#Bruce’s mood swings regarding Dick are crazy

[daydreamerdrew]

All-Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder (2005) #8

[sassydefendorflower]

Whumptober Day 7: Isolation

Hiya! Day 7! This time Dick faces some forced alone time!

Fandom: DC, Batman

Character: Dick Grayson

Warning: Panic Attacks, Temporary Madness

Masterlist

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

(Read on AO3)

3.789, 3.790, 3.791, 3.792, 3.793, 3.794, 3.795, 3.796, 3.797, 3.798, 3.789, 3.8…7..8?

Fuck.

Please no.

His breath caught in his throat.

He had miscounted. Again. It was what? the fifth time that he had to start over? Dick was no longer sure how long he had been in this hole.

Two days? Three?

He shouldn’t be this distraught after so little time.

But sue him, he was a social creature. And he was stuck in a deep, dark hole the size of a closet. With a possibly broken leg. No way out. And no one who knew that he was here.

A private and secret camping get away had sounded so good.

Just a few days away from the craziness of his life, alone with no contact to civilization.

And it was fun. He talked to other campers, enjoyed the nature, was just Dick Grayson for a change.

But then he had to decide to take on a more extreme trail. Up in the mountains to a less secure area. Alone. None of the others wanted to take that path.

So he was the only one there when a bunch of rocks broke lose and created an avalanche. An avalanche that might not have hit him but made sure that he lost his balance and tumbled down a crevice.

That was 42 hours ago. Probably. Then again, he had slept (fitfully) at least some of it and lost track of his meager efforts to count a minimum of five times.

What even was time?

He no longer felt sure, if he even knew how human interaction worked. 

Bruce had trained him in survival methods and even forced him through some harsh exercises regarding isolation but nothing could have prepared him for the pure mind numbing boredom that came with being stuck alone in the middle of the wilderness.

There wasn’t even a supervillain watching via some secret camera to annoy. 

There was only him, Dick Grayson, a backpack full of travel equipment (most of it useless in the limited space except his clothes and the food and water), and the hole he was stuck in.

And after almost, probably two days with only himself as company Dick could finally understand why his siblings might call him annoying sometimes. Because, Fuck, was he annoyed with himself.

Each time he tried to shift his weight or made a move to get something out of the backpack his leg screamed in pain. His bruised up back and side didn’t help either. So, stuck he was. And yes, he knew that chances of infection were fucking high too.

As he said, he had spent some time with himself, and the lessons about injuries in the wilderness and prevention of infection had been attended by him and the side of him he started arguing with just so he had something to do.

He needed to calm down again. 

The mood swings were a bad sign. He still remembered Bruce teaching im the signs of forced solitary confinement: paranoia, mood swings, anxiety, hallucinations, concentration issues, impulse control and memory loss. There was surely more, but he forgot. Hah.

The dumb thing was Dick wasn’t really sure anymore if there were any ways to fight the onsets of all the shit that came with forced isolation. Trying to keep occupied was one of them for sure… but except counting seconds (which he sucked at, as proven) there was nothing else for him to do.

He had sorted his equipment multible times already, had used his meager first aid kit on the swallow cuts across his side (and tried to used it on his leg - it didn’t work), and played I Spy with himself. It sucked. No surprise there. 

His supplies would run out soon. He had water left for maybe another two days and food for three but after that? He better hoped someone would safe him.

Though Dick was sure he would drive himself crazy before it came to that. 

Soon his family would realize that he was missing. He was supposed to return home today or tomorrow (his hole was way to dark to be able to conclusively tell what time of the day it was). Soon they would start searching. And then one of the other campers on the trail would tell them that he had taken this route up the mountain. And then they would find him. Finally please.

With that soothing image in his head his eyes closed.

 He woke up to the sensation of freezing and… a voice. A voice! Finally! 

That was fast. But before he could otherwise react, Dick started calling:

“Hi! Here! I am here! Thank god for finally finding me! HERE!”

There was the voice again. It sounded a bit muffled, but Dick didn’t want to know what the stone did to distort his voice on the way out of this hellhole. 

“Yes! Here! HERE!”

He screamed himself raw before he realized that there was no one. That his mind had played a trick on him. That there was no one here to safe him and yet he was still freezing. 

With shacking fingers (and they were only shaking because of the cold, of course) Dick got two more jackets out of the backpack. With them thrown over his shoulder and legs, all his clothes were currently being used to keep him warm. His prolonged stillness was not making his situation any better. 

He didn’t want to think about what it meant how easily his mind had been tricked. His mind was no longer something he could count on… count on! Speaking off, that was something he could still do.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, …

 It was raining. Dick wasn’t sure when it started or when he stopped counting. Both of these statements unsettled him on a deep level.

The water followed the easiest way down the mountain and that included his hole. There was a stream of it trying to make it’s way past him only to realize that it was now just as stuck in here as he was. 

Dick really hoped it stopped raining before drowning joined his list of possible deaths in the next 24 hours. No matter what, his clothes were already soaking wet and his laps of awareness had made sure that he hadn’t used the waterproof outer layer of his tent to protect himself from the wetness that came from above. There was no possible protection from the water that was starting to built up around his legs and his butt.

At least he couldn’t feel the fractured bone when it was submerged in ice cold rain water. 

