was working. That was when Dick curled up in blankets to pretend like it was his mom holding him.
He understood, though. He knew touch made some people uncomfortable, that some people just didn’t like it. He didn’t need Bruce to touch him. Most of his friends would let him touch them, so he got plenty of hugs, it wasn’t like he was never hugged, ever. But when weekends came, or the summer, things got… lonelier. But Dick always understood that it was his problem to deal with.
Sometimes he couldn’t deal with it on his own, though. Sometimes he couldn’t take it anymore. When he had nightmares bad enough to make him cry, he strong-armed his way into Bruce’s hold. And other times… he had to convince.
“B,” Dick says, staring up at his father. His limbs are still so shaky. This was the second time he’d been hit with fear toxin, and it sucked just as bad as the first. The aftermath isn’t so fun, either. “Please.”
“Dick,” Bruce says patiently, not looking at him, “I’m trying to get this case done before tomorrow. I don’t have time. I’m sorry. Could you head to bed? You can sleep in my room, if you like.”
Fear rises up in him at the thought of leaving Bruce’s side. “I’m not… I’m serious this time, B. I can’t…” He feels tears well up, and he wipes them quickly. His voice cracks. “Please. I don’t want to be alone right now.”
Bruce finally glances at him. His typing pauses. “Are you sure the antidote worked?” He asks finally.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Dick says, frustrated. “I just… I don’t… Dad, please.”
Bruce cracks, finally, and sighs heavily. He leaves the case open. “Alright. Fine. But only until you fall asleep.” He spins in his chair. Dick throws himself into his arms before he can even offer them.
Bruce tries to nudge him into standing and walking; Dick just curls around him like a koala. Bruce gives up, and carries Dick’s entire fourteen-year-old-self up the stairs. The lingering anxiety dies down with his dad so close. He’s relieved that Bruce agreed. Even though it only lasts until he falls asleep. Even when he wakes up the next morning in an otherwise empty bed.
He’s not having a good day. He’s really, really not having a good day.
It’s not really something he can explain. He woke up feeling like shit that morning. He should be happy, because it’s the weekend and he’s at the Manor. It took him so long to be able to work his way back to be able to stay here again, so he should be happy.
He’s not.
He’s been sad since he woke up.
The breakdown he’s been hiding all day finally hits him.
Jason walks in on him curled on the couch, head tucked into elbows and fingers tangled in hair. He can barely see Jason through the blurriness of his tears.
“Uhhh…” Jason shifts, clearly uncomfortable, “You okay, Dickhead?”
Dick wipes his eyes, half-sitting up. “I don’t know. I’m… not having a good time right now.”
Jason eyes him. “Do you… want me ta go get Bruce?”
“No.” Dick shakes his head. He’s not entirely sure if Bruce would make things better or worse. “I… Can I hug you? Please?”
Jason wrinkles his nose. “Hell no.”
He’s rejected Dick’s questioning every single time before that, too. Dick’s prepared to push now, though. “Please, Jay. It would make me feel better.”
Jason eyes him again with much more suspicion. “What’s in it for me?” He asks, eyes narrowed.
Dick wracks his brain, desperate for something that would get him to agree. “I’ll take you to the bookstore next weekend. You can get whatever you want as long as you can carry it back. Please.”
“Fine.” Jason nods, satisfied, and lets Dick wrap his arms around him. It does make him feel better. This is the first time he’s gotten to hug his little brother.
He had to get surgery. It wasn’t even for anything vigilante-related. He just got stabbed while he was taking his groceries back to his apartment in Bludhaven. When he showed up at the hospital, trying to keep his blood inside of him – because the bastard had taken the knife with them instead of politely leaving it – they rushed him to the ER. Apparently it was a very bad place to get stabbed.
Before he actually went under, they told him they were going to call his emergency contact. It was Bruce.
When he woke up, he was still very high on drugs. Bruce was there, though. He’d brought Jason with him. Bruce left a few minutes after, claiming he was going to get food for himself and Jason.
“Can I have a hug, Jay?” Dick asks, lazily reaching out with grabby hands.
Jason stares at him. “No.” He says.
