So I may be overstating Dick's immunity to fear toxin here but I remember when Jason threw some at him, he was basically immune to it because of something else - I like to think since this guy has been hit with it since he was 9 that he's now got a built up immunity to some of the older variants

also some mental health talk about ptsd and cptsd but it's really just a conversation about it but so im unsure if it's a tw but here are some websites that can offer you support anyway!!

https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd-and-complex-ptsd/useful-contacts/

https://www.psychguides.com/guides/ptsd-hotline/#:~:text=National%20Hopeline%20Network%3A%20(800),Now%E2%80%9D%20button%20on%20its%20website.

http://www.ptsdassociation.com/

https://findahelpline.com/au/topics/trauma-ptsd

Whilst Dick and Damian had grown closer than they'd begun due to Bruce's death, there was still a rift between them that prevented them from being completely brotherly. Mostly Damian's insistence about being the better Robin and how he was the blood son of Bruce Wayne and therefore entitled to Batman. Dick understood why he felt that way. To him, Batman was still shiny and new without the marks of reality to taint it. He'd been the same way when he was Robin. Unfortunately, it would always touch the wrong nerve when Damian went on his rants about it and he had to walk away before he said something he'd regret. Damian hadn't quite worked out to do the same yet.

"It's like he doesn't respect me," he'd told Alfred one night. The pair had made a habit of staying up a touch later after Damian went to bed to talk about their days. Sometimes they lamented on the memories of Bruce or just memories in general of times better than these. Most of the time it was for Dick to ask for advice on how to be a guardian for someone that didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. They would only last as long as it took to finish a cup of tea but they could make that last as long as it needed to. 

"I'm sure he does. He respects your authority as Batman," the butler reassured him. He shook his head, looking at the light tan liquid in his cup. He took his tea with too much milk and too much sugar in Alfred's opinion. He argued that he liked his tea not to taste of dirt. 

"Barely. I think he only does that because he wants to look like the perfect Robin."

"Even so, he took the title you made. Had he no respect for you, he wouldn't have dawned the suit the same colours," Alfred said in that wise tone the acrobat could only wish to have when he was older. "I know you struggle but I assure you, he does respect you."

"Perhaps as a hero but not as me. I see why. I mean, in comparison, it's not like coming from a circus is a great bloodline."

"You come from a circus that housed the only people in the world who could perform their act as they could. That's something to be proud of."

"I'm not saying I'm not proud of my heritage. It's that he isn't proud to know someone of it. There's got to be a way for him to respect me as Dick Grayson I just don't know it."

"Why are you so desperate to earn his respect?" Alfred asked. 

"If I had it, I think it would really help the kid. Right now he hardly comes to me with his problems but I'd be able to help more if I had his trust and I can only get trust from respect. Do you get what I mean?"

"I'm attempting to. Honestly, Richard, you worry for that boy more so than you worry for yourself." 

"Of course I do. He needs someone to worry for him. I don't think he's had that before," he replied. "Besides, I'm doing fine."

"Are you?" He quickly drank the rest of the tea before answering the question.

"I'm alright Alfred. You don't need to worry about me. I'll be in the cave if you need me and I promise I'll go to bed before 3 am this time," he said before leaving the room. Alfred finished the last of his tea with a sigh. He couldn't do much for a person who avoided their own problems by fixing others but he hoped that something would change sooner rather than later by the looks of the growing dark circles underneath Dick's eyes. 

Batman handed Robin a mask, gesturing for him to put it on. 

"What's this for?" Robin asked. 

"These guys are manufacturers for a lot of the gases Scarecrow uses. They'll have old shipments in there so it's best not to breathe it in unless you want to see your dead parents call you a failure," he replied simply. His tone suggested a joke but he wasn't sure what he was joking about. Batman put on his own mask, double-checking it to make sure the sides were pressed against his face properly so he'd only be breathing filtered air. He didn't really need to wear it though. He'd become partially immune to the toxins the group were developing after being exposed to it for so long. If he didn't wear his mask though, Robin would refuse to wear his own and he didn't want to fight about it. It was the last job of the night and he could do with it wrapping up easily.

