#Hurt Dick Grayson | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eliemo · 2 years

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Savior Complex

When Bruce comes back from the dead, Dick goes nonverbal. Nobody seems to have the time to notice.

Things were supposed to be better now that Bruce was back.

And they were. They were. Dick knew it was selfish to feel anything other than relieved. Tim had started smiling again, Jason had actually come home and stayed, the girls had all lost the tension in their shoulders, and Alfred had stopped looking so unbearably haunted.

And Bruce was alive. His father was alive, back home like nothing had changed, their broken little family gradually repairing the damage that had been done, putting everything back together piece by piece.

But the weight that had settled over Dick’s chest ever since he’d been told Batman was dead, that it was his responsibility to put the cowl on, still hadn’t lifted. It had only gotten heavier.

Selfish, that voice in his head whispered every time he thought about saying something about it. Everything’s always about you, isn’t it?

Of course things were going to take a little time to go back to normal. Of course everyone was going to need a little time to forgive Dick.

He’d been the one calling the shots while Bruce was gone, and he was well aware that some of his decisions had been the wrong ones. He was the oldest, the mantle of Batman had gone to him (he hadn’t wanted it, he’d never wanted it, not for a second and it wasn’t fair that he hadn’t even been given a choice) and with that came the safety of his Robin and the rest of the bats.

And so when Tim had grown obsessive, adamant that Bruce was still alive, Dick had made his choice.

Taking Robin away had broken Tim, a deep anger shining in his little brother’s eyes that Dick had never seen before, the two of them shouting themselves hoarse in the empty cave until Tim had stormed upstairs and Dick had collapsed on the cold floor, the weight of the world sending him crashing back down to earth in an undignified heap.

He’d wanted Tim by his side more than anything. He had Jason, but Red Hood’s location and schedule were unreliable, and his methods still weren’t something Dick was always comfortable with. Cass, Stephanie, and Barbara were still constants, steady and safe, but they weren’t Robins. They had their own identities, their own skills and motives.

Damian had taken the mantle of Robin without a word, falling into the role easily, the name fitting like a glove. It was exactly what Dick had needed at the time, but it still terrified him to see his baby brother, still so young, still not ready, put on the suit years too soon.

But keeping Tim on as Robin would have been selfish. No matter how much Tim begged- begged Dick not to take this from him, begged him to believe that Bruce was alive (Dick had been the one to identify his body, right alongside Clark and Diana. He’d buried their father’s body and Tim wanted him to have hope) Dick wouldn’t be swayed. He was Batman now, that was what they wanted, and the decision was his.

It was the only option, because he’d seen that kind of delusion before. He’d seen it in Bruce in the weeks that followed Jason’s death. The panic, the desperation, a grieving mind unable to grasp onto the reality of the loss it had suffered so suddenly, frantically latching onto false hope.

It was going to get Tim killed. He needed time, needed to grieve and process the death of his father properly, or Dick was going to lose him too.

And Dick had been certain that he would shatter if he lost one more person. He was barely holding on as it was.

He’d recognized the look on Tim’s face a heartbeat too late, a twisted expression of hatred and cold fury that had been reserved for the first person that had taken the mantle away.

“You’re acting just like Jack, you know,” Tim had snarled, almost unrecognizable, and Dick’s heart had stopped. “Maybe even worse than him.”

It had been the last thing his baby brother had said to him, Dick’s worst nightmare come to life, because then Tim had been gone too. He’d left, chasing his delusions, searching for a father that was buried under their home.

And Dick had been left with the weight of the world, a cowl he’d never wanted sitting heavy on his shoulders, surrounded by a broken family and a city looking to him for justice. He’d never felt more alone in his life.

And then Bruce was back.

Tim had been right, smiling like the first ray of sunlight through the clouds, and Dick wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel guilty for not believing him in the first place. He didn’t know if he was supposed to apologize.

Apparently, it didn’t matter. Tim wasn’t speaking to him either way.

But that was fine. He just needed time, Dick could understand that. Bruce was back, happy to take back his mask and let Dick return to his own.

He was back and things were just… supposed to return to normal.

And they were, gradually. For everyone else at least. Dick was finding it a little more difficult to readjust when everyone was clearly so angry with him.

Tim refused to be in the same room as him, gathering up his things and stalking to his bedroom or to the cave anytime Dick so much as breathed the same air as him. The only time they were seen together was during meals, and Tim spent the entire time either pointedly ignoring his existence or sending deadly glares across the table when he thought Alfred wasn’t looking.

He had every right to be angry, Dick reasoned with himself. It didn’t matter that Dick had been left floundering with a responsibility he was too young and unprepared for, suddenly the head of a family he was terrified to lose, desperate to keep Tim alive above all else.

He hadn’t listened. He hadn’t- couldn’t - believe in Tim’s desperate hope. If he’d just set aside his doubt and grief, if he’d just helped Tim look, Bruce could have been home safe sooner. Dick would still have his brother.

He needed to apologize. He wanted to, and he’d tried, doing everything he could to finally talk things out with Tim, but he may as well have been invisible. The most he got was a scowl as Tim pushed past him.

So he’d let Tim come to him on his own time, no matter how long it took. It didn’t matter that it felt like a knife to the chest every time he was ignored or talked over or glared at.

And then it wasn’t just Tim.

After their initial reunion, after tight embraces and choked apologies and explanations nobody could even begin to let sink in, the usual tenderness and fond smiles had been ripped away.

Bruce wasn’t bothering to keep it a secret that he wasn’t happy with how Dick had handled things at home. He’d been the one to promise Tim the mantle of Robin would never be stripped from him again, that he’d step down on his own time. He’d made his opinion very clear, eyes tight and exhausted throughout the lecture, body still weak and recovering from wherever the hell it was he’d been these last few months.

Dick knew he deserved the disappointment. He’d had no right to take Robin away, no right to push his brother to his limit when he knew he was going to lose him, but…

But Bruce had been dead. He’d been dead, and there had been no Batman, and Dick hadn’t known what to do.

Dick could handle Bruce’s cold stares, curt greetings and terse orders over the next couple weeks as he integrated back into the family, ignoring the furrowed brows and skeptical looks out on patrol.

He was angry, and he had just as much of a right to be as Tim did. If he needed to take out his frustration by being a little bit more stern, stricter on schedules and cases and fights, his words more biting than they needed to be, Dick understood.

And if it was only directed at Dick, Bruce’s warm smiles and gentle praise given freely to everyone else, then Dick… Dick could handle that too.

He wasn’t sure what he’d done to warrant Jason’s fury, but he knew he probably deserved it just the same. There always seemed to be something. Dick was always doing something wrong lately.

Jason scoffing in the face of Dick’s smile, narrowing his eyes in a scathing glare and storming off in a huff like Dick had taunted him instead of offering a simple greeting was enough to send Nightwing scrambling to the nearest bathroom, halfway to a panic attack by the time he locked the door behind him and sank to the floor.

But that was fine too. Because Jason was getting along with the rest of the family, even his relationship with Bruce better than it had been in years, and Dick had never seen his brother look so relaxed.

As long as Dick wasn’t in the room with them.

Cass was always harder for Dick to read, never one to be openly angry, but it wasn’t hard to come to the conclusion that she was annoyed with him too. Or maybe she was just picking up on the other’s behavior, picking sides and avoiding him to be safe. Stephanie seemed to be doing the same, always glued to her sister’s side.

Dick didn’t have the energy to try and piece together every little thing he’d done wrong, and with everyone treating him like he was invisible or an unwanted nuisance, he didn’t want to take his chances trying to approach either of them.

Cass and Stephanie had fought at his side when he’d put the cowl on, and god knew he’d made mistake after mistake on patrol. Cass could take her pick of reasons to be pissed at her older brother.

Barabara at least didn’t seem to have an issue with him, and Dick didn’t have words for how grateful he was for that.

But Barabara was just… so busy. He barely saw her outside meals, and even then her appearances were rare. Oracle was scrambling to clean up the mess Bruce’s disappearance and reappearance had caused, always overworked and exhausted.

Dick had made his way into the cave while she was buried in a new case file, (making sure that Tim wasn’t there first, ignoring the way his heart ached at the precaution) with the intent of gently coaxing Barabara away from the computers.

He should have seen it coming, Oracle already run ragged, but Dick flinched like he’d been hit when Barbara snapped at him, whirling around with an ice cold glare.

“Dick, get out,” she’d practically snarled, seething with animosity he’d grown uncomfortably accustomed to lately. “I don’t want your help!”

It wasn’t anything personal, Dick knew that. There was no reason for his eyes to start burning, for his chest to grow tight and heavy. He’d forced his best smile, the type reserved for paparazzi and pushy interviewers, wished her luck and did everything he could not to run out of the cave like he was being chased.

It was fine. She wasn’t angry at him- Barbara would track him down eventually to apologize, and then they’d grab food and the entire exchange would be forgotten.

Except Barbara never tracked him down, never apologized, and Dick found himself avoiding her like the plague.

And that was fine too. Everyone just needed a little time. It would all go back to normal soon.

And then Dick stopped talking. And that was about as far from normal as he could get.

He wasn’t even sure when it had started, most of his days spent in silence now anyway, only occasionally offering a quiet greeting or thank you to Alfred when they passed each other.

He’d only noticed it after patrol one night, Bruce asking for a routine status report from everyone who was out that night over the comms. Dick had waited patiently for his turn, hating how the sound of his family’s voices made his gut churn with anxiety now, and opened his mouth to send the all clear.

Only to choke on his own words, nothing but silence escaping his parted lips.

Dick had snapped his mouth shut, hands suddenly hot and clammy under his gloves, throat unbearably tight, and tongue like heavy stone against his teeth.

He sent a text to Oracle, reassuring her that he was fine and asking her to relay a message to the others that his comms had just been damaged. It was a flimsy lie, but he may as well take advantage of being treated like an afterthought.

There was no change, no improvement for the rest of the night, Dick barely managing a pathetic sounding whine from his own chest on the ride home.

Thankfully the rest of the team had already dispersed by the time he pulled into the cave, the sunlight slowly filtering in over Gotham’s desolate rooftops.

He got away with a quick smile and a wave to Batman as he passed the Cave’s computers, his chest sparking to life with something achingly warm when Bruce paused to look him over, at least still caring enough to make sure Dick was uninjured after patrol.

The bare minimum shouldn’t feel so nice.

“You alright?” Bruce asked, and Dick had froze, completely taken aback despite the tightness still lingering in his guardian’s voice. “Oracle said your comms were damaged.”

Dick plastered on his best smile, peeling off his mask and nodding absently in Bruce’s direction as he put away his weapons.

Bruce was silent a moment, watching carefully before turning away with a sigh. “Alright. Make sure they’re working before you go out again.”

He’d sent a noncommittal thumbs up, well aware something so informal would send Bruce up the wall. Maybe if Dick was anyone else, Bruce would have cared enough to say something.

He’d expected to just sleep it off, to wake up in the afternoon that next day and regain his voice like he’d never lost it, but the panicked dread in his chest only grew when there proved to be no change the rest of the day.

Or the day after that. Or the rest of the week.

Dick wasn’t unfamiliar with going nonverbal. Bruce had episodes like this, less now than he’d had when Dick was younger, and Alfred had made sure Dick knew how to hold a basic conversation in sign language for when his dad went mute for days at a time.

It had happened to Tim before, and Cass had been completely mute when they’d first brought her in, still occasionally more comfortable in silence and hand gestures than anything verbal.

Dick hadn’t had anything like this happen to him in years. Not since the pain of his parent’s death had still been fresh, his life with Bruce foreign and daunting.

It had never lasted more than a few hours, but Bruce had always been right there with him, a steadying presence at his side, keeping the panic at bay, always so gentle and reassuring.

Dick had no doubt that he’d still have that kind of help from Bruce if he asked, if this had happened six months ago. If Dick hadn’t fucked everything up beyond repair.

It was selfish enough that he was going nonverbal over problems that he had created all on his own. He wasn’t going to make it anyone else’s problem.

And it wasn’t like he had to do much to hide it. Nobody was talking to him, anyway.

“Master Richard.”

Dick jumped, pulled from his thoughts and freezing at the top of the stairs. Alfred’s habit of appearing from the shadows was almost as bad as Batman’s sometimes.

Alfred’s hands were folded behind his back, a barely there pinch of his eyebrows giving away his concern, and Dick’s heart sped up when he realized the butler intended on having a conversation. It had been over a week since Dick had been able to say a word, and the idea of even trying made him nauseous.

He raised his eyebrows, signaling for Alfred to continue, and the older man’s shoulders dropped slightly.

“I only wanted to check in on you,” Alfred said, and Dick was not going to tear up over something so small, a meaningless show of kindness. It was Alfred’s job. “I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit distant lately.”

Dick just shrugged, not able to do much else, fighting to keep the lazy smile from slipping. He might have missed it, if he hadn’t known the butler so long, but something in Alfred’s eyes hardened.

“Master Richard,” Alfred said again, and Dick quickly averted his gaze. “Forgive me, but I hardly think it’s fair to take this out on me as well.”

Dick blinked at the floor, furrowing his brow as Alfred’s cold words hit him like a bucket of ice water, leaving nothing but confusion washing over him.

What? He wanted to ask, scrambling to make sense of the sudden hostility. What the hell are you talking about? But he couldn't even bring himself to open his mouth, instead forcing himself to lift his head and glance up warily at the butler.

“I understand that things are difficult right now,” Alfred continued, and Dick realized too late that this was quickly becoming a lecture, not a check-in. “And that things are… a bit tense with the rest of the family. But they’ve all managed to work through their differences. They’ve repaired what we lost. Things are good, sir. Perhaps if you… put in the same effort to-”

Dick stumbled back like he’d been slapped, back finding the cold stair railing as his eyes went wide, pooling with hot tears he didn’t even bother to try to blink away.

Put in the effort? Him? Like that wasn’t the only thing he’d been doing for weeks? Trying over and over again to get Tim to talk to him, to have just one civil conversation, apologizing time and time again and holding out hope that his baby brother would at least look him in the eyes again one day.

Doing every little thing he could to get back on Bruce’s good side, frantically trying to explain his reasoning for the things he’d done under the cowl without making it sound like excuses, following every little instruction without question, every order, grasping for any chance to prove himself still worthy to be on the receiving end of Batman’s love.

Jumping through hoops to try to undo whatever had made the rest of his siblings so angry with him, keeping a smile on his face anytime he passed them, desperate for Jason or Damian or Cass to just smile at him again.

He’d kept an eye on them, helping how he could from a distance until they decided he was welcome in the family again because that was what they’d wanted. They’d all made themselves perfectly clear.

He’d done everything he could, putting himself in the line of fire just to try to get Barbara to take a break despite knowing, deep down, that it would only be met with more anger.

Nothing he’d done had been enough, it was never enough, and now Alfred was mad at him too. Alfred, who had more patience and love than anyone Dick had ever met in his life.

Dick couldn’t breathe.

Through his rapidly blurring vision, Dick thought he saw the hardened look slowly fade from Alfred’s face, something softer taking its place as his breathing hitched.

“Richard-”

Whatever he’d been going to say was interrupted by heavy footsteps, followed by an all too familiar huff, and Dick didn’t need to turn to know Jason had stopped in the hallway with his arms crossed, watching the exchange with scrutinizing eyes.

“So,” Jason said after a heartbeat, and Dick did his best not to flinch. “Finally lecturing the golden boy?”

Alfred sighed, the sound sharp and curt, and Dick felt like he was invisible again. “This is not a lecture.”

“Then what the fuck is the point in talking to him?”

“Master Jason-”

“No,” Jason snapped, and suddenly his brother was right in front of him, eyes narrowed in poorly concealed fury. “He needs to get it through his thick skull that this silent treatment shit is fucking stupid!”

“Language,” Alfred said, but it sounded weary and defeated. “Perhaps-”

“He’s being a child.” And then Jason was staring right at him, and Dick couldn’t bring himself to look away. “We have the right to be pissed at you after everything that happened, Dickhead. Things are weird right now, if anyone should get that it’s you. The least you could do is admit you fucked up with Tim and give us all some time. Ignoring everyone to try and make us feel like shit isn’t fair. You know damn well Bruce has enough on his plate right now, and I don’t have time for your bullshit either. No one does.”

That's what they thought? That he was giving them the silent treatment out of spite like they hadn’t been the ones to happily pretend he didn’t even exist?

It didn’t matter that he’d never lashed out like that before. It didn’t matter that he’d never consider doing anything to hurt his family like that. It didn’t matter that he’d spent weeks trying to get someone, anyone to talk to him.

They were mad at him for what he’d done to Tim. He understood that, he knew he shouldn’t have taken Robin away. He should have believed him when he said Bruce was alive. He should have listened.

But nobody else had had to watch what Jason’s death did to Bruce. Nobody else had seen the episodes of delusion and panic, insisting that someone long dead, buried less than a mile away, was alive and well. That their death had never happened.

Nobody but Dick had to be terrified of living through that again. Nobody but Dick seemed to understand that he’d been trying to save Tim’s life.

Dick just stared back at Jason and said nothing, because he couldn’t say anything. He was fairly sure trying to sign a response would only make his brother more furious, because how dare Dick be the one breaking down when he was the one always hurting everyone else.

Jason’s eyes darkened, and suddenly Dick was being shoved back against the railing, refusing to let himself cry out when his back hit the wood. His brother was already turning away, shoulders hunched as he stalked down the stairs.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, before throwing another glare over his shoulder. “You’re fucking unbelievable, Grayson.”

Dick couldn’t move, staring at the empty spot at the top of the stairs long after Jason had disappeared. His vision was growing blurrier by the second, breaths labored and spiraling into something dangerously close to hyperventilating, and he shakily wrapped his arms around his middle in a futile attempt to provide any sort of comfort.

“Master Richard,” Alfred said softly, far more gentle than Dick deserved. “Is everything alright, dear boy? Is there something else going on?”

Dick didn’t even bother trying for a response, dropping his gaze and keeping it glued to the carpet as he pushed himself away from the stairs and down the hall, stumbling slightly when his knees buckled. He slipped back into his room, wondering why he’d even bothered to leave in the first place, shutting the door behind him without another sound.

Things came to a head during their next mission.

It was a routine drug bust, a rapidly growing organization Bruce had been staking out for a couple of weeks now, tracking the heart of the operation to an old abandoned warehouse near the docks.

It was something two or three of them could have dismantled on their own, but Batman seemed worried about hostages- something about whispers of the Penguin being connected, the crime lord growing desperate- and so Bruce had asked the rest of them to accompany him.

Dick was given his orders in the cave while they were suiting up, but other than that nobody said a word to him. At least his family had finally stopped pretending he simply didn’t exist, choosing instead to openly glare and scowl and glower at his every little move.

That was fine. Everything was fine.

The mission itself wasn’t particularly eventful. There had been more men, more guns, than Dick had been expecting, but it was a game plan so familiar Dick could have executed it in his sleep. Fortunate, considering he’d felt dead on his feet long before he’d lost his voice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to shut his eyes and rest.

They’d waited to strike until Cass and Tim had confirmed there were no hostages anywhere in the building, just antsy, impatient men armed to the teeth, patrolling every corner.

Batman gave the order and they sprang from the shadows in sync, the flimsy overhead lights flickering, their family moving as one, lethal together, like nothing had changed.

Dick had missed this feeling, of knowing he was a part of them, crucial to their movements, an essential piece of the family. For a moment, the weight and grief lifted from his shoulders, chest just light enough for him to take a breath for the first time in what felt like weeks.

And yet he couldn’t help but wonder if things would be going smoother if he hadn’t come along. He wondered if they even really needed him here. They certainly didn’t want him.

The goons were taken down in less than fifteen minutes, the few who were still conscious secured and left by the door for the cops, Batman finally dropping his guard and ordering the others to sweep the rest of the building before dispersing.

And that, of course, was when everything started to go wrong.

Dick had grappled back to the building's rafters, keeping an eye out for approaching sirens and watching his siblings work, content to be their silent eyes and ears until they parted ways.

His vantage point was the only reason he’d seen the attack coming.

Somehow, despite Bruce’s thoroughness, they must have miscounted, allowed one of the thugs to evade capture and hide out until everything settled.

