"Nightwing."
Dick's eyes fluttered open. He'd been on the verge of waking, somewhere on the edge of sleep, but Bruce's voice had tipped him over into awareness. It was… strange, he thought, that Bruce was calling him Nightwing instead of his name, but he couldn't quite place why. His head ached too much for him to focus on it for long.
Bruce was standing next to him, leaning over slightly. He was in his full Batman suit, cowl up and everything, and that too was strange. They were in the Cave - Dick could recognize the Cave in his sleep - and normally Bruce would at least pull the cowl down when he was home.
"Nightwing," Bruce said again, and Dick turned to him and tried to sit up, and that was when he realized he was strapped to the cot.
The panic that barreled through his mind was immediate and all-consuming. "Why am I-" He struggled against the bonds, but they were so tight he could hardly move at all. "Let me go. Let me- Why am I-"
"Nightwing, calm down."
"No!" Dick cried. "No, I'm not- Are you even-" Was this even really Batman? Was that why he was wearing the cowl and not using Dick's name? Dick tried to twist away from him, but he couldn't move, he couldn't move-
"Nightwing. What do you last remember?"
What did he remember? Dick couldn't think straight enough to remember anything. "Let me go!"
"What the hell, B, I've been gone for five minutes," a new voice said, and Dick turned his head to see Jason enter the Cave and come over to their side. He wasn't wearing his helmet, but he was wearing a domino mask, and that wasn't right, that was wrong, was this even Jason at all? "Calm down, Dickwing, you're safe."
"Let me go," Dick begged again. "Please, please-"
Jason came over to Dick's side, but before he could reach for the straps, Bruce reached out a hand to stop him. "We can't let him go yet."
Dick sobbed, unable to stop himself. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, he needed someone to let him go-
"Calm down, B," Jason said dismissively, then he turned to Dick. "Who am I?"
"What? Why are you-"
"Just answer the question, Dickwing. Who am I?"
"Jason," Dick said desperately. "Jason, you're Jason. Let me go, please-"
"Who's he?" Jason asked, jerking a thumb in Bruce's direction.
"Bruce," Dick said. "Why are you- What's happening?"
"It's him," Jason told Bruce. "He didn't know any of that before. He's back."
"Please-"
"Calm down, Dickie, I'm gonna let you go," Jason said, reaching for the strap holding down Dick's right arm. Dick looked wildly over at Bruce, but he didn't do anything to stop Jason, so apparently Dick's knowledge of their identities was enough to get him unstrapped from cot. That didn't make any sense to Dick, but his first priority was getting the straps off as soon as humanly possible.
Jason released Dick's arm, and Dick immediately yanked it close to his chest, and both Jason and Bruce flinched. Dick swallowed hard and did his best to breathe. He needed to calm down. Jason was freeing him, and maybe there was still something wrong with him and Bruce, but Dick wouldn't be able to do anything about it if he couldn't think straight from panic. He needed to collect himself. He needed to breathe.
He didn't know why Jason and Bruce seemed almost afraid of him, but he would figure that out once he was free.
Jason released Dick's other hand, and Dick immediately scrabbled at the strap over his chest. That one was oddly loose, he realized as he undid it, not pressing down on his chest as much as it should have. When he tried to sit up and his ribs burned, making their agony very clear now that the haze of panic had worn off, he realized why that probably was.
Jason undid the strap over Dick's feet, then took a step back as Dick tried to think straight enough to put together a timeline of events. Bruce and Jason had apparently strapped him to the cot, but they'd made sure the chest strap was loose enough not to aggravate his broken ribs too badly. He couldn't quite remember how he'd gotten the broken ribs in the first place, come to think of it. And Jason had let him go when he was able to correctly name him, and said something about Dick not knowing his name before. Which made approximately… zero sense.
"Dick," Bruce said, and Dick turned towards him. "What do you last remember?"
"I…" Dick closed his eyes, trying to think. His head was pounding, but if he thought hard enough…
"I was… I was grabbed," he realized suddenly, eyes flying open. "Someone grabbed me at the end of my patrol."
Remembering that brought on a trickle of new memories. He'd been beaten - that would explain the ribs, although he hadn't thought they were this bad - and then he'd been strapped to a table - and that would explain the intensity of his panic on waking up to the same thing in the Cave - and then…
"Dick," Bruce said again, and Dick forced himself to focus on him.
"I remember getting grabbed," he said. "And I remember getting beat up, and I remember getting strapped to a table, but I don't remember anything after that. Do you…"
Jason and Bruce shared a look. "You don't remember anything else after that?" Jason asked, peeling off his domino mask.
"I don't…" Dick frowned. "I don't think so?"
Except there was something else he remembered, just a glimpse. If he concentrated…
"Nightwing! Nightwing, stop, this isn't you! Nightwing, please-"
Dick's stomach flipped, but he did his best to shove the nausea down. Had he… Oh god, had he…
"You were under mind control," Bruce said in the sort of flat tone he used when he didn't want anyone to know the depth of his feelings. "They were using some of the Mad Hatter's techniques, but he doesn't seem to have been involved. He's still in Arkham."
"What did I do?" Dick asked, his voice hollow even to his own ears.
"They wanted to get information out of you, but you wouldn't tell them anything," Jason said. "It was almost like you separated your mind from your body or something. You weren't there. You didn't know any of us."
That would explain why Jason had confirmed Dick's freedom from mind control by asking about his own name, a part of Dick's brain absently mused, but most of him was otherwise focused. "What did I do?"
"They thought it would be… entertaining to make you fight us," Bruce said, and he pulled off his cowl. Dick's breath caught in his throat and his stomach twisted again. There was a massive bruise over a good third of Bruce's face, blackening one eye and edging dangerously close to his temple. Had he… He must have. He'd left that bruise. He'd done that.
And if he'd managed to do that to Batman, what had he done to the others?
"How badly is everyone hurt?" Dick asked, his voice shaking. Jason and Bruce shared a look, and he repeated desperately, "How badly is everyone hurt?"
"Everyone is bruised," Bruce reported, his voice flat. "Jason has some broken ribs."
"Okay, but to be fair," Jason cut in, "I'm pretty sure your ribs were only cracked and not broken until I got in a few hits when I tried to take you down, so we're even there."
"Tim is concussed," Bruce added. "Damian's wrist is broken."
Dick's stomach lurched again, and this time, he couldn't stop the nausea from bubbling up his throat. He barely had the presence of mind to make sure he twisted away from Jason before he was vomiting over the side of the cot, bile splattering on the Cave floor. His ribs shrieked in pain at the change in position, but he ignored them. Bruises, concussions, broken bones, all at his hands. He couldn't remember any of it, but that didn't mean it hadn't been him that did it. He'd hurt his family. All of their injuries had come from him.
"Hey, Dick. Dick. Breathe, Dickie. Bruce, are you going to help me keep him from having a full-on panic attack or are you just going to stand there?"
A warm, solid hand rested gently on Dick's back, and it felt good, it felt safe, and Dick absolutely didn't deserve it. He pulled away, curling in on himself as much as his battered ribs would allow. This would explain why Bruce and Jason had flinched away from his quick movements earlier. It would also explain why Tim and Damian hadn't come down to the Cave, because of course they wouldn't want to be there if they didn't know they would be safe. Of course they wouldn't want to be there when Dick had hurt them, had presumably tried to kill them. Of course they were afraid. If Dick had fought them mindlessly, without anything to hold him back…
He could still remember the way the Joker had broken under his fists. When there was nothing to hold him back, he was sickeningly aware of what he was capable of.
"Dick," Bruce's voice rumbled. "Chum. Can you look at us?"
There was nothing left in Dick's stomach to expel, not that there had been much in the first place. He still couldn't quite breathe right, but he did his best to twist back onto the cot and pant through the stabbing pain in his ribs. It was no more than he deserved. Less than he deserved, really. He'd inflicted the same injury on Jason, after all, and more on the others. He'd hurt them, he'd hurt them all-
"Dick," Jason said quietly. "You hungry? If our timeline is right, it's been almost twenty-four hours since you were grabbed, and I doubt they fed you anything."
"I'm fine," Dick rasped. There was no way he'd be able to keep anything down, after all, and the thought of asking Jason for anything right now made the guilt twist in his stomach even more.
