Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dick stirred from his sleep, his head lifting from where it had rested on his fist. He was slouched in one of the spare desk chairs that usually crowded around the Bat-computer in the cave. He was still wearing his Nightwing suit, which told Bruce he did not plan to spend the night at the manor. Bruce turned slightly, wondering if his typing had disturbed him, but a moment later he heard the telltale roar of Red Robin’s bike as he pulled into the cave. Bruce blinked, surprised that Dick had sensed his arrival before he himself had, especially in his sleep.

“Shit, sorry,” Dick mumbled, shaking his hand in a way that told Bruce it was asleep. He straightened in his chair and scooted closer to the Batcomputer to look at the case he and Bruce had been working on for the past few hours. Both ignored the casual footsteps leading to the showers, along with some grumbling about swears and Gotham filth.

Bruce grunted, “I can finish up.” He kept his gaze on the screen. It was an out, one they both knew Dick wouldn’t take.

Dick rubbed his eye with a fist, shaking his head slightly, “It’s fine. What I miss?”

Bruce turned slightly to take a closer look at his son; his eyes were red and a little dazed, and the ever-present bags under his eyes were more defined than ever. “Have you been sleeping alright?” Bruce says softly, tilting his head, as if doubting his right to ask the question.

Dick opens his mouth to answer, but it snapped shut a second later. Bruce’s eyebrow quirked up, but he followed Dick’s glance over his shoulder to see Timothy striding over to them. He was brushing through his long, wet locks with his fingers, and dressed in casual clothes, having changed out of the Red Robin uniform.

“Hey, B.” Tim greets, coming up on Bruce’s other side that wasn’t occupied by Dick. The younger placed a hand on the back of Bruce’s chair casually, using it to lean over the seated man to look at the screen. It was a small thing, the way Tim casually ignored Dick’s presence and didn’t even acknowledge him. So small Bruce almost didn’t see it, but he was close enough to notice the way Dick tensed ever so slightly when Tim joined them. That gets his attention. Usually, any of Dick’s siblings helped him relax.

Bruce grunted a greeting at the same time Dick says, “Hey, Tim.” Bruce had to stop himself from snapping his head to Dick due to how quietly the boy spoke. Sounding like he was 8 years old again and still stumbling over his English. He’d never sounded so small when speaking to his family.

Bruce managed to stuff the reaction down; the interaction- or lack thereof- was off-putting enough, and Bruce was suddenly racking his brain to remember if he’d seen Tim and Dick interact at all recently. Bruce was able to recall plenty of petty arguments and brotherly spats between Tim and Jason over the last month and a half, some even involving Damian.

The three had gotten remarkably close during Dick’s time… away. Jason, having stepped up to the role of Big Brother with sheer determination and grit, kept them all interacting. It wasn’t easy, and Bruce recalled several off-handed comments from Jason about how much effort it took to keep the family together. But there had never been any doubt that he had been doing it, not only for his siblings (especially Damian), but also for their lost brother. It had been his way of keeping Dick’s memory alive. Knowing the elder would have haunted them all if they’d let their family fall apart in his absence.

And even after Dick had returned, Bruce was able to recall his second-oldest coming around the manor, continuing the kid’s weekly movie nights and Friday family dinners. But now that Bruce thought about it, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Dick out of costume, let alone for something that did not involve their nightly activities. 

He hadn’t been inside the manor, hadn’t been at Friday family dinners, hadn’t been around at all. It was odd, and Bruce’s gut churned at the realization. It was not like Dick to not be involved with his family, considering he was normally the glue that kept them all together.

Bruce was pulled from his thoughts as Tim finally straightened from reading the case on the screen quickly, “Oh! I have some stuff that might help with this!” He bounced on the balls of his feet, an excitement-induced motion he never quite grew out of. Tim pulled his laptop out from somewhere on his person and placed it on the desk.

Soon enough, Bruce and Tim were chatting away about the case, ideas and theories bouncing between them easily. Tim’s information proved to be indeed helpful. Bruce turned to ask Dick his thoughts on the new insight- only for the acrobat to be nowhere in sight.

Bruce swiveled in his chair a bit, looking for his son. Then, he noticed the sticky note on his coffee cup that had long since gone cold. ‘Seems like you and Timmy have it covered :) Call me if you need anything!’

Bruce turned more to see that Nightwing’s bike was gone. His brows pinched in confusion; Dick would have had to roll his bike quite a ways down the cave entrance before starting it to avoid alerting them to his departure, as if he was doing his best not to be seen.

Later that night, when Bruce lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he would have that sinking feeling in his gut return in full force. It was an anxious feeling. Similar to the one he got when he knew he was missing something on a case. An essential piece of the puzzle that connected everything else. It made him twitch and turn in bed, unable to quiet his overactive brain to sleep. 

Bruce pulled up a mental bulletin board, like he often did with tough cases. He listed the odd interactions Jason and Tim had with Dick since his return that he could recall. Snappy remarks on patrol, refusing to pair off with him, even flat-out ignoring him entirely. Once he started thinking about it, he could recall the sharp tone Barbra had also been using with his oldest through the coms. Had Stephanie and Cassandra been acting strange, too? Damian?

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. He was certain Damian had not been acting any differently towards Dick. His youngest even insisted on patrolling with Nightwing in Bludhaven at least twice a week.

Bruce sat up. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be Damian. Not only because of his sheer tenacity for keeping himself in the loop, but also because he spent the most time with Dick out of any of them.

Bruce slipped his bare feet in the slippers by his bed and moved down the hall to his youngest’s room. He opened the door with practiced ease. Damian used to wake up before Bruce could even lay a hand on the door, his League training preventing him from letting someone get the drop on him. It reminded him of how Dick had awoken to Tim’s presence in the cave earlier.

But as Damian had grown to trust Bruce, he stopped waking. The thought squeezed Bruce’s heart, looking at how far his boy had come since he was first dropped on their doorstep. He had to place a lot of the credit for the improvement on Dick’s shoulders. His oldest had stepped up to bear the brunt of responsibility while Bruce was stuck in time. Had he ever told Dick how impressed he’d been? Taking on the cowl, working with the League, maintaining Nightwing, managing Wayne Enterprises, keeping the family afloat, and so much more. All responsibilities that never should have fallen to him.

The tender feeling quickly fell through his body and then through the floor when he opened Damian's bedroom door to find the room empty. Bruce tensed immediately. The covers were pulled tight and undisturbed as if no one had occupied them for some time. Bruce’s heart skipped a beat as he noticed the absence of Titus and Alfred the Cat. Their usual lounging spots were empty- as well as their leashes and collars gone.

Bruce turned on his heels and quickly moved back to his room- pushing down the panic that rose from not knowing where one of his kids was-

He snatched his personal phone off the nightstand and quickly went to the tracking app he’d been able to get Tim to install on all their phones- except Jason’s, who had chucked the bugged phone in a river immediately. He collapsed on the bed when Damian’s icon (a picture of him scowling at the camera) showed him alongside Dick’s own icon (a picture of him holding the Gotham Academy mathletes trophy from their state competition) at the apartment in Bludhaven.

He tapped on Damian’s. Dialing the FaceTime feature. He needed eyes on his son. It rang twice before the tip of Dick’s head appeared on the screen. “Hey, B.” He whispered, obviously moving across the apartment in a hushed manner. 

Once he was in the kitchen, Dick spoke up. “Dami’s asleep. Do you need me to wake him up?” Dick held the phone out more, showing the top half of his body as he sat at a small table.

“I- No,” Bruce shook his head, suddenly unsure why he had even called. If Damian had been at Dick’s, then that meant he was fine, so why call him at… Bruce glanced at the clock on his bedside. 4:28 am. On a school night. “I-“ he started, but was suddenly focused on his oldest once more.

Has Dick lost weight? Bruce was sure he recognized the Superman tee he was wearing, but recalled it being almost too small on Dick. A relic he refused to give away, even after he outgrew it. But now it seemed to hang loosely on his body.

He squinted at the screen. Yes, Dick’s cheeks looked hollow, and his skin pale. But before Bruce could voice his thoughts, Dick’s gaze softened. “Nightmare?” When Bruce didn’t respond, Dick stood once more, moving back through the apartment, and Bruce was stuck looking at the ceiling.

