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The first week, he makes it through alright. Not the first time he’s covered for Bruce--and this time Bruce is alive and on a League mission in space, and Tim isn’t leaving, and everyone is making it by alright. He’s alright.
The second week, he’s less than great. Blud and Gotham patrols back to back start to take a toll, and it’s a small mercy that he’s in charge, because any other time he’d be forced off patrol and into a bed by day three of week two, but he’s Batman so he holds it together, and Tim and Cass and Duke and Damian and Steph don’t have much to say when he stumbles back into a chair after standing up to fast. Jason raises an eyebrow. He says he slipped. He skates by.
Week four rolls around and he gets a broken collar-bone and some fractured ribs, and he’s laid up in bed for three days until there’s a big city-wide Riddler mess and Dick has to get up, he has to be Batman, and he does. His ribs heal eventually.
Bruce is coming back later than anticipated. Much later. Five weeks later. And the suit makes his skin crawl and he knows Bruce is alive (he wasn’t dead the first time) but every day he’s Batman makes him feel like the nightmare didn’t end. Dick knows this isn’t healthy. What other choice does he have? He’s gotta be Batman, and Bludhaven needs a protector, and Tim and Cass and Duke and Steph and Damian need someone to watch over them (and he misses Alfred so much it hurts ) and Jason, thankfully, isn't stirring trouble, but he can’t ask him to put on the suit, and he lost the right to Jason’s help a long time ago.
He sleeps during the day.
Tim is handling WE. He has been since the start, and Dick is so grateful that he could do Tim’s chores for years (If that was something they still had). But Tim is running himself ragged, the way he always does, so Dick tries to get him to rest while they’re getting back from patrol (he hasn’t talked to Tim without the cowl in a couple weeks, and he knows it’s a bad sign) but of course he says it wrong and Tim storms out and he sends an apologetic voicemail later and tries not to sound too bone-dead tired.
Tired. That’s what he is. It’s week seven, the League mission got delayed again . (Just three extra weeks on top of the five, it’s fine, he’s been Batman for longer, he’ll cope) And he’s in the Nightwing suit in his apartment when he gets the transmission alert. And he lets himself sag against the wall and slide to the ground. Maybe tears come. He feels stupid over it.
The next day is the first time someone asks him if he’s okay. And, okay, Damian’s been concerned without knowing how to voice it, he can tell. And he hasn’t had the cowl down in front of the others since week five. But he forgets and he knows that he looks awful. But he’s at the computer when Tim says his name kind of argumentatively from behind him and Dick knows he wants to hash out what happened and that’s fine, he just needs a second. He pinches the bridge of his nose (It makes him think of Bruce again--and he has to remind himself that Bruce is alive , he’s alive , and this isn’t permanent) and he guesses he doesn’t answer for longer than he thinks, because then Tim is yelling at his back and Dick wants to explain that he was just worried but he needs a second to gather his thoughts-and then Tim is saying something quietly, and Dick is still facing away and he knows that he needs to listen because he’s losing his brother again . But he doesn’t catch the words. And he heard Tims footsteps retreating behind him and panic grabs him by the throat and he wheels around and yells Tim’s name and tells him to wait please-
And Tim stops, and so does Dick (he didn’t realize he was running in the first place) Tim’s shoulders are stiff, his voice is low when it comes,
“I thought you trusted me.”
Dick takes a step forward, there’s black pulling at the edges of his vision but he ignores it,
“I did, I do, Tim--I should’ve phrased it better than I did--I just wanted to make sure you got enough rest in between Wayne enterprises and patrol, that you weren’t pushing yourself too hard-”
And that’s when Tim spins around on his heel, finger pointed, no doubt ready to make Dick realize exactly how he’s failed him again (he’s failing all of them again) but he stops. His hand falls, his eyes widen, he goes quiet,
“Oh, Dick- ”
“I understand Tim I do, and I’m sorry, I promise I trust you, and this isn’t like-like last time Bruce was gone-”
“ Dick ”
“It’s just been hard--and I know that’s not an excuse-”
“Dick”
He stops talking, looks up at Tim.
“Dick, you look like--are you okay?”
It catches him off guard for a second. That’s not what he expected Tim to say.
“Wh-I’m fine, why?”
“Because you look like shit. When was the last time you slept?”
“I-” he cuts off because the cave starts swaying around him, black dots cover his vision for a terrifying moment but when he can see again, he’s thankfully still on his feet. Tim looks concerned, one hand outstretched as if to catch him. He straightens up,
“Sorry-long night. I’m fine. I’m sorry about what I said the other week, I should’ve thought about how it sounded.” his arm finds a table and he only lets himself lean a bit . But it’s enough to keep some of his composure. Tim sighs,
“I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry I flew off the handle. But seriously, Dick,” He meets Tim’s gaze, “Get some sleep or something.”