"Dick," Bruce said, his voice edging towards scolding, but Jason hissed at him before he could say anything more.
"I'll go find something, for when you are hungry," Jason said. "Are you ready to come upstairs?"
Dick couldn't stay here any longer, but he absolutely couldn't go up to the Manor.
"Can I have a minute?" he asked. "To clean up?"
"Sure," Jason said, nodding. "We'll be upstairs. Come on, Bruce."
"Jay-"
"Come on, Bruce," Jason repeated, and he practically dragged Bruce out of the Cave.
Honestly, Dick had no idea why Jason was being so uncharacteristically patient with him. Bruce's reaction made more sense. He was clearly worried about leaving Dick unsupervised, and Dick couldn't help but assume that the flat look on his face was hiding anger. And Bruce had every right to be angry, Dick knew that, but he wished…
Well, there was no point in thinking about that, so instead, Dick shakily pushed himself up to a sitting position and then carefully swung his legs over the side of the cot. His ribs burned, and the rest of his body ached, but he managed to get himself upright, if swaying. With that taken care of, he moved onto the next order of business, which was figuring out how to get back to his apartment. He didn't have any sort of vehicle of his own at the Manor right now, and while he'd normally borrow someone else's, he thought that stealing someone's car or bike after brutally attacking all of them was just adding insult to injury. He could theoretically take public transit, although Gotham's public transit was shoddy at best, or a cab, but considering the state he was in, any well-meaning taxi driver would bring him straight to the hospital, and any not-well-meaning taxi driver would be able to do whatever they wanted with him. Neither option worked for him.
Which meant that the only way to get back to his apartment on the other side of Gotham was as Nightwing.
It was a stupid plan and he knew it. He was in no shape to cross the city by rooftop, and if anyone with ill intentions came across him, he'd be pitifully easy to take down. He should've stayed where he was. He should've been smart about this.
But he couldn't stay. He couldn't look his brothers in the eye, not after what he did to them. And he wouldn't stay and make all of them feel unsafe. If he left, they could all relax. It was the best option for everyone.
Dick was mostly in his costume anyway, so he pulled on the elements that the others had removed and took a spare domino mask from the endless supply that Bruce kept in the Cave. For a moment, he waited by the cot, and he imagined what he would do if Jason came down right then, if Bruce came down, if Tim or Damian poked their heads into the Cave. If any of them asked him to stay, would he do it? Would any of them ask him to stay ever again?
Dick swallowed, and he slipped out of the Cave.
Crossing the city as Nightwing turned out to be just as stupid and painful as Dick had expected it to be, but at least it got him home to his apartment. He came in through the window and secured it behind him, then he collapsed on the couch in a heap. His ribs were on fire, and every other inch of him ached. He'd landed poorly on one rooftop and fallen, and for a few moments, he'd thought he wouldn't be able to get back up. He did, eventually, but he was pretty sure he sprained his ankle when he fell, because it shrieked every time he asked it to bear his weight. It was alright, though, because now he was home, and he could just stay on his couch for as long as he needed.
And then his phone buzzed.
Dick groaned, leaning his head back on the couch. His phone was on the table, and although it was only a few steps away from the couch, it was more than he felt like he could handle. He should answer it, but he was tired, and his whole body hurt, and he just wanted to stay on the couch until he could breathe properly and think straight.
His phone buzzed again, three times in quick succession.
He should answer it. It could be important. And it wasn't like he had a real reason not to. He could stand, and he could walk the few steps over to his phone, and he could pick it up and answer it. He could do all of that.
He just had to make himself do it.
But he'd crossed half the city with broken ribs, and he'd been beaten and strapped to a table and mind-controlled, and he'd woken up to find out that he'd hurt his own family, and he was tired. He didn't want to move, he didn't want to think, he just wanted at least a few minutes where he didn't have to worry about anything.
His phone buzzed violently as a flurry of new messages came in, and Dick pushed himself up to his feet so he could go answer them. He swayed for a moment, vision spotted with black, then stumbled forward, hissing as his injured ankle threatened to give out on him. He was able to catch himself with his table before he collapsed again, and he picked up his phone as it buzzed again.
pick up your goddamn phone, asshole! the text read, unsurprisingly from Jason. It was only the most recent in a long string of texts from his family, ranging from dick, report to please answer your texts to answer me, richard! The phone buzzed again in Dick's hand with another text from Damian.
grayson! i demand that you tell me where you are immediately!
Dick knew Damian well, and he knew that he only got that imperious when he was anxious. It made sense that he would be anxious, of course; the person who had just broken his wrist under mind control had disappeared without a warning. Dick sighed and immediately regretted it, then braced himself on the table as he typed out a text.
i'm safe, and there's no one else in my head. tell the others for me, dami?
Dick looked down at the text, then swallowed and deleted the affectionate nickname. He didn't have the right to call Damian that anymore, not after he hurt him. He felt vaguely guilty about asking Damian for a favor as well, but he didn't think he had the energy to send more than one text, and Damian seemed worried enough to deserve one. Besides, knowing his family, they were probably all sitting together and trying to find him anyway, so the second he sent Damian a text, everyone would know.
Sure enough, only a few moments after he hit send, he received an incensed text from Jason. so you respond to the demon brat and not me? i see how it is. The text might have been playful or might have actually been hurt, but Dick didn't have the brainpower to figure that out. He just put his phone back down and slowly limped away, ignoring the way it buzzed and buzzed behind him. He knew he should probably tend to his wounds and shower and eat, but the only thing he was up to doing was collapsing on his bed and falling asleep. He was still in costume, which he knew was bad, but he didn't have the energy to take it off. The only concession he had the energy to make was locking his bedroom door, and then he stumbled across to his bed and crawled onto it. He rested his head on the pillow, closed his eyes, and was out in an instant.
He was too exhausted to even dream. He was very grateful for that fact.
Dick may have been exhausted, but the second he heard footsteps in his apartment, he was wide awake. He scrambled to his feet, wondering if he'd have enough time to change out of his Nightwing costume and into a pair of pajamas. Could he pretend that he slept naked? That might work, but it would also leave him with absolutely no protection from whoever was out there. Changing out of the Nightwing suit would also limit the amount of protection he had, but staying in it didn't seem like a good idea either. He didn't want to do anything that might link Richard Grayson to Nightwing. Then again, he didn't know if he had enough time to get the suit off and hidden before whoever was out there made it to his bedroom, and being halfway out of his suit would probably be the worst possibility.
The footsteps grew closer, and Dick automatically reached for his escrima sticks. He'd stay in costume, he decided, and hope that whoever broke in believed him when he said that he was just there to stop them. It was stupid, he was being stupid, he'd been stupid to go to bed without changing, but it was his best option. It was his only real option, honestly. And if the person breaking in put it together…
Well, he'd figure something out.
The footsteps grew closer still, and Dick went up to the door as silently as he could. His ankle hindered him slightly, but he still thought he managed to be fairly soundless. He'd open the door from his side, which would hopefully give him at least a bit of a surprise advantage. He reached out with one hand, then threw the door open with a bang.
On the other side stood Damian, eyes wide, one hand in a cast.
"Richard?" Damian asked in a voice he'd never admit was afraid.
"Shit." All of the fight and adrenaline washed out of Dick in an instant, and he slumped. "Shit, Dami, I didn't realize it was you."
He regretted the nickname the moment he said it, but it was too late to take it back. Anyway, it wasn't like that was the worst thing he did in that moment. Coming at Damian like he was going to attack him was far worse, especially after everything that had happened. Dick realized belatedly that he was still holding his escrima sticks and dropped them with a clatter.
"Are you okay?" he asked Damian. "Is something wrong?"
That was the only reason it would make sense for Damian to be there, after all. He wasn't even in his Robin costume, Dick realized, which probably meant someone brought him here, which probably meant someone else was here, although Dick didn't know who. It wouldn't be Tim, given that he was concussed - and remembering that made Dick's stomach lurch - but perhaps Bruce or Jason. Perhaps Alfred, but Alfred couldn't take Dick in a fight, so Dick doubted anyone would have allowed him to come, given the circumstances. Whoever it was, Dick expected they were nearby, just in case. He was surprised they hadn't done anything when Dick moved in on Damian, but given the state everyone was in, Dick doubted anyone was at their best.
