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It would never stop.
This... this pain... this hurt would never stop.
Dick had grown up with it, had let it cover him like a blanket, shielding him from everything unimportant. Leslie had explained that he got depressive episodes, that they weren't anything to be afraid or ashamed of.
Why would he be ashamed of them? Why would he be afraid of them? He was more afraid of what would happen afterwards, how he'd continue live in some sort of naive candy-land where all was well, where he forgot what a huge failure he was.
He would admit that the episodes were easier to handle when he was younger, when he didn't have anyone who depended on him, when there was just Bruce and Alfred. Now he had siblings that looked up to him; blinded by his undying light, unknowing to the darkness lingering inside of him. Some days Dick almost felt sorry for them, sorry about the fact that they worshiped something so broken, something so fake: a boy playing dress-up.
That was all he was.
Dick was a born performer and his favourite trick was to make the boy turn into a hero. The only issue was that it was temporary, everything was temporary. It didn't matter how good of a performer he was, that he could even fool himself because it wasn't real.
None of it was.
And it isn't really Dick's fault, is it? It's not his fault that the world decided to use his performance as a synonym for reality, it wasn't his fault that the audience refused to leave when it was over, it wasn't his fault that it never lasted.
It never lasted.
.
Ever since Dick had moved to Bludhaven he'd taken care of his depressive episodes alone. There were rare times when he'd wake up and Donna would be in his apartment, cleaning it or trying to get him to take his meds and eat something. Donna was usually assisted by Wally or Roy, but those bridges were burnt a long time ago. Donna and Wally were gone and Roy might as well be. There was a short time when Jason would come but that was before he died and Dick didn't blame him. Jason had been one of the first to see through his act.
Dick had been alone for a long time, it wasn't like this was anything new. He'd call in sick for work when he felt it coming and then he proceeded to hide in his room until it was over, until he no longer had the urge to grab his razor in the bathroom or jump from the living room window.
This time was different.
Dick was laying in his bed, buried underneath the covers, hoping that they might just swallow him whole so he didn't have to continue to exist in this miserable life.
The sound of his window opening doesn't bother him, doesn't make him want to get up and check who it is, doesn't get him to feel anything.
"Grayson?"
Damian.
Dick knows that there should be some sense of panic, that he should feel something, it's just that he doesn't.
Damian's quiet footsteps enter his bedroom and Dick can almost feel the confusion radiating-off Damian.
"Grayson? Are you ill? Why have you not replied to our messages?" Damian almost sounded nervous, not that Dick particularly cared.
"Grayson, stop this childishness. We needed you on patrol yesterday. Drake hasn't heard from you either and I demand that you tell me what is going on with you." Damian's voice was rising slowly.
"Leave me alone." Dick's cold voice caused Damian's breath to hitch and Dick closes his eyes.
"Grayson-"
"Shut the fuck up and leave me alone Damian !" Dick suddenly yells.
He doesn't want anyone. Especially not someone from his family. His family sucked. They were just as blinded by his performance as everyone else, if not more.
Damian grows quiet, then as if by the flick of a switch, Damian pulls Dick's covers off him. Dick lets out an inhuman shout of rage, turning with eyes blazing of anger towards Damian.
"What don't you fucking understand!? I told you to leave me alone! Get out !" Dick yells, getting up from his bed and towering over Damian.
He's tired and almost impossibly angry at everything. Why couldn't everyone just leave him alone?! Why couldn't they just let him be? Why could the show never end? Why could his life never end?
Damian's face was full of shock and hurt.
Good.
Maybe he'd finally understand, maybe he'd be one of the few to leave - to stop believing in miracles, in tricks.
Damian leaves his bedroom and Dick walks over to his bedroom-door, slamming it shut after Damian. Dick moves back to his bed, grabbing his covers as he goes. He pulls them over himself again, laying back down to face the walls.
The anger was still burning in his body, the unimaginable anger wanting him to finally hurt someone, to just bleed his hurt into something else - into someone else. He was tired of carrying this show on his own, he just wants someone to take over, someone to make it stop, someone that would tell the audience to get the fuck out of here.
Another couple of minutes pass when there's a knock on his door.
"I told you to leave me alone!" Dick shouts, kicking his foot into his wall.
The door opens but Dick doesn't turn around. It wouldn't be Dick's fault if Damian got burned by his fire, it wasn't his fault that the audience refused to stand back.
