This is a pretty depressing chapter especially when it's Dick from my He's a Child Again book so keep that in mind and don't read if you're not in the right head space!! 

Also, because someone commented about the helplines thing, if I post a fic where I don't have a TW or if you think it needs a CW then please let me know!! I won't take offence or anything, I want to make sure we're all safe here and it's no trouble to make sure that happens :)

TW: Depictions of self-harm, self-deprecating thoughts 

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/

Dick struggled to know what to do with himself when his family finally understood they couldn't get him back to "normal." They seemed to forget that he was just as disappointed about not being able to go back to a time he understood and felt at home in. It seemed they assumed all problems had been solved when they guaranteed that he wasn't going to be sent away and that he'd suddenly be okay with it all after they offered him a clean slate. They truly didn't understand maybe because they couldn't or maybe because they were still reeling from the solid fact that Dick Grayson was gone. 

The smallest things were new to him now and he hated finding every little difference in the media he'd been surrounded by daily. Something as small as seeing the logo on a cereal box had been changed slightly made him want to do away with the meal altogether. They didn't understand that part of it. Well, not all of them did.

As he drowned in unfamiliarity, there was always one person he could go to who understood what he was experiencing even if it was slightly different. Jason had died and then returned a few years later, and whilst that wasn't as long as Dick's time difference, it was still a significant amount of time. A time that could lead to the change of many things both big and small. He found himself gravitating towards Jason more often simply because he seemed to understand things better than anyone else could and he didn't have this air of expectancy. Everyone else seemed to expect something from him, whether it be an assurance that he still cared or to remind them that Dick wasn't dead. Jason offered company without expectancy. He seemed to simply enjoy being around his (once bigger) small brother. 

The unfortunate downside of Jason being his person of comfort was that he didn't live in the Manor and only visited two times a week, usually on weekends. Apparently, there had been some tensions in the family that had been laying dormant as they tried to work on a cure for Dick's predicament so when they finally got it through their heads that he wasn't going back to normal, the tensions came back. Bruce and Jason got into little spats that would end up with the visits being clipped short or skipped altogether. So seeing Jason soon became something he'd be unsure of happening as there was no certainty and very little heads up as to when he was going to visit. Jason lived in an apartment on the side of town Dick wasn't allowed to visit on his own especially outside of being a hero so he couldn't even visit on his own when the pair were at odds. 

That was another thing that was really beginning to grate on his nerves. He knew that he couldn't be Robin, that was Damian's title now but it left him feeling displaced. He never noticed before just how much time he devoted to Robin so now that he wasn't the hero anymore, he felt lost. Everyone else would leave for the evening to fight crime and all he could do was see them off before trudging off to bed. Alfred said it was a good thing. That he needed to rest anyway as he got to terms with his new life and that they shouldn't rush into making him a hero again when he was young. Dick didn't agree. He didn't get any rest, instead, he spent most nights waiting for Alfred to go to bed so that he could sneak over to the window and watch the city longingly. If he felt particularly brave, he would turn on the news and wait for a story about his family to come on. On those nights he'd go to bed feeling a little more jealous of how everyone else could be a hero except him. 

Sometimes he felt like a ghost haunting the home. Whilst his family made an effort to involve him in things and he was far from feeling like he was going to be kicked out, they weren't there 24/7 nor were they available all the time. He couldn't expect them to be since they all still had lives that didn't revolve around him but that meant he was usually left to his own devices for most of the day. Alfred would be there but he usually disappeared to do his usual chores for the day and as much as Dick appreciated the company, chores weren't his idea of fun. He'd wander around just sort of waiting for someone to come home or for something to happen. TV would only keep him occupied for a while before eventually reminding him that he was in the future from his perspective. He'd eventually walk off disinterested and busy himself with something else. Reading was an option but all the books were boring and it took three pages to describe a table. Maybe there were good books still in the library but he gave up finding them. There was always the internet but it had the same problem as the TV and seeing games that had only just come out before he got sent into the future be called vintage was one way to be sent into a spiralling mess.

One day, he snuck into the Batcave. Although he was technically allowed in there, he wasn't supposed to be there on his own anymore. When it was just Bruce and himself, he was allowed to go down there all the time to train or use the computer as long as it contributed to Robin and always did. Dick hadn't trained since Slade took him but he needed something to do or he was going to go insane. He walked down the steps cautiously despite knowing for a fact the cave would be empty. Bruce was at work, Damian was at school and Tim was...somewhere? He didn't really know what Tim did during the day. He just knew it was somewhere outside the house where he wasn't supposed to be. Dick stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. He didn't have much of a plan other than visiting the cave so now he was here, he didn't really know what to do with himself. 

