I'm thinking of doing a Peter and Tony book because my angst powers aren't limited to Batman apparently.

Taking a break from the falling apart series (don't worry it's still being written, planning the ending now) so here's some pure angst to tie you over.

Trigger warning for self-harm. I'll tell you where to skip if you want to read the story but not the self-harm part.

https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/self-harm/useful-contacts/

https://www.benice.org/get-help/crisis-hotline

https://www.samaritans.org/how-we-can-help/if-youre-having-difficult-time/if-you-want-self-harm/

Odd. That was the word Damian used to describe Dick today. He was odd. Now Dick was normally an odd person in his eyes. He always tried to stay happy even when it was clear that there was no hope. His bones clicked a lot but Damian put that down to him being an acrobat. Dick was an odd person. Yet today he was odd. Odd in a bad way. Odd in a way that made Damian feel a little sick with concern though he didn't voice it. He didn't want to. Maybe he should've. The first sign that suggested that Dick was being odd was the look on his face at breakfast. Normally Damian would be greeted by that insufferable smile that was somehow endearing but not today. It was gaunt and tired, his blue eyes glassy with tears. A frown tugged at the sides of his mouth. At first, Damian assumed he got ill from patrolling in the rain the night before and thought nothing of it. That theory was soon disproved when not one cough or sniffle came out of the man.

Damian took note of the uneaten breakfast in front of Dick but chose not to say anything about it. "I want to start training early today. Jon has requested my appearance at the local park. It appears he wants to strengthen our bond as friends," Damian stated. He expected the usual joke about the pair dating secretly or perhaps a congratulation on actually socialising. What he got was a silent nod. That was the second sign that Dick was being odd. Silent. That was a word that didn't match Dick. If you were to describe Dick to someone who'd never heard of him, the one adjective you wouldn't use is silent. He could be quiet when needed but you'd normally find him humming a tune or lightly tapping the desk. Damian gave up waiting for a response as Alfred collected his plate. "I'll be in the training room waiting for you," he announced. Dick nodded again. On his way out, he overheard Alfred asking if Dick would be okay today. He didn't catch Dick's response. 

He didn't have to wait long for Dick to join him in the training room. They started out training independently when Damian noticed the slowness in his partner's punches. The punches still had a good weight to them, enough to knock out a criminal Damian assumed, but they weren't normal. Not normal for Dick. That was his third sign that Dick was being odd. This time he felt a certain worry bubble in his stomach. He wasn't trying to make it obvious that he was watching Dick so closely but his eyes must've burned through the older as he spared Damian a glance. "What's wrong?" Dick croaked, darting his eyes back to the punching bag. Typical. He knew the concerned attention was on him so he flipped it. Damian noticed that if the attention wasn't to praise him or positive in any other way, Dick didn't want it. "I could ask you the same thing. You're not normally one to skip breakfast," he replied. The punching paused for a second, maybe more, but Damian noticed it. That was the fourth sign Dick was being odd. He hesitated to continue. A nerve was struck. Which nerve Damian had struck he didn't know. All he knew was that Dick was hurting. "Just some personal stuff, don't let it bother you," he said. In response, Damian tutted. "It's not me who's letting it bother them," he muttered. Personal stuff, as Dick described it, wasn't normally something he struggled to talk about. They'd spent a few late nighters talking about what fears they saw when they were hit with fear gas or particularly horrifying torture sessions. Sometimes there were a few terrifying experiences mixed in if conversation fell to an uncomfortable lull. Damian knew a lot of personal things about Dick and Dick knew a lot of personal things about Damian. They were close. That's why Damian hated this moment. This moment showed they weren't as close as he wanted. It showed they could be closer. 

