Summary: When Dick's present crumbles before him, The Batclan show him how to find hope in his future.

Rating: PG-13 (R?) for a few instances of strong language (I apologize in advance for Dick's mouth; he's had a few really bad days lately)

Disclaimer: DC owns the characters, not my fictives.

Author's note (a): In the comments of one of my recent stories, a reviewer asked "Why's it so much fun to hurt Dick." I've thought about that question a lot and the first thing I came up with was, well, I'm really good at it. LOL But, more so than that, We see these guys, they're just human. They're rough and tough and we see them fighting with injuries, fighting while they've got the flu, fighting when their personal world is falling apart around them. They take down super-villains and fight alongside metahumans. What we don't see much of what it's like behind the scenes, after an injury or a fight goes south for them. Their vulnerable side. How they care for each other when one is down. How the big, bad Batman feels and might react when faced with his greatest weakness, which I truly believe is, Alfred and the boys he's taken in and calls his family. It intrigues me, to see what I consider the unseen father/son relationship Bruce has with his boys and, being emotionally constipated like Bruce is, the only way we really get to see that is when he's deeply concerned for someone. I believe it gives them a deeper character depth. I like that so I write it.

(b) I haven't really read comics in about 10 years, so my characters are forever set in a pre-52 timeline. I haven't written a new story in about 10 years either, so let's just label this story AU because I'm rusty and I'm sure I'll screw up characterizations here and there.

All that being said, I hope you enjoy.

"Go away."

The voice holds no emotion as he opens the door and, after a second's hesitation, Tim steels himself and moves one foot in front of the other making his way to the bed. "No, Dick."

"I don't want you here."

"I'm not leaving."

"Get. Out." Dick inwardly winces at the tone of his own words; at the wave of malice that carried them forth.

"Dick... don't do this."

"What, Tim; do what? Tell you what I want?" Dick turns from the window he's been working on losing himself in for the past two weeks and releases a sarcastic huff of laughter. "Don't know why I'm surprised... no one else around here cares what I want either."

"That's not true, and you know it."

"Isn't it though? I'm twenty-four-fucking-years old, yet Bruce, Alfred... and lately you too, have been all too keen on treating me like a child."

"Not trying to defend Bruce here…, but he's not comfortable with you moving back to your apartment yet."

"That should be my choice, my decision." He states, thrusting a finger to his chest and hating himself for showing any hint of emotion when his voice cracks with those last few words.

Ever the performer at heart, Dick had done a spectacular job of repressing his anger for those first few weeks; too cocksure to accept the plan that many, world-renowned doctors, neurosurgeons and therapists had given him. They all agreed that, due to his current, astounding physical condition and taking into consideration the nature of his injury, he should be able to reach a full recovery and that's what he should strive for. That was their opinion and their opinion went down easily, like his favorite milkshake.

It was their timetable for recovery that he choked on: approximately four to six months for him to begin to walk again; ten more for a full recovery and, fine... yes. if he worked extra hard, it was not out of the realm of possibilities that he might be able to make it in no less than ten months. Might.

Ten months. That was that plan for super-positive, gung-ho and "lookout world cuz nothin's gonna get in my way" Dick Grayson.

However, as the weeks began to pass the realization set in of how hard, painful and agonizingly slow achieving that goal would be. The blaring possibility that he may actually miss his mark by a long shot, well, it hit Dick like a ton of bricks, knocking the wind out him, heart and soul; more than once. Despair began to edge its way into his mind and he'd rebound and get his fire lit again, determined to never quit. But, for someone who was always in motion, playing cards with the hand that life had dealt him was beginning to extinguish his fire.

Gradually it had begun to be very clear that his light, the light that has always shone so brightly, was getting dimmer as the weeks passed by and Tim now fears that, if something didn't give, his light was in grave danger of being snuffed out all together.

"Look..." Tim says softly and risks taking a seat on the edge of the bed, "... no one's intentionally trying to make your life suck even more than it currently does."

Dick looks at Tim, stunned.

"What?" Tim smiles at his brother's expression. "It's the truth, isn't it?"

Momentarily shaken from his own demons, A veil lifts and Dick studies his brother's face; starts to take in the continence of the teen before him and begins to see what he couldn't before. He mentally berates himself for the worry lines and heavy eyes the soft lamplight reveals. `...if Tim looked this weary... what have I done to Bruce... to Alfred?'