Dick’s entire face falls. His hands drop. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to, that’s why.”
“But your hugs are so nice. I want one.” Dick tells him.
“Well that’s too damn bad, isn’t it?”
Dick looks away. Water starts slowly building up behind his eyes. He doesn’t mean to cry; he doesn’t want to, he knows it’s stupid. And he certainly doesn’t mean for Jason to notice, because he was the older brother, he was just supposed to accept the no and move on. Jason notices anyway.
“Oh my fucking god.” Jason glowers, reluctantly wrapping his arms around Dick. He mutters something about manipulative assholes. It’s not true, Dick didn’t want him to feel guilty, but he takes the hug anyways because a hug is a hug whether Dick meant to guilt him into it or not. That’s the first time Dick doesn’t have to bribe him into it.
He’s watching a movie when the feeling hits him. He wants a hug.
Usually he can just ignore it, until it either goes away or becomes so much of a back thought that he doesn’t notice it anymore. That’s what he tries to do, too. He shoves the feeling down, sinks deeper into his blankets.
The feeling comes back with a vengeance. He can’t stop thinking about wrapping his arms around someone’s waist and ducking under their shoulder. It’s pathetic, he knows, but he wants it so bad it hurts.
The feeling’s not going to leave him alone. The thought crosses him, that if Jason were alive still, he could’ve talked him into it. But he’s not. Dick has to grit his teeth to stop himself from crying. He pauses the movie and pushes off of his bed, leaving his blankets for the hallway, desperate to distract his brain from going down that rabbit hole again.
Tim’s light is still on. Dick knew he didn’t like to sleep, but the patrol before hand had been long and tiring and Dick hadn’t been allowed to go because of his damn shoulder. Either way, Tim really shouldn’t be awake right now, disliking sleep or not. He knows Bruce is passed out in his room. Dick was only still up because his mind dislikes being quiet, and he would give a lot of things to be so physically exhausted that sleep bypasses his thoughts right now.
Dick knocks on the door. Tim pulls it open for him. Jason used to just yell at him to go away, and scowl when he came in anyway. Bruce just tells him to come in. He thinks it’s kind of funny that Tim answers the door.
“Dick?” Tim yawns. “What…? Are you okay?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, kiddo?” He asks.
Tim makes a face at the word. “I dunno. I don’t want to.”
Dick softens. His little brother is goddamn adorable, even if he doesn’t like it. “That’s too bad. I’m not above telling on you to Alfred.”
Tim pouts at him. “Fine, fine. I’ll go to sleep. After I finish this thing. It’ll take like ten minutes.” He rushes at Dick’s raised eyebrow. He tries to deflect, accusing, “Why are you up?”
“I…” Dick hesitates. “Can I have a hug, Tim?”
Tim stares at him. His eyes grow bigger every second. “What? A hug? Why?”
Dick shrugs. “Because I want one. Please?”
Tim frowns. “I don’t usually do that. Hug people.”
“Please?” Dick tries again, extending his hands half-way. Like he’s expecting to be rejected again.
Tim gives him a dubious look, but uncertainly fits himself into Dick’s arms. He shifts uncomfortably as Dick squeezes him. “Thank you.” Dick murmurs, and pulls back before Tim can push him off. That’s the first time he’s hugged Tim. “Go to sleep soon. Night. Love you.”
“Goodnight, Dick.” Tim makes a weird expression, closing the door.
Dick heads back to his room, entirely unsatisfied.
Jason’s back.
Jason’s back, and he still wants to be part of the family, even after all the shit they put him through, even after he tried to tear through their family as well as Gotham, even after they let him die.
He has his little brother back.
It’s been months, and Dick still hasn’t had the balls to ask him for a hug.
Because he’s still so fragile. Because some days all it takes is one word to set him off, for him to not talk to them for a week. Because Dick is afraid that someday, he’s not going to come back at all. Because Dick is terrified he’s going to cut them all off and never talk to them again.
Because Jason never liked his hugs before he died. What right does Dick have to ask now?
He doesn’t end up having to ask, though. Of course, it mostly happens while he’s unconscious.