"Damn Goldie, no need to go all evil on the demon." Jason's voice causes Dick to sit up and turn towards him.
"What are you doing here?" Dick grunts out, eyes dark and a scowl was present on his face.
"Demon called me. Where are your meds at?" Jason asks, walking up to Dick's nightstand, opening the drawer.
"Fuck off." Dick mutters, turning back towards the wall.
"You're shaking. How long has it been since you ate or slept?" Jason asks in his normal 'I don't give a fuck ' tone.
"Isn't your schedule packed already? Taking care of your drug-addict friend? Tell me, how long ago was it that Roy was high with Lian?" Dick muses and he hears Jason leave his room without a word.
Good.
Dick didn't want any of them here.
"They were in your bathroom. Here, take two of each one." Jason's voice states and Dick feels the pill-containers being thrown onto his bed along with something heavier, a water bottle.
Dick huffs, turning back towards Jason.
"Fine." Dick sends him a challenging look, grabbing his containers and opening each one.
Dick gets out of the bed, his legs shaking with effort of keeping him up as he push past Jason in the doorway. Damian was sitting on his couch, looking at him with scared pathetic eyes.
"Grayson?"
Dick opens his living room window before throwing the containers out of it.
"Fuck Dick-"
Jason tackles him but it's too late. His pills are gone, are becoming nothing more than dust on the ground.
"Can you leave me alone now?" Dick mutters, pushing Jason off of him and stumbling back to his room.
"Fucking shit. This is bad I need to call Bruce." Jason mutters after Dick slams his door shut for a second time.
He buries himself back into the warmth of his bed and hopes that they'll finally leave him alone.
.
There's another knock on his door and Dick decides to ignore it. Whoever Jason called wouldn't be able to help, wouldn't be able to do anything about this.
Couldn't do anything about the actual truth. Dick Grayson; a fraud, a kid that consists of nothing more than the trauma he'd endured.
"Chum?"
His door opens and Dick groans.
"How many fucking times do I need to tell you to leave me alone?!" Dick snarls, pulling his covers tighter around himself.
"We need yo take you to the manor." Bruce's voice causes Dick to huff.
"Yeah sure. Try and see what happens."
"Chum, Jason called and told us what happened. We're concerned that you might hurt yourself if you don't get-"
"A fucking babysitter? I'm fucking fine as I am! I don't want anyone so leave me the fuck alone! Not like you've had any problems with that in the past." Dick snorts at his last comment, remembering the time when he'd moved to Bludhaven.
How Bruce had been both angry and disappointed, how Dick had cried almost every night when he'd called for Bruce without anyone answering. How his father had abandoned him just like his parents, just like everyone who didn't like when Dick decided to go against the script - to do something unexpected.
"Chum we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It's your choice." Bruce murmurs and Dick lets out a humourless laugh.
"Bullshit, this- this is your fucking bullshit Bruce! You tell me that this is my choice! You make me think that I'm in some sort of control! Well I'm not. I know that you'll force me to the manor either way. You're just too self-entered to notice how you fuck up all of your kids."
Dick hears Jason's low whistle in the living room, the way Bruce grows still and quiet.
"Now fuck off." Dick spits out, turning to face Bruce's deep fucked-up eyes.
"Chum, we both know that you will hurt yourself if we leave." Bruce murmurs and Dick chuckles.
"I promise that you won't have to carry my death like you carry your fucking parents'. I've been fucked up from the start Bruce, nothing you need to be concerned about. Now-"
Dick doesn't get to finish.
Bruce jams a needle into his throat, pushing in the sedative.
"I'm sorry chum." Bruce murmurs and Dick lets out a strangled sound of anger and hurt.
Bruce gently lowers him down on the bed and Dick wants to spit at him, wants to punch him, yell and scream but his body was growing heavy; his limbs uncooperative and weak.
"I'm sorry." Bruce murmurs as Dick's eyes fall shut.
.
Sometimes Dick wonders if he's always been like this. He remembers a time when he was so engrossed in his performance, a time when he really believed that he was flying. A time when he was told that he really was a bird - flying through the air, soaring high up in the sky over fields full of people looking up at him.
Then he remembers the hunters, the ones wanting to shoot him down and suddenly he wasn't flying anymore. He was reminded that his wings were nothing more than outstretched arms wearing nothing more than clothing, his feathers falling off one by one. His parents' wings breaking along with the rest of their bodies.