"Surely it would be beneficial to expose myself to it," Robin commented. "That way I know what I'm facing."

"I don't see how facing your worst fear is beneficial in any way other than traumatising yourself further but even if there was, it takes years to build up any sort of immunity. B was only immune to some versions but when that was found out, they changed the formula. Best to avoid the literal nightmare fuel," he explained. His protege nodded thoughtfully and put on the mask as prompted. "Now, whatever you do, don't rush in. Whilst the filters work, if your mask breaks you're in for a hell of a time. Wait for my- aaaand he's already ran in. Great." Was he like that when he was a kid? ...probably. 

Thanks to Robin, they lost the element of surprise and ended up engaging in combat. Thanks to that, a guy with an itchy trigger finger missed shooting them and instead shot their shipment of fear toxin. Batman was silently thankful they'd put the masks on before they entered although he was not a fan of being thrown across the room before the toxin set in.

"Grayson! Are you alright?" Robin asked frantically, his hands up as though to do something but not quite making the action they wanted to. Batman frowned at the reaction and nodded slowly. He'd only been thrown across the room into a bunch of wooden boxes, it wasn't that bad. Not that bad for people like them if anything. "Your mask is broken. We need to get you out of here before the toxin sets in." 

"Robin, I'm immune to this variant."

"No one is immune to fear toxin," the younger snapped back.

"I'm being serious."

"Nonsense. You must have hit your head." He pulled Batman to his feet and kept a hold on his arm to lead him out. Around them, criminals cried and whimpered as they faced their fears yet Batman remained the same. He was steady on his feet as they walked and didn't recoil at figures no one else could see. Robin frowned but didn't take his chances with remaining there any longer. He kept a hold of his hand until they were both outside where he let go and he looked closer to ensure that he had indeed seen the mask was broken. 

"I told you, I'm immune to that variant."

"I don't understand. Not even Father was immune to strains of fear toxin," he argued. 

"Try being hit in the face with them since you were nine," Batman deadpanned. "I'm okay, I promise."

"But," whatever argument Robin had died after that. He narrowed his eyes at his mentor and then glanced back to the warehouse of wailing criminals. "You really don't feel anything?"

"I feel anxious and a little paranoid but I usually feel those things anyway. They're just a little more than my normal."

"You feel like that all the time?"

"Again, hit in the face with unknown chemicals since I was nine. Among other things," he answered. He felt his face fall as a quick flash of those memories he buried resurfaced briefly before he could push them back down. Now wasn't the time. "It's a hazard of the job. Most would call it symptoms of PTSD but I call it an extra zest for life." Robin wore a puzzled look that in a certain light could pass as one of concern also. It was strange how similar he looked to Bruce. They both had that certain furrow of the eyebrows that sold it. Batman glanced away before thumbing to the Batmobile. "Ready to go?" The younger stared at him for a beat more and then nodded.

Once in the Batmobile, they shared a brief silence before Robin spoke up.

"What's PTSD?" It didn't surprise Batman all that much that he hadn't been told about it. He doubted that the League of Assassins had regular talks about mental health although the thought of them handing out little pamphlets made him smirk. He was surprised that Bruce hadn't told him anything about it but then again, it was Bruce. He'd sent the kid away in the first place. Given that he was Robin's mentor now, Batman didn't see any harm in letting the kid know what it was.

"Post-traumatic stress disorder. Every hero has it to a certain degree. Hell, even villains do. We go through a traumatic experience for breakfast but doing that so much fucks with your brain and how it handles new stimuli. You've gone so long in a life-or-death situation that now every new thing that stresses you out can trigger you to feel like you did at that point of trauma. Sometimes you get these things called flashbacks too." Robin nodded thoughtfully as though mulling over another question. 

