#dick grayson needs a hug

[gothamite-rambler]

I've been thinking about the time Bruce went missing and people thought he died. Damian and Jason had focus on their grief, but I've been thinking about Dick and his grief and struggles at that time. Not because of having to raise Damian. He would've lost the third parental figure in his life and had no idea if he was alive or dead.

Tim (entering the Batcave): Dick, I dropped by for a visit. You want to spend the day together?

Dick didn’t respond, resting his head on the desk in front of the Batcomputer.

Tim: Dick? Or should I say Batman?

Tim laughed, but the sound soon died down when he heard a soft sniffle.

Tim (concerned): Hey, you okay?

Tim placed his hand on Dick's shoulder, and the man sat up, quickly wiping his eyes.

Dick (lying): I'm fine. Just tired and dealing with allergies. I can get lunch with you, but I have to head back and, um, go out in town with Bat— Robin. Because I’m Batman. I’m Batman, and Bruce is gone… so I have to…

Dick’s breathing quickened as he covered his mouth.

Dick (whispering to himself while trying to remember what day it is): Bruce isn't here. Bruce isn't here. Bruce isn't here. Papa isn’t here. I don’t... I don’t want him to be dead.

Tim smiled softly and nodded.

Tim: I miss him too, wherever he is. And you know it’s okay to be upset he’s not here.

Dick (talking fast): I can’t be upset. I have to be here for Gotham, for Damian, for you guys. I have to keep moving because if I stop and focus on the fact that he’s… not here, then everything falls apart.

Tim (empathizing): Hm… I thought the same way when I lost my dad. Not that I’m saying Bruce is dead, but you know what helped me realize things were going to be okay?

Dick: Focus on crime fighting?

Tim: Well, yes, at first. But you’ve been with Bruce since you were little, and he was your dad when you lost your parents. Dick, it’s okay to be sad he’s gone. It’s not healthy to bottle up your emotions. I know that's Bruce's specialty.

Dick nodded, letting out a soft laugh at first. He covered his eyes, but the laughter shifted into a mix of sobbing and laughter until all that remained was crying, lamenting the loss of his foster dad, uncertain if he was alive, questioning if he could carry on Bruce’s legacy, if he could be the man Bruce was, and if he’d ever see his face again.

Tim stayed with him, offering silent comfort. Even though he didn’t share the same closeness with Bruce that Dick had, Tim cared deeply for him, the man was his adopted father too. But Dick was the oldest and felt the need to maintain a facade of doing better than he truly was, just as Tim had to when his own father died.

Tim: You’ll be okay?

Dick: I’m not sure.

Tim: I expected that answer, which is good. Don’t want you lying. Want to get ice cream? My treat. And before you say no, ice cream makes everything feel a little better.

Dick (sad chuckle): I’ve taught you well.

[non-binary-lil-star]

Bruce: * awkward * Hum- Huh- Hun

Bruce: Tim... An, would you like a hug?

Tim: * on the floor, face red from crying *

Tim: * unsure if he is allowed to need or want affection* An... Hum, no?

Dick: I want a hug

Bruce: I know, Dick

Dick: I'm touch starved

Bruce: I know, Dick

[asagewitch05]

I've seen Jason and Tim as fannish, but now I give you this.

If there was one thing Jason and Tim agreed on, over anything else, it was fanfiction. Perhaps it wasn't quite what Bruce or Dick would think of as the ideal bonding, but it worked. Tim helped Jason, sometimes even Beta-ing, much to his delight, and Jason helped Tim much the same.

They were both long-standing and respected authors in the Gotham, Batman, and Superhero fandoms. One could rarely go on a 'Best in Batman Fics' list without one of theirs showing up.

But one reigned above them both, having written for longer, having been more widely recognized as their fics weren't as fandom specific.

BlueJay01.

They wrote characters in Gotham- in any shape and form. He even had written about Robin- quite a bit actually.

Jason and Tim both revered BlueJay01. Their works were emotional, famed to make anyone who read them be brought to tears. But they were... concerned. Quite a few readers were, actually.

They wrote about abuse. Earlier on, it was subtler, or they didn't seem to recognize it- that or they truly were a god of words- but now it was quite obvious.

