Chapter Text
There was silence in the manor. Utter silence as Dick walked through the door.
Damian's voice cracked at seeing him. A broken gasp left his throat before his mouth clamped shut.
Jason’s head flung around quickly, Tim’s as well, to be greeted by Dick.
The very dead Dick Grayson, who was now standing in the foyer, looking at them.
There was silence as they all looked at each other.
Tim stumbled to his feet for a moment before backing away.
“You asshole!” Jason raged, taking step after step towards him before connecting his fist with Dick’s jaw.
Dick stumbled into the doorway, his duffel hitting the ground as he braced against the wall.
That went about as well as he’d expected.
Another minute of silence, and Dick pushed himself back upright to look his brother in the eye.
Jason’s eyes held fury and hate.
Dick’s eyes flicked to Tim’s just as Damian rushed out the side exit of the room.
Tim stood there, silent, staring at Dick.
Fuck.
This is going worse than he thought it would be.
Tim's face held resentment.
Bruce and Alfred rushed back into the room, followed slowly by Damian.
Bruce’s eyes just narrowed at Dick.
There was silence as everyone came to a halt.
Alfred pushed forward, hands going to either side of Dicks face, “My boy. Are you alright?”
Dick was quiet for a second.
At least one of his ribs was broken; he was pretty sure he had a stress fracture in his right wrist, and his other wrist wasn’t feeling much better.
He wouldn’t doubt it if he had nerve damage to his back or right hand.
His ankles were in pain, but he could cope with that.
So he just stood there quietly, “I’ll be alright, Alfred. How are you?”
Tears sprang in Alfred's eyes, “You stupid, stupid boy, thank god you are alright.”
Tim slowly eased Alfred away from Dick.
Alfred calmed himself, and Jason cut off Dicks view of him.
“Why are you back? We mourned you. You are dead to us-”
“Jason.” Bruce cut off Dicks brother.
Jason’s head whipped back and forth between the two of them before he scoffed. “Were you ever even dead, you asshole.” Jason accused, shoving a finger against Dicks chest repeatedly with each word.
Dicks chest heaved with each syllable.
Fuck.
This was really not going to plan.
“I was dead,” Dick said quietly.
“Oh, great,” Jason snapped. “So now we’re comparing notes?”
“Jason.” Bruce’s voice had warning in it now.
“No.” Jason yanked his arm free. “No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to come back here after— after all of that— and act like this is normal.”
There was silence for a few minutes.
What could he possibly say to fix this?
He could explain. Start at the beginning with what Bruce did.
Talk about the implant in Damian's brain that he had to disable.
There was so much to say, and he didn’t even know how to start.
There was no script for this.
Not for walking back into your own funeral aftermath. Not for seeing the way Tim wouldn’t look directly at him. Not for Damian standing rigid near the doorway like he wanted to bolt and stay at the same time.
Dick swallowed. “I couldn’t tell you before. I’m here now, though… if you’ll just. If you’ll just let me explain.”
Dick tried to push past Jason into the room.
“You couldn’t tell us?” Tim repeated. “You let us think you were dead.”
“People were watching,” Dick said carefully. “Spyral-”
“We know what Spyral is,” Tim cut in sharply. “B absently disappeared for weeks after you died. Bruce stopped sleeping. Damian picked fights with literally everyone. Jason nearly killed three dealers because one of them made a joke about dead birds.” His voice cracked slightly. “So forgive me if the spy excuse isn’t helping right now.”
Dick flinched.
Jason noticed.
Good, his expression said.
Alfred stepped between them before Jason could start again. “Master Timothy,” he said gently, though his own voice shook, “perhaps this discussion can continue after Master Richard has received medical attention.”
“I’m fine,” Dick answered automatically.
Every single person in the room looked unconvinced.
Damian finally spoke.
“You’re limping.”
Dick’s eyes flicked toward him.
Damian stood half-hidden behind Bruce now, arms folded so tightly they probably hurt. There was something raw in his expression beneath the anger.
Dick tried for something lighter. Familiar.
“You saying you missed me, Dami?”
Damian’s face crumpled.
That didn’t help.
Dick cringed in on himself.
There was silence as he followed Alfred out of the room.
He was more careful on the stairs.
Each lean forward hurt like a batch of needles was being shoved into his right side.
When he finally made it down to the batcave Alfred was careful in helping him sit.
Dick sat quietly for a moment.
He was gone for a long time.
No doubt it would horrify Alfred when he saw what was left of his skin.
He sighed.
Hands coming to his face as he sat there quietly.
“Now, master Dick. Could you kindly change into this gown? I need to do a full evaluation.”
Dick sat there for a moment.
“Alfred… please. Just please don’t be upset.”
There was silence as he removed his shirt first.
Alfred's gasp was unlike anything he’d heard in a long time.
