*CRACKS KNUCKLES* time to live vicariously through a fictional character because I have no other healthy coping mechanism

EDIT: TW INJURIES

This was it. He was gonna finally take them up on the offer. Dick was so tired of feeling so low and maybe if he just told someone how he felt he'd feel better. He couldn't really disclose everything with the councilors at school neither did he trust them. Something about fighting Scarecrow every other night of the week turned him off them no matter where they got their degree or how much they insisted they weren't into cahoots with the villain. He came home from school and looked around. He needed to tell them before that nagging voice in the back of his head convinced him otherwise. It took a while to whittle it down to whisper and he didn't want that to be all for not. There was no one to greet him which wasn't too odd. He heard someone talking in the dining room and shrugged to himself. It didn't really matter where the conversation was just that he could talk to someone. "Hey B, can we talk-" he paused when he noticed it wasn't just the older in the room. The table was surrounded by men dressed in expensive suits and they all gave him unhappy looks for interrupting them. "You havin a playdate?" he asked, trying to make the atmosphere less tense. His mentor tutted at him. 

"I did tell you there'd be a business meeting tonight," Bruce told him. "Don't you ever listen?"

"I'm sorry, it slipped my mind. Can't you take a sec-"

"Come along young sir, we can't have you interrupting them a moment longer," Alfred said. He appeared out of nowhere but before Dick knew it he'd been ushered into the hallway. He attempted to ask the butler if they could speak for a moment yet found he'd disappeared again.

They told him he could come to them at any time and they'd help him through it. A promise was a promise in his books. This was any time. He felt awful. They were supposed to help him but they just shooed him away like a stray cat trying to get food. He didn't have some sort of contagious disease yet they acted like if he stayed there even a second longer they'd all be infected. He glared at the spot and balled up his fists. So they made empty promises. Fine. He didn't need them anyway. He'd lived life on his own before. After all, they weren't the one who kept him upbeat, it was him. They didn't help him through the minefield of grief, he did that all on his own. If he was feeling shitty, then he'd figure out to help himself without them. He stormed upstairs and threw his bag down, slamming the door after him. He didn't need them. Dick tried to think about how else he could get his feelings out. He didn't really feel confident in his vent art so getting rid of his feelings through that method wasn't enough. Music sometimes helped but he couldn't really scream the lyrics of ABBA without things getting weird. Screaming, in general, wouldn't work but it did bring him to another idea. Whenever he was training, he got out most of his frustration. That was definitely what he was feeling a lot. Everything seemed to lead to frustration or full-blown anger. Sometimes he would force himself to be angry because it was much easier than being sad. He could be angry at a lot of things. He could do what he wanted and say he was angry. The only problem with depending on training wouldn't be a permanent solution. He couldn't train without someone watching him and he didn't want someone to be there whilst he got his anger out. Despite how bitter he felt towards Bruce and Alfred, it'd suck if he said something to them that hurt their feelings. He needed somewhere he could get the anger out without hurting someone. At that moment, he glanced out the window and saw the trees. He walked over to the window so he could see more of the garden. There was a small shed near the bottom of the garden that was used for storing logs that'd been cut down for the winter. The metal of the ax glinted in the limited sunlight. That could do some damage. Then the thought hit him. Maybe he could cut some logs when he was angry. It couldn't be too hard to chop a few longs when he could fight people twice his size without breaking a sweat. There would also be a productive element to it so Bruce couldn't be mad. Could he?

A few weeks had gone by since the incident of the business meeting and Bruce, like any novice to raising a child like Dick, thought everything was going okay. He'd hear Dick go out in the garden and he'd be out there for an hour before coming back in much happier than he left. He guessed it was because it was nature. Maybe he was climbing trees or simply sitting on the grass and looking up at the sky. Whatever he did, Bruce had assumed it was positive since he always heard about teenagers spending too much time inside their rooms on their phones. It was only until he was talking to Alfred one day in the kitchen and heard a shout from the garden. He didn't expect anything from it but he still felt the need to check on his ward. He strolled through the garden at a semi brisk pace until he saw Dick through the trees. He was holding an ax above his head with tears in his eyes as he brought down the worryingly sharp weapon. "Richard put that down right now!" he ordered. The young boy jumped at the sound of his voice and instantly dropped the ax, paling at the sight of his mentor. "You're in big trouble young man! What on earth are you doing playing with things like that?"

"I wasn't playing with it!" Dick yelled. He was mad- no that was too soft a word. Furious. That was more like it. Now he found this out, that was another thing scratched off the list. Why couldn't he have one thing? That's all he was asking for. One little thing he could do so he didn't feel so awful all the time. He didn't ask for anything more. One outlet. "Don't raise your voice at me!" Bruce went to grab his wrist to drag him inside but Dick shoved him away and ran at full speed back into the manor. "Dick come back here!"

