Brain Fog/Spaced Out

Making Bruce a good dad? Wow shocker

I probably strayed away from the sick part of sicktember but anxiety feels like shit so I'm counting it

Anxiety was always weird to Dick. He could do so much that would have anyone else paralyzed with fear or running in the opposite direction. There were times when he recalled fights and wondered how on Earth he'd gone in head first and never thought of looking back. Then there were days like today where he felt lingering dread over nothing in particular and couldn't perform basic tasks that seemed so easy. 

Sleep had evaded him for the better part of the week. He didn't know how much he'd actually gotten but he knew it wasn't enough. He also knew that the less he slept, the anxiety got worse and when the anxiety got bad, he couldn't sleep. Stuck in a cycle, he only prolonged the periods where anxiety kept him in a vice-like grip. By the end of the week, he decided a change of scenery might help. Perhaps because it was a matter of saving face or a matter of pride, Dick didn't tell his family why he was crashing there for the weekend. They didn't ask either. He guessed they already had their suspicions or they just assumed he had a good enough reason to be there so there was no point in asking. 

Dick brought his laptop and settled down in the cave, keeping to himself but feeling a little more at ease knowing others surrounded him. His hallucinations weren't nearly as bad as they used to be but he noticed that along with the lack of sleep and high anxiety, they made short appearances. It was mostly just auditory nowadays. Voices calling him or the distant sound of explosions. It was nice to think the voices belonged to real people even if he was more than aware that wasn't the case and that if he did hear an explosion, he could look around to see if any of the others had heard it too. 

He had a case open on the screen but he wasn't really paying attention to it. He hadn't been able to focus in days despite the steady stream of energy drinks and coffee he consumed. Those didn't help the anxiety though. They were just part of his routine now. He let his eyes drift although he occasionally dragged them back to the case so it looked like he was thinking rather than existing with a brain that couldn't comprehend information. 

His eyes happened to settle on Jason's memorial case. They never took it apart even when Jason did return from the dead but Bruce had removed the small plaque that used to sit at the feet of the propped-up costume. He remembered when he first saw the memorial. He'd stared at it for an hour. Looking at how the costume had been restored so it looked brand new instead of littered with burn holes and stained with blood. He liked that as much as anyone could like a memorial case. It felt right to immortalise Jason as Robin rather than the kid who died in the suit even if they failed to maintain that energy in the coming years. 

He remembered reading the plaque. A good soldier was followed by the date of birth and the date of death. It was nothing, he'd reasoned when he first read 'a good soldier' etched in gold. Bruce was awful with shows of affection, even worse at verbalising it, and he assumed it was his way of saying Jason was one of the best. Dick told himself that for years but as he stared at the case, knowing the inscription on the plaque that was previously there, surrounded by those who followed in his path of being Robin, the wording challenged him again. A good soldier. Not a good kid, a good son or a good hero. A good soldier.

He glanced over to Bruce who was sparring with Tim. Tim who was now without a spleen, lost friends and family in the name of the good fight they'd maintained through decades. Damian watched on smugly as though he hadn't died to Robin years previous. Steph chatted to Cass about the latest reality show she'd binged like she didn't have to fake her death in that suit. Jason was pocketing some tech, having been dead at fourteen and suddenly coming back in his twenties. Dick had given everything to prevent anyone else from becoming him but being surrounded by those who did. Was this his legacy? An endless line of soldiers?

His mind drifted to Duke who was playing on his phone across from him. The Robin rebellion he joined and fought for had briefly brought him peace of mind and relief that someone had been a hero under his name through no other cause than to fight for justice. Then he realised Duke was just another soldier who happened to go a different path to the others. Perhaps he wasn't a soldier for Batman initially but eventually. 

Dick stood suddenly, not noticing the odd looks thrown is way, and went upstairs to his room. He felt foolish to sulk but he couldn't help it. It was disheartening, It wasn't fair. He knew that good had come from Robin and he wasn't stupid enough to neglect the fact that without Robin, those who resided downstairs would've ended up somewhere worse or turned up dead. Yet it was that phrasing that had him stuck. A good soldier. Out of all the things to describe Jason, why was the soldier the one Bruce landed on? Why had Dick overlooked it for so long? Maybe he didn't intend for Robin to mean a soldier but he didn't exactly prevent it from happening anyway.

It wasn't an incorrect description of Robin. Robin, for intent and purpose, was a soldier for justice, for peace and perhaps personally, a soldier for revenge. But when he thought of a soldier, he didn't think of Robin. He thought of people who served their country not knowing why they were fighting entirely but doing so anyway because they had to keep someone or something safe. People who couldn't get work out of school or didn't have a place to go to or those who thought it was noble to dedicate their lives to. Then again, that could work for all the Robins, couldn't it?