Dick could see him now, slinking through the shadows towards the shattered window, and a chill ran down his spine when he saw the glint in the man’s eye, gaze locking onto where Red Robin was standing guard, the vigilante’s back to the thug, distracted by whatever Oracle was saying in his ear. Dick was moving before his mind even caught up with his body, barely aware of what he was doing.

Tim would have had time to move. The man was slow, shaken up and unsteady, and Red Robin was more than capable of dodging the shot before it came and knocking out his assailant in the blink of an eye.

All Dick had to do was warn him.

But no matter how much he tried, desperately fighting to scream himself hoarse, burning tears of frustration welling in his eyes as he vaulted forward, not a sound left his mouth.

There wasn’t time. He didn’t have time.

Nightwing slammed into the thug’s side, both of them fighting to keep their footing as they stumbled across the concrete. Dick grabbed both of his wrists and wrenched them downward, swerving to plant himself firmly in between Tim and the barrel of the gun.

The man was frantic, eyes wide and bloodshot under his ski mask, fighting like a wild animal. He was heavier than Nightwing, using his weight and uncoordinated flailing to send Dick stumbling back, struggling just to pry the gun away so he could-

He heard the shot before he felt the pain.

“Nightwing!”

Dick’s back hit the concrete, the warehouse ceiling swimming into focus just as he registered the agony in his side, shaky hands hovering over the puddle of crimson blossoming just above his hip.

There was a blur of movement somewhere above him, and Nightwing was distantly aware that he needed to move, get back on his feet and get the gun out of the man’s hand before he landed a killing blow and went after someone else, but suddenly every bone in his body was just as unresponsive as his voice.

A body dropped to the ground a few feet away, an awful sounding thud echoing in his ears, and Dick pulled his gaze away as a barrage of color was suddenly rushing forward.

Red Robin was crouching in front of him now, alive and unharmed, and Dick let himself breathe, pained and trembling as it was. Tim was staring at him in horror, shoulders tense as his gaze dropped to the bullet wound. The fear and concern in his eyes shined as clear as day, even through the mask, and for a second, just a second, it was like everything was okay again. Like he had his brother back. Like Tim still cared.

And then, like a string had been cut, it was gone again, Red Robin’s face twisting into a scowl. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Nightwing?”

I don’t know, Dick wanted to say, more than anything. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Tim.

And then there was a weight being pressed against his side, blinding pain shooting through his body, and Dick lost himself to the pull of unconsciousness.

He couldn’t remember how he got back to the Batcave, deposited on a cot in the medical wing, but it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.

Dick could vaguely recall the car ride back, filtering in and out of awareness, voices floating all around him, all of them distantly familiar, all of them furious. They were always furious with him now. He was so tired.

“Put pressure on the wound!” Someone had shouted, and the pressure on his stomach had worsened, the pain dizzying.

There’d been an awful choking sound, something that sounded like a strangled scream, nearly drowned out by the familiar hum of the Batmobile’s engine being pushed to its limits. Dick thought it might have been coming from him.

“Dick! Calm down!” Another voice, just as angry. He hadn’t been able to recognize who it was. “You’re okay! You’re okay, we’ve got you. We’ve got you, Nightwing. Just breathe. Breathe! Please, just breathe. You’re gonna be okay!”

“You need to stop the bleeding.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do? Dick, calm down! It’s just me!”

Everything had been too much, the backseat of the car crowded and unfamiliar, voices too loud, passing streetlights a blur of piercing light.

“What’s wrong with him?” Someone else had said. “I had it handled! He just-”

“Wait until he’s not bleeding out to be pissed at him, Replacement! Jesus- just shut up and let me focus!”

Dick had lost track of the voices soon after that, letting himself slip, letting the pain and confusion wash over him like a blanket.

And now he was here, laying in the bat cave with the steady beep of the heart monitor filling the heavy silence, stripped of his suit with his aching body wrapped in bandages.

It felt like he’d been hit by a truck, the ever present cold weariness still settled across his chest, but he was alive. They’d brought him back home in one piece, like they always did.

He couldn’t find it in him to be relieved this time.

Maybe it would have been better if he’d died there, bleeding out on the warehouse floor. They wouldn’t need to be angry with him anymore, and he’d have gone out saving Tim. That was all he’d wanted to do in the first place.

Keeping Tim alive had been all that had mattered to Dick. Trying to keep him safe was what had lost him his baby brother in the first place.

Dick’s eyes flickered to the movement at the small medical bay’s entrance, forcing a small smile when Bruce froze, their eyes locking.

He tried to say something, anything, an apology at the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t surprised when he couldn’t even open his mouth.

Something in Bruce’s eyes darkened, and Dick’s heart sank. “That was a ridiculous stunt you pulled.”

It was the only way to save Tim. I just wanted to be useful again. I just want to keep you all safe. But he couldn’t say that, no matter how badly he wanted to. All he could do was shrug.

Bruce sighed, visibly trying to compose himself, an unsteady hand moving to run through disheveled hair. Dick hadn’t seen much of Bruce the last few days, keeping to himself to save everyone the trouble, and now he could see how exhausted the man looked, the dark circles under his eyes worse than ever, expression far away, brow heavy.

Dick wondered if that was his fault too.

“This is getting out of hand, Dick,” Bruce said, and Dick couldn’t look away. “I expected better from you, especially out on the field.”

I know. I know, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm so sorry.

“I know I left you with a lot on your shoulders,” Bruce continued. “I know it wasn’t fair to you. I know, Dick. You made some mistakes and decisions that I wasn’t… thrilled about. I know I was harsh on you, and I’m- I’m sorry. But you did well. You did well despite your mistakes, just like I knew you would.”

Dick didn’t move, frozen on the cot, terrified of shattering the illusion, losing the hint of warmth in Bruce’s strained voice that he hadn’t heard in weeks.

“It’s fine that you’re angry,” Bruce said. “You can be mad at me. I don’t care. But I thought I could trust you to put that aside when you’re wearing the mask. You could have gotten yourself killed tonight.”

Dick just nodded, squeezing his hands into fists so tight he thought his nails might draw blood along his palms.

“You should know better.” The silence hung over them, heavy and unrelenting, and Dick didn’t raise his head again, even when Bruce gave a curt sigh. “How are you feeling?”

Dick just shrugged, each nonverbal response filling him with more and more shame, practically able to feel Bruce’s rising frustration from the other end of the room.

“Good,” he said, cold and gruff as he turned away. “When you’re ready to act like an adult we’ll be waiting upstairs for you. We need to talk.”

And with one last glance at the heart monitor he was gone, heavy footsteps echoing across the cave walls before fading, the hum of the elevator eventually falling away, leaving Nightwing to lay in silence.

He didn’t leave them waiting for long. Whatever painkillers they had him on were working wonders, letting him stand with only minimal discomfort for the moment, and the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he’d never have to do it again.

The halls were empty as he stumbled through them, everything eerily silent, and he came to the unsettling conclusion that they were all waiting for him, the harsh light from the living room guiding him forward like a beacon.

And just like he’d feared, there wasn’t a single person missing when he turned the corner.

Jason, Tim, Stephanie, and Damian had commandeered the largest couch, all sitting with their arms crossed and face twisted into scowls, and the aggression brimming in Tim’s eyes nearly sent Dick running. Barbara was next to them, looking unbearably disappointed, and Cass was curled up in the armchair, her expression unreadable. Bruce was the only one standing, and Dick suddenly couldn’t bring himself to look up from the carpet.

“Grayson.” Damian, surprisingly, was the first to speak. His voice was clipped and even, reminding Dick of Bruce during a debrief. “How is your injury?”

Dick figured he couldn’t get away with just a simple shrug this time, opting instead to raise his head just long enough to give a weak thumbs up and a smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes, judging by his family’s blank, disapproving stares.

“Christ, sit down,” Jason said, arms crossed over his chest. “You look like you’re about to fucking keel over.”

Dick did as he was told, feeling a bit like a man being led to the gallows, shoulders hunched as he waited for the inevitable. The wound in his side twinged when he lowered himself into the other couch across from his brothers, hands spasming as he pressed against the bandage under his shirt.

“Alfred patched him up,” Bruce said, and Dick dropped his head again. “He’ll be alright as long as he rests.”

“Good,” Tim said, and something in Dick’s heart twinged at his little brother at least acknowledging his existence. “Maybe being benched will knock some sense into him. What the fuck was that, Dick?”

Even if Dick could talk, it wasn’t like he’d have an answer to that question. He warily raised his eyes to his little brother, hair falling into his eyes, mouth kept shut.

“You took a bullet for me that I would have had time to handle if you had just tried to warn me! But- what? It’s some kind of power play? You don’t want to talk to me because you’re mad? What are you, fucking five?”

Dick saw Barbara shift, sharing an unreadable glance with Cass, her hands folded in her lap. “Tim-”

“No, I’m sick of this!” Tim snapped. Dick hadn’t heard him this upset since the Robin mantle had been officially handed over to Damian. “You told me I was crazy, Dick. You wouldn’t listen to me, you… I lost my dad. I lost my dad and then you took away the one thing I still had and then… and then I lost all of you too. And now… I’m allowed to be pissed. I needed time. You giving me the silent treatment isn’t fair.”

“Yeah, and I don’t know what the rest of us did to deserve it,” Jason piped up, glaring daggers across the living room. “But it’d be great if this pity party could stop. You’d think it’d be a wake up call when I’m the one telling you to suck it up and get along with everyone.”

“It is incredibly immature, Grayson,” Damian added. “Even for you.”

Dick didn’t know what to do, stuck staring straight ahead at nothing now, letting their words wash over him without a fight. He knew they were right, that they should be angry and disgusted, that he was being stupid and childish but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to sink into the floor. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to stop causing them so much pain.

He didn’t even try to say anything. He didn’t have any words left to fight to get out. There was nothing he could do to make this better.

Maybe they’d tell him to leave, that he was no longer welcome, on the team or in the family. Maybe this would finally be the end of Bruce’s rope. He’d lost all his chances. He wouldn’t be one of them anymore.

His eyes burned, chest heavy at the thought, but he forced himself to sit perfectly still, nails digging into his palm as he waited for more.

“Dick,” Bruce said, and it was nothing short of a miracle that Dick didn’t break down at just the sound of his own name said with so much disappointment. “We can work through this. We can fix this as a family. But I need to know what’s going on. If there’s more to this, you have to talk to us.”

Dick couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t talk, forced into silence, drowning under the weight of their stares, no escape in sight.

Bruce was in front of him now, towering over Dick and forcing the younger man to meet his gaze. Bruce was always so controlled, always careful with his emotions, but Dick had known him long enough to be able to tell when Batman was furious.

“This is ridiculous, Dick. You’re going to get someone hurt.”

There was a ringing in his ears, shrill and persistent, the words almost drowned out by his own panicked breathing.

“You need to talk to us.” Bruce snapped, venom cutting through the fog around Dick’s head. “This isn’t a game anymore, you need to tell us what’s going on so we can fix this! Dick, talk to me. Say something!”

“He can’t.”

Cass didn’t raise her voice, not even a little, but all heads swiveled to her at the two simple words. Bruce straightened and whirled around, shoulders still tense even with his back to Dick, his anger and tension left to seep into the rest of the room. “What?”

“He can’t talk, Bruce,” Cass said, suddenly soft. Softer than anything Dick deserved right now. “Look at him.”

All eyes were back on him, the weight of their stares heavier than before. Dick closed his eyes and dropped his head when Bruce turned back around, the silence of the living room deafening.

When he spoke again, the anger was already fading in favor of something softer. “Dick?”

Dick curled in on himself, shoulders hunched as he forced his hands to uncurl from trembling fists. He’d been backed into a corner, Cass picking him apart piece by piece in that uncanny way, zeroing in on exactly what he hadn’t wanted them to see.

He didn’t know if it would be better or worse now that they were going to know. He shouldn’t be reacting like this. He shouldn’t be so weak and needy when everything had been his fault to begin with.

But they were all watching him, waiting, and the least Dick could do was rip the band-aid off and get this over with. He’d made them deal with his shitshow long enough.

Dick raised a shaky hand off his lap, and signed the two words across his chest.

‘I’m sorry.’

He didn’t know what else to say. There wasn’t anything left to say. He didn’t deserve to voice anything but an apology, not after everything he’d put them through.

And now that he’d said it once, the words flowing off his hand, he couldn’t seem to stop.

‘I’m sorry,’ he signed again, hands shaking so bad it was a wonder he could manage it at all. He didn’t look at any of them, eyes still closed and his head bowed. ‘ I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

“Oh, Chum.” He could hear Bruce’s voice but it sounded far away, like it was coming through a tunnel. “God, I didn’t… Dick, it’s okay. It’s alright. Hey, look at me-”

Something touched his shoulder, a hand barely brushing his sleeve, and Dick jerked back fast enough to tug at his stitches, leaving him hissing in frantic pain as he pressed himself against the back of the couch.

“Dick,” Bruce said again, sounding just as frantic as Dick felt. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

There wasn’t anything for him to hold onto anymore, all his fight to keep himself together in front of watchful eyes sapped away just like that. It didn’t matter anymore, anyway. It didn’t matter.

Dick curled forward, trembling hands weakly covering his face and tugging ruthlessly at his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, hot tears spilling over without his permission, and let out a choked, broken sob into the silent living room.

It was the first sound he’d made in weeks.

And just like with his flimsy sign language, now that he’d started he couldn’t seem to stop. He couldn’t breathe, every breath coming out a shuddering, weak cry of anguish, face burning hot, stinging and soaked with tears that refused to stop falling.

There was movement around him, voices he couldn’t even try to pick up on, and suddenly a hand settled on his knee, hesitant and gentle. He jumped again, but the hand only tightened its hold.

“Dick,” the voice said, but it wasn’t Bruce this time. “Breathe, honey. Just breathe for a minute, alright?”

Barbara was in front of him when he risked prying his eyes open. His vision was blurry, clouded by tears, but he could just make out her face, no trace of anger or annoyance, her tone soft and patient.

He’d missed her more than he’d realized. He’d missed being looked at with something other than anger or disappointment. He'd missed the feeling of knowing someone wasn't upset with him. He missed his family so much.

Dick didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve anyone’s kindness for one second. But he was reaching out before he could stop himself, tearing his hand from his hair and latching it around Barbara’s wrist as tight as he dared.

Something flickered in Oracle’s eyes behind her glasses, and she turned her head. “Get out.”

She wasn’t talking to him, he realized with a start, suddenly made painfully aware that it wasn’t just the two of them in the room.

“All of you,” Barbara snapped. Dick hadn’t heard her this angry since she’d shouted him out of the cave. “ Now.”

There was shuffling behind him, his siblings a blur of movement as they hurried towards the door under her orders, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Bruce stiffen, still frozen at the edge of the couch.

“Barbara-”

“Especially you.” The venom in her voice was enough to send Batman running, evident by the way Bruce didn’t even try to argue again. “Leave, Bruce. Just give us a minute. Please.”

Batman stepped back, turning on his heel and disappearing through the doorway without another word, leaving Dick and Barbara alone in the living room. Dick couldn’t bring himself to try to catch a glimpse of his father’s face.

“Hey Dickie,” Barbara said, any unwavering authority in her voice already long gone. “Can I touch you?”

Dick nodded so fast he nearly made himself dizzy, the living room nothing but a blur of noise and color. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. Please hold me, he wanted to scream, but he didn’t even have the fight left in him to try speaking anymore.

But he didn’t have to say anything. Barbara always seemed to know exactly what he needed, and suddenly she was pressed against his side with her arms wrapped around him, holding on tight like nothing else in the world mattered.

She didn’t ask any questions, didn’t push him to speak or explain himself, didn’t try to unravel what was wrong with him right now. Barbara just held him close and allowed Dick to finally let go and sob until there was nothing left.

Dick honestly wasn’t sure what happened in the moments that followed his breakdown, the world slipping away once the tears finally dried.

Barbara didn’t make him move from the couch, which he was grateful for more than he could have possibly expressed. His body wasn’t responding to his commands, drained and exhausted.

Besides, he’d spent too long avoiding the living room like the plague, terrified of being met with glares and cold dismissal. It was nice to be allowed back, to feel for a moment like he was part of the family again.

“There you go,” Barbara was soothing, gently pushing his chest to lay him back on the couch, cradling the back of his head just long enough to slip a pillow underneath. There was more movement, shuffling somewhere beside him, and Dick’s breath caught when a blanket was carefully draped over his chest. “Just rest, honey. You’re okay now.”

Dick turned his head and blinked up at her, everything still slightly out of focus. The words still weren’t coming, no matter how much he wished they would, and Barbara only smiled sadly as she settled beside the couch and took his hand.

“I know, Dickie,” she said. “You’re okay. Have you… you’ve been nonverbal this whole time?”

All he could manage was a nod, shame pressing down on his chest as he lifted a shaky hand under the blanket to sign again, only for his wrists to be gently pushed back down.

“It’s okay. I know you’re going to try to apologize, and you don’t have to. You have nothing to apologize for, Dick. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

And that… that didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t true, not by a long shot, and he didn’t understand why Barbara was trying to make him feel better by lying to him.

He hadn’t done anything wrong? Dick couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything right. Everyone was always so angry at him now, his siblings didn’t want to be in the same room as him, Bruce was disappointed and Tim wanted nothing to do with him.

He’d lost his family. He’d made mistake after mistake and it had cost him everything. He’d lost his little brother.

“You haven’t lost anyone,” Barbara said, and Dick startled when he realized he’d started signing again the second she’d pulled her hands away, the silent words surfacing without his permission, his shame laid out for her to see. “We’re right here, we’re not going anywhere. No one is. I’m… I’m so sorry nobody noticed, Dick. I’m sorry we’ve been so awful.”

Dick shook his head, not sure which part he was disagreeing with, blinking furiously when his eyes welled up with tears once again. He wasn’t going to make Barbara sit through this a second time.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” she soothed, a gentle hand carding through his hair. “We know now, we’re gonna help. I promise.”

Dick wanted to argue, wanted to insist that it was fine, that it was his fault, that it wasn’t something he wanted anyone to dwell on, not while they all had so much on their shoulders already.

But his limbs felt impossibly heavy, the pain from his wound steadily sapping him of what little energy he had left, eyes growing heavier the more Barbara talked, the hand in his hair slowly easing him into the first restful sleep he’d had in weeks.

“You can say no,” Barbara was saying, not seeming to catch the irony of her own words. “It’s alright if you’re not ready. Nobody’s angry.”

Which was a lie, plain as day, judging by the cold glares being sent Bruce’s way that she wasn’t even trying to hide. But no one was glaring at Dick, no one was yelling at him this time, and he just wanted to get this over with.

‘ He can come in,’ Dick signed, unable to make eye contact with anyone. It was almost freeing, being able to finally use sign language like this, like he could finally communicate again without having to hide. It didn’t mean he didn’t still feel pathetic, reduced to silence like this over nothing.

“Alright,” Barabra said, hesitant. Dick couldn’t bring himself to look up to see Bruce’s face, but he doubted there was anything welcome there. “If you need me just…” she paused, and if Dick had the energy he might have smiled. “I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.”

And with that she was gone, the door shutting behind her a moment later, leaving the living room in heavy silence, Dick left curled up on the end of the couch he’d woken up on moments ago, Bruce hovering a few paces away.

I’m sorry, Dick wanted so badly to say, but his voice stayed stubbornly locked away, and his trembling hands stayed frozen in his lap. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-

“I’m sorry.”

Dick snapped his head up, risking a glance at the man across the room, clutching at the blanket still pooled in his lap. Bruce took a moment to meet his eyes, his gaze firmly trained on the floor, but when he did Dick let go of the blanket to shakily sign again. ‘ What?’

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said again, like it wasn’t unheard of. Like it hadn’t been one of the hardest things for him to say since Dick had met him. “God, I’m… Dick, why didn’t you tell anyone you were nonverbal?”

Dick just blinked, and Bruce’s shoulders sagged at his blank stare. “I know, I’m… Dick, everyone in this house speaks sign language, and over half of them have gone mute before. Myself included, you know that. It’s never been an issue.”

Dick just shrugged, hands going from clutching the blanket, to his shirt, to wrapping around his middle, like he could try to hold himself together.

“Dick,” Bruce tried again, crossing the room in careful, calculated strides. “Why didn’t you ask for help?”

Dick swallowed, refusing to lift his gaze from his lap even as Bruce kneeled beside the couch, slowly raising his hands just a fraction to sign, ‘ I didn’t want to make you more angry.’

