I am not done with giving this guy even more side effects from being literally shot in the head and then brainwashed like twice

If you asked Dick all the side effects he could have or potentially have after his injury and subsequent brainwashing, he would bore you with a list as long as his arm. He must've heard them over and over but there was one he hadn't told anyone about. Only Bea knew and he preferred it that way. There was enough to worry about and certainly enough to convince his family he shouldn't live alone between his memory lapses and intense migraines. He liked his independence. He loved being Nightwing and that was already hanging by a string. 

Besides, he had it under control. It had basically gone away by itself and the doctors said that he could have seizures in the future but they never made themselves known. It'd been so long since his last one and he didn't notice anything wrong. He could probably get away with ignoring the times he did have a seizure soon after his head injury. Surely if it was going to happen, it would've happened by now. So he had to be okay. Right?

Unfortunately, he was living on borrowed time and life was never on his side. 

Since getting back to somewhat normal, Dick had made more of an effort to visit his home in Gotham and spend time with his family. It was nice to spend a couple of hours somewhere that he'd known since he was little so even if his memory slipped up, he would know where he was. It also made it easier to take care of himself when he had migraines because he didn't have to do a million and one things alone to keep up basic self-care like dishes or laundry. He knew it brought some comfort to his family too that he was staying somewhere they knew was safe. If anything bad happened, they knew where to find him and could immediately bring him somewhere to help. It was a win win. 

He made himself comfortable in the library, feeling like something was off but putting it down to an oncoming migraine. The library was quiet and inspired quiet so he didn't have to worry about loud noises when the migraine finally came. It also had low lighting thanks to the burning fire used as the only primary light source of the room. He knew blue light did nothing to help his migraines so he chose to go through some paper documents of his current case although he made a silent agreement with himself that he wouldn't stress over it. A fact he had to tell himself was that things were different now and he couldn't take as much stress as he used to. Maybe he never could but it didn't reveal itself in such obvious signs. 

His quiet was disrupted slightly by the fireplace being opened and Bruce stepping out before closing the secret door behind him. Bruce had seemed in thought at first but his expression smoothed out when he saw his ward on the couch. 

"Looking for me?" Dick asked.

"I was," he answered as he crossed the room and sat beside him. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm fine, just feeling weird. I think it's a migraine since I've not had one in a while."

"What about your memory lapses?"

"Had one last week. I apparently kept texting Wally like he was dead and then freaked out when he called me to ask if I was doing okay." He'd looked over the messages when he came out of it and felt like he couldn't face the speedster for the next year. It was all terribly depressing to read so he stopped halfway through with no intention of going back to it. 

"You know you're welcome to stay here," Bruce offered. He was usually good at hiding his emotions and coming across as cold rather than caring but now he looked every bit the worried father as though Dick were made of glass and standing ominously close to the edge of the stairs. 

"I know, B."

"There's no shame in moving back home if this is getting too much. You could stay here until it becomes less frequent."

"They are less frequent and nothing bad has happened. I just get a little confused and upset."

"I'm just... Dick, you're going through enough right now and you're very clearly getting stressed. You look like you haven't slept well since your last visit." 

Dick couldn't deny that. He would be stupid to not know how he looked when he stared at himself in the mirror in the morning, picking out parts he knew were his own and other parts caused by life. He knew his cheekbones were more prominent than they should be, he knew his muscles showed more than they should, and he was more than aware of his two permanent black eyes that were only worsened by the bright blue irises they encircled. In short, he knew he looked like shit and more often than not he felt like shit. However, he liked his independence and he honestly didn't know if he could handle being home for more than a week. 

"It'll get better," he said. It's all he could say really. Repeating the words psychologists, neurologists, pharmacists, friends, family and strangers who just happened to know. 

"It won't be the end of the world if it doesn't."

"What're we talking about right now?" he asked, putting down the case file with a suspicious look. 

"Your health and only your health. You're not well, you look sick every time I see you. You're on your own in that apartment in a different city and I know you like to be on your own but you're already pressing your luck returning to work."

"I'm not moving back home."

"Then move in with a friend. Wally or Barbara or go back to the Titans. You're not safe on your own."

"No, I want to live on my own. I'm fine on my own. I've not burnt the place down, I'm still working out and doing my job-"

"What about eating? Sleeping? Brushing your hair?" He subconsciously reached up and lightly touched the tangled curls at the back of his neck. "I'm well aware that you're capable of doing your job and keeping yourself alive but you're struggling with the basics. What if that only exacerbates your symptoms or brings new symptoms to light?"

"I'm," Dick began, with all intent of arguing his point further but his mind went blank. He felt wrong but it wasn't the familiar feeling of a migraine coming on at the most inopportune moment. 

"You've gone very pale, are you alright?" Bruce asked. He wanted to reply but he couldn't get his mouth to work. His mouth was rapidly feeling with spit like he was about to throw up but his stomach didn't churn and his throat didn't burn from bile. He felt wrong though. 

Something wrong was happening, that was for sure. He felt anxious, almost terrified, knowing there was some impending doom on the horizon. Then his head felt funny, like he was going to pass out but not entirely. He knew this feeling though and when he finally placed it, all he could hope for was for the wood floor to not be too hard. "Dick?"

"Srry B," he slurred, forcing the words out. "Shuld've said sumthin."

"What?" 

