The world was hazy. He blinked. Everything was too bright. He shut his eyes, preferring the darkness. A warm weight was on his hand.
"Go back to sleep, Dick."
He surrendered to the darkness.
~0~
The next time he awoke was less pleasant. It took him a full minute to adjust to his surroundings. He couldn't remember how he ended up in the bed, but he was in trouble. Three angry redheads glared down at him.
He blinked.
When in doubt, make a joke. "Have you been glaring at me all night? I think there are better ways to get a guy's attention."
No one twitched. Not even Wally.
Yeah, he was in trouble.
Well, he wasn't going to be lectured by his friends while he was laying down. He moved to sit up, but his ribs and stomach flooded with pain. Right. Ribs. Stitches.
Alfred.
Dick hated being drugged. It always made him groggy and useless.
"Stay still," Babs said from his right. She adjusted the hospital bed, so Dick could sit up without injuring himself further.
Wally was motionless at his left; an angry glare plastered onto his face. The speedster was never still. He was either moving so fast that Dick couldn't see, or he was worried. Neither one boded well for the acrobat.
Roy stood directly in front of him. Arms held at his side. His face was impassive, which concerned the injured man.
Babs was at his right. Her arms crossed, but her nostrils weren't flaring. She was angry, but her concern was overriding her anger.
Okay, there were three angry redheads. Now, if only he knew why.
"What's Roy doing here?"
The archer didn't move. "Wally called me."
Of course, Wally did. Wally had been so helpful lately.
"Okay," Dick rubbed the back of his head. "Not that I'm not thrilled to see everyone, but does someone want to explain why everyone's mad at me?"
An animalistic growl left Roy's throat. "I don't know. How about the fact that you're trying to get yourself killed?!"
"I'm not," Dick protested. Except maybe he was. The Romani was smart enough not to mention that. It would only make everyone worry more. He glared at the redhead at his left. "Wally's overreacting."
There was a cry from Roy. The man threw his hands up in exasperation, but it was a touch on his right arm that drew his attention.
Barbara's face was focused, like Dick was a puzzle she was trying to solve. He struggled not to fidget under her gaze. "You left your coms on last night."
The acrobat swallowed. No, he didn't. There was no way he would have forgotten.
Babs was still speaking with that strange calm voice. "You told Jason to come home with Bruce, not you. Can you tell us why?"
Maybe because Bruce would never let him back in the Cave once he found out Dick had killed the Joker. Or maybe because he didn't think he would survive the experience. Or maybe because he didn't want Little Wing to see what he had become.
"Were you going to let the Joker kill you?" Barbara's voice was quiet.
Fury raced through Dick's bones. He doesn't want to answer these questions. He doesn't want to think about this. "You missed," Dick hissed. "I grabbed your arm last night. If I was so intent on killing myself like you seem to think, I would have let you miss."
"Then why didn't you use your grapple?" Roy's anger filled the room. "You didn't need her to catch you."
Dick didn't know. Didn't want to think about this. Last night was a blur. A blur of desperation. Little Wing was alive, and he needed to come home.
"Where's Jason?" The acrobat asked, trying to get out of bed. Wally gently pushed him back down.
"He's upstairs talking with Alfred and Tim."
Tim. Dick was an idiot. He brought the person who had shot Tim back to the cave. Had he traded one little brother for another? Could he not do anything right?
"Hey," Wally's voice pierced his thoughts. "Hey, look at me." Green eyes looked down at him in concern. "Both of them are okay. Well, as okay as they can be considering." The man shrugged. "They'll be down later."
"Jason tried." Dick can barely get the words out. "Jason tried to kill Tim."
"No," Barbara said. "Jason could have killed Tim; he didn't."
"But he –"
"I know. Jason's not himself right now, but he's home." She squeezed his hand. "It's going to be okay, Dick. Everyone's safe."
Roy snorted. "Everyone except you."
"I'm not going to kill myself!" Why would no one believe him? Batman's original partner had promised never to kill. He refused to think about what he promised to do last night – what he did. Joker was dead. Dick killed him. Maybe killing himself wasn't that far-fetched anymore.
"No?" The archer's tone was skeptical. "You're just going to allow someone else to do it for you!"
Shouts erupted around Dick.
"Roy, calm down. This isn't helping."
"Shove off, Wally!"
"Both of you, knock it off!"
Would it really matter either way? Dick Grayson was poisonous. He kept getting others killed.
The Romani hadn't realized he had spoken aloud until Roy had a fist full of his shirt, leaning into his space. He hated being drugged.