“Angry?” Bruce echoed out loud. “Why would anyone be angry at you?”

Dick wanted to scoff. He wanted to pull away and close his eyes, curl up and go back to sleep, sob his eyes out until this all went away. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to mourn and beg.

Instead, the words came spilling out of unsteady hands, mouth staying firmly shut. ‘ Everyone’s so mad at me. Everyone’s mad and it's all my fault. I shouldn’t be like this when it was my fault, I can’t ask for help, you’ll all just think I want attention but I don’t, I promise I’m trying but-’

“Hey, hey.” Bruce’s hands were suddenly over his own, not enough to restrict his movements, but the warm touch enough to yank Dick back to reality. He gasped, ragged and shallow, when he realized he’d stopped breathing. “Hey, nobody’s mad at you. Nobody’s… we just thought…”

Dick pulled his hands away. ‘ You yelled at me.’

“I did,” Bruce relented, hands hovering uselessly over the couch. “You scared me, I thought-”

‘ Tim hates me, Dick signed, barreling over whatever Bruce had been about to say. At least this way, talking with his hands, he couldn’t be spoken over, and Bruce had the decency to fall silent. He hates me and everyone else is mad and I don’t… know what I did but I can’t fix it. Everyone’s so mad and they hate me and I can’t fix it.’

“Tim doesn’t hate you,” Bruce said, the moment Dick paused. “Nobody hates you.”

‘ They do!’ Dick couldn’t scream himself hoarse the way he so desperately wanted to, but he was sure his desperation came across in his movements by the way Bruce snapped his mouth shut and leaned back. ‘ I’ve been trying so hard. I’ve been trying so hard, B. Ever since you came back I’ve just been trying to do better. I keep trying to talk to them, I keep trying to say sorry, but they won’t… they don’t want to listen to me. They’re mad and I don’t know how to do this anymore.’

“Dick… honey-”

‘ Alfred said I wasn’t trying,’ Dick pushed on, his hands shaking even worse now. ‘ He said I wasn’t putting in the effort. Jason thinks I’m just trying to make you all feel bad, Barbara didn’t want anything to do with me, Damian and Tim don’t want me here, and all I did was disappoint you.’

“Chum, take a breath.”

‘ All I did was disappoint you.’ He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t catch his breath. ‘ I just wanted to do good. I just wanted to be better and all I did was make everyone angry.’

“It’s okay,” Bruce tried, clearly at a loss, eyes wide and frantic as he watched Dick move. He moved to take Dick’s wrists, to get him to slow down, quickly dropping his hands back to his thighs when Dick yanked them away, panicked and cornered, desperate to cling onto the only communication he’d had in weeks. “We’re going to fix this, Dick. I promise you.”

‘ He told me I was worse than Jack,’ Dick signed, ignoring the empty promise, ignoring the way Bruce went still. ‘ When I took Robin away. He told me I was worse than Jack. I was… I was just trying to keep him safe. I just wanted to protect him and I lost him. I lost my baby brother, I… I can’t fix this. I can’t fix it.’

“You are nothing like Jack,” Bruce said, eyes softening when Dick’s breath hitched on a broken sob. “That’s… I didn’t know he said that to you.”

‘ You didn’t ask,’ Dick signed before he could stop himself. ‘ You didn’t even ask me if I was okay.’

It was unfair, Dick knew it was. Bruce had checked in on all his kids in his own way, silent and unseen, the method he found most comfortable. He’d had the weight of the world on his shoulders since he’d returned, a life to rebuild, a city to retake control over.

But he’d shifted that weight to Dick’s shoulders without so much as a warning when he’d died, and nobody had bothered to ease the ache it left.

It was a miracle he’d only lost his voice.

“I know,” Bruce said, resigned instead of angry, soft instead of defensive. “I should have. I’ve been worried about you- all of you, I just…”

He trailed off and Dick watched him carefully, cheeks stinging with fresh tears. ‘ I’m not mad at you.’

“You should be,” Bruce said. “Nobody would blame you for being furious with all of us.”

‘ I’m not.’ He wasn’t. He didn’t have the energy to be angry. ‘ I just miss everyone. I just want everything to go back to normal.’

“It will. Everyone just needs time.”

‘ Nobody wants me here,’ he signed. ‘ Nobody wants anything to do with me anymore. They hate me, they wish I would just-’

“Everyone is worried sick about you,” Bruce cut in, gently resting his hands over Dick’s and effectively shutting down that particular train of thought. “You’re their brother and they… everyone feels awful, Chum. We really do.”

Dick hesitated, slowly pulling his hands out of Bruce’s grasp. ‘ Okay.’

Bruce’s face fell, but he was suddenly moving slowly, easing his way onto the edge of the couch, watching Dick like his son was a spooked wild animal, seconds from bolting.

“Can I touch you?” he asked, and Dick nodded faster than he’d planned. But it didn’t matter- it didn’t matter how needy or desperate or pathetic everyone must think he was, rendered to something so helpless over so little- not when Bruce’s hands were suddenly framing his face, warm and steady, the same way they had so many times when Dick had been younger.

“You are not a disappointment,” Bruce said, so sharp and sudden it made Dick’s tears stop all at once, breaths still coming in nothing more than hiccuping gasps. “I left you with an impossible task, Dick. I didn’t… I never wanted anyone to take on the Batman mantle. All of this, everything I’ve done, has been so no one else would have to carry that burden. It was never meant to be passed to you. Any of you. But you did, and you did good. You did good, Dick. No matter what decisions you made or didn’t make, no matter what mistakes or mishaps happened, you did good. And I’m proud of you. You will never lose this family, and I’ll never stop being proud to call you my son. So get that idea out of your head right this minute, do you understand?”

Dick had started crying again somewhere along to way, latching onto Bruce’s words as desperately as he could when his own sobs were threatening to drown everything out.

But he found himself nodding to his father’s command, leaning into his touch, wanting nothing more than to believe him without question, to trust Batman as blindly as he had when he’d been his Robin.

“It’s going to be alright,” Bruce said, and despite everything, every instinct telling him not to, Dick allowed himself to trust that he was right. Just for the moment. “It’ll get better. We’ll fix this together, Dick. We’ll fix this.”

Dick nodded again, unable to do anything but let Bruce pull him into his arms like he was a little boy again and weep into his father’s chest.

Dick honestly hadn’t expected anything to change. Everyone would still be angry- even more angry now that he’d caused a scene just because he’d been too weak to handle a little pressure- and he’d just have to keep riding out the nonverbal episode on his own until things slowly went back to a tense, reluctant normal.

He didn’t expect the rest of the family to start trickling in after Barbara and Bruce had stepped out, one by one like they were taking turns, waiting to talk to him.

Damian was first, practically kicking Bruce out with a determined glare, a plate of food in his hands, planting himself on the other end of the couch, legs crossed.

“Talking is stupid,” he declared, the closest he’d come to telling Dick it was okay, and thrust the plate into his older brother’s hands. “But you need to eat. Pennyworth made you your favorite. You missed dinner because you were shot.”

Dick winced, not particularly thrilled about the idea of being lectured for his injury again, but Damian just watched intently as Dick picked at his food, brow furrowed.

“I am happy to eliminate Drake for you,” he said, and Dick nearly dropped his fork. “He seems to be the main cause of your distress.”

Dick shook his head, forcing himself to take a bite of food despite the way it made his stomach churn. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, skipping family dinner as much as he possibly could.

‘ No thank you,’ he signed, hands moving slower, sign language newer to Damian than to Bruce and Babs. ‘ It’s not Tim’s fault. He has the right to be angry with me.’

Damian crossed his arms, his gaze locked firmly on the floor. “Everyone is acting incredibly immature. It was… irresponsible of them not to notice your distress. And a failure on my part.”

‘ It’s not your fault, Damian,’ Dick said, but Damian didn’t raise his head to see the words. ‘ It’s okay.’

Dick could practically see the gears turning in the youngest Wayne’s head, biting his lip as he considered his words carefully, hesitating a moment too long before speaking again. “I enjoyed being your Robin, Grayson. You did good work. It would not… be ideal, if you weren’t with us anymore.”

There was no way Dick was going to let himself break down again, especially not in front of his youngest brother, but he found himself having to blink away tears, reaching forward to squeeze Damian’s hand.

‘ Thank you.’

Damian opted to stay right where he was even in the silence that followed, watching with a scrutinizing frown as Dick ate, refusing to let up until half the plate was cleared and his older brother set it aside on the coffee table with an apologetic smile.

Cass came next, Damian excusing himself with a huff as he gathered up the remains of Dick’s dinner and disappeared through the doorway with one last wide eyed glance at his big brother, doing an uncharacteristically poor job of concealing his worry.

His sister didn’t seem to have anything to say, signing a small greeting before settling down on the chair beside the couch, gaze soft when she glanced at him, all the words neither of them had expressed in just a quiet, gentle look.

They didn’t speak, the two of them sitting in the comfortable silence of the living room, and Dick finally started to feel some of the tension from his shoulders come undone, the sickening tightness of his chest unraveling just a little.

Dick was almost certain he was imagining it when Jason showed up in the doorway after Cass had wandered off, hesitating in the threshold, hand stuffed deep in his pockets and a scowl etched onto his face. Dick’s stomach dropped as he sat up, waiting.

“Hey,” Jason grunted, and Dick held up a nervous hand. “You uh… did you eat? There’s leftovers in the fridge.”

‘ Damian brought me a plate.’

“Right,” Jason said, moving to cross his arms as he shuffled forward. “Alfred’s worried sick, you know. He’s deep cleaning the house.”

‘ Oh.’ Dick hesitated, scrambling to figure out if Jason was here to yell at him or not. ‘ I’m sorry.’

“Christ, don’t do that,” Jason snapped, and Dick dropped his hands. “It’s hard enough for me to apologize without you doing it first.”

Dick blinked, glancing at the door to make sure Barbara wasn’t holding his brother at gunpoint. There was no point in trying to sign any questions, not when Jason’s gaze was locked firmly on the wall across from him.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Jason said, only taking a second to glance in Dick’s direction. “Look, I was an ass. I’m… sorry for shoving you. And yelling. I should have realized you weren’t okay, and I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

It was the most concrete apology he’d gotten from Jason since he’d been a kid, always smiling, always too good for a world like this. He waited until Jason looked back at him, shoulders tense like he was bracing to be brushed off, before carefully signing a response.

‘ Don’t be sorry. It’s not your job to pick up on when I’m feeling down.’

“You would have been the first to notice if it was any of us,” Jason shot back, and Dick didn’t have an argument for that. “A lot of shit’s been going on and we’ve all fucked up a little, you included. That’s not an excuse to throw you under the bus. You’re still our brother.”

Dick fiddled with the blanket, wishing his voice would come back if only for a second, desperate to tell Jason just how much it meant to hear him say those words. Eventually, he settled on sending a silent, ‘ Thank you.’

“Yeah whatever,” Jason muttered, but Dick could see some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Glad you’re like… not dead, by the way. I’ll buy you ice cream or something when you’re feeling better. Can’t be mad at me after that.”

Dick rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips despite everything. ‘ I’m not mad at you.’

“Of course you aren’t,” Jason scoffed, smirking over his shoulder as he started back towards the doorway. “Get some sleep, Goldie. You look like shit.”

A moment later Dick was alone again, but the silence didn’t feel nearly as suffocating this time, the air noticeably lighter as he leaned back against the pillows and let his eyes slip shut.

Maybe this wasn’t as irreparable as he’d thought. Maybe… maybe things would start to get better, slowly but surely. They weren’t angry with him anymore- most of them weren’t, anyway- and the pain in his chest that had lingered since the Robin mantle had been passed down was finally allowing him some relief.

Maybe his voice would come back to him with time, if he was a little patient with himself. Maybe-

“Dick?”

Dick’s eyes flew open, breath catching in his throat when he saw the figure in the doorway, hunched over himself in a hoodie Dick belatedly recognized as one of his own. It had been missing for weeks.

Tim didn’t say anything for a moment, the two of them caught in the living room’s silence. Dick watched as his little brother’s eyes darted to his face, only to quickly move back down to his stomach where the fresh bandages were poking out from beneath his shirt, like he needed to reassure himself Dick wasn’t in danger of bleeding out again.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Tim said, so quiet Dick nearly missed it. It was almost surreal, hearing Tim address him like he cared again. “And I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You saved my life. So… thank you. And I’m sorry.”

Dick didn’t know what he was supposed to do, frozen, like one wrong move would shatter the illusion, like Tim would go right back to angry if he so much as moved the wrong way.

Tim didn’t seem to mind the lack of response, nodding to himself like he’d been expecting it.

“I think we should talk,” Tim said. “When you can, I mean. Take your time, just… I’m tired of being mad at you, Dick. I miss you. You’re… even after all this, you’re still my brother. I didn’t… I didn’t want this.”

Dick hesitated, running the words through his head in a frantic loop before carefully signing a response. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

“You never do,” Tim muttered, but he sounded resigned more than angry. “I don’t- I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you did it but… but I’d like to. Whenever you can, I think it would be good to talk.”

Dick didn’t know what to do but nod wordlessly, quickly blinking away the heat gathering behind his eyes again. Tim just smiled, the gesture small and tired, and turned back towards the hallway.

“Get some rest. Alfie and Bruce are fighting over who gets to bring you tea.” He paused, a hand resting on the doorframe. “I love you, you know. I don’t want you to think I don’t. We’ll talk in a few days.”

Dick leaned back against the couch cushions, breathing slowly as he listened to his little brother’s footsteps fade, the familiar, comfortable commotion from the kitchen filtering in through the open door.

Maybe everything would be alright, after all.

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ao3statistics · 4 months

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This is self-made. Date: 08.01.2024.

Not very spectacular results if I'm being honest.

I assume no guarantee or liability for the completeness, correctness and accuracy of this chart despite my best efforts.

Includes fanfictions in all languages available, NOT English only. Includes all fandoms on Ao3 connected to DC, Batman etc.

The sibling tags in the chart above are all metatags.

More charts will follow. :)

Want to have a chart for different pairings, headcanons etc. in your favourite fandom? Send me an ask!

Guys... come on... give him a break

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theforgottendaydreamer · 1 month

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#dick grayson #duke thomas #tim drake #dc #dc comics #batman #nightwing #signal #red robin #angst #whump #dick grayson angst #dick grayson whump #hurt dick grayson #batfam febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump

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fleur-de-violette · 10 months

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Bruce Wayne’s son(s)

AO3

Summary:

Jason is Robin. He might be a civilian right now, but he’s Robin.He should have seen the van coming before the kidnappers got them and injured Dick. And none of this would have happened. Written for the prompt: I should have seen that coming.

Notes:

Prompt: "Should've seen that coming" Word count: 50-500 Genre: h/c or whump preferred Characters: Dick & Jason and anyone else you want to include

This story is set when Jason is Robin. Warring for head injuries and kidnapping. Hope you’ll enjoy it!

“I should have seen it coming.”

Dick’s laughter is forced next to Jason. “What? Because every time you’re with me something bad happens?”

Jason shakes his head. He doesn’t like how slurred Dick’s voice is. “No, I mean, I should have seen the van coming. And we should have ran before…” before the kidnappers could grab him and swing a baseball’s bat at Dick’s head when he tried to interfere.

Dick’s hand tries to reach for his shoulder, only to miss it by a good foot. Jason wishes it wasn’t so dark in the cave they’d been tossed in. “Hey, don’t sweat it. Nothing much you could have done. Beside we’re… we’re civilians, right?”

“Yeah, we’re civilians.” And isn’t that the problem. “Bruce Wayne’s sons.”

There is some time where only Dick’s labored breathing can be heard. “Bruce Wayne’s sons… yeah sure. You were on the papers. Bruce Wayne’s son.”

Dick laughs a little bit, a sad and broken sound, before saying, “he must have been so proud.”

“Dick?”

This time, the hand finds his face in an uncoordinated motion. “No, don’t listen to me, it’s okay, it’s nonsense, I’m concussed. Don’t listen to what I say.”

Jason swallows. “I know. Don’t fall asleep.”

“You know that’s a myth, right?”

“Don’t fall asleep, still. Just hold on a little longer. Bruce will pay. That, or his friend will show up.”

“Of course, he will. You’re his son.”

Jason gets himself a little closer to Dick. He wishes he could actually see him. He wishes Bruce would hurry up.

He wishes he hadn’t insisted on showing his newfound brother the arcade place that had them in that alley.

He wishes he had seen the van coming.

Hope you enjoyed the story!

#batfam #dick grayson #Jason Todd #hurt/comfort #hurt dick grayson #dick grayson whump #fanfiction #my writing

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miles2g0 · 2 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson Characters: Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Whumptober 2022, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt Dick Grayson, Protective Dick Grayson, Good Older Sibling Dick Grayson, Whump, Monsters, Demons Series: Part 5 of Whumptober 2022 Summary:

Another wave of nausea hit him hard and he felt weakness overtaking him, his legs turning to jelly. “Dick,” he warned. Dick’s attention snapped to him. “Dick I don’t think—I can’t—I ca—” His vision was blackening at the edges and he felt Dick grab a hold of his shoulders to keep him standing. He could hear him speaking, but it sounded like he was underwater. Dammit, Dick needed to go, he shouldn’t be wasting time with Tim’s useless dead weight. “Dick. Dick, go—you—”

---- Dick and Tim are at a gala when a demon attacks.

#whumptober 2022 #no.11 #sloppy bandages #batman #fic #hurt tim drake #hurt dick grayson #dick grayson and tim drake #protective dick grayson

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iriswords · 1 year

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Febuwhump Day 26 - Forced to choose

You can also read this on ao3 and find the rest of my febuwhump fics here

tw: torture, mentions of pit madness, mentions of child trafficking and child prostitution as well as adult trafficking and prostitution, implied fear of sexual assault, watching a loved one being tortured, implied child sexual assault

Fandom: Batman

Words: 4166

“Familial love,” Mask said to himself. “Such a nice thing to play with. I will never get tired of it.”

In a few days, he would be rid of the most important of the Bats. There would still be a few left to take care of, including the terrifying Black Bat, but Mask’s shoulders would be lifted from a hefty burden just by taking down these five Bats. But first, he got to have some fun.

It took five henchmen to pin Batman to the floor and effectively handcuff him. Several dozens lay unconscious on the floor, but Mask had expected the Bats’ skills and had hired nearly sixty henchmen, taking care to mention that no injury sustained during the job would be a source of financial compensation. Paying henchmen to get their injuries treated was one sure way to lose money, and Mask had only made the mistake twice before adding a new clause to his contracts. And if henchmen protested, he had no qualms about killing them.

Mask watched contentedly as his men dragged Batman out of the room and reported his attention to the three other vigilantes struggling against his men. Red Robin and Robin were already cuffed, but Nightwing was posing more problems, even though no less than six men restrained him. One thing Mask had learned and his men never listened to was that Nightwing, despite his cheer, was a strong and slippery bastard, skilled enough to take Batman in a fight if so he wished. But Mask had anticipated all those struggles, and the vigilantes could not escape him now. Not if they wanted their brother to survive.

Mask turned to the Red Hood, who was tied to a chair next to him. He was still unconscious, blood slowly rolling down his temple from the wound that had gotten him captured. He was blissfully ignorant of the half-dozen guns aimed at him. His brothers, who had foolishly come to rescue him and fallen into Mask’s trap, were less so. It had been stupidly easy to get them to surrender once he had threatened to blow out the Red Hood’s brain in front of them.

“Familial love,” he said to himself. “Such a nice thing to play with. I will never get tired of it.”

“Wakey, wakey, birdie,” said a voice, and Jason’s breath caught in his chest, his lungs seizing with panic. The last person who had called him ‘birdie’ had been the Joker. That was not the Joker’s voice, but Jason knew that was no proof.

Jason woke to icy water being thrown at him. He flinched back instinctively and slammed his head against a hard surface.

Spluttering and dreading what he would see, Jason opened his eyes. The light accentuated the throbbing in his skull, but Jason didn’t care about the pain. In front of him stood a man wearing a familiar mask. Jason’s lips pulled into a snarl as he took in his long-time enemy. He tried to take a step forward, but iron cuffed encased his wrists and ankles and kept him chained to the wall.

“I’m honored you’ve decided to join us,” commented Mask.

