Act your age. Dick didn't know what that meant. It felt like such a prickly phrase. Something told to him when he wasn't acting how people expected or wanted him to act. Who's to say he wasn't acting his age? Why did there have to be an age identifier for how you acted? He obviously got that maturity was important and a ten-year-old shouldn't be acting like someone in his twenties but that was the problem. He'd been that ten-year-old acting like an adult. He knew what true exhaustion felt like even before he was supposed to be pulling all-nighters to get an assignment he'd left till the last minute done. Bruce made him act more mature when he was a kid and he understood why but that didn't stop him from feeling offended when people told him to act his age once he got into his teen years considering that he was much more mature than any teen out there. It usually came when he acted mischievously, pulled pranks, had fun. All the things he liked seemed to be disjointed from what someone like him should like. He usually just let the comments pass over him, brushing them off as he did with the many critiques he received in newspapers. They usually came from Batman, sometimes from villains when he was being particularly aggravating or from some disgruntled upper-class rich couple. Every time he assured himself that he was, in fact, very mature. He had to be right? You couldn't see the things he'd seen through his life and not gain some sort of maturity. Saving lives at ten meant you were mature. Taking on a child that wasn't your own was mature. Plus, what was wrong with being a bit more playful as an adult? Made him much more fun than other adults. It was useful. He was useful. Good old useful Dick Grayson. Always there. Call him up, he won't have anything to do.

There was another aspect to growing up in the community he'd been brought into and that was living up to the past. Dick started as a true wonder child. He was smart enough to hack into the computers as advanced as Batman's before he was old enough to be left alone overnight and he was fighting crime like the best of them before he'd hit puberty. He had the most experience when he joined teams with other teens just a few years apart from him and he was known as the first sidekick, setting the example for everyone after. Sometimes it felt like his legacy was more than what he'd done and more so what people thought of it all. They all placed this little boy on a pedestal and threw things at him until they knocked him down but he'd never fallen in their minds. He'd remained a firm stature upon the pillar, balancing the weight of the world on his shoulders until he turned away to be Nightwing. Nightwing felt different than Robin had and he'd be the first to tell you so. The expectations were higher, as though he had to make up for something. His mistakes were more like carvings permanently etched into the record of his legacy rather than the throwaway ones of his past. He wasn't perfect. He made mistakes. He had to look out for everyone and himself now because people expected him to. He had to live up to a person that felt like they never truly existed and reminded that he wasn't the person everyone expected. Gifted kids felt it all the time and Dick supposed he was one of the best-gifted kids to burnt-out adults out there. That was until the other Robins came. Although they never muddied his image, they both improved upon it and fell short of it. Tim was the smart kid now. Smartest Robin out there. Smartest person out there if Dick had a say about it. Jason died which, even though it was horrible to say, meant he'd be remembered as perfect although everyone knew he hadn't been. Same with Steph. Dying tended to wipe the record clean or drown it blood so the words were hard to read. Damian was yet to finish his career but it would no doubt follow the trend. 

"Dick? You've been staring at that chip for like an hour," Tim called. His voice felt light and airy despite the concern woven through the words. Wait, Tim? Tim shouldn't be here, should he? Maybe they'd made up? Although he couldn't remember it, maybe it was one of those unspoken make ups that Bruce made him very familiar with where there wasn't a sorry and they went back to how things used to be. The acrobat dragged his eyes away from the microchip and returned the gaze of his sibling. He noticed in the corner of his eyes that others were giving sneaky looks that felt apprehensive. Had he really been staring at this thing for an hour and doing nothing about it? 

"Like an hour or an hour?" he asked to clarify.

"Fifty-eight minutes to be exact," Damian told him. "Much easier to say an hour." He nodded slowly and stared at the microchip for a minute or so before giving up. Why was he even working on it? Was it important for something? Was he trying to fix it or take it apart? He put the tools away and subtly glanced around for any notes that would give him a clue on what he was supposed to do. There weren't any notes so that wasn't helpful at all in solving the mystery of the task. Should he ask? No. No, he was an adult and they were kids, he shouldn't be asking them things. That wasn't what adults were meant to do. 