Then he was more careful, easing his pants down before slipping into the gown.
“Goodness boy, what have they done to you?”
No part of Dicks body beneath his clothes was unmared.
Alfred stared grimly for a few minutes before beginning.
Alfred’s hands were impossibly steady.
Dick focused on that.
Not the sharp sting of antiseptic against half-healed wounds. Not the ache crawling through his ribs every time he breathed too deeply. Not the expression on Alfred’s face as he catalogued scar after scar after scar.
There were burns, lashes, and bullet wounds scarring over.
“Who did this to you?”
Dick laughed weakly before he could stop himself.
Alfred’s mouth tightened. “Master Richard.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I gathered that much.”
Dick leaned his head back against the chair and stared at the cave ceiling. “Some of it was Spyral. Some of it wasn’t.” His voice turned quieter. “Some of it was me making bad calls.”
Alfred carefully wrapped Dick’s wrist. “You were undercover,” he said, his voice dawning a new understanding.
“I volunteered.”
Alfred paused.
That tiny hesitation hurt worse than the stitches.
“You were twenty-three years old,” Alfred said finally. “You should not have had to volunteer for anything of the sort.”
There was silence as Alfred stitched one of the particularly bad gashes on Dick’s back.
Footsteps echoed across the cave.
Jason came into view, and Alfred jumped in between the two men, expression sharpening instantly. “Master Jason, unless you are here to assist-”
“I’m not gonna hit him again.”
Dick huffed a laugh through his nose. “Comforting.”
There was silence for longer than Dick felt comfortable
When his eyes finally peered up, he saw Jason’s gaze.
He looked wrecked.
His eyes dragged slowly over the visible damage Alfred had uncovered.
“You let them do that to you?” he asked quietly.
Dick blinked.
That wasn’t what he expected.
“You say that like I had a choice.”
Jason scoffed, but there was no bite behind it this time. “There’s always a choice.”
Dick looked away first.
Because Jason would know.
Out of everyone in this family, Jason would know exactly what captivity looked like.
Exactly what survival cost?
All Dick wanted to do was hold his brothers. Hug them, and never let go.
A heavy weight settled back into his chest. One that made it hard to breathe and caused pain to flare up in his neck and through his back.
“You should’ve called.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
Dicks gaze fell back to the floor.
“We buried you, dick. We BURRIED you.”
Jason scoffed, running a hand through his hair.
“I had to pick out your damn suit because Bruce couldn’t even- Alfred-.”
Jason yelled, slamming his arm into the door frame.
“Jay-”
“No. Don’t do that. Don’t use the big brother voice. You can’t brush over this. This isn’t something that’s just going to be okay because you want it to. Not this time. Not after we buried and grieved you.”
There was silence as Jason looked at Dick again.
Dick never moved. Not after being shut down.
He just stared at the same chip in the ground as he had been earlier.
Not moving. Barely breathing.
If not for the pulse ox on his finger, there were no signs of life.
Tim’s steps sounded through the cave, slowly approaching.
When the door opened Dicks’ top was all the way down, pooling in his lap, while Alfred continued to stitch his back.
“Oh,” Tim said. Face draining of color.
Fuck.
This was definitely not going according to plan.
Tim moved closer slowly, like approaching a wounded animal.
“How long?” he asked quietly.
Dick tried to joke.
“A little rude to ask a guy his age.”
Tim did not smile.
Dick’s own expression faded after a second.
“…A while.”
Jason’s gaze trained back on Dick, following Tim's eyes.
The thick, angry red scabbing around Dicks wrists gave away what Dick had wanted him not to realize.
“You don’t get to do that again,” Tim said, voice shaking violently now. “Do you understand me? You do not get to disappear and leave us here thinking-”
Dick just stared at the ground, “I’m sorry.”
Tim felt angry tears roll down his cheeks, “No. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have done it in the first place. Now, never do it again.”
Tim made a horrible choking sound and folded forward against him.
Dick barely had time to brace before Tim collided with his chest.
Pain exploded through his ribs.
Dick hissed sharply—
—and Tim jerked back instantly. “Shit, shit, sorry—”
“It’s okay,” Dick tried to say, breathless. It came out as more of a wheeze than anything else, though. He choked on air a few times before his lungs filled again.
Alfred’s expression sharpened immediately.
“Deep breaths, Master Richard.”
Dick nodded once, jaw tight, trying not to curl forward around the pain shooting through his side.
Tim looked horrified.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated quickly, hands hovering uselessly like he wanted to help and had no idea how. “I didn’t mean— I forgot—”
“It’s okay,” Dick managed again after another shaky breath. “Still got worse hugs from Jason.”
“Shut up,” Jason muttered automatically.
The response was so normal that the entire room froze for half a second.
There were a few silent seconds before Alfred started stitching up Dicks back again.