And yet, they'd still come to him. There had to be a reason for that. Most likely, Dick thought ruefully, it was because Bruce hadn't actually given him the all-clear before he left the Cave, and there were probably more tests he had to do to make sure Dick's mind was truly his own. Dick should have known better than to leave without an all-clear, especially in these circumstances, but all he'd wanted to do was get out. He'd thought it was best for everyone, that the others would feel more comfortable if they didn't have to share a house with the person who'd attacked them. In retrospect, however, Dick realized that it had probably made everyone significantly less comfortable to realize that he'd disappeared. They all probably wanted him to stay somewhere where they could keep an eye on him.
Dick had been trying to make his family feel safer, and instead, he'd just made things worse. That seemed to match everything else he'd done recently.
"Richard?" Damian said, and Dick realized Damian had been speaking for a while and he hadn't heard a word. He also realized he was swaying slightly on his feet, but he hoped Damian wouldn't notice that.
"Sorry, I missed that," he told Damian. "Do you want me to come back to the Manor?"
"Yes," Damian said with a sharp nod. "Father did not clear you to leave."
"Yeah, that's my bad," Dick agreed. "Do you want to…"
He held out his hands, but Damian just looked at him blankly. So they hadn't brought restraints, then. Maybe they remembered how badly he'd panicked when he woke up restrained. If they already thought he might be a danger, they might not want to make him panic like that with more freedom of movement. Dick thought he could stay still and allow himself to be cuffed, but he wasn't entirely sure, and he didn't blame them for their caution. If he wasn't going to be restrained, however, he did wonder what they'd do to get him back to the Manor safely. He couldn't imagine that anyone would just let him sit in the back of a car with Damian. Sedatives, perhaps? Given how exhausted he was, Dick didn't even think he'd protest that too much. Some sleep would be nice.
"You ought to change first," Damian stated. "Father is in the living room. I will wait with him. Join us when you are ready."
"Sure," Dick agreed, not about to fight. That explained who'd come with Damian, at least. Bruce did make the most sense, except for the fact that his vision was probably impaired in the eye Dick had blackened. He wasn't the best choice to drive a car, but the only other practical option was Jason, and Jason had probably already left the Manor and returned to one of his safe houses. Either that, or he was protecting the house, in case Dick doubled back and attacked while Bruce and Damian were out looking for him. Dick wouldn't, of course, but before, when he'd been under mind control…
Dick didn't know if his family would ever be able to trust him again. He wouldn't blame them if they couldn't. He didn't know if he would ever be able to trust himself again. He wondered for a moment if there was footage of what he'd done, and then wondered if he could ever make himself watch it.
He dressed himself in a bit of a haze, only partially aware of his own movements. He stripped out of his costume and shoved it in a bag to bring back to the Manor, then he pulled on jeans and a sweater. He almost padded out to the living room barefoot before he realized he hadn't put on any socks. He tried his best to come back to himself and focus for a few moments, just long enough to make sure he grabbed everything he needed, but all he could think of was his wallet and keys, which were on his bedside table, and his phone, which was still out on the dining room table. If he needed anything else, he could come back and get it, and if the others didn't feel comfortable with him leaving yet, maybe Alfred could come over and pick it up. He could make do either way, he was sure. He'd manage.
"Richard?" Damian called from the living room. "Have you changed yet?"
Dick picked up the bag with his Nightwing costume and walked out to the living room. Bruce was sitting at his dining room table, Dick's phone in his hands. The awful bruise only looked worse in the harsh lighting of Dick's kitchen. Dick couldn't bear to look at it, but he couldn't quite bring himself to look away either.
"Sorry," he told Damian, tearing his gaze away from Bruce and looking at his baby brother. That wasn't much better, not with the cast on Damian's wrist. He'd done that, he'd snapped that bone, he'd hurt him- "I'm ready to go."
"Is your leg hurt?" Damian asked, frowning. "You are limping."
Bruce looked up at him as well. "We checked you over. You didn't have any serious injuries to your legs."
"I sprained my ankle on my way here," Dick said, avoiding both of their gazes. "It's fine."
"Dick," Bruce sighed, and Dick flinched. Bruce hesitated for a moment, then said, "Let's go back to the Manor."
Dick followed Bruce and Damian out of his apartment, barely having the presence of mind to lock it on his way out. They went down to Bruce's car, which was waiting out front, and Bruce and Damian sat in the front seats, leaving the whole backseat to Dick. It made sense, of course, that Damian wouldn't want to sit next to him, and Dick knew he had no right to feel hurt about it, but he still felt a pang.
He wondered when they were going to sedate him. He'd thought that they would do it before getting into the car, but maybe they were trying to do it in a way he wouldn't expect, just in case. That made sense, as little as Dick liked it. Jason had said that Dick had been almost mindless when he was being controlled, but the fact that he knew everyone's identities had proven that was no longer the case. If they thought he was still being controlled, but with his memories and knowledge this time, they'd have to be smart about dealing with him.
Dick didn't think it was necessary, didn't think that he was still being controlled, but he couldn't be sure. What if there was still something in his mind that wasn't his own? What if it was just sleeping within him, buried and waiting for the right moment to emerge?
What if he hurt his family again?
"Dick?" Bruce asked from the front seat. "Are you buckled in?"
Dick blinked, then reached for the seatbelt and pulled it across his chest. When it clicked, Bruce pulled the car away from his apartment and started heading for the Manor.
"You did not allow Father to do a proper check before leaving the Cave," Damian admonished. "Other than your ribs, and now your ankle, are you injured anywhere else?"
It didn't make sense that Damian would be asking about Dick's injuries, not when Damian was sitting there in a cast because of Dick. Then again, Dick realized, perhaps Damian wanted to know where Dick was vulnerable, in case they had to take him down again. That would make sense.
"I'm not seriously hurt anywhere else," he reported. "Broken ribs, sprained ankle, and a headache. I've got a fair amount of bruises, but nothing severe. My ribs are the probably the most serious injury."
Damian was a good height for that, even if he'd hate it if Dick said so. In a pinch, he could shoulder-check Dick right in the broken ribs, and although it wouldn't necessarily take Dick out, it would at least wind him and give Damian a few moments.
"We can wrap your ankle when we get home," Bruce said, which was a surprise. Perhaps it shouldn't have been. Bruce wasn't cruel, after all, and it didn't seem like anyone wanted to do any permanent damage to him. If they had been willing to do permanent damage, Dick didn't think he would have been able to lay a single finger on any of them. If Jason had brought his guns…
Dick was glad not to be dead or maimed, but he also wished that he'd been stopped earlier. If that was what it would have taken, it would have been worth it.
"I have a few tests to run when we get back to the Cave," Bruce said. "And if you consent to it, I'll call J'onn down tomorrow morning. He can double check that there's nothing left of the mind control."
Dick nodded. "Sure." He normally didn't like to have telepaths root around in his head, but in this case, he'd make an exception. He had to know that his mind was his own. If he passed all of Bruce's tests, J'onn's examination included, then maybe he'd actually let himself believe it.
And if it would make his family feel more comfortable, which he couldn't help but think it would, then he would do whatever it took.
Damian turned around in his seat to look at Dick. "You'll be glad to know that all of the criminals who captured you have been secured within Blackgate. Cain, Brown, and Thomas took care of it."
A part of Dick had been wondering why Bruce didn't mention them before. They must have gone after the people who had him under mind control while the others were dealing with him. Dick hoped that meant he hadn't hurt them.
"Good to hear," Dick said. His voice came out a little raspy. He cleared his throat and added, "You said they were using some of the Mad Hatter's techniques, but he wasn't there. Do we know if there's any real connection between them?"
"We're still looking into it," Bruce said. "But their leader used to work for him, so our best guess at the moment is that he observed some of the Hatter's techniques then and figured out how to replicate them."
"We will continue investigating," Damian declared. "They will not be allowed to do such a thing again."
"Good," Dick said, the word coming out flatter than he'd meant for it to. Maybe that would help the others feel safer. Maybe that would help him feel like he could forgive himself. He wasn't entirely sure about the latter, but he hoped it would do something for the former.