What would he do if he wasn't in the future having effectively accidentally murdered himself leading to him being trapped in a time he had no understanding of surrounded by people who were grieving? 

His eyes landed on the gym and he supposed that if he were in the normal version of his reality, he'd be training with Bruce for patrol. Since neither of those was happening, he felt slightly disheartened but not enough to go back upstairs. He may as well tire himself out. He entered the gym, startled slightly when the lights turned on automatically and then appraised to the equipment. 

There was no way he was going to mess with the weights because the last thing he need was for something to go wrong and be stuck there all day. He could already feel the headache from the lecture he'd get if he tried that. 

Next was the treadmill. He wasn't wearing the right shoes and he was too small to see the buttons so Bruce usually set them up for him. Whilst he did like to run on the treadmill, he didn't want to break anything or get flung off it by hitting a bunch of random buttons. The same logic also took out the cross fit, the spin bike and a few other machines he didn't know the names of. 

He felt himself get more frustrated with each struck-off idea and began flexing his hands hoping to keep himself somewhat calm. It just wasn't fair that he was left on his own for the whole day and forced to be on his own at night. They all left him to his thoughts when they knew how hard it was for him. It wasn't fair they could distract themselves from the matter at hand whilst he was forced to live with it. They acted like his only issue was being sent away but it wasn't. There was plenty more eating away at him. 

Notably, the heavy guilty feeling of being the reason they lost someone they cared dearly for. He felt like he murdered their version of Dick Grayson. It wasn't like he'd intended to be stuck in the future but he was effectively denying them of their Dick Grayson now and there was no way to get that person back. He was the reason for that and his brain had latched onto the phrasing of having murdered him. Once it was thought up, it stuck. 

Then came the simple fact that he'd already lived his life and now he was having to live it again. Everyone liked that version of himself so what if they didn't like him now? He was who he was thanks to experiences he went through but now he'd been sent back to being nine. All those experiences people had seen him through and that had built a person people had been proud to know were gone. He was effectively back at square one and it was impossible to go through everything that made him that amazing person. What if this time around he was a bad person? What if this time he didn't get control of his anger issues in the same way and had outbursts more often? What if he wasn't as kind or as patient? What if he wasn't a good hero anymore and everyone would be longing for a hero that was no longer around? The hero he'd killed.

Then everything went silent as pain bloomed along his red knuckles and it took a few moments to realise that Dick had thrown his fist against the wall. Rather than step away to attend to the small scrape on his hand, he threw another punch against the wall. It was strong and made of stone and concrete so there was no way it would give in to a nine-year-old's punches but the feeling of his fist connecting with it made everything pause. The blood rushing in his ears would push out any other thought and he'd no longer hear the whispers of being a disappointment. The pain would disrupt other thoughts from forming until all he could think of and focus on was throbbing. Moments before they had overwhelmed him yet now he could only hear the steady pulse of blood. As it died slightly, Dick threw another punch against the stone and sighed in relief when everything came back. 

So he punched the wall again. 

And again.

He could see that his knuckles were splitting open, that the grey wall had scuff marks of red and yet he didn't hesitate to continue. Life had been so loud and this was the first moment of silence he'd had in a long time. He couldn't stop now even if he wanted to which he certainly didn't want. He wanted to remain in this moment despite the pain now riveting from his fingers up his arms. There was no way he could tell how long he'd been punching other than the gradually building pain but even then he couldn't be sure how much work adrenaline was doing to calm it. 

Dick was content to continue until he physically couldn't but hands grabbed onto his shoulders and pulled him away, spinning him around to reveal their owner was Tim. They didn't say anything to one another at first. The boy watched the way Tim's face was creased with worry and slightly paler than usual which only brought out the dark eyebags he'd received from working so hard to get his big brother back. His big brother that Dick had essentially killed. Murdered even. Murdered hit much harder than killed. Killed made it sound like there was an accident or perhaps it had been justified in some way like in self-defence. Not in this case. No, it was cold-blooded. His refusal to change his own physiology and his demand to stop looking for some sort of cure. He was a murderer perhaps out of neglect but a murderer all the same. He watched as the eyes darted over his expression which rested heavily on his feature. The hands on his shoulders slipped down to gently cup his hands and a thumb brushed over his soon-to-be bruised knuckles. 