"I'm going to say this once and only once. You are not poisonous. You are one of the best men I have ever met. If you continue to talk this way about one of my best friends, I'm going to make you regret it." A pause. "Do you understand?"
Stunned by the archer's ferocity, Dick nodded. Roy released him.
"Actually," Wally broke the tense silence. "We made a list." There was a blast of wind and then a note was in Dick's hands. "It's all the reasons we like you and think your worth being friends with."
Dick stared at the list in front of him.
Dick Grayson is a loyal friend. Ha.Loyal friends don't get their best friends killed.
Dick Grayson has a large heart.
Scanning throw the rest of the list of lies, he frowned when he got towards the end.
"Wally, does Artemis know you think I have a cute butt?"
The speedster sputtered beside him.
Barbara rose one eyebrow in her patented 'I know better than you' look. "I told you he'd never believe I wrote that."
No. She wouldn't. Dick had offered. Babs had said no. Told him he was too much of a dog. Dick didn't blame her; Barbara Gordon deserved better. Someone who wasn't poisonous.
"Besides, its gotten too skinny."
Dick blinked.
Did she just?
Wally snorted. "Are you admitting to looking at his butt?"
A blush crept up Barbara's face.
"What these two are trying to explain," Roy cut in. "This is a list of your positive virtues. You are going to read it every day."
The Romani looked down at the list and back up.
"If you so much as insinuate that any aren't true, I'll – "
Dick flinched.
"What Roy means, Dick," Wally continued. "As the three people who know you best, we made a list, and you don't get to dispute them because your thought process hasn't been the best lately."
"My thought process is fine."
Babs raised a very unimpressed eyebrow. She started ticking things off on her fingers. "You haven't been eating, you went out to fight the Joker and Red Hood without Kevlar, left the safety of the cave while you were injured, left your coms on, didn't call for backup. Hmmm, am I forgetting something?" Barbara raised a finger to her chin in fake concentration. "Your grand plan for getting Jason home was to kill the Joker."
Tension fell on the room. Dick couldn't be trusted. He killed. He was a murderer.
Wally's voice cut the atmosphere in the room. "Look, you want us to stop worrying about you. We want you to be okay. Just read the list daily, okay?"
"It's not going to make a difference." The acrobat's voice was small.
His best friend gave him a pleading look. "Then it shouldn't matter either way."
"Okay." Dick stared at the paper. "I – I need to think about things. Can you leave me alone?"
The trio shared an awkward glance.
He erupted, "I'm not going to kill myself! I don't need to be on suicide watch!"
"You're not on suicide watch, Dick. You're on bed watch. Alfred doesn't trust you to stay in the bed and heal," Babs answered him.
Groaning, Dick threw his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Remind me to never piss Alfred off again."
"Not sure you'd listen," Wally quipped. "I'll take the rest of this watch."
Roy and Barbara shuffled out of the room, leaving Dick alone with his best friend. Wally gave him a challenging look.
"Alright, let's hear it," Wally said crossing his arms.
Dick glared at the speedster. "Do you have to run off and tattle on me every time I do something you don't like?"
Wally threw his hands up. "It's called caring about you!"
"Yeah well, stop. I don't need your version of caring."
Wally snorted. "Next time, I'll just leave you to bleed out in the Amazon."
Dick threw his Batman glare at Wally.
His best friend sped around the bed. "Do you have any idea how terrified I was?"
The crack in his voice forced Dick to listen.
"You were wasting away, taking deadlier and deadlier missions, and whenever I tried to bring it up to anyone, it was the same thing: Dick can handle himself. Dick knows what he is doing. But you didn't! You nearly died because I was the only one who knew you had a death wish!"
"Do you have any idea what that did to me?" Wally asked. "I stopped sleeping. I kept my phone on me. I barely passed my classes. Artemis and I fought all the time – so I'm sorry I damaged your precious pride, but I'm not doing that again." Wally's voice cracked again. "I can't."
"I'm fine, Wally," the dark-haired man tried to reassure his friend.
The speedster made a sound that was either a laugh or a cry.
"You really believe that, don't you?" Wally shook his head. "Dick, you almost killed the Joker last night and then, I found you on top of the Wayne Enterprise building, staring at the ground. Please tell me how that is fine."
Dick didn't answer, instead choosing to stare at his hands. He was a monster. It was finally starting to show. Maybe he should have jumped.
There was a large exhale to his right. "Please don't do this again. Your friends care for you. We want you to be okay."
