Chapter Text
You were used to patrols being noisy and loud and overall infuriating with the amount of crime that Gotham sees, but tonight? Tonight it was too much for your brain to handle. Your routine had been thrown off this morning and you were still paying the consequences.
--
It started this morning. You couldn't find your hoodie. You knew it was stupid, but you needed your hoodie before you could leave. It was one of three hoodies on rotation that you wore in the colder months to ensure you didn't freeze, but when you still thought a winter jacket was overkill. The other two hoodies were in the wash and wouldn't be put back into their rotation until the weekend. And this hoodie wasn't where you left it, hanging off the side of your bedpost. Initially you had thought it fell sometime during the night, but you had looked everywhere. Tore your room apart, scoured the entirety of the cave.
After you checked each room, you checked the time, anxiety doubling as the time ticked closer to when you usually left. You searched both libraries in the manor before you decided to enlist the help of your older 'brothers' you had seen sitting in the dining room during the search. You were frustrated, anxious starting to feel helpless, which only added back into the negative feedback feelings loop. By this point you were close to tears, breathing heightened and frantic. Dick was mid bite of his toast and Jason was scrolling through a feed on his phone when you basically barged into the dining room for a second time this morning, both their heads turning to you the instant you inhaled.
"I can't find my sweater." You said in one breath, a sob crawling its way up the back of your throat and threatening to spill out. Your voice was laced in the embarrassment you felt; you knew you shouldn't care so much about a fucking sweater. It was a fucking sweater, but if you didn't get that sweater your world felt like it would fall apart right then and there and you didn't know why.
"Which one?" Jason asked, already standing up and heading towards the dining room entrance to help you search. Dick made his way towards you to try and mitigate the impending implosion.
"The … the black one, with the … the cute face as the tit logo." You sputter as you gesture to your torso and then to the side where the cute face sat. Jason bolted out of the room to tear the house apart in record time. Your breathing hitched again, causing you to falter, adding a new emotion to the negative feedback loop from before. You started to stim, trying to regulate the amount of everything that you were feeling, bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands whipping by twice and then into a fist. Dick had sat in the dining room chair beside where you stood and started to talk about what he had planned for the day, trying in tandem to distract you and ground you to the moment so you couldn't spiral more than you already were. They were the best, albeit slightly overprotective smother hens at times, big brother and boyfriend you could've asked for. You had all seen each other at your highest highs and lowest lows (Jason's lowest low was surprisingly not being six feet underground). You and Dick quickly bonded over your love of schedules, that were rarely stuck to. You and Jason, on the other hand, bonded over the little things that made you frustrated and the cathartic feeling of screaming, and your love of literature.
"'M sorry," you whisper to Dick, as you quickly glanced at the man and brought your gaze back to the dining room entrance, waiting for Jason to appear. You snuck a peek at the ornate clock, and it read 8:30am. Your class was starting soon and you were way too behind schedule. Your wacky, only made sense to you, schedule. You had to leave the manor by 8:10 am to catch the 8:12am bus to get to your campus for 8:37am, grab your coffee order at 8:40am and get to your lecture hall and your seat by 8:45am. It was just how the math math'ed.
"Hey, s'all good. We're glad to help out anytime." Dick responded, his tone cheery and light. His eyes told a different tale, one of concern for his loved one that was in distress. He was observing your behaviours, trying to analyze your body movements.
"Sorry, though." You say again, absentmindedly. A few moments later, Jason runs through the entrance, sweater in one hand and Damian's shirt collar in the other.
"Item," he states as he tosses the sweater to you and you hurriedly put it overtop your clothing. "And… culprit." He holds Damian a couple inches off the ground.
"Running late," was your response, grabbing your school bag from beside the front door. You could swear your heard Dick sigh, and Damian's start of protest.
"I'll drive." Jason boomed as he followed hot on your trail, grabbing a set of keys for one of Bruce's cars parked outside, and closing the front door behind him.
Your day went from bad to worse.
One of the girls in your class that you thought was a friend insulted you and ended your friendship on the spot, seemingly unprovoked. The others behind her laughed at you for reasons unknown.
The university cafeteria ran out of your comfort food.
Someone took your seat during your lecture, lab and seminar.
You missed your bus home, and the second splashed water all over your clothing, causing it to stick to you in cold and uncomfortable ways, your socks and shoes soaked thoroughly.