For a moment, Damian looked like he wanted to say something, but then he settled back into his seat, facing forwards once again. Dick wondered what he was going to say. He wished Damian had just said it; no matter how bad it would have been, it couldn't be as bad as the worst case scenarios his mind was already creating.
The rest of the car ride was silent. When they got to the Manor, Bruce pulled into the garage instead of taking the path to the Cave, and Dick waited in the car until Bruce opened the door to let him out. He wasn't quite sure why Bruce looked somewhat confused by that. He hoped someone had checked him for a concussion. Given the size of the bruise on his face, it was entirely possible that Dick had concussed him too.
Jason was waiting by the door when they entered the house, which made sense. Dick could take Damian in a fight, especially with his broken wrist, and he might even be able to take both him and Bruce, but he couldn't take both of them and Jason. The quickly hidden look of relief on Jason's face when he saw Dick made less sense, but Dick supposed he was probably just relieved that Dick wasn't a danger to them again.
"Don't pull shit like that, asshole," Jason told Dick, punching him in the shoulder with just enough strength to make a point. "You freaked everyone out."
"You claimed not to be worried," Damian retorted.
"Everyone else," Jason corrected. "My point still stands. Don't pull shit like that."
"I won't," Dick said, his voice quiet. Jason frowned a little, then looked up at Bruce. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but Bruce cut him off before he could.
"Dick. Should we run the tests now?"
Jason's frown deepened. "B-"
"Sure," Dick said. "In the Cave, right?"
"Wait, first, one question," Jason cut in. "Did you eat anything when you ran off?"
Dick blinked. "No."
Jason nodded. "Then I'll make sure there's food ready for after."
Dick wasn't sure that he would be able to keep anything down, but he just nodded and followed Bruce to the Cave. "Hop up," Bruce told him, patting a cot as he went to grab a few tools. Dick did as he was told, carefully breathing through the pain that flared up in his ribs. His ankle almost gave out on him, but he managed.
Bruce came back over with a syringe, a pair of gloves, and two scanners. "I don't think they injected you with anything, but just to be safe, I'm going to run a blood test," he told Dick, putting the gloves on and picking up the syringe. Dick held out his arm and let Bruce take the sample. Once the syringe was full, Bruce set it aside and picked up the first of the scanners. "This will check for general electronic devices on you, and the other is specifically calibrated to the frequency the Hatter normally uses. May I?"
Dick nodded. Bruce was being oddly forthcoming about what he was doing. Normally, he would run whatever tests needed to be run without explanations, and certainly without this much caution. Dick wondered what was going on. Did he think Dick might react in a way that would give him a hint of whether or not he was still possessed? Was this another test? Dick wondered if he was failing it by not mentioning Bruce's uncharacteristic behavior, but he was too tired to ask.
Bruce scanned his entire body with both scanners, then nodded to himself. "Both are clear. I'll run the blood test tonight, and if you're still okay with it, J'onn will come down tomorrow. But I think you're clear."
"J'onn should still check," Dick rasped.
Bruce frowned slightly. "Do you feel like you're still being controlled?"
"No, but J'onn should still check," Dick said. He needed the confirmation, and he had the feeling everyone else would feel safer with it too. "Just to be sure."
Bruce eyed him for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. I'll call him in the morning. You can go upstairs and find Jason."
Dick didn't really want to find Jason, but nor did he want to remain in the Cave, so he nodded and slid off the cot. His ankle buckled underneath him, but he grabbed at the cot quickly enough that he didn't fall.
"I forgot to wrap your ankle," Bruce said, frowning. "Here." He grabbed a chair and set it down next to Dick. "Sit down and I'll do it now. And I can get a cane for you. That'll probably be better than a crutch, with those ribs."
Dick could do a lot of damage with a cane. He wasn't quite sure why Bruce would give him one.
He sat down and let Bruce take his ankle in hands that were gentler than he deserved. Carefully, Bruce wrapped a compression bandage around his ankle. "Do you have any other wounds I should check?" he asked as he tied the bandage off.
"I don't think so."
"Do you need painkillers?" Bruce asked, looking up at him. "You said you had a headache, and I know your ribs are broken."
"I'm fine."
Normally, Dick didn't hold with rejecting painkillers as some sort of penance. He'd yelled at Bruce multiple times over it, and he'd certainly never let any of his brothers get away with it. This time, though… He'd hurt his family. The injuries he bore were from them, when they tried to fight him off. He deserved them. He deserved their pain.
"Are you sure?"
"I just want to sleep," Dick said honestly.
Bruce's expression softened. "Okay. But you should eat something first, okay, chum?"
Dick wasn't sure he'd be able to keep anything down, but he was pretty sure that he wouldn't be able to make it all the way up to his room without getting waylaid by Jason, who would probably insist that he eat. He nodded, not quite able to meet Bruce's eyes.
"I'll grab you a cane, then I'll start on the blood test," Bruce said. "Wait here."
Dick waited obediently until Bruce came over with a cane. It was an adjustable aluminum one, which meant it was marginally flimsier than some of the other canes Dick knew they had lying around the manor. It could still do some serious damage if Dick wanted it to.
He didn't, but he couldn't trust that that meant he wouldn't.
"It should be right for your height," Bruce said. "How is it?"
Dick stood up and tentatively put some weight on the cane. It irritated his broken ribs, but it kept his weight off of his sprained ankle, which was an acceptable tradeoff. "It's fine."
For a moment, Bruce looked like he wanted to say something, his expression similar to what Damian's had looked like back in the car. Like Damian, he didn't say whatever was on his mind.
"Alright. Goodnight, Dick."
"Night, B."
Slowly, Dick limped his way out of the Cave, heading back upstairs. In some ways, this night felt like any other, with Bruce staying up late in front of the Batcomputer and Dick shuffling off to bed. Dick wished it were just a normal night, one where he could just grab a snack from the kitchen on his way upstairs and then flop face-first on his bed and fall asleep. He could almost pretend it was, just for a moment, but he wouldn't let himself. He couldn't undo what he'd done. He certainly wouldn't allow himself to forget it.
Jason was waiting in the study when Dick emerged from the tunnel, feet propped up on the desk in the way Bruce hated. "Hey, you're finally out. Hungry?"
"Not really," Dick admitted, hoping that would be the end of it.
Jason frowned slightly. "You haven't eaten in over twenty-four hours. You should at least eat something."
Anything Dick ate would just come right back up, he was sure of it. "I'm really not hungry, Jay. I'm just tired."
Jason was quiet for a long moment. He could be a mother hen sometimes, not that he'd ever admit it, and Dick wasn't sure if he'd let this go or not. If Jason didn't let it go, Dick was too exhausted to fight for long, but Jason didn't need to know that.
"Fine," Jason finally said. "But you're eating a full breakfast tomorrow, okay? I'll get Alfie to make your favorites."
"Alfred doesn't need to do that," Dick said quickly. "Just cereal is fine."
"There's no way Alfred is going to agree to that, but okay," Jason said. "You look like shit. Need a hand getting to your room?"
Part of Dick wanted to say yes, and he wanted to ask Jason to lock his bedroom door from the outside. But he knew a locked door wouldn't do much to keep him from getting out, not in the long run. "I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"I can make it upstairs by myself," Dick said. "You don't need to worry about me."
A flash of emotion passed over Jason's face, too quick for Dick to read. He wondered if he'd been presumptuous in assuming that Jason was worried about him.
"Yeah, sure. Fine. Night, Dickface."
"Night, Jason."
Dick headed upstairs slowly, using his cane and the railing to pull himself up. He'd told Bruce before that the house had too many stairs for people who had a habit of coming home injured, and it was true. He knew Bruce wanted to keep the Manor as close to the way it had been in his childhood as possible, but if Dick had his way, he would add at least one bedroom on the ground floor that people could use if they didn't feel up to going up the stairs.
Finally, he made it upstairs and down the hall where the family's bedrooms were. Damian's door was shut, and Dick walked past as quietly as possible. Duke and Cass's doors were also closed, and Steph wasn't staying at the Manor that night, but Tim's door was ajar. Dick slowed to a stop and peeked in, unable to help himself. Tim lay on his bed, a bandage taped to his forehead. He was asleep, but Dick would guess that either Bruce or Alfred would be waking him up every two hours. He was used to that post-concussion ritual himself, as were all of his siblings.