"What if I don't know what that means anymore?"
The redhead reached down and gave Dick a hug. "Then, we'll help remind you."
Dick nodded.
Less than an hour later, Roy replaced Wally.
"You should know that Alfred gave me permission to shoot you if you try to leave that bed," Roy greeted.
"Of course, he did," Dick said petulantly. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the mattress.
Silence descended on the room. Roy made no attempt to break it. His jaw was clenched, and his fists were balled.
Might as well get this over with.
"What do you want, Roy?"
"For you to stop being a damn idiot!"
Dick wanted to fight. He truly did, but he just couldn't muster up the energy anymore.
"I'm sorry," he said. He owed another redhead an apology as well.
Tight muscles loosened, and the redhead finally sat down. He looked his friend over again.
"I don't get it, Dick," he said, shaking his head. "You're one of the best people I know. How can you not see that?"
The acrobat looked down at his hands, rather than meet Roy's honest questioning.
"You were the last to give up, you know?" At Dick's questioning gaze, he ran a hand through his hair and continued, "When I was searching for." There was a pause. "The other Roy. Everyone thought I was crazy, but you held out the longest. An entire year longer than Ollie."
"I gave up too, and you were right. You brought Roy home," Dick argued.
"But that had more to do with Jason," Roy protested. "You were dying, and I was too angry about my last friend abandoning me." The archer stared at the floor. "I'm sorry, Dick."
Dick's face scrunched. "You have noth-"
Roy's face shot up, an angry and guilty glint. "Yeah, I do."
The Romani stopped arguing. He could see in the other man's face that he wasn't going to win this argument. Not like Dick had been winning any arguments lately. Maybe it was time to just stop arguing. He let out a breath. He was exhausted, so exhausted.
"You won't lose me," Dick whispered.
Roy gave him a halfhearted smirk. "Oh, I know. I've never seen Alfred like this. You'll be lucky if you get out of that bed by the time you're thirty."
The raven-haired man scowled.
The archer laughed.
A knock on the doorframe of the opened door drew their attention.
Uncle Clark.
There was a mental list of people Dick Grayson was not looking forward to seeing right now. Clark Kent was high on this list. Not as high as Bruce but up there. Superman was noble, fierce, and protective. The Joker never would have died on his watch. Not to mention Clark Kent had an irritating way of being way too insightful.
"Mind if I steal Dick for a minute?" Clark asked.
Dick very much wanted Roy to say yes.
Roy didn't.
"No," Roy said, rising to his feet. "I should probably head home. I'll be back in a few days." The archer walked to the door. "And Dick, read the list," he called over his shoulder, leaving Nightwing alone with Superman.
Or more precisely Dick Grayson alone with Clark Kent.
"Do you mind if I sit?"
Dick managed a short shake of his head, even though he very much minded.
Clark sat in the small plastic chair. There was a manila folder on his lap. "How are you doing, Dick?"
"Fine."
The reporter gave him the same look he gave Bruce when he was being difficult. As gentle as Uncle Clark always was with Dick, the boy was reminded that the Kyrptonian had nerves of steel and even got Batman to talk about feelings.
"Bruce is still asleep," Clark offered and added at Dick's confused face. "Alfred drugged him as well. Something about father and son not understanding their bloody limits."
Father and son. Bruce had adopted him. Dick had returned the gesture by breaking his father's cardinal rule. He killed one dad, and now, he was a failure of the legacy for the other.
"Why don't you tell me what you are thinking about?"
Dick jerked up to find Clark studying him.
He shrugged. "It's not important."
Clark leaned forward. "If it's putting that expression on your face, I'd say it's important."
The talkative acrobat refused to say anything. Silence engulfed the room.
Clark shifted in his chair and tried again. "Bruce loves you, Dick." He held up a hand to forestall Dick's protests. "He does. He's not always the best at showing it, but I've never seen him as happy as he is with you boys."
"Not anymore," Dick mumbled.
"What was that?" The Romani knew the Kryptonian heard him. He wasn't going to repeat it.
The reporter leaned back. "Why do you believe that's changed?"
"I killed the Joker," Dick whispered.
"Funny," the older man said. "I've heard this story from multiple sources and not one of them collaborates your story." There was a challenge to his tone.
"I was going to kill him."
Clark raised one very unimpressed eyebrow. "Were you?"
Dick remembered the weight of the Joker, how holding him up shook his arms, the way he could feel his heart through that terrible purple jacket, the smell of sweat and cotton candy, the batarang squeezed in his hand. One thought circling through his head: Get Jason home.