There was the sound of a door opening softly. Then Dick turned the camera around. Damian was curled into a loose ball in the bed- his bed. Bruce realized with a start that this was Damian’s room. The walls were painted a dark grey, and there were posters, even artworks, on the walls. A desk sat in the corner with supplies and a cat tree by the window, with Alfred the Cat curled on top of it. Basically, in the same position as his human counterpart on the bed. The camera zoomed closer to the bed. The sheets were a deep blue- almost Nightwing blue- and tucked under one of Damian’s arms was Titus, who snored softly against the boy.

Bruce felt himself physically relax, his shoulders coming down from where they’d risen to his ears, and his jaw unclenching. Now that his missing family members were all accounted for. He sighed, loud enough for the phone to pick up the sound. Damian’s face twitched, but he did not wake. Dick chuckled and moved forward, tugging the blanket up to the boy’s chin and tucking it in.

Bruce watched through the phone as Dick grabbed something from Damian’s overnight bag and headed back to the living room. He propped the phone up and pulled out a mini ironing board from by the TV.

As he set it up, Bruce could almost see his son’s eyes glazing over. A certain dullness to them and to the rest of the movement that sent alarm bells off in Bruce’s head. He cleared his throat, making Dick’s head snap up, alertness returning to his form. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, didn’t make his entire face light up like it normally did. It was such a poor imitation of his son’s usual bright smile, and Bruce had half a mind to ask him identifying information questions.

However, he was able to hold them back as Dick laid Damian’s school uniform on the ironing board and asked his father, “Was that helpful?”

Bruce hums affirmatively, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth with a sudden dryness. Dick looks down at his task, the movements easy and practiced. Bruce didn’t even know Dick knew how to iron clothes. “Good. He… grounds me too. On bad nights.”

Bruce wondered how many ‘bad nights’ Dick had been having and if tonight was one of them. But instead of asking, he changed the subject. “He is staying the night? On a school night?” It was supposed to be a question, but came off as a statement. A demand for information, rather than a request.

Dick, who had been in the middle of flipping the shirt, paused. Glancing at the phone, then back to his task, his brows pinched in confusion, and his hand gripping the iron tighter. “Uh. Yeah?” It was supposed to be a statement, but came out as a question. “Every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.”

Bruce sucked on the front of his teeth. Was this something he was supposed to know? Some other piece of information he’d forgotten during his spout of amnesia? No. Dick’s apartment was new, since he had to get a new one after he came back from Spyral. Meaning Damian having his own room was new, and the schedule was new. Dick shifted on his feet at Bruce’s silence. “I mean- that’s just-“ he took a deep breath. Closing his eyes briefly. “He likes for me to take him to school on Mondays. I pick him up on Friday and drop him off on Monday. I- I thought you knew? Alfred brings his bags when we have lunch on Friday.”

Bruce looked away from the screen and towards the hall where Alfred would be sleeping at the end. How much of Damian’s life had he not been paying attention to? How had he not noticed one of his kids, a dog, and a cat missing every weekend?

Bruce pushed the thought away and focused on something else. “Why are you up?”

Dick’s jaw snapped shut from his ramble, glancing at a clock somewhere in the room. He was on Damian’s pants now. He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Did you try?” The words tumble out of Bruce’s mouth before he can really think about it. Maybe it’s the sleeplessness, maybe it’s not knowing about his son’s life, but they come out. A common question Bruce asked a much younger Dick Grayson during sleepless nights when he’d nervously shuffle at Bruce’s door, waiting for permission to join him on the ridiculously sized bed.

Predictably, Dick bristles at the question. Bruce watches in real time as Dick’s face hardens and he sucks on his front teeth, readying the snappy comeback-

Except it doesn’t come. Dick takes a deep breath, and the anger rolls off his shoulders. He turns off the iron, having completed the task. “I have. But I should try again.” He smiles easily but keeps his gaze down, picking up the phone.

Bruce is trying to get his thoughts in order, thrown off kilter by the response. Too many unasked questions worming their way up his throat- Why are you never home? Why haven’t I noticed? Are you alright? But Dick is waving goodbye, and he didn’t wait for a response before ending the call.

Bruce is left sitting on his bed. The pit of anxiety only growing in response to the call. He kicked off his slippers and lay back down. He needed to talk to Dick. Really talk to him.

. .

Dick jerked up as his head lolled to the side from its awkward position. He was seated on the floor, his back pressed up against Damian’s bed. His head rested back on the mattress, close enough to hear Damian’s deep, even breaths. He withheld a groan as he lifted his head, wincing at the tightness in his neck. He glanced at the alarm clock. 6:27 am. He sighed, about two hours' worth of sleep.

Dick pushed himself to his feet. He needed to get breakfast going and pack Damian’s lunch. Since the Gotham Academy food was “deplorable,” as Damian described it. Which usually just meant it was not vegetarian or as good as Alfred’s cooking.

Dick used Damian’s phone to snooze the kid’s first alarm at 6:30, giving him 10 more minutes of uninterrupted sleep. As he stood, bones creaking and cracking, Titus lifted his head and twisted his head at Dick.

Dick smiled and patted his head, leaving the room as quietly as possible. He rubbed his eyes, ducking into his room to change out of his sleep shorts and into some grey sweatpants. He moved to the kitchen, turning on the stove as he pulled out a pan and some eggs.

He set to work fixing up an omelet with cheese, mushrooms, and peppers. Around 6:45, he heard movement from down the hall and then the sound of his own shower running. Dick smiled, seeing Damian act comfortable enough to move about his apartment freely, which always warmed the acrobat's heart.

Damian came out shortly after, just as Dick was plating the omelette. “Mornin’, squirt.” Dick placed the meal on the table, filling a glass of Cranberry juice and placing that as well.

Damian scowled at him, but eagerly dug into the breakfast. Dick retrieved the animal's breakfast from the fridge, because “fresh food is more nutritious and evokes hunting instincts, Richard.”

As Damian and the pets ate, Dick finished the lunch: chow mein noodles in a thermos, with strawberries, salt, and vinegar chips, and a pack of Alfred’s cookies. Then sat at the table with a cup of coffee.

Damian eyed him as he sat, no doubt taking in the deep, purple bags under his eyes and the stiff way Dick was holding his neck. Dick pretended not to notice the look as he drank. The coffee was iced, with creamer, sugar, and whipped cream on top. A combination that would make Bruce cringe.

Damian was nearly there as he scrunched his nose at the concoction. “Richard, must you destroy your body with such drink?”

Dick couldn’t help but chuckle. He shrugged, “We can’t all be boring like…” suddenly he surged forward across the table, armed with a dollop of whipped cream on his finger. He managed to wipe it on Damian’s nose before the kid had any time to react. “Bruce.” He finished with a cackle.

Damian shrieked, dropping his utensils to wipe off the fluffy sugar. The cry of surprise was enough to get Titus’ attention. The dog leaped onto Damian’s lap, licking off the familiar substance from the boy’s face.

Dick nearly fell out of his chair laughing. He clutched his stomach as he struggled to breathe. Damian shouted again, “Titus! Down!” As he pushed the dog away.

Titus obeyed, returning to his breakfast in his bowl, as Damian moved to wash his face at the kitchen sink. He huffed, shooting Dick a look that would have made the biggest crime lords in Gotham whither. But luckily, Dick was immune to the look.

As Dick caught his breath, Damian finished eating, grumbling something about ‘what they taught him at the circus’. Dick finished his coffee, feeling a little less dead on his feet, and cleaned up from breakfast while Damian finished getting ready. Dick looked the boy over, pleased with his ironing job. Alfred would be proud.

The ride to Gotham Academy was short, Titus enjoyed a window rolled down, and Alfred sat peacefully on Damian’s lap in the back. Once at the school, Dick parked in a visitor spot and walked Damian to the doors. Dick waved to the librarian shuffling kids inside, she smiled back, the routine normal by this point.

Damian sighed heavily, turning to Dick, who knelt to be at eye level with him. Dick expected the usual: ‘do attempt not to perish until our plans for this weekend’. So to say he was surprised when Damian threw his arms around Dick’s neck was an understatement.

For a half second, Dick was frozen, then he was gripping back tightly. He turned his face into Damian’s neck, breathing in his own shampoo on the boy. Dick wrapped one arm around the backpack, and the other cradled the back of Damian’s head.

Damian was the first to pull away, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I would like to attend a family dinner this Friday at the manor.”