He fell back onto the bed, staring at the canopy with a sigh. What was the use in pondering it now? The legacy was far out of his hands. He lost control of it the moment Jason got the title. He supposed he never had any control of it in the first place, all things considered. Bruce had fired him. Bruce passed the title on. Did Bruce not know either or was he aware the entire time?

Dick felt his chest tighten. A familiar tug of anxiety that had the world crashing in on him. He sat up, stars in his eyes from doing so too quickly. The air felt oppressive, the ground beneath his feet too close and the very act of breathing slowly becoming out of his control. He squeezed his eyes shut. How embarrassing to regret a legacy now it was permanent. 

He tried to think about the exercises he'd been taught but those had always been difficult to do on his own when there was no greater threat to face. He needed to drown with company. Perhaps that's why he overlooked the plaque. He needed others to suffer to justify his own. He needed to drag more down to prove he wasn't incompetent. His breath hastened. He was spiralling, he knew that. Painfully aware but unable to do anything. 

So many people had been affected by Robin. It wasn't just those with the title. It was proteges of heroes he'd grown up with. Peers who saw him and realised they could do the same. A new generation that had grown up with all those he influenced and becoming influenced themselves. There was so much suffering and blood on his hands that didn't need to happen had he just reacted to the death of his parents normally. Had he resigned himself to a life with a weird nocturnal billionaire and accepted even vengeance or justice wouldn't fill the hole ripped through him at nine. 

The room circled around him. The colours blended together and furniture melted as he saw the world through teary eyes. He shouldn't be crying. Not after everything he did. It was always his fault. All the horrible things he witnessed and was exposed to were just cause and effect to his existence as someone who fought to feel something. Whether it be justice, vindication or adrenaline. He let it go on too long and now, even if he removed himself from the equation, the sequence of events he'd created would continue without him. 

Dick grew lightheaded. In the back of his mind, he recalled that he was supposed to take something before it got too bad. He couldn't remember where it was though and his throat closed at the thought of swallowing something that wasn't oxygen. He didn't want to call for help which was good because his vocal chords refused to allow any sound other than a whimper out. So he sat there, drowning and knowing he caused so many to drown by his side. 

--- IN THE CAVE ---

"What was that about?" Steph asked, waiting until Dick had disappeared upstairs before saying something. She'd been worried about him since he came in. It wasn't unusual to see him a little rough around the edges but he seemed totally out of it. There had been a solid minute of dead air before he returned her greeting and he didn't acknowledge as he normally would when he knew he was running low on mental capacity. 

"I didn't do it," Jason announced. To be fair, he was the culprit nine times out of ten when someone stormed out of the cave. Bruce was the other cause. "He was quiet when he got here."

"Tough mission?" Duke suggested. He received a few shrugs in response. "Maybe someone should go after him?"

"The floor is all yours," Jason replied, gesturing to the stairs. 

"I don't think he'd appreciate that." Although Dick had put effort in to make him feel welcome, Duke was more than aware that he was still new to the dynamic. He couldn't imagine the acrobat would like for him of all people to check in. 

"Give him some space," Bruce said. "He's probably just sleeping." He looked tired and the manor had the best mattresses in the world. It wouldn't come as a surprise if he only came over to crash in his old bedroom.

They let it be.

That was until an alarm sounded from the computer. They prepared themselves for an Arkham breakout or a supervillain team-up but were left out of sorts when it was neither. On the screen, were Dick's vitals flashing an angry red. 

"What's happening?" Duke asked, looking to Bruce for answers. They could see the highlighted areas of concern but that left both him and the rest of the family more confused. Spikes in heart rate, shallow breathing and a sudden increase of adrenaline. All the signs you don't want to see in someone you thought went for a nap. Especially when that person seemed out of it before they left. 

"There's no intruder alarm," Damian pointed out, ignoring any attempt to answer Duke's question. 

"Give it a second, this could be a response to a nightmare or something," Tim suggested. A few seconds passed. The alarm persisted. Bruce didn't bother to announce he was going to investigate and no one felt the need to say they were going with him. They all raced upstairs, careful to keep an eye out for Dick crumpled on the floor somewhere. A multitude of explanations came to mind ranging from some sort of flashback to exposure to some unknown slow-acting poison. 

Bruce slammed open the door to Dick's bedroom, correctly assuming that he had gone there when he left the cave. 