"I…I don't know."
"You're not a killer, Dick," the reporter stated.
Except it was a lie. Dick killed so many. His parents. Jason. Wally. The Joker.
"I think you need to start remembering who you are," Clark continued. He handed the younger man the manila folder on his lap. "These are a list of articles I found relating to your activities in the last six months."
Scattered newspaper clippings fell into Dick's lap.
"I think you need to start examining the evidence and not just basing your conclusions on your feelings."
The acrobat pushed the papers back in the folder. He attempted to hand it back to the reporter. "I don't want this."
Clark made no move to accept it. Dick dropped it on his lap.
"Okay, I'll look at them."
Satisfied, Clark nodded.
A thought occurred to Dick. "Is this how you get Bruce to listen?"
A smirk formed on the Kryptonian's face. "Nah, I usually just punch him until he's too concussed to argue with me."
Dick chortled. Then he remembered that it didn't matter what Clark thought, Bruce would kick him out when he awoke. Clark gave him one of those insightful looks that always made him wonder if the Man of Steel could read minds.
"Bruce isn't going to throw you out."
The Romani gave him a flat look.
"He won't," he said with the full weight of Superman behind his words. "And even if he tries, we both know Alfred would never let him." Uncle Clark clearly didn't know Bruce already had. "But if you start to feel uncomfortable here, you always have a home in Metropolis."
Dick yawned. "Thanks, Uncle Clark."
"Are you tired?" Clark asked.
"Not really, Alfred's cocktails always make me groggy."
Clark gave him an appraising look. "Well, since you're confined to that bed, why don't I read some of those stories to you."
Seeing no way out, Dick nodded. Another yawn escaped. The acrobat fell asleep to the melodious sounds of Clark Kent reading about Nightwing's heroics.
~0~
He was running. Fear pumped through his heart. He had to get away. The floor dropped out from underneath him. His hands gripped the trapeze bar. He swung out.
No.
He was supposed to grip the bar with his knees.
John Grayson's hands reached out, but Dick couldn't grab him without letting go.
"You failed us, Dick."
John's face morphed into Mary's as she fell.
"My little Robin, I thought you loved us."
Dick fell on to a roof.
"Dickface doesn't know how to love," Jason croaked. He laid in a pool of his own blood. A crowbar gripped in his hands like a bouquet on a corpse.
"Jason!" Dick rushed towards him, but his brother's body disappeared.
Wally's voice surrounded him.
"Not fast enough, Dick. Never fast enough to save us."
He was back in the big top. The bodies of those he loved dead and beaten on the floor. The Joker's maniacal laugh filled the tent.
"But you've always saved me!" The Joker chortled. "Well, until you didn't." His laughter echoing around the room. "You should have told me you wanted to be me."
"I don't!"
"Maybe, you should look in the mirror."
Dick was in a mirror maze. All around him was the Joker's pasty face and green hair, but instead of the haunting green eyes and round face, there were high cheekbones and the eyes were Grayson blue.
~0~
"NO!" Dick awoke with a gasp. The world around him was still shaking. No, not the world just the bed.
Jason kicked the hospital cot again. Hard. "Bout time you woke up, Dickhead."
"Jason! You're alive!"
The man in question rolled his eyes. "Yes, we had are reunion last night. It was touching."
Dick stared at his brother, trying to separate fact from fiction. "The Joker died?"
"Yes," the younger man replied. "And before you start your woe-is-me speech, you didn't kill him."
Dick blinked. "I was going to," he whispered.
Jason either didn't hear him or chose to ignore him. His arms were crossed and there was something wrong with his eyes that Dick couldn't place.
"Why are you here?"
"Because God has a sense of humor," he said deadpan.
"No, why are you here in this room?"
"Because I've never seen Alfred this pissed. I didn't know you had it in you, Goldie." Jason smirked.
Dick groaned, leaning back against the bed. "How long am I under house arrest?"
His brother shrugged. "No idea, but I was talking to the replacement."
"Timmy didn't –"
"Shut up!" Jason's eyes flashed again. Dick couldn't remember if his brother's eyes were blue or green. "I was talking to the baby bird. He caught me up on some of the case files while I was gone. Want to hear my favorite one?"
Dick didn't like where this was going.
Jason's tone turned vile. "Nightwing chose to infiltrate a compound located in the middle of the Amazon rainforest with nearly 250 guards alone. Injuries sustained: four bullet wounds, three stab wounds, a major concussion, a snake bite, various insect bites, and curare poison. Kid Flash, who had previously retired, found and extracted Nightwing. Shall I keep reading?"
