Chapter Text
"Dick, what are you doing up?" Jason appeared, his usual messy black hair and oil-stained hoodie a familiar sight.
Dick untangled himself from the kitchen chair he was settled in. "It's 3:30." He stared at Jason, tired yet filled with... something. "It's the seventh night I've sat up all night—"
Jason sighed, leaning on the counter. "Great, here we go."
"—imagining all the ways you might have died."
"Ah, and tonight's winner is?"
Dick curled back into the chair. "Freak ice storm."
Jason laughed. The sound faint. "Yeah, that's going to happen in late April."
Dick stood abruptly. "You said you'd be home early. You lied."
"Jesus, Dickhead, I'm almost eighteen—let it go."
"Were you drinking?" Dick interrupted him.
"What? No!"
"Who's awake this early?" Bruce's shout echoed from upstairs.
Dick and Jason both tensed. "It’s Bruce. take the back door—"
Jason sighed as he left. "Why does he hate me?"
"You're a brat, that's why! Now go!" Dick snapped at the empty space.
Bruce, disheveled and not fully ready for the day, leaned into the room. "Chum, are you okay? I heard voices."
Dick lied through his teeth. "Just me talking to myself. Go back upstairs, I'll head down to the Cave and tackle the case review on Galvan."
Bruce's concern was plain on his face. "You... you sure you're okay?"
"Yes, definitely! Now go!"
Bruce hesitated, giving Dick one final look of concern before he left. We're a perfect, loving family, Dick thought. Yeah, sure, my brother's an ass, and Bruce is still an emotional brick, and Tim's... a geek. But I love them.
Tim stumbles into the kitchen, arms laden with a precarious pile of books and case files, a Red Bull balanced on top. He bumps into the table, expertly dropping his load and snatching the can before a single drop can spill.
"Tim? It's four in the morning—is everything alright?"
Tim blinks, trying to clear the sleep from his face. "Everything's great. Why wouldn't it be great? It's great. I've just got three more chapters of calculus, a physics problem set, a history quiz, and two more pages on floral imagery in 'Flowers for Algernon,' which is just, duh. Everything's so under control." He takes a long swig from the Red Bull, as if punctuating his rant.
Dick leans on the table, a thin smile on his face. "Timmy, you need to slow down, take some time for yourself." He pushes off, his movements a little too quick, a little too jerky. "I'm going to sext Kory." He doesn't wait for a reply, already turning to leave.
"Great. Thanks. I'm so glad I know that!" Tim shouts after him in disgust. He grabs some cereal before reburying himself in his case files. Sometimes I wonder why I do this. If it's worth this elaborate game of pretend. If other families live like this. Because sometimes I feel like I'm dying, but I'm just trying to get through the day. Just another stolen hour in this house. Tim can't help but wonder why he sticks around.
A while later, Bruce and Dick enter the kitchen.
"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" Dick says, rummaging through the fridge, his voice a touch too bright.
Bruce starts a pot of coffee. "Hmm, sure. Really cold and rainy for September, but sure."
"Just makes you want to dive in with both feet, doesn't it?" Dick asks, still searching, his words a strange non-sequitur.
Bruce stares into space for a second. "Absolutely." He hands a mug of coffee to Tim and whispers, "No clue what he's talking about."
It's all on me now, isn't it? To keep everything from collapsing. Everything I worked so hard for, built with so much care. The thought weighs on Bruce, heavier this morning than usual. This whole family, everything I've nurtured, every effort I poured into building it... it's mine to keep standing. Bruce looks into the hall. A flicker at the edge of his vision—a messy black head, an oil-stained hoodie Jason stands there, just outside the door, his posture tense. Bruce ignores him, leaving the kitchen with Tim following close behind.
Jason watches as they leave, he steps back into the kitchen, a faint sigh escaping him, and walks towards Dick, Jason glaced at him. "It only hurts when I'm here, doesn't it?" he says, his voice a low, mournful rumble.
Dick looks up from where he's started laying out bread slices on a cutting board, his movements almost frantic. "What?" He shakes his head slightly. "You're going to be late, and you got a busy day."
Jason leans against the counter, seemingly oblivious to Dick's rapid preparations. "What, like you have any clue what I do all day?"
"Book club before class, school, overtime in the auto shop, then play practice." Dick rattles off, stacking the bread with a practiced, almost aggressive rhythm.
