pls i love this song and i am not handling things well!!

btw, I'm definitely projecting about the therapy comment I make here, please seek therapy if you are struggling and know that just because one type of therapy doesn't work there are other methods. This is more so my issue with therapists being married to CBT which works for most but not for me personally 

TW: DEPRESSION, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND REFERENCES TO SUICIDE

https://suicideprevention.ca/

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

https://www.inclusivetherapists.com/

"Dammit," Tim grumbled, tugging his earphones out and tossing them across the table. He received a few concerned glances which prompted him to explain. "My main lead was found dead and I heard about it through the Spotify daily drive!"

"How did they die? Do you know?" Duke asked. Usually, if one lead died, there was a knock-on effect. Everyone's leads suddenly clammed up and didn't want to say anything even if the death wasn't under suspicious circumstances. It made sense that they didn't speak when word got out that rats were being killed since the vigilantes couldn't exactly give them witness protection but it was still a pain to deal with.

"Looks like he overdosed on painkillers. Apparently, there's a note but they didn't give any more details. I'll have to look it up in the police files and then hope it wasn't the corrupt cop we're trying to weed out that did it or else I'll have to spend hours looking for it. I wish they just destroyed the evidence instead of putting it in the wrong case file," he whined, sounding far too childish for the context of the case. He seemed to realise this and went to add something that humanised the man who died. "At least it was an overdose. Those tend to be quick and painless."

"I think when I kill myself it won't be an overdose. My tolerance is too high so it'd be a waste of time and medicine. You know how expensive that stuff can be nowadays," Dick mentioned in passing as though he was talking about the weather. "I don't like the idea of choking on my own vomit either. Even if it is in my sleep. Breaking Bad depicted it in such a horrible way, put me off it." His expression wasn't agonised or bitter or even the slightest bit upset. It was flat and bored. It was almost under his breath too, like he didn't care if anyone heard it or not. 

Morbid jokes weren't new in their line of work. In fact, most of them talked about death in a rather frank way despite some of them actually dying. People in dark professions tended to make their humour fit in with it. If they could joke about what was traumatic for any other person to go through then it was less frightening to go into the metaphorical office to finish your work day. As a result, a morbid or taboo comment wouldn't shake them but this was different. The wording was wrong. He said when. Not if. 

The air of the cave suddenly got ten times heavier unbeknownst to Dick who continued to read through his case file without a care in the world. Meanwhile, his patchwork family glanced at one another with silent concern. They knew he could be self-destructive for lack of a better term but they never thought he would ever end his life. Had he said if they wouldn't be as concerned although they would throw up an eyebrow at the timing. He hadn't said if, he had said when. It was said with confidence like he'd thought about it before and considered all of his options. 

The image of Dick sitting at the table looking at packets of strong painkillers came to mind. Then ideas of him reviewing cases where people overdosed to check how much he would need and which were most potent. Perhaps he would scout out a drug dealer for their newest and strongest high, go to bed with a note in hand and think about slipping away as he stared at the drugs. All of these scenarios were deeply unpleasant and unnerving especially since Dick lived alone. They could have all happened and nobody would be any wiser because if he didn't tell a soul then it effectively didn't happen in their world.

Eventually, everyone looked at Bruce to see whether he considered the phrasing just as ominous. His eyes were studying Dick, picking apart his body language and probably delving into his lengthy psychiatric history. If he was concerned about it then everyone else should be too. 

"You wouldn't though, right?" Steph asked when no one spoke up. She hated the awkward silences the family were prone to. It made her antsy like she was waiting for a fight that would never come.

"Hm?" he replied, not looking away from the file.

"You wouldn't kill yourself," she explained. "Right?"

"Not right now, no," he responded. That didn't give them any comfort. 

"Okay, but you would any other time?" Tim asked. He shrugged nonchalantly. 

"What the fuck, Dick?" Jason snapped. "You can't just say shit like that and then pretend like it's a completely normal thing."

"Chill out, I'm not planning on anything. I wait a few years," he defended. His phone buzzed, catching his attention and his eyes darted over the screen. He sighed to himself and put down the file, getting up and grabbing the jacket he draped on the back of his chair. "Dami, your guy is probably long gone but there's an MO similar to one of Cass's cases. You two should work on it together when you get the time."

"Where do you think you're going?" Damian asked.

