Just Robin Oneshots Part 2

Angsty break

*CRACKS KNUCKLES* time to live vicariously through a fictional character because I have no other healthy coping mechanism

EDIT: TW INJURIES

This was it. He was gonna finally take them up on the offer. Dick was so tired of feeling so low and maybe if he just told someone how he felt he'd feel better. He couldn't really disclose everything with the councilors at school neither did he trust them. Something about fighting Scarecrow every other night of the week turned him off them no matter where they got their degree or how much they insisted they weren't into cahoots with the villain. He came home from school and looked around. He needed to tell them before that nagging voice in the back of his head convinced him otherwise. It took a while to whittle it down to whisper and he didn't want that to be all for not. There was no one to greet him which wasn't too odd. He heard someone talking in the dining room and shrugged to himself. It didn't really matter where the conversation was just that he could talk to someone. "Hey B, can we talk-" he paused when he noticed it wasn't just the older in the room. The table was surrounded by men dressed in expensive suits and they all gave him unhappy looks for interrupting them. "You havin a playdate?" he asked, trying to make the atmosphere less tense. His mentor tutted at him. 

"I did tell you there'd be a business meeting tonight," Bruce told him. "Don't you ever listen?"

"I'm sorry, it slipped my mind. Can't you take a sec-"

"Come along young sir, we can't have you interrupting them a moment longer," Alfred said. He appeared out of nowhere but before Dick knew it he'd been ushered into the hallway. He attempted to ask the butler if they could speak for a moment yet found he'd disappeared again.

They told him he could come to them at any time and they'd help him through it. A promise was a promise in his books. This was any time. He felt awful. They were supposed to help him but they just shooed him away like a stray cat trying to get food. He didn't have some sort of contagious disease yet they acted like if he stayed there even a second longer they'd all be infected. He glared at the spot and balled up his fists. So they made empty promises. Fine. He didn't need them anyway. He'd lived life on his own before. After all, they weren't the one who kept him upbeat, it was him. They didn't help him through the minefield of grief, he did that all on his own. If he was feeling shitty, then he'd figure out to help himself without them. He stormed upstairs and threw his bag down, slamming the door after him. He didn't need them. Dick tried to think about how else he could get his feelings out. He didn't really feel confident in his vent art so getting rid of his feelings through that method wasn't enough. Music sometimes helped but he couldn't really scream the lyrics of ABBA without things getting weird. Screaming, in general, wouldn't work but it did bring him to another idea. Whenever he was training, he got out most of his frustration. That was definitely what he was feeling a lot. Everything seemed to lead to frustration or full-blown anger. Sometimes he would force himself to be angry because it was much easier than being sad. He could be angry at a lot of things. He could do what he wanted and say he was angry. The only problem with depending on training wouldn't be a permanent solution. He couldn't train without someone watching him and he didn't want someone to be there whilst he got his anger out. Despite how bitter he felt towards Bruce and Alfred, it'd suck if he said something to them that hurt their feelings. He needed somewhere he could get the anger out without hurting someone. At that moment, he glanced out the window and saw the trees. He walked over to the window so he could see more of the garden. There was a small shed near the bottom of the garden that was used for storing logs that'd been cut down for the winter. The metal of the ax glinted in the limited sunlight. That could do some damage. Then the thought hit him. Maybe he could cut some logs when he was angry. It couldn't be too hard to chop a few longs when he could fight people twice his size without breaking a sweat. There would also be a productive element to it so Bruce couldn't be mad. Could he?