He'd added himself into that rotation with his siblings, but he wouldn't add himself in this time. He didn't know how Tim would react to waking up with Dick next to him, but he didn't want to find out.
Dick's room was further down the hall, the closest to Bruce's. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, fighting the urge to lock it. It wouldn't stop him from getting out if the door was locked from the inside, but it might worry the others. Honestly, part of him thought he should leave the door open so the others could check on him more easily, but he could never sleep with the door open. Perhaps it was selfish of him to put that comfort over his family's, but he was so tired. He just wanted to sleep.
There were pajamas in the dresser, Dick knew, but he didn't care enough to change into them. Instead, he just set the cane down next to the bed and curled up on it, trying to find a position that didn't aggravate his broken ribs. When he got as comfortable as he thought he would be, he closed his eyes. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to fall asleep as quickly as he had before, but the fear was in vain; he fell asleep almost immediately.
He hoped he wouldn't dream.
Dick woke to quiet footsteps in his bedroom. Whoever it was was trying to walk silently, and they were doing a fairly good job of it, but Dick had been a vigilante for years, and it wasn't easy to sneak up on him. He curled up a bit more, choked on a breath as his ribs flared in pain, and remembered.
"Dick?" Bruce asked. "Are you okay, chum?"
"Is J'onn here?" Dick asked, bypassing the question. He didn't know how to answer it in any way that wasn't a lie.
"He'll be here in about half an hour," Bruce said. "Do you want to have breakfast first? Jason said you didn't eat anything last night."
Dick's stomach still didn't feel quite steady enough that eating seemed appealing, but he didn't think he'd get much of a choice in the matter. Between Bruce, Jason, and Alfred, he'd get ordered or bullied or cajoled into eating something. "Sure. I'll get dressed and come down."
"Tim and Jason are downstairs," Bruce added. "Damian and Duke are both at school, and Cassandra and Stephanie are preparing to go over to Barbara's."
Dick hadn't faced Tim yet, but it seemed like he'd have to. Unless, of course, Tim left before he got down there. Dick wouldn't blame him if he did.
"Okay. I'll be down in a few minutes."
Bruce nodded and left the room, but Dick could normally hear footsteps in the hallway outside, and he didn't hear any. Bruce had to be waiting outside his room. That was fair, he supposed; he wouldn't want to leave him alone either, if he were in Bruce's position. Dick had proven himself both to be a safety risk and a flight risk. He wouldn't run this time, but he didn't blame Bruce for not believing that.
Getting out of bed was painful, but with the help of the cane, Dick managed to limp over to the dresser. He pulled out the most comfortable clothes he could find and changed into them, then he limped into the attached bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked half dead, but he didn't think there was anything he could do about that. At least the dark circles under his eyes were a bit better than they'd been the night before. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, and then he headed to the door.
Bruce was waiting outside the door, as Dick had known he would be. "Alfred made quite a spread for breakfast," he said in a voice that almost passed for conversational. "And he made sure your siblings didn't eat all of it."
"I would have been fine with cereal," Dick said. "I told Jason to tell Alfred not to bother."
Bruce frowned. "Dick…"
Dick didn't want to know what Bruce was going to say. "Did you explain the whole situation to J'onn?"
Bruce eyed him for a moment, then sighed. "I did. I told him what happened and gave him the details on how the mind control seemed to work. We both think it's unlikely that there'll be anything left in your head. Your blood test came back clean, by the way."
"Good," Dick said. It was good, and he was glad to hear it, but his voice came out too flat anyway. There was this level of detachment that he couldn't quite get past, a level that had been coming and going since he woke up in the Cave. To be entirely honest, it had been coming more than it had been going. Part of Dick was afraid that it was some symptom of mind control, but his rational side knew that it was much more likely to be a combination of shock and exhaustion, held together with an unhealthy dose of repression. He hadn't sat down and thought through what had happened yet. He hadn't let himself process what he'd done and what had been done to him. He didn't want to, and he was pretty sure he could continue to repress it for a while longer, but he knew it would burst free eventually. He'd just have to keep it together until he was cleared to leave the Manor, then he'd go back to his apartment and have a private breakdown. It wouldn't be the first time he did that, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last. That was one of the unfortunate parts of being a vigilante.
Bruce didn't say anything else as they walked to the dining room, for which Dick was grateful. He was too tired to keep up a conversation. He could only hope that Jason and Tim would be equally quiet.
As they approached the dining room and Dick heard the loud voices coming from inside, he figured he wouldn't be that lucky.
"What are you boys arguing about this morning?" Bruce sighed as they entered the room.
"Jason is trying to steal the last muffin," Tim accused.
"Oh my god, Replacement, lay off," Jason groaned, trying to reach for the muffin again. Tim batted his hand away.
"Alfred said not to finish things up until Dick had a chance to eat!"
"And look, Dickiebird is here now," Jason said. "And he doesn't even like muffins. Do you, Dick?"
"You can have it," Dick said, sitting down one seat away from Jason. He thought he was far enough for Tim that he could feel comfortable, since Tim was sitting across from Jason. Jason hadn't seemed to be too nervous about being close to Dick, but Dick still left the empty seat between them, just in case.
"Are you sure?" Tim demanded. "Alfred said-"
"Yeah, but Dick says I can have it, so I'm having it," Jason said, snaking one hand under Tim's guard and snatching the muffin. "Ha!"
"Hey!"
At least Tim didn't seem to be too hurt. That was a small blessing. He still did have the bandage taped to his forehead, but it didn't seem to be slowing him down very much. Or quieting him down, Dick reflected as Tim and Jason's volume increased.
"Boys," Bruce groaned. "Quiet down. Dick, you need to eat something."
Dick looked down at his empty plate, then took a piece of toast and started nibbling on the edge. His stomach wasn't particularly happy about it, but he thought he might manage to keep it down. Judging by the look on Bruce's face, that probably wasn't quite what he'd hoped for, but he didn't say anything more.
Tim and Jason did quiet down a bit as Dick picked at his toast, but that didn't mean the arguing ended. At least the arguing seemed to be mostly light-hearted. Most of their arguing was now. Honestly, Dick thought it was at least half for appearances. He was pretty sure Damian and Tim's dynamic was similar. Why all of his brothers had to be so argumentative, Dick had no idea.
Dick had managed to eat the entire piece of toast when Alfred came into the dining room. "Master Bruce, Master J'onzz has arrived."
Dick's stomach flipped, and for a moment, he thought the toast would come right back up. He swallowed hard and pushed the feeling down.
"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, standing. "Dick?"
Dick stood and followed Bruce out of the dining room. He could feel Tim and Jason's eyes on his back as he left. He wondered what they'd say once he was out of earshot.
"Bruce," J'onn greeted as they reached the front hall where he was waiting. "And Dick. It's good to see you, although I wish it were under better circumstances."
"You too, J'onn," Bruce agreed. "Where would be the best place to do this?"
"It would be most comfortable to do it while sitting," J'onn said. "It shouldn't take too long, but it may be a few minutes."
"The lounge is down the hall," Bruce said, starting towards it. J'onn followed him, and Dick trailed behind them both, his heart in his throat. He knew the chance of J'onn finding anything was probably slim, but that did little against the fear that he would.
"This will do nicely," J'onn declared when they entered the lounge, sitting down on the couch. "Dick, please sit down with me."
Dick tentatively sat down on the couch next to J'onn. Bruce pushed an ottoman over for him to prop his foot up on, then sat down on an armchair, practically vibrating with tension.
"Dick," J'onn said gently, "are you certain you wish to do this? I'll do my best to only check for any signs of mind control, but I will read some of your thoughts in the process. There is no way to avoid it."
"I need to know," Dick said, his voice rasping. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bruce's fingers twitch and wondered if he'd sounded like that when he was mind-controlled. "I need to know there's no one else in my head."
"Very well," J'onn said. He held out his hands. "May I touch you?"
Dick nodded, leaning forward slightly. J'onn put his hands on Dick's temples, then he closed his eyes. Dick tried his best to relax, and then he felt something push against him inside his mind, and he'd flung himself halfway across the couch before he even registered that he'd moved.