When Dick wakes up, his entire body hurts. He wakes up like this a lot. He can count a few other things off his ‘I’m-safe-nothing’s-wrong’ list. He’s laying on something soft. There’s the smell of hard, dusty rock overlapping earthy undertones. There’s an IV in his elbow. The beep of a heart monitor and the screeching of bats ring in his ears.
There’s also warmth curled around his body, a head laying on his chest, an ear placed directly above his heart. And he’s surprised, because that’s definitely not on his checklist. Bruce holding his hand, sure; Tim with a hand on his shoulder because he knows it makes Dick feel better, quite likely; he’s not had someone full-on lay on him for a very, very long time, and it’s never been on purpose.
When he can bring himself to crack an eye open, what he gets is a vision full of slightly curly black hair. One streak of white. Jason’s wearing one of his shirts, too. Warmth explodes inside of him; a smile, content, victorious, and so, so happy grows on his face. His little brother is alive and laying on him. Willingly. Dick’s entire heart melts and boils and evaporates into the ether.
Jason’s awake. Probably has been the entire time. He knows Dick’s awake, too. He allows about five more seconds of the contact before sitting up sharply and whirling around to punch Dick in the shoulder.
“Ow! What the fuck,” Dick hisses, recoiling.
“Asshole! You need to find better ways of keeping your blood inside your damn veins! Do you know how much you lost? Enough that I had to give you some of mine!” Jason snarls, thrusting his elbow in Dick’s face. It’s bandaged. “You’re so goddamn lucky that shitty city you moved to needs you, because otherwise I would’ve let you bleed the fuck out. You’re a cunt. I hope you choke on a peanut tomorrow.” Jason shoves off the bed, and storms away.
Dick can’t help but feel guilty that Jason, with his hatred of needles, and to give him blood. Even more shame washes over him at the thought of longing for him to have stayed at Dick’s side longer.
He tries to deal with it.
It doesn’t work very well. The decontamination shower is long, and hot, and not at all relaxing. There’s a deep, physical ache in his bones, amplified by the pollen Ivy hit him with that night. He tries wrapping himself in his softest blankets and sleeping it off. Except loneliness rattles around the space between every cell in his body, and he’s cried at least three times before he decides that however much he gets yelled at will be better than this.
Tim moved out four months ago. Dick understands. He kind of tore the kid’s heart out with a rusty spork and whipped it up into a pretty cream just so he could drop it off a building and watch it splatter on the concrete. But it hurts to walk past his brother’s empty room, even more than it hurt to walk past Bruce’s empty one, because he knows this one was his fault. It hurts even more to walk past Tim’s empty one and Bruce’s full one, because it means Tim was right and Dick betrayed him for no goddamn reason.
It hurts even more to have to walk past that empty room on his way to his car so he can drive to the apartment that Tim refuses to give him a key to.
He’s not sure if driving while under pollen influence is safe. He thinks that it should probably be a valid DUI charge. He almost runs into someone else twice after the pain starts becoming severely distracting.
There’s a very real possibility Tim’s going to tell him no. To turn him away. He’s going to have to deal with it if that’s the case. He wouldn’t be here if he had any other options.
He rings the doorbell. Tim takes one look at him through the peephole and tells him to go fuck himself.
“Please, Tim.” Dick says, hating the way his voice cracks. He doesn’t get an answer for a long minute. He doesn’t think he’s going to. Tears well up and push through, dripping down his cheeks. He’s prepared to have to pick himself up from Tim’s doorstep and drag himself back to his car and suffer the night there, because he really shouldn’t be driving right now.
Tim’s door wrenches open. “For fuck’s sake, what’s wrong?” Tim hisses, glaring at him. His expression only hardens when his eyes catch the tear tracks.
“I- I got hit with cuddle pollen. I just… Please.” Dick whispers. He feels pathetic. He doesn’t have any right to be here.
Tim stares at him. “And you came here? What if I don’t want to touch you? Why didn’t you go to Damian?”
“Sick.” Dick croaks. “Him and Alfred.” And Bruce is out of town. And Jason is very very deep undercover. Dick swallows. “I know you don’t want to. But I wouldn’t come if I had someone else. Please, Tim. Please.”