Older siblings protecting younger ones through keeping them in the dark. Brothers taking the brunt of a father's cruelty. Death riddled every story, but it seemed to only get worse over time.

Many were worried about BlueJay01's mental health, Tim and Jason included.

So they decided to find them.

...okay, through illegal means but it was for a good reason!

But Tim couldn't find them. At all. It was like they were a ghost. Well, with how much grief and pain wrought their works, Jason didn't seem to dismiss the idea.

...they never put the dots together. Damian was the only one who knew, mostly because he had found Dick writing in a sobbing rage induced frenzy after a particularly painful argument with Bruce. Steph likely had an inkling due to the terms he put together sometimes, but Dick couldn't be quite sure. He was however, completely aware of the fact that his brothers wrote- it may or may not have indirectly been his fault as to why Jason found AO3 in the first place.

He didn't stop writing unless when he was Agent 37 and Renegade. Didn't stop him for long, since when he came back to 'normalcy' both times, he furiously wrote about his situations- through other characters of course. He would be stupid to put his entire self out there.

But it was a nice vent. And people genuinely liked his writing, so that was nice. Although, he couldn't let Jason or Tim ever find out due to the obvious references to Bruce- hell, he'd even put 'Based of my father lol' as a tag once. Okay, not once. Many times. As well as vent fic. So, suffice to say, he couldn't EVER let his siblings know. Nope. Too dangerous.

[tiger-grace]

every time I try to discuss the Spyral arc with someone for the Nightwing comics I have to take the Sisyphus route of going “one must imagine Bruce Wayne to be a bad father…”

[strayswolf]

Bruce absolutely breaking down over the loss of Jason and taking it out on Dick, the most available and easy target in this moment. Blaming anyone else because he can’t bear the weight nor admit the guilt he feels—that his statements should be directed at himself. Bruce feels resentment at himself that he never adopted Dick like he did Jason.

Full Pages:

Also, I appreciate the slowly distancing fade out of the last several panels as a visual display of the emotional reflection Dick’s living in this moment with the batcave as an allegory of the tumultuous upheaval the bat mantel has wrought on the family in the here and now.

Comic: New Teen Titans #55

Writer: Marv Wolfman

Artist: George Perez

[squishykitty825]

Survivor’s guilt pt.II

The air was misty and light. Sunbeams danced through the soft fog of the city. White birds flew overhead, their wings iridescent in the sunlight.

It was so… picturesque. A little too perfect.

Dick looked out over the city from his perch next to Jason’s favorite gargoyle, his leg dangling over the edge as he soaked up the sunlight. It wasn’t unusual for him to visit this spot, even during the day. This building reminded him of late night patrols with Jason and eating batburgers while cracking jokes. He could still picture the way Jason would hop to his feet after finishing his burger and smile at Dick with the brightness of the sun.

There were so many ways in which Dick had failed his Little Wing. So many ways he could have been there for him, but his anger at Bruce for replacing him had festered and boiled over, and Jason had gotten caught in the crossfire.

Not that he would admit it to anyone, but there wasn’t anything in the world Dick wouldn’t do to get Jason back. There wouldn’t be a price he wouldn’t pay to wrap his brother in his arms and protect him from anything that could hurt him.

As he watched the flock of birds, one of them landed on the gargoyle next to him. Jason’s gargoyle.

He had half a thought to shoo it away, but found himself hesitating. Dick could imagine the way Jason would sometimes try and catch the birds that would rest on his gargoyle.

“Wish you were here, Little Wing,” Dick whispered, his eyes still on the dove. “I’d do anything to have you back. The Manor isn’t the same without you.”

The dove stared back at him, its black eye reflecting the light of the sun as it tilted its head.

Dick cleared his throat, his gaze drifting back to the city below. “Bruce hasn’t been the same since you… neither of us have. You have no idea how—how angry I’ve felt since I found out. I wish there was something I could’ve done. Maybe if I hadn’t gone on that mission, if I had come back sooner I could’ve done something, anything.” Taking a deep breath, Dick clenched his jaw. “You never should have been taken from us.”

The symbolism of the bird next to him was not lost on him. Something had felt… off since he’d found himself on this rooftop.

He knew he wasn’t conscious, knew this was a dream of some sort. As to what happened prior to him falling asleep—or losing consciousness—his mind was fuzzy, his memories blurred and unfocused.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the dove, his anger with what—who it symbolized surging as he watched watching him.