"I know what happened, Jay. I was there." Dick's voice was quiet.
"Really? Cuz it seemed like your brain left after I died."
"I was grieving!"
"And you thought, hey! I've got a great idea. I'll just join Jason in the afterlife." The man kicked the bed again. "Idiot."
Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. "I've gotten this talk already."
"Well, it didn't take." Jason glared.
"I'm not in the Amazon, am I?"
"No, but you weigh even less than you did then!"
Dick groaned again. This was not how he wanted his reunion with Little Wing to go. "I'm eating. It was a temporary lapse in judgment."
Jason snorted. "That sounds rehearsed."
Dick waved his hand and closed his eyes. "Jason, you're alive. Can we just focus on that?"
"Not while you're trying to kill yourself."
"Oh, for the love of God! I am not trying to kill myself!"
The two men glared at each other.
"Master Jason, if you cannot refrain from elevating Master Richard's heartrate, I'm afraid you're visiting privileges will be revoked." Neither had heard Alfred come in with a tray of food. "Jason, if you would please return upstairs, your family is waiting for you to have dinner."
"Oh, goodie, this won't be painfully awkward at all," Jason grumbled but he dutifully exited the Cave.
"I'm afraid you slept past breakfast and lunch, but I brought a substantial dinner." The butler placed the tray across Dick's lap.
"I'll eat all of it, Alfie."
Alfred made a non-committal noise before situating himself in one of the far chairs in the room, stitching up Dick's Nightwing costume.
The acrobat took a bite of the pot roast in front of him. It was surprisingly delicious.
"This is good, Alfred," Dick said.
The elderly man ignored him. Dick took a few more bites.
"Are you just going to ignore me then?"
Alfred set the costume across his lap. The Romani instantly knew he faltered. The British man gave him a cold glare.
"Seeing as you ignore everything that I say, I will save my words for those who will listen to me."
"Alfie, I don't ignore everything you say."
The butler's glare didn't waver, but one eyebrow rose.
"What did I tell you last night?"
Turning away from the glare, Dick mumbled, "That I was in no condition to leave the Cave, and I was likely to get myself killed."
"What happened last night?"
Dick was sullen. "I left the Cave."
"And?"
"And almost died."
Alfred nodded and returned to his work. Since there was no point to trying to continue the conversation with the man, Dick went back to his meal.
A short while later, Barbara Gordon appeared. Alfred gathered up the dishes and left. Dick looked after him, wondering how long his grandfather was going to stay angry with him.
The redhead held up a chess board. "I figured we could play a game before I have to leave for the Watchtower."
"Of course, you bring chess when I'm confined to bed and can't grab something else," Dick complained.
Babs blew an errant hair out of her face and set up the board. "It's hardly my fault you don't have the patience for the game."
"I'll have you know I can beat everyone except you and Bruce in under ten moves."
"And Tim, Alfred, and Jason," she said with a smirk.
Dick scrunched his face. "Jason hasn't beaten me."
"Jason hasn't beaten you, yet," Babs corrected. "Let's face it. You may be a Boy Wonder, but you're no Bobby Fischer."
She gave him a teasing smile, and the man was struck by how beautiful it was.
Dick moved one of his pieces. "So you're not mad at me?"
"I don't know what I am, Dick. But I don't see how my anger is going to help anything," she replied.
He moved his bishop across the board. "Congratulations, by the way."
Babs raised an eyebrow, moving her rook. "For what?"
The acrobat gave her a look.
"Oh! It's just temporary. Kaldur will come back before my fall midterms."
"Still, congratulations. You earned it." Unlike Dick who was only the leader because he had been Batman's apprentice, and what a fine job he did.
"I ordered some books for you," Babs said, pulling him from his thoughts, and by the look on her face, she knew it. "I think they will help you."
"What kind?"
"A few of my favorites," she said. "I recommend starting with Daring Greatly. That one really changed my life."
A soft smile graced his lips. "Thanks."
"No problem," she grinned back but it turned wicked. "Check."
Dick turned back to the board. "What?"
Barbara elbowed him. "I thought you could multitask."
The young man returned his attention to the board only to be beaten by the redhead three moves later.
"Next time, we can play Clue," Babs offered. She kissed him on his cheek. "I have to leave. Please try not to cause anymore trouble."