“Fuck you,” replied Jason and took in the rest of the room. Beyond Mask, similarly chained, stood Batman. His cowl had been taken off, but the domino he wore underneath was still on and covered his eyes. Nevertheless, the rest of his face was tight with anger. Jason wasn’t certain if Mask was its only recipient or if Jason, too, had messed up.

Mask took a step forward, and Jason’s body tensed in anticipation. Roman Sionis was a dangerous and vindictive man. Jason had been very careful not to let himself be caught by him until now; he knew what the man would do to him.

Sionis’s long fingers curled under Jason’s chin and forced him to look up. Fear coiled tight in Jason’s stomach. He knew Mask well, knew of his crimes and his traffic. As a child, when he lived in the streets, he was terrified of being caught by one of Sionis’s men. He has been aware of what happened to children, and what kind of work they were forced to do. Since coming back to Gotham as the Red Hood, Jason had done his best to eradicate the man’s operations and save children from his clutches. He had thought himself relatively safe from the man. The leer in Mask’s eyes told Jason otherwise, and old panic clogged his throat.

The rattle of chains made Mask turn his gaze away from Jason. A second later, he dropped his hand from Jason’s chin, and Jason exhaled shakily. Only then did he notice the source of the noise. To his left, on the far end of the wall, Nightwing strained against his chains, his features twisted by protective wrath. In between Jason and Dick stood Damian and Tim, also bound.

They had been captured. Jason first, and Mask had used him as bait. Whatever happened from now on would be Jason’s fault. For all of his bravado and rebuttal, Jason did not want to see his family be hurt, much less because of him. The Pit had long since faded to the back of his mind, barely present, and all the murder urges it had caused him had disappeared along with it.

“Is there something wrong?” Mask asked a gagged Nightwing. Amusement played on his lips. “It is so good to see you all chained like that, at my utter mercy.” Mercy Jason knew he would not have. Not for anyone, but certainly not for them. “You have been a thorn in my side for too long.” He turned back to Jason and fisted his hand in Jason’s hair. “You, especially. Always countering my plans and dismantling my operations. You call yourself a crime lord but you let your stupid morals rule you, Hood. When will you understand that traffic pays well? That whores pay well?”

Jason tried not to let his fear show. Past and present mixed in his head, but he could not let that get the best of him.

“People are not yours to dispose of,” he snarled. “Especially not kids.”

Sionis’s hand dropped to the back of Jason’s neck. His face was inches away from Jason’s now, and Jason had never been more grateful for his domino mask and how it hid his eyes.

“But kids are so much more pliant. So innocent. They think that if they do what you ask of them, you’ll stop.” Jason could not breathe. He had been like that, too, once. Before the cold reality of the world settled in and he learned not to trust anyone. Thankfully, by the time he had found himself in the streets, he already knew to count on no one else than himself. He did not dare imagine where he would be today if he had been one of those innocent and pliant kids back then.

Mask straightened up abruptly. “But I didn’t bring you here to discuss morals with you. As I was saying, you have all been a spectacular thorn in my side, and it is high time I get rid of you. But first, I need compensation for all the bother you’ve caused me, for all the men you cost me, and all the times you put me in Blackgate. All the injuries you gave me. You vigilantes think yourselves untouchable.” Jason resisted the urge to snort. If vigilantes thought themselves untouchable, villains such as Mask thought themselves gods on earth. “Time for payment has come.”

Mask turned his attention to Batman. Something in Jason loosened. “We don’t have all that much time. I would greatly have enjoyed torturing all of you one by one, keeping you as pets for months on end, until you are begging me to kill you, but I cannot afford this kind of time.” He walked up to Batman. “I will torture one of them only.” Jason’s chest clenched painfully. Something bad was about to come out of Sionis’s mouth, he could feel it.

“And you will choose who.”

And you will choose who.

Bruce’s heart stopped in his chest. Mask’s words rang over and over again in his ears.

Now he understood why he was alone on one wall while his children had all been put on the opposite one. Fear choked him. Mask was asking him to choose which one of his children would be tortured. Bruce could not do this.

“Me,” he said, his voice as firm as he could make it.

Mask burst into laughter. “Nice try, Batsy, but you’re not an option.” He stepped aside and gestured at the four boys chained to the wall. Bruce’s boys. “I want you to choose one of them.” When Bruce stayed silent, his mind struggling to find a way out of this, Sionis added, “Come on, it can’t be that difficult. Just choose which one you love the least.”

Jason made a sound at the back of his throat. He had clearly been shaken by Sionis’s closeness to him earlier and he was still shaking faintly.

Bruce could even less make a choice, now. He could not let any of his sons believe he didn’t love them. It was false, oh so false. He loved them all so much it burned him alive every time he thought them in danger and smothered any other emotion when he knew them happy. Bruce knew he had flaws. He knew he had efforts to make and that he could do and be better. But never would he consciously let any of his children believe he didn’t love them or loved them less than their siblings.

Sionis moved over to Jason again, and Bruce’s second son tensed up. With the domino still on his face, Bruce could not see his eyes, but he could easily imagine the fear swirling in them. Jason’s eyes had always been the part of his body that betrayed his emotions the most. His face was second. Bruce had always believed it was because his heart was too big and too good to hide its true intentions.

“Will it be this one?” asked Sionis. Amusement played on his lips. Bruce let him talk; the more time he took before starting the torture, the more chances there were that someone would come for them before any of Bruce’s sons could be hurt. Sionis looked at Jason contemplatively. “No, probably not. Mr. Hood here is the prodigal son, after all, isn’t he? Or perhaps he isn’t anymore. You’ve had fallouts, if I’m not mistaken.” Sionis leaned towards Jason, who could not suppress his shudder. Bruce strained against his bindings but he could not win against relentless iron. “Does daddy still love you after all the things you’ve done, birdie? We all know Batman’s morals are dead set, while yours are freer. Have you atoned for the wrong you’ve done, or is today the day you pay for your deeds?”

Bruce saw the waver in Jason’s expression, and he knew his son believed Sionis’s words. He longed to drown Mask’s vile words under his screams, to yell at his son how much he loved him.

It didn’t matter what Jason had done in the past. He had apologized a thousand times, and Bruce knew how much the Pit had twisted his mind in those hard months.

Bruce kept his mouth shut, despite the burning of his tongue and his chest. Sionis was unpredictable, and Bruce did not want to risk his son’s safety. He could make sure Jason knew he was loved later; right now, Bruce had to make sure he stayed alive and as unharmed as possible.

Tim did not flinch when Mask stopped a foot away from him and observed him with calculating eyes. Out of the corner of his eyes, Tim could see Jason shaking.

Tim watched as Mask moved onto him. He was not scared of Mask himself. The man, like many villains in Gotham, was an egotistical idiot. He would make a mistake sooner or later, and the rest of the family would come and rescue them. Still, Tim was scared of what the villain would do. He did not want to be tortured, but he would take it over any of his brothers being hurt. But Sionis’s henchmen had gagged him, and he could not offer himself up for torture.

“Will it be this one?” asked Mask. “A genius, but everyone knows geniuses are the most annoying. They’re know-it-alls, always displaying their knowledge and thinking themselves above everyone else. Tell me, birdie, how much patience have you used up in Batman? How long until he gets rid of you anyway?” Tim kept his face neutral even as the words reopened barely-healed wounds. The man was observant, Tim could give him that. Or perhaps he just knew them all that well. “Do you think you are that useful that he will keep you around forever? That you are so smart that he will forgive all your flaws?”

No, Tim didn’t think that. He had never been meant to be anything else than a placeholder until Batman stopped trying to get himself killed or until another, more suitable Robin showed up. Most days, he did not understand how he was still here. His insecurities were wounds that started to heal when Jason came back into the family, before Damian had arrived in Gotham. Then, Bruce died, and no one believed Tim when he said he was still alive.

Being fired from Robin, by the original Robin with that, brutally reopened all of Tim’s wounds. Now, Mask was doing his best to carve them out again, hatching at them until Tim broke.

He knew he was the logical choice. Jason truly was the prodigal son, and Bruce would never voluntarily expose him to such harm. Damian was the youngest, and Tim would never want him to be chosen for torture if there was another option. Dick was the first, he was Bruce’s original sidekick, he was Nightwing. Tim was just… Tim. Sure, he was smart. Sure, he did his job well and he had recovered Bruce from the timeline. But Bruce didn’t owe him anything and Tim was easily replaceable.

No matter how much it hurt, he hoped Bruce would choose him over his brothers.

“Or will it be this one?” asked Mask as he stopped in front of Damian, whose face was set in his trademark scowl. He did not shrink under Mask’s gaze, and Bruce knew Sionis was nothing compared to Ra’s. Still, Bruce hated to see his youngest son—so young that baby fat still clung lovingly to his face and that his hands were tiny enough to be engulfed in Bruce’s—towered by a villain such as Black Mask.

Bruce watched with tears in his eyes as Mask moved onto Damian. He was glad that his domino hid them. Tim’s expression had given nothing as Mask prodded at his insecurities. His poker face was, as always, perfect, and Bruce could not tell whether Sionis’s words had hit their mark or not. He knew Tim battled with his place in the family. But had he managed to shield his mind from Mask? If any of them was capable of it, it was certainly him.

“I know I wouldn’t want him as a child,” continued Mask. “So angry and violent. So snippy, so arrogant. You must be a pain to deal with every day, kid. Let’s hope for your sake that Batsy over there has patience, but we all know it isn’t his forte. You’re young, but if you’re annoying enough, he may very well choose you. Does his love for your brothers overrule his love for you? Are you lovable enough that he won’t want to hurt you?”

Damian muttered something behind his gag. From habit, Bruce knew his son had said something derogatory in Arabic. But he also knew Mask’s words had gotten to Damian, and more tears pooled in his eyes. He loved them all equally, and Bruce was aware his children knew that. At this moment, however, Mask was toying with their mind, and their insecurities flared up.

The worst part was that Bruce would have to choose. He would have to make one of them think that what Mask had said was right, that the son he chose was the one he loved the least.

“Or will it be the Golden Boy?” asked Mask, settling in front of Dick, whose body strained against the chains. Tense as a wire and fury carved into his expression, Dick looked dangerous. More than that, he looked lethal. Bruce noted with satisfaction how Mask stayed a careful foot and a half away from Nightwing.

“You were only the first draft, after all. A tryout to see what would work and what would fail. And look! As soon as you stopped being Robin, Batman replaced you. You were never meant to last, it seems. Why wouldn’t he choose you?”

Bruce clenched his eyes shut. He remembered the many arguments he had gotten into with Dick about Bruce’s love for his son. He knew how hurt Dick had been when Bruce told him Robin was over and then when Bruce told him Jason was Robin. Mask had the uncanny ability to see past all their shields and dig out their most intimate insecurities.

Mask turned to Bruce. “So? Which one will it be?”

Bruce could not do this. He could not choose one of his sons to be tortured. He could not choose the one he loved most because he loved them all equally and he didn’t want to see any of them hurt.

Bruce knew already he would not pick Damian. He was too young and his body too fragile for the violence Bruce knew Mask was capable of. It would be so easy to kill him or injure him permanently.

It did not make his choice easier.

But he had chosen nonetheless.

“Nightwing,” said Batman, and Damian exhaled in relief he did not want to feel. He would never admit it, but Mask’s words had hit closer to home than he liked. Everything the man had said echoed Damian’s own insecurities. And his father had not confirmed them.

If Richard showed a reaction, Damian did not catch it. Mask cackled in delight at Batman’s resigned words and moved towards Nightwing. Damian’s muscles clenched instinctively. He knew what came next, and he hated himself for being relieved he wasn’t going to be the one subjected to it.

Damian did not want to watch his brother being tortured. He didn’t want to have to hear his cries and know his pain. He wanted his brother safe and sound. Still, selfishly, even after everything Richard had given him, Damian could not stifle the relief coursing through his veins.

He would not be tortured today.

Hurt washed over the relief before long. He knew, rationally, that Mask’s words had been a mere mind game. That they were not true and that they were simply aimed to hurt. But Mask had hit all his brothers’ insecurities, and Dick had not escaped the psychological dissection. Dick had been struggling with his place in the family for a long time. He knew his family loved him, but their love languages were so different from his, so much more subtle, that he often doubted the reality of their love.

Dick’s mind went blank for a second when Batman said his name. Relief came as the first wave. He would have chosen himself over his brothers a thousand times over. Had he not been gagged, he would have begged Bruce to choose him.

And now Bruce had chosen him. Had it been a tactical decision? Dick was the eldest, after all, and though Jason was strongest, all of them had seen how affected he was by Mask. Dick was the most logical choice. But his mind could not stop wondering if Bruce’s choice had been an answer to Mask's question. Which one of them do you love the least? Was Dick the answer?

Despite all his doubts, Dick held his head high as Mask approached him. He would not let his fear and hurt show; that was the least he could do for his family. Mask called for his henchmen, and several men soon rolled in a complete torture panoply. Mask contemplated from his position next to Dick.

“I can’t quite make a choice,” he said conversationally, and Dick wished villains would speak less and act more because he was growing incredibly tired of their constant monologuing. (Though it at least had the merit of buying them precious time.)

“Batsy,” Mask called out. “Burns or electricity?”

Bruce did not answer immediately, and Dick knew he was considering the most tactical choice. Both would hurt, but which one was most likely to cause lasting damage? Which was most likely to hinder Dick’s performance on the field?

“Electricity,” Bruce answered eventually. Dick did not miss the slight waver of his voice, and he felt guilty for the warmth it spurred in Dick’s chest. Maybe he had truly been a tactical choice.

Mask uncaringly tore through Nightwing’s suit to expose his chest, and Dick resisted the urge to growl. It would have been useless since he was gagged, but he really would appreciate it if villains were more careful with vigilantes’ suits.

Once Dick’s chest was exposed enough for Mask’s tastes, he put electrodes on it. Dick’s heart hammered in his chest. Soon, it would be going wild.

At last, Mask yanked the gag out of Dick’s mouth with a twisted smile. “I want to hear your screams, birdie,” he whispered, and Dick could not help the shudder than ran through him.

Mask turned on the device, and Dick threw his head back as fire tore through his nerves. He clenched his teeth hard not to scream, but he could not blink back the tears streaming down his cheeks.

The electricity stopped in a matter of seconds. Dick’s tongue tasted like metal, and his limbs still twitched weakly. He knew the reprieve would not last, and his only comfort was that Mask would not draw out the torture for as long as he could and would not kill him yet.

Electricity seared through him again. Dick stopped thinking.

On the third time, he could not hold back his scream. On the fourth, black spots dotted his vision. After the fifth, his head lolled limply against his chest. His nerves were alight with pain.

“Broken bone or stab wound?” asked Mask

Bruce’s wrists would be raw by the time they got out of there, but he could not care less. He watched in utter helplessness as Mask patted Dick’s cheek mockingly before turning to Bruce again. A wide, wild smile broke his face in two. Bruce wanted to punch it off.

Bruce’s breath stuttered in his chest. He was sick and tired of Mask’s games.

“Do I get to choose the emplacement?” asked Bruce. He could not make a tactical decision without knowing what it would entail, and the least he could do for Dick was spare him the risk of permanent injuries as much as possible.

Mask pondered on Bruce’s question. “I’ll give you a choice between two options,” he decided finally.

It was not as good as what Bruce wanted, but it was something. Mask did not want to kill Dick yet. He would make the torture last as long as possible before killing him, and that excluded wounds that led to a quick death.

“Stab wound,” Bruce answered. Broken bones led to too many risks of healing badly, and Dick would be devastated if a bone healed wrong and stopped him from keeping his work as a vigilante.

Mask’s fingers trailed over the knives laid out on the rolling table his henchmen had brought in. They finally settled on a small dagger, and Bruce exhaled in relief.

“Leg or abdomen?”

The answer was no difficulty. “Abdomen,” Bruce replied and tried to ignore the way his heart shattered when Mask violently stabbed Dick, and his son cried out in pain. Blood immediately welled up from the wound and rolled down Dick’s suit-clad legs, pooling on the already-dirty floor.

Bruce expected Mask to turn back to him. Instead, the villain aimed at Dick again and buried the dagger in his shoulder. Dick screamed brokenly and crumpled. His right shoulder snapped out of its socket under the sudden pressure. Mask laughed and turned away, the dagger still embedded in Dick’s other shoulder.

The room’s door slammed open at this instant, and a dark figure lunged inside. Black Bat took Mask down before any of them could react. When she straightened up, the villain unconscious at her feet, her eyes gleamed with unrestrained fury. Spoiler strolled in a second later, and together they detached the five other vigilantes from the binds.

As soon as he was free, Bruce rushed to Dick’s side. His son barely held on to consciousness, his eyes half-lidded and hazy with pain. He smiled up at Bruce. “I’m glad it’s over.”

@febuwhump

#my writing #creative writing #fanfic #fanfiction #whump #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday26 #dc #batman #batfam #hurt dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #hurt batfamily

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psychologeek · 2 years

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So my fanfic has been hijacked by laundry workers

Help!

It was ment to be only a short thing, but now they have NAMES and PERSONALITIES and Beatrice look up at me from the page with a serious face and tell me I need to give the poor girl a brake 😭😭

#batman #batfam #dick grayson #hurt dick grayson #romani dick grayson #achilles come down #fanfic #current wip #young dick grayson #female dick grayson #bruce wayne #robin #nightwing #nyc #runaway #laundry workers

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ao3-whump-recs · 2 years

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Chapters: 7/7 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Illness, Fluff and Angst, Inhibition Removal Serum, (that functions more as a truth serum), Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Hurt Dick Grayson, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Good Sibling Tim Drake, Good Sibling Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Happy Ending, Batfamily (DCU) Summary:

"It's what we thought, isn't it?" "I'm sorry, I know you wanted different news."

or,

After being hit with an inhibition removal serum, Dick doesn't act the way anyone expects. His family learns he's been hiding a diagnosis from them.

#ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic rec #whump #hurt comfort #dick grayson #batfam #batfamily #hurt dick grayson #whump fic #whump rec

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grayson1996 · 1 year

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The Only Touch I know is Hurt https://archiveofourown.org/works/40108581/chapters/108226785 Grayson1996! Chapter: 2 Hurt Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd

Hell was not other people.

Dick didn’t care what the philosophers said in their high backed leather bound armchairs. Puffs of smoke seeping out of the expensive cigars hanging from the corners of their mouths. Bellies full, bills paid, clutching a glass of whiskey and spending the luxury of time on musing on the unspoken questions of the universe. Of the end of one's existence.

Dick hated philosophy, had taken one class during his brief stint at Hudson and had dropped out soon after. (The course hadn’t been his only reason for leaving the university but it certainly helped his decision.

His professor, a short portly man in his late 50’s who had a sleepy disposition about him and who talked in a melodic and droning voice, had assigned a play to them the first day. Some mid century French existentialist piece set in purgatory. Something that reeked of classism and pretension but that had surprisingly kept Dicks attention, if only because he vehemently disagreed with the premise of it.

‘Hell is other people.’

Of course it wasn’t.

Dick had seen hell, Dick had known it intimately even then at the age of 19. Especially at the age of 19.

The writer proposed that Hell was only being seen by those who hated you, by those who would dissect your faults and loathe you for them. Hell was being surrounded by company you never wanted, by the mere notion of their presence. Dick disagreed.

Hell was in fact, not being seen at all.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40108581/chapters/108226785

#nightwing #batman #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne #batfamily #koriander #roy harper #mirage #hurt dick grayson

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arttuff · 12 days

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some robin 1 and 2 costume headcanons!!!

shorts on jason inspired by rillette on tumblr's amazing jason design. love this bug

imagine going to work at your henchman job and getting beaten up by a larval stage vigilante. i'd be mortified

#robin #dc robin #dick grayson #jason todd #batman #batfamily #batfam #nightwing #red hood #robin dick #robin jason #jason!robin #dick!robin #dc comics #dc #this is not continuity friendly im sorry fellow readers. i just want them to be cute and little #dick around 9 jason around 11 #the timeline changes in new 52 personally hurt me so im looking away

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eliemo · 2 years

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Real Men

“Oh, I know you don’t,” the man said calmly, his tone sending shivers down Nightwing’s spine. And then his gaze slid to where Tim was tied against the beam, defenseless, and Dick’s heart dropped. “But he does.”

It wasn’t that Dick enjoyed torturing his brother.