"Are you okay?" Tim asked. "You seem really out of it. Did you get hit with something on patrol?"

"I went on patrol?" The younger narrowed his eyes at him.

"Yeah, you went on patrol. You're still in your suit- Dick, what do you remember doing today?" Now there was a question. What had he been doing today? Well, he'd obviously gotten up today because he was here. Here was...a safe house. Yes, a safe house. Okay did he wake up in the safe house? Whose safe house was this? 

Did Batgirls have it easier than Robins? Barbara was his Batgirl. She was amazing. Then Joker happened and she was Oracle which was just as amazing. Continuing to save his skin and many others too. He looked up to her a lot. He wondered if he'd told her enough that he looked up to her. Then there was Steph. Steph was a knockout. She wasn't smart like Barbara but nobody would be. It wasn't fair to compare them like that. Steph was innovative. She knew things and saw things that others would look past. Always great with kids too. Cass was certainly something. When she fought, he wasn't sure if he was watching extra deadly ballet or a true through and through fight. Each brought their own thing to Batgirl. Their own variations of the suit and their own meaning of it. The Robins had that too. He wondered if Steph had a unique perspective on the different weights of the titles. Each had expectations to live up to but also the need to outdo. You couldn't be as good as someone else, you had to be better than them. Beat them at everything they did and achieved because if you didn't then you were just a copy or a half-rate replacement. Was that his run at Batman? A half-rate excuse for the hero? He never even wanted to be Batman and now Bruce was gone and Batman was his title- 

His eyes caught a flash of blue on his chest as he blindly put things away. Batman didn't wear blue. He studied his arms and saw how a line of blue ran down them and covered two of his fingers on each hand. This was his Nightwing suit but wasn't he supposed to be Batman? A sharp pain stabbed through his brain and winced back, putting a hand to his head as though that would be of any use. "You're starting to freak us out. Did you seriously get hit in the head?" Jason asked. Had he? The sharp pain wasn't from a head injury. It felt too internal and it was far too short-lived. Usually, there'd be a throb of bruised or cut skin but he couldn't feel that either.

"I'm not sure." 

"You didn't answer my question," Tim piped up. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I remember you asking me about the chip," he answered slowly, still trying to think before that but he couldn't. There was a big spot of nothing. He remembered thinking about his age, being Robin and then being shaken from his thoughts. Logically, he must have gotten up, gotten dressed and come to the safe house because he remembered when he fell asleep in his apartment the night before. Maybe it wasn't the night before? Tim mentioned a patrol so he must've been on patrol between falling asleep and now. That would explain his suit but why was he Nightwing and why did he remember falling asleep in his apartment but not the Manor where he was staying? 

"But you've been with us for hours! How can you only remember me asking you something ten minutes ago?" Ten minutes. It didn't feel like ten minutes. How long had he been cleaning for?

"I-I don't know." A small sense of panic set in at that. Why couldn't he remember? Why was there a massive time gap now? "Shouldn't- I shouldn't be Nightwing. I was Batman. I'm supposed to be Batman. Wait, half of you shouldn't be here either. It's supposed to be me and Dami. You all went your own ways after Bruce died." The room suddenly felt heavier and his siblings glanced at one another worriedly. "What? What's happening?"

"Barbara said this could happen," Tim said but he wasn't including Dick in his statement. He was talking to the others, reassuring them with this fact but it certainly wasn't reassuring for the acrobat. Why would Barbara say this could happen? "We just need to work out what time period we're working with and keep him calm."

"I can assure you that you aren't keeping me calm right about now," Dick commented, feeling his anxiety swell and bleed into his voice. They shot him various empathetic looks but he couldn't take them. They were saying sorry for something he didn't even know about. "I don't understand what's happening."

"You got hurt and it affected your memory. I'm supposing you're in the time period where you were Batman and I was your Robin?" Damian asked. He nodded stiffly and he folded his arms, squeezing them to reassure himself. "At least we aren't dealing with you as a child. I dread to think how we'd handle that."

"Okay, so my memory is shot." That got a laugh from Jason who immediately got glares.

"What? He got it right on the nose."