He wondered if he should feel guilty as of this moment. He'd caused the family enough turmoil and now he'd caused Tim even more if his face was anything to go by. Yet all he could feel was numb. Very few times in his short life had he felt this numb. It usually came at times when his brain was still processing the facts and yelling at his emotions to react to them. Sometimes there was a delay and now appeared to have that delay. So he watched with an intense stare and his jaw clenched slightly. His hands trembled as they were held. In fact, he supposed his whole body was trembling as it was slowly tapering off the adrenaline running around its system.

Finally, Tim broke the silence.

"We should wrap these up," he said quietly as though speaking too loud would shatter Dick into pieces. Maybe it wouldn't but for now, it was better safe than sorry. It took a few moments for Dick to realize that tending to his hands wasn't a suggestion but rather a statement. He felt like a stranger in his own body as he was led to a chair and picked up so he could sit on it. His brother dipped out of sight and guessed that was to retrieve something to help his injury. What he'd done and its gravity hadn't registered yet so he sat obediently in the chair without making any attempt to escape.

When Tim came back into the frame, he was holding bandages and antiseptic wipes. To stave off infection, the acrobat's mind supplied as it struggled to reckon with the fact the injuries were completely his own and self-made. He didn't like infections. His stomach would always churn when he caught sight of cuts going green or leaking fluid. Tim got a chair and sat in front of him with the same worried expression. He took one of Dick's hands and gently dabbed it with the wipe. It was at that moment that Dick's mind came back to him and he realised what he'd done. He'd punched a wall until his knuckles were cracked and bleeding and they hurt. He'd hurt himself. He wasn't supposed to do that. No one was. It was like an unspoken rule that everyone understood was a big no-no to do. He remembered when he was biting his nails and Alfred told him to stop or he'd hurt himself. That was a bad thing and he'd done a bad thing again. 

Tears pricked his eyes and he suddenly felt all the muscles in his face come to life to pull an expression he imagined was quite pathetic to see. Tim didn't see it at first as he was invested in cleaning the cuts to ensure a healthy healing process. Everyone was going to be so mad he broke a rule. They'd just given him a clean slate and he'd gone and done this. They were going to kick him out. They were going to think he was a lost cause. His breath picked up which was what caught Tim's attention. Boy, if the teen looked any sadder you would've thought someone died. Well, someone did. 

"I'm sorry," he whimpered. "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay. You're allowed to cry if it hurts." It did hurt but that wasn't why he was crying.

"I'm so sorry. Please, I'm really sorry." He didn't even understand why he was so desperate to apologise for this but he felt too guilty to remain silent.

"Dick, what're you talking about? I'm lost here."

"For punching the wall. I'm not supposed to." It seemed to finally dawn on Tim what he was trying to say and in the blink of an eye, he was pulled into a hug. He hesitated to return it but finally did with a small cry. "I'm sorry." Tim shushed him softly and pressed a kiss into his hair.

"Here's what we're gonna do. You're going to tell me why you punched the wall whilst I wrap up your knuckles so I can work out how to fix it in the short term. Then we'll go to Bruce together to figure it out in the long term. He's not gonna be mad, no one will be. We'll sort it out."

"Did...did he ever?" The question was inappropriate and he wasn't sure why he asked it but the response to his apology sounded too sure to be thought of on the spot. Judging by the sigh, he wasn't wrong in his suspicion and before he could make an attempt to say an answer wasn't needed he got one. 

"Sometimes people would rather let a behaviour pass because they're not ready to recognise it for what it is. Everyone in this business has to be a little self-sacrificing and perhaps a glutton for punishment so when I saw you displaying these... destructive behaviours, I assumed it was something you had control over. You did eventually but not when I first saw them. Not for a long time after I first saw them." Tim spoke with softness but the regret was clear in his voice and the way he didn't break the hug until he'd answered the question in full. Dick supposed there was always regret when someone died suddenly. He certainly felt that when it came to his parents. Had he known his life would change so suddenly then he would've said I love you a lot more. 

He watched silently as Tim wrapped his hands and only spoke up once he was done. 

"Tim, I'm scared. I-I don't know how I'm supposed to just live here and I can't- I killed him. I killed your brother." The older shook his head with a frown and cupped his face with his hand, wiping the tears that dripped down Dick's blotched cheeks.

"You didn't kill anyone. He's gone but not because you killed him."

"Then why do I feel like I did?"

"Because you've got a guilt complex the size of Texas on a good day," he replied with a slight laugh as though recalling some sort of inside joke. "You didn't kill him. Slade's stupid plan got you here and took him away but you had nothing to do with that. It isn't your burden," he insisted. "I know that I haven't been there like the others have and I know that my way of dealing with it all made you feel unwanted but Dick, you never did anything wrong. You're just a kid." 