It was just that the look on Tim’s face when every single one of his buttons were being pushed at once and he was so desperately trying to keep up that mature Robin facade in the face of childish frustration was priceless.

Besides, annoying his little brothers was what Dick did best. When the city was quiet, he had to find some way to entertain himself.

“Will you leave me alone?” Tim snapped for what had to be the fifth time in the last twenty minutes, glaring up at Nightwing’s perch on the edge of the rooftop. “I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“I’m not babysitting.” He wasn’t, not really. Tim had started going out on patrol by himself more and more and that was perfectly fine with Dick. He was Robin, he could handle himself. He could remember his own frustration at Bruce’s mother henning, years ago when he’d been Tim’s age, and he knew he’d only be a hypocrite if he tried to voice any concerns. Still. He was younger than Dick had been when he’d first started working without Batman’s supervision. “I’m just on patrol, Tin Man.”

“Then patrol the other side of the city!”

Dick smirked, ignoring him as he continued to follow Robin from the rooftops, balancing along the edge and watching Tim stalk through the alleyways from his vantage point. It wouldn’t hurt for Tim to have someone watching from up above anyway, especially when he was used to Batman being a second pair of eyes.

Not that he was worried about Tim. Absolutely not. He’d never hear the end of it if Tim started getting ideas like that in his head.

But Bruce clearly was, and if someone pressed him he could just pass it off as doing a favor for an antsy, overprotective Batman. He’d mentioned to Dick that night, subtle as ever, that Tim was going out on patrol alone again. He’d then pointedly reminded Dick that the streets had been growing more active every day.

It had been a thinly veiled suggestion that Dick tail him, just to make sure everything went smoothly. He was a little embarrassed by how quickly he’d scrambled to suit up and track his little brother down, the rush of adrenaline fading as soon as he’d caught sight of Robin, alone and unharmed.

Not that he listened to Bruce. He’d made the decision to track Tim down all on his own, because there was no way he was going to pass up the opportunity to pester his little brother all night. Keeping Batman from a heart attack was just a bonus.

“Come on, Robin,” Nightwing called, because Tim was still scowling up at him and, as entertaining as it was, he needed his brother to focus on the job. “You’ll keep an eye on things down there, and I’ll keep an eye on things up here. Efficiency, you know? The way Dad would want it.”

The comment seemed to have the opposite of the desired effect, Tim's eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Did he send you to follow me?”

“No,” Dick said, too fast to be convincing. Tim had always been too smart for his own good. “I didn’t even know you were out tonight.”

Only half of that had been a lie. Bruce didn’t send him anywhere. He was an adult, he wasn’t Batman’s sidekick anymore. He went after Tim because he wanted to, and he happened to be in town for the week.

“Right.” Something in Tim’s expression shifted, clear enough for Dick to notice despite the distance between them. “I can handle myself, you know. I’m just as capable as any of you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dick said, the words coming out a bit more curt than he’d intended, frustration bubbling to the surface at Tim’s defensiveness. “Maybe I just wanted to check in on you.”

“I don’t need you to.”

“So you’ve said.” Dick deflated, still balancing along the edge of the roof as he followed Robin through Gotham’s dark streets. “If you’re really this pissy about it I can get out of your hair.”

Tim scoffed, steps faltering for a heartbeat as he glanced up at Nightwing, but some of the tension had seeped from his words when he spoke again.

“Whatever,” Robin said, just loud enough for him to catch from up above. “You can stay if you shut up.”

Dick smirked again, twirling his batons at his sides. “No promises. I’ve got a lot to say.”

“Yeah, we’re all aware,” Tim snarked. “You—”

“If I’m silent it’s just like you’re on patrol with B again, and where’s the fun in that? It’s like I’m the only one with a sense of humor.”

“Nightwing.”

“Patrolling with Batman’s like walking around with an angry brick wall. All broody and focused. And I’m pretty sure Red Hood—”

“Nightwing.”

Dick froze, left standing on the far corner of the rooftop by the time he realized Tim wasn’t below him anymore. He’d stopped a few paces away, shoulders tense, wide eyes darting back and forth beneath his mask.

Like Tim had flipped a switch, Nightwing dropped the act and fell silent, hands curling around his batons as he scanned the streets below, Gotham motionless and silent beneath him. “Robin?”

A beat passed, nothing but the wind and distant traffic to fill the suddenly heavy air. “Did you hear that?”

His voice was hushed, just loud enough for Nightwing to be able to hear from the roofs if he strained, eyes flickering back to his brother before setting back on scanning the streets.

“Hear what?” Dick asked, suddenly wishing he had Batman’s cowl. He’d kill to be able to scan for any nearby heat signatures right now. He really should ask Bruce to upgrade his mask. “I don’t—”

He wasn’t given a chance to finish his thought, the words dying in his throat when something cold slammed into the side of his neck, right where his skin was exposed, catching him so off guard so suddenly he nearly lost his balance completely. He blinked, reaching up to press a hand against the stinging skin, freezing when his fingers found metal.

And then Dick’s body was on fire, seizing in agony as it felt like every little inch of skin was being soaked in fire, his own scream lost to the shrill ringing in his ears.

Dick couldn’t call out to Tim, couldn’t turn his head to check on Robin’s status- to make sure his brother wasn’t undergoing a similar treatment. He choked on his own scream, the electric shock still coursing through his body, sapping all control from spasming limbs.

He didn’t even realize he was falling until he hit the ground, the wind knocked out of him, blinking up at the blurry sight of the roof where he’d been just seconds ago. The shock only lasted a few seconds but it felt like an eternity before it faded, ebbing away to make room for the white hot agony now shooting down his spine and leg from his less than graceful fall. It felt like he’d been dipped in acid, and then thrown on a pile of hot coals for good measure.

“—ightwing? Nightwing?”

Tim’s voice sounded distorted and far away, like Dick’s head was being held underwater, but he could still hear the panic in his little brother’s voice, clear as day, and Robin’s fear spurred something back to life in Nightwing’s chest.

He moved to sit up, to push himself up on shaky elbows, but the burst of pain came crashing down once again, shorter this time, but intense enough to send him crashing back down to the ground.

There was a blur of movement, Nightwing left gasping for breath as he watched a figure move towards him, muscles and limbs still twitching uselessly as the pain slowly subsided into a barely manageable throb.

He was barely able to make out dark clothes and a cloth mask before the sight of a boot flying towards his face sent his whole world spiraling into a dark nothing.

Dick came back to the waking world with the distinct feeling that he’d been hit by a truck.

It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up sore and disorientated, sometimes patrol left him with more bruises than clear skin in the mornings, but now it felt like every bone in his body had been meticulously removed, banged around a little, and forcibly shoved back into his battered body. His left leg and back hurt the worst, the pain heavy and intense, red hot waves of agony pooling through his skin with each labored breath.

Awareness came slowly, the world filtering in at a nauseating pace, and it took what little self control he had not to close his eyes and go back to sleep. It felt like he was laying on concrete, the ground beneath him cold and hard, digging into his skin and only aggravating his injuries.

Dick furrowed his brow and made a valiant attempt to peel his eyes open, breath hitching at the new spark of pain shooting down his skull at the attempt.

“Nightwing?”

The voice yanked him back to the present, small and far away, fuzzy memories piecing back together as Nightwing forced his eyes to open, blinking sluggishly to take in his surroundings.

It was some kind of warehouse, empty and clearly long abandoned, dust floating through the air in gray clouds. Grainy sunlight was filtering through a small crack in the high ceiling, the morning dawn steadily approaching. He’d been out cold all night. The thought made his stomach clench in panic.

“Nightwing?” Robin’s voice called again, and Dick snapped to attention at his brother’s call, frantically searching for the source. “Are you awake? Are you okay?”

Dick tried to answer, tried to call out and tell Tim to stop being such a damn worrywart and lower his voice before he made Dick’s headache worse, but all that came out was a garbled groan, the words lodged in his throat.

He tried to move, turn himself in the direction of Robin’s voice, only to freeze when something kept him still. Dick was on his stomach, he could register that much now, cheek pressed into the frigid concrete floor. His arms were held down against his back, something tying both of his wrists secure, his ankles given a similar treatment. Great.

Someone had taken them- someone had managed to get the jump on Nightwing and Robin on a routine patrol in a relatively quiet part of Gotham, and Dick had been left tied up and useless all night while they did god only knew what to Tim.

God, Tim. They’d taken his baby brother. He’d left Tim alone.

Dick couldn’t catch his breath.

Ignoring the pain, Nightwing forced himself to pick his head up off the floor, gritting his teeth when stars danced along his vision, threatening to send him spiraling back into unconsciousness. He gasped as he turned himself over onto his side, frantically searching for Tim, needing to see that he was here, that he wasn’t hurt, that he was still alive.

He fell onto his shoulder, squinting through the dim lighting, adrenaline and panic crashing into a weightless relief when he caught sight of a familiar blur of red and yellow.

“Robin,” he croaked, doing his best to shuffle closer. “What—?”

“We’re okay,” Tim said, too quickly, and it sounded almost scripted. Like he was trying to mimic what Bruce or Dick might have said to him in this situation. “Everything’s okay. Don’t move too much, I think your leg is broken.”

Dick responded by immediately trying to move his leg, biting back a whimper at the pain. “I think I fell.”

They’d fucking electrocuted him, attached something to his neck and sent him stumbling off the edge. He hadn’t even seen it coming. If they’d done the same to Tim…

“Are you alright? What did they do to you?”

“Nothing,” Tim said, and the fog was steadily lifting from Dick’s head, allowing him to properly assess Robin’s condition. Tim was pressed against one of the support beams, his arms tied tight behind his back. There was a bit of dried blood around his nose, his hair plastered against his forehead, but other than that he seemed unharmed. Scared, but unharmed. “I think they have some kind of… new camouflage tech, I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone until you were… you were already on the ground.”

Nightwing cringed, pushing down his guilt. He could focus on that when they were safe. “They didn’t hurt you?”

Tim shook his head, shifting in his restraints. “They just… they knocked you out and said… one of them had a gun and they said if I fought they’d…that you’d—”

He cut himself off with a ragged breath, quickly looking away, and Dick didn’t need him to finish to get a pretty good idea of what had happened after that. All because Dick hadn’t been fast enough.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly shuffling closer. There was still a good few feet of space between them, and Dick cursed his own weakness keeping them apart. “It’s okay now. We’re gonna be okay, I promise. I’ll get us out of here.”

Tim didn’t respond and Nightwing focused on the struggle with his own restraints, tugging uselessly, ignoring the way his muscles screamed in protest. They’d been tied with rope, the knot tight enough to cut off circulation, his wrists already sleek with sweat and blood. Whoever had taken them knew what they were doing, and Dick couldn’t get any leverage to begin trying to untie them.

“They won’t budge,” Tim said after a moment, and the resignation in his voice wasn’t something Dick was used to hearing from him. It didn’t suit him, wide eyed and lively as he always was, determined to do the impossible. “I’ve been trying all night.”

“Maybe you’re just weak, ” Dick said, hoping the familiar teasing did something for their nerves, even if he knew escape was hopeless for the time being. “Let the expert work, Robin. I’ll have us out of here before you can blink.”

Tim scoffed, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips and Dick counted that as a win. “Whatever, Nightwing.”

Something else suddenly clicked into place, Dick freezing from his spot on the floor as he blinked up at his little brother. “They didn’t take off your mask.”

“Yeah,” Robin said. He sounded wary and a bit confused, but not overly worried about it. “Nobody even tried. They left yours on too.”

Somehow, Dick doubted that meant anything good.

He didn’t get a chance to voice his rising concern before the awful screeching of metal filled the air, a heavy door squeaking on its hinges as it was pried open, followed by heavy footsteps echoing against the concrete.

“Well, look who’s awake,” someone called, their voice grating against Dick’s ears, the sound only worsening the headache he was still nursing. “I hope you slept well, Nightwing. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Nightwing bristled, counting at least three pairs of footsteps making their way towards the indisposed vigilantes.

There was no way in hell he was going to stay there, defenseless and vulnerable. Not when he had someone to protect. Every little movement felt like fire against his skin, but he was still Batman’s son. A few bruises and broken bones weren’t going to slow him down.

He pushed himself onto his knees, fighting back the urge to cry out against the pain, panting as he glared up at his captors.

There were three men, two trailing behind one who carried himself like the obvious leader, all broad shoulders and straight back, a stance that screamed a desperate imitation of the presence Batman held on Gotham’s streets. A stance they’d all seen, and beaten down, countless times before.

Dick might laugh, if the man hadn’t already proven himself competent enough to take down two heroes.

“Better than I’ve slept in days,” Nightwing said, keeping his voice loose and relaxed. “The electric shock really did wonders. Thanks for that, by the way. And the boot to the head was a nice touch.”

“Sorry for the rough treatment,” the man said, reeking of smug, fabricated politeness that was starting to remind Nightwing of Cobblepot. “Somehow I doubt you two would have gone willingly.”

“Maybe if you had asked nicely.” All three men were watching him now, looking mildly amused, and Dick scrambled to keep it that way. Anything to keep the attention off of Tim. “What, did you just want to chat? Show off your new tech, try to scare me a bit? You know, if you wanted to unmask me you should have done that while I was asleep. I bite. Seriously, just ask Riddler. One time—”

“They told me you would be a chatterbox,” the man said, cutting Dick off with a barking laugh. “But you really never shut up, do you?”

Dick shrugged- or tried to, held back by the restraints on his wrists, the pain in his shoulder nearly making him black out again. “It’s a talent.”

He hoped it covered up his rising uneasiness, the implication that these psychos had been in contact with someone who was already acquainted with Nightwing and his team promising nothing good.

“What do you want?” Tim snarled, voice ringing out through the warehouse, small but steady. Dick tensed, biting back the desperate plea on his tongue for his brother to stay quiet. “You went through all this trouble to kidnap us, didn’t you? Get to the damn point before someone notices we’re missing.”

For a moment Dick’s pride overpowered his fear, the leader smirking as he turned towards Robin. “I see it runs in the family.”

“He’s right,” Dick said, praying for the attention to turn back on him. “The big guy keeps a close eye on things, you know. And the floor really isn’t as comfortable as it might look. So let’s get this over with so we can all be on our merry way.”

The men chuckled, cold laughter making Dick shudder. “Somehow I don’t think we’ll have to worry about the Batman. Not for a while anyway.”

Dick didn’t have the guts to ask what he meant by that. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“But if you’re really so eager, Nightwing—” The man stepped closer, and Dick forced himself not to cringe away. “The Bat is planning to shut down a very important operation of Penguin’s, and he’s been getting a little too close for comfort. I’d like to know what location he plans on hitting, when he plans on doing it, and how. You tell me exactly what I want to know, in detail, and both of you walk free.”

God, of course. Dick should have known this had to do with Penguin, everyone who worked around that man seemed to develop the same aggravating poshness before long. It would explain the new technology too- Penguin’s resources had always managed to rival their own.

It hardly made a difference, in Dick’s opinion. Because what mattered was that he had absolutely no fucking clue. At Bruce’s request, he’d spent the last couple of weeks monitoring an entirely separate rise in power on the other side of the city, leaving the routine chaos to Bruce and Tim, and Jason when he decided to pop in and be helpful.

He barked a laugh, hoping it came out less panicked than he felt. “What? You think I spend all day looking over Batman’s shoulder?”

“Don’t touch him,” Dick snarled, the words leaving his mouth before the other was even done speaking. “Don’t fucking touch him. I’ll kill you, do you hear me? He’s just a kid.”

The leader’s eyes went back to Nightwing, the amusement in his smile making Dick’s blood boil. “Do I look like the kind of man who would lay a hand on a child, Nightwing? Believe me, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dick’s eyes flickered to Tim before he could think better of it, catching his brother’s gaze and holding it steady, like it could offer at least a bit of reassurance. He hoped there was something on his face that looked comforting, something that silently promised he’d get them both out of this.

They’d be fine. They always were.

Even through the panic and confusion, Dick could see the gears turning in Tim’s head, fighting to work out the best plan all on his own, to make sense of the man’s words.

He smiled, despite everything. That was his brother. His wonderful, genius, absolutely idiotic hopeful baby brother.

There was a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye, glancing away from Tim just long enough to see the man produce something small and metallic from his coat pocket.

“I hope it’s not too uncomfortable,” the man said, and Nightwing stared blankly. “Although I bet you haven’t even realized it's still in there, have you?”

It took Dick a moment, frantically trying to understand his captor’s words, before it dawned on him.

He had just enough time to realize that the cold sting of metal in his neck was still there, a background sting compared to the rest of his injuries, before there was a piercing buzz in his ear and the burning agony of the electric shock was back with a vengeance.

It took all of Dick’s strength not to scream, reminding himself over and over again that Tim was right there he had to be strong for Tim, forcing it back down with a choked off gasp of pain as his body seized.

He couldn't remember losing his balance but suddenly he was back on the ground, temple colliding with the concrete. At least the electricity was drowning out the pain of his concussion.

“Stop!” He could barely make out Tim’s voice, and he latched onto it like a lifeline, curling his bound hands into trembling fists. “Stop it! Leave him alone!”

And just like that, it was over. The air rushed back into his lungs, the force of the sudden relief hitting like a sack of bricks, his head swimming. His limbs didn’t stop spasming, twitching out of his control as he lay there on the floor, wracked with shivers and unable to curl in on himself with the way his arms and legs were tied.

“I’d really hate to keep doing that to him,” the leader was saying, muffled by the ringing of Dick’s ears, and it took him a moment to realize he was talking to Tim. Through the exhaustion and lingering pain, Dick felt a surge of protective rage flare to life in his chest. “So why don’t you make this easy for everyone, Robin? Tell me what I want to know, and you and your friend can go home.”

There was a beat of heavy silence before Tim answered. Or maybe time was just moving painfully slow for Dick. “How do I know you won't just kill us the second you get your information?”

“You have my word,” the man said, and Dick might have laughed if he had the strength. “As a show of good faith, I haven’t touched your masks. Your identities are being kept completely secret, no matter how…curious my employer may be. I was hoping it could help you to trust me a bit more.”

“If you wanted us to trust you,” Tim growled out, stupidly reckless, looking death in the eye with a smile. Dick was pretty sure he’d been the one to teach him that. “You wouldn't have kidnapped us.”

“Like I said,” the leader smirked, seemingly unbothered. “I doubt you would have come willingly. You vigilantes have a reputation. Now- are you going to tell me what I need to know?”

Tim hesitated, shifting in his restraints, and the panic hit Nightwing full force, allowing him to find his voice again.

“Robin,” he snapped, all eyes turning to him as he struggled for leverage to push himself up again. “Don’t tell them anything, do you understand? Not a thing. They— gah!”

He cut himself off with his own strangled cry, a brand new kind of pain shooting down his leg.

In his panic to be heard, he’d failed to notice one of the men making their way to his side, their boot now pressed firmly down on Dick’s broken leg, twisting their heel into swollen flesh beneath the battered Nightwing suit.

“Stop it!” Tim screamed again, renewing his fight against the restraints. “Get off him!”

“I’m fine,” Dick forced out, clenching his jaw as the man pressed down harder. He could handle this. He was not going to break under the boot of one of Penguin’s mindless goons. “Robin, I’m fine! Don’t- ah! You- you can't tell them anything!”

They couldn’t risk giving away any information, and he knew Tim was well aware of that. If it was a big enough operation that Penguin was this worried about losing it, it meant lives could be at stake. The safety of the city could depend on Bruce shutting down whatever Penguin was building up to this time.

“Well?” The leader sneered, stepping forward. “What’s it going to be?”

Tim pried his gaze away from Nightwing, meeting Penguin’s henchman with steely eyes, and the warm pride in his chest kept Dick tethered to reality. That’s my little brother.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Dick had just enough time to smile over the idea of Alfred chiding Tim for his language before he was sent under the waves of relentless agony once again with the click of a button.

Dick had no idea how much time had passed. He didn’t know how many times the electricity had been turned on and off, or if he’d even been given a break at all. He’d long ago given up on the fight not to scream, strangled cries he barely even recognized as his own filling the warehouse.

He was floating in and out of consciousness now, never able to escape the pain, choking and sobbing and doing everything in his power not to beg. He wouldn’t. No matter how bad it got, he would not be weak in front of Tim. He wouldn’t be the reason Robin gave in.