Alfred gently pressed Dick back upright before checking his ribs again. His mouth thinned dangerously.
“I suspected as much,” he murmured.
Bruce’s voice came from the cave entrance.
“How bad?”
Dicks eyes shot to Bruce.
Hate held his gaze for a second before he remembered who he was in the company of and softened.
“At least two fractured ribs. One is likely broken.” He paused. “Severe nerve irritation along the spine. Significant scar tissue damage. Untreated injuries in various stages of healing. He’ll need a skin graft for his lower back. There are electrical burns down his spine as well.” His jaw tightened. “And that is before we address the malnutrition.”
Dick wanted to disappear into the medical chair.
“Don’t,” Dick said immediately.
Bruce’s eyes snapped to his.
“This was my call.”
“You were twenty-three,” Bruce replied quietly.
Dick flinched.
Alfred went very still behind him.
Jason barked out a sharp laugh. “Oh, now we care about age?”
“Jason,” Tim warned weakly.
“No, seriously.” Jason stepped forward again, anger reigniting fast enough to choke the room.
“You let him go undercover in a psycho spy organization with a fake death and no support system, and everyone’s acting shocked he came back looking like this?”
“It was my decision,” Dick snapped.
Jason rounded on him instantly. “You don’t get to defend him right now!”
Dicks vision fluttered, his chest growing tight again.
This time, black spots filled parts of his vision. The floor looked like it had bottomless pits in parts.
Dick’s fingers tightened instinctively against the edge of the med table.
Too loud.
The cave was suddenly too loud.
Jason’s voice echoed strangely, bouncing around his skull alongside the ringing in his ears. Bruce said something in return, low and sharp, but Dick couldn’t make out the words anymore.
His heartbeat sounded wrong.
Too fast.
Too hard.
Then, too far away.
“Master Richard?”
Alfred’s voice cut through first.
Dick blinked slowly.
The cave tilted.
Ah.
That probably wasn’t good.
“I’m okay,” he lied automatically.
Nobody bought it.
Tim stepped closer immediately. “Dick?”
Black spots swallowed part of Tim’s face.
Dick swallowed hard against the nausea rolling violently through him. “Little dizzy,” he admitted.
“Sit back,” Alfred ordered at once.
Dick tried.
His body didn’t cooperate correctly.
He could imagine himself moving how he wanted,d but he just couldn’t make it happen.
One second, he was upright; the next, his elbow slipped against the table, and his entire balance tipped sideways.
Bruce caught him before he hit the floor.
The movement jarred Dick’s ribs hard enough that a broken sound tore out of his throat before he could stop it.
“Easy,” Bruce said sharply, one arm braced around Dick’s back while the other steadied his head.
Dick hated how weak he felt in that moment.
Hated that Bruce could probably feel how badly he was shaking.
“Sorry,” Dick mumbled automatically.
Jason made a furious noise somewhere behind them.
“For what?”
Dick tried to breathe as Bruce put him back in the bed.
He really did try to breathe.
“For apologizing for literally everything,” Jason continued, snapping. “You come back half-dead, and your first instinct is to say sorry because you passed out?”
“I didn’t pass out.”
“You are actively horizontal.”
“…Fair point.”
A wet feeling made its way into the back of Dicks throat.
Then his mouth.
He was going to puke.
His hand shot out, obeying his command this time, and pulled the bowl closer as he hurled his guts into the bowl.
Not much came forth, though other than stomach acid.
He put the bowl down slowly, a shudder passing through him, a newfound pounding in his head.
He could feel his eyes wet now from the action.
He hated that every time he puked, he almost cried.
“Richard,” Bruce said quietly, “when was the last time you ate?”
Dick stared at the ceiling.
“That’s kind of a loaded question.”
“Dick.”
“…Yesterday?”
Jason scoffed. “Bullshit.”
Dick winced slightly. “Crackers count.”
Tim looked horrified again. “Crackers are not food.”
“They are if you’re committed enough.”
“Nobody laughed at that,” Jason warned immediately, pointing around the room.
“Master Richard,” he said with deep offense, “you have been surviving on crackers?”
“There were also protein bars…if I- There were also protein bars.”
“That does not improve matters.”
The needle slid into Dick’s arm a moment later.
Dick watched the fluid drip slowly down the line for a few seconds before his eyes drifted shut briefly.
Safe.
That thought hit suddenly and violently.
Safe safe safe.
No handlers.
No mission.
No cover story.
No locks.
No extraction points.
Just the cave.
Just family.
Dick’s chest tightened painfully around the realization.
“Oh,” he whispered.
Bruce immediately leaned closer. “What?”
Dick felt tears flood his eyes.
He looked up, trying not to let them see another blur of colors now approaching.
Damian.
Fuck.
He felt his chest flutter as he cried.
A blubbery voice left his throat.
“I really missed you guys.”