Seeing his brother's blue eyes shimmer with a rush of emotion, Tim tentatively reaches out and grabs his brother's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze, "Look. I'm not here to give you a pep talk or to pretend to know how you're feeling because I'm not you." He paused and leans forward, "And anyone who's tried to is a damn fool."

Dick's mouth twitched and the snort of laughter was a little more genuine this time, "You should tell him that to his face."

Tim looked directly into his eyes, "I did."

Dick's eyebrows rose in… surprise ? Atta'boy Tim thought. that's three emotions now in less than 20 minutes.

"You did what?"

Tim folds his arms across his chest, "I told him the way he was going about dealing with you, namely by not dealing with you, was doing nothing but making things worse. I told him that he may know more than the rest of us about what you're going through, but not how you're feeling or even all that you need to really knock your recovery out of the park.

"I told him if he truly wanted to help you then things had to change."

Dick is silent for a moment as he processes and then asks, "What'd he say?"

"Told me that if I had a better idea to say it or get out."

"And..."

"And, I told him that you were right."

"Wait-wait-wait... hold up." Dick says, carefully pushing himself back on the bed, shaking his head in confusion. "I was right about what? The only thing I've said for the last week was how I was going to break out of this prison and go home."

"Right."

"You told him I was right."

"Yes."

"About leaving."

"Yes."

"Leaving here and going back to my apartment."

Tim rolled his eyes, "Yes. I told him he was being unrealistic if he thought that by keeping you here, was in any way helping you. I said that you're just about as independent as you need to be around here. Yes, you're healing from a serious injury, but you wouldn't be that far away and that even your physical therapist said it might be good for you to get some independence back."

Dick is quiet for a moment, "What'd he say?"

"Honestly? He told me I was wasting his time that we'd all been over this too many times than he'd like to count and the answer was still no. I, however..." Tim quickly reaches out to grip his brother's forearm, keeping him from falling behind that all-too familiar veil of emptiness that began to overshadow his face again, "... told him that I wasn't done with my proposal."

Emptiness gives way to skepticism and Dick takes his turn at crossing his arms across the brace that covers part of his chest. "Oh? And what, pray tell, is the rest of that proposal?"

Forcing himself not to divert his eyes, Tim sucks in a breath and raises his chin, "That I go with you."

Dick laughs; cynicism is back and then some "Nice, Timmy. Real nice."

Having already told himself this, or worse, would be Dick's reaction he keeps going, "Look, it's only been four weeks. You're still healing and having someone around some of the time isn't a bad idea. I wouldn't be there all the time. I've still got school and i'm sure after you get settled, I'll go out as Robin a few nights here and there. It's better than nothing, Dick."

"Wrong. It is nothing."

Tim finds himself at a loss, so he just sits there and scowls at Dick. In the years that he's known, trained with, fought beside and bled for his brother, he's never seen him so blatantly reject common sense, or even at the very least, his help. Standing up now, Tim takes a couple of paces before turning around, his body language exasperated, "Then, what do you want?"

Dick takes a breath and turns icy blue eyes on his brother, "I want the same thing I've been saying for a week. I want to leave; go; depart; ditch this oppressive hole and go back home. I don't know what your problem is in understanding that... but if you can't get that through your thick skull, then I don't need or want you here trying to fight my battles for me when in all actuality... you agree with him. You can take your sanctimonious ass and get out."

Tim stands still for a moment and analyzes his brother's cold and entirely too-calm words that mingle in with the few bits of emotion he saw flicker across his face. He comes to a startling revelation and mentally kicks himself for not realizing it earlier. Tim smacks a palm to his forehead in disbelief, "Oooooh my God... I am such an idiot!"

Dick frowns at him, completely unsure of where this is going.

"It's so obvious to me now. I can't believe I didn't see it earlier." Tim says, placing his hands on his hips and then there is silence in the room for a moment. Tim's looking completely flabbergasted at Dick and he's looking back at him like Tim's one of Joker's Jack-in-the-Boxes; not sure if it'll be Jack or a bomb that comes out when he pops open.

With a palm raised in Dick's direction, Tim says: "You're afraid."

Dick responds to Tim's revelation with a sharp bark of laughter, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I heard you talk outta your ass."