Bruce would come for them. They’d already been gone all night, which meant at any moment Batman would break down those doors and put an end to this. Their family would be here soon to take them home.

Dick could take this. He’d had worse. Even if he couldn’t recall anything off the top of his head, he knew he must have. He’d always had worse. But it was nearly impossible to think about anything outside of the torture he was being put through.

“Nightwing.” Tim’s voice had been the only thing keeping him going, scared and far away as it was. Robin’s words had been filtering through the air, just barely out of reach, like he was calling through a tunnel, slowly fading farther and farther until—

“Nightwing!”

Dick’s eyes snapped open (when had he closed them?) jolting upright with a gasp, panicked breaths coming out nothing but pained wheezes. It took him a moment to realize that the relentless shocks through his body had stopped completely, and it was just the two of them in the now silent warehouse.

“What?” He called, or tried to call out, anyway. All that came out was a series of awful sounding cough that made bile burn at the back of his throat.

“It’s okay,” Tim said, but his voice was shaking. “You’re okay. You’re okay, Nightwing. I’m here, just breathe. Come on, just take some deep breaths.”

Dick nodded, fighting the exhaustion even as his chest felt impossibly tight, tugging ruthlessly at his hands still bound together against his back.

He needed to pull himself together. He couldn’t fall apart like this, not when Tim sounded so scared. His baby brother should not be the one comforting him. Not now. Not ever. That was Dick’s job.

“M’ good,” he assured, even as it came out breathless and slurred. “I’m okay. I’m sorry. I… what happened?”

“You passed out,” Tim said, and the crack in his voice betrayed just how scared he was. God, he was still so young. “They said they were going to give you a break. I don’t know how long we have.”

Dick nodded, the movement making his brain feel like it was being sloshed around in his skull. “Do you know how long we’ve been here? How…how long have they…?

He didn’t need to find the words for Tim to understand the question. How long had they been torturing him? How much time have I lost?

“I don’t know.”

“Robin—"

“I don’t know!” Tim snapped, and he sounded frantic now. “Everything’s just…it’s all blurred together and it wouldn’t stop. They wouldn’t stop hurting you and I—“

“Hey, it’s okay.” He didn’t want to keep hearing about it. He didn’t think he could handle it. He could still feel the pain, phantom shocks running up and down his body, bound arms and legs still twitching against his will. “It’s okay, Robin. Really, I’m good. I’ve been tortured before, this is nothing.”

It wasn’t something anyone should ever have to say to their brother, their baby brother who was still just a kid, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed Tim to stay calm, to trust that Dick could hold out and take this.

“You can’t tell them anything,” Dick said, doing everything he could to keep his voice strong. “You know that, Robin. We can’t risk it.”

“I know,” Robin said, impossibly small, and Dick’s heart ached. “I know, but… but—”

“It doesn’t matter what they do to me,” Nightwing said. “I can handle it until we get out of here. Do not tell them what they want to know, do you understand?”

The silence that stretched in between them was suffocating, and Dick fought to make out his brother’s expression, a nearly impossible feat between their masks, the distance between them, and the fact that his vision hasn’t completely unblurred since the torture had stopped.

For a moment, a part of him was terrified Tim was going to refuse. But then he took a shaky breath, finally speaking again. “I can’t tell them anything.”

Nightwing nodded, falling limp against the cold floor. “Good. Thank you.”

“No, I…” Tim trailed off, taking in another shuddering breath. Like he was trying to keep himself from panicking. “I mean I can’t tell them anything. I don’t have anything to tell them.”

Dick froze, his weakening fight against the restraints pausing as the words settled in, the silence breathtaking as his heart leaped to his throat. “You—”

“Batman’s been working on this alone,” Robin said, voice like ice. “He said it was too dangerous and that I should just focus on keeping the streets quiet. He…Hood’s been helping out a little but as far as I know, Batman’s the only one working on this.”

It took a moment for Dick to find his voice, the fear starting to creep in for the first time. “Oh.”

“I tried to tell them,” Tim continued, and Dick hated how frantic he was beginning to sound. “I tried. I told them I didn’t know but they- they didn’t believe me, they… Nightwing, they’re not gonna stop.”

It should have been a relief- at least this way there was no outcome where these assholes got what they wanted- but it felt like a bucket of ice water had been tossed over his aching body, suddenly nauseatingly aware of the situation they’d found themselves in.

They were going to torture Dick in front of Tim for information neither of them had. There had been no way he was going to let Tim give up anyway, not when lives were at stake but…but the knowledge that there was a way out of this if it became too much, that there would be a way to end this if they broke Nightwing and he needed the pain to stop before Tim lost his big brother… it had been a sliver of comfort Dick hadn’t even realized he’d been holding onto. And now it was gone.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, breathless. “We wouldn’t give them anything anyway. B will be here any minute, I’ll get my ass kicked for letting you get captured, and these assholes will get put away for good. Just gotta hold out a bit longer.”

“You didn’t let me get captured,” Tim said softly. “You fell off a building.”

Nightwing huffed a laugh, resisting the urge to shut his eyes. “I was supposed to look out for you tonight.”

Another few seconds of silence followed before Tim responded, and Dick went back to pulling at his restraints, desperate for any kind of distraction. “So you were babysitting me.”

“It wasn’t babysitting.”

“Did Batman send you?” Tim demanded, picking up the old fight like the two of them weren’t being held hostage in a freezing cold warehouse with the promise of torture hanging over them like a raincloud. “I told him I could handle it!”

“He knows you can.”

“Clearly not!” Tim spat, and Dick needed to quell that anger before he did something stupid. “Both of you think I’m incompetent! I just wanted to prove that I could do one patrol without him over my shoulder every second. And then of course you show up, because you can never trust me to be an adult and—”

“I’m not doing this with you right now,” Dick snapped. It was harsher than he’d intended but he was tired and his body hurt and he didn’t have the energy to fight again. If he was going to die here, his last moments weren’t going to be spent with Tim chewing him out for caring. “Nobody thinks you’re incompetent, okay? Jesus Christ. Maybe we just don’t want you to get killed, you ever think of that? Maybe we’re sick of watching the people we love die.”

“I—”

“You’re not an adult, Robin,” Nightwing said. “You’re still a kid. And you’re my brother. I don’t care how pissed off it makes you, I don’t care if you hate me for it. Nobody’s going to throw you in the deep end and leave you there. I’m not gonna turn my back and let you do this all on your own.”

God, he owed Bruce an apology. Was this how he felt when Dick was nothing but a reckless little kid, demanding independence years too early?

As shitty as everything was right now, as out of control it had spiraled, this was the best outcome Dick could have hoped for. He didn’t want to think about what could have happened if he hadn’t been here, if Robin had been captured all by himself. If someone had tortured his baby brother for information he didn’t have. This was always the better option. Dick getting hurt in Tim’s place, in Jason’s or Bruce’s or anyone’s place, would always be the best outcome.

Tim didn’t get a chance to respond, and Dick was left idly wondering if his brother was still mad at him before a familiar buzzing rang to life in his ear, heart squeezing in panic just before another shock tore through his body.

It caught him so off guard he couldn’t even try to keep from screaming, jerking back against the cold floor, unable to escape the pain.

It only lasted a few seconds this time, but Dick was left reeling regardless, gasping and shuddering as the door swung open again and the distant sound of footsteps wandered closer.

“Sorry about that,” the leader said, and Dick groaned against the sharp pain in his head. “Had to make sure this thing still works. I’ve never used it this long before.”

Dick wheezed, peeling his eyes open. “It works just fine.”

The men ignored him, choosing instead to round on Robin, crowding the support beam the boy was tied to. The same flare in his gut was back with a blinding rage and Dick struggled to get himself off the floor, only to fall back down with a strangled gasp of pain, the room spinning as his entire body protested the struggle.

“Hey,” he growled, fighting with everything he had to find purchase against the cement and push himself onto his knees. “I said leave him alone-”

He barely got the words out before there was a hand twisted in his hair, roughly yanking his head back so hard something in his neck popped, and Dick’s vision tunneled. In his delirium, he’d completely missed a fourth man following the group inside, standing guard beside Nightwing.

The rest of the men ignored him, the leader’s eyes only for Robin. Tim looked dangerously small, sickeningly vulnerable under their stares, hands tied tight behind his back.

“I’ll ask you again, Robin,” the leader said. Even through his blurred vision Dick could see the glint of the tiny remote in his hand, and he braced himself for another jolt. “What is Batman planning?”

“I don’t know!” Tim insisted, and Dick’s heart twisted at how frantic he sounded. “I told you, I don’t know!”

The man sighed, and his thumb had barely moved before Dick was screaming again, the pain somehow worse, thrashing and bucking in the henchmen’s unrelenting hold, barely able to register the rough hand still twisted in his hair.

It felt like his skin was burning off. It felt like he was being drowned in acid, held under while he screamed, the chemicals flooding his throat and filling his lungs, eating away at his body from the inside out, skin peeling away piece by piece until he was nothing. He could still feel the chip on his neck, biting cold metal against his skin, the only thing he could register outside of the constant agony, like a cruel mockery of his own weakness.

He knew they were dragging it out longer this time, even if there was no way to tell for sure, everything an endless blur of pain and confusion that wouldn’t stop.

He wondered if his body could even take this. He wondered if his heart was going to give out. It would offer him some relief, at the very least.

And then, just like every other time, it was gone without warning, leaving him gasping and twitching, lingering pains and shivers still wracking his body. The man finally let go of his hair, roughly shoving Nightwing to the ground, and Dick landed hard on his back against the concrete.

“Nightwing!” Tim was shouting, thrashing against his restraints. “Nightwing! Stop it! Stop it! You’re gonna kill him!”

“He’s fine,” one of the men drawled. Dick couldn’t place where it was coming from anymore, couldn’t latch onto anything. “Batman’s kid can take anything. Isn’t that right, Birdie?”

There was a blur of movement coming towards him, and Dick had just enough time to refocus on the face of the man in charge before a boot was being jammed into his broken leg. It yanked out another panicked, agonized scream before he could even try to fight it, the piercing sound ringing through the warehouse.

“Stop,” he choked out, barely audible, the plea falling from his lips without permission. “Please stop, please—”

“Get off him!” Robin screamed, drowning out his own pathetic whimpers. “Stop it! Stop!”

The pain didn’t ebb, not even when the leader shifted his weight to stand directly over the fallen hero instead, ruined leg spasming behind him. He dropped his hand to dangle the remote in Dick’s face, and he flinched before he could stop the reaction, bracing himself for another shock.

But it never came. All he heard were Tim’s screams, desperate and dangerously far away, confusion making his already scrambled head spin.

“My patience is running thin, Robin,” the man said, garbled and distant against the ringing in Dick’s ears. “I’m only going to ask you one more time. You don’t want to go back to Batman with a corpse? Tell me what he’s planning. Now.”

It took another moment to register, everything too slow and wrong, but something cold was being pressed against his exposed neck, sharp metal digging ruthlessly into his flesh.

Dick’s breath caught as his sluggish brain finally caught up with him, the knife against his throat bringing a new wave of panicked clarity, the dread wrapping around his throat like cold hands, spurring him back into action. He twisted, frantic, fighting blindly to get as far away from the weapon as he could, away from the man standing over him, away from the warehouse.

It was wild and desperate, and he was rewarded for his efforts with a well aimed slap to the back of his already pounding head. The world tilted, his vision darkening, and the knife pressed deeper into flesh as Nightwing was held still and rigid on the cold floor, hands grabbing at his arms and chest.

He felt like a wounded animal, strung up to be slaughtered, all eyes on him like his torture was sick entertainment, not just business for Penguin. Every instinct was screaming at him to fight, to find a way out, to get the blade away from his throat because nobody was coming to help him.

They’d wanted to break Nightwing and Robin slowly, force the information out of fallen heroes, but with neither of them having any information to share, the men were getting impatient. Dick imagined Penguin had given them a very strict time limit.

He wished he’d had something to give them. Anything. Bruce would understand, he always did. Plans could be reworked and rescheduled. Losing an opportunity to put Penguin behind bars, even if it put Gotham in danger, wasn’t worth Tim seeing this.

If he’d been alone, if it had just been Nightwing tied up in a warehouse with a knife to his skin, the blade already pressing hard enough to draw warm blood, it would have been a different story. He’d have looked his torturer in the eye with a crooked smile, cracked a joke if he still had the energy, and taken whatever came next.

But he could still hear Tim, his pleading growing more frantic by the second, and Dick’s throat burned when he choked on a heaving sob. Nothing was worth this. Nothing was worth Tim watching his brother die, helpless do to anything about it.

He’d never wanted this. Tim was going to feel the same grief, the same helpless agony that Dick had felt when they’d lost Jason.

They all were. It was all going right back to how it was, all their progress undone just like that, and it was all Dick’s fault.

One of the henchmen pressed down on his broken leg again, successfully draining the rest of the fight out of Nightwing, and Dick couldn’t hear himself scream over his own racing heart.

They were going to kill him. They were going to kill him and he… he couldn’t… he couldn’t—

Craning his neck forced the blade in deeper, his blood warm and sticky as it dripped down his skin and soaked into his suit, but the new position let him see Robin again. He met his eyes, Tim’s wild and brimming with panicked tears when he locked onto Dick’s, his screams quieted for the moment.

And then everything went black, and Dick couldn’t breathe.

It took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t dead, and the agony from his throat being slit never came. The knife left his skin and the weight on his leg lessened for just a moment, leaving Nightwing gasping as he blinked against the unrelenting darkness.

The overhead light flickered back to life, giving him just enough time to see a blur of red and black before it barrelled into the weight on top of him, tackling the leader off of Nightwing, and Dick wanted to sob in relief.

He never got the chance. Jason had the leader on the ground in the blink of an eye, helmet doing nothing to muffle the unwavering fury in his cry as they both crashed to the cement. Anything his brother said was quickly drowned out by the surrounding shouts, the men getting their bearings back as the overhead lights came on again, guns drawn before Dick could even breathe out a warning.

“Stay down!”

Batman’s voice overtook the room, as it always did, even when he was nowhere in sight. Despite the situation, despite death still lurking just around the corner, Dick felt himself relax, the relief dizzying. Bruce was here. Everything was going to be fine.

Assuming he wasn’t about to be shot.

But then there was a flash of black, a familiar dark cape dropping from the rafters, and Batman was practically on top of him just as the gunfire rang out, one gloved hand cupping the back of his head, the other holding the cape over them like a shield, bracing himself against the barrage of bullets.

They were chest to chest, Nightwing close enough to hear Bruce’s ragged breaths over the gunfire, and Dick found himself with the overwhelming urge to reach out and clutch at his father, hold on for dear life and squeeze his eyes shut until this was all over. He wanted to go home.

But he couldn’t move. The restraints held steady, keeping his arms pinned against his back, stopping him from reaching out, from holding onto Bruce like the scared child he’d been reduced to, denied the opportunity to prove to himself that this was real- that Bruce was really here.

He hated the way his eyes welled up with frustrated tears, cheeks burning hot as Bruce raised his head up just enough to meet his gaze, jaw clenched tight as the gunshots died down for just a moment. Dick couldn’t stop his thrashing, yanking at his arms with renewed strength despite the way every little movement brought a new wave of agony, vision going blurry as he fought to free his arms just a little so he could-

“Nightwing.” He froze at Batman’s order, blinking up with wide eyes as Bruce moved his hand to cup Dick’s face, his hold just shy of painful, firm enough to keep Dick grounded to reality. “Stand down.”

He nodded, the movement cut off with a sharp gasp as the pain in his neck worsened, blood soaking his skin and seeping into the creases of his suit.

He knew it was just a cut, the leader had drawn blood just to prove to Robin he was serious about making the killing blow if he didn’t talk, but he couldn’t help the way his heart sank when Bruce’s eyes flickered down to the wound, unable to mask the worry behind the cowl.

“Stay here,” Batman said, and then he was gone, barrelling into the closest blur of movement, sending one of Dick’s torturers crashing to the ground alongside their leader. His head hit the ground, hard, and Bruce was back on his feet before the man’s eyes were even closed. “Hood! Get Robin, now!”

Dick could barely see what was going on, left without the strength to lift his head anymore, alone and trembling on the cold floor, muscles twitching and spasming, the lingering feeling of electricity coursing through his bones still refusing to fade.

But Bruce was here- Bruce and Jason were here and they were going to get Tim to safety. Tim would be fine. Everything was going to be fine as long as they got Robin out of here.

Please just get him home safe.

That was the last thought he had before that awful, familiar buzzing sounded in his ear again and Dick was thrown back into a fit of screams.

Whoever had gotten ahold of the remote had clearly kicked it up to the highest possible voltage, probably a last ditch effort to kill Nightwing before Batman inevitably shut them down.

Not that it was necessary. Dick was fairly certain at this point a particularly strong gust of wind would have taken him out.

He couldn’t even hear himself anymore, only able to register the pain and the faceless figures moving around above him. It felt like his throat had been ripped out, nothing but a gaping hole of mangled bones and blood, and Dick choked on another sob when he still couldn’t even reach up to grasp at it. He couldn’t move an inch, helpless to comfort himself at all, trapped and writhing on the ground in agony, blood pooling around his neck.

He was going to die. The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water, a horrifying wave of clarity washing over him in the midst of blind panic. He was going to die here on the floor, his family just out of reach.

“No!”

There was another figure, a flash of red and yellow, and even with his vision darkening at the edges, Dick would always be able to recognize Tim’s voice. Especially when it sounded so terrified.

There was something else in his voice, an unshakable anger he’d never heard come from his little brother before.

And then the pain was gone, and Dick felt like he was falling.

“Robin!” He didn’t know who was shouting, but their voice was sending pinpricks of pain along his skull, his ears ringing, and he needed them to lower their voice before he vomited. “Robin get off him! That’s enough!”

It was all filtering in like faraway echoes, Dick’s vision dangerously gray as he forced himself to turn towards the noise, blinking furiously to clear his head.

It felt like a dream- Robin on the ground with one of their captors motionless beneath him, blood stained gloves slowly stopping their assault, Tim’s hands closing in and out of shaky fists, his eyes welling up with furious tears behind the mask.

Jason was beside him in an instant, hooking his hands under Tim’s shoulders and dragging him away from the bloody heap on the ground, and for once Robin didn’t even protest.

“One of them got away,” Jason said, but his voice sounded like it was underwater. “I’m going after him. I swear to fucking god I’ll kill all of them, they—”

“Don’t,” Bruce snapped, just as distant. “Get Robin in the car and wait for me.”

“What? Did you not see what those fuckers did?”

“It’s handled.”

“Handled?” Jason echoed. “He got away! He—”

“Hood,” Bruce said, uncharacteristically desperate, and in the silence that followed Dick knew they were all looking at him. “Please. I need you to help me get them home.”

It was nothing short of a miracle when Jason dropped the fight just like that, picking Tim up again and draping the smaller boy over his shoulder. Robin had tears streaming down his face, violently trembling in his brother’s hold, but he didn’t struggle or protest, worryingly limp and silent as Jason hurried towards the exit.

Dick didn’t get a chance to watch them go, blinking up in surprise when Bruce was suddenly crouched beside him again, gloved hands hovering over Nightwing’s chest, eyes flickering across every little injury. Batman opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and snapped it shut again.

“Dad,” Dick croaked, desperate to break the silence, ignoring the way Bruce shushed him gently. His throat burned, the cut along his neck feeling vaguely like there was still a blade stuck in his skin, but he couldn’t stop. “I’m s- I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Batman said, finally closing the distance to cup Dick’s cheek with one hand. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”

“Robin—”

“He’s okay,” Bruce assured. “Red Hood has him, he’s alright. You did good.”

“They didn’t- they didn’t touch him. I wouldn’t… they- Penguin wanted—”

“I know,” Bruce said, steady and unwavering, that controlled tone that had always calmed Dick down. It took him right back to that first night, a terrified child alone for the first time in his life, curled up and sobbing in a dark circus tent, looking up when a young man crouched in front of him with an all too knowing look in his eyes. “It’s being handled. We can go home now.”

Nightwing swallowed, wrists still slick with sweat and blood as he tugged at them again, and suddenly he couldn’t catch his breath. “Untie me.”

“I’ve got you, Chum.”

“Untie me,” he rasped again, eyes wide and desperate. “Untie me, please. B, please—”

Bruce was already removing the Batarang from his belt and lifting Dick from the floor as carefully as he could, his hold warm and grounding as he cut through the ropes like butter.

