Chapter Text
It has been three months since he came back.
When he returned to his family, he anticipated harsh words and punches; However, they would eventually talk, and he would share everything. He would explain that Spyral had to be taken down for everyone’s sake, necessitating his departure, a decision made by both him and Bruce. He decided not to mention the fight right after his resurrection. He understood it would require significant time, effort, and conversation to restore things to how they were before. Oh, how wrong he was….
He had been feeling anxious as he entered the Batcave. And he had prepared himself for everything that could happen.
Walking in, Dick noticed that everyone was already there. He grinned a little at the sight of his family after such a long time and saw that even Barbara was present. They all wore grim expressions, which made him step back slightly. However, he quickly recovered and moved forward with a smile on his face, hiding his anxiety behind a façade.
Bruce stood behind everyone, leaning against the cave wall and avoiding eye contact. Tim stood near the computer, with Jason on his left and Barbara on his right. Damian stood slightly behind them, an angry look on his face and tears welling in his eyes, not daring to let them fall. Steph and Cass stood apart from the group, with Steph supporting Cass.
Dick starts, waving his hand nervously. “Hey, guys… long time, huh?”
Everyone just stares at him in disbelief and anger.
Tim stepped forward, brittle anger in his voice. “Don’t…don’t act like everything’s fine.”
Dick tries again, quiet and uneasy, “Tim, I— I was trying to protect everyone. It wasn’t that simple—”
Jason cuts in, voice rising fast, “You died, man. Or so we thought. I buried you in my head. And you just—what? Decided to fake your death and play secret agent while we tore ourselves apart?”
Dick “I didn’t want to stay away. I—”
Jason steps closer, fury shaking, “You always do this. You play peacekeeper, the golden boy, and then vanish when it gets hard. You don’t get to come back like nothing happened!”
He punches Dick hard across the face. Dick stumbles but doesn’t fight back.
Barbara starts, cold and biting, “You should’ve trusted us, Dick. You know better than anyone what losing someone does to this family. And still… You chose to disappear. You let us grieve. You let me grieve.”
Dick’s voice, hoarse. “Babs, I couldn’t risk blowing the op—”
Barbara interjected, her gaze keen, “What did that get you?”
Stephanie crosses her arms but stays quiet. Cass watches Dick, her gaze unreadable but tense.
Damian steps forward, voice cold, aristocratic
“Tt. I expected such deception from Father. But you?”
His voice drops slightly. “I thought you stood for more than shadows and secrets.”
“You were the one who taught me better.”
Damian looks at him like he’s something he doesn’t recognize anymore.
“I was mistaken.”
Silence falls. Blood from the corner of Dick’s mouth drips onto the cave floor. He doesn’t move.
Dick speaks softly to Bruce, “…You’re not going to say anything?”
Bruce looks away. Says nothing.
Dick's voice breaking slightly, “Right.”
He walks out of the cave. No one stops him.
Dick tried to tell them repeatedly, but each time, others interrupted or prevented him from speaking. Eventually, they stopped arguing with him altogether. They would simply ignore him unless interaction was necessary for a mission, and even then, he received only snide remarks. He had become invisible to his family.
In the days that followed, Dick tried. He called. He texted. He left messages. Long ones. Short ones. Some just a single word: Please. No one responded.
Tim, who used to send him encrypted mission logs just for fun, left every message on “Read.” Barbara—who once knew how he was feeling by the punctuation in his texts—didn’t even open them. Damian didn’t block him, but his silence stung worse than anything. Not a single word from Jason, Cass, or Steph.
The only calls he received came from the manor’s main line—and they were always from Alfred or Bruce. Always for missions.
“Dick, there’s an intel exchange in Blüdhaven. You’re needed.”
“Possible League activity near the docks. Rendezvous in two hours.”
“Suit up.”
Bruce never spoke to him beyond what the mission required.
He never met him in private and never gave him the time or space to talk—really talk.
Dick tried once. He lingered after a stakeout, hoping Bruce would stay back and maybe finally give him the explanation that the others wouldn’t believe he hadn’t given.
“Bruce,” he started, voice low, desperate for something—anything.
Bruce barely looked up from the Batcomputer.
“You’re needed in the Narrows. Take Jason with you.”
That was it. No eye contact. No acknowledgment. Just cold, clean detachment. Dick left without another word.