"It's not bothering me. Just..." He trailed off, making Damian's stomach churn. He had to care for the man, didn't he? Why did he care? The man wasn't his father so he didn't have to care for him. He wasn't real family. To an unsentimental eye, Dick was just a man who had been fostered years ago. An orphan with no real connection to Damian other than through Bruce. Why did he care? He cared because Dick cared. Dick cared like no other. That's why he cared. That's why he didn't want to believe that this terminally delightful hero could ever possibly be sad. "Why won't you talk to me about it? Personal isn't something upheld here," Damian commented. "Especially personal space." The joke didn't get so much as a small giggle. What it did get was a sad sigh. He snuck a glance up at Dick, finding him staring at an empty space. He looked like he was trying to find the right words to argue with but there weren't any. Why wasn't there? Why was this "personal stuff" different from all the other personal things they shared? "I guess the story just hurts too much to say, today more than ever." Damian mentally cursed himself for pushing but he didn't feel true guilt for it. He felt curious. He felt a need to find out what this secret was and he wanted to interrogate Dick further. Yet he felt like he couldn't. He'd be overstepping unspoken boundaries they have and, if he ever wanted to know what was going on, he couldn't push. "I wouldn't be opposed to you having a break from training with me today. Or we could continue independent training. When I beat you, I want to beat you fairly." Dick turned to him with a small yet appreciative smile. "I'd like that."

The final sign that Dick was being odd was when Damian decided to spare a few minutes to do a check-up call whilst with Jon. He clicked the contact that Dick had "helpfully" labelled as Big D a few months back to match Damian's title of Little D. Apparently he didn't see the innuendo in the nicknames or maybe he did and didn't care. Jon had felt a need to comment on the nickname before Damian could shove him away with a playful smirk. A few rings later and nothing. It went to voicemail. Now if Damian knew the acrobat, and he did, he'd know that this wasn't right. He was at home and said he had no plans of patrol that night. Damian called again. Voicemail. He voiced his concern to Jon who suggested that Dick was busy. He was a hero after all and he could still be working on a case even if he wasn't going out that night. Somehow Jon convinced him to stay in the park a few more hours until a stomach-churning concern struck him suddenly. He only got the feeling when something was off. A quick look around told him it wasn't something happening to Gotham. "Grayson," he whispered. "Jon I have to go. I'll speak to you tomorrow." The half alien frowned but seeing the pure worry in Damian's face told him this was important. "I'll get you home faster than you can run outside of costume." Damian raised an eyebrow. "But you're not wearing- oh my God you've got it underneath your clothes." 

He waved a thank you to Jon then ran inside the manor at lightning speed. "Grayson? Grayson, where are you?" he yelled. The car Alfred used to get groceries in was gone so it was just them in the house. He heard the sound of metallic hitting a tile floor. He didn't like that the silence was the only thing that gave where Dick was away. He raced up the stairs, taking two at a time, then checked every bathroom till he found Dick.

TRIGGER WARNING IS HERE I WILL DO A BOLD THING WHEN IT'S OVER AND HE'S ALL BANDAGED UP

He found Dick in a sorry state that made his jaw drop slightly. He'd seen victims of self-inflicted wounds before. They always looked so helpless after they'd done it. Some cried others remained silent. Dick was the others who remained silent. He was leaned up against the bathtub with his arms resting on his knees. Damian saw the crimson blood trail down his arms, staining the floor with its small droplets. Where was Bruce when you needed him? Oh, that's right he's two thousand fucking miles away on a business trip.

"Grayson, what did you do?" he asked, his voice so low and quiet he could barely hear it himself. Dick heard it though. His ears perked at the new sound in the room. His head snapped towards him, seemingly regretting not closing the door. "D-Damian! Get out!" he yelled. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to fall at any minute. Damian didn't get out. Like hell, he would. Instead, he ran to the sink, grabbing the first aid kit and grabbed Dick's wrists to bandage them up. The cuts weren't as bad as Damian thought but there was just so many small ones. They were frantic. "Get off I can-"

"Let me help you!" Damian shouted through tears. When had he started crying? He certainly didn't remember the water dripping from his eyes when he stood at the door. Maybe the waterworks started when he looked into Dick's helpless slightly unfocused eyes or the way the cuts looked against his skin.

