Lights flickered, a steady drip, drip, drip echoing through the dark room.

Dick did not know where he was or how he had gotten there. One moment, he had been in that cave, darkness swirling around him, blocking out the worried faces of his teammates, and the next he was... here.

Wherever here was.

He felt strange; off balance. Dark hair obscured his vision, and Dick blew it away, brows creasing in confusion. His hair was not this long.

What was happening?

Where was he?

The hair fell back into his eyes, and Dick reached up, brushing it away. The lights flickered again, and Dick had to bite back a gasp of horror.

His hands were covered in blood.

His hands were covered in blood.

Panic began to rise, but he pushed it back down. There had to be a simple explanation for this.

Was he injured?

A quick glance down at himself made Dick shudder, eyes widening at the sight of blood caking his clothes, some of it was dried and brown, but other parts were still soaking wet. He could feel no injury on himself.

He was moving fine.

This was not his blood.

Slowly, Dick looked up, eyes squinting as they scanned the darkened room. At first, nothing seemed too out of place. It was just a dark, dingy basement.

But then the lights flickered brighter, and Dick let out a piercing scream, stumbling backward. His food caught on something, and he toppled over, hands flying back to brace himself only to hit something surprisingly soft and warm.

A horrifying squelching sound made Dick terrified of looking back.

But he had to. He needed to know what was going on.

And so, he turned around, eyes widening further at the pile of mutilated corpses that he had tripped into, his hands pressed into what appeared to be a woman's torn open stomach.

The smell hit him next, the nauseating odor of rotting flesh and spoiling blood making him lean forward and spew bile onto the blood coated floor. Body shaking, Dick retched until he was seeing black spots, and nothing came up.

Still dry heaving, he scrambled away from the heap of bodies, watching his step as he moved toward stairs which hopefully led out of the basement.

He needed to get out.

He needed to get away.

The panic was rising, building deep inside his chest until it hurt to breathe, and his vision blurred. Still, he stumbled up the stairs, hand leaving a bloody trail along the wall as he leaned against it for support.

There was a door at the top of the stairs, but it had clearly been broken down, splintered wood littering the ground around it. Dick ignored the pieces of wood, focusing all his efforts on just getting out; getting away.

The blood still coating the floor should have prepared him for the room ahead, but the panic was clouding his judgment, keeping him from thinking rationally. Not that rational could help him now.

He tripped again, and, as he looked down at what he had stumbled on, he began to retch once more.

It was a head.

A severed human head with bloody gaping sockets where the eyes should have been.

Teeth sinking into his lower lip hard enough to draw his own blood, Dick slowly looked up at the room, hazy vision taking in the brutal scene.

Blood was everywhere, dripping down the walls, coating the floor, even splattered across the ceiling. But that was a minor issue compared to the rest.

Human remains were scattered across the room like confetti at a party, fingers, feet, strung out intestines... there was even a heart laying neatly next to an elderly man with a gaping hole in his chest. A hole that looked like someone had reached in and ripped out the organ.

A hole the size of Dick's hand.

Vision swirling, Dick stumbled away, back hitting the wall as he slowly sank to his knees, heedless of the blood soaking through his clothes. He was covered in blood already.

He could not think.

He could not move.

He could not breathe.

His hands moved up to clasp at his ears as an eerie laugh filled his head, the room growing increasingly darker around him, although whether that was him starting to pass out, or something else, Dick was unsure.

The laughter grew louder, and Dick screamed, body jolting off the bed as his eyes flew open, hands tugging painfully at his own hair, panic flooding his system.

Crimson had killed them.

Dick had killed them.

But wait.

That laugh.

Crimson was here.

He was Crimson.

Dick could not breathe, gasping for air despite the fact that his oxygen tube was still securely in place. His chest hurt, but he could not focus on that now. Not when Crimson was still clearly around and so clearly going to hurt his family.

He would hurt his family.

The door opened with a bang, and suddenly, Bruce was there, wrapping his arms around Dick and cradling him against his chest, rocking him gently back and forth.

"Shhh. It's okay, Dick. You're okay. Come on, bud. Just breathe. In... out... in... out." Bruce instructed, large hand grasping Dick's own and pulling it gently away from his hair, voice reassuringly stern.