"When I broke my arm on that mountain, and I didn't know if I'd go home again, I think about that and sometimes it feels like I'm right there. Is that PTSD?" Batman's heart broke for the kid. He was so young when training began and it was only now that he was learning what it was like to be a teenager, not a future weapon. 

"Sounds like it bud. With us, we have something called CPTSD. It's like PTSDs brother. We've experienced traumatic things our whole lives from when we were kids. We get angry, find it hard to control our emotions, find it difficult to trust people."

"How do you know so much about this?"

"Being with the Titans helped. They made me get diagnosed in the first place. I had to embellish some details for ID purposes but I still met the standards for it. CPTSD and some other stuff."

"My anger, do you think it comes from that?" Batman went quiet for a moment. He wasn't a psychiatrist. He couldn't diagnose the kid with something and then have it turn out to be something else but he couldn't deny how many symptoms he displayed lined up with his own. 

"You remind me of myself when you're mad. Reminds me of Bruce too. You've certainly gone through enough to qualify. I know you're angry about more than me wearing the suit. I know it's an anger that has something dark about it, it's an anger you get from those types of things. I can't diagnose you with anything but you're similar to me." He worried his bottom lip for a moment. "We could work on getting you diagnosed with it? Can't attest to all the things they'll throw at you but some of it works. With time, of course."

"I'll think about it," Robin replied genuinely. "You've lived like that since you were nine?"

"Something like that."

"That's almost twenty years. It's...it's rather impressive." His eyes widened at the praise, having never received it from the teen before.

"You think so?"

"Yes. For someone like you, I suppose," he added the last part quickly as though to cover himself. "Your immunity to fear toxin is also quite impressive. You had to have been exposed to it a lot for that to be the case."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were complimenting me."

"I'm simply showing you some respect. Perhaps respect that is overdue." Batman smiled to himself but bit his lip before he could break out into a grin. "No. It's certainly overdue. For as much as I respect Father, you have done plenty more to earn my respect. You kept me around, gave me your title, and dealt with my behaviour that would be rather shameful to display if I were with the League."

"I care about you, Damian, and I see myself in you. It's hard to believe sometimes because of how I present myself but if I didn't have Bruce, I would've turned to the darker side of justice. My parents dying destroyed a piece of me and I was so pissed off at the world for doing that. I would've done anything to get my revenge on Zucco. Bruce showed me that fighting to kill would just make another me."

"I care about you too, Grayson. Thank you for everything you've done."

"You don't need to thank me."

"I wouldn't if I didn't believe it the right thing to do." Batman couldn't help but chuckle to himself. 

"You're a good kid Damian. Being in this suit sucks but I'm glad you're my Robin. You make it worth it." The younger turned to him shocked before melting into a small smile. He was so much like Bruce that it hurt a little to see the familiar smile on a different face knowing he'd never see the original. 

"You look better than when you left. That's a rare sight," Alfred noted as the tea steeped. 

"I had a breakthrough with him tonight. I really think I've gotten through to the kid and we had this whole talk about CPTSD and-and I think he'd really benefit from getting that diagnosed but he actually listened to me and I just-" he sighed with a happy smile, too excited to properly voice his feelings but content in knowing the butler would understand. 

"I'm glad you managed it. I'll find some therapists then?"

"Yeah, the best you can get." He picked at his nail absentmindedly. "I really do love that kid and I think he's finally understanding that. Is this what Bruce felt like when I started opening up to him?"

"I believe he quite literally jumped for joy," Alfred mused. "You've certainly put your hours in with him. You've done more than anyone could've asked you to."

"You don't think I'm overstepping by saying he's my Robin, do you? I mean being Batman's Robin is like being his son and I know Damian isn't my son, he'll always be my little brother-"

"You needn't justify yourself. You couldn't overstep even if you tried. He would be happy that you're looking after his son." Dick nodded, his smile never faltering. "What made Master Damian so receptive?"

"Oh, I got hit with fear toxin." The butler spluttered having just been made aware of that detail.

"RICHARD-"