Dick didn’t even wait for his ankles to be cut free. He pushed himself off the floor, ignoring the dizzying wave of pain and exhaustion it brought, and wrapped shaking arms around Bruce, collapsing with his face buried in Batman’s chest.

A part of him, the little kid that still saw Batman as something untouchable, who still thought real safety and love was forever out of his reach, expected to be shoved away, snapped at to get it together, to get on his feet and get back to work.

But that wasn’t Batman, and it wasn’t Bruce. His children had never been soldiers.

Dick was crying the second he registered Bruce returning the embrace, sobbing into his chest and holding on for dear life, squeezing his eyes shut and finally letting go.

“I know,” Bruce soothed, holding on just as tight. “I know, Chum. I know. I’ve got you, I’m here. I’m so sorry it took us so long to find you.”

Dick shook his head, gasping and choking in between desperate sobs, wishing they were back home so he could feel Bruce’s heartbeat beneath him instead of the suit’s cold leather. “I knew- I knew you’d show up.”

“Always.” One hand moved to run through Nightwing’s sweat soaked hair. “I’ll always find you when you need me. I promise.”

Dick just held on tighter, the agony in his bones making his head pound. “I want to go home.”

“We’re going,” Bruce said, already adjusting his hold to hook an arm under Dick’s restrained legs. “Just hold on a bit longer for me, Chum. Stay awake.”

Batman was hoisting him off the floor without warning, cradling Nightwing close to his chest, and Dick didn’t even get a chance to try and obey Bruce’s orders before his eyes were slipping shut and the world faded away under a veil of darkness.

“Master Richard!”

Dick jolted awake with a gasp, his lungs on fire as he fought for air, trembling hands gripping the soaked sheets pooled in his lap, the room around him too bright, too loud, spinning dangerously before gradually tilting back into focus.

There was someone over him- Alfred, he distantly recognized with a rush of relief- holding him firmly down by the shoulders, keeping him on the bed. His own bed, he realized. He was home, in his room, safe and alive. It was over.

“Master Richard,” Alfred said again, a bit less frantic this time. “You’re home, you’re safe. You were just having a nightmare.”

Dick let out a shuddering breath, furrowing his brow as he fell against the pillows. He couldn’t even remember his dream, just pain and confusion and fear.

He let his eyes trail across the room, focusing on his breathing and Alfred’s steady hands on his shoulders as he took in his new surroundings. He noted, with a grimace, the IV hooked up to his arm, the steady beeping of a heart monitor somewhere out of his eyesight, and his leg propped up on a pillow, already wrapped in a cast.

Alfred followed his gaze, eyes softening as he let go of Dick’s shoulder to squeeze his hand. “You’ll be alright. I’ve got a steady hand.”

“I know,” Dick said, his voice weak and gravelly to his own ears. “I’m sorry for the scare.”

“Don’t apologize.” Alfred smiled, running a gentle thumb over his knuckles before pulling away. “I’m just glad you’re home safe.”

Something stirred beside him, and Dick turned his head just enough to make out Bruce slumped in the armchair beside the bed, chin resting in his hand, eyes closed, brow creased with tension and stress even in his sleep.

“He insisted he was going to stay awake,” Alfred said, watching Bruce sleep with a sort of sad fondness in his eyes. “I assumed he’d crash sooner, honestly. He hasn’t given himself a moment to rest since your trackers went offline. I haven’t seen him so frantic since…”

Since they’d lost Jason’s signal while the Joker was on the loose. Since he’d raced to make it to that warehouse in time. Since he’d screamed himself hoarse when the bomb went off.

Alfred didn’t need to finish his sentence for Dick to understand. They’d come dangerously close to repeating history tonight.

His eyes suddenly flew open, reality crashing back down with a jolt. “Tim! Where’s- is he okay? Is—”

“He’s just fine, Master Richard,” Alfred said, squeezing his hand again. “He’s resting, it’s alright. He wasn’t seriously injured, just… a bit shaken up.”

Dick nodded slowly, swallowing against the lingering uneasiness and doubt. “How long were we gone?”

“About two days,” Alfred said, and Dick’s heart sank. “You and Master Timothy disappeared early two nights ago, and we weren’t able to track your location until the next evening. It’s nearly three in the afternoon now, you’ve been asleep since they rescued you.”

“That… that can’t be right,” Dick breathed, and he could hear the heart monitor picking up speed, a shrill pulsing in his ear. His capture was still a blur, but it hadn’t felt like nearly that long. “It only felt like a couple hours.”

“Probably because your brain got fried, genius.”

Jason was leaning against the doorway, and whatever painkillers Alfred had Dick on were clearly doing their job. He hadn’t even heard his brother approach, and he didn’t jump at the sudden new presence.

“Thanks,” Dick muttered, still aching underneath the blissful numbness the medication was creating around him. “I do remember that.”

“You’re lucky there’s not permanent damage,” Jason said, and Dick watched as he rummaged for something in his pocket. “Penguin’s definitely gotten some upgrades. Tim and Bruce were gonna analyze it in a bit once things calm down. Fuck, this thing almost killed you.”

Dick only heard about half of what his brother was saying, because suddenly the blood was rushing to his ears, heart hammering in his throat as the panic hit full force, eyes glued to the tiny, sickeningly familiar device in Jason’s hand.

He shot up in bed, the wave of pain nearly sending him crashing back down, wide eyed and frantic as he fought against the sheets tangled in his legs.

“Master Richard?”

“Don’t!” It came out harsher than he’d expected, an ear-splitting bark that shocked the room into heavy silence. He thought he saw Bruce move, Batman no doubt jolted back to wakefulness by the sudden noise, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to register anything around him anymore, the safety of his childhood melting away to something unreal, fading to a background hum. “Put it- put it down! Please, I- please don’t! Please.”

He couldn’t stop the words spilling from his lips, couldn’t control the panic and dread piling up, suffocating him, eyes glued to the small device- the thing that would send him back into a screaming fit of agony with the press of one little button.

He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t handle it, he couldn’t—

There was a high pitched screeching in his ear, a piercing pain splitting through his skull, and Dick flinched before he realized it was the heart monitor picking up speed, not the buzzing of electricity through his veins.

“Dick!” That was Bruce’s voice- he could just barely register him springing from the chair to hover at Dick’s bedside, Alfred close behind. “Jason! Put it down!”

There was a clatter, a whirlwind of commotion all around him, everything suddenly too distant to make out properly, and Dick let out a wordless cry of panic as his hands went to his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he curled in on himself in a futile attempt at frantic protection.

“Please,” came from his mouth again, breathless and entirely out of his control. He just wanted the pain to stop. “Please, no more please no more I can’t—”

There was a hand around his wrist, pulling his hand from his hair, and Dick’s breaths stuttered when his palm was forced against the side of his neck, digging into the tender skin.

“Dick,” Bruce’s voice came again, an anchor fighting to drag him back down to reality. “It’s gone. It’s gone, do you feel that? There’s nothing there.”

Dick fought to latch onto the words, blinking rapidly as the world spun, struggling to focus on the feeling under his hands, what Bruce was desperately trying to get him to understand.

There was a bandage wrapped around his throat, secure but not tight, the cloth crusted over with old blood. Bruce guided his hand along his neck, his eyes locked onto Dick’s, brow heavy.

“It’s gone,” Bruce said again, free hand reaching to squeeze Dick’s shoulder when all he managed was a terrified whimper. “We got it off of you, Dick. It’s not there anymore.”

There was nothing lodged into the side of his neck. There was no cold metal digging into his skin, leaving him helpless to the endless waves of electricity.

“There you go,” Bruce said when Dick’s breathing began to slow, carefully dropping his hand. Alfred was there in an instant, wiping the stray tears from Dick’s face with a handkerchief. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

“It’s alright, dear boy,” Alfred chimed in. “You’re home.”

There was shuffling by the door, and Dick lifted wary eyes to where his brother still stood, looking so much like a scolded child Dick almost burst into sobs all over again. It had been a long time since he’d seen Jason look so small.

“I’m sorry,” Red Hood said, and Dick didn’t like how close he looked to bolting. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Dick said, voice still shaking when he reached out an unsteady hand. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s fine, Jason. Come here?”

Jason only hesitated for a moment, glancing quickly at Bruce and Alfred like he needed permission, before crossing the room in three frantic steps and all but collapsing at the bedside.

He had his arms around Dick in the blink of an eye, his head dropping to rest on his chest, and Dick, to his credit, got over his shock quick enough to return the embrace before his little brother could pull away.

“They were just standing over you,” Jason muttered, so quiet Dick almost missed it. “They were holding you down and you were screaming and he… he was just…he was going to kill you and I almost didn’t—”

“But you did,” Dick cut him off, because he was pretty sure nobody in this room needed to go down that path. “You guys got us out and we… we’re safe.”

His own words fell flat, empty on his tongue. He wouldn’t be able to believe that, finally breathe easy, until he saw for himself that Tim was alright.

Judging by the way Jason tightened his hold and refused to meet anyone’s gaze, Dick knew he understood.

Dick cleared his throat, the dull ache underneath the bandage making him wince. “Can… can I see him? Please?”

It sounded more desperate than he’d intended, but at this point he didn’t care. He didn’t care how he sounded, how pathetic he might look. He just wanted to see Tim. He just needed to know he was okay.

“He was resting when I last checked in,” Alfred said after a moment, but there was something off about his tone. Dick found himself wondering if there was something they weren’t telling him. “I’ll inform him you’re awake.”

“Alright,” he said, uneasy, gradually noticing that no one would quite meet his eyes. “Thank you, Alfred.”

Tim didn’t come to visit him that night, and he didn’t so much as even poke his head in the doorway the next day, either. The manor was unusually silent, Jason and Bruce spending most of their time at Dick’s bedside despite Nightwing only being able to stay conscious for moments at a time.

Dick kept asking for his baby brother, and each time he got a different version of the same answer. Tim was sleeping. Tim was working. Tim needed to rest. Tim was busy.

He was always busy.

The pain meds didn’t stop Dick from noticing the glances Bruce and Alfred shared each time he asked for his brother, something unspoken passing between them.

The dark, endlessly paranoid part of his brain wondered if Tim had even made it back at all. There wasn’t a trace of him, the excuses growing more and more flimsy, and there was a horrible burst of panic where Dick was convinced they were simply keeping his death a secret until he was recovered enough to handle the loss.

But they wouldn’t do that to him. He knew they wouldn’t, and yet…

He was being stupid. He knew damn well why Tim didn’t want to see him.

Hell, Dick could barely stand himself right now. He couldn’t sit in silence for longer than two minutes without the crushing guilt flooding back, disgust and shame wrapping around his throat and leaving him choking on air as the memories filtered back in, bit by agonizing bit.

His baby brother had been terrified, trapped and forced to watch Nightwing’s torture, and what had Dick done to keep him calm?

He’d broken. He’d screamed and cried and begged. He hadn’t been able to keep it together. He hadn’t been strong like he was supposed to be. He hadn't been able to take it.

He’d failed his job. His one real job.

He’d lost his composure in front of Tim. Tim had been stuck with that weight on his shoulders, left with the responsibility to stop the torture in exchange for information he didn’t have, and Dick had fallen apart. He’d made everything worse because he’d been too weak.

Tim had every right to be upset with him. He had every right to be disgusted and angry. Of course he didn’t want to see Dick.

He couldn’t exactly blame him. Even after the first day or so when the worst of the pain had started to fade, when they’d taken him off the drugs keeping him under, Dick found himself sleeping as much as he could, unable to stand the feeling of his own skin, his own thoughts, his voice in his head.

Bruce seemed to know exactly what was going through his head, the look in his eyes far too knowing for Dick’s liking each time he woke to Batman at his bedside, sitting vigil with a book or case file in his lap.

“Penguin’s in Arkham,” Bruce said in lieu of a greeting when Dick opened his eyes one day. He thought it might have been the third day since his rescue, but it was becoming increasingly impossible to keep track. “Everything went to plan.”

Dick nodded, the motion aggravating his still aching neck, and forced a wry smile. “About time.”

“I let Tim come along,” Bruce added, and Dick’s panic skyrocketed. “He insisted.”

“What? Is he—?”

“He’s fine,” Bruce said, a steadying hand on Dick’s arm. “He did well. I’m proud of him.”

“Okay,” Dick said, still breathless, not quite ready to think about that for too long. “That’s good.”

“I know he misses you,” Bruce said, and Dick quickly dropped his gaze. “He’s just had… a lot on his plate. He wants to—”

“Yeah, I get it.” It came out harsher than he’d intended, voice still raw from how much screaming he’d done recently, and Bruce fell silent. “It’s fine. He doesn’t have to talk to me.”

“Dick—”

“It’s whatever,” Dick said, even as his chest felt heavy, like something was pressing down just above his heart. “I don’t care, B. I’m not gonna force him.”

Bruce was silent, and Dick forced himself not to react when his father carefully pulled his hand away from his arm, taking the grounding warmth with him. But he didn’t move, didn’t get up and leave.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dick,” he said after a moment, and Dick didn't grace that with a response. He couldn’t. “You did everything you could. No one blames you.”

Dick didn’t say a word, and Bruce didn’t push. They stayed like that until Dick slipped under again.

They wouldn’t let him out of bed, no matter how much Dick protested. He might not have listened any other time, but sitting up was still an embarrassingly difficult feat, every little movement still bringing waves of pain and nauseating dizzy spells.

It wasn’t all bad, useless and weak as being bedridden made him feel, days spent in bed doing nothing to help the guilt still bubbling just below the surface.

Bruce had taken to doing most of his work next to Dick, the two of them still going over cases and mission reports together, and Alfred had a set routine for when he would bring Dick trays of food or tea, insisting he at least try to eat three times a day.

Which was why Dick thought nothing of it when there was a small tapping on his door at noon sharp, setting down his phone to smile up at Alfred.

Only to be met with his little brother hovering anxiously in the open doorway, a tray of food in his hands, his eyes fixed stubbornly on the carpet.

“Alfred was busy,” Tim mumbled, so quiet Dick had to strain to hear him. “He asked me to bring you lunch.”

Alfred had made up an excuse to force Tim and Dick to interact, was more accurate.

Dick forced his smile not to drop, strained as it suddenly was, heart racing in his ears as Tim stepped inside and carefully crossed the bedroom to place the food on the end of Dick’s bed.

“Thanks kiddo.” He hadn’t realized how rough his voice still sounded until Tim winced, eyeing his brother like he was worried Dick would keel over at any second. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” Tim said, curt and dismissive, and Dick wanted to curl in on himself and disappear. “You should eat something.”

“I will,” Dick said, pushing himself up on his elbows when Tim turned to leave, because this might be his only chance to make things right. “Come sit for a second?”

Tim paused, hesitating, and for a terrifying moment Dick was certain the kid was going to bolt. But his shoulders dropped, the look in his eyes painfully resigned as he moved to take Bruce’s usual spot on the armchair.

He sat hunched in on himself, legs folded up to his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his sweatpants. He looked so small, still so scared, and Dick was taken right back to the warehouse, his baby brother trapped and helpless, forced to listen to Nightwing’s screams. All while Dick was supposed to be protecting him.

The guilt was back with a vengeance, and Dick choked out the words he’d been holding onto since he woke up, tongue heavy and sluggish. “I’m so sorry—”

“—I’m really sorry,” Tim said at the exact same time, and he blinked up in surprise when the room fell silent. “What? For what?”

Dick froze, caught completely off guard. “For… for what happened. For all of it.”

“For getting kidnapped and tortured?” Tim demanded, incredulous, and Dick suddenly didn’t know what was happening. “Why are you sorry for that?”

“Why are you sorry?”

Tim stiffened, clutching at his clothes tight enough to rip something now. He glanced at Dick, skeptical and wary, like he thought it might be a trap or a trick question. “Because I didn’t save you.”

“You… what?”

“I didn’t save you,” Tim repeated, more desperate this time. “I didn’t do anything, I just- I just sat there and let them… let them—”

“You didn’t let them do anything,” Dick said, the conversation taking a very different turn from what he’d anticipated. “You couldn’t have stopped it, Tim. They restrained you. I was trying the whole time, those knots weren’t budging.”

“I could have gotten out,” Tim insisted, even as Dick could see the still healing bruises from the ropes around his wrists. “I should have been able to! I tried. I tried, I- I wanted to help you but I couldn’t… I- I was too weak—”

“You weren’t weak,” Dick said, pushing himself up fully when Tim’s eyes filled with tears. “You weren’t weak at all. Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, Tim. Come here?”

Tim shook his head, wiping furiously at his eyes and pressing himself further back into the cushions of the chair. “I’ll hurt you.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” Dick promised, all the guilt and panic gone just like that. “Just watch my leg, okay? I’m alright.”

“I- I can’t—”

“Tim.” Dick held his arms out, desperate, hands trembling. “Please come here. Please.”

He needed to hold him. He needed to feel his heartbeat, hear his breathing, feel that his baby brother was alive. That he’d gotten out of there. That Dick had still managed to protect him, even if he’d failed to protect himself.

It was like a string had been cut, the tension dropping from Tim’s shoulders in the blink of an eye, and suddenly Robin was crawling into Dick’s bed, all heaving shoulders and broken sobs, clutching at Dick’s shirt with shaking hands.

“I’m sorry,” Tim choked out, and Dick just wrapped his arms around his back, holding him close against his chest, cradling his brother like he was a little kid again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry,” Dick said, muffled by the way he’d practically buried his face in Tim’s shoulder. He was alive, he was okay. They were okay. “Please don’t be sorry. You did good. You did everything you could.”

Tim shuddered in Dick’s arms, choking on another hiccuping sob. “I didn’t- I didn’t do anything.”

“Sometimes all you can do is nothing, Tim.” He took a breath and pulled back slightly, even as Tim refused to meet his eyes. “You gave me something to hold onto, and you kept yourself safe. There was nothing else you could have done, Robin.”

“I should have helped you.”

“You would have gotten yourself killed.” Dick didn’t want to think about that. He couldn’t go down that path without making himself sick. “We needed to wait for Bruce. That was the plan.”

“I know,” Tim said. “I know, I just… I felt so useless. You were… you were in so much pain.”

Dick swallowed down the memories, the phantom pains and panic. “I was alright.”

“No you weren’t,” Tim snapped, poison on his tongue, and suddenly he was out of Dick’s arms, glaring from the other end of the bed. “Please don’t… please don’t pretend you were. None of that was alright.”

Dick shrugged, hating the way it still pulled at healing bruises and aching muscles. He forced himself not to wince. “They shocked me a few times, Tim. It wasn’t that—”

“It was that bad. It went on for hours, Dick. You kept passing out and they still wouldn’t turn it off. I… you kept screaming.”

It hadn’t felt nearly that long. None of it had. “I—”

“You kept screaming for me,” Tim said, and Dick’s heart dropped. “And- and for Dad. You were… after a few hours you just kept screaming for help and I- I couldn’t get to you. And you… you couldn’t hear me trying to tell you I was sorry. I thought… I- I thought you were going to die before I got the chance to tell you I was sorry.”

Dick couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, the shame on his shoulders crushing, threatening to send him spiraling somewhere dark, fog tugging at the corners of his vision. He didn’t remember that part. He barely remembered any of it. He had no idea what he’d said. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“No, I’m sorry,” Tim cut him off, and Dick’s chest felt unbearably tight. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Dick.”

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t see it coming either, there wasn’t any way you could have stopped it.”

“Not for that,” Tim said. “Not for… not for the kidnapping. I- I know that wasn’t my fault, even if—”

“It wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry for everything,” Tim barrelled on, like Dick hadn’t spoken. “I’m- I’m sorry I don’t listen and I don’t- I act like I don’t want you around and I don’t let you help and- and I’m sorry I was so mean and—”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Dick said softly, barely above a whisper, but Tim fell silent anyway. “You’re just a kid, Tim. And I know how it feels to want to prove to everyone you can do it all on your own, but you can’t. No one can. Not you, or me, or Jason or even Bruce. We all have to rely on each other, okay? That’s the only way we stay alive.”

“I’m trying,” Tim said, and Dick let him slowly inch closer, closing the distance once again. “I’m really trying, I just… I wanna be good enough. I want to stay.”