NO BLOOD AFTER THIS POINT SO Y'ALL ARE GOOD THERE'S JUST CRYING AND EMOTIONAL MESS

Either way, Dick was getting his help whether he liked it or not. His body shook as Damian wrapped up his arms. The tears fell thick and fast between the pair of them. Dick was so broken and Damian had left him like this. He had left him to do this. If he had been home just a few minutes earlier. If he'd been home all day then this wouldn't have happened. Dick wouldn't have left. Why couldn't he be like Dick? The questions whirling around his head stopped him from giving some comfort to the clearly distraught man for the most part. Was he supposed to call someone? Bruce was too far away, what would he do? Alfred was out. Tim wasn't exactly too close to Dick anymore ever since the title of Robin was taken. Jason was terrible at these things. The panic made him blurt out "Who do I call?" right to Dick's face. He was scared. Dick was scared. They were both scared. If it hadn't been Dick but a civilian, Damian would've remained calm but it wasn't just some civilian he knew jack shit about. This was his family. His brother. The closest he had to an idol. "I don't know! I don't know what to do!" Dick shouted back, just as panicked. "Just-just hold me. Please," he practically begged. 

Physical affection of course! Why hadn't Damian thought of it earlier? He snapped the older up in a warm hug, hiding his face in Dick's shoulder. He felt his shirt begin to dampen and the acrobat's vice-like grip on him as though if he let go Damian would incinerate before his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Dick cried. Why was he apologising? 

"It's going to be fine. You're going to be fine." Slowly but surely, the sobs died down. They left soft hiccups and a red face but they were gone. They pulled apart, Dick shakily trying to stand up. He wasn't completely back yet. His eyes were still not entirely focused on the world around him. "Richard, has this got something to do with the personal stuff?" Damian asked cautiously. He was holding Dick's arm and gently leading him to the bed. The bed was safe in both their eyes. A shared thought that made it much easier to get Dick to sit on it. Better than the cold tile floor they thought. After a few beats of silence, Dick nodded. "I want to know. I want to know what made you do this and I don't want to be swatted away like last time. My relationship with you is important and if I am not there for you in an hour of need what kind of brother am I?" Dick's eyes darted up and Damian was enveloped in an unprovoked hug. He sunk into it, however, letting Dick take whatever feeling he needed from it. "You're an even better brother than I could've hoped for when you first got here." Shit, he going to cry again. He had to comfort Dick not the other way around. It's like Dick had shifting the attention down to a fine art. "Tell me, Richard. No avoiding the question. I'm serious." 

Once again they parted and Damian took a seat on the bed opposite to Dick. He watched as he pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his head on them. "You know my family?" he asked quietly. Damian nodded. How could he not? They were the reason Dick hated the feeling of uncontrolled falling. "Today is the day they died. I haven't gotten over it, Bruce says I never will. Not something you get over I suppose."

"Oh." Damian said. He frowned to himself for not choosing more comforting words. 

"I normally get sad. I've had people around me for years and I've been fine but I wanted to do it on my own." Dick looked at his wrists with a sad smile. "But I'm not strong enough. I don't think I'll ever be strong enough."

"But you've been fine all this week," Damian reasoned. If this was truly traumatic then why weren't the early signs there earlier. Unless they were and he just hadn't seen them. Dick let out a shaky laugh. "I almost forgot like a fucking idiot. Just being Batman whilst Bruce is away, not being Nightwing, looking after you, Tim and I breaking down and-" he was stopped by Damian's hand. "The fact you nearly forgot doesn't make you terrible. In a way, it means you're healing." Dick managed a small smile. "Guess so."

