A/N: Depressed Dick Grayson is a real popular topic and I just thought... man, I want to write one too!

Takes place after season 4, episode 16 (Emergency Dive). I know that M'gann is Garfield's pseudo big sister, and she is really trying her best, but sometimes, it just takes someone else to give it a shot.

The first words that came out of Garfield's mouth when he opened the door to reveal an incredibly chipper Dick Grayson carrying a tote bag full of ingredients were mired with exasperation. "Did M'gann send you?"

"No!" Dick insisted, before the glare and entrance blocking from the green hued gentleman in the doorway made him think he should revise that statement. "Well, not exactly. She may have brought up the topic of your intervention and I just figured I'd stop by, no further urging came from her or any other party involved."

Garfield raised an eyebrow as he remained unmoving, except to place a hand on the knob to start shutting the door closed. "Yeah, I really don't feel like talking anymore."

Ugh, what was it gonna take for everyone to just leave him alone?!

"Ok, we don't have to talk," came Dick's immediate response as he placed his hand around the middle of the door, preventing it from moving any further. With the other hand, he pulled one of the tote's straps off his shoulder, showing Gar its contents. "I've been meaning to try out this new pie recipe, but I don't know if it's any good. Obviously, as the baker, I'm gonna be a little biased and Zee's a hater for most things cinnamon, so maybe you could give it a try?" His grin had yet to falter.

Garfield hesitated. He really didn't want to deal with more ill-fated attempts at telling him how he was supposed to feel or cope… but if there was anything that could get him to consider letting someone in right now— it was the words cinnamon and pie. With a short exhale blown out his nostrils, he opened the door a bit wider and stepped aside. "If the conversation starts moving towards therapy, I swear— I.. I'll leave."

"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm just here for pastry!"

Making his way to the kitchen, Dick emptied out his already measured raw ingredients on the counter and organized them into piles within his reach: a pie plate, cream cheese, butter, brown sugar, some eggs, a tiny container of flour, an assortment of spices, and a full box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. After setting the oven to preheat, he then went searching through the cupboards for a large bowl and whisk, as well as a big Ziploc bag.

Already intrigued by the sight of half a box of cereal, family sized no less, getting poured into the Ziploc, Garfield edged closer to the kitchen island, taking a seat on a barstool opposite the unfolding sure-to-be chaos. He sat quietly and continued to watch as Dick combined all his other ingredients into the bowl at once before starting to mix.

Noticing the rapt attention from his audience, Dick stuck the whisk upright in the softened block of cream cheese and snapped his fingers as if he had forgotten a step. "Oh, what am I doing? Crust first! Would you do me a favor? " He sealed up the plastic bag full of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, flicking it over to Gar. "Could you just smash the shit out of that for me?"

"Oh, uhh," Garfield stuttered, but he knew full well he was never one to pass up an opportunity to listen to the satisfying sounds of crushing dry cereal, so he picked up the bag and started slamming a fist into it. It was actually pretty cathartic.

A few minutes later, with the filling uniform and smooth and cereal thoroughly pulverized, Dick placed the stick of butter in a bowl and microwaved it until liquid. Taking it out, he spun it over to his assistant, also handing the boy a spoon. "Here, empty out the crumbs and mix it for me. Try to get the butter on everything, we really want this to just be saturated with fat."

As a slightly concerned look passed over Gar's face, though it was also accompanied with the barest hint of a smile, Dick tacked on, "we are making a Cinnamon Toast Crunch cinnamon cheesecake pie, diet and restraint are out the window."

Once the oven beeped out it was at ideal temperature, Dick filled the pie plate with the cereal and patted it down with the back of the spoon. He then poured in the cinnamon filling and placed it in the oven, setting a timer for 15 minutes. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Won't be long now!"

True to his word, Dick said surprisingly little the entire time they were waiting. He cleaned up a bit, only mentioning a few things about the pie recipe, as well as how Cinnamon Toast Crunch was a blessing upon humanity and deserved to be held in as high regard as sliced bread itself. He asked almost no questions, except for inquiring what Gar's favorite cereal was and why it was the aforementioned Crunch.

For that, Garfield was grateful. Yes, it was still a little awkward, but it was a comfortable awkwardness.