“I want him back,” Dick told the bird, the deity it represented. The dove took flight, but Dick wasn’t done, so he yelled after it, angry with God for taking his baby brother, his Little Wing. “Take me instead. Let me trade places with him. Please!”

The dove flew away, and Dick watched it go, his vision blurred from the tears beginning to spill from his eyes.

Standing, Dick screamed his frustration at the sky, at God.

When his voice finally cracked and he fell silent, he could see the hazy form of a man in white robes hovering in front of him, a look of empathy on his face as he extended his hands toward Dick.

Dick started to reach for the offered hands, somehow knowing how warm and comforting the embrace would be, but he hesitated, swearing he could hear Jason calling out his name. He met the clouded gaze of the figure before him, and watched as the world around him fell away in a puff of smoke and mist.

“Batman? Nightwing?”

Dick coughed, the dust from the collapsed building having yet to settle. Lifting his head, Dick caught a glimpse of Tim Drake, dressed in the Robin suit, picking his way through the rubble of the building.

No.

None of it had been real.

It had been all in his head.

Flopping his head back onto the ground, Dick stared up at the night sky peaking through a gap in the roof, and wished his deal with God had been more than a fantastical dream.

[aprocessionofthoughts]

To Sleep

whumptober24 day 8- sleep deprivation fandom- batman tw- Dick mentions the rain which is a reference to the Tarantula incident, nothing about the incident is mentioned but stay safe my darlings summary- Dick can't sleep

masterlist ao3

It’s raining, and Dick can’t sleep. He’s in the manor. He should be fine. It’s been years.

He should be fine.

He turns again in bed, throws the sheets off, then pulls them back on a few seconds later. He lays on his back and stares at his dark ceiling, then twists to lay on his side, then his stomach, then his side again. He fluffs his pillow, then tries laying down without it, then with two pillows.

He can’t sleep.

He presses a pillow against his face. He wants to scream into it, but in a family of vigilantes even a muffled scream won’t go unnoticed.

He tries doing the fibonacci sequence in his head but only makes it to 10946 before his mind wanders off. Counting sheep has never worked because his mind has always taken it as a challenge to see how far he can go.

He rolls over and grabs his phone, hoping soothing music will help.

He’s still restless. He gets up, goes to the bathroom and takes a drink of water from the cup on his bedside table. He sits on the edge of the bed and tries some mindful breathing and thought clearing exercises.

He can’t stop thinking about everything bad that’s happened, about all his mistakes.

He shakes his head hoping to dispel the negative thoughts, he whispers ‘shut up, shut up, shut up’ to himself in the darkness. Why won’t his mind shut up? 

He’s tired. He wants to sleep. Why can’t he sleep?

He flops back into bed, pulls the sheets up, tosses them off. He groans as he immediately feels chilled and has to pull the sheets back on.

Why can’t he–

His door creaks open and he freezes, holding his breath.

“–go of me, Todd! I will gouge out your eyes and shove them down your throat!’ 

Dick starts to sit up, because what is happening–

Then a body falls on top of him, and Dick can’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around the person on top of him. Damian. It’s Damian that Jason seems to have dropped on top of him.

“Wha–” he starts to say, but Jason interrupts.

“Could hear you tossing and turning from my room.”

Dick feels embarrassment heat his cheeks. “Sorry, I–”

“Shut it.” Jason says.

Damian is surprisingly quiet. Dick shifts, he tries to let go of Damian, but his arms won’t listen. “Sorry, Dami, you don’t have to stay.”

“Tt.” Damian squirms on top of him, and Dick’s heart rate spikes thinking he’ll leave him. But Damian settles again so he’s only half laying on Dick. “I do not mind.” he says. “Afterall, you have to sleep so that you can have the energy to keep up with me on tomorrow’s patrol.”

Dick’s eyes water slightly, and he squeezes Damian tighter.

“Well, now that my good deed of the week is done…” Jason says, and Dick’s eyes dart to him.

He manages to extract an arm from where it’s curled around Damian. He extends his hand to his little brother. Jason hesitates, and Dick pulls up his best puppy dog eyes until Jason relents.