Dick leaned back on his knee; he could feel the damp earth soaking the material. And oh. Damian hugged him to soften the blow of wanting to spend less time with Dick. Dick blinked at the heat rising behind his eyes, “Of course, bud, we can-“

“I would also like for you to attend.” The words came out rushed, and Dick could see how Damian was fighting the urge to bite his lip.

Dick winced at the thought, “Um, I’m not sure that’s a good-“ he pictured Tim and Jason ignoring him the entire time, talking over him like he wasn’t there. The thought made his hands twitch.

“Will you think about it?” Damian practically whispered. Dick’s attention snapped back to him, hating how small his brother sounded.

“Yeah.” He croaked out, he cleared his throat. “Yeah, Dami. I will.” Because he could think about it. He could do that.

Damian huffed, pleased, and turned to head inside. Dick gave a final ' bye, kiddo’ before he stood. His arms crackling with residual warmth from the hug.

He turned to head back to the car, his smile dropping as the warmth evaporated from his skin.

“Dick.”

. . 

Bruce watched as Dick knelt to say goodbye to Damian. He leaned against the car door, his hands in his pockets. He leaned forward suddenly when Damian threw his arms around Dick’s neck. Bruce felt the hot splash of jealousy in his chest; his mouth parted slightly. Was this normal for them? Had Dick somehow unlocked the ‘weak, childish’ part of Damian that needed physical affection?

No, Bruce studied Dick’s body language. He was ridged with surprise for a moment before enveloping the younger boy. Bruce felt like he should turn away from the private moment, but found that he could not.

After a few more exchanges, Damian headed inside, and Dick turned to head to his car, a soft smile on his face.

Bruce moved forward, timing his steps to reach Dick before he made it to his car. “Dick!” He yelled just enough to get the boy’s attention.

Dick’s head snapped up, his arms dropping to his sides. “Bruce.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to the side to silently say, ‘Why are you here?’

Bruce found that he hadn’t planned on what to say to his oldest. “I was- do you want coffee?” He winced at his own awkwardness.

Dick raised an eyebrow at him. “Sorry, I had some this morning. Plus gotta get the cridders home.” He jerked his thumb towards the two pets in his car, a window cracked, of course.

Bruce felt the urge to fidget under his son’s gaze, but Alfred taught him better than that. “Right. How about lunch? At the office?”

Dick continues his walk to the car. “What is this about, Bruce? If you need something you don't have to-”

“I don’t need anything. I just wanted to talk.” That makes Dick halt, looking back over his shoulder at Bruce. The older man, having seen the look, sighed. “I know it’s not something we… do. But We havn’t really talked since you came back, and you haven’t been around-”

Dick turned to face him fully again. “I know not to go places I’m not wanted. I’ll see you on Friday, and we can talk then if you still need to.” 

The response was surprisingly stern. Bruce paused; he wanted to just ask Dick his questions in the parking lot, but also knew that Dick would take it as an insult and might even worry he was compromised. “Sounds good, 6 pm sharp.”

Dick simply gave him a two-finger salute from behind and headed for his car. He paused with his hand on the door handle. “Actually, are you going back to the manor?” Bruce nodded, surprised to find a duffel bag, two leashes, and a backpack being shoved into his hands. “Great! Saves me a trip.”

. . 

That Friday, Dic found himself uncharacteristically nervous as he parked his bike in the cave, headed up the steps in a hurry, and pressed down his shirt. He was running a little late (stupid rush hour traffic). He normally didn’t work past 12 on Fridays to make sure he had time to get lunch with Alfred and pick up Damian, but he decided to pick up an extra shift since he was taking Damian back after dinner anyway.

Dick had an explanation on his lips as he hurried down the hall to the dining room, but he stopped at the sound of tense voices.

“-probably isn’t coming anyway,” Jason mumbled. Dick could see the glow of his face on his phone. The table was set, but there were no sounds of cutlery; had they waited on him to eat?

Dick shifted his gaze to the back of Tim’s head as he grumbled, “Might’ve gone on another secret mission.”

Dick winced, taking a step back in the hall. This was a bad idea- he knew he shouldn't have agreed to this- what was the point-

A soft hand was placed on his shoulder, making Dick jump and grab the person’s wrist- before he could reach to flip the person over him, he froze. Realizing he recognized the small, wrinkled hand. “Shit, sorry, Alfred.” He dropped the hand, turning around to face the older man, lowering his gaze after having just attacked the man.

Alfred’s eyes were a little wide, but he still smiled brightly at him. “That’s quite all right, dear boy. My apologies for sneaking up on you.” He paused, noticing Dick’s rapid retreat that had begun down the hall. “You, by chance, were not attempting to escape the dinner, were you?”

Dick’s eyes met soft grey. He sighed, his shoulders dropping. “I-”

“Of course you were not. Because this is your home and you shall have a meal with your family.” He, carefully and completely in Dick’s line of sight, grabbed the younger man’s elbow and steered him back towards the table.

When he entered the room fully, he noticed Bruce in his usual spot at the end of the table, then on one side, Cass, Duke, and Jason. On the other side, with their backs to Dick were Tim, Steph, and Damian. There was an empty seat between Steph and Damian. Alfred steered him towards it.

Dick smiled, waving sheepishly and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I’m late! You didn’t have to wait on me.”

He ignored Jason’s “Didn’t wanna” and took his seat. Everyone dug into the prepared food, and he ruffled Damian’s hair in greeting, earning a hand swat in retaliation. The main dish was lasagna with bread, salad, and soup to go with it.

Chatter sprang up around the table, allowing Dick to turn to Damian. “How was school?” 

To which Damian simply rolled his eyes. “They are all dimwits, Richard, as you are aware.” Dick chuckled at his brother’s usual abrasion of the school system.

“And Art Club?” He prompted, knowing the kid stayed after on Fridays for the extracurricular. To his surprise, Damian’s face blushed bright red, his eyes darting to Bruce down the table.

Dick spared a glance at the man, who was staring at the two intently. Dick winced, mentally apologizing to the kid for exposing his secret. “Art Club?” Bruce spoke up, placing his utensils down to give Damian his full attention.

Damian sank lower in his chair as all eyes fell on him. On anyone else, the move would make them seem small, but for Damian, it simply made him seem like a tiger ready to pounce. Dick cut into his meal slowly, picking the layered dish apart and chewing on a small noodle thoroughly- waiting for the small piece to get stuck in his throat-

Dick took a grounding breath, forcing himself to listen to Damian grumpily explaining what the ‘Art Club’ entails. After the first bite of noodle went down without incident, he switched to the soup. He felt his shoulders drop as they released the tension they’d been holding. He ate the creamy broth slowly, wanting to make the bowl last the entire meal to avoid suspicion.

His stomach protested the limitation, wanting to dive into Alfred’s cooking. About halfway through his bowl, he forced himself to stop, the soup starting to feel sticky at the back of his throat. Anymore, and he may not be able to keep it down.

“That sounds great, Damian. I’m proud of you for joining the club.” Bruce practically beamed at his youngest, true pride on his face for Damian’s step towards a semi-normal childhood and social interaction. Dick clenched his spoon, his knuckles turning white to keep the food down against a sharp rise of jealousy. He schooled his breathing to remain even-

“Dick!” Stephanie nudged him from his right, making him turn his attention towards her. “You know the group you got me tickets for last year?”

Dick bit the inside of his cheek, tilting his head to remember. “Um, yeah, Rainbow Kitten Surprise, right?”

Steph nodded excitedly, “Yeah! Well, they’re going on tour again, and I was thinking we could go together this time! Especially since I didn’t go last year-”

Dick’s eyebrows pinched in confusion. “You didn’t go? But I thought you loved that group?”

Steph winced, “Oh, um, I guess I didn’t really feel up to it. I sold the tickets. I can give you the money-”

Dick placed his hand on her wrist to stop her gently, “Steph, I couldn’t care less about the money. Was there a reason you didn’t go? We could always find a different group-”

Steph opened her mouth to respond, but Tim cut her off, “She didn’t go because you were dead, dipshit!” He looked up from his plate to glare at Dick directly, making everyone fall silent at his outburst.

“Tim! Language!” Bruce objected. Turning from his conversation with the other side of the table.

Tim slammed his hands on the table, rising from his seat, “Oh, sorry. You weren’t ‘dead’, you were just lying to all of us.” He mocked, pretending the ‘language’ Bruce was protesting was the word ‘dead’ rather than ‘dipshit’. He threw his napkin on the table and pushed his chair out aggressively, nearly toppling it over, before he stormed down the hall, towards his room.

