~Clipped Wings~ A YJ fanfic

<<CH~3>> Used to be

Publicity interviews are the worst. They ask you all kinds of tasteless questions and latch onto tiny, useless details, Trying to get any stories they can, to the point where they will straight up lie about the facts. They're like vampires that feed on the drama in famous peoples lives.

Needless to say, Dick Grayson, does not like to be interviewed.
Nevertheless, he was a hot topic in gossip circles around Gotham. He, however, hadn't made an appearance in the media for months.
And people were starting to spread rumors about it.

'He must be dead.'
'I'll bet Wayne has him locked up somewhere.'
'He was sent to school abroad.'
'Bruce sent him back to an orphanage.'

None of which were true. He was (relatively) healthy, and is still living in Wayne manor. However there are reasons he has been taken out of the limelight.
And the fact that Bruce had to pay off the reporters to not talk about him, made him feel all the guiltier. He was being homeschooled now. Bruce decided to take him out of school because he was having trouble with people.

He used to be great with people. But that's what trauma (and a little mind altering chemicals) will do to ya.

He doesn't even look the same as he did before... no way he could pass for normal (As Dick Grayson anyway. He could probably pass for a pale Caucasian kid now, the problem is, everyone knows he isn't Caucasian.)

Dick woke slowly. Taking his time getting up and getting ready for the day. He slipped out of his clothes on the way to his en suite bathroom. As he stepped in he couldn't help but glance to where the mirror is, covered with a sheet.

Alfred had found him in the corner rocking back and forth, trying to calm himself down, on the floor of his bathroom one day after Dick had caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Just remembering his own appearance sends a chill down his spine. He tries not to look at his too pale skin as he washes it.

He quickly dries himself off and puts on some clean clothes, then makes his way downstairs to the kitchen, where Alfred is already setting out breakfast.

And his pills.
'They're to help you to stay calm.'

He hated his medication. A special formula Bruce had developed. It always makes him feel sluggish and tired, And persists until early evening.

'I'm working on a better formula. But for now you need to bear with me.'

Its better than the alternative, he supposes. Doesn't mean he has to like it.

"Good morning, master Dick. How are you this morning?"
"Hey, Alf. I'm doing okay I guess. Better than last weekend, at least."

Alfred looks at him with slight pity in his eyes.

'He can't help it, Dick.' He thought to himself.

"Would you like some breakfast?"

He wouldn't. The idea of putting anything in his body makes him feel nauseas.
"Sure, thanks."
Alfred has a slight smile on his face. Dick hasn't eaten well for a week, after all.

Bruce walks in a few minutes later, wearing slacks and a button up, with a tie hanging loosely on his shoulders.
"Good morning, Dick, Alfred."
"Good morning, master Bruce."
"mornin'." Dick grumbles.
Bruce looks over to where he's glaring intensely at his small barely touched plate of food.
"Barbara will be coming over to help tutor you later today."
"S'that so."
Bruce sighs softly and moves to stand next to dicks seat.
"Dickie, have you taken your medicine yet?"
"Dun' wanna."
"Come on chum. I know you don't like it, but you need to. You know how awful you'll feel if you don't."
Dick sits there quietly, still staring at his plate like its the cause of all his problems.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he reaches for his pills and his glass of apple juice.
"I'm proud of you, y'know."
Bruce said, causing Dick to raise an eyebrow at him.
"...why?"
Bruce smiles sadly at him, eyes a little watery.
"Because you've been so strong, made so much progress."
Dick thinks back on these words for the rest of the day.
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Authors note,
Tbh I've had this chapter half done for months, but just couldn't figure out how to finish it. So, I hope you like it!
~<3