Tim scowls at him. “Gods. Fine. Asshole. You owe me fucking big time for this, and you’re lucky I somehow – through great misfortune – have a semblance of affection for you. Because otherwise I would be perfectly happy to leave you outside.”
Tim yanks him inside. Relief floods through him, even at the bare minimum amount of contact Tim allows. And a large portion of the pleasure Dick’s getting isn’t affected by the pollen at all. It’s his own damn thoughts.
Damian gets shot.
It's not that bad. He's had worse before, it's not like you can just be Robin without getting shot. It was his shoulder, even; he'd be fine, he hadn't even lost any worrying amount of blood.
That didn't stop Dick from worrying.
That didn't stop the anxiety clawing its way into his brain.
Damian had run out as Robin without permission, that was the problem. He wasn't supposed to be out on patrol. That's what had set him off.
He'd overreacted, like a lot, immediately throwing on his suit and going out to look for him as soon as he saw Damian wasn't in his bed. His little brother was doing fine, taking out a group of drug traffickers; but the second he'd turned around, and Dick had seen the blood dripping down his costume from his shoulder, his stomach had dropped.
Because all he saw was the bloody body of a Robin.
What he saw was Jason, happening again.
Damian was fine. He was sitting on a cot, glaring grumpily at the ceiling, arms crossed over his chest, bandages peeking out from under his shirt.
Dick couldn't do this for very much longer. He was going to snap. So his resolve of not upsetting his brother further breaks, and he asks, “Can I have a hug?” He winces at the way his voice cracks.
Damian turns to sneer at him. “Absolutely not. I do not particularly feel like being suffocated tonight.”
Dick dips his head, trying to decide whether he can push his luck. His fists clench. “Please.”
Damian eyes him a bit more carefully. “Why?” He snaps.
“I'm- You're hurt.”
“I'm clearly fine.” Damian huffs.
Dick shuts his eyes against the onslaught of memories of the nightmares that came after Jason died; some that he couldn't tell from reality, crumbling only when Dick reached out to touch his little brother. “Please.” A little bit of his desperation floods into his tone.
Damian sniffs. “Do not beg, Richard; It is unbecoming. You may have five seconds.”
Dick reaches out, and while five seconds isn't nearly enough to put his heart rate back to normal, it is enough to start on the path. Damian doesn't touch him back other than to push his shoulders back, but that's fine, because he is here and he is alive. He's fine.
He's fine.
Cass and Stephanie visit the Manor for the weekend, their time away spanning a month and a half. The first thing Cass does when he first opens the door is jump on him, burying her face in his shoulder as she wraps her arms around his neck. Steph flings herself at him not long after, and he grins, taking them both into his arms and lifting them up, shrieking.
They let him carry them inside. Then, even after they've run around to say hi to everyone, even after the day draws to a close and night falls, even when they have the entire rest of the family that they dragged into the den, they curl up next to him on the couch, they fall asleep on him after the second movie, they let him carry them up to their rooms. And Dick loves when they come to the Manor, because they're his little sisters and they not only let him give affection freely but they also give it themselves and he feels really, really bad for wishing they would stay over more.
Wally finds him curled in the corner of his room, head bowed on his knees and his phone flashing the End Call screen into his limp fingers. He makes a distressed sound, like the tears running down Dick's face are hurting him, too, and he pulls the phone out of Dick's hand and sets it on the ground.
“What's up, Rob?” Wally says, softer than Dick's used to. He's using that voice more often. Having Dick call him like this more often.
Dick shakes his head, and uncurls just enough to hold his arms out, hoping desperately he won't be refused. Wally obliges easily, of course, pulling him close to his chest without hesitation or complaint. And Dick knows full well that Wally likes hugs, that he likes being touched, so he doesn't feel guilty as he presses himself as much as physically possible against his friend, pushing his face into Wally's shoulder.
“Why do you let it get this bad?” Wally whispers into his hair.
Dick snorts darkly. “Let what get- get this bad? Me being a little bitch?”
“No.” Wally says firmly. “I mean, you have a bad night, and then you hide it until you can't anymore. And then you don't even tell your family about it, man.”