Dick turned back to the table, rubbing a hand down his pale face. His throat felt dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “Sorry,” He croaked out, “I-I should go-” He stood, placing his own napkin on the table next to his mostly-clean plate, ignoring how his hand trembled.

He resisted the urge to apologize again. He kept his eyes lowered, pushing his chair in even as Bruce was already rising from his seat, mouth open to say something-

He turned to leave, but Damian grabbed his wrist, having risen out of his own seat as well- “But, Richard-” There was a level of hurt in his voice that didn’t go unnoticed by Dick, making a pool of guilt form in his chest. But- he had to get out of this room- this house-

Dick felt his breathing pick up at the contact from Damian, and he dug his nails into his palms in order to not snap Damian’s wrist. He was glad he’d seen the hold coming, or else he might have reacted much worse. His gut churned at the thought, “I-I’m sorry, Dames. I’ll pick you up in the morning.” He tried to make his voice level, gently pulling his hand free. 

He spared a glance at the people around the table- confusion, hurt, and bright green anger flashed at him. He fled towards the cave, not even hearing Bruce’s call after him.

Getting into the cave and marching towards his ride was a blur of quick breaths and shaking hands. ‘Calm down, Grayson,’ he scolded himself, but it did nothing to make the world stop tilting. He almost dropped the helmet- his breath coming in sharp, quick gasps-

His cheeks tingled as his stomach leached- he scanned around the cave, hoping to find- but it was too late, the bile and stomach acid and soup already making their encore on the cave floor.

‘Liar! Failure! Disappointment! Traitor!’

Dick wrapped his arms around his stomach as his own negative thoughts caused his stomach to lurch again- he was doubled over, just a few meters from his bike- his eyes watered as his body tried to expel contents he didn’t have, in turn just making his throat burn-

“-boy!” Someone was coming towards him- they were going to kill him- there were fingers in his throat- shoving- forcing- pills to kill- he didn’t want to die-

A hand landed on his shoulder- Dick grabbed the wrist- breaking the light hold easily and twisting-

“Oh!” Alfred’s cry of pain was enough to snap Dick out of the panic attack. He flailed backwards, stepping in his own mess, letting go of the wrist-

Alfred’s wrist. Alfred’s wrist that Dick had almost broken. Alfred’s wrist, which now had a red ring around it from where he had grabbed it. 

Alfred, who took a step back, his hands open in front of him, non-threatening.

Dick took another step back- his hand covering his mouth- “Alf-“ It was horse and ragged, but Alfred’s eyes softened. They looked at Dick with love-worry-regret-

Dick swallowed against the feeling of pills in his throat, looking down at the hand he’d used to hurt Alfred. “Alfred-“ he tried again, the noise sounding too wet this time, too fearful.

“It’s quite all right, Master Dick. My apologies for grabbing you.” Dick shook his head, trying to say it wasn’t his fault but the pills were in his throat and he’d just attacked his presudo-grandfather and the cave door was opening and he’d hurt Alfred and he didn’t know why he thought he could do this- attend a dinner he wasn’t wanted at- at a house he hated being in- eating food he knew he couldn’t-

“-and out, Son. Follow my-“

And now Alfred was trying to calm him down- the person who had just put a hand-sized bruise on him- who didn’t deserve the fact that he already knew Alfred had forgiven him-

“I’m sorry.” He choked out- taking another step backwards and ignoring the squelching sound his foot made-

“-should not be driving!” A new voice entered the fold.

“I’m sorry.” He said again, his back hitting the hard metal of his bike hard enough to almost tip it over. He caught it, never more grateful for the quick-start feature. Someone was asking- no pleading for him to stay. Dick heard the sound of more footsteps, more shouting. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, swinging his leg over the vehicle and taking off- the helmet falling off the back.

The cold Gotham wind stung enough to help ground Dick in reality, realizing he forgot his coat as he shivered. He looked up at the sky and watched the trees and clouds pass by as he sped down the twists and turns from the manor.

‘You were just lying to all of us!’

Dick gagged- the dinner- not the pills not the- was still stuck in his throat- he swiped at his face, scrambling to get the hand off his face- fingers going down his throat- the pills- they were in his throat- it was just lasagna and soup. Lasagna and soup he’d already left on the floor of the cave. But the pills were going to kill him and there was a hand over his mouth and fingers pushing the drug down his throat-

Dick grabbed his own face with a trembling hand- there were no foreign hands- no one was shoving anything down his throat-

He blinked- the bike sending a few sparks as he dropped it in the alley. He found the condemned ladder- he wanted to go up- needed the comfort and clarity that only came from heights. He wasn’t in costume and had no gear, but that had never stopped him before-

The rooftop was metal. A condemned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It had a great view of the city, but Dick was too busy looking up- up at the few stars peaking through the smog. His knees hit the concrete floor- tubes and wires scattered around him- the feeling of burning barbed wire-

Dick sat back, the cool metal bending a little beneath his weight. He placed his hands next to him, flat, grounding. He could feel evening dew moisture soaking into his pants, on his palms- Dick let out a gasping breath- the buildings around him sliding back into complete focus instead of concrete walls that only echoed his screams- he forced his brain to focus- he wasn’t in a bunker- wasn’t strapped to the bomb-

He was on the roof of an abandoned building. The noise of the city floated around him, and the familiar smell of Gotham burned inside his nose. He was on a roof in Gotham after ruining a family dinner. Dick tucked his head between his knees, keeping his breaths deep and even. He stared at the metal under him, tracing the rusted seams with his eyes. 

The height helped. Up high, there were no human bombs. Up high, there were no doomed missions. Up high, there was no family, either blissfully ignorant or taking out their anger (their grief) on him. There was a heat behind his eyes, but he knew the tears wouldn’t come. There were no more tears, not since a sortching sun dried them all up.

He whipped his hands on his pants before running a hand through his hair. He rested his forearms on raised knees, gripping the opposite elbows, and lay his head on top of the platform. He looked out over the Gotham skyline. A city with thousands of people. Thousands of people who were struggling to make ends meet, who lost a loved one, who were dealing with relationship issues, who were in an unsafe environment, and-

And Dick- Dick was having a panic attack over being called out on his bullshit and some fucking pasta. Unable to hold back a self-deprecating chuckle, Dick muttered, “Can’t even get a stupid meal right.”

. . 

Two hours later, Dick sat on the roof of a random Gotham building (a different random Gotham roof), checking that he was on the correct pinged rooftop from his phone for the tenth time. He kicked his legs, which dangled over the side, the eight-story drop not affecting the acrobat.

“If we’re going to talk, you are going to have to step a respectable three feet away from the ledge.” A deep voice came from behind Dick, who let a small smile spread across his face even before he turned to meet the man.

He effortlessly rolled backwards, tumbling and then walking backwards on his hands before flipping up to meet the man upright. “You take the fun out of everything, Tiger.” He teased, stepping into the man’s personal space with a smirk. He had to tilt his head down slightly to meet Tiger’s eyes.

Tiger rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. He was in the standard-issue Spyral stealth gear, black, black, and black. Besides his head covering, which was his usual desert sand yellow. “So I’ve been told, 37.”

Dick’s smile wavered at the number. He moved to lean against the roof access wall before sliding down to sit with a huff. After a moment, Tiger joined him, a look of concern passing along his features. He cataloged Dick’s hunched shoulders, the loose clothes, the bags under his eyes. All of which looked worse than the last time they’d seen each other, which had only been a few weeks ago. “You didn’t happen to bring any vodka, did you?” Dick asked, leaning his head against the rough brick surface.

Tony snorted, knowing neither of them would drink it even if he had, well, Tiger wouldn’t. “Technically, I’m working.” Tony sat cross-legged, easily resting his hands on his knees. 

“Shit- I can wait-” Dick started, looking at him with slightly wide eyes.

Tiger shot him a look. “Great thing about basically being the boss is that I decide if something is worth my time. I’ve decided that you are.” Realizing that came off a little too sincere, he added, “Idiot.”

Dick looked away, brows pinching with confusion that his complaining could be worth the man’s time. “I can hear you overthinking.” Tony flicked his temple, drawing an exaggerated ‘ow’ from the man. “Tell me.”

