When he was eight, the fear was overwhelming and debilitating and had him sobbing inconsolably every time Bruce so much as went to work. Dr. Thompkins called it separation anxiety as if Dick couldn't understand her, but it wasn't being apart Dick was afraid of, it was that Bruce would never come back. "Ward" didn't make sense to him. There was no reason for Bruce to come back.
Robin was much less afraid. Batman needed Robin. There was a reason for Batman to come back to Robin, so Dick felt a little better too. Sometimes he could forget he was being leased for ten years and feel like he was home instead. By thirteen, he was only having those kinds of meltdowns a few times a year, when they would fight and Bruce would ground him and he would wait that night - and wait, and wait, and wait - for the footsteps assuring that his guardian (father?) came back, that he wasn't alone again.
By sixteen, the fights are constant, and his mental health is in ruins, and he can never tell if the two are related but they add up bad. And of course, he can't just go running headlong into Wally's arms when Bruce's are crossed towards him because Wally already left and took a little chip off Dick's heart to California, their time limited to a daily Skype that Dick counts down to every night. The overwhelming and exhausting feeling of having no one in his corner swallows him. His parents are dead, his best friend is gone, most of his other friends don't even know his real name, and his only parental figure switches between treating him like a child and neglecting him until it hurts.
He hates the restrictions, the distrust, the complete lack of faith in his abilities, but sometimes he can't help but do something stupid and dangerous to get just one flash of a concerned expression, one moment of a hand on his shoulder.
Maybe he deserves to be treated like a child if he's going to act like one. If he's going to wish for when he was a child, when everything wasn't so complicated.
On the day it happens, his nerves are shot. It's a Sunday, and he's still recovering from a rough Young Justice mission on Friday, and Batman takes him along to an investigation where they argue all afternoon, and he's sweaty and tired and strung out and finally, finally they're home and all he wants to do is curl up in his bed and call Wally. Never mind the entire paper he has to write tonight, and patrol...
He pauses in peeling off his mask when Batman speaks, having literally forgotten about it while he showered and changed. It bothers him. It shouldn't be that- easy, to live with a mask on.
Batman's voice is sharp and clipped behind him. "No patrol tonight."
"Hm?" He can't pretend he wasn't expecting that, but at least he can write his paper now.
"You performed poorly today and I expect you to spend the extra time reflecting on your mistakes."
"...Bruce." Dick gives an empty chuckle as he turns around to face the Bat. "Seriously?"
"Seriously," Batman grunts. "You ran off by yourself. You could have been attacked."
"Place was empty." He crosses his arms now, fuse starting to burn short. "I hacked the cameras."
"You should have let me sweep first."
"You should have trusted me."
"You're impulsive and reckless and it could get you hurt or killed."
Spoken like a true army general. Dick scoffs. "That's not what you're concerned about."
Batman growls, like the not-human he is, and maybe if Dick wasn't so exhausted, he wouldn't roll his eyes at it. "You can't trick me into thinking you do this out of love, Bruce."
Bruce flinches, and he can't tell if it's because he's dead wrong or dead right. He wants to be wrong. Badly. But all he can do is bite his lip, waiting for the response that will likely determine whether he loses his shit tonight or not.
"Names."
Definitely losing all his shit and then some.
"We're in the cave?!" He reaches up to rip off the last bit of mask clinging to his face and crumples it in his grip. "I'm talking to you. I'm not talking to a mask. Take the damn thing off."
"Robin-"
"Dick. My name's Dick." He drops his arms to his sides and only notices then that they're shaking with either rage or fear. He can't for the life of him figure out which. "I'm not your fucking toy soldier, Bruce." Where the hell is Alfred when you need him?
"You're my responsibility."
"God, I'm so glad you care!" Dick grits his teeth. "Since Batman's responsibility is still in one piece, how about your frickin' son?"
Bruce sighs and has the actual nerve to turn away from him, cape sweeping the floor in his wake.
"I'M NOT DONE YET, JACKASS." He's hurting his throat screaming but everything he's been feeling since Wally left, since years ago, since his parents died, is coming up like vomit. It seems they've finally reached the point where his self-esteem is too low to be lowered any further, so now he's just anger and pain and a few pounds of skin and bones. "Turn the hell around and listen to me! You- you can't just change your mind! You can't! You signed the stupid paper that said you have to take care of me and- a-and you have to!"
"Was I not just trying to take care of you?" Bruce hisses, throwing a glance back at Dick. Oh god, he wants Bruce to be angry. Sad. Guilty. Anything, instead of the cold disinterest he's giving him.
"NOT! ROBIN!" He heaves out a deep breath, scrubbing at his eyes before they can weaken his argument. "Me." The sniffles, however, certainly aren't helping. "You...y-you knew I relapsed. You just don't care."
Bruce is silent, jaw tight, and Dick is shaking. He could have just ruined everything. Bruce is going to fire back and he...he just doesn't have the stomach or the patience for it, not when he's the one who's sixteen, who's a teenager and broken and needs help-
Bruce turns fully around. Dick wants to run away, get out of here and away from Batman's thin white lenses and maybealsokillhimself.
"Do you want to be Robin or not?"