"Fine. You don't have to admit it, Dick... but I know it all the same, and it's nothing to be ashamed of."

Dick leans forward as much as he can and glares, pointing at his brother, "Aren't you the one that sat right here, just a second ago, and told me no one had the right to tell me how to feel? Being a little hypocritical now don't you think?"

"Wrong." Tim says and takes a few quick strides to the side of the bed, "I'm not telling you how to feel... I'm telling you what you feel. And I think you're so damn closed up that even you can't see it, Dick. You're scared… scared to leave and be out there on your own. And Bruce knows it and he's doing you a favor by being an ass and telling you that you can't leave–" Tim raises his voice to talk over Dick's dismissive muttering, "–because he knows that really, deep down inside, you don't want to leave–"

"Whatever."

"–don't want to be out on your own, even if it is just to your apartment here in Gotham."

"Tim. Enough!" Dick replies, fighting with all he had to keep his chest from heaving from the surge of self-denial demanding to be brought out into the light and revealed for what it truly was.

Tim stops and remains where he stands for a moment, studying his brother who refuses to look anywhere except down at his lap. Frowning, Tim exhales a breath and eases onto the bed opposite Dick. He hesitates a second before grabbing his shoulder again, "Tell me I'm wrong."

Dick swallows hard and attempts halfheartedly to shrug off his brother's arm.

Tim simply grips Dick's shoulder a little firmer and nods, "Okay. Fair enough. Answer me this last question though: If you're not unsure about leaving and being on your own... then why haven't you?"

"I– what?" Dick's brow is pinched with confusion when he looks up and Tim barely catches the flash of panic in his guarded expression.

"I said..." Tim repeats softly, "Why haven't you left? You've made it very clear, on more than one occasion, just like you did with me tonight, that you're not a child and can make your own decisions. You're right. You're not a child... and can't be forced to stay here. If you feel you're ready, why haven't you left, Dick?"

"...Tim...I," Dick stumbles over his words and tries to come up with an answer, but his mind is a blank. The realization that Tim might be right strikes him hard and he breathes deeply, trying to sort through a wave of emotions crashing down on him. He tries to find a logical explanation: Why hadn't he just left? Packed up his shit, called a taxi and left?

Tim patiently sits and waits for Dick to answer his question. At first, he can see Dick struggle over a conflict of emotions, but it doesn't take long for denial to lose. Dick's too sharp to be fooled for long, even if it is himself that was doing the fooling. It isn't hard to tell when the truth wins out and Tim squeezes his brother's shoulder again when he uses a hand to cover his face as it begins to crumple with defeat.

"Oh my God, Tim. You're right." Dick whispers around a choked sob. "What the fuck's the matter with me?"

Leaning forward, Tim rests his forehead against his brother's and sighs, "Nothing. Well, other than your world being turned upside down and a little PTSD thrown in just for fun." Tim tries to joke.

Dick replies with a strangled, bitter laugh. "Huh. Some hero I am."

Tim sits back, "S'got nothing to do with you being a hero, bruh. This is personal; something you're being forced to deal with outside of the tights. And, if you remember, when Bruce was in a similar situation, he didn't handle it with all grace and prestige either."

Dick snorts and nods in genuine, amused agreement while using his sleeve to wipe his nose. He takes a shuddering breath, "What am I going to do, Timmy? I'm so far from the person I used to be, I don't even feel like me anymore. I'm losing myself." Dick sighs, and shifts against the pillows,. "Therapy and progress are going so. damn. slow."

"We're all used to dealing with injuries, Dick. We've all had just about any kind, multiple times and when we get hurt, we know how and what to do to heal the quickest way possible. But, this is a wild card for you. Something that has a new set of rules and you need to start looking at your progress a day at a time. Stop thinking about where you might be months or even a week from now. You'll drive yourself crazy doing that."

Dick didn't answer, just sighs slowly and turns his head to look out the window again, this time without the urge to lose himself in the sprawling grounds outside. This time, he just can't talk anymore at the moment. He needs the quiet to process the thoughts and emotions that he'd locked away in the back of his mind.

Tim understands and knows this. He's content to just sit in the silence with his brother, to be there for him, to prove to him that he isn't alone and that it's better to allow someone into his personal hell; that together, with his family, they'll help to bring him through this and turn his world right side up once again.