Dick Grayson One-Shots { requests open }

fuck bruce

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𝗦𝗵𝗶𝗽 (𝗶𝗳 𝗮𝗻𝘆): n/a

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1335

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Bruce mistakes Dick's symptoms of depression as symptoms of laziness. (just a lil message, everyone's symptoms of depression are different. there isn't one specific way it shows itself. if you notice someone acting the way dick does in this chapter, maybe check up on them and see if their doing okay. sometimes, people with depression don't even have the social energy to answer a simple text message. staying alive takes everything they have. so if you think someone is being lazy or acting off, it can't hurt you just to check in on them and see what's up. my pm's are always open iffu need me <3 akf everyone <3)

𝗧𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: d3pression, s*icide

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"Where's Dick?" Bruce asked as he looked around at all of his children sat around the breakfast table.

"Bed," Jason replied, mouth stuffed full of scrambled eggs.

Bruce furrowed his brow in frustration, "Again? This is getting ridiculous. Just because it's summer vacation doesn't mean he can waste the day away in bed. He has responsibilities to us and this city." He started to get up, none of the siblings daring to utter a word in argument as he angrily stomped up the stairs. The loud rumbling of his steps didn't stop until he reached his eldest's door, knocking loud enough to shake the whole Manor. "Dick! Downstairs, now!"

"I don't wanna," Dick responded, voice muffled and cloudy.

Bruce growled to himself, swinging the door open and charging over to his ward's bed. He looked down at the raven curls sticking out from under the navy blue comforter. "Richard Grayson, I did not raise you to be this- this lazy bum! Get your ass out of bed and downstairs to the breakfast table now!"

The seventeen-year-old just whimpered and buried himself deeper within the blankets, "Please jus' leave me alone. M' too tired. I can't."

"Richard," Bruce growled, voice low and warning. He made it clear that he was not playing around and that if Dick didn't get up right that second, there'd be serious consequences to pay.

"Bruce, please," Dick sounded on the verge of tears. "I'm telling you, I can't. I'm too tired."

"You are not too tired, Richard Grayson!" Bruce exploded. "You know how I know?! Because you've been in this bed for days on end! How could you possibly be tired when you don't do anything?!"

"Bruce..." Dick whimpered in a pleading tone.

"No! Don't Bruce me, young man!" Bruce yelled, letting his anger get the best of him. "I want you dressed and downstairs within five minutes! You won't like what happens if you're not!" Without giving Dick another chance to argue, Bruce stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

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Exactly five minutes later, Dick staggered into the dining room. He was dressed in an oversized hoodie— hands shoved in it's pockets and hood pulled over his head— and long gym shorts. It was certainly not what Bruce had meant when he said 'dressed,' but it would do for the moment.

"Nice of you to finally join us," Bruce growled. No one missed the dark look he shot their oldest brother.

Dick didn't say anything, but just sat down at his designated seat and seemed to curled into himself like a crab in a shell.

The rest of his siblings exchanged wide-eyed looks, wondering what was going on and what Bruce was going to do about it.

"Here you are, Master Dick," Alfred smiled endearingly at the teen as he set a plate of food down in front of said boy. However, Dick just ignored it and continued to hide behind the shadow his hood created.

"What do you say to Alfred, Dick?" Bruce warned his son.

"Thanks," Dick mumbled, still not showing his face nor moving.

"Not a problem, young sir," Alfred studied the boy with a concerned expression, whilst Bruce just continued to grow angrier and angrier with each passing second.

"Alfred slaved his morning away making that," Bruce stately lowly, gesturing to Dick's food. "Aren't you going to eat it?"

Dick seemed to sink further into himself, "M'not hungry."

"It doesn't matter if you're hungry or not, Richard," Bruce growled angrily. "Alfred prepared that food for you and you will eat it."

"Master Bruce-"

"No, Alfred!" Bruce slammed his hand against the table. "Dick needs to learn that he's lucky for the things he has and not appreciating them is being selfish and rude!"

"Father-" Damian started to defend his older brother, but was, unsurprisingly, promptly cut off by the person he was trying to argue with.

"Stay out of this, Damian! Dick doesn't need you to fight his battles for him! He's nearly a grown man!" He turned to the older boy, "Isn't that right, Dick?! You wanna be a big boy and do adult things?! Well, it can't go both ways! You can either grow up and take accountability for the things you have and are responsible for, or you can lay in bed all day and ignore me when I talk to you! Which is it?!"

A soft sniffle could be heard from the hood of Dick's hoodie, "M'going upstairs." He started to get up and head for the steps to the second floor, but was promptly stopped by Bruce, who cut him off before he could even make it ten steps. He towered over his cowering son.

"You were not excused, Richard! Sit back down and explain to me what the hell is wrong with you right now!"

Dick, evidently fed up with Bruce's hate and yelling, violently pulled his hood down at glared at his father before screaming with a cracking and trembling voice. "You wanna know what's wrong, Bruce?! Fine!" Tears streamed down his face, "I'm so fucking tired all the time, I feel like I can't even move! It takes so much fucking energy to live, I'm drained all the time! The only time I get any sort of peace is when I can finally shut my mind up long enough to sleep! So, yeah! I've been spending a lot of time in bed! Because the alternative is locking myself in the bathroom and swallowing a bottle of pills! I'm sorry I'm not the man you want me to be! Really, I am! But I can't— I can't— be your perfect, little solider when it takes everything in me to keep breathing!"

Bruce stood there shell-shocked for so long, the siblings watching from the table feared he'd suffered a stroke. Finally, he managed to pick his jaw up off the floor and muster a reply to his son's rant. "That's really how you feel...?"

"Yes, Bruce!" Dick violently rubbed at his eyes and chewed at his lip. "That is really how I feel!"

"I- I'm sorry. I-"

"May I be excused?" Dick's tone was sharper than a knife.

"Dick-"

"May I... be excused?" Dick was just short of hissing the words.

Bruce gave a slow nod, a horrified look on his face, "Yeah- yeah, you're excused, Dickie." The older man swallowed his guilt as he watched his son's slumped over body stagger over to the staircase and disappear off into his room.

"You're a fucking asshole," Jason hissed at his father as he and his siblings went to carry their plates to the kitchen.

"That wasn't cool, B," Tim looked like a disappointed dad as he followed his older brother.

Cass didn't say anything but just shot her father figure a glare as she stepped through the doorway.

"You should apologize to him once he calms down," Steph suggested with an unreadable look as she trailed after her sister.

Damian was the last to leave, stopping in front of his father with a glare that would scare even the strongest of men, "If you ever talk to him that way again, you will not live to see morning. Understand?"

Bruce guiltily glanced off to the side, "Yeah... I understand..."