"Dick?" Bruce asked, starting to get up from his chair.
J'onn held up a hand to forestall any further movement. "Dick," he said calmly. "I apologize. I forgot how well you have defended your mind. If you still want me to continue, I will do my best to be gentler."
Dick's hands were shaking, but he had to know. "Okay."
J'onn held out his hands again, but he kept them a good distance away. Slowly, Dick steeled himself and leaned forward again, letting J'onn settle his fingers against Dick's temples again.
He could still feel it when J'onn entered his mind, but it was gentler the second time around. He closed his eyes and tried his best not to think about it.
It did take an uncomfortable few minutes, but finally, J'onn lowered his hands and opened his eyes. "I can find no traces of anyone controlling you. Your mind is your own."
Bruce let out an audible sigh of relief. Dick knew he should be relieved too, and he was, but the news only loosened a bit of the tightness in his chest. He wasn't a ticking time bomb, but that didn't change the fact that he'd already gone off once.
"Bruce," J'onn said, "would you mind giving me a few minutes alone with Dick?"
Bruce frowned as Dick's head snapped up to look at J'onn. "Is something wrong?"
"There is no danger," J'onn said. "It is merely something that I believe would be best discussed privately."
Bruce looked at Dick, clearly not wanting to leave. Even with J'onn's seal of approval, it seemed Dick would still have to spend some time regaining Bruce's trust. After a moment, Dick realized that Bruce seemed to be waiting for him to weigh in on the matter. "It's fine. I can talk with J'onn."
"Alright," Bruce said, albeit a bit warily. "I'll be in the dining room. Someone has to make sure Tim and Jason don't break anything. Thank you for coming, J'onn."
"Of course," J'onn said, nodding. "I was glad to help."
Bruce shot them one last glance, then he left the room. Dick listened to his footsteps as they grew more and more distant. Finally, once they were nearly inaudible, J'onn took a deep breath and looked at Dick.
"It was not your fault."
Dick's chest went cold. He opened his mouth to speak, although he had no idea what he would say, and found that no words would come out.
"I did my best to avoid reading your thoughts, but your feeling of guilt is so strong that I could not possibly avoid it," J'onn continued. "But what happened was not your fault."
"It was my hands," Dick rasped, forcing the words out. "My body. I'm the one who hurt them."
"Dick. Your mind holds no memories of your time under mind control. You were quite literally not present during that time."
"I remember something," Dick protested. He remembered someone - Tim, he was pretty sure, but the memory was too fuzzy to be entirely certain - begging for him to stop.
"Yes. That was the moment that you broke free of the control," J'onn said gently. "From what Bruce has explained, there was a device on your head that was controlling you. During the fighting, it was struck and cracked. The signal weakened slightly, and you broke free from it. You were able to stop yourself. Once it was possible for you to regain control, you did."
"But it wasn't soon enough," Dick protested. "You saw the bruise on Bruce's face. I broke Jason's ribs and Damian's wrist, and I concussed Tim. I hurt them."
"Your body, yes," J'onn agreed. "But not your mind. It was not your fault."
Dick shook his head desperately, ignoring the way that made it pound. He couldn't listen to this. He couldn't, he couldn't-
"If you do not with to discuss this further, I will leave the topic be," J'onn said. "But you should know that I have not sensed any blame from your family. All I sense from them is worry. They are concerned for you. None of them blame you for what happened."
"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Dick said in a shaky voice, hoping desperately that J'onn would honor his promise and stop.
"Then I will stop," J'onn said, resting a gentle hand on Dick's shoulder. "Do you wish for me to help you to another room?"
"I'll stay here," Dick said quietly. Moving sounded exhausting, and this room as as comfortable - and empty, which was even more important - as anywhere else. "Thank you for checking my head, J'onn."
"Of course," J'onn said. "If you need me, you need only call."
Dick nodded, then waited as J'onn left the room. His chest felt tight, and he felt strangely numb and fragile, but he couldn't have his breakdown yet. He wouldn't do it until he was in his own apartment and no longer a potential burden for his family. This whole thing was his fault, and he'd deal with it himself.
He should have known better than to expect that he would be left alone, though. Barely five minutes after J'onn left, there was a knock on the door, and Tim poked his head into the room.
"Hey, Dick, you okay? J'onn said he was done checking you over, but you didn't come back to the dining room. Aren't you hungry? You barely ate anything."
The bandage on Tim's forehead must have fallen off, because it wasn't there anymore. Instead, Dick could see the small, bruised cut underneath, where Dick had struck him so hard it broke the skin. He wondered for a moment what he'd hit him with, then his stomach threatened to expel the small amount of toast he'd managed to eat, and he forced himself away from that train of thought.
"Dick?" Tim repeated, a frown creasing his brow. "Are you okay? You look like you're going to throw up."
"I'm fine," Dick managed. "You don't have to worry about me."
"You're my big brother," Tim said, as if it were that simple, as if Dick deserved that title anymore. "And you were kidnapped and tortured and mind-controlled. Of course I'm worried about you."
Dick's chest tightened until he could hardly breathe. He didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve it-
He didn't think he'd be able to wait until he got to his apartment to have a breakdown after all.
"Uh, Dick?" Tim asked. "Shit. Jason? Bruce? Alfred? Is anyone- Hey, Dick, breathe, come on, take a deep breath-"
Dick's ribs burned badly enough when he wasn't hyperventilating. He didn't think taking a deep breath was in the cards.
"Dick? Can you try to match my breathing? Uh, can I touch you?"
"No," Dick gasped out. He couldn't quite focus, but he knew that much, at least. Tim couldn't touch him. "No, don't-"
"Okay, I won't," Tim agreed hurriedly. "Uh… Oh, Alfred, thank God."
Dick opened his eyes - he wasn't quite sure when he'd closed them - to see Alfred entering the room, a look of alarm on his face. "Master Dick? Are you alright? Master Tim-"
"I think it's a panic attack, but I'm not sure what set it off," Tim said. "It might have been me, but he seemed upset before I said anything."
"Master Dick?" Alfred asked gently, stepping closer to him. "Oh, my dear boy. Master Tim, please go fetch your brother a glass of water."
Tim nodded quickly and fled the room. Of course he left quickly, of course he didn't want to stay here-
"Master Dick? You must breathe more regularly. May I touch you, or would you prefer that I count aloud?"
Dick didn't have enough air in his lungs to speak, but he pulled away, hoping Alfred would understand what that meant. For a moment, as Alfred sat down on the other end of the couch, he was afraid Alfred didn't understand, but when he didn't move any closer, Dick knew Alfred had.
"Listen to my voice, Master Dick. Breathe with me. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. In, two, three, four…"
Dick did his best to follow Alfred's rhythm, but his breathing kept stuttering and gasping. Alfred was endlessly patient, continuing the easy rhythm until Dick was able to match it. His heart was still beating a touch too fast, and his stomach was still roiling, but at least he could breathe and think. It was a small mercy, but it was something.
"Are you back with us, Master Dick?" Alfred asked, handing Dick a glass of water. Dick didn't remember Tim coming back in with it, but it wasn't too surprising that he missed it. "I believe you gave Master Tim quite the fright."
"I'm okay," Dick rasped. "I'm okay."
"I'm not quite sure I believe that, my boy. Do you know what set off this panic attack?"
Tim came in the room and told me I'm his big brother and he's worried about me. It sounded pathetic even in Dick's own mind. And it wasn't the real reason, he knew that. He'd been on the edge of a panic attack ever since he woke up in the Cave the night before. It wasn't Tim's fault that he came in at just the right time to push Dick over the edge.
Alfred was still looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer, so Dick shrugged one shoulder. "Just everything, I guess," he said quietly. "It's all kind of… a lot."
"You have been through quite the ordeal," Alfred agreed gently. "But, Master Dick… We needn't discuss it further if you don't wish to, but I believe there may be something specific bothering you."
Dick looked away. "What makes you think that?"
"The fact that I've known you since you were eight years old," Alfred said dryly. "I'm afraid I know you rather well by now, and I can tell when you're bothered by something."
Dick pulled his legs up to his chest and looked away. The position made his ribs hurt, but his ribs hurt anyway. "I hurt them."
