Where Are The People That Accuse Me (The Ones Who Beat Me Down And Bruise Me)

Chapter two

Dick Grayson was a man of many words. He chatted a lot, told stupid jokes, bad puns, horrible rhythms.
He spoke of emotions and family, of feelings and love.

He communicated by talking, by using the nickname 'Alfie' for Alfred, thanking him for always looking out for them, no matter how unreasonable or reckless they were, by calling Bruce dad, checking in every week to make sure the man hadn't overworked himself again.

He conveyed his devotion to his siblings by telling Jason he trusted him, showing interest in the younger man's life, and talking to Cass for hours, not having any expectations of her. She could just listen, snuggling up against him, and he still knew she loved him. Body language was her way of communication like his were words.

He expressed his care for Tim by believing in his plans, complimenting the boy again and again for his genius, for everything he did right in training, by showing Tim he was needed in this family. Dick knew how hard his childhood had been when praise was a hard thing to come by.

Steph was the easiest to communicate with. Sometimes, they would sit for hours on the chimney of some random building, just talking. He'd ask about her day, her troubles and hopes and hero work, as well as her civilian life. Despite all the grief the girl had experienced, she was open and forthcoming, not as closed off as the rest of their dysfunctional family.

And Damian... Damian had taken months of work. Hours upon hours of careful words, coaxing promises and soft tones. The kid - (his kid) - had never experienced love before, had never been touched for the sake of softness, of hugs and kisses to the forehead. His Little D had been raised by harsh fists and even harsher words. Damian had scoffed at declarations of love, had this look of confusion, of not understanding, in his eyes.

But Dick had managed to gently push past his walls of carefully crafted self-preservation, had spun a web of 'I love you's, of 'good work, Lil D' of warm hugs, and 'you don't need to be without flaws, you are perfect to me'. He had built a cushion for his Robin, a safety net Dick wished someone would have cared enough to put up for him.

Dick talked a lot, but he didn't tell.

Because Dick Grayson might be a man of words, but he was also a man of secrets.

He used his voice to support and help and comfort, to save everyone but himself.

Maybe it was guilt, maybe pressure, too much responsibility, punishment, or maybe he was just downright masochistic.

But whatever the reason, Dick Grayson did not talk about his own fears and pains and night terrors, his self-worth issues, thoughts of not good enough, your fault, do it better playing on repeat inside his head.

He told himself he did so not to burden his family, heaven knows, they all had enough trauma to deal with. When he woke at night, feeling trapped, tight-chested, with the sensation of spider-like fingers ghosting over his skin, touching and tearing, he forcefully pushed his panic down, put a lock on it and trapped it deep inside, so no one would ever know, could ever see.

Because if they did, Dick's carefully crafted illusion of being untouchable, unbreakable, undefilable would shatter like glass, and who knew who would get cut in the process.

He was the Golden Boy, the first Robin, the first sidekick in the whole hero community. He lead his first team when he was fifteen, but had taken responsibility so much sooner.

First Gotham, the people who were filled with relief when they saw his yellow cape flash in the night, then Donna and Garth and Wally and Roy - Donna, who was dead now, who left him like so many others had, who he had let down and who had given her life for him- then Blüdhaven, where he had hoped he could make things right, a place where he wanted to start over, make no mistakes, show everyone he was who he was expected to be - who was he kidding though? Haly's, the reporter Desmond had sniped, dozens of people dying in the crossfire of the war the monster-man had waged on him and his city; all of that was on him.