Crimson Flood

CH 9: Tim likes superhero movies, Damian says no

"Hey, little wing? We're doing movie night." Tim said, poking his head through the door.

Dick looked up, quickly closing his laptop where tab upon tab of news footage had been pulled up, all detailing the rampage of Crimson. Tim did not need to know what he was looking at. "What are we watching?" He asked, gritting his teeth as he lifted his body with shaking arms, inching off the bed and toward the wheelchair.

"You know I can help with that, right?" Tim entered the room, a frown spreading across his lips as he reached for Dick. Dick flinched back and Tim's frown deepened as hurt seeped into his eyes.

"I don't need your help. I need to learn how to do this myself." He insisted, hating how Tim's hurt expression made his chest ache. This was for the better. Or at least, that is what he told himself. It was for Tim's protection.

He had already nearly killed him once.

Dick made it into his chair, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he kept his gaze averted from Tim.

Tim sighed, the sound loud enough to make Dick flinch. "I wish you would just let us help, Dickie... we want to help. It's not like we think you're weak or incapable. You survived for three years with that thing inside you. We know you're strong. We just... we're just trying to make up for how useless we were with rescuing you."

"You didn't tell me what we're watching." Dick mumbled, putting extra effort into keeping his tone cold as he snapped his fingers, the large, black, form of Titus jumping down from the bed and standing close to his chair as Dick began to steer out of the room.

"Bruce said you can pick." Tim said with another sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat as he trailed after Dick into the living room. He missed how Dick had been before, missed the playful and energetic kid who had spent his time jumping off walls and pestering him and the others constantly. It had been nice having him around. Now, everywhere Dick went, gloominess persisted. It was heartbreaking to see the empty shell that his brother had become. Tim hated it.

Dick continued to ignore the older male as he guided his chair toward the couches where Bruce and Damian were already sitting. Family movie nights were something that Dick had insisted on when he was younger; back when Jason was still alive and Dick himself was not dying. It had been nice back then.

Now it felt more like a chore, what with how much effort Dick had to put in to properly ignore his family.

He could not let them get close.

He could not risk hurting them.

Still, when Bruce patted the spot on the couch next to him with a welcoming smile, Dick pulled his chair up closer and slipped into the empty space, letting Bruce wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him closer.

The closeness was something that the old Dick would have reveled in.

Now it was all he could do not to pull away.

Because as much as hurting his brothers was hard, it was nearly impossible to do with Bruce.

After all, Bruce was the man who had taken him in when he had nothing, who had cared for him when he awoke from nightmares, who had taught him that he could be happy again after his parents' deaths. Consciously hurting Bruce would be a betrayal of everything Dick stood for. Not that he had not tried though. Bruce was like a wall; strong, immovable, unchanging. Nothing Dick said or did seemed to scare him away.

That alone was comforting.

Bruce would hate him if he hurt his brothers.

Dick moved closer to Bruce as Tim joined them on the couch, widening the gap between them, the ache in his chest spreading as he caught Tim's hurt expression.