Dick's mind was a sess pool of thoughts right now. He was going to be in so much trouble. He wouldn't get to be Robin for months after this especially after shoving Bruce. He knew the older was in the right. He really did. That's what made it worse. It fueled his anger. Shame, embarrassment, guilt. They were all thrown into the massive vat of anger that was slowly boiling over into despair. Why couldn't he get things right? Why was he such a problem? Why were things so hard? He didn't know what to do. This was a problem. A big problem. Massive even. He was faced with one option in order to solve it. Run. So he did. He ran up the garden. He ran into the kitchen. He ran past Alfred. He ran up the stairs. He ran to the attic. There he quickly climbed up to his small hiding place he'd found one day when he was bored and crawled into the corner in the smallest position he could fit into, bringing his knees tight to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He didn't know how to deal with all of these feelings that seemed to swallow him up in a black cloud of negativity. He wasn't mature enough to handle this mess! He was ten! He was ten and he got in trouble whilst feeling like the worst creature to ever walk the earth. Tears escaped his eyes and ran down his cheeks as he wallowed in seething anger and unhappiness.

"Dick, come out! This attic is dangerous and I don't want you to get hurt," Bruce announced. His voice was stern and firm, showing he was still mad about the incident. The sudden noise caught Dick off guard and sent him into a blind panic. All he could think was hide and run. He searched his immediate area and found a way onto a wooden beam but he couldn't quite see where he'd end up if he went across it. When he saw Bruce's head pop up along with an arm to climb into his spot, he took the chance and crawled over to it. Through blurry eyes, he stood up on the beam and began to walk across it. At the end, there was a small window that became his target. Maybe he could get to the roof and climb onto one of the trees or something. He didn't really have a plan but he knew he wanted to stay away from everyone else. He couldn't have gotten more than halfway across when he heard a crack. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. The wood had split ever so slightly. After noticing the crack, he noticed Bruce holding out his hand for him to take. Beneath him, the planks of the attic floor seemed worlds away. "Dick come back here!" Bruce yelled. He shook his head aggressively and backed further away. Another crack. Fear engulfed him as he became paralyzed.

Crack! This time it was closer. Bruce said something but he couldn't hear. Next thing he knew, the man was stepping out onto the beam to get close to him. "Richard, come here," he ordered. Dick shook his head slowly. "I'm not mad anymore-"

"Well, I am! I'm mad at everything and I don't know why!" Dick cried. His hands weaved their way into his hair and gripped his black locks tightly, pulling on them harshly. "I feel so mad all the time but I don't know who at! I just feel angry and sad and so sucky that I can't stand to feel it any longer!" He got dangerously close to pulling out his hair. Bruce empathized with the kid.

"We can work through these things. I understand how you feel," he assured him. The wood creaked loudly, this time even closer to Dick. Yet he remained stuck in one place. "Please just let me help you."

Suddenly, the wood beneath Dick's feet collapsed. He screamed as he came tumbling down to the ground. Time felt slow as he fell. He wondered if this was what his parents had felt like. Was he doomed to follow in their footsteps? He supposed so. He tried to turn a little so that he didn't hit his head. Even in panic, he knew hitting his head would be lights out from this height. Although he managed to turn to protect his head, he couldn't protect his arm. When the floor touched his skin, he instantly knew the trouble he was in. Pain shot right through his left arm and something blunt was pressing the inside of his skin as though it were trying to escape. Black dots instantly made their way to the corners of his eyesight as his brain desperately tried to knock him out to avoid the pain. It hurt so much, it almost made him throw up. He sat up, knocking the arm accidentally, then shrieked at the intensity of the pain. He leaned against some old furniture, cradling his surely broken arm. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he gulped down as much air as he could through strangled cries for help. Bruce must've ran faster than any human alive as he was there in an instant. "Alfred! Call an ambulance!" Bruce shrieked though it sounded like a mumble as Dick's mind finally triumphed in knocking him unconscious.

Dick opened his eyes to bright fluorescent lights that practically blinded him within seconds. He winced then tried again. They seemed a little less blinding now yet there was still the matter of those odd blobs of color floating around his eyes. He groaned at the dull pain that was invading the entire left side of his torso but most namely in his left arm. He couldn't quite remember why it was there or why it would be so dull yet so prominent. "Hello Master Dick," Alfred greeted from his bedside. "How are you feeling?"

"Hurts," he replied sleepily. He didn't remember falling asleep in the medbay. Now he was looking around, this didn't seem like the medbay at all. So where was he? 

"It will do, you got a pretty nasty break," the butler explained. Dick knitted his eyebrows together then looked down. His arm was in a thick white cast. He must be in the hospital. 

"Oh. Thought that I dreamed it," he responded. He was instantly hit with the realization that he made the biggest fool of himself. He wouldn't be surprised if Bruce wanted him out after his behavior. "Master Bruce wants to talk to you when you feel up to it," Alfred said. He hummed, sitting up carefully. He held his legs against his chest, ignoring the pain it caused for the comfort it brought him. "Would you like to see him?"

"I suppose I should face the music," Dick responded softly. He glanced over to the door where the older would surely come barging through. He'd get the telling off of a lifetime. 

"Don't think so little of him, sir. He'll understand as long as you tell him everything." He stood up and gave him a light kiss on the forehead, knowing how much importance the younger placed on signs of affection. Then he walked out of the room and turned to the side to let Bruce know he could come in.

