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mossing-around · 7 months

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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.

#reading this at 1am in the middle of the week is an experience I will treasure for the rest of my life #thx op #dick grayson #nightwing #pain #i was literally shaking this entire fic

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