“Fine.” Jason lays down on the very edge of the bed, but Dick extends an arm, wraps it around Jason and pulls him closer.

This is nice. Dick’s got two of his brothers here with him. He closes his eyes.

He still hasn’t fallen asleep yet when he hears his door creak open again. He cracks his eyes open to see two faces peak in. Dick smiles gently and extends a hand toward Tim and Steph. They slink in quietly crawling onto the bed, and Dick’s only regret is that he doesn't have enough arms to hug them all at the same time.

He feels himself sinking deeper into rest when the door creaks open again. This time Cass comes in dragging Duke behind her. She smiles gently at him before they’re both climbing onto the bed as well.

Dick’s heart could burst from joy. All his siblings, here together with him.

Like this, he can rest.

He feels sleep pulling at him. His door creaks open again, but he’s too tired to open his eyes. He feels a hand run fingers through his hair, scratching soothingly at his scalp. Bruce presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Love you, chum.” 

Dick feels him pull away and darts out a hand to grab his wrist.

He hears a soft chuckle, but then the bed dips, and the hand returns to his hair.

“Go to sleep.” his dad whispers.

And here, surrounded by his family, Dick finally does.

[magnoliasandarson]

1 Voicemail- Delete (final installment)

“Long time, no see, Dickhead.”

His escrima sticks slipped through his slackened fingers, and his knees nearly gave out. He knew that voice. He listened to a recording of it every night. A red helmet was tossed to the ground, and suddenly the world around him was thrown into flux. 

The ground beneath his feet felt like it was shaking, the sky was spinning around him, and his pulse was loud and staccato in his own ears. He felt like he was standing in the center of a tornado. 

Staring at him, mere feet away, was his brother. 

Jason. 

He was taller now, distantly Dick remembered a tiny grave; his eyes were more green. There were new scars traced into his tan face, and some part of Dick’s soul screamed for blood. More important than all of that, Dick could see the rise and fall of Jason’s chest. He was breathing. He was alive. 

Dick Grayson was in two places all at once. He was standing on a rooftop staring at his dead brother, and he was crumpled at the same brother’s grave. He was staring into blue-green eyes and clawing at dirt. He was biting into his own tongue so hard that he tasted his blood, and he was vomiting onto dewy grass. He was listening to the roar of the flames from a burning warehouse a roof away, and he was listening to that cursed fucking voicemail. His very soul was cleaved in half, and his world was shattering and mending all at once.

His body moved of its own accord, his mouth spewing forth words he’d sobbed at a cold headstone: “Jason, Jay—fuck, Jason.” 

Jason’s face crumpled, but he didn’t move, and that was all Dick needed to yank the now towering frame of his baby brother into his arms. “Oh fuck, Little Wing,” the words leaving his mouth were no more a conscious decision than the bile had been so many years ago. “You were the best Robin—Jason—my baby brother—my brother.” 

The body trapped in his arms was trembling, and there was a wet spot forming on Dick’s collarbone. “You were the best, Jay, and you were good—you were so good. I’m so sorry, so fucking sorry.” He was begging for forgiveness, for love, for recognition, for Jason. 

Dick was holding his brother like he’d dreamed of for years. He’d only hugged Jason a handful of times before his death, he could remember each time. He’d sobbed at the grave, knowing his brother had died not knowing how loved he was, “I love you so much, Jay; we all love you so much. You were never a replacement, you were my brother- you are my brother.”

His brother was home. He was alive and home. Dick was shaking, and Jason was shaking, and they were both crying, but none of that mattered because Jason was alive. Jason was back, and Dick could finally stop listening to that fucking voicemail.

[brucewaynehater101]

Dick Grayson is crying, screaming, throwing up with that elder sibling angst.

Does anyone else think about how he moved out before he even knew he'd be an older brother?

His dad is being a complete ass to him and bam! A kid, a child that can actually understand what's going on, is thrown into his life. A teenager his dad is dragging into the role Bruce had pushed Dick out of.

Then, when he, as a not quite an adult himself, can finally process and put away that grief to help his suprise sibling: his brother dies.

He finds out after the funeral is over. He barely started to be an older sibling to the kid, couldn't even bid him goodbye, and he has to live with the fact that he has failed his brother. There's nothing that can change that.