The hair on the back of Dick's neck pricked up when Bruce came in. He closed the door behind him, ensuring they were alone and it remained that way. He walked over to the bed and sat on the chair beside Dick. The boy didn't quite know how to read the situation. He could tell that Bruce had been worried, the man was sweating buckets, but he couldn't tell if worry was influencing a decision that wouldn't be great for him. "How's the arm?"

"Hurts," he replied bluntly. His guardian nodded in acknowledgment.

"What you did back there was incredibly dangerous, regarding both the ax and going up into the attic," Bruce began. "God knows what could've happened had things gone completely wrong; if I hadn't gone out there." Dick gripped the sheets and gulped anxiously. He didn't like how Bruce was talking. It was putting on the edge he very well be pushed over given the right - or in this case wrong - sentence. "Why did you run away? You're so mature, I expect that from a..." Bruce stopped. He looked up to match his eyes with the boy. They were gleaming with unshed tears. He guessed he forgot that Dick was a child due to his maturity. At the end of the day, trauma didn't make him mature. It left him devoid of innocence. "You said before you fell that you were mad at everything and you didn't know why. You felt upset," he said, discarding the initial approach he was going to take.

"Bruce you don't care about that. I know you don't. All you care about is all the things I messed up," he snapped, rolling over so his back was facing him. Bruce frowned and stood up, sitting on the chair on the other side of the bed. 

"Is that all you care about?" he asked. After a moment, Dick nodded. "You didn't mess up. You just chose the wrong outlet for things." The acrobat shot up with a glare.

"I chose the wrong outlet because you broke your promise to me! You said I could talk to you any time yet when I finally want to, you treat me like-like- urgh!" His face lit up a bright red from the frustration. He didn't know why he was so quick to anger but he was and he felt so sick of everything. He felt his eyes watering so he hid his face in his knees. Bruce looked at him sympathetically and put a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to look up. "Was that when I was in the business meeting?" Dick nodded. "I'm sorry but you could've come to me after."

"I didn't want to! It took so much to come to you and within seconds it was gone again. I felt horrible. When I chopped that wood, I felt better so I didn't see a need. Now I don't have that anymore."

"Damn right you don't. You can't just turn to violence when you feel bad, it's not healthy," Bruce insisted. The younger scowled. 

"You can't say anything. You punch people in the face the moment you get a chance to after a bad day at work." His eyes darted away but his scowl was just as deadly. "I don't want to talk to you about it. I don't want to talk about it at all."

"But that's not-"

"I don't care what it is. You had your chance to be there for me and you blew it. This isn't your issue anymore." Bruce sighed and decided that Dick needed a moment. He was a kid and going through things. He'd understand he needed help with time. 

"We're gonna go home once the nurses check you over. We could get some ice cream," he suggested.

"Take a hint B. I'm not in the mood."

He remained to not be in the mood until that night. He'd eaten little of his dinner and went up to bed but he couldn't sleep. All he found he could do was cry. There was no anger left to bubble up in an outburst of violence. Instead, it had turned into complete and utter melancholy. Why did everything make him feel so bad? Suppressing it didn't work. Shifting it to anger didn't work. Trying to get it out didn't work. So he just resorted to allowing it to wash over him with such intensity that he was left sobbing. It was such a raw feeling, one that he couldn't compare to anything else he'd ever felt. He shoved his head into his pillow to try and quieten the cries. He was so deep into it he didn't hear the knock on the door from his concerned father figure. Bruce walked over to the bed cautiously and sat on the edge. He lightly tapped the child's shoulder. "Bruce?" Dick hiccuped. His face was bright red and blotchy from how hard he was crying. 

"Hey chum," he greeted.

"I'm sorry," he replied. The billionaire shook his head and put a hand on Dick's face, wiping away a few tears with his thumb. 

"You don't need to be. You're going through it and I wasn't there. I made a promise I broke but I'm here for you right now. You've got my undivided attention," he assured the younger.

"I feel really sad. I-It was so much easier when I was mad," Dick cried.

"Do you know why you feel sad?" Bruce inquired. He shrugged defeatedly.

"I just do. All the time. And I think I'm happy when I laugh at a joke or something but it's always in the back of my mind. I don't want it to be. I want the voice to shut up."

"I know what you're feeling and you need help from someone much more qualified but is there anything I can do in the short term? Before I find the best therapist I can for you?" Dick thought for a moment before wordlessly climbing into his lap and wrapped his arms around the older's chest, seeking comfort. Bruce hugged him back and rubbed circles on his back, shushing him gently every so often to keep him somewhat calm. "Can you tell me a story? It doesn't have to be made up." Bruce nodded but got him and his ward comfortable first before telling him about a mission he went on once. It was one of the funnier ones since he wanted to keep things lighthearted. He got to the bit where Flash got stuck in a wall when he noticed that Dick's breathing had evened out. He glanced down to see he'd fallen asleep. He frowned at his tear-stained cheeks but at least he was asleep. "I've got you, chum. I'll keep you safe," he whispered, more for his own sake than the boys. Yet he noticed a small smile grow on his face when he said it. Subconscious or not, he took it as a win.

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