Dick has to wait for his breath to stop hitching to be able to scoff. “This is my problem to deal with, not theirs.”
“But this helps, doesn't it? Someone holding you? Talking?”
“…Yes. But I have you for it.”
“And what do you do when I'm not available?”
“Suck it up.” Dick scowls.
Wally scoffs, flicking him on the head. He seems to let it go, though, because he guides Dick to his feet. “I think I set off the Bat's security.” He says softly, remaining unprotesting as Dick yanks him onto his bed.
“He can kiss my ass.” Dick mutters, tucking his head under Wally's chin again.
Wally laughs, shifting into a more comfortable position. He wraps his arms around Dick's back once more, hugging him close. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Later.” Dick says firmly. Wally only hums, tapping out an erratic rhythm along the length of his spine. Even with the headache from the crying, and the thoughts that started it all still swirling around his head, he feels safe and content in Wally's arms, so it doesn't take very long for him to fall asleep.
There have been three times that his brothers have all been in the same room with him, all contacting him in some way.
They've all been times when he's almost died; that's not why he remembers them, though. He’s almost died plenty of times. Having all of his brothers, in one room, willingly touching him? That's what he remembers.
The first time, he’d been kidnapped by a cult. It was a weird experience. They'd brought him down with a gas that knocked him out – effectively impossible to avoid. They'd kept him in a dark room for three days, the black emptiness only interrupted twice for enough water to keep him alive. Then, they'd dragged him out, stripped him of his suit, strung him up, and beat him with this strange tool until he was barely conscious. Heavy injury and starvation do not go well together, especially with the five hours between that and the actual sacrificial ceremony where none of his wounds were treated. His body wasn't reacting well with the gas either, so all in all, he did not have a good time. His family saved him, of course. But he woke up with Jason on one side, Tim on the other, and Damian pressing a scowl into his stomach, arms wrapped lightly but protectively around his waist. He'd gotten the whole night like that.
The second time was a plain old attempted murder. No dramatics, no ceremony, no drawn-out elaborate way to make him dead, just plain old shoving him under water until he stopped moving. He hadn't really been expecting to survive that, his vision blacking out before Bruce must've found him. But when he woke up again, it was to Tim and Jason arguing about something stupid; Jason leaning on his leg, Tim sprawled out on the bed next to him laying on both his arm and his remaining leg, and Damian clutching his hand as he snaps for them to shut up. He'd only gotten them to stay for two hours that time, and only by convincing them to watch a movie with him.
The third time was, of course, the present. He was honestly surprised his brothers were even in a room together; he was certain Jason was mad at him again for something, and he knew for certain that Tim and Damian had been at each other's throats at breakfast. Again.
He's grateful they're here, of course. They're all asleep; He leans back against his pillow, content to revel in this peace for however long it lasts and he has to wait for the next time their fear overbears their touch distastes.
He racks up an hour before someone stirs. Damian sits up, blinking at him. “Oh. You're awake.” He says, his face setting into a scowl.
This does, in turn, wake both Tim and Jason, and then each are at the foot of his bed and telling him off for scaring them. Fifteen minutes before Bruce comes to check on them and cuts off the lecture, sending Dick's brothers out of the room so he can change Dick's bandages.
“Love you.” Dick calls softly as they file out.
Tim slams the door behind him.
Dick sits alone in his room that night, skin itching more than usual. He feels more frustrated than usual; the hole in his shoulder hurts like a bitch, and he can't take painkillers until they're sure the drug is out of his system, and he can't sleep even though it's three in the morning at this point and he's fucking exhausted. And he really, really, really wants a hug. And Wally's not answering his phone.
He feels shitty enough to drag himself out of his room and down the hall.
The first door he reaches is Jason's, cracked open. He knocks softly, pushing the door open a little.
When Jason sits up in bed to look at him, he still hesitates before asking, “Can- can I lay with you?”
Jason takes a minute to process before snorting. “You sound like you're five, Dick. No, this is my bed. Go use your own. Or did you have a nightmare, little Dickie?”
“I-" Dick frowns, looking away. “My shoulder hurts. I can't sleep.”