---BACK TO PRESENT---

A hand suddenly appeared on Dick's chest, applying enough pressure for him to notice his intake of air was erratic. He stared at it. The calloused fingers atop the blue V on his chest. Bruce's hand, he thought absently, not taking in the fact that if Bruce's hand was on his chest then Bruce was also there. He followed the hand to the wrist then to the elbow, the shoulder, the crook of the neck and finally the face. Bruce's face. Pinched and concerned, lips speaking silent sentences. He watched his mouth, having the capability to lip read but not the capacity to put it together. His body seemed to get the gist though.

It wasn't immediate but a slow wind down like a fan turning off. He blinked and the world stopped making his stomach churn. His surroundings were now readable. Understandable. He was in his bedroom and Bruce was beside him. He was having a panic attack. His breath hitched as he stared at his mentor with uncertainty. If Robin was a line of soldiers then he wasn't one of the good ones. His whole body trembled and his jaw hurt from how hard it was clenched shut. The static cleared from his ears and finally, the sentences were audible. 

"Can you hear me?" Bruce asked. The words were loud and clear but it took a moment to find their meaning. He nodded, not trusting his voice and not daring to try. "Are you with me now?" He nodded again, still delayed. 

"We should get him tested," Tim stated.

Tim's voice brought Dick's come down to a screeching halt and he turned to where he'd heard it from. The Robins were in his room. They showed varying degrees of concern but he knew those who didn't show it felt it the most. Cass glared at Tim as though she knew it was too soon to make themselves known. He wince under the gaze, mouthing an apology. 

Dick inhaled deeply, letting his lungs fully expand. His eyelids felt heavy and his hands were clammy. His head felt full of cotton balls but even they couldn't block out the lingering dread of showing himself up in front of people. It always made him feel so human. When supers got panic attacks, their powers and consequentially the world reacted accordingly. When he had a panic attack, it went on without him. He almost wanted some collateral damage so they could see how severe it was to him. 

"Do you want us to go?" Steph asked, already halfway out the door in case he said yes. 

"We're not leaving him alone until we figure out what caused his vitals to go haywire," Tim insisted. 

"Dude, I think it's pretty obvious what caused it," Duke muttered to him. 

"Not yet it isn't," he replied stubbornly. 

"Had," Dick paused and coughed when his voice came out scratchy. "Panic attack."

"No shit," Jason commented. "You had a major one. You triggered Bruce's baby monitor. It thought you were dying or something."

"How...," he trailed off when he belatedly realised he'd come in his suit. He didn't know the last time he wore anything else other than his suit. The week that had passed was fuzzy. He couldn't recall much of it even when he tried his hardest to do so. He supposed that was the sleep deprivation making itself known. 

"Are you on something right now?" Dick blinked slowly at the question, in his eyes Bruce could almost see the cogs of his brain working to put the words together and find their meaning. A second passed before he shook his head. "Did you get a hit to the head?" Again, he shook his head despite not being sure. He felt like he would remember something as important as that. "I think it would be best for this to be a one-on-one conversation," the billionaire said but really it was an order.

"Must be bad if you're braving emotions," Jason murmured to himself. "Right, off with you little shits. You can go somewhere else but you can't stay here."

"Hear that in a bar?" Steph teased.

"Only the best in Gotham. Move it."

"But we don't-"

"If it was a medical issue, father would make it known. Move."]

"Fine," Tim relented. "But you're getting a blood test after." He wouldn't but Dick just hummed in response if it meant him leaving. The teen wasn't blind to Dick's discomfort under their presence but that didn't mean he was going to let it go. 

When they were alone, the door closed for good measure, Bruce turned to Dick with a serious expression that seemed evermore permanent nowadays.

"I saw you looking at Jason's memorial case," Bruce began. "Do you find it inappropriate?" Dick shook his head. He thought it was okay to still grieve despite the new circumstances they found themselves under. It was mourning a lost childhood. A kid stayed dead that day even if Jason as a person was breathing once again. "Are you having hallucinations about him?" He shook his head. "Flashback?"

"No," he answered finally. 

"Then what caused this? You weren't in your right mind in the first place but I know the memorial was a trigger for something."

"A good soldier," Dick said. "Why a good soldier? Why not anything else?" His mentor seemed surprised at the question. Granted, it was something he should've asked years before but it was only now he found the voice to ask it. 

"It felt right," Bruce responded. "He died fighting. I didn't feel worthy of being a father so I couldn't call him my son and although he was a good hero, that still didn't feel right. It diminished my own responsibility. He was under my supervision, he was my protege and my soldier for lack of a better term."