Whilst he still had control of his limbs, he got off the couch and stumbled to a free space on the floor where he couldn't slam his head into any antic hardwood furniture that was sturdier than a bomb shelter. He had enough brain damage at the moment. Bea would sometimes ball up whatever she was wearing or whatever was close so she could ball it up and put it underneath his head so he didn't slam it on the floor either. He was suddenly reminded of her terrified face and while clinging to control of his body, he noticed the same expression being mirrored in his father's face. Terror, anxiety and slight panic they didn't want to reveal. Dick wanted to say sorry again but he couldn't. His eyes rolled back and his body thrashed.

Dick didn't know how long it had been and for a brief moment, he was blissfully unaware of what happened. That wouldn't last nearly as long as he would like as his mind soon showed him the memory of stooping to the floor. His whole body hurt like he'd been run over and his mind didn't feel quite right but he knew he had a seizure and he was also painfully aware of how Bruce was staring at him in muted horror. He wants to cry right there and then but he's so tired that he didn't think he could even if he tried. Bruce seems to see the tears gathering in his eyes that haven't quite left them and gently ran his hand through his hair with a smile. 

"Are you back with me?"

"Think so," he muttered, his voice cracking. He tried to sit up but his trembling arms didn't care how much he wanted to be upright and moved mere inches. He whined in frustration and looked to Bruce for help. The older nodded and looped his arm underneath his armpits before pulling him to his feet. He was unsteady and his legs were desperate to buckle but Bruce held onto him tightly so he remained upright. He could feel the bruises beginning to form on his back and all he wanted to do was sleep.

"Did you pick up anything on patrol? Poison or a blow to the head?" He squeezed his eyes closed and let out a whimper, trying to hide his face in his hands but being unable to do so because his limbs felt so heavy. "Let's get you to med bay. I'll run some tests."

"No tests."

"I need to know, chum," his mentor replied with a painfully comforting voice. 

"I know."

"You know why this happened?" He made an affirmative noise. "It's...it's to do with your head injury, isn't it?" He nodded. "Oh Dick, what am I going to do with you?" Bruce pressed a kiss against his forehead and gently led him to the elevator.

By the time they got to the Batcave, Bruce decided Dick wouldn't stay on his feet for much longer and picked his ward up far easier than anyone should pick up a grown man. Dick would feel embarrassed being carried by his mentor in front of his siblings but he couldn't help but feel thankful. Everything ached. He forgot how much stress it put on his body and he didn't know how long it had gone on for either. He guessed since he could still think fairly clearly it hadn't done any real damage but God he was terrified. Yet another thing he couldn't control had reared its ugly head and here he was relying on someone else to look after him. He hated it so he squeezed his eyes closed and hoped by the time they reached the bed he could pretend he just woke up there from a nightmare.

He couldn't pretend all that well though when the moment he was put on the bed he met eyes with his siblings who were quickly filling the room asking what happened and if he was okay. Dick stared at them, wanting to explain but not knowing how or having the energy to. He felt his face heat up and the tears that had been brewing finally dripped down his face. It would've been easier to deal with him sobbing but all he could muster was ragged breaths and slow fat tears rolling down his face. Bruce sat on the bed and pulled him into a much-needed hug, returning to work through the knots in it.

"I'll explain later. Could you wait outside and one of you fetch Alfred?" For once, they didn't fight his order and quickly got out of the room either due to discomfort of seeing Dick so distraught or because they just wanted to make him comfortable. "It's alright. Alfred's going to come down and help with some tests."

"No tests."

"They're just tests to make sure there wasn't any damage, okay? I'm going to look through your medical notes and send them to Leslie. We'll get it worked out."

"How long was it?"

"A minute or there about so no need for hospital just some tests here." Dick nodded slowly. "I wish you told me you knew about this."

"I'm sorry."

"None of that," he replied softly. "I know now and that's what matters."

Dick knew it would come up eventually. Whilst Alfred did tests and Bruce looked through his medical history, he knew the topic would come up again. Move into the family home because you're not capable of being on your own. Now he'd had his seizure again after so long, he knew deep down this would be another problem that would be just as frequent as the memory lapses and the migraines. He didn't know if he could live on his own when that was the case. This wasn't getting confused about where he was and thinking he was a teenager nor was it being stuck in bed because his head hurt so much that blinking felt like torture. This could kill him. He could die if he had a seizure too long, a seizure in the wrong place or had any complications in general. 

This wasn't just about his living situation either. How could he be Nightwing if he could have a seizure in the middle of the fight? He doubted Joker would patiently wait until it was over and he could get in a power nap before attacking. Maybe Harley would but that was beside the point. He could be stubborn and he could ignore reason but he wasn't stupid and he didn't want to die even if quitting Nightwing felt like the end of his life. Dick could lie to himself but he couldn't tell himself that this wouldn't impact Nightwing at all and it wouldn't be in his best interest to put his hero career on pause. 

"Alfred," he began, gaining the butler's attention. 

"Yes?"

"I think my life is over."

"Oh, I'd hardly say that."

"No?"

"No," he answered confidently. "Even if there is no medication that will help and if this happens more often, your life will never be over. Barbara could be Oracle, you can be someone else too. More importantly, though, your life will never be over so long as you keep hope. It doesn't matter what the hope is for, whether it's hope for your favourite book to get a movie adaption or hope your family is happy. As long as you have hope for something, your life is never over."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise." Dick swallowed thickly because he really didn't want to start crying again. "It'll get better." And when Alfred said that, he finally found someone who seemed to know for certain that it would. The butler was never wrong so it will get better.