You said something to Tim after dinner and he blew up in your face. It took every ounce of control to not burst into tears on the spot.
--
You could only mask for so many hours today, with most of the mental exertion being eaten up at school, you had very little left for patrol. And that had run out about four hours ago. You usually have contingency plans in case something like this happens. You would have some time to yourself before patrol, reading or playing games on a system that you 'borrowed' from Jason. Or you would take a fat-ass nap, that usually worked wonders. You may even just take the night off from patrol. However, tonight managed to thwart all of those plans with the ease of a hot knife through butter. Babs and Duke talked your ears off about some topic you would normally be somewhat interested in. When you tried to take your leave, Alfred asked for help cleaning up from dinner and you couldn't deny the old man. Then, Steph asked to spar before patrol. You had already had said no to her a few nights ago, it would've been rude to say no again.
And now you were out on patrol, going back to the mental drawing board to figure out where your system went wrong. To put it lightly, you wanted to crawl out of your own skin. Your negative emotional loop hadn't been fixed, rather it had been put somewhere between sedated and waiting for the right time to consume your consciousness. Everything from that point on, whether it was the electricity coursing through the neon lights across the street that not only assaulted your eyes, it assaulted your ears; or the squabbling over the comms, your brain felt like it was short circuiting.
It was taking you longer to process important input, like communication from Babs pointing you in the direction of some thugs, or Tim's signal when you were both supposed to drop on said thugs. You each took down two, but a fifth one managed to weasel his way out of the scuffle and into the crowded streets beside the alley. You barely registered Tim calling after you as you ran towards the perp, only to stop as if you ran into a glass wall. The lights and sounds were overwhelming, the smells overpowering. You froze. The comm in your ear whines a frequency that you shutter at. Tim calls for you and after no response, he moves beside you and waves a hand in front of your face. You jump.
"Jesus, fuck, Ti--Red Robin!" you screamed, facing him. You tried to add to that sentence, but your brain was fuzzy and being pulled in too many directions at once.
"You weren't responding," Tim fired back. His voice softens a little. "You good?"
The space around you felt like it was closing quickly. You shot your grapple gun up, back to the rooftops, forgetting to answer Tim. You get to the top, Tim following you immediately, and breathe in a huge helping of air. It doesn't help. You try again, this time more slowly and deliberate. You tried to collect your thoughts, grasping at them like grains of sand quickly filtering through your fingers.
You were in uniform.
You were on patrol.
With Tim.
Who yelled at you during dinner.
He was already mad at you, you didn't want to make it worse, some voice in the back of your head said that that made no sense.
What were you doing again?
Your limbs tingled as if you were just shocked.
Your lungs craved oxygen and you took another deep breath, causing a bout of nausea to bubble to the surface.
Why was Tim's face scrunched up the way it was? He looked worried, almost.
Your consciousness hovered above your head. You knew that feeling, your body was starting to dissociate.
"I need you to answer me here," Tim positions himself in front of your view, matching his face with yours so you were forced to make eye contact. You stared at the skin between his eyebrows. Two weights were placed on your shoulders. "Are you okay, or do I need to call Batman?"
Right.
You were in the middle of a conversation with Tim. Funny how your brain would shove something that crucial aside.
Your voice refused to work, as you desperately tried to respond. You try to inhale again, still getting less air than you desire. You feebly try to break free from his grasp, and you knock the comm out of your ears. You stared back at Tim, a gaze that almost looked through the man in front of you.
"B." You managed to rasp out, your pupils dilating to take in as much information as they could, much to your dismay, and extremities starting to shake with adrenaline.
"B?" Tim asked in slight disbelief as he picked up your comm and put it in his pocket. He paused a moment, as if listening to something. "The ETA is 3 minutes." You were guided to sit on the ground by Tim, your body not responding to you. It felt like you were sitting behind your own body, watching a shitty display of the current events where the audio and visual didn't sync up. The lights were too loud, you could smell the gasoline from the rooftops. Your new family were no strangers to the odd panic attack, or anxious week here and there (or in Tim's case, an accidental coffee induced dissociation period). But, you were still afraid that you were going to scare them away or something worse.
What if they thought you were a monster?
What if they thought you were just doing this for attention?
The thoughts consumed you as you felt tears carving their tracks down your cheeks. They distorted your vision, Tim was talking with someone but it was blurry and hazy.
Your ears couldn't seem to find the right audio, attempting to substitute Tim's voice with the honk of a car horn.