"Jaime set fire to the kitchen so I need to replace some stuff before Kori comes back. I told her not to give them that much cooking oil but she still doesn't understand human cooking. I caught her using lighter fluid to grill salmon once," he answered. He'd never get the smell out of his nose.

"You can't just leave!"

"Uhm, yes I can? I'm an adult and I'm pretty sure the only upside of that is being able to go whenever I want wherever I want and if you didn't catch what I just said, Jaime set fire to the kitchen. It might still be on fire."

"You just told us you were going to kill yourself. How do we know you won't do it once you leave here?" Bruce questioned. 

"I didn't tell you I was gonna kill myself right this minute. I said I wouldn't take pills and I said that I wait a few years so there's your assurance. You can see the message Jaime sent me if you want?"

"Screw Jaime, you can't up and leave until you explain yourself," Tim insisted. Dick sighed like this was only an inconvenience and not an impromptu intervention. Maybe years ago he would find it endearing to have everyone so worried and he would appreciate it more but it was too little too late. Plus he had a teenager currently tackling a fire and although he trusted him to save people, he didn't trust them not to burn the place down. 

"What's there to explain?"

"Why do you feel like this? How long you've felt like this? There is a wealth of questions here," Damian replied. 

"Fine. I've felt like this for years. I don't know when it started, maybe after a torture session too long but one day it got worse, I attempted, but it didn't work so I just kept going. As for why," he paused then let out a long sigh. "I'm always on that roof," he said, despondent, almost like he was mentioning a fact or telling you which turn you needed to make or simply asking if you had any cereal at home because you were in the breakfast aisle. Yet they knew that it was entirely serious. He'd just lived with an open wound for so long that he was used to it stinging and tearing further against small attempts to heal it. If any attempts were made. "I'm always on that floor, tied and beaten. I'm always sitting in that meeting room, being told my friends will turn on me and I need to know how to get rid of them when it happens." He glanced at the meeting room. "It was never if. Always when. Like there was no chance in the world that it wouldn't happen."

"I know it was wrong of me to do that," Bruce commented as though that was any true apology that was worthwhile. Dick considered him for a moment, deciding if yelling was worth it or if he even had any of that in him. He wished for anger. He pleaded for it sometimes. It was easier to be mad and feel some sort of passion than to feel constantly tired. 

"My friends are dead. Some of them by the methods you made me come up with and even if I didn't do it myself, it's enough to make me feel responsible in some way. I should've warned them of all the ways I imagined taking them down." He shook his head. "But they're gone and I'm here. I get torn apart every now and then, get expected to just piece myself together. I must've lost something trying to salvage what I could. That little bit of your brain that makes death seem scarier." His grip tightened then loosened again. "Truth is, I speak plainly about it because I feel that way. I see it logically I guess. I think and attempt to end my life and then it doesn't work out so I just...keep going. What else is there?"

"Therapy for starters."

"Therapy doesn't work when you're self-aware. They praise you like it's something worthwhile that people just beg to have and then send you on your merry way thinking to themselves lucky me for getting an easy one. They don't help. I don't want to want to kill myself yet I do and getting a pat on the back for knowing why makes me wonder why I shouldn't just end it there in front of them. See how their self-awareness will cope."

"You can't keep feeling the way you do," Duke insisted.

"Yet I can and I do. I don't know how you guys do it or if you're simply not blessed  with this self-awareness for why you are the way you are, but I manage." He shrugged. "All I can say is I'll make it easy and pretty. I'd like to feel pretty in the end. Not hot or handsome. Just pretty."

"But we don't want you to make your death somehow easy. We want you to not want to die," Jason said matter of fact. 

"And I want teenagers to not set a kitchen on fire making a pizza bagel but that's the consequence of letting kids live on their own. This is a consequence of doing the job." He put his jacket on. "I'll handle it like I do everything. You didn't really notice so I guess I've been doing a good job."

"We're not done talking about this Dick," Bruce stated, making a move to somehow stop him from leaving but not fully committing to it.

"We are. Something will come up, you'll get busy with some new danger and it'll be forgotten. Always is." He typed something on his phone before taking a call. "Yeah? Jaime, what type of fire- how did you set a chemical fire in a kitchen?"

"We're going to bring this backup!" Dick waved his hand dismissively. 

"I'm getting on the bike now. No, don't- yeah that's what happens when you mess with chemicals. Don't let Bart near it, he'll just make it worse. This is the last time I leave the cleaning cabinet unlocked. You're getting Dettol wipes from now on."