And Dick found himself doing just that. It’s hard, impossible even, to pretend there wasn’t a connection between the two men who fought to bring down and rebuild an international spy organization together, with very little help. A connection that brought with it a certain understanding. One that no one else could pretend to know or understand. He drew his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them protectively. “I missed over a year of their lives.” He began, knowing Tony would understand who he was talking about. “And yeah, it’s just a year, but it feels like I’m still missing out on so much. Damian’s taller, nearly Tim’s height now. Stephanie’s hair is a shade darker- Alfred looks just a little older- Jason is more mature-” He forced himself to take a breath to keep his voice from cracking.

“And it's tiny, little things that don’t matter, but I missed that. I missed those little changes happening. But I also wasn’t here for the big changes, too. Jason stepped up as an older brother, Duke found his place in the family, they brought Damian back to life-”

Tony side-eyed him. “Does no one stay dead in this family?” He asked, hoping to draw a chuckle or even just a smile from the man- but found he had no luck.

Dick stared at a spot on the ground in front of him intensely, as if trying to light it aflame, “No, and it’s- it’s so stupid. But I raised him, for like a year, ya know?” He didn’t give Tony a chance to answer the question. “When we thought Bruce was dead, everything fell to me; Wayne Enterprises, keeping the family together, Gotham, Batman, and- and him. And I failed at almost all of it, but him-” His voice cracked without his permission, making him scowl. “That was the one thing I thought I did pretty well with. Hell, he’s still here and didn’t run back to the Al Guls.” They both shared a shudder at the mention of the Demon Head family. “And it was hard- stupidly hard. But- he was worth it.” He paused, nursing his lower lip. A nervous tic Dick seldom allowed himself to do. “I was even gonna adopt him, officially, you know. Had papers and everything.”

Tony’s head snapped to him, not quite understanding the extent of the boy and Dick’s relationship until now. “You think of him as your own?”

Dick covered his eyes with one of his hands, willing the tears to stay at bay. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. After a moment, he continued. “Which isn’t fair to him. Bruce is alive, and I would never put him in a position where he feels the need to choose one of us.” He waved his hand, as if to dismiss something inconsequential. “So not being here when they brought him back is hard, but then again, nothing was as hard as holding him as he bled out in my arms.” Tiger stiffened, finding himself pressing a little closer to Dick. “I don’t think I’ve been able to breathe since having to scrub his blood off my hands.”

There was a pause. Tiger was sure there was more Dick needed to say, so he pressed on. “But you are back with him now.”

Dick laughed dryly, “Yeah. I am. Except I’m not? I’m back, but I feel like a vase that was shattered and put back together with half-ass effort and Elmer’s glue. After Damian died, everything happened so fast; the Crime Syndicate, the murder machine, Spyral… I think I’ve been in fight or flight mode for nearly two years.

“And now… I’m home. It’s over. I’m supposed to be able to breathe- to rest- but I-I can’t. I am fighting just to find my footing in the family again and-“ Dick cut himself off suddenly, his breath shuddering with a choked sob, but he refused to let any tears fall.

Tiger waited before hesitating to place a hand on Dick’s shoulder. He was not a physical person by any means, but he also knew that Dick was. And that Dick needed it in the moment.

The contact seemed to break Dick’s last defense. He let in a wet, gasping breath before he began openly crying, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes as large, pent-up tears finally fell. He swiped at his eyes in an attempt to stifle them. “And it’s not fair!” 

“They don’t- they don’t even know the full story. That I didn’t even want to go on the fucking mission. That I didn’t want to lie to them, but Bruce basically gave me no options. That I did it for them, to protect them. And the entire hero community, but mostly for them! And instead of- of listening to me, they just keep shutting me out! I fought with blood, sweat, and tears to get back to them. And- and it doesn’t even seem like they want me here.”

Dick sank fully against the wall, all the energy leaving him as the words left his lips. He slumped into Tony, leaning against his shoulder, and the older man tensed for a second before relaxing again at the contact.

There was a pause, and while it was heavy with emotion, Tony could practically feel some of the tension leaving Dick’s body as he was able to talk about his troubles openly and with someone who knew the full scope of what Dick’s mission had involved. “Well, I know a super secret spy organization that has a badge waiting for you.” He shrugged casually, “If you needed to get away.”

Dick snorted, looking up into hazel eyes. “Geez, I’m honored.” He paused, his lips quirking up. “Wait, what number would I get this time?”

Tiger pretended to think about it before replying, “Probably, 52.”

Dick gasped, and a hand landed over his heart in fake shock, “Lower?! After all we’ve been through together, Tony!” They both chuckled before settling into a more comfortable silence.

Dick wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but soon enough his eyes were drooping, and he was yawning every few minutes. Tiger knew Dick had the uncanny ability to sleep anywhere, anytime- at least he did in Spyral- unless he didn’t feel safe in a certain environment. Tony shifted to jostle Dick enough to wake him up. “You are not sleeping enough.”

Dick sighed, shrugging before stretching his arms and moving to stand. “I'd better head to my apartment. I’ll have to get up earlier to come back and pick up Damian.” He stood, holding out a hand to help Tony up, which the spy took.

Tiger did not let go of Dick's hands, but instead used the hold to bring him closer, peering into his dulled eyes. “You are still having trouble eating.” Dick flushed at the concern. He sighed, an excuse on the tip of his tongue, before Tony cut him off. “Come.”

Dick followed him wordlessly as they crossed effortlessly across rooftops and alleyways, back to his own bike. He rolled his eyes because, of course, Tony would know where he parked it. Tiger used the fire escape to scale down the apartment building. Once on the ground, he motioned for Dick to follow.

The acrobat smirked, negating the fire escape and instead proceeding to parkour between the two buildings before ending on the ground, rolling before popping to his feet right in front of Tiger, who sighed and rolled his eyes while holding out the spare helmet to Dick. 

Dick tilted his head as Tony adjusted some mirrors and tested the weight of the bike. He was hit with an odd sense of deju vu, one tainted with feelings of loneliness and desperation but also understanding and camaraderie. “Where are we going?” He asked, realizing how easily he could slip back into the role of partners with the spy before him. 

“You are not driving to Bludhaven when you are on the verge of collapsing, Idiot.” Tiger got on the bike, scooting back to make room for Dick in the front. “There is a safehouse not far from here.” Dick paused for a moment, while he knew Tiger wasn’t posing the plan as an option, he also knew that if he told Tony to ‘fuck off’, he would. He debated getting on the bike or not, but he was so tired. And not having to drive all the way back to Gotham in the morning to get Damian sounded amazing.

And there was a stupid, annoying part of himself that wondered if he would sleep better with the international spy there. A rest that felt peaceful and safe in a way that Dick hadn’t had in months. His running-on-empty bones practically screamed at him to get on the damn bike.

Dick shrugged, trying to go for a casual agreement before sliding into the seat. Tony reached around him, grabbing the bike handles. Dick tensed as the arms encased him, preparing to stop himself from lashing out, but found that it didn’t remind him of the machine- they were warm but not trapping- the positive contact almost immediately pushing Dick towards sleep.

The drive was incredibly short, no more than five minutes, but by the end, Dick was completely relying on Tony to hold him up on the bike, his head drooping to the side. The older man did not complain, well, besides muttering ‘like a fucking cat’ and simply shifted his weight to compensate.

Once inside the safe house, Dick felt the full weight of his exhaustion hit him like a truck. He swayed on his feet a little, kicking his shoes off at the door and placing them on the rack- ‘Just because we are spies, doesn’t mean we are uncivilized.’ He heard Tiger saying in a memory. 

He watched as Tiger set up the typical safety measures and checked the perimeter, realizing he was a little unsure of what he should be doing. Should he change? Was it still okay to use Spyral clothes? Should he help with the precautions? He shifted on his feet, still by the front door.

Tiger stopped tinkering with a camera and looked at him, his brow pinching in confusion. “You smell like Gotham smog, go shower and change, Idiot.”

Dick laughed, “Haven’t you heard? It’s all the rage now!” He said as he headed down the dimly lit hall towards the bedroom and bathroom.

By the time he stepped out of the shower and changed into some standard black sweats and a white t-shirt, the safehouse was filled with the smell of onions and garlic, along with other spices Dick didn’t have the energy to identify. His stomach growled automatically, and he found himself wandering into the kitchen.