That's all they were; bodies.
Dick wished that he'd stopped pretending after, that the magic would have faded along with the cheer of the audience - but no. He was stuck in a role he never asked for, thrusts into a never-ending spotlight.
"Master Richard? I have some soup for you." Alfred's voice forces Dick back to the now.
Dick stays quiet, the anger slipping away along with his thoughts. His room was dark and quiet. Finally, no spotlight, no audience.
His door opens and Dick hears Alfred walking inside but Dick stays with his face and body angled towards his wall.
"Would you like some music Master Richard? I could ask Master Bruce to wheel in the tv from the living room?" Alfred suggests and Dick closes his eyes, shaking his head as he curls up in a small ball.
"Master Bruce also got you some more medication, if you'd just take these while I'm still here." Alfred's voice was gentle but Dick refuses to move.
Taking his meds wouldn't change anything, he'd still be a fraud, a performer.
"Master Richard, please." Alfred's voice had turned less composed and more pleading.
Dick ignores him.
He hears Alfred leaving, gently shutting the door behind him.
Good. Dick doesn't want anyone, doesn't need anything. His rage was gone and everything remaining was the cold emptiness. Somewhere deep in his mind he knew that this was normal. That his episodes would start with a total depression, move on to anger and then back to the empty hollow feeling and sometimes simmer back to the rage. Dick only dreaded the inevitable sea of sadness that would was over him. That was usually the time when Bruce got through to him, and Dick didn't want Bruce to get through to him.
There's a new knock on his door and the sound of Tim's nervous voice reaches him.
"Dick?"
Why couldn't they just leave him alone? Was that so hard? Dick could remember the times when Donna would come and just let him be fucking sad or depressed or whatever shit he was feeling. Donna would shut up and stay quiet so that Dick could at least pretend to be alone.
"Bruce told me that you weren't feeling well, are you okay?" Tim opens his door and Dick can hear him shuffling inside.
He wants Tim to get out.
"I-I tried calling you, but you wouldn't pick up. Is-"
"Get out Tim." Dick's voice was low but he could hear Tim stopping.
A small part inside Dick pleads him to not hurt Tim the way he hurt Damian. To not engage in Tim's already crippled self-esteem and self-worth that he had gotten from the Drakes.
Dick couldn't find any part inside him to care.
"Dick, if something's wrong I can try to-"
"I said get out." Dick's voice was still low but harder and he can practically hear Tim swallow.
"Dick-"
"Get out!" Dick turns from where he's facing his wall, anger blazing for a second time. "Get out! Get out! Get out! This is my fucking room! Get the fuck out before I fucking throw you out!" Dick yells, getting out of his bed while glaring holes into Tim's scared blue eyes.
"What in the world-" Alfred's voice causes Dick to look up.
Alfred and Bruce were standing in his doorway, both looking concerned and surprised.
"Tim I told you to leave Dick alone." Bruce's voice was hard and Dick's angry eyes move back to Tim.
"Get. Out." Dick breathes and Tim turns with tears in his eyes, scurrying out of the room and towards his own.
"And you too! Leave me alone!" Dick yells, storming over to his door and slamming it shut in Alfred's and Bruce's faces.
The rage was starting to consume him. Dick whirls around, looking for something to help him. He spots his dresser and immediately grabs the vase on top, throwing it across the room and smashes against the wall. Dick continues, grabbing his books on it and ripping them apart before throwing them against the wall. He pulls the drawers of his dresser out, throwing them against the big wardrobe in the room.
Dick grabs anything he can, efficiently destroying it in his uncontrollable rage. It feels good, breaking things in hope of him not being the only fucked up one in the room. Not being the only broken thing here.
It doesn't last very long though, his exhaustion was still present and Dick's left panting on the floor, staring out at the ruins in his room.
A sudden feeling of hollowness swaps out the rage and he feels his bottom lip quiver. Broken things, all around him. Broken just like him, broken just like everything in this world because this was it. This was the thing that Dick hated the most about being a performer because in the end the spotlight would shift, showing all the broken things remaining from the magic that was trying to force them into being something they're not.
He's not a hero, he's not a brother and he's not a flying fucking bird.
He's just a broken boy.