"I was shot?" Dick asked. 

"Yeah, in the head." He breathed a shakey sigh.

"Which side?" Cass gave him a frown, knowing what he wanted, and walked over to him. She pulled off his glove and guided his hand to the side of his head. There was a scar beneath the hair there. It was bumpy and uneven but it was there. He shivered uncomfortably at the feeling of it beneath his fingertips before dropping his hand with a shocked expression. "That's some hit in the head."

"Yeah well, it wasn't just that. Some people messed around in there too," Steph added. 

"I'm Nightwing again," he stated. They nodded. "Is Bruce back?" They nodded again. He sat back down and fiddled with the glove Cass had taken off. "This is an interesting turn of events."

"Is there anything you need?" Tim asked.

"Can...can I have a minute alone? I'll go somewhere if that's easier?"

"No, you stay here. We'll go let Bruce know you're having an episode." Dick didn't have the energy to ask further questions.

Dick didn't know what happened. One minute he was sitting down to work on the microchip he'd retrieved from a case and now he was crying with all his things put away. He frowned at himself and wiped the tears away, no longer feeling whatever emotion had caused him to cry. He glanced around the room and was confused to find that he was now alone rather than surrounded with his siblings. Perhaps his crying had scared them away which wasn't too surprising. They weren't the best with emotions. He shrugged to himself and decided to go on the hunt for them. He felt a little off as he got up for his search. Like he'd been crying for a while. He'd get some water whilst he was looking. They were currently in one of the smaller safe houses so it didn't take him long to find his family gathered around a table. It was a miracle none of them were dead yet. When he walked through the door, all eyes fell on him as though he'd been in a coma and none had expected to see him up for months. "Uh, are you guys okay?" he asked unsurely. 

"Are you okay?" Steph asked. "Bruce is here."

"I can see that he's here," he replied with a bit of a smile. 

"Do you remember?" Tim asked.

"Remember?

They glanced around at one another but didn't say anything at first. He knew they were uneasy around him though and whatever was lost to him was known by them. He couldn't think what though so he continued on his quest for water by crossing the room to the faucet. "What're the last things you remember?" Tim asked. The question felt oddly familiar but he couldn't think why.

"I remember working on the chip, a blank spot and then putting my stuff away. Why?" The looks worsened at that. Whatever he was missing was related to his memory then. He should know what it is.

"You had another episode, Dick," Bruce said with the most comforting tone he could muster. Silence followed as Dick stopped dead in his tracks. That would make four this week which, although it wasn't him at his worst, was certainly bad.

The first had been about his job. He was confused about why he wasn't in a police uniform and his phone was without his boss asking if he'd finally kicked the bucket. When he asked Bruce what he was doing in the Batcave so early in the morning, he was informed that it was night and they were just about to patrol. They didn't patrol together that night.

The second was short. He wondered how he'd gotten from his bed to his car without remembering anything. The only evidence he had as to why was a pounding headache he'd learned to associate with his lapse of memory. He decided to drive to clear his head, not knowing which version of himself needed the car.

His third came during the night when he was inconsolable over the loss of Damian, that version of himself only just given the news. Barbara suggested he didn't go on the mission he was on now. He insisted he'd be fine.

Now he was on his fourth and once again forced to come face to face with one of the lowest points of his life. He rubbed his temples to soothe the familiar headache he'd naively pushed off as due to crying. "Maybe it's brought on by stress?" Steph suggested.

"I'm always stressed. This job isn't a walk in the park," he replied. "No, it's something else."

"I don't think it's anything," Damian offered.

"What do you mean?"

"When I sprained my ankle with you, you said that recovery wasn't a straightforward journey. It could get better or worse." Dick nodded to show he acknowledged the addition but he didn't feel comforted by it. How much longer until he regressed to the point it was dangerous to be around him? Until he couldn't do the job? "It will take time Grayson. We'll be here."

"Do you want a reminder of the mission?" Bruce asked. If Bruce was still willing to have him there then he could assume he wasn't at that point yet. For now, he'd push on through. He'd pretend it was all okay for the time being. The Batfamily way.

"Yeah, that'd be great."