Tony already had two steaming bowls of something sitting at the tiny table. “Sit. Eat. It is soup.” Dick sat obediently, reaching for the spoon on the table, his mouth watering. Tony tossed a baggie of dark brown flakes onto the table. “You will add this to your meals for increased nutrients. It is flavorless and dissolves.”

Dick looked at the bowl and then the baggie. “I- Is this cauliflower and onion soup?” Tiger nodded, picking up his own spoon. “You remembered? That I like it?” Dick asked quietly, thinking about a quiet evening, one far and few between during their time in Spyral together. Where they’d made some of their favorite dishes that their mothers used to make for them.

It was one of the few times Dick had felt like his head was above water during that year. And since then. He cleared his throat, taking a few sips. “You strained it?” Dick felt that odd wetness behind his eyes; he blinked. He would not cry over a bowl of fucking soup. “You didn’t have to do all this.” He looked down into the bowl. “I don’t know why I’m being so dramatic. I didn’t have these issues a few months ago.”

Tiger sighed, pointing his own spoon at Dick from across the table. “A few months ago, you were a double agent in the world’s deadliest spy organization. You were in survival mode. Fight or flight. You were not in a safe enough environment to deal with these issues, so your body had to suppress them, let them fester, until now.” He looked up at Dick intently, “We cope the best we can, when we can, how we can.”

After a moment, the two returned to their soups in silence. Dick was surprised when he finished the bowl. He took it to the sink. He hadn’t actually finished a meal in a long time. 

Dick washed his and then Tiger’s bowls. Setting them on the drying rack before he was being pushed towards the bedroom. “I can-” he yawned- “couch.”

Tony snorted behind him, deciding he wouldn’t even justify the thought with a response before moving into the bathroom to change. When he came back out, Dick was under the covers, struggling to stay awake. “Do not sleep on the couch, Tony.” Dick looked pointedly at the space next to him on the bed. If Dick weren’t an extremely well-trained spy and vigilante, Tony would have labeled the tone of voice as pouting.

Tony opened his mouth to respond, to object, but Dick cut him off with a glare, “Tony. We have been pressed together in vents, slept in closets together- I hardly think a queen-sized bed will be that different.” Tiger sighed, deciding this was not a battle he was going to win, nor was it worth his energy.

He moved towards the bed, raising an eyebrow at Dick’s position. The acrobat chuckled and scooted to the other side so that Tiger was closer to the door- their normal positions.

He watched as Dick relaxed and his eyes drooped easily. He rolled onto his stomach, practically hugging the pillow in his chest. Tony knew that by morning, he would be pushed to the edge of the bed as Dick spread out more and more throughout the night. He let himself smile softly.

. .

Dick’s hands trembled as he muttered, “Fuck.” The whisper sounded like a scream in the silent cave. A hand covered his mouth as he bit the inside of his cheek, his hand using the mouse to click through the open files again. Maybe he missed it. He had to have missed it.

He clenched the edge of the desk, trying to control the tremble in his hands. The light of the batcomputer illuminates his hunched form. He released the table and rubbed his temples, thinking about what Tony had said before they parted ways just a few days ago.

“Dick,” the name alone had been enough to make Dick look right at Tony. His hand was on the apartment door knob to leave. Tony continued, “When a Spyral agent goes undercover, how many know of their mission?”

“Three,” Dick answered immediately, turning away from the door to look at Tiger. “Their partner, their handler, and Agent Zero.”

Tony nodded, his gaze boring into Dick heavily. “Three. To protect not only the agent, but the mission as well. It is better to be prepared than-”

“-Caught unawares.” Dick finished, quoting a section of their training. “Why are we talking about this?”

Tiger sighed, but his heavy gaze did not stray from the man in front of him. “I have never known a Bat to be caught unaware.”

Dick breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, attempting to slow his breathing. He could feel the irritation creeping up his neck. Looked up at the screen again. There was nothing. No matter how many times he looked, it wouldn’t magically appear.

He looked further, cracked firewall after firewall, hacking back servers just to make sure he wasn’t missing it. But they did not have what he sought.

Dick backed up from the desk slowly, blinking, almost knocking the chair behind him over. He could feel his heart trying to beat out of his chest. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t there because it didn’t exist. It didn’t exist because there was never going to be a need for it.

Dick pulled at his shirt, the fabric feeling skin tight and suffocating. His ears rang and pulsed in time with his too-fast heartbeat. It wasn’t there. Of course it wasn’t, hadn’t he known that from the beginning? Isn’t that why he hadn’t gone looking till now? Unable or unwilling to face the reality laid out before him?

Dick jolted at the sound of someone entering the cave from the manor. He immediately recognized the rapid footsteps as Bruce’s. He didn’t turn to look at the man; his wet eyes bore into the screen as if it would change the answer before him. 

“Dick? Dick, it’s nearly four in the morning. What are you doing here?” A wave of white-hot rage crashed into Dick as he turned away from the screen to face Bruce, making his way across the cave towards him.

Bruce, who was in loose Gotham Knights pajama pants and a black long-sleeve shirt. Bruce, who had raised him. Bruce, who had been through so much alongside Dick. Bruce, who had just lost his youngest, only for his oldest to be killed right in front of him. Bruce, who had sent Dick undercover with no backup plan, no extraction plan, and no choice in the matter. 

“I couldn’t wait anymore,” Dick whispered, a little dazed. “I had to see. I needed an answer.”

Bruce was looking him over, checking for wounds and any indications of substances being used on his oldest. “What are you talking about?” He asked, cautiously. Dick saw him glance towards the keyboard behind him, probably considering leaping past Dick to lock down the cave.

To his own surprise, Dick chuckled, though it lacked amusement. “How many contingencies do you have in place for any given mission?” Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but Dick continued before he had the chance, “How many plans do you have just in case Superman turns against us?”

Bruce took another step towards Dick, his hands open in front of him as he kept his voice even. “I don’t know, Dick. What is this about?”

Dick matched Bruce’s movement by taking another step back to maintain the distance between them, his face twisting with rage and hurt. Dick’s voice is low, even as it trembles with obvious effort not to shout at Bruce. “Where’s my plan, Bruce? Where is the plan to bring me home?”

Bruce finally looked over at the computer screen, his eyes narrowing at the contents. He saw several open files from Dick’s Spyral mission, including the audio logs of their conversations, Dick’s mission reports, and more. “Dick, I don’t understand-”

It must have been the wrong thing to say because Dick scoffed, his anger seeping through the cracks, “Where’s your contingency to being me back?! Where’s the backup plan after back up plan for me?!” He gestured wildly to the screen.

Bruce felt his own chest getting tight with anger. “Of course, there was a plan- We just- We didn’t know you were alive-”

Dick gritted his teeth, stepping forward to shove a finger into his father’s chest, hard enough to make Bruce take a step back. “You knew.” He seethed, visibly shaking with anger as he poked Bruce again. Another step back. “You knew, and you didn’t even have an extraction plan. You made a plan for if I turned against you-” 

He pointed at the computer that showed a file with that exact contingency laid out, then smashed the keyboard to bring up another, “-for if I failed” -another, “for if everyone at Spyral was taken over by mind-controlling aliens or devices-”

He whipped his head back around to Bruce, “-but you didn’t make a fucking plan to get me out of there!”

Bruce scanned the files listed on the screen rapidly, trying to remember, “I’m sure I had a plan-”

“Oh, you had a plan, B.” Dick interrupted, the emotions he’s been suppressing for the last few months dripping from his face. “The plan was to leave me there! If there was any other plan, it would be here!” Dick turned his back to Bruce, facing the computer again before shoving everything off the desk in one swipe. He slammed a hand into the desk, yelling now. “What was it, Bruce? Did you not think I’d make it back? Thought they’d kill me off? Or did you not want me to come back?”

“Of course I-“ 

“Then WHERE'S THE PLAN?!” Dick screamed, it was lined with anger and sorrow and disappointment. His eyes held angry tears, but he refused to let them fall. “I had to pull myself out.” He pointed to himself. His head hung as he spoke, dangerously low now. Defeat rolling off him in waves. “I dismantled an entire international spy organization to get myself out of there. I crawled and fought and bled to get out. I had to because YOU STOPPED ANSWERING!”

Dick looked up, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. His breath came in short, angry bursts. He turned back to Bruce, gesturing with his hands like he always did when passionate. “There is a reason we always have more than one person who knows of an undercover mission. What if you went to space, and I needed immediate extraction? Or wait, what if you got amnesia and didn’t remember I was even alive?!" He paused, lowering his face into his hands. “It was your job, Bruce. You were my handler. My only connection to the outside world. It was your responsibility.” 