Dick understood the weight of his words all too well. He’d heard himself say the exact same thing when he was Tim’s age. He remembered the look on Bruce’s face when he’d finally voiced those fears, those doubts, the desperate heartbreak in his father’s eyes, and he was sure it would have been like looking in a mirror now.

“You’re more than good enough,” Dick said carefully, feeling a sick sense of deja vu. He just hoped Tim needed to hear the same words Dick had all those years ago. “You don’t have anything to prove, not to us. Especially not to me. And you’re not going anywhere. You’re family, no matter what. You’re allowed to ask for help, alright?”

Tim nodded, wiping stray tears away with his sleeve, carefully maneuvering around Dick’s elevated leg to lean against his side. “You are too, you know.”

“I know,” Dick said, and it was only half a lie. “I’m okay.”

He knew he could, he knew he had people to fall back on, knew his family would be there to catch him if he fell.

But it was… different. It would always be different. There was no way to voice it, not here, not without sounding like a hypocrite and risking another argument. Tim was just a kid- he and Jason both, and Bruce already had so much on his shoulders, the weight of his city, a lifetime of grief.

Dick was the glue holding them together. The smile that kept them from falling apart under the stress of it all. He was holding their family up on shaking legs, walking a tightrope that grew thinner with each step, and he couldn’t lose his balance now. He couldn’t break again. He couldn’t let them see that.

But Tim didn’t need to know that. Not when his eyes were slipping shut, a grounding weight against Dick’s shoulder, his breaths finally slowing into a steady, relaxed rhythm.

“We’re okay.”

They’d be okay. Dick would make sure of it.

#batman #dc #dc comics #dick grayson #nightwing #tim drake #robin #jason todd #red hood #bruce wayne #angst #torture tw #kidnapping tw #hurt dick grayson #batfamily #batfam #writing #fanfiction

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deadsetobsessions · 3 months

Text

What Do You Have There?

A knife!

Danny plunked the butter knife in its pedestal of importance. The nice thing about having a billionaire vigilante for a... foster is the amount of money Danny was allowed to drop on his hobbies. For example, his extensive collection of souvenirs.

They're not just any old regular souvenirs. No, no, no. That would be so boring! No, these souvenirs, he obtained from the various muggings, knife fights, and various other situations he's been in ever since he was dropped ungraciously into Gotham.

The butter knife? Damian. Precocious, stabby Damian who he had startled into the stab instinct. A point of pride, really. Danny knew Damian was good at fighting! It was practically, in ghost terms, a super enthusiastic hello! Yes, the butter knife would be kept in the well lit part of the wall. Alfred had told him to stay home today to recuperate. He didn't need it, since the wound would heal in an hour or two, but he'd take staying at home any day.

A couple of hours later, well into the afternoon and right before what Danny knew to be their patrol hours, Danny had a visitor.

"Danny."

"Oh, hey, Damian! What's up?" Danny turned around to see Damian hovering awkwardly near the door.

"I am here to... check upon your wound. It is imperative that it gets proper treatment."

Ancients, Damian was exactly like those alley kids. He just ate a thesaurus instead of the drawling accent the alley kids picked up. Which meant Damian endeared himself to Danny pretty quickly. Like a little ghostling.

"Oh, I'm good. See? No blood is leaking out of the wound." Danny held up spotless bandages.

Danny watched Damian step into his haunt- his room- with a pleased hum. Damian inspected the bandages and stepped back with a sharp nod of approval. His eyes flicked to the wall that Danny was rearranging (again) and did a double take at the butter knife in the middle.

"Is that the butter knife I stabbed you with?"

"Why, yes, it is!" Danny beamed.

"Why on earth would you display that?"

"Because you stabbed me with it?"

"That makes absolutely no sense, you simpleton! When someone stabs you, stab them back!"

"That would be mean!"

Damian spluttered. Danny tugged the kid closer to the wall, cheering inwardly as Damian didn't shove him away. It might be because he was exaggeratedly wincing as he moved his "injured arm" but Danny has learned to take a win where he could find them, especially with ghosts. Not that Damian was a ghost, but he sure acted like one.

"Do you want to see my collection?"

"Your collection?"

"Yeah!" Without giving him time to answer, Danny barreled ahead. "So this is the knife you stabbed me with. Which, by the way, was an awesome show of strength and accuracy."

Damian grimaced. Danny continued blithely, secretly memorizing Damian's reactions to laugh at later.

"And this is the knife those guys stabbed me with that one time Cass found me. And this one is a bullet someone shot at me down by the docks. I think I interrupted some kind of meeting?"

Damian's jaw had a slight tick to it that would have been a baffled frown on anyone else.

"And when was this?"

"Oh, like a week ago."

"What? When did you go to the docks?!"

"At night. I couldn't sleep."

"And you went to the docks?! How did you even get there?!"

"Walked," Danny lied, like a lying liar. He floated, obviously, but none of them knew that. "Anyways, this is a law book! Someone threw it at my head!"

"Hey, guys! What're you doing?"

Danny and Damian turned around.

"Richard? Brown? What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Bruce wanted me to come back for the weekend," Dick said. Danny knew it was code for "something's going down and we need back up." Man, he still couldn't believe they didn't know he knew they were crime fighting vigilantes.

"Same!" Stephanie said. Danny was glad to see that her wounds from "cartwheeling in the manor" were healed.

"I see. Danny was showing me his collection of... objects people have used as weapons against him."

"What?!"

"Yeah!" Danny beamed, completely innocent. "Come on! I'll show you!"

With that, Danny continued to ramble. He just knew that the way Dick's and Stephanie's smiles strained would give him a good laugh for weeks to come. "And this is the glass bottle a drunk tried to shank me with in Crime Alley, and this is a knife the Red Hood himself threw at me."

Dick interrupted, face stiff. "Hood threw a knife at you?!"

"Yeah, but that was because my kids broke into his safe house and I was trying to get them to stop looting the place. And he didn't know I was a kid too, so he aimed a gun at my head. He shot at me too, but I couldn't go back to get the bullet, or else it would have joined my collection." Danny grabbed a box and shook it, metal rattling inside.

Dick smiled sweetly, Stephanie and Damian inching away from it.

"Oh, wow, I see!"

----

In his apartment, Jason shuddered. He grabbed his guns.

"Something's wrong. I just know it," he muttered to himself.

----

Danny smiled innocently as he described the horrific, near death events he got his souvenirs from.

"This is my bullet box! Man, Gotham has a lot of gun fights. I got shot so many times!" Danny complained, shaking the box like a rattling toy.

"Did you know Danny snuck out to go to the bay?" Damian snitched immediately, like a snitch.

"The Bay?! Danny! You know that's where people dump bodies, right?!" Stephanie poked him in the arm.

"Yeah, but like... I wouldn't die. And besides! I missed my friends!"

"You mean the minions you made in Crime Alley?" Steph asked. Danny pouted, eyeing the way Dick's gaze roved over his souvenirs and paling the more he realized how often Danny "got hurt."

Damian bumped a shoulder against Dick's arm. Danny returned to the conversation.

"If anything, I'm their minion." He said, remembering the times the Alley kids sent him on food runs.

"Fear Danny, the overlord of street rats."

Danny snorted. And- "Oh! Yeah, there was like a weird owl looking guy? And then they stabbed me with a finger and I kept it because woah, cool talon looking thing, right? And then they threw a bunch of those tiny knives at me? And then they just kind of vanished? Gotham is so weird."

And now, with all of them pale and stressed out of their minds, Danny swung a devastating blow called guilt trip.

"And that's the batarangs!" Three heads swung over to the line of batarangs. "Those vigilantes kept throwing them at me! One of them even hit me in the arm. Those things are sharp, man."

"Uh. Which ones?" Stephanie asked.

"Hm?" Danny hummed obliviously.

"Do you know which vigilantes?"

"Oh, it was like... the purple one. And the sword one? And like the one with the yellow insignia in the middle. And... all of them, I think? Except for signal. That guy's cool."

Stephanie and Damian had matching veiled looks of guilt. Dick shot them a sharp look. Danny decided to deal the last bit of damage to Dick.

"I'm glad you guys are way less stabby than the general Gotham public though, butter knife incident aside. At least I don't have to worry about you guys getting into danger, right? If you guys got hurt like my family did... I don't know..."

Danny smiled-squinted at them, channeling Cujo at his cutest and saddest: when he doesn't get to eat off of Danny's plate. So, pretty sad and pathetic.

"Uh, yeah." Dick said, guilt splayed all over his face. "Alfred said dinner was almost ready."

"Yes," Damian cleared his throat, looking away. "We shall partake in Pennyworth's hard work."

"Ahaha!" Stephanie laughed, nervously. "Welp, let's go bother Tim!"

Falling into step behind them, Danny grinned.

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jasmines-library · 28 days

Note

Hey, I love your Batfam work! Is there any chance you could do a whump/angst one of batsis being kidnapped by a villian(you can choose whoever you want) and she’s tortured for days with it being broadcasted to the Batfam while they try to track the footage. I feel kinda bad but can you do maybe some head trauma md severe burns? Maybe she has to be put in a medically included coma or smth because of the damage? Also is there any way you could include Barb and Duke along w/ the four robins? If not that’s totally cool! Sorry for the long request but I hope you have a great day!!

Anonymous Requested: batfam x batsib reader whos the youngest and newest robin and is just really goofy and doesn’t take anything seriously (ex: them blaring “who’s the (bat)man” on the comms during patrol [that songs stuck in my head i had to mention it]) and something happens, maybe their first close encounter to death or a run in with the joker and they just become a shell of who they were and stuff

Jokes On Me

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Note: My god im so sorry this literally took me forever to write, thank you so much for being patient. I've been trying to write this all week but just couldn't sit down for long enough to finish it.

Warnings: Torture, blood, burns.

Word Count: 2.5k

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

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“Y/N, turn that shit off.”

Jason grumbled at you over the coms. You had been blasting some wretched song that you’d found on the internet over and over again and it was beginning to drive him mad.

“Nope.” You said, popping the ‘p’ loudly.

“Seriously.” Dick deadpanned. He had found it amusing at first, but it was now beginning to test his patience.

Agitated, you sighed and turned off the music. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Jason expressed gratefully, turning his eyes back to the road he was patrolling. The night was cool and quiet besides the odd dog walker or couple returning from an evening out. It was one of those nights where patrol would end early and he could return home to take a warm bath and read a book before turning in for the night. Or so he thought.

You were rounding the corner, humming that tune that was still stuck in your head when his laughter ricocheted across the walls. You stiffened, eyes widening and hands fumbling for your weapon as your breath hitched. No amount of turning and craning your head allowed you to catch a glimpse of the dreaded figure, and you thought for a moment that perhaps it had just been a trick of your mind, or one of your brothers playing a cruel joke on you as payback for winding them up earlier. But then you heard it again, only this time to your left. You clutched your weapon tighter, eyes scanning the area with a new found sense of urgency.

“Wing…” You whispered into the coms so quietly that you were surprised he heard it.

“What now?” He somewhat snapped.

“We have a problem.”

Dick’s heart sank through the floor, his ears pricking up and his demeanour changing completely. “Where are you? What’s the matter? He was trying to let his panic show, but you hadn’t been patrolling as a vigilante for very long, and while you were well trained, you lacked the experience to deal with something big on your own. And from your tone of voice, he could tell that you were in some deep shit.

Jason worked his legs harder to push himself to reach the direction he had seen you head off in. Albeit it seemed even his hardest wasn’t enough.

When he stepped out of the darkness, the first thing you noticed were his eyes. Wide and bright, easily mistakable for a cat’s as they flashed in the darkness; wild. Rabid. As he emerged fully with that infamous twisted grin splayed out on his face, you felt like a cornered animal; a deer in headlights. You froze, unable to move despite how your heart screamed at you to run as it pounded, trying to break free from your ribcage.

“He’s here…” A mere whisper sliding over your tongue, so fragile that you weren’t even sure if you had actually said it aloud. Jason had heard it.

“Who?”

The Joker was circling you now, dragging out his strides in lazy circles. You should have fought but in that moment all of your training had drained out of you, along with the colour in your face. He smirked, leering down upon you as you tried to keep your trembling hand still. He pouted in mockery and at your silence, Jason repeated his question to you, but you never got the chance to respond.

“Oh…Just an old friend, Jay-bird.”

“Joker.” Urging his body to move faster, Jason grit his teeth.

Dick paled. “You leave them alone.” Dick spat. It tried to be a command, but the effect was lost somewhere in transmission.

The joker pursed his lips, tilting his head as he analysed. One of his hands had found his way to your jawline and he trailed it with a cold, gloved hand. You wanted to lean away, to run and find your brother but you knew that now he had you in his grasp there was no point in even trying. “And why would I do that? They’re right in front of me. I could just…snatch them up.”

“Don’t you dare!” Dick was frightened now. “Y/N, you stay there as long as you can, okay? You fight. We’re coming, you hear?”

The Joker frowned at you. “D’you hear that? Big brother birdy coming to the rescue. How sweet.”

His grip on you tightened. “Too bad you’ll be long gone by the time they get here.”

With one swift motion, he had thrown you harshly to the side, your head colliding with the wall with a sickening crack.

The two boys skidded to a halt just a second too late. You were already gone.

Your head hurt when you woke up. Your eyes squinted against the sterile light. They did no favours to your pounding headache. With a groan, you tried to twist, to roll over and soothe the crook in your neck but instead all that happened was the jinging of a metal chain. You craned your head and spotted the thick chain that had been wrapped around your wrist, confining you to the chair. Struggling, you tugged on them, trying to free yourself only for them to rattle and scrape against your skin.

“Yeah, that’s not going anywhere, birdy.” The joker chided.

You glared at him through narrowed eyes, trying to mask the thumping of your heart. The joker grinned wildly at your frightened complexion.

“It was such a shame that Grayson and Todd didn’t get to you in time, but it was far too easy to catch you, little bird: you completely froze.” He snapped his fingers to emphasise his point. “Didn’t batsy teach you better?”

“Don’t talk about them.” You snapped.

The joker raised his hands, palms facing toward you in surrender: taunting you as if you were the one with the power in the situation. “Touchy subject I see. Too bad.”

He gestured above you to an incessantly blinking light. “Smile for the camera, you’re live.”

Babs had been monitoring the street cameras when the computer beside her flickered to life. She had been searching for any sign of you ever since Dick and Jason came flying through the grandfather clock. Everyone was on edge.

The moment the screen flashed on, her eyes perked up to watch it, alarmed. She hadn’t turned it on. And there were very few people who could bypass the caves system. So when she saw a small frame curled up in a chair she knew immediately what was up.

“Duke…” she called to the dark haired boy who was trying to help decipher your whereabouts. “Go and get B.”

It did not take long at all for everyone to gather around in the cave. Duke was fast, and everyone dropped what they were doing to race down: even Alfred had taken his leave from his duties to see.

It was almost like some sick irony because as soon as they were all there, you began to scream. A guttering, perfect scream that cut that through them like a knife: unclean and pinging into them messily again and again.

The joker had taken a knife to your left thigh, his smile dripping with malice as he watched the camera, somehow knowing that at least one of them would be watching.

Your face was contorted in pain, twisting in agony as tears rolled flatly down your cheeks from fearful eyes. Damian felt sick, his stomach churning. Jason wanted to leave. But all of them were stuck watching. Barbra was tapping away, trying to locate the signal from the video to no avail.

“I hope you’re watching this Batsy…” He moved round to trail your face with the edge of the knife. You whimpered. “I’ve got your little bird here and I must say, you need to work on their training. They were far too easy to catch.”

Bruce felt his jaw tightening and Tim had to place a hand on his arm to remind him of his place.

“Anyway I thought we would play a little game… how long can little y/n survive for. I wonder if it’ll be any longer than our very own Jason Todd.”

Jason twitched.

“I’m testing you here, Bat. Tick Tock.”

The transmission cut to black.

It seemed hopeless. Even though they had been searching for days, they were no closer to finding you. And to make matters worse, they could see you. Not long after the first transition ended did it start up again. It had been lifestreaming since then, and although they had tried to block it from their minds, it was hard to ignore. Especially when your agonised screams ricocheted throughout the halls.

You looked like hell. Dark bags occluded under your eyes and there wasn’t an inch of your skin that wasn’t marred or stained with drying blood. The burns were worse. Damian could still hear the scream you let out when the joker first brought the hot poker to your skin. It had bubbled and blistered as the skin peeled away; you had thrashed against your restraints violently. Tim was certain that they were going to get infected if they didn’t reach you soon.

It felt as if they had searched everywhere. Dick and Jason had even asked around to see if anyone had heard anything, going as far to talk to the Jokers closest associates in Arkham, but even if they did know, nobody said anything. Duke had even gone as far to go back to the area to use his powers to see if he could trace anything, but nothing seemed out of place; they had hit a brick wall. That was…until a small light appeared on the monitor. Babs had managed to trace the signal to a small building on the outskirts of the city.

They were suited up in minutes, making a beeline for the building. They stormed it, recklessly taking down the Joker's goons before Batman chased wildly after the Joker, his face stony and his fists burning with anger. The other four boys chased down the winding corridors, flinging open the doors until they found one that was locked. Tim wasted no time, picking the lock with ease he peeled it open. His breath hitched when he saw you.

Your face was gaunt, hanging low by your chest. Your suit was torn and there was less of it on your body than there was ripped away. You looked so fragile as your chest heaved sporadically.

Jason nearly had to take a step back. This place reminded himself too much of his own encounter with the Joker not too long ago. But he pressed forward, fighting his instincts. He had to be strong. Instead of turning back, he kneeled in front of you, whispering your name. His hand came up to cup your face. You flinched away.

“It’s okay kid. It’s us.” He tried to reassure you, but you shrank back into yourself.

“We’re so, so sorry kiddo.” Dick tried placing a gentle hand on your arm before moving to work on the cuffs around your wrists. “We’re going to get you out.”

You said nothing, just continued to stare at the black space before you, and Dami wasn’t sure if you even knew they were in front of you. But when Jason moved away from you to help remove your restraints, your fingers latched onto him and you squeaked in protest.

He sighed shakily. “Don’t worry kid. I’m not going anywhere.”

Damian twisted from where he was guarding the door. “We need to leave.”

Dick nodded bluntly, finishing with the last of the locks. “I’m going to have to pick you up, okay sweetheart?”

You barely registered what he had said. Everything had grown numb, you nodded anyhow. Moving his arms underneath your legs and slipping one arm behind your back, Jason began to lift you. He nearly recoiled when you cried and whimpered with the way your wounds jostled as he sprinted out of the building to get you back to safety.

You were yet to say anything since you came home. You had been back a few days and your wounds were healing up nicely thanks to Alfred’s handywork, but the air was eerily silent around you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t been communicating with them; you spoke to them with gestures or writing but no one was used to not hearing your voice. The stark contrast between your loud and bustling personality and you now was unsettling. No one wanted to push you too far but the manor was beginning to grow lonely.

It was one particularly rainy night when you finally spoke. You were curled up in a large armchair by the window in the library, sinking back into the plush leather as you watched the raindrops race down the glass. Jason had been watching you from afar, contemplating whether to talk to you or not when he walked over.

“What are you up to?” He asked you, making sure you knew that he was there before he spoke.

You gestured toward the window,then to the half opened book at your feet and shrugged.

“I see.” He nodded, taking a seat on the armchair opposite you. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Jason wasn’t much of a talker. He knew more than anyone what you were going through, which was why it was nice just to know that he was willing to sit with you, just so you knew that he was there if you needed him. It made you feel safe. But you also couldn’t help but feel guilty, and frustrated with yourself for being in a place that made him feel as though he had to do that.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Jason had to do a second take. His heart swelled. “What for?”

You sighed. “This. When I saw him…i-i froze. If I had run then this would never have happened.”

“Shh. This isn’t your fault.”

“But-”

“I promise, Kid. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

You nodded, looking away from him. But then you furrowed your brows and turned back to him. “How did you do it? How did you deal with this, Jay? Every time I close my eyes he’s there.”

“I guess I don’t, really. Or sometimes it feels like I don’t. I still get scared sometimes. I still see him in my dreams. But over time it gets easier. I had people around me to help me. And so do you, kid. We’re here. We’ll always be here.”

Jason shifted to brush away a rogue tear and you leaned into his touch and then wrapped your arms tightly around his middle.

“I’m here. Always. We’ll get through this together.”

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BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff @alicedawitchbish

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