Reverse BatFam Trash

That Sad One

-Yeah, I'm still drunk, and sad. The photo is all I can do to stay positive.-

Shout out to @TheSamonShiper for the idea.

Comment or DM me if you have requests/ideas

Dick lay on his bed, watching the ceiling. He'd gotten out of the shower that evening, and was lying, loosely covered by a towel, without any motivation to get fully changed he just lay in the dark. He'd tried everything to get motivation, but it was hopeless. He didn't know how long he'd been there; the minutes just ticked by. 

There was a knock on the door.

"mnn-hol' on." He rolled off his bed, grabbing and pulling on the most accessible clothes; a black and white graphic tee and grey shorts. "yeah"

"Dinner." Jason shouted.

"Okay." Dick  stood in the dark for another few minutes, as long as he dared until he heard another 'DINNER!' from downstairs.

He couldn't really taste dinner. He was made to talk to his brothers, but the conversation was so shallow he couldn't remember it. 

He was back upstairs, staring at the blank wall. He'd spent all day like this. He leaned back and went on his phone, re-watching things he'd already re-watched twice.

There was another knock at the door. He looked at the bedside clock. What? It was 8:30 pm. Already?

"Yeah?"

"Dick, can I come in?"

It was Bruce. Dick turned off his phone and dropped it on the mattress next to him. "come in."

He did.hing.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay."

"What does Okay mean?"

"Okay is... Okay. I'm just -like- fine." Dick sat up, sinking his face into his hands. "Just tired -lonely- whatever."

Bruce sighed deeply, four kids of this now, they always say the same things. "What are you planning doing for the rest of the night."

"I don't know, I'm probably going to just do some homework. I'm gonna go to bed early."

"Okay, well, I'm just in the study if you need me."

"Kay."

Dick Waited until Bruce had left before throwing himself back on his bed. Why do I always push people away? He was literally just there, why am I such a Fucking Bitch?  He felt himself start to cry a little -well- a lot, but he was used to it. This wasn't a single occorence; it'd creep up on him, stay for a while (three weeks to three months generally) then it'd disappear again -for a little while.

He tries to reason with himself, This has happened before, it passes, THIS IS LITERALLY JUST CHEMICALS IN MY BRAIN. 

But it doesn't make feel better, in fact he was just crying into his mattress. "FUCK THIS! FUCK ME." He whined under his breath. His brain wasn't working the way it should. He knew that. He knew that brain chemicals and trauma causing him misery, but what was he supposed to do? tell it to stop? 

He forced himself to stop crying. He just Lay there, dead silent, laying face down on his bed. He heard the door open. He didn't have the energy to see who it was, but he was pretty sure he knew.

"Dick, I can't help you unless you talk to me."

Dick didn't want to, but he felt too physically weak to tell Bruce to go away.

Talking was hard, but ended up easier than fighting on his own. Nothing he said was very comprehensive, but just letting his stress and emotions spill over felt like a thirty pound weight off his rib cage. 

There was a knock on the door. 

"What?" Bruce called in a stage whisper.

"Where's Richard?" Damian asked, leaning in the door.

Bruce gestured to the depressed, sleeping bundle of sheets he was half-cradling in his arms.

"Good. Let me know when he wakes up, I want to talk with him next."