"Oh, Master Dick."
"And I know I was being controlled, but it was still me," Dick added. "And if I hadn't gotten grabbed, or if I'd been strong enough to fight the mind control…"
"Master Dick, none of this was your fault," Alfred said sternly. "You are not to blame for what these monsters did to you. And the mind control was not something you could have fought."
"J'onn said the same thing," Dick mumbled. "He said there were literally no memories in my mind from the time when I was mind controlled."
"What they did to you was awful," Alfred said. "And it would be perfectly understandable if it took you a while to fully recover from it. But what happened was not your fault."
"But I still blame myself," Dick said plaintively. "I… I look at the cut on Tim's head, or the cast on Damian's arm, or the bruise on Bruce's face, or the way Jason moves, and I- I-"
"My dear boy," Alfred said quietly. "May I touch you?"
J'onn told him there was no traces of mind control left. Dick was safe. He wasn't going to hurt anyone.
Tentatively, he nodded.
Alfred laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know that forgiving yourself can be the hardest thing in these situations. But that doesn't mean that you don't deserve forgiveness. You did nothing wrong. And I know that the others will agree with me."
"I hate it," Dick said, his voice breaking. "I hate it, I hate it-"
"I know," Alfred said, gathering up Dick in his arms. "I know, my boy. But we'll get past this together."
And in Alfred's embrace, Dick could almost believe it.
Eventually, Alfred left after extracting a promise from Dick that he would get some rest and eat something. Dick did intend on doing both, but it took him a few minutes before he could gather up the will to get up from the couch. He felt tired and wrung out, and the thought of moving was exhausting. Finally, though, he used his cane to lever himself upright and limped back to the dining room in the hope that it would still have some food left in it.
It did. It also had Jason.
"Hey," Jason called casually. "How was everything with J'onn?"
"He didn't find any signs of mind control left," Dick said, although Jason must have been able to guess that. Dick wouldn't be walking around free if the result had been anything else.
"Did he dig around in your head much?" Jason asked. "I hate it when he does that."
"Not too much," Dick said, getting a plate and another piece of toast. He also took a scoop of scrambled eggs and decided he would eat more if he could keep all of this down.
"How're the ribs? And the leg?"
"Fine."
Jason gave him a disbelieving look. "I've got broken ribs too, remember? I know they suck."
The reminder made Dick's stomach lurch. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to eat more than the toast and eggs after all.
"You okay?" Jason asked. "You look like shit."
The words were blunt enough that Dick couldn't help the small, amused snort in response. "Thanks."
"No, but seriously. Are you okay? Other than the ribs and the leg and everything."
Dick pushed the eggs around his plate. "I'm fine."
"Except for the part where you're clearly not," Jason said. "Come on, Dickface, you're a shit liar."
"I'm fine."
Jason groaned loudly and dramatically. "You're doing your martyr thing, aren't you?"
"Excuse me?"
"You're blaming yourself for everything because a couple of psychos happened to snatch you first out of all of us. They just wanted a Bat, by the way. Any of us would have been fine, but you were just the one who happened to have the patrol route that was closest to their headquarters."
Dick's stomach lurched again. He wasn't sure he'd want to do that patrol route again, at least not for a while.
"And they honestly thought they could control one of us. As if we weren't trained by literally the most stubborn man alive. Their tech is no match for B's bullheadedness."
Dick tightened his grip on his fork.
"Joke's on them, because they're all in Blackgate now," Jason added. "And you broke through their mind control pretty fast. It was gross, but the second we started messing with the stupid headband, you broke free."
"Gross?" Dick repeated, focusing on the part of Jason's statement that he thought was least likely to send him spiraling into another panic attack.
"You started bleeding," Jason reported. "Nose, ears, even a bit coming out of your eyes. Apparently, breaking through the mind control like that started damaging your brain or something. But we got the headband off before it got too bad, and everything should heal. You'll just have a headache for a day or two."
Dick honestly wasn't sure what was causing his headache at this point, but he supposed that could be part of it. "Okay."
"How's your head, by the way?" Jason asked. "Do you need painkillers or something?"
"I'm fine."
"You are doing your martyr thing," Jason accused. "Stop blaming yourself. It wasn't your fault."
Dick put his fork down and pushed his plate away.
"Whoa, what are you doing?" Jason asked. "You haven't actually eaten anything."
"I can't."
"Dick-"
"I can't, Jay," Dick interrupted, his voice sharp, and then he immediately hated himself for it.
"Dick," Jason said in a voice that was far softer than what he deserved, "if I leave the room, will you be able to eat?"
Dick looked down at his plate. Maybe he would, but he didn't want to admit it.
"I don't blame you, and no one else does either," Jason said, getting up. He clapped Dick on the shoulder, apparently ignoring Dick's flinch, then he left the room.
Dick looked down at his plate and wondered if he'd be able to stomach anything. He lifted a forkful of eggs to his mouth and held it there, trying to gather up the willpower to actually eat it.
"You know, it tastes better if you put it in your mouth," Steph said, and Dick looked up to see her and Cass in the doorway.
"Did Jason send you to make sure I eat?" Dick asked wearily.
"He might have encouraged us on our way," Steph said.
Cass nodded. "He sent us."
"Cass, I was trying to be subtle."
"You were not very good at it."
Steph stuck her tongue out at Cass, then threw herself into a chair. "Have you ever seen Downton Abbey?"
"No," Dick said, not quite sure where Steph was going.
"Cool," Steph said. "Cass and I are watching it, and I'm going to totally spoil the first season. Honestly, I cannot believe the audacity of Lady Mary."
"I like Sybil," Cass said.
"Oh, Sybil is definitely the best character. Let met tell you about Sybil, Dick."
Steph launched into a long description of what seemed to be every character in Downton Abbey, with Cass piping in with her own remarks. The situation was normal enough that Dick found himself able to absentmindedly eat while half listening to Steph's ranting. Soon, he found that his plate was empty, and Steph beamed at him.
"You hungry for anything more?"
"I'm fine," Dick replied. He was surprised he'd managed to eat as much as he had, and he didn't want to push his luck with eating more.
Cass set down a bottle and gave Dick a significant look. Dick picked it up, hesitated a moment, and then shook two painkillers into his palm. Avoiding painkillers wouldn't actually do anything for anyone, and it was stupid to deny himself. With barely any more hesitation, Dick tossed the painkillers back and swallowed them down.
"Cass and I are going to head over to the Clocktower soon," Steph said. "Wanna come with us? Babs would be glad to see you."
It would be a way to get away from the others, but it would still mean being with someone. "No thanks," Dick said. "Tell Babs I said hi."
"Will do," Steph said.
Cass squeezed Dick's hand. "Barbara said you are always welcome."
"I know," Dick said with a nod. Babs had always made that clear. "Thanks."
"Want a lift anywhere else, when we head out?" Steph asked. "I'm borrowing one of Bruce's cars."
"Does Bruce know that?"
Steph shrugged. "He'll figure it out when the car is missing. I mean, he calls himself the World's Greatest Detective, so I'm pretty sure he should be able to solve the case of the missing car."
Against all odds, Dick very nearly laughed. "Could you bring me to my apartment?" he asked.
"Sure," Steph agreed. "When do you want to head out?"
"Whenever you two are ready."
Steph looked at Cass, who nodded. "We're ready whenever," she told Dick. "Do you need to grab anything from your room?"
"Yeah," Dick said, his heart sinking at the thought of heading upstairs and running into someone else, "my wallet, phone, and keys."
"I will get them," Cass said, standing. "Do not strain your foot."
"I can-" Dick began, even though this idea did sound much better to him, but Cass was already gone.
"She'll probably be faster than you would be anyway," Steph said. "Also, she was saying something before about grabbing a hoodie, so she'll probably get that while she's upstairs. You wait here for her, I'll go get the car and bring it around."
"Which car?" Dick asked.
Steph shrugged. "If I take one of the super fancy ones, he'll be super pissed, but I'm risking too much annoyance to take something boring. Maybe I'll take the nice Mercedes."