Then, Bruce is being an ass again. Another child is dragged into that same godsdamned role. That role he crafted from the bones of his parents. The outfit he was pushed from. The funeral shroud that wrapped the kid he isn't sure he can call his brother.

So Dick tries again. He tries to be better, do better. He can't quite protect Tim from Bruce, especially because Tim isn't legally Bruce's kid. He still tries. He loves his youngest brother.

Then Jason comes back to life, but he's so angry. He's bitter and hurting and lashing out. Dick knows it's partly his fault.

Then Damian comes into the fold. This kid is angry and hurting and lashing out. He tries to be an older brother to these two despite how they push him away. It's painful to be rejected, but he still tries.

He is reassured that he's been there for Tim. He's been the older brother that Tim needs. So he tries to be there for Damian too. He really tries.

He tries even when he becomes the kid's father instead of his brother. He succeeds. He became the family that the kid didn't want at first but so desperately needed.

It's only when his dad comes back that he realizes he failed Tim and Cass.

Anyways, Dick's definitely tugging on his hair and rocking himself back and forth on his bathroom floor as he contemplates how little he knew about being a brother and how much he hates himself for not being enough for his siblings.

[gothamite-rambler]

Nightwing: I'm so glad I have you as a friend because if I lost someone like you, Kori, or even Jason again I would go to the dark side or kill myself to join you. I'm tightrope walking on a thin line and it's frayed in different spots and I swear sometimes my next step will be my last.

Nightwing stared at the ground, his smile tight while thinking.

Wally (eyes widened): Hm... What?

Nightwing (perking up): Nothing! Anyways how is your uncle doing?

Wally: He's fine- You want to call it a night? Get something to eat and talk it out like boys? You seem like you need it.

Nightwing nodded walking with Wally as the man patted him on the back and wondering what the hell his friend is battling in his brain.

[asagewitch05]

I think Dick Grayson is a lot like impenetrable pottery, in my opinion. Also, I cannot for the life of me remember the fucking pots name.

The side that faces others can be hit repeatedly, and it will hold up most of the time. There are exceptions- special weapons, extra force, and a knowledge of where and how to hit the glass that can shatter it, but it's hard to do so.

But from the inside? The slightest pressure can cause it to shatter almost inexplicably. It can fall apart into a million pieces because of a little bit of pressure from the inside, but never from the outside.

As far as I'm aware, Dick doesn't hardly ever let others 'burden' themselves with him. His problems, emotions, and issues. They are never brought to light until the pot is already shattered.

I, personally, hold Bruce accountable for whatever was dropped inside the pot. He was supposed to watch it, to keep it safe, but instead he left it, then pushed it into a corner. It could have been anything, from a coin to water, but it shattered Dick because it was the straw that broke the camels back.

[scuze]

My drawings of the Bat-Boys so far

[fleur-de-violette]

“I’m Batman,” and all the lies one tells themself

AO3

Summary:

Dick doesn’t take long to realize he’s in some kind of dream or hallucination. The issue is getting out of it. Prompt: “I could be worse; I could be you.”

Note:

I hope you enjoy the fic! Warning for hallucinations/dream and general angst.

“Robin?”

Dick turns, tries to get his comm to work, tries to locate Damian without success. He’s in a corridor, with no memories of how he got there. He walks, but the place is never-ending. It turns, and closes on him, and moves around.

Lucid dream then. That, or he’s drugged.

“Robin?” he tries again. Only an unnatural echo replies to him.

“Robin,” says a voice behind him. “My little Robin, my spring bird, please look at me, please come to me.”

He’s not going to turn around. He knows what he will see if he does. He keeps walking. He knows all too well what the corpse of his mother looks like.

The cape becomes heavier and heavier as he walks. It’s suffocating. He tries to remove it, but the more he claws at it, the tighter it gets. Until there is no fabric behind his hands, and he’s fighting with gloved hands trying to strangle him. He looks up to see…

“Jason.”

“Surprised?”

“Not really. It’s not a secret you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Jason says with a voice he associates with Jason. Not Red Hood. “I could never hate you, man! You’re so cool. When you were Robin, I always admired you! And now… look at me. Sure, B gave me the training, and the gadgets, but the idea, the magic! It’s all you. You made me who I am!”