"I never wanted soldiers," he protested. "Robin was never meant to be a line of child soldiers."

"It's not."

"How isn't it? Look at them and tell me they aren't."

"They aren't," Bruce stated confidently. The acrobat wished he had the same certainty. It could be negligence or ignorance but it was the confidence that spoke to him. The solid understanding that they weren't soldiers. 

"What if I did the wrong thing becoming Robin? There are so many kids out there who are heroes now because of what I started. I just don't know if that's a good thing anymore."

"You couldn't have known what would happen when you became Robin. You were nine."

"There's still blood on my hands. For fucks sake, we had to instate a whole therapy service specifically for heroes and I bet half of those who access it aren't even legal adults yet," Dick argued. 

"We've all sacrificed but those were the decisions we made. All of us knew the consequences."

"Jason didn't decide to be murdered."

"None of us decided the consequences but we knew they were possible. Can you say that, when you came to me with the idea of Robin, you weren't fully briefed on what could happen? Do you think the other mentors took these matters lightly?"

"No but-"

"But nothing. This job could take anything and everything from us. We knew that." Dick went to argue but he was stopped by his mentor grabbing his hand and holding it tightly. "You made Robin when you were nine. You didn't know there would be others. In any case, although your reach has been much further than either of us could have imagined, it's not your fault. This isn't your burden." He shook his head, not wanting to hear what he desperately needed to. "Jason used to say Robin gave him magic, do you really think he considered himself a soldier?"

"That doesn't mean he wasn't." Bruce sighed not in disappointment but in the unpleasant acceptance that he couldn't say anything to put his mind right.

"Dick, I've known you since you were nine and in that time I've learned that no matter what I say, once an idea gets stuck in your head you're stubborn to keep it there. I could give you so many reasons you're wrong, reasons I know that you're aware of but it wouldn't make a difference. I can't make you believe me."

"I want to," Dick whispered like a frightened child unable to comprehend that there wasn't a monster under the bed no matter how many times he was told. 

"I know you do. Nobody wants to think they have caused what you think you have. I can't say anything to convince you otherwise, that responsibility is yours. What I can say is that Robin gave me a family I never thought I'd have. I know it gave you a life that hurts but also makes you so...you."

"Me?"

"It always suited you," Bruce explained with a slight shrug. "I've tried to imagine you in different careers, different lives. The possibility of there being a universe where you don't get involved in our line of work one way or another just doesn't make sense to me. In this universe, if you hadn't come into my care, you would've been taken by the Court of Owls. If not them then someone else would've seen your potential."

"Still doesn't tell me if Robin was the right thing to do," he muttered guiltily.

"Maybe not for the average kid but they were never going to be average kids. Neither were you. Maybe they were meant to be Robin."

"Or maybe we're mad."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Bruce said, dry humour dripping from his words. Dick couldn't help the laugh it punched out of him. "Have you been worrying about this for a long time?"

"No, just today. It's been a rough week."

"It looks like it."

"I can't sleep. I get anxious, don't sleep because of it then get more anxious from the sleep deprivation."

"Why can't you sleep?"

"I just said-"

"But what is the anxiety making you think that you can't sleep?"

Dick pondered on the question for a moment. Usually, he stopped thinking about the reasons why before he had time to examine it. Life slowed down for too long when he tried to. He tilted his head in thought. 

"I don't want something to happen," he said. "To me or to anyone else."

"So you came here?"

"People are here. Not always so many but always someone. Helps."

"Then I assume you know what I'm going to suggest."

"That I get some sleep," he confirmed. He certainly felt the need to but the anxiety was still tingling in his fingers. His body was still geared up ready to fight something yet having nothing to fight. He was okay. He was safe. His hormones didn't know that though. "Still can't."

"You haven't tried yet."

"I already know," he responded.

"Would it help to have someone around?"

"I don't wanna hold someone hostage up here."

"Then come downstairs."

"And sleep in the med bay?"

"Or the couch. It wouldn't be the first time and it wouldn't be the last," Bruce assured him. "I know you don't want them to know you're human but they're aware. More than you'd like. If it were me in your position, what would you say?"

"Get your ass downstairs."

"Then what should you do?"

"Get my ass downstairs." They shared a chuckle. "Do you- Are you proud of what I did? Making Robin?"

"I'm always proud of you. I don't show it, I'm working on that. I need you to know I'm proud of you. You're a good person perhaps not because of me but you're still a good person. You did everything you could. That's enough."

"Okay," he sighed, standing up. "I think I better get some sleep."

"Good," Bruce said, joining him. "I was prepared to sedate you."

"I don't doubt that."