"I used to always take the Volkswagen," Dick admitted. "Bruce definitely would have bought me my own if I asked, but I didn't see the point in having my own car when I could just steal one of his." That had been the case until he'd moved out, at least, and then once he was no longer living at Wayne Manor, he and Bruce had been on bad enough terms that he would have rather walked everywhere than ask Bruce to buy him a car.
Steph pointed at him. "See, you get it! B keeps making these comments about how he can get me a car of my own if I need one, but he's got, like, a stupid amount of cars, and there's no way he can use all of them. What is it with rich people and cars anyway?"
"I don't know about other rich people, but Bruce has always liked cars. You know he basically built the Batmobile himself, right?"
Steph nodded. "Fair enough. Okay, I'm gonna go get a car. You can wait for Cass and then meet me at the front door, okay?"
"Sounds good," Dick agreed. He hoped no one else entered the dining room before Cass did.
Steph saluted him, then she left the room. Dick looked down at his empty plate and toyed with his fork. He stiffened at the sound of footsteps, then he relaxed when he recognized them as Cass's. Cass was entirely capable of walking soundlessly, but she tended to make purposeful noise when she didn't want to startle someone. Sure enough, a moment later, Cass entered the dining room and handed Dick his phone, wallet, and keys.
"Thanks," Dick said, putting them in his pockets and levering himself to feet with his cane.
Cass nodded, tucking her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. "Where is Steph?"
"Getting a car," Dick said. "She said we should meet her at the front door."
Cass nodded again and fell in step next to Dick. He was walking far more slowly than she normally would, he knew, but Cass didn't complain or speed up; she just matched his slow speed all the way to the door.
Steph was outside in the Volkswagen, grinning up at Dick. "You have good taste in cars."
"I will sit in the back," Cass offered, vaulting easily into the back seat. Dick was grateful; he didn't think he'd be able to manage that anywhere near as easily.
"I'll drop you off first, then Cass and I will head to the Clocktower," Steph said as Dick got into the passenger seat. "Unless you've changed your mind? You can totally come with us."
"My apartment is fine," Dick replied. "Thanks."
"Your choice," Steph said, turning the keys in the ignition. "Let's go before B realizes I stole the car."
Steph was a good driver, and the wind from having the top down was loud enough to be an excuse not to talk. Dick watched the streets pass by. For a moment, he considered asking Steph to stop at a grocery store, since he knew there wasn't much in his kitchen, but he decided against it. He was already taking enough of her time by having her drive him home. He wouldn't delay her trip to the Clocktower any longer.
It wasn't too long before they reached Dick's apartment building. "You need any help getting up there?" Steph asked as she parked the car. "Or help with anything else?"
"I'm fine," Dick said, getting out of the car. "Thanks for the ride."
"No problem," Steph replied. "Just call if you want another one. Do you have a bike or car or anything here?"
"I have my bike," Dick replied. A bike probably wasn't the best vehicle in his current condition, but he'd make do. "I should be fine."
Cass crawled into the front seat, then smiled at Dick. "Call us if you need us."
"I will," Dick promised. "Thanks again."
Steph nodded, then she pulled away from the apartment. Dick eyed the building and hoped that the elevator was working.
Luck was on his side for once, and the elevator worked just fine on the way up to his apartment. He unlocked the door, then he tossed his keys on the table in the entry and shucked off his shoes and jacket. He was strangely exhausted, given that he'd slept all night and hadn't been awake for that long, but he didn't bother to try fighting it; he just went to his bedroom and curled up on the bed, still in his clothes, and closed his eyes.
"It was not your fault."
"You're my big brother. And you were kidnapped and tortured and mind-controlled. Of course I'm worried about you."
"I know that forgiving yourself can be the hardest thing in these situations. But that doesn't mean that you don't deserve forgiveness. You did nothing wrong. And I know that the others will agree with me."
"I don't blame you, and no one else does either."
Maybe J'onn and Tim and Alfred and Jason were right. Maybe it wasn't Dick's fault, and no one blamed him. But he blamed himself, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to stop blaming himself. He'd attacked his family. He'd hurt them. The proof was in Bruce's bruise and Damian's cast and Tim's concussion and Jason's stiffness. He didn't know how he'd ever make up for that.
He curled up tighter and squeezed his eyes shut. He was too tired for this. He was too tired. He just had to sleep. Maybe things would look better after he slept.
He hoped he would sleep too deeply for nightmares.
When Dick woke, he knew someone was watching him. He also knew they weren't a threat; he knew that gaze well.
"How long have you been sitting there?"
"Not too long," Bruce rumbled, but Dick was pretty sure he was lying.
"You know J'onn cleared me. I'm not a threat anymore."
"Dick," Bruce said in a helpless voice, "I'm not here because I think you're a threat. I'm here because I'm worried about you."
Dick didn't let himself look over. "Jason told me that the device damaged my brain slightly, but there hasn't been any blood, and my headache isn't too bad."
"I think you know that's not my main concern." Bruce paused for a moment. "I am still concerned about that, and you should tell me if there's any change, but that's not why I'm here."
Dick made the mistake of looking over at Bruce and winced immediately. His bruise was awful, and his face was concerned, and Dick hated knowing he'd caused all of it.
"Then why are you here?"
"Alfred and Tim told me about your panic attack," Bruce said. "J'onn wouldn't tell me much, but he did say that he was worried about you and that we should all be gentle. Jason told me you couldn't eat while he was in the room. I'm here because I'm worried about you." He hesitated, then added, "You know that what happened wasn't your fault, don't you?"
"I hurt you!" Dick burst out. "It wasn't my choice, and I don't really remember it, but it was my hands. My hands hit you and Tim and broke Damian and Jason's bones. And I-"
All he did remember was before, strapped to the table, and the one moment towards the end, when his brother begged him to stop. It was that moment that haunted him more. Torture was nothing new, but the fear, the fear directed at him…
"Dick," Bruce said, reaching towards him, "it wasn't your fault, and none of us hold it against you. It wasn't too bad. We're all alright, and we'll all heal." He ran a hand over the top of Dick's head. "You did everything you could. You stopped the device the moment you were able. You fought it. You were so strong, Dick."
"I hurt you," Dick whispered, his voice choked. "Bruce, I hurt you. I hurt Damian and Jason and Tim-"
"If one of the others had been controlled, would you blame them for it?"
"I know what you're doing," Dick said. "And I understand, but-"
"But it's different when it's you," Bruce finished. "I know that. And I know how much you love your brothers, Dick. They know it too. Damian didn't want to go to school today because he didn't want to leave you. Tim was terrified after your panic attack. Jason helped Alfred with breakfast and made sure they made your favorites."
"I don't deserve it," Dick whispered. "I don't deserve them. Not now. I wasn't strong enough to protect them, Bruce."
"You don't have to be the only one to protect them," Bruce said. "We can all protect each other. And right now, your brothers want to protect you." He took Dick's hand and squeezed it. "I'm not going to force you to come back to the Manor, but I know everyone else would like it if you did. I think it would reassure Damian a lot if you were there when he got home."
"That's playing dirty," Dick mumbled. It was; Bruce knew full well that Dick would do anything for his littlest brother.
"It's the truth," Bruce said. "And it would reassure me as well, if you were home."
The Manor wasn't really Dick's home anymore. It was always open to him, he knew that, but he'd moved out years ago. He had his own home now, his own space. That was his home.
But there was a part of him that would always see the Manor as home, just like there was a part of him that would always miss the little circus trailer he grew up in.
"You really think they want me there?" Dick asks.
"I know they do."
"And I'm not going to make anyone uncomfortable?"
"No, Dick, you won't."
Dick sighed. "Okay. I… Okay."
Bruce squeezed his shoulder lightly. "Come on, chum. Let's go home."
Dick reached for his cane to lever himself up, but Bruce offered a hand instead. Dick hesitated a moment, then he took it.
His hands had hurt his brothers and his father. He knew he hadn't controlled them, but it had still been his hands, and he'd have to come to terms with that. But his hands could help them too. He could go home, and he could help Damian with his homework or Tim with his reports or Jason with his planning. He could cook with Alfred and dance with Cass and joke around with Steph and hang out with Duke. He could spend time with Bruce, something that had become far too rare somewhere along the line. He could let his family take care of him instead of always taking care of them.
They'd forgiven him. Maybe, he could forgive himself too.
"Okay. Let's go home."