“Sure” he feels disconnected from his body but he nods anyways, “Sure, yeah, we can--I’ll call we can do lunch or something-”
Tim still looks worried, but he agrees, he leaves, and Dick maybe wishes he hadn’t lied as much. Maybe wishes he didn’t lie as much. It’s fine; this isn’t permanent.
-----------------------
Four weeks, he can do four weeks, the mission is on schedule, it’s just four weeks.
Damian and Duke and Steph and Cass and Tim and Jason are all fine. No one gets hurt (except a few scrapes and bruises) no one blows up (a tiff or two but they work it out) most importantly, no one dies outside of bad dreams and anxiety-spirals. Dick has a panic attack that week. He forces himself to breathe until he can stand and drinks a strong brew of tea Alfred used to make him after nightmares when he was a kid. It’s chamomile and something else, he thinks. It’s supposed to be comforting; it makes him ache.
The next day Dick almost takes a bullet to the head, and he has Jason to thank for saving his life (tackling him to the ground and nearly getting shot himself) and he knows he was careless; that he should’ve seen the bullet coming; but he hopes no one thinks too hard about it. He hopes.
Jason sticks around after everyone leaves (Damian is headed to the Kent’s for the week; the kid was wound so tight he jumped at the opportunity when Dick mentioned it) and pulls him aside. He still has the cowl on. Jason doesn’t even have a mask. He knows it doesn’t go unnoticed.
Jason looks away from him to nod a goodbye at Tim and Cass, and waits until the cave is silent to start talking,
“What the hell are you doing, Dick?” it’s not a question. He tries to play dumb,
“I’m not sure what you're talking about,”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about”
Dick can hear the bats chittering off in the dark somewhere, he tries to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth,
“I’m fine Jason, we all get distracted; it was a one-time thing-”
“Then take the damn cowl off and look at me.”
Dick startles,
“What?”
Jason crosses his arms,
“If you have nothing to hide, then stop cowering behind Batman, Grayson.”
Dick can feel his chest tightening; and god, this really isn’t the time ,
“Jay, just go home,” he doesn’t look up at him, “Please”
“You’re going to get yourself killed.” his voice is getting louder, Dick takes steps backwards, “So what is it, Dick? You would have died if I wasn’t there tonight, and what would we all do?”
He doesn’t answer, Jason throws his hands in the air,
“ What would we do? Bruce is incompetent enough, we’re all trainwrecks, Alfred is...” he stops, voice lowering, “Gone…and you’re doing everything but putting a bullseye on your back. Why? ”
Dick feels a lump in his throat, that ache in his chest again, and he knows he can’t do this right now, he can’t do this in front of Jason , he can’t do this. He starts to walk away.
“Dick! You can’t just walk away from this!”
He can, he needs to, he can explain himself when he doesn’t need to be Batman,
His breath is coming faster and he’s glad he stepped away from Jason, and he hopes he’s too pissed to notice how fast his chest is rising and falling,
“God, Dick- just-ugh!”
He hears Jason walk away, he hears the motorcycle screech out of the cave, and it’s what he wanted. Why does it make the feeling in his chest so much worse?
It’s a day or two later he’s called to The Watchtower. He leaves a brief and hopefully neutral message on Jason’s voicemail, asking him to watch out for the others tonight. He knows he will, No matter how frustrating Dick is, Jason stopped taking those things out on other people a long time ago. It’s comforting.
Clark is still gone; and so are Bruce, Diana, Billy, and Zatanna. So Arthur runs the meeting, and it consists of about half Leaguers, and a few former Titans filling in shoes and helping out where needed. Donna is there, Roy hovers with Garth in a back corner, and Wally is across from him at the conference table (of course, Wally’s been the Flash for a while now; like when Dick was Batman for real and not-) the meeting starts and he tries to pay attention; but having even an hour or two to just sit and listen is tricking his mind into thinking rest is an option. Focus has always been a problem for him; after the circus. He doesn’t take meds anymore though, he stopped taking them for a dumb reason, he thinks, probably when he moved out and-
“Batman?”
...damn
“Sorry?” he tries, Arthur repeats himself and Dick answers the question and doesn’t stop listening for the rest of the meeting.
He’s grateful, even just a little, that this is the only task he’s responsible for right now. He answers a couple more questions before the meeting is adjourned, and his mind is already on the rest of the night in Gotham when he stands, and the room spins
And he waits for it to pass.
And it keeps spinning.
Someone says his name, (Donna) someone else says “Batman?”
He tries to find the chair behind him with his hand.