He really wanted some hot chocolate right about now. Maybe with Damian huddled against his side and Tim and Duke working on something in the background. Jason was allowed in his fantasy too. He could play the piano (and no, there had not yet come a day where Dick had decided against using this tiny tip bit of information about his little brother for funsies) and Alfred would reprint him about how stupid he had been.

Dick was currently contemplating if Bruce was also a part of that fantasy. His fight with Batman after patrol had been the number 1 reason why he had booked the reclusive retreat after all… but you know, it was his fantasy!

The Bruce in his head had apologized long and earnestly about all his past wrongdoings and was now telling all of them how much he needed them when…

When a small rock hit him in the face after being washed down the hole. Losing that little warm space hurt more than the small cut on his cheek did. A cut was nothing new but a few uninterrupted minutes of bliss? In this economy?

With a start Dick realized that he truly had no idea whatsoever anymore what time or day it was. Had his family started searching already? Did they even care enough?

No. Dick was not going to let his sensory deprived brain muddle his believe in his family. He was better than that. 

When his thoughts wanted to stray down that road again, Dick decided that being a social creature was totally overrated. Which didn’t mean, of course, that he wouldn’t hug his rescuers to death if someone found him. 

And they would.

But they probably wanted to take care of the leg and the cuts and bruises first. And the hypothermia Dick was pretty sure was setting in. Ah, wasn’t nature fun.

Somewhere between his fantasy and his minds try at an anxiety episode the rain had stopped. At least something. He would't drown. Yay.

Just an endless list of possible causes of death left. 

Wasn’t he a ray of sunshine? That reminded him. It had been at least three days since he last saw the sun. Such a sun of a bitch.

Was it his imagination or were even his puns getting lamer and lamer? You know, because he was a sitting duck. Not getting away from this deep dark hole that ate him.

This was fucked up. 

His mind was fucked up.

He couldn’t even tell you if had caught an infection or not because everything was too wet and cold and muddled for that. For all he knew he could be dying and he wouldn’t even know it.

A dry laugh escaped his throat. This was definitely not the camping trip he had imagined.

Wasn’t he allowed to just take a few days off? Was there some paragraph somewhere proclaiming that Richard John Grayson was prohibited from having uninterrupted free time? The one universal constant: Dick always had to care for someone else but never himself.

Fuck.

He wanted home.

Were they waiting for him? At the dinner table because, guess what, Dick had messed up again?

Bruce was probably fucking mad at him. The eldest, the one who was supposed to be responsible, getting into situations that could have easily been avoided. And yet here he lied in a hole, going mad because his fucking brain couldn't handle being alone for a few hours (or days). What was he even still doing in this family?

He was in his mid-twenties and he still he came back running every time Bruce called him like a disobedient dog. They wouldn't even miss him.

Scratch that: Damian would miss him. But there was so much more to regret with Damian. That boy deserved better than having Dick try and raise him. And fail him. Oh God, had he failed him. During his time as Batman, when Heretic killed Damian, when Dick was forced to play dead. Each and every time Dick had proven that his kid deserved better.

How did he even dare thinking of Damian as his kid? He was no father figure to Damian and now he certainly wouldn't be. Give it a little time and Damian would also realize how much better his life was without Dick in it. 

Tim would come to that conclusion so much faster. After all Dick destroyed his life. Why keep Dick around after that? Better lose that loser. And honestly? Dick couldn't even be mad about it. He fucked that up. His little Timmy, the first Robin he really worked with, all mad and rightfully so.

Just as much as Jason, who he pissed of again and again and again. Dick never took the hint. Dick annoyed him further and further. Of course, Jason snapped. 

Dick would be honestly surprised if his family cared enough to search for him. He didn't deserve it. He deserved to die in this hole. 

Just like he let them die. 

No, no, no, no...

Short breaths, gasping breaths, trying to get air into his lungs.

Nothing seemed to work. Fuck this.

Fuck nature. Fuck his family. Fuck himself, most of all.

Was he crying? Probably. Look at him: Crying man sitting in dirty and muddy clothes in a hole for three days straight - more at six.

Nobody cared for him. It was only him who always took care. Was it too much to ask for some love in return? Was he really that lonely?

They had to be looking for him (he didn't believe it anymore) and they were going to find him (were they though?). He had to believe that, even just to stay sane. But what was sanity worth, really?

He was pretty sure he had caught an infection at this point, if only because he didn't want to imagine that isolation alone would make him this irrational but he couldn't trust his mind and what else was left? Not much of him, that was for sure. 

He heard a voice in the distance.

Hope? Safety? Rescue?

No. Just his parents last scream as they met the ground. Over and over and over. 

Dick decided to scream with them.

 There were voices overhead. Young ones. Again.

"I think I found something. Yes! It's Grayson! He seems to be in rough shape- Wait a minute"

Something was crouching in front of him. His eyes wouldn't really track what it was or who.

"Hey? Grayson? Everything alright? Can you look at me?"

Damian. This was supposed to be Damian. His fucked up psyche send him another form of torture. He wasn't ready for it. No. Not again.

"Father? Grayson is awake but unresponsive. We require pick up immediately!"

The little shadow was kneeling by his side, on hand gently shaking his shoulder.

"Dang, you are burning up... but everything will be alright. Father will get us out of here and you'll be back to your usual hyperactive self in no time"

Dick wasn't strong enough. He had thought his mind broken after hours of listening to his family fall. Apparently he was wrong.

He started screaming again.