He told himself it was fine. That he could take it. That he deserved it, maybe. But every ignored message felt like a quiet punishment.
"And the Batcave—once a place of long nights, sharp words, and quiet understanding—now felt like a tomb."
Even when he stood right next to them, he was alone.
Things stayed the same for a while. Dick kept trying to reach out—calls, messages, stopping by unannounced—but the silence on the other end never broke. At first, it was daily. Then every other day. Then weeks passed between attempts.
He stopped trying entirely after two months.
Now, he only showed up when Bruce or Alfred called him in for a mission. He spoke only, when necessary, worked efficiently, and left as soon as it was done. He had once believed they’d cool down, that eventually they’d talk. Yell, maybe. Cry. Fight it out like they used to.
But that hope was dying.
It had been a month since he started truly shutting down. He rarely left his apartment unless the mission called for it. The walls had grown too familiar. The city felt quieter, colder. Even his friends had reacted like the others—harsh words at first, then radio silence.
Now, three months after his return, things weren’t better. If anything, they felt worse.
That night’s mission had gone smoothly. As usual, Dick hadn't said a single word more than necessary. When Bruce assigned positions, Dick just nodded and executed. No acknowledgment, no resistance.
He was already turning to leave when Jason’s voice cut through the silence.
“Tch. Look at that—Golden Boy doesn’t even talk anymore. Too good for us now, huh?”
Dick stopped in his tracks, something in him snapping. He turned slowly, eyes burning.
“Now you want to talk?” he said, voice tight. “What—have I not tried enough for you? I called. I texted. I showed up. I tried to explain more times than I can count. And all I got back was silence.”
His voice cracked, anger and exhaustion bleeding through.
“What else do you want from me? What more am I supposed to do—beg?”
Jason didn’t answer right away, but the tension in the room pulsed heavy and alive.
Jason scoffed, stepping closer.
“Beg? Don’t flatter yourself. You want a medal because you sent a few texts while we were mourning you? You let us mourn, Dick. And you just watched. That’s the part I can’t get over.”
Dick’s jaw clenched. “You think I wanted any of this? That it was easy staying gone—keeping quiet while you all thought I was dead? I hated every second of it.”
“Then why didn’t you stop?” Tim snapped from behind them. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut sharp. “Why didn’t you fight harder to come back? You were alive. You could’ve told us—me—but instead, you let us spiral.”
“I had to take Spyral down from the inside,” Dick shot back. “It wasn’t just me deciding—I thought Bruce—”
“Don’t,” Barbara cut in, voice steel. “Don’t shift the blame. We already know what Bruce told us. The point is, you stayed away. And when you came back, you didn’t even say the right things. You just… expected to be forgiven.”
“That’s not true,” Dick said quietly, but no one heard him.
“I needed you,” Tim hissed, voice cracking. “And you chose to vanish. Like we weren’t worth the truth.”
Jason crossed his arms, scoffing.
“Figures. Always thought you were better than the rest of us—but in the end, you’re just another liar in a mask.” The words stung. But it was the next voice that hit hardest.
“Tt. Enough,” Damian said, stepping forward. His posture was stiff, voice laced with restrained fury. “This is pathetic.”
Everyone fell silent as Damian walked up, expression unreadable, though his eyes burned.
“You always said we were family,” Damian spat. “That we meant something to you. But you left. You let us fall apart and pretended it was noble.”
Dick’s throat tightened. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” Damian growled. “And you chose to stay dead. You chose Spyral. You chose your secrets.”
“I was trying to protect you,” Dick said, voice raw.
“I didn’t need your protection!” Damian shouted, voice cracking for the first time. “I needed you—then! Not now. Not when it’s convenient.”
Dick stepped back as if slapped.
Damian’s eyes were glossy, but he blinked the tears away, jaw clenched. Then his voice dropped, quiet but lethal:
“I wish you’d stayed dead.”
The cave went silent.
“I wish you had never come back,” Damian said again. “We were doing fine without you. We moved on. You were the one who came crawling back, expecting things to be like before. But they’re not. They never will be.”
Dick didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.
Damian turned his back.
“Tt. I was better off before you came back.” He left.
No one followed.
Dick stood there, frozen. The blood pounding in his ears was louder than anything anyone else could’ve said.