He misses; dark covers his vision, his knees go all the way, someone catches him
Wally
---------------------
Dick doesn’t think it’s a while before he comes to. His head is resting in someone’s lap, he can hear their voice close as they speak in a hushed tone,
“Hey stupid, you with us?” Roy
“I think he’s waking up, yeah” Garth
The acoustics of the room are different, he thinks. It’s smaller, he’s lying on something soft and shit he had patrol tonight and he needed to watch out for the others and-
He sits bolt upright, or, he tries to before an elbow hits him in the ribs and he falls back down against the couch of the Watchtower lounge.
“Yep, he’s awake.”
He groans, the cowl is still up, Donna and Wally and Garth are peering down at him, Roy helps him sit half-up gently.
“Right” says Donna, and for a second all Dick can think about is how much he’d missed her and Wally and Garth and how nice it feels to be leaning on Roy’s shoulder. But then he sees the look on her face and remembers where he is and why he’s there and the warm feeling in his chest drops to the soul of his shoes. He hangs his head,
“Didn’t get a lot of sleep the past couple nights, sorry if I scared you guys or-”
“Cut the shit, wonder boy.” Donna has her arms crossed in front of her, “Jason called Roy, Tim too, hell, Damian reached out to me . This has been going on since Bruce left , hasn’t it?”
He doesn’t say anything,
“ Hasn’t it?”
He can feel the tightness coming back, the stupid, pointless tears threataning to choke him. He doesn’t say anything, and he knows the cowl will keep anything from spilling that he doesn’t want to say.
“Dick,” it’s Wally now, eyes not quite sharp but voice cold, “You can’t just push everyone away, not this time,” he takes a breath, “We’re your friends, and we care about you. And you can’t just—you can’t just go off and get yourself killed because your pride keeps you from taking a damn night off every once in a while” Dick flinches just a bit, “Don’t you understand that? We need you, you asshole, so stop running yourself into the ground”
Dick knows his hands are trembling right now, and that his shoulders are shaking as he hunches forward, he knows everyone can hear the breath he wheezes in, and see his arms come up to wrap around himself. He knows the tears are falling from underneath the cowl, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t try to get rid of them, he’s-
“Tired.” his voice is hoarse and thick with emotion, “I’m tired, I’m tired ,”
He takes another stuttering breath, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I just-I’m tired of being the one that’s--the one that-” he goes to rake his fingers through his hair and pushes the cowl away, Roy’s arms are around him and he clings to the warmth and the smell of cinnamon and the comfort, however temporary,
“I’m tired of being-the one that’s okay-- I know it’s--it’s selfish.” he closes his eyes as if it makes the confession easier, “But sometimes--it's I’m just--it just feels--I’m so tired and it would be selfish--even if--even if I-”
“Shh” Roy says. There’s hands on his shoulder and someone else sitting on the couch next to him and god, he’s going to have to explain himself later, and-
“Dick?” He looks up at Donna. One of his best friends. One of four people who know him better than anyone else alive.
She’s crouching in front of him, a sad look comes across her face as she smooths back some of his hair,
“Oh, Dickie” he leans into the touch, another few tears fall.
Another voice comes from the side of him,
“I’m sorry for yelling,” Wally is leaned against his side, Garth next to him on the far end of the couch. He shifts so Roy is sitting next to him, and hugs Wally. He squeezes back,
“You’re my best friend, and I don’t know what I would do if…” his voice trails off into emotion and Dick just nods because he does understand, because he lost Wally for nearly a year and he missed him like a piece of him was gone, like he missed his parents, and Bruce, and Donna, like he misses Alfred.
“I miss Alfred.” he chokes out, and Garth wraps his arms around them and Donna wedges herself into the cushions and Dick just rambles and cries.
“I hate--being Batman--m’ sorry for everything and-”
“Grayson, say you’re sorry one more time and I’m locking you in Titans Tower for a week.”
He half-laughs, and just lets himself be here . Surrounded by his friends.
“I called Tim.” Donna says, “Told him you were staying here for the night after you passed out in the conference room.”
Dick’s too tired to be offended so he just nods, head on Wally’s shoulder,
“Wait--here?”
“There’s space,” she keeps playing with his hair, “It’ll be like a slumber party back when we were kids.”
Dick chuffs, shoulders somehow releasing even more tension,
“Yeah...when we were kids”
They stay in a guest suite in the Watchtower that night, and fall asleep on the couch watching some old cheesy movie. Dick feels relaxed for the first time in weeks, he knows what he has to say--what apologies he owes to Tim and to Jason. Thanks he owes them too.
Batman disappears from Gotham for a week and a half before Bruce’s return (less his choice, more a coercion from his friends and family) and they talk.
About Batman and everything that happened during Bruce’s jaunt through time, about Alfred, about being safer. Dicks knows Bruce knows he’s a hypocrite; but they make it through the talk. Bruce apologizes and, okay, that catches him off guard.
He works it out with Jason and Tim, he says his sorries; but everyone leaves relatively emotionally satisfied and not hating one another. Donna comes by to check on him. He feels okay. It’s enough.