"What?" Dick blinks, voice wavering. "What- yes, I-"
"Then you listen to me. You fight for me. And you put justice over yourself."
"And over your family?" Dick swallows. "Over your son?" He's trying so hard not to cry and it makes his whole body ache. "Y'know, I...I-I really tried, Bruce, because you're so...so hurt inside, and I thought I could understand you. I thought...that I could help." He blinks tears out of his eyes, and they drip down his face. "I thought you cared. Maybe you did, back...when things were good. But now you don't. You only care about your damn crusade."
If Bruce wasn't wearing the cowl right now, Dick thinks he would apologize. Assure him he does care. Promise to help him stop cutting again.
But it's not Bruce, it's Batman, and Batman gives a low snarl, then retaliates. "I'm not your father, Dick."
Everything hurts.
He needs to get out of here, rightnow, and scream and cry and slice his heart out of his chest so it will stop hurting. But at the end of the day, Dick never runs away from a fight.
"You think your parents would be proud?" he rasps, choking back a sob. "You think they died so you could show me that they DIDN'T TEACH YOU A GODDAMN THING?"
Bruce growls, and Dick has to back up to avoid his looming figure coming closer. He should shut up. Right now. But he wants- needs to see Bruce hurt the way he made Dick hurt. It's an ugly, primal desire and he can't leave without fulfilling it. "I'm sure when you see them again they'll be happy you spent all your time beating people up in their name instead of raising their grandson!"
"They are not your grandparents."
"They would hate you."
"GET OUT!"
Dick freezes, teeth and fists clenched, eyes teary, body trembling. Regret is coming at him like a train. He shouldn't have said it. Any of it. He should have shut up when he had the chance, he's awful, he's an awful, awful son and person and now-
get out?
The words hit him. Get out.
"What?" His voice is tiny.
"Get. Out. Get the hell out of here, and don't ever come back." Every word is biting, perfectly articulated. Knives in his chest.
"I...please take the cowl off," Dick begs. He hiccups and more tears spring out like from a broken faucet. "I'm sorry, I wanna talk to Bruce, not Batman, just please-"
With one hand, Bruce rips the cowl off his face, which is red with rage. His eyes pop out, but they're cold, with a low, simmering fury, no warmth or remorse to be found anywhere in them. "There you go. Now get the hell out. And don't come back."
And he means it. Bruce means it.
Dick cries out and runs upstairs, desperately trying to get away from Bruce before he melts into heartache. In his room, he tries to catch his breath on the floor and winds up hyperventilating and convulsing, sobs wrenched out of his body more loudly than he remembers ever crying since he was little. He's going to die here. Right here on the shiny hardwood floor, sheer emotional pain taking down his organs. He can't even begin to process what just happened, not without digging his nails into his arms and screaming into his bleeding lip.
Alfred arrives quickly, fretting until Dick manages to gasp out the important parts of the story. He stays, thank god, while Dick cries himself raw and splutters about promises and robin's nests, one hand steady on his back.
"I have to g-go," Dick whispers once he can breathe, standing up much too fast for his shaking body. "Have to...pack..."
"What on earth do you mean?" A sharp edge to Alfred's tone indicates that he already knows the answer.
"He told me to go, Alfred," he whines.
"This is your home," Alfred says firmly, standing up.
"I can't- not anymore." A bit frantically, he finds his school backpack and clutches it in one hand while he rifles through his drawers. Two sweatshirts, three t-shirts, a pair of jeans...
"Oh, Master Dick…"
"I need to leave." The tears are starting all over again. His cheeks feel stiff and sticky. "I-I just need to go, okay? I'll- I'll go to the mountain." He might go to the mountain.
"I will speak to Master Bruce."
Dick grabs the picture of his parents on his nightstand to put in his bag, the action suddenly feeling very familiar. "What're you gonna do? Make him apologize?" His precious stuffed elephant is the last thing to make it in before he zips it up. "All three of us know he doesn't want me here." The hurt catches him badly, and his last word is a wail.
"My dear child..." Alfred takes him by the shoulders, face full of grief. Dick's lip quivers, and Alfred hesitates. "Go for tonight. But we will make this right."
Dick nods, blinking quickly. He's not coming back. They both know it. Alfred just doesn't know where he's going.
"Please be safe."
"I will." He can't meet Alfred's eyes when he's lying. He might be safe, might go to the mountain and sleep it off and try to navigate his crumbling world in the morning. But with every passing moment of agony, that chance gets slimmer. "I'm sorry."
"It is not your apology to make." Alfred wraps his slim arms around him and Dick hugs back, unable to ignore the fact that this is probably the last time he'll ever be held by his family, by the people who held him when he was alone and scared. Pulling back is excruciating.
If he says another word, he's going to sob himself to pieces, so he nods again instead, slings his bag over his shoulder, takes one last shuddering breath, and, for the second time in his life, turns away from everything he knows.
He jumps out his window and heads for the Gotham bridge, thinking if he's going to be alone, he might as well be alone at the bottom of the ocean.
A/N: woo woo part III. Thank you to everyone who reviewed! (and favorited/followed) This chapter ends right before Hearsay part IV, so if you're worried about Dick you can go read that. He's alright.