Dick nodded. Babs waved good-bye as Tim entered the room. Tim took the chair Alfred had occupied earlier. His laptops rested across his knees. The teenager typed quickly along the keys.
"What cha working on?" Dick asked.
Tim didn't look up. "Homework."
"It's summer, Timbo."
"I downloaded the freshman syllabi early," Tim replied, his voice flat.
Something was wrong. Probably the fact that Dick had accidentally chosen Jason over the teenager in front of him.
"Tim, I know Jason shot you," he tried.
"This isn't about Jason," Tim replied, resting his head on the edge of his screen.
"What's it about?"
Tim closed the laptop, but his directed his gaze towards the floor.
"Do you know what the first thing you taught me was?"
Dick swallowed. He knew. It was the first thing Bruce had taught him.
"We don't kill," the teenager continued. "You told me there was always another way."
Tim's voice sounded heartbroken. Dick was a complete and utter failure.
"But then, then you." Tim's voice trailed off. He sniffed.
Dick swallowed. He wanted nothing more than to scoop his baby brother up in his arms. The raven-haired man would need to tread carefully. "Then, I threatened to kill the Joker."
Timmy nodded. The boy looked so small hunched in on himself.
"I became Robin because I wanted to help people," he said.
"You do help people," Dick argued.
"I'm doing a lousy job if I can't even help you," the teen protested. There was a wet quality to his voice.
"You're not responsible for my decisions." Tim didn't look up. "Hey, Tim, look at me, please."
The teenager did so reluctantly.
"I'm going to be okay."
For the first time, Dick realized, he meant it. He had to be okay. It was one thing to let his thoughts destroy him, but he wasn't going to take his baby brother with him. "Come 'ere," Dick called.
Tim hugged him and cried into his shirt. Dick held him close. He would do better. He had to do better. Wally and now Tim. People couldn't pay for his mistakes.
When Bruce came down, he discovered Tim fast asleep, curled up against his brother. Dick was lazily running his hand up his back to keep the nightmares away.
"If you're here to yell at me, can we raincheck? I don't want to wake Tim."
Bruce sat in the chair closest to the bed, resting his crutches beside the chair. "I'm not here to yell at you."
Dick was suspicious. "Then, why are you here?"
Shaking his head, Bruce replied, "If you don't know, then I've failed even more than I thought."
There was a hopeless quality to Bruce's voice that Dick couldn't stand. He wanted to offer reassurances, but what proof could he give? Nightwing was Batman's legacy. Nightwing had failed.
They sat in silence. Dick knew his father figure was struggling with something. Bruce probably was trying to find the easiest way to know that his son wasn't welcome anymore. The younger man had hoped Bruce would wait until Tim woke up and left.
"Dick," his father said, startling the Romani out of his thoughts. "I love you, son. That's never going to change."
"What?"
Bruce grunted. "You heard me."
"But, but I killed the Joker," Dick protested.
"You threatened to. I'm not sure even you know if you would have." Bruce's face hardened. "But I don't want you on the streets until you're sure it won't happen again."
"Okay."
Bruce's eyes searched his son for deceit. "What did you say?"
"You heard me."
Bruce still studied him as he spoke. "You're also benched until I know you want to come back alive."
This one was harder, but he still nodded. "Yeah, okay."
"I'll admit that wasn't how I expected this conversation to go," his father said, relaxing in the chair.
Dick laughed. "That makes two of us."
Silence engulfed the room for a while, but this time, it was peaceful.
He didn't want to break it, but if he didn't do it now, he never would.
"Bruce?"
"Hmm."
"I think I should go back to therapy." He forced the words out.
"I'll make the appointment." Bruce squeezed his hand. "Dick, I," the older man stumbled.
Dick squeezed back. "I know, Bruce. I know. You too."
Author's Note: Confession: I'm kinda nervous about posting this chapter. If you'll let me know what you thought of it, I'd really appreciate it.
This chapter has a lot of personal information regarding my own recovery. I spent about five years dealing with self-hatred. Part of my own recovery involved writing lists of things that were good and true about myself, lists of lies vs. truth that I would read every day, learning to rely on more than one friend, etc. Also Daring Greatly by Brene Brown is a phenomenal book. I recommend everyone read it, especially if you deal with depression or shame.
I enjoyed discussing religion/faith/spirituality and their role in comics with a few of you! I truly enjoy being able to have these conversations in a respectful way. Also, correction: a reviewer pointed out to me that Jason does mention God in a few comics. Feel free to make of that what you will. In this fic, he's definitely searching for answers.