The next time your mind caught up with your body, you were sitting on the ground of one of the libraries. Your headphones over your ears, blocking out any subsequent noises. Your voice was raw and hurt and your sinuses were clogged, nose dripping. Tears stains decorated the front of your costume and parts of the rug you sat on. Your head throbbed and it hurt to blink. Your muscles were strained from rigidity during your fight with your senses to feel something consistent. Your eyes focused on the legs covered in purple fabric that were crossed just inside of your peripheral vision. You look up slowly, prying your head from between your legs, resting it on your knee. Stephanie was sitting a few feet away from you, scrolling on her phone. She noticed you looking at her and she smiled.
"Hey," Stephanie whispered.
You waved back, the gesture minute.
"Tired?" she asked.
You nodded your head. You blink once, then twice and sit up properly, hearing your spine crack. You point to your wrist, asking Steph for the time.
"It's currently 2:47am."
You nod again. The others would just be coming back from their patrols. Stephanie jumps to her feet and helps you stand. Your muscles protest your movements, but you move anyway. When you stand up, you feel the dissipation of the pins and needles feelings in your extremities, exhaustion filling the void.
"Are you heading to bed?" Stephanie asked as she places her phone in her back pocket and starts to take off portions of her Spoiler uniform.
You shake your head. Stephanie looks at you confused, but it's soon cleared from her face when you mouth the word 'tea', trying to remember the sign that Cassie had taught you. She nods her head in understanding.
"You should at least change into something more comfortable." She broadly waves at your current outfit. You look down, forgetting that you hadn't changed yet, even though your brain registered the tear stains on your costume earlier. You give one slow nod in realization. It was nice to talk to someone who's brain hadn't been actively fighting against them for gods only know how long.
"Do you wanna change and then come back downstairs for the tea, or do you want me to let Alfred know to bring you some tea in your room?" Stephanie asked, presenting you with two choices to make it easier for your brain to comprehend in its tired state. You squint your eyes a little while you thought over the decision, holding up two fingers a moment later.
"Perfect, I'll let Alfred know!" She was way too excited for the time of night. She turns away, on a mission to find Alfred. You turn towards the exit to the library, your limbs an uncoordinated mess. The trek to your room is quiet and slow, and as you make your way up the staircase, you swore you heard your joints creak like a door hinge.
As you turn the handle to your bedroom door, you hear someone shift their weight beside you. You groggily look down and see Damian, staring at a non-existent spot on the carpet, his mouth pressed into a line.
"I would like to apologise for the derailment this morning." Damian starts. You could only blink slowly in response. "I am aware that you have your routines. I commanded Titus to fetch you this morning as Pennyworth had offered to give you a ride with Brown, Thomas and myself. I did not realise that Titus would fetch your sweater instead."
You nod, accepting his apology. He looked you in the eyes.
"I shall ensure that Titus is trained more thoroughly so the incident is not repeated." With that, he turned on his heels and walked briskly back to his room.
You peeled away the pieces of your costume, replacing them with your 'emotional support hoodie' and a pair of lounge shorts when there was a knock at your door. You padded to the door and opened it gingerly. On the other side was Dick Grayson, in plaid Green Lantern pyjama pants, a tank top and holding a tray with your tea on it. Knowing Dick, he probably ran into Alfred on his way here and offered to do the job for the old man. His face sported his signature lopsided grin, hair ruffled and slightly wet from his post patrol shower.
"Room service?" he whispered, as you moved to the side of the door frame, letting him in. You close the door and follow suit. Dick places the tray on your beside table and you climb on top of your bed. You sit cross-legged and remove the cup from the saucer, Dick finds a seat at the end of your bed. The scent of chamomile and honey filled your senses, relieving a bit of the headache that had recently made itself known, again. The two of you sit in silence as you finish your tea.
As you place the cup back on the tray, Dick starts, "Did you want more company? Or is tonight more of an 'I'd like to not see another human being for the next 16 hours' kind of night?"
"Stay?" you ask, voice still off. You shifted under the covers and pulled up your weighted blanket to your chest.
"Of course, love," Dick said, eyes soft as he climbed to the other side of your bed. Dick took you in his arms, whispering sweet nothings to you as your body finally relaxed after the exhaustive day. You wrapped your arms around Dick's waist and laid your head on his chest. The beating of his heart lulled you to sleep.