Jason scoffs. “Nuh-uh, no way are you guilting me into letting you squeeze me to death. Go talk to Bruce, he's your father. I'm sleeping.”
Dick shakes his head, returning the door to where it was. He hasn't gone to Bruce when he couldn't sleep since he moved to Blüdhaven.
Tim or Damian would definitely react as Jason had. So, all other options exhausted, Dick heads down to the Cave and spends the rest of the time until sunrise at the gym.
He does, of course, irritate his wound, and accidentally tear one of the stitches, so morning finds him sitting on the kitchen counter, attempting to re-stitch his shoulder with shaking, bloodied fingers. It's not going very well, unfortunately.
That's also how Jason and Tim find him, of course. Tim stumbles in first, staring blankly, so quiet that Dick doesn't even notice him until Jason loudly exclaims, “What the fuck, Dick?”
Dick glances up, needle slipping underneath his thumb once more. He makes a noise of frustration, pausing to wipe his fingers on the already red-stained washcloth next to him.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jason snaps, snatching the needle from his fingers.
“What's it look like, Jay?” Dick says, irritated.
Jason scoffs at him. “How the hell did you tear those?” He grabs the washcloth and swiftly douses it with water, then attacks the remaining stitches with it, pressing a little more harshly than required.
Dick hisses. “Watch it.” He snaps, gritting his teeth as his fingers dig into the countertop.
“What were you even doing?” Tim says, peering at the wound over Jason's shoulders.
“I was in the gym downstairs.” Dick grits.
Jason snorts, rolling his eyes. “Good job, Dickie, that's the fastest way to get everyone in this family pissed at you.” He deadpans.
“I couldn't sleep, would you rather I sit in my room and wallow?”
“You couldn't sleep the entire night?” Jason raises an eyebrow.
“You yelled at me for staying up all night the other day.” Tim reminds.
“I didn't come back up here for criticism,” Dick growls, shifting off the counter.
Jason shoves his shoulder. “You fucking move, and I shoot you.” He glares. “I'm redoing this stitch.”
Dick bares his teeth, but stays still. The needle goes into his skin, and while his nerves are shot after pulling a night without sleep, he just grinds his teeth through it. When Jason's done, he pushes him off.
“How did this happen?” Damian demands, striding into the kitchen. “Pennyworth will not be pleased regarding the counter.”
“Dick stayed up all night in the gym.” Tim states.
Damian levels a glower at Dick. “Richard! Must I get Father to tell you how unreasonable such actions are? You are meant to be resting.”
“I couldn't sleep.” Dick hisses out, glaring right back.
“So you deemed being an idiot a proper response?” Damian rolled his eyes.
Dick bites back some nasty words, and snarls at Jason when he tries to reach for the bandages. “Leave it. I can do it myself.”
“You're being an ass.” Jason growls.
Tim’s staring at his phone screen. “Dick.” He says slowly, “Why did Bart text me saying that Wally asked for us to check on you?”
Dick eyes him. “I texted Wally last night to ask him for a hug. He didn't respond, so he's probably busy.”
“You asked for a hug?” Jason says incredulously.
Damian scoffs. “Why did you ask that imbecile for affection?”
“Do not call him that, Damian. He's not an imbecile. He's the only one in this damn house who actually wants to hug me.” Dick spits hotly.
“We are right here, Richard.” Damian says, anger colouring his tone, fists tightening at his side.
“You really bring Wally in here every time you want a hug?” Tim asks. “That's a safety concern. You could've just asked one of us.”
Dick aggressively tears the roll of white bandages, wrapping the long strip around his shoulder, muscles shaking and barely holding the gauze against the wound long enough to get it under the bandage. “Beg, maybe. Plead. Bargain. Excuse me for not wanting to sell my soul to get a hug.”
Tim frowns. “That's dramatic.”
“Is it?” Dick retorts, tucking the end. “When's the last time you hugged me?”
“We were literally laying on you yesterday, Dickhead.” Jason scoffs.
“After I almost died.” Dick snaps. “Try before that.”
There's a bout of silence. Damian offers up, irritated, “I let you hug me two weeks ago.”