He lifted his head from his hands slowly, “Or maybe you knew. Maybe you knew, and that’s why you woke me up after my own fucking funeral. Maybe you knew that- that this mission would kill me. Maybe you knew I wasn’t coming back from this, so why make a plan for it?”

“No! Dick-“ Bruce took his own step back at the accusation, the pure hurt coming from his son overwhelming him.

“Shut up, Bruce.” Dick seethed through clenched teeth. “You were right, I guess. Spyral did destroy me in so many ways.” He paused, making sure that Bruce was looking him in the eyes, sapphire meeting baby blue. “But what killed me was you.”

Bruce felt his own eyes growing wet. He blinked, and a little boy was in his arms- bloodied and broken- he blinked, and blonde hair was matted with blood as monitors beeped continuously- he blinked, and Dick was on the concrete floor- bodied littered with evidence of torture as he stopped breathing- he opened his mouth, but nothing came out besides a sound of hurt and regret. 

Dick continued, “You, and the others, not caring. You all were all I had to hold onto while I was there. The thought of seeing everyone again kept me going. And now- now I know I should have just stayed dead.”

Bruce nearly lost his footing as he stepped forward in horror, reaching out as his son started to move away. “Dick- No-!”

To his surprise, Dick did turn back around, but it was slow, as if another thought had just come to him. “I know-” His voice cracked, “I know things were hard after- after Damian. And neither of us were in the right headspace. A-And maybe it was my fault. I let myself get captured by the crime syndicate, I let them torture me, I let Luthor kill me.” Dick faltered, his hands in tight fists. “What was the mission, Bruce? A punishment? For not being good enough?”

Bruce looks taken aback, “Of course not- it was just a mission-”

Dick throws his hands up, “JUST a mission?! Bruce, I begged you not to go! I told you it would destroy me! I begged you not to do this to the others! If it were just a mission, you would have told someone else I was alive! You would have PLANNED ON ME COMING HOME!”

The cave echoed the shout, the emotion reverberating around the room. Bruce’s voice cracked as he moved towards Dick, “Chum-”

Dick held up a hand, “Don’t.” His voice was thick with emotion, “Just- just forget I came back at all. Then you can keep the happy family you made without me.” He turned back around, placing his helmet on his head. “You know where to find me if you have some other suicide mission you need me to handle.”

Dick revved the engine loud enough to drown out Bruce calling after him, his father begging him to stop, to wait, but Dick ignored it all. He pealed out of the cave, finally letting the tears fall behind the safety of the helmet.

. .

Bruce stood frozen in the cave, one of his arms halfway raised in a feeble attempt to reach his son. His ears echoed the sound of the motorbike exiting the cave.

‘I know I should have stayed dead.’

‘A punishment? For not being good enough?’

Bruce’s hand shook slightly as he lowered it. His mind rattled with Dick’s words and the broken memories that fueled them. Had Dick been hiding all this pain? Taking the brunt of everyone’s blame and cruelty for something that wasn’t his fault? For something that was- well, it was his own fault, wasn’t it?

Before Bruce could even attempt to think of an answer, a small voice spoke from behind him. 

“Bruce?”

The man in question turned to see Tim, stepping out of one of the more common hiding spots in the cave. He was wearing his own typical pajamas, along with a sweater that was way too big- a telltale sign that it belonged to one of his older brothers.

“Bruce, what just happened?” Tim asked, completely exiting the spot and making his way towards his adoptive father. Bruce could see the slight tremble in the way Tim walked.

The older man crossed the room quickly, quieting his mind in an effort to appear less affected than he felt. Tim glanced at the screen, his eyes widening as he read the contents. “Bruce, what did you do?” He asked again, sounding a little more panicked.

Bruce winced at the tone of voice. Also, turning towards the screen. “I don’t know, Tim. I don’t know.”

. .

Jason weaved in between two cars and shifted the bike into second gear. He lowered his head below the window screen to create the least amount of resistance possible. The wind bit into his exposed arms, but he was thankful for the helmet that protected his face and allowed him to hear Timmy in his ear clearly, even if the kid was rambling too fast to really understand.

“-And then he-he just looked so broken, Jay. Like nothing mattered anymore, like he believed that Bruce sent him there to die-”

Jason growled, “Tim!” Trying to get him to slow down enough to clearly understand the situation. It was bad enough he’d been woken up only an hour after finally lying down for the night, but now he was chasing Goldie across town because he fought with Bruce?

He was tempted to roll his eyes; he knew how heated fights between Dick and Bruce could get. He’d been there to witness the legendary spats, and he wasn’t sure what had spooked Timmy so bad, but if tracking their older brother down through the streets of Gotham would calm him down enough for Jason to sleep, then he would. “Tim!” He yelled into the communicator again, over the constant rambling.

Tim stopped mid-sentence- a little out of breath. Jason took a deep breath, trying to push for understanding rather than annoyance in his voice. “I need you to back up to the beginning, Timbo. When did you find them fighting?”

The kid took a deep breath, and Jason could hear him tapping on keys. “I got an alert about someone hacking into encrypted files on the Batcomputer, Bruce must have gotten it too because by the time I got to the Batcave, he and Dick were already arguing-”

Now Jason did roll his eyes, “Oh let me guess; ‘Daddy, why can’t I fly the Batplane-’” He increased the tone of his voice to mock Dick’s own, even though it wasn’t that high.

Tim cut him off with a shout, “Jason, shut up! We had it all wrong! I can’t believe we were so stupid!” He practically shrieked.

“What do you mean we had it wrong? Stop speaking in riddles!” Jason was losing his patience, cutting the bike crudely to the side as he took the exit for Bludhaven.

“Dick! Spyral! All of it! He didn’t fakehisdeathLexkilledhimandthenhewenttoSpyralandwe’vebeensocruel-” [fake his death. Lex killed him, and then he went to Spyral, and we’ve been so cruel].

“Tim! Slow down! I don’t understand-” Jason turned, following the tracker placed on Dick’s bike. Feeling his own anxiety rising as Tim began to panic.

“It doesn’t matter! All that matters right now is that we find him! He thinks- he thinks we were better off without him, Jason.” Tim’s voice wavered.

“The fuck does that mean?” Jason’s heart leaped out of his chest. They’ve all talked people off the ledge- but this was Dick- this was his big brother- “Do you think he’ll-”

“Kill himself? I don't know! That's why we have to find him!” Tim shouted through the coms, but Jason was no longer listening, his blood running cold as he looked a ways up and down the street to see Dick sitting on the ledge of a building.

Jason skidded into the alleyway next to the building, frantically shooting his grapple gun onto the roof. He scaled the lip easily, landing on his feet. His heart in his throat as he approached the figure on the other side of the roof. “Dick?” He asked, his voice coming out with more uncertainty than he meant for it to.

The figure, Dick, sat with his knees to his chest in a position that would have anyone else fearing that they might fall off. For once, Jason wasn’t sure if the position was due to Dick’s skills or a lack of care.

The acrobat looked up from where his head had been tucked into his knees. Jason noticed red-rimmed eyes and a certain coldness to his demeanor that made a shiver run down his spine. Dick clicked his tongue, letting one leg fall to dangle over the side as he regarded his brother. “What, B didn’t plan on coming after me himself?”

Jason paused, taking off his helmet slowly. “I would probably understand that- and appreciate any snide remark towards him- with more context, but the squirt didn’t give me much to go off of here.”

Dick narrowed his eyes at Jason, “Tim? What does he have to- shit, he was hiding in the cave, wasn’t he?” Jason nodded, stepping closer. “Guess that’s my fault for teaching him all the good spots.” Dick shrugged, turning back to face the street, resting his chin on his folded arms.

Jason swallowed the lump in his throat. “Kid’s a little freaked out. Woke me up, screaming that we needed to find you. Afraid you might… do something.” He finished lamely, rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved hand.

Dick looked at him a little confused, before his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, well. I’m not going to do that. I just meant that I would… stay out of your way.” He gestured loosely with his hand, as if attempting to dismiss the issue.

Jason finished his walk across the roof, stopping a few feet from the acrobat. “I don’t think that’s gonna cut it, he’s gonna want eyes on you, Wing.”