That's all he's every going to be, at least until the boy gets swapped with body. Just like his parents, broken bodies.
Tears erupt in his eyes, threatening to overflow and Dick lets out the most pitiful sob he's ever had the misfortune to hear. He curls in on himself, arms around his middle as if they're trying to keep all of his broken parts together. His sobbing continues and suddenly it's all he can feel. Utter sadness, a sadness so deep that he'd do anything to make it stop.
He looks around the room, looks for something that could make it stop. He finds nothing. His windows were locked, there were no sharp objects or anything that could help him to make the pain stop.
Dick moves to a corner in his room while inhuman sounds of hurt and sadness continue to leave his mouth. It doesn't matter. None of it matters because this- he couldn't handle this. It was too much, it's always too much. There was so much hurt in his life, so much pain. His parents, the circus, his life, his fucking family.
"I can't- I can't do this anymore." Dick sobs, helplessly wishing that whatever God was out there would help him, would understand that he had been given too much, that he wasn't strong enough to carry all of these burdens.
"Dick- chum breathe." A voice causes him to look up and spot Bruce kneeling in front of him.
"I can't- I can't please don't make me. I can't anymore- it's too much!" Dick feels himself bordering to hysterics; body shaking badly enough that he can't focus and the consuming sadness was pushing him closer towards the edge.
"Chum, look at me. This will pass, just breathe nice and long breaths okay? Follow me."
A hand touches his chest while another hand guides his right hand to Bruce's chest. Dick could feel the steady rise of Bruce's chest, but it wouldn't matter. Nothing mattered, nothing could ever overpower the hurt.
"I can't! Make it stop! Please just make it stop! Please-please Bruce I can't-" Dick sobs, gasping as more hurt enters his system, forces it's way beneath his ribcage and squeezes his heart until it's close to exploding.
Then, large arms pull him into a warm chest and a gentle hand guides Dick's face into the curve of a neck.
"It's going to be okay. Let me take some of your pain, okay chum? Like when you were younger, give me some of it." Bruce's voice was still soft, still gentle and Dick feels some of his hurt bleed into Bruce's chest.
"It's too much! I can't live like this anymore! Bruce please- please make it stop!" Dick sobs, childishly wishing that Bruce would just make it all go away.
"Breathe chum, just breathe. Let it go, let the pain leave along with your breaths."
Bruce guides his breathing until Dick tries to imagine the hurt and sadness leave his body along with the air in his lungs. Dick isn't sure for how long it takes, but once he feels like the largest piece of hurt and sadness leave he slumps against Bruce, almost panting.
"That's it chum. I'm right here just relax." Bruce murmurs and Dick nods weakly.
"I-I can still feel it, but... not as strongly." Dick manages and Bruce nods.
"Here, these will help with the rest." Bruce gently guides Dick away from his chest and pulls out two pills.
Dick's too tired to argue. He takes them and swallows them dry, batting away the water bottle Bruce tries to get him to sip from.
"You want to sleep in here or in my room?" Bruce asks and Dick's suddenly met with the memories of when he was younger.
When it was just Alfred, Bruce and him. When Dick would sleep with Bruce during the times when he felt the most alone, when he felt as if the darkness would swallow him whole.
"Here's fine." Dick manages and Bruce hefts him up in his arms, moving him to his bed.
Bruce pulls off some of his ruined clothes and the broken glass off of the bed before gently lowering Dick down and pulling the covers over him. Dick's hands automatically curl into the covers and he closes his eyes to Bruce's retrieving form.
It was fine. Dick felt the meds already lulling him to sleep, Bruce didn't have to be here anymore, he was fine.
When Dick's on the verge of falling asleep he suddenly hears a gentle voice.
"Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits-"
Dick slowly manages to peel his eyes open, Bruce was sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, by his bed with one of Dick's favourite books from when he was younger.
"B'uce?" Dick mumbles and Bruce lowers the book to look over at Dick.
"Yes chum?"
Dick stares at him until he finally decides that he's too tired to try and read too much into whatever this was.
"-and their names were - Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail and Peter. They lived with their mom in the-"
Dick falls asleep to Bruce's uncharacteristically soft voice along with a hand gently scratching his scalp.
He knows that the darkness wasn't completely gone, that it'll probably never be gone but maybe one day he'd find a way to be okay with that.
Maybe one day he could stop performing and just be.
Just be.