“You made me who I am,” Red Hood repeats, with the voice of Red Hood, and his face deforms to take the shape of the mask, an inhuman form, shaped only by hate. “It’s your fault, it’s all your fault.”

He tries to fight, tries to get the hand to let him go until they finally do, and he falls backward.

Except there is no floor to meet him. Only the infinity of nothingness.

And he falls. 

(Somewhere, there is a gunshot. Rain.)

He falls.

And falls.

And falls.

Until a hand catches him. He looks up to a familiar cowl.

“B?”

“You disappointed me,” Bruce says. “All you do is disappoint me over and over again. There is not a day where I don’t regret picking up that day. Damn that pity that made me keep you around so long.”

Dick is still dangling in the air. But he can’t stay there. He has to fight. He will fight. He will come back to reality. He won’t lose now. He swore it on Bruce’s grave. He would protect Gotham. He would protect Robin. He would protect Damian.  

“No, you’re not… you’re not him. Bruce is…” he said it to Tim, he can say it again. “Bruce is dead. And you’re not him. You’re just a result of whatever is happening to me. The worst knockoff imitation of Batman I’ve ever seen.”

“The worst?” Batman asks, and then he laughs, something unnatural with his face. “Oh, no. I’m not the worst.”

He pulls up Dick to whispers in his ear, “I could be worse. I could be you.”    

[squishykitty825]

We're so close guys! I think I might be able to get this wrapped up in a nice little bow by the end of the year (I think hope)

[arkangelo-7]

I need Battison to have a Robin.

I need him to carry around a little bundle of joy in his arms. I need him to risk his life saving him from the movie’s big bad. I need him to hold his tiny hands or cradle his tiny face. I need him to crack the smallest of smiles when Robin makes a pun.

I need him to walk into the penthouse, tired and angry and sad, and see his little Robin sprawled across the floor, giggling as his crayons draw him and Alfie and B—their little family.

I him to crawl out of the darkness with Robin. His Robin.

[fleur-de-violette]

Dad Reflexes

AO3

Summary:

“Nice dad reflexes!”

The words, from a nearby window, take Dick aback.

What does that man mean by dad reflexes?

Note:

The prompt was “dad reflexes”. I hope you’ll enjoy the story!

-

“What were you thinking?”

Damian, as expected, didn’t say anything, just looked away in that half shame half disdain way of his. Dick felt his blood boil. He needed to be able to trust Robin not to jump of a building without securing his line first. He had been there to catch him and cushion the fall with the cape but what about next time? He couldn’t even think about it.

“We’re going home,” he said.

That got a reaction out of his Robin. “But-”

“Don’t talk back to me! Get into the Batmobile!”

He immediately winced internally at his tone. He hated when his patience ran out. Thankfully, Damian responded well to orders. It was maybe the only thing he responded well to. The kid got into the car and just as Dick was ready to join him, he heard a laugh above him.

What now?

“Don’t be too harsh on him, kid is doing his best,” said a civilian from his window, a bottle of beer in his hand. Oh, good. He was getting unsolicited Robin raising advice from citizens, now. He wondered if Bruce had to deal with that kind of things too. “And, hey, I saw the fall,” the man continued. He did a cheer movement with his bottle. “Nice dad reflexes.”

Dick didn’t say anything to that, just went into the car. It was only alone in the bunker that the man’s words came back to him.

Nice dad reflexes

Damian was Bruce’s son. That much was obvious. Dick was nothing but a pitiful replacement for a guardian, for a Batman.

He couldn’t pretend to be Damian’s father. He wouldn’t replace Bruce.

But, deep down, he knew Bruce hadn’t replaced John Grayson. He was just something else, something between a brother, a mentor, and yes, a father.

“And for what,” he said to the empty room. “So, I could be orphaned twice?”

He wasn’t thinking right. He was tired.

Damian wasn’t his son.

Yet, why had he printed adoption papers then?

No, no, adoption papers were a different thing. Bruce had been his father long before the papers. They hadn’t changed anything. Not really. But he still remembered how he felt when he first held them, so maybe they had changed things.

He looked at the Batman suit in the case.

“Was it,” he asked, “was it that complicated for you as well?”

Batman doesn’t answer, but Dick wasn’t expecting him to. Even when he had been there, Bruce hadn’t been very talkative, after all.