Dick’s head snapped to look at him fully, a spark of anger igniting the dull eyes. “Hasn’t seemed to matter these last few months. I think he’ll be fine.” His whole body tensed as he rose to stand on the ledge, Jason’s heart plummeting through the floor. Jason reached out instinctively, trying to grab Dick’s wrist.

Jason hadn’t even closed one hand around a wrist before Dick’s foot came up to kick Jason square in the chest- sending him back and landing on his butt a few steps away. Dick was breathing hard, stepping down from the ledge, but also moving a few extra feet away from Jason. “Shit, sorry- I’m sorry. You can’t launch at me like that- fuck Jay- I could have hurt you-”

Jason moved to his feet, his hands open in front of him so Dick could track the movements clearly. “Okay- I won't- I thought you were jumping, man,” Jason said, wide-eyed. It wasn’t exactly a hard kick, but he would be feeling it for a few days. Jason knew they all had days- moments- when someone moved too fast, or a shadow seemed too familiar, but Dick’s reaction was almost like he was scared of being too close to Jason out of fear that he would hurt Jason.

Dick looked up to the sky, as if asking the stars for strength. “No- Jesus- I just said-” Jason watched his older brother take another deep breath. “Look, we don't have to do this, Jason. Just let Tim know I’m fine and we can go back to how things have been.”

Jason felt the rise of anger in his chest at being dismissed so easily, as if he hadn’t driven all the way from Gotham- at 4:30 in the morning- to make sure Dick wasn’t planning on killing himself- 

Jason pushed the thought down- pushed down the anger- pushed down the suppressed feelings of abandonment he always felt around Dick during these last few months- and he took a second to really look at Dick.

He saw dark circles and hollow eyes- Dick’s clothes hung off him, like he’d lost a lot of weight- and he was folded in on himself, reserved and defeated in a way Jason had never seen- or just never paid attention to before-

“Fuck that,” Jason spoke before he could think about it, some of the green sparking in his eyes. “What the fuck is going on? What did you and Bruce fight about that’s got you acting like a jackass?!”

“I’m acting like a jackass?!” Dick seethed, maintaining the distance between them and pressing a hand against his chest, “What about-?!” Dick stopped himself mid-sentence, visibly taking a deep breath to hone in the anger trying to burst through. Jason could see his nostrils flare, could see the red creeping up his neck. “Just drop it, Jason. Just let it go.” He turned his back on Jason, moving towards the fire escape. 

“Yo! Wait a minute!” The green was getting louder, a low rumble in Jaosn’s ears. He couldn’t push it down this time, couldn’t control the wave of ‘hurt-make-him-hurt’ that overcame his senses. “I wanna know what makes you so special, Goldie. What makes you the victim in everyone else’s story-”

“Jason-” It was a warning, fixed with a glare from over Dick’s shoulder. Dick’s whole body was as rigid as a steel bar.

“How come you get to lie and then come back into our lives and just expect everything to go back to how it was!” Dick jerked back around, his jaw clenched as Jason let the green encroach on his vision. “How come you get to just walk away and expect us to be fine with it!”

Jason advanced on his brother, shoving him backwards. Dick held his ground, grabbing Jason’s wrists to stop the advancement. “Jason, stop-”

Jason ripped his hands from Dick’s grasp and saw green- after everything, Dick just wanted to walk away?! To abandon them again?! Jason was so tired, so tired of people leaving! Dick was supposed to stay! Jason was supposed to annoy and tease and drive him insane, and he was still supposed to stay!

He felt his fist connect with flesh- heard Dick’s grunt- but it was all muted, diluted by the green that made his vision swarm. He yelled, reaching for a sidearm that wasn’t there-

The distraction gave Dick enough time to sweep Jason’s feet out from under him and pin him to the ground- “Breathe, Jay. Take a fucking breath!” The tone was a little frantic, a little pained, and a little irritated.

Jason struggled against the hold- forcing air in and out of his lungs with a growl as he tried to get Dick off- the older man keeping him pinned with surprising ease. Once Dick realized that he was mostly back, he let go of Jason, standing to move to the other end of the roof.

“Fucking hell, Jay. You don’t even get it! You said it yourself, that you didn’t have all the information, so how about you think before you start swinging!” Jason pushed himself up on his elbows, watching Dick pace a few feet away. “Course, when did that ever stop you before?”

Dick turned to face him fully, “I didn’t lie, god damnit! Bruce didn’t give me a choice-!”

“There's always a choice!” Jason wasn’t listening- he was picking bits out of a sentence and running with them. He stood again, his hands clenched at his sides.

“Oh fuck you, Jason!” Dick screamed, loud enough for the people in the building to hear. But this was Bludhaven. No one would be coming to check on some screaming on a random rooftop. “Fuck you! And fuck Bruce! And fuck me!”

“He’d already held the fucking funeral, Jay! Then proceeded to throw me around the Batcave, telling me how much danger we were in- how everyone I love is being targeted by this organization, and this is the one chance we have to stop it! So no, Jason, it wasn’t a choice. Not to me. And he knew that. He fucking knew I would agree to whatever it was if it meant protecting you guys.” 

Dick looked down at his hands, “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And- and there wasn’t even a plan to bring me back. He knew the mission would kill me. He knew it with such certainty that he didn’t even have an extraction plan.” A sob broke out of Dick's chest, wet and heavy, as he looked up at Jason again. “And yet I did. I took the whole thing down, built a new Spyral that will help Earth and its heroes. Then I finally got to come home, and- and you and Tim just assumed that I lied about everything. That- What was I supposed to do with that?”

Jason stood, frozen as Dick crumbled in front of him- “He didn’t even tell me Damian was alive, Jason.” The two eyes met. Blue apearkling with tears and a mix of blue and green that made them look like sea glass. “You know I begged him? About 6 months in, I told him I couldn’t do it. That we had to find another way. I told him he had to get me out of there- but he didn’t care. Just told me to finish the mission.”

And maybe if the green wasn’t pounding in his ears, Jason would have listened to what Dick was saying, rather than focusing on the fact that he was trying to leave- again- and Jason was going to have to tell Damian- again- and Tim would lose someone- again- and Alfred would look just a little older- again-

“And I’m so proud of you for stepping up for the others. For getting Tim and Damian to be able to stand each other- for keeping everyone together- for helping Alfred- you did that, Jay.” Dick moved towards him and cupped his face gently, so, so gently. That it made Jason freeze. Hadn’t he just punched Dick? Yes, he could see the bruise forming on his face-

Almost the same spot from when Dick had revealed himself months ago- but instead of hitting back- because he would never do that- he was holding Jason with love and gentleness. “And it’s okay that you moved on, it’s okay that you all don’t need me anymore. As long as you have each other, you’ll be okay-”

Jason pushed Dick’s hands off and took a step back, a primal yell ripping out of his throat. “No! Fuck you, Dick! Are you shitting me? ‘You’ll be okay’? Of course, we wouldn’t be okay without you!” Jason shouted, “Fuck you for abandoning us and leaving me and- You weren’t there! You weren’t there, and I learned real fucking quick how hard it is to be you.” 

“I didn’t know Cass’s dance schedule, or how to help Steph with picking classes, or how to calm Tim down during a panic attack, or how to knock Bruce out of his brooding, or what kind of tea to make Damian after a nightmare. I didn’t know how much we all relied on our Big Brother! And- and we managed, but it wasn’t the same. I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t you.” Jason tried to pretend that his voice was not thick with emotion.

“But then you came back- and- and I was so mad because we had to figure it out without you, and it sucked and it wasn’t fair and- And I’m sorry.” He continued, bright eyes boring into Dick. “I’m sorry we were assholes, and I’m sorry Bruce is a jerk- just- just come back and yell at him some more, hell, yell at all of us!

“But you can’t just walk away. I don’t know how to fix this- and I can’t keep losing people-” Jason was looking down at the ground, his fists shaking at his sides-

So he didn’t see Dick launch at him with enough force to make them both stumble backwards- his older brother’s arms wrapping around him, one across his back and the other cradling the back of his head.

Jason let himself drop, tension and green flowing out of his body all at once. “Dick-”

“Shut up, Little Wing.” Dick sighed into his hair, the hold tightening a little. “Just- I don’t know. I don’t know what comes next, but I know that right now- right now I have my little brother in my arms and that is enough.”

Jason wrapped his own arms around his big brother.