Dick Grayson One-Shots { requests open }

is it ooc? yes. do i care? nah not really lol

——  •  ꧁꧂  •  ——

𝗦𝗵𝗶𝗽 (𝗶𝗳 𝗮𝗻𝘆): n/a

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1181

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Dick goes off the rails when the BatBros get hurt.

𝗧𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: death, self neglect, all that jazz

—— • ꧁꧂ • ——

Dick couldn't tell you what happened even if he wanted to. All he knew was that one moment, they were fine. The next... well, they were unmoving on the ground.

Bruce had been nowhere to be found— as always. So Dick, pushing away his panic and fear, had lifted each of his unconscious brothers in his arms and carried them all the way back to the Manor.

You can imagine the look on poor Alfred's face when he saw his oldest young master carrying the three unconscious younger into the Batcave, about to collapse from exertion and exhaustion.

"My word, Master Dick!" the man'd exclaimed. "What on Earth happened?"

Dick had just looked at him with a hollow expression and uttered, "I don't- I don't know."

The butler and the college student got the three younger teenagers situated on hospital beds, trying without much luck to determine what was wrong with them.

Now, two weeks had passed and Tim, Jason, and Damian were still unconscious. Bruce, of course, had eventually come back and to say he was furious with Dick for letting his brothers get hurt the way they did... well, that would be an understatement. However, Bruce's lecture was not necessary because even the stupidest person could tell Dick was repeating that lecture to himself every second of the goddamn day.

He only left their sides to use the bathroom and take an occasional shower. Other than that, he was glued there. Alfred couldn't get him to leave no matter what he tried. The boy wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, wouldn't train. He wouldn't even talk.

Finally, Bruce had enough of it.

"Dick," he walked into the med-bay where the teen in question was slouched over Damian's bed. "It's been long enough. You need to clean up, get some rest, and get back to your normal activities."

Dick just shot Bruce a tired glare, "I'm not leaving until they wake up."

Bruce remained stoic as ever, giving his son a mild bat-glare, "None of us know when that will be. Unless you want to be banned from patrol for the foreseeable future, I suggest you do what I say."

Dick gave a light scoff, "Do it, Bruce. Ground me from patrol. See if I give a fuck."

Bruce was almost dumbfounded. Dick never talked to him— or anyone, for that matter— like that. He was always Mister Polite and Loving.

"Richard," Bruce came close to growling out. "Your little pity party isn't going to do anything to help them. You messed up and it got them hurt. There's nothing you can do about it now. Unless you want them to be even more disappointed in you when they wake up, I suggest you do your duties as Richard Grayson."

"Master Bruce," Alfred warned from across the room, giving Bruce a pointed glare.

"What?" Bruce rumbled. "You want me to baby him? Tell him it wasn't his fault and there wasn't anything he could've done? That's not the goddamn truth, Alfred. He wasn't watching them the way he should have and now they're in comas. That's no one's fault but his."

If steam could have come out of Alfred's ears, it would've. He stormed over to his surrogate son. "You listen here, Master Bruce, and you listen well. That boy did nothing wrong. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and outplanned. Not to mention, you were no where to be found. So if you want to blame someone, perhaps you should go look in a mirror."

Bruce stood there, shock written all over his chiseled features. "You can't talk to m-"

"The hell I can't," Alfred gave Bruce his own variation of the bat-glare. "That child has been through enough. If you don't have anything nice to say, I suggest you turn around and leave before I make you."

Bruce, wide-eyed, turned to his oldest son, "Dick, I-"

"Master Bruce," Alfred rumbled, eyes shooting daggers at the younger man.

Bruce shot him a half-hearted glare, "I wasn't going to say anything mean, Alfred."

Alfred remained silent, but watched carefully with his arms threateningly crossed.

Bruce sighed and turned back to his kid, "Dick, I... I'm s-" he had to choke the word out, "sorry. I may have been a bit harsh when I first returned home... and every day since then."

Alfred, a content smile on his face, turned and began softly whistling as he went on with his dusting.

Dick just looked up at his adoptive dad with guilt-ridden, blue eyes, "You were right, B. It is my fault they're like this. If- if I'd been watching them, I could've taken the hit instead. I- I could've pushed them out of the way, I could've made them stay home! But, I didn't. And, n- now... I don't even know if they'll wake up..."

Bruce sighed, closing his eyes for the briefest moment before reopening them and looking at his beaten-down son, guilt beginning to course through his veins. He'd just been so caught up in his own grief... he hadn't seen the damage he was causing. "Dickie, I was wrong. This isn't your fault. I was just angry and worried and I took it out on you. But, please, believe me— you did not do this. You're only one person. You can't save everyone."

A singular tear slipped down Dick's sun-kissed face, his sapphire eyes glistening with unshed emotion. "It doesn't matter. It's my job to protect them and I failed."

Bruce laid a hand on his kid's shoulder and forced the teenager to look at him. "Listen to me, Dick. This isn't your fault and I know if they were awake right now, they'd say the same thing."

Dick didn't look like he believed his father for even the briefest moment, but nodded shakily nonetheless.

Bruce ran his fingers through the boy's raven hair, sighing softly, "C'mon, Chum. I'm gonna take you upstairs and we're gonna get you something to eat, okay?"

Dick hurriedly shook his head, "No- no, I'm not leaving them."

Bruce exhaled softly, massaging his forehead, "Dick..."

Dick glared tiredly at his father, "Bruce, I'm not-"

"For Christ's sake, Dickhead," a groggy voice started, "just listen to the man. I can't take your arguing any longer."

Dick's face immediately lit up as he darted over to Jason's bed, tears of relief streaming down his face. He threw himself onto the younger boy, trapping him in a tight hug.

Jason, however, looked highly comfortable, "Uh, let go please?"

Dick refused and just kept his tight grip on his younger brother, "No- no, I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

"Alright..." Bruce sighed, grabbing onto Dick's highly underweight body and lifting it from Jason's bed. He gave his younger son a slight nod of 'I'm glad you're not dead' and dragged his older from the med-bay, Dick kicking and screaming the whole way.