“And how many times did I have to ask?”
“Three.” Damian scowls. “I did not want a hug at the time.”
“You never do. I always have to beg, or bargain.”
“Because your hugs are suffocating,” Jason snaps.
“You're overwhelming.” Tim agrees.
Dick grits his teeth and rips off a chunk of tape to hold the bandages. “How do any of you know that? I get two hugs a year, maximum.”
“Hyperbolic.” Damian scoffs.
“That's not our fault.” Tim defends.
Dick turns his glare onto his brothers, looking them each in the eye. “Name me one time that you guys asked me for a hug. Name a single time that you have come to me and asked me for a hug. A time that you offered me a hug because I was having a hard time, or looked like I needed it, or just because.”
Dick's met with wide eyes and perfect silence. He grits his teeth and pushes off the counter, taking his discarded and bloody shirt with him. He shoves through his brothers to get to the door, snapping out, “I understand that none of you are physically affectionate. I get that you don't like touching. I know that it's totally acceptable for you to tell me no, and that I should take the no and move on. And I try. But between here and Blüdhaven, no one touches me, and I get fucking lonely a lot. It hurts when I have a shitty day and nobody offers any comfort and denies it when I ask.” They all seem to shrink a little, turning to watch as he stalks to the door. “So it's fine that you don't want to be touched. I'm never going to tell you that you're wrong for not wanting to hug me.”
He snarls, “But you don't get to criticize me for calling someone who does want to touch me when I’m hurting.” Then, he storms up to his room.
The end of the weekend sees Dick packing his bags to get back to Blüdhaven. Bruce helps him drag everything to the door; his father insisted on driving him, claiming he shouldn't drive with an injured shoulder. Dick had to fight to even be able to convince him to let him go back home.
Instead of just Alfred at the door to see him off, he and Bruce usually the only ones to wave at him from the porch, his brothers are gathered there as well. He finds this odd; usually he has to trek through the mansion to find them so he can say goodbye.
Dick sighs at the way his brothers watch him quietly, carefully. He turns to them before he leaves, and says, “I'm sorry for yelling at you guys the other day. I was tired and irritated, and I shouldn't have taken that out on you.”
“It's fine.” Tim says cautiously, watching him, unblinking.
“Yeah, we were kind of being assholes.” Jason shrugs, eyes narrowed like he's gauging Dick's reactions.
“You are forgiven.” Damian says, quieter than he usually is.
Dick offers a small smile. “I’ll see you guys next weekend, then.”
“Don’t tear those stitches.” Jason tells him, kindly leaving off the again in the presence of Alfred and Bruce.
“I won’t.” Dick says.
As he’s following Bruce down the driveway, he turns back to the house and yells, “Bye, love you!” As he waves.
Alfred waves back.
Jason, Tim, and Damian all answer with varying replies that essentially equate “love you too”.
That makes him narrow his eyes, but he gets in his car without comment.
It doesn’t start happening immediately after that. The weekend after, everything is relatively normal; his brothers are still kind of quiet around him, cautious, careful, but they don’t act any differently outside of that, and Dick does his best to ignore it.
The weekend after that, though, Damian takes his wrist while they’re downtown to drag him to the dog one of the other shoppers has on a leash.
Jason leans on his shoulder while talking to Bruce.
Tim asks him for help putting up his hair one day when it’s being difficult.
Touch becomes much more frequent. Dick’s surprised every time it happens, but he doesn’t find himself mad at it, even when Jason throws him like a doll and Tim pulls on his arm to get his attention and Damian jabs him in the side when he decides he’s said something stupid.
Physical affection, however, starts coming, and Dick can’t help but be suspicious.
Damian, thunking his head on Dick’s shoulder when he’s tired and letting it stay there.
Jason, sprawling out on Dick’s body when he’s sitting down and grinning when Dick can’t get him to move.
Tim, quietly asking for Dick to braid his hair and then sitting on Dick’s legs as he does it.
Jason, catching him around his stomach and not letting go until Dick hugs him back.
Damian, wrapping around his chest while he demands that Dick convince Bruce to let him keep a squirrel.