"Is that why you did it? Because you forgot?" Dick shuffled awkwardly. He shook his head with a perplexed look on his face. "No. Not just that. It's because I'm slowly losing my grip on this family I think. We're all growing apart. Take today for example. No one remembered what today meant." Damian didn't like that. He had a reason to not know what today was but they didn't. Especially Bruce. "I don't blame them. Even I forgot." He sniffled to which Damian put a hand on his shoulder. "Rest. If you need me, call. I need to do something. You won't?" He couldn't get the words to come out. "I won't. It was a spur of the moment. Haven't done something like that since I was fifteen. Taxing times back then." He laughed hollowly and Damian shot him a sad smile. The boy waited till he was sure that Dick had fallen asleep to sneak out the room. He had angry phone calls to make. 

Dick had been sleeping somewhat peacefully when he heard muffled arguing outside his door. He groaned at it, not having the energy to tell them to knock it off. Wait. It was just him, Damian and Alfred this weekend. He listened closer. Well, Damian was definitely there. Neither of the other three belonged to Alfred. He listened to the conversation, too lazy to actually move and see who it was. He could barely open his eyes! Damian was saying something, "You're like his weird dad uncle Kent." Which Kent was he talking to? Dick could rule out Jon. He was more of a nephew. Connor? Nah he was like a weird cousin, not a weird dad uncle. Clark? Probably. Was Clark in their house? Why was he here? He groaned again then there was a knock on the door. "Come in," he announced. No way was he leaving his bed. He was so comfy. The door opened and he knew that people filtered into his room. Did he really have to open his eyes? "Dickie? Damian called us about today," a patient voice said. Alright, he needed to open his eyes, didn't he? So, with great reluctance, he did. 

In his room were the outlines of four figures. He knew the smallest was Damian. The muscular one must be Clark. He heard the sound of leather against leather come from the second tallest shape. That's Jason. He could smell strong coffee. The last one has to be Tim then. "What about it?" he croaked, turning on the bedside lamp and wincing at its light. 

"We're sorry for forgetting about it. Thought you would've learnt to deal with it by no- OW YOU LITTLE SHIT!" Damian cut him off by gut-punching him. 

"Leave him be Damie. He's right. I was being overdramatic as always," he muttered, hiding his face in his pillow.  He was too tired right now. Tired of hurting about that day. Tired of having these weak moments. "This is what I meant by watch your words," Damian spat. Jason surrendered with a sigh and sat on the bed, tapping Dick on the shoulder. "Sorry I forgot or whatever."

"Great apology," Tim commented.

"I don't see you saying sorry." Tim coughed awkwardly. Normally he'd say sorry through a hug since he never really found the right words but it was different now. He hadn't so much as fist bumped Dick since the fight let alone hugged him. "Seriously it's fine. It's not that bad." He moved to sit up, displacing the covers that had hid his arms. "Your arms. Damian, you didn't say anything about his arms!" Clark shrieked suddenly. He practically shoved Jason out the way to examine Dick's arms. "Clark it's fine."

"Shit Goldie, what have you done to yourself?" Dick looked around pathetically and fixed his eyes on the bedsheets, ashamed. "You haven't done this since you were little."

"I was fifteen."

"That's little to me," Clark defended. Damian sat on the edge closest to Dick and wrapped his arms around him wordlessly. By now, he'd exhausted his vocabulary of comfort words. Hugs meant the same thing. "Dick, you could've called the League. You're still our little hero running around in tights and a cape," Clark joked. He put a hand on Dick's face to wipe the tear away from his cheek. "It's not that easy Unchi Clark." He smiled sadly before he was suddenly in the muscular man's strong hold. "If Superman's doing hugs I guess I can to," Jason muttered, adding to the hugs. 

That left Tim. His gaze wavered over Dick. He got a smile from the bright-eyed man that said he didn't have to. Yet he did. With slight hesitation, his arms were wrapped around Dick. It felt good to hug him again. Tim even let loose a grin at the feeling of safety and love only hugging Dick could provide. "Thanks," Dick whispered. "You guys are the best weird ass family an orphan could hope for."