Jason whistles. "Not bad,” as he leans on the door frame.
"Now get out of here!" Dick snaps, gesturing vaguely towards the door with his hand.
As Tim walks in from the hall, Jason turns his head, a faint smirk on his face. "Morning, Birdie," he murmurs.
Tim, focused on the counter, walks past the space where Jason stands. He glances at Dick, busy with his sandwich assembly, then focuses on the counter.
Jason steps out of view.
Bruce walks in, straightening his tie. "So, I was reviewing the weird mail that GCPD has been getting," Tim says, not looking up from the counter, "and I think I've figured out a good day for a stakeout. Think you guys will be there?"
"We'll put it on the calendar," Dick says, picking up the pace of assembling sandwiches.
Tim grabs an apple. "The calendar is still on April of last year."
"Oh. Well, happy Easter." Dick pulls out even more bread.
"Happy Easter, Dick." Tim sighs, a weariness in his voice. He walks closer to Bruce. "He's active today."
Bruce nods, his gaze briefly flicking to Dick. "I know. I got him off the phone with the alien."
"Gross."
Bruce sipped at his coffee. “Dick could you do the shopping today? Alfred is out of town, and I’m fully booked at Wayne Enterprises”
“Hm, yeah sure B. i got it you go, I’ll clean the Cave too.” dick grabs another bag of bread and dumps it on the table.
The kitchen, usually a sanctuary of mundane routine, began to warp around Dick. Each breath was a sharp, cutting intake of pain. It only hurts when I breathe, he thought, the words a silent plea. It only hurts when I say—
Across the room, Bruce, stirring his coffee, bore his own silent burden. It only hurts when I try, a weary thought passing through his mind.
Tim, absorbed in his books, was consumed by his own quiet exhaustion. It only hurts when I cry.
Dick's hands worked faster, almost frantically, his internal refrain picking up speed. It only hurts when I work. It hurts. It only hurts when I play. It hurts. His mind raced through the desperate loop.
It only hurts when I move. It hurts when I say... It only hurts when I say... It's just another day. A busy, busy day.
The morning sun, usually a balm, felt like a cruel mockery, glinting off the polished countertops. And the morning sun is stunning. And you wish that you were running far away. The urge to escape was a visceral ache within Dick. I will hide the mess away. It's just another day. And I'll survive another day. He repeated the words, a desperate mantra against the rising tide of his own thoughts. It's just another day. A busy, busy day. And the morning sun is stunning. And you wish that you were running far away. I will hide the mess away. It's just another day. And I'll survive another day. He dumps the bag of bread on the floor and drags the lunch meat and cheese down with him.
"Dick?" Bruce's voice cut through the haze.
Dick's internal chant continued, fiercely, defiantly. We're the perfect loving family. If they say we're not, then screw 'em. We're the perfect loving family. I will keep the plates all spinning.
"Dick..." Bruce's voice was closer, more insistent.
The kitchen spun, the world tilting violently. And the world just keeps on spinning. His grip on the bread bag loosened, his knees threatening to buckle. He fell to the floor, pulling the bread, lunch meat, and cheese with him. “And I think the house is spinning.”
"Dick? Chum?" Bruce's voice, laced with raw concern, cut through the din of Dick's internal turmoil.
"Dick?" Tim stood up from the table, but before he could check on him, Bruce stopped him with an arm.
"You worry about enough, Tim. Go, you’ll miss the bus."
Jason walked towards Dick. "Everything's fine! Just making sandwiches!" Dick explained, a fist full of bread in the air, as if to ward off Jason or the swirling chaos. "On the floor. You go on head. You’ll miss the bus."
Bruce knelt by Dick. "Go," he told Tim, his voice firm but quiet. Tim hesitated, then left, and Jason lingered for just a second more before following.
"Dick, is everything okay?" Bruce asked, his voice softer now.
Dick started to cry, hot tears tracking paths down his face. "I just wanted to get a head start on sandwiches."
"Here, let me help you up."
"I got carried away," Dick mumbled, still weeping.
"A little," Bruce admitted with a soft shrug, helping Dick back to his feet. "Let's go see Dr. Leen. T-this is just a blip, okay? It's nothing to worry about. I'll, uh, wrap up the sandwiches, and then we'll go."