Tim, giving him a quick hug before he heads to bed.
Dick breaks after that last one. In the morning, when they’re all up at the same time – a miracle – and eating breakfast in the kitchen, he says quietly, “You guys don’t have to keep doing this. It’s- you don’t have to keep touching me if you don’t want to.”
Jason frowns at him. Tim shares a look with the former, and says, “We want to.”
Dick shakes his head. “I wasn’t trying to guilt trip you into giving me hugs. If you’re doing it because you feel bad, then stop. It’s not your problem to deal with.”
“I do nothing out of pity, Richard,” Damian sniffs, “It is useless. Of course we want to hug you. It is not out of any obligation.”
Dick looks at them for a second. “I don’t want it if it’s not real.” He says quietly.
“It’s real, God; Of course it’s real.” Jason says forcefully. “We love you, Dick. It’s our fault for not noticing you were hurting until you laid it out in front of us.”
“My parents were never really big on the physical affection,” Tim tells him softly, “And neither was I. So I didn’t really know what being touch-starved felt like. But I looked into it a while ago, and… I’m sorry, Dick. I didn’t know you were affected that badly.”
“I’m trying to be better about giving affection,” Jason says, “But I’m trying to be better about receiving it, too. You can ask me for hugs, Dick. Whenever you want. And I’ll try to remember to say yes.”
“But you don’t have to if you don’t want to, Jay.” Dick reiterates.
“If I don’t want to, then I won’t.” Jason shrugs. “But that’s not really the case most of the time. It’s… a habit, to tell you no.”
“You can ask me, too.” Tim tells him. “You’re still my brother, Dick, that hasn’t changed. I’m not as mad about Robin as I was before, okay? I shouldn’t have been a little bitch about hugging you to start with.”
Damian sniffs at the other two, then pulls out a knife and waves it threateningly in Dick’s direction. “You will ask for a hug whenever you require one, do you hear me, Richard? This is not optional. I will not tolerate West in this house any longer.”
It takes him a while to work up the balls to actually take them up on that, though.
It’s a long time later when Jason shoves into Dick’s room during the night and collapses on his bed. Dick shifts to make room for him, of course; after a few minutes of silence, he tentatively whispers, “Can I have a hug, Jay?”
Jason doesn’t even answer, just rolls over and shoves himself into Dick’s arms, promptly falling asleep.
When he goes to Damian after he has a bad night, the kid doesn’t let him go until well into the next morning, snapping at anyone who tried to separate him that this was a matter of healthcare and that he was required to not let go.
Tim, he’s especially worried about asking, because during that awful time when Bruce was presumed dead, he’d messed up their relationship a whole hell of a lot more and his little brother was still touchier now than he’d been before. But when he tentatively asks Tim for a hug one night after a particularly rough patrol, he just nods and indulges.
This starts to affect Bruce, even. When Bruce comes home from WE one day and the first thing he does is hug Dick from behind, his immediate thought is that someone is dead.
“No,” Bruce assures him, “No one’s dead. But I did have a talk with the other boys last night. They told me that you’ve felt like you’ve had to beg for contact in the past. You were always a tactile person; I never realized how little touch you were actually receiving.”
He pulls back, turns Dick around, and holds him by the shoulders, meeting his eyes. “You can always ask me for a hug, Dick.”
Dick lowers his eyes. “You used to tell me to ask when you weren’t busy.” He says. “But you were always busy. So… I quit asking.”
Bruce pulls him into another hug, and god has Dick missed this. He practically melts into his father’s arms. “I’m sorry I never noticed, Dick. You can always ask. I’ll try to be better about giving, as well.”
His head is in Bruce’s lap. Damian is leaning against his side, head tipped back onto his chest. Tim’s head is pillowed on his stomach. Jason is half-splayed on Dick’s right side, barely out of hitting distance of Damian. Steph is slumped against Bruce’s side, arm hooked under his, fingers curled around his shirt. Cass is tucked between Steph and him, face pressed into his chest and legs strewn over Tim’s body.
It’s a normal night. They’ve finished a movie marathon. Nothing’s wrong with any of them, not even in the slightest.
And Dick?
Dick is happy.