The warming smell of cinnamon and butter filled the air as the minutes ticked down. The scent permeated throughout the whole kitchen, it seemed, as one sniff was enough to get Gar nearly salivating. He nearly popped out of his seat in joy when the triple beep sounded from the oven, signifying completion. Unfortunately, he had to tamp down his excitement when Dick simply rotated the pie dish and shut the oven door again.

"Sorry, this is a twice baked situation," Dick informed through an apologetic smile, turning down the oven heat several degrees and setting a new timer for 30 minutes. "High heat to set it, lower heat to cook it all the way through."

About 10 minutes had passed with no more words exchanged when Gar decided that sitting in silence was starting to get on his nerves, and another nearly half hour of this was going to be unbearable. Besides, he was fully aware of the older hero's actual goal, so he figured it was time to deter him like he did everyone else. "What did M'gann tell you? Really?"

"Hmm?" Dick glanced up from his phone screen (Gar could almost swear he saw him breathe out in relief), giving a noncommittal shrug. "Oh, not much. She just told me she brought some friends by, they talked at you, it was received… that was it."

At him? Garfield flicked his gaze over to the taller man, wondering if he noticed that particular choice of words. Dick just looked back expectantly, clearly trying to give the younger the chance to lead the conversation where he wanted.

"Umm, yeah," Gar continued, "they said some really nice things about me, about how I was always there for them and how strong I was. Which was great, you know," he let out a bitter chuckle, "I love hearing about just how much I'm needed. Doesn't put me under any pressure at all."

"They-"

"They're just trying to help, yeah, I know!" Gar grit out, cutting off whatever Dick was about to say. "But I've been through this before and I know they have too, but what works for them isn't going to work for me! I know what works for me, I don't need them to—" He let out a sigh, realizing he had gotten up out of the chair in his indignation, and slowly sat back down. "I don't need the lecture, I don't need the constant fawning over me, I just need—"

"Space." Dick said at the same time, causing Gar to regard him with a hint of curiosity.

"I get it." Dick walked around the island, taking up residence in the barstool one over from the shapeshifter. "Believe me, I get it."

"Do you? Because if you're about to tell me you're hurting and we both need a friend right now, I'll just tell you what I told M'gann, I'm tired of being needed."

At first, Dick didn't respond as he just leaned back in the chair, arms crossed. He tipped his head up to the ceiling, avoiding eye contact, and blew out a breath. "Can I tell you something? Something I've never told anybody else?"

"What?"

"Umm…I was about your age, maybe a little younger, the—" he paused. "The first time I tried to kill myself."

A beat of silence followed as Garfield shifted his entire body in his seat to look over at the acrobat. The statement itself came as a shock, but even more than that… the first time? "Wh-what? When did—"

"Jason."

That name told him enough. His death was hard on everyone, sure, especially for Batman and Dick, but Gar didn't think—

"If I'm being honest," Dick went on, picking up on the somewhat incorrect conclusion the younger boy was drawing. "it wasn't him dying. I mean, that didn't make things any better but, I was already… Well, when I gave up Robin, transitioning into Nightwing was— weird. I couldn't figure out where I belonged, if I belonged. And then when Bats found Jay and just gave him Robin, I felt useless… irrelevant."

"Wait, I thought…" Gar hadn't even noticed he had moved chairs, now sitting one closer. "I thought that was mutual, that you willingly passed on the mantle?"

"No, I did! I was glad he found another Robin," Dick was quick to assure. "But I couldn't help feeling replaced or feeling like a big chunk of my identity was tied to Robin. So when someone else got the name, I just felt betrayed and lost… And then he died and I couldn't get rid of the guilt— or the thought that it should've been me." He paused again, before forcing out a laugh as cover. "But, anyway, that's my thing. That wasn't their fault! And it was years ago, I figured things out, obviously, look at me now!"

Garfield kept his expression neutral, he wasn't quite sure how to react. He had always looked up to the older hero. Finding this out didn't change that, of course, not in the slightest, but it was jarring. This was Dick Grayson! Happy-go-lucky, confident… that was just all a carefully curated front.

"You said 'the first time'," Gar pointed out when the silence seemed to stretch. "Did you—?"

Dick plastered on a small, rueful smile as he played with an errant globule of buttery Cinnamon Toast crust on the counter. "Remember when I, in hindsight, pulled the absolute asshole move of ditching the team, putting it all on Kaldur to lead and pick up the pieces?"

"Yeah, but that— we all understood. You needed a break."