Whilst it made complete sense, he still felt like he was the one to blame. He hummed in response to the small speech as he was unable to trust his voice in order to make a real reply. 

"I have a habit of dealing with things in the wrong way. My friend died a few years ago. He was a clone of Superman and I loved him a lot. I thought that if he was a clone then I could just remake him and he'd be okay but no matter how hard I tried, I could never get it right," the older explained, his voice wobbling slightly as he recalled it. "I didn't try to clone you before you ask. You try to do it ninety-nine times and then you get the idea it won't work. I did try to figure out how to get you back to nor- back to the man I knew."

"I know."

"You don't know the extent I was willing to go. I was willing to risk you hating me if it meant you coming back. As unethical as they were, I wanted to do them if it meant I could have my big brother back." It was a big thing to admit, Dick had to give him that. He certainly wouldn't be as honest if this was his secret to share but the honesty was welcomed after feeling like they'd hardly spoken in the last few months. "You know, when you first turned, I made a jab at Damian. Said he needed to be nicer to you because this might be permanent. I didn't think it would, I just wanted to get a rise out of him. Sometimes I wonder if I jinxed it even though I know that's not how it works."

"Is that why we don't talk a lot?" Dick asked before he could stop himself.

"Maybe? I don't know. I think I struggle to do what everyone else is doing when they look at you. They see you and they think, oh he's not gone he's right there! But then I see you and I think about how there's gotta be a way to get my version of you back. Even Damian is better at me about it, do you know how dumb that is?" He spoke with a cadence of a joke so the acrobat let out a small laugh for his trouble even if he didn't quite understand. "Think you could give me a second chance with all this? Maybe I could be your second favourite since we all know Jay's your favourite."

"'Course I'll give you a chance Tim. You're family even if I don't remember why," he replied.

"Let's start with this then. Emotions are a little tricky but I've got a knack for connecting dots and finding root causes."

"Alright."

"You used to say you felt responsible for your parents dying," Tim stated. His eyes widened and a part of him felt quietly disappointed at the fact he'd never been able to work through the guilt. The older seemed to notice it and went to clarify. "But you said you had ways you deal with it and I doubt that it's as destructive as this so what do you do to deal with that?"

"Robin." That seemed to make a flip switch behind the teen's eyes and his expression crumpled as though he'd just said the most obvious thing in the world.

"Of course. You use hero work to deal with a lot of your emotions and now you don't have it." It was a running theme then, Dick thought to himself. 

"Everything reminds me I'm in the future so I can't do anything! I can't read or watch TV and I don't know how to get the internet to play the music I like because usually it would just be on the radio and I didn't think of the song names and," his sentence trailed off. 

"That doesn't mean you should be punching walls."

"It's not like I meant to! I just did because I got mad and it was the closest thing. I didn't even know what I did until I did it!"

"Why did you keep going?" Tim had this way of asking questions that made you feel ever so slightly like an experiment he was working on. It wasn't his fault so the acrobat never called him out on it but in this sensitive moment, he couldn't help but wish for someone else to have found him. He didn't like being a continued project for Tim to work on and fix. 

"It made things quiet." The teen went silent for a moment, evidently thinking by the way his eyes narrowed. 

"Well, that's something a more healthy coping mechanism can provide. You said new things tend to make you feel out of place so how about we get you some tapes and some tech you're more familiar with?" 

"Isn't all that super expensive now?" he asked, already hating the prospect of asking for it.

"Dick, your dad is a billionaire. You're not gonna break the bank."

"I'm still getting used to that."

"Don't worry about it, I don't think you ever did get used to it." He hummed distantly at the mention of his future self. He didn't really want the reminder right now. "Alright, here's what we'll do. You tell me what stuff you like and then we'll get it for you. We probably should've done that from the start. The computers right here so you just tell me and I'll get it, okay?"

"Without Bruce's permission?" Dick asked as the teen twirled his seat around so he could see the screen before taking a seat himself.

"He'll say yes anyway. He wants you to feel at home and if this helps, he'll blow a whole lot more money than you're gonna like on it. Best I do it so I don't end up buying museum-worthy pieces." He smiled softly at the thought. That certainly sounded like something his Bruce would do and he revelled in the familiarity.

"One time he bought a Mcdonald's so I'd always get the toys I liked."

"Oh my God, that's why the workers always give me funny looks when I go in there. I just thought they were being nice with the extra nuggets."