"And Kaldur didn't? Heh, I didn't leave because I wanted a sabbatical." Dick seemed to shrink further in on himself and he looked almost like he did when Garfield first met him at 13 years old. When he spoke again, his voice wavered and Gar had to lean in to hear his barely audible next words. "I left because I wanted to be alone when I died."

If there was a mirror or some similar kind of fragile glass structure within him, Garfield felt like a sledgehammer had been swung and just shattered him into a million pieces. He could probably make a pie crust with it. "Wh-why… what happened? I mean… what stopped you?"

"From where I was standing, uhh, when I looked down, I had a pretty good view of the river, and I don't know, it just made me think of Kaldur." Dick chewed on his lower lip, blinking rapidly. "He had just lost Tula. Somehow, he got through that. But then, not too long after, he lost Wally. And while I was up there, I realized that the three of us… we started this team together. I mean, everyone else helped make it what it is today-"

"No, you're right," Garfield nodded his agreement, fully sympathetic. "You guys founded all of this. Without you, there'd be no us."

"Right…" Dick mumbled; he didn't sound terribly convinced. "I just figured if I was gone too, he'd be the last one left. And what if that was it for him? What if that was the final straw? What if it broke him? After everything I put him through… that couldn't be my fault again." Bewilderment quickly passed over his features as he scoffed at his own assumption. "Which, now that I'm saying it out loud, sounds egotistical and like I'm not giving Kaldur nearly enough credit, he probably could have pushed through-"

"I hope you don't think that's actually true, Dick," Gar blurted out, putting a hand on the other's shoulder. "Please don't ever make him have to find out. Not if you can help it."

Dick glanced down at the green tinged hand, staring at it for a moment. That was just the thing, wasn't it… he had no idea if he could help it or not.

The oven beeped three times.

Dick shook his head clear and pulled on a mitt to retrieve his masterpiece, setting it down to cool on the counter. He stared at it for a second, then, "Uhh, sorry, I did not mean to make this about me!" He hung the mitts back on their holder before turning back to Gar, fingers tapping on the marble. "Look, all of this is just to say that I… I know. I know exactly what it's like. And I know that sometimes it doesn't matter— knowing that all your friends are there for you or have experienced the same loss… because it still doesn't feel good."

"I don't think I've felt good for a while now." Garfield dropped his gaze, pulling back and setting both hands on his knees. He sniffled, teardrops falling freely onto his sweatpants. "And I don't know if I ever will again. I get that everyone wants me to talk about it… but I'm so tired of them treating it like that's some kind of magical fix that's gonna make everything better! And I don't think I even can— put it into words! I just know I'm exhausted… and I'm over it. All of it."

"You're right. It's not going to suddenly get better, that kind of cure doesn't exist." Circling back around to the other side of the island, Dick fell to one knee and tilted his head up, redirecting Garfield's eye to him instead of to the floor. "But it does help… talking it out, verbalizing what's wrong instead of bottling it all up and hoping you can just throw it out to sea someday. And it does get easier. Every day, it gets a little easier."

"What if I don't want it to?" Garfield let out a shuddering breath, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. "It— it hurts, being here… when they can't be. What is the point of this, of saving people, being heroes, if we don— if we can't survive? If I lose everyone I care about anyway? If my best isn't enough? Why do it when it doesn't stop? When there's always going to be another battle, another bad guy… another death?"

Dick sighed, moving his other knee down to sit on his legs. "I can't answer that for you, Gar."

"Can you try?" The question came out more like a muffled plea.

"…Because there's always going to be another battle. Because if we don't, who will? Because— because I must be good for something?" When there was no reply, Dick coughed to clear his throat and stood, reaching an arm over the other's shoulders. "Hey, you don't have to have all the answers right now. You can take all the time you need and if by the end of it, you want to walk away? Then walk away, no one— no one would fault you for it. And whatever you decide next, we'll be here… like you were for me."

Gar nodded, his head still buried in his hands. "Can we eat your pie yet?" He tried to punctuate that with a laugh, even though it more closely resembled a choked, wet noise.

"Yeah, bud." Grabbing a couple of plates and forks, Dick sliced through the cinna-dusted dessert and served up two triangles of buttery, almost molten, perfectly spiced pie. "Careful though, it's still a little hot."

Exhaling around the bite he just took, as it was indeed hot, Gar nearly melted into his seat. "Oh my god, this is amazing."

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!