Dick shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut as he focused in on the beat of his father's heart, doing his best to use its rhythm to guide his breathing. It was going to be fine... Bruce said it was going to be fine.

It was never going to be fine.

He pushed the thoughts away, body tensing as the sound of footsteps approached the bed.

"Is he okay? I heard the screaming..."

Tim. Of course it was Tim. Not like Tim ever actually slept at night anyway.

Dick kept his face turned away from his brother, still struggling to calm his breathing as Bruce gently rubbed his back, murmuring words of reassurance in his ear. He felt Bruce shift ever so slightly, probably turning to look at Tim.

"Just a nightmare and panic attack. He'll be fine."

Another set of footsteps entered the room.

Damian.

"That's the third one tonight... are you sure sleeping pills are the way to go? It only seems to be making it worse."

Bruce sighed, hand stilling on Dick's back for a moment before continuing it's slow and gentle circling. "He needs to rest. It's important for his recovery."

The bed dipped as one of his brothers moved to sit down. "Maybe he'd do better if one of us stays in here with him. I could do it."

Dick frowned. That was not happening. He could not let one of them be that close to him for such an extended period of time.

He could kill them.

Slowly, shakily, Dick pulled back from Bruce, turning to look at Tim who was sitting on the end of his bed. "I don't need you staying in here. I-it's fine. Just a nightmare. I need to get through them on my own."

"Grayson, your first nightmare nearly stopped your heart again. We had to do CPR." Damian deadpanned, eyes narrowing as he stepped forward and reached for Dick only to drop his hand as the younger flinched back into Bruce's hold.

"I'm fine."

Bruce shook his head, gently shifting his hold on Dick until he was once again laying down on the bed. "You are clearly not fine. You might be slightly more recovered, but that just means that your mind is more active than it was when you first came home. Leaving you on your own at night is not working."

Dick glared, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling recovered enough to at least try and argue this. It was not safe for them to be this close. He could hurt them. "Well, I'm not sleeping if you stay."

"We're not about to just leave again and have you nearly die in your sleep. Not happening. We just got you back, Dick... we're worried about you."

"Oh yeah. Worried enough that you won't actually listen to me. I told you I can handle it on my own. I don't need your pity, Tim."

Dick did not miss the flash of hurt in Tim's eyes. The hurt was good. If Dick hurt him enough, maybe Tim would stay away. He needed Tim to stay away.

He could hurt him.

Damian sighed, running a hand down his face and biting back a yawn. "What if I let Titus sleep with him? He's been trained to help with panic attacks... and he'll start barking if it gets really bad."

"Titus?" Dick asked, nose scrunching ever so slightly as he looked at Damian, confusion written clearly across his face.

"He's my dog. You haven't met him yet because I was waiting until after you were doing a bit better. But he's been trained to detect panic attacks and to help with them. He's also good when it comes to dealing with nightmares." Damian nodded, making Dick look at him with even more confusion.

"You got a dog?" He turned to look at Bruce, lower lip protruding in a pout. "You always said I couldn't have a dog whenever I asked. Why does Dami get a dog?"

Bruce sighed, ruffling Dick's hair absently. "He needed one, bud. Look... no time to dwell on the past now. Would you be okay with Titus sleeping in here? It's either that or one of us."

"Fine. I... Titus can stay."

At least a dog was better than a human. From what he could remember, Crimson had never hurt the animals. If anything, Crimson had seemed to like animals. He had distinct memories of the demon stopping to pet stray cats.

Damian left the room, and Tim sighed, pushing his fingers back through his hair as he gave Dick a tired smile. "Titus is pretty great. You're lucky Damian is letting him sleep with you... he barely even lets me pet him."

"He's probably worried that you'll end up stealing him." Dick mumbled with a faint smile, exhaustion starting to flood back in now that he was once again calm. It had been a long night, and he felt even worse knowing that he had kept the others awake as well.

Even as Dick Grayson, he was hurting them.

"Like Drake could ever steal something from me." Damian laughed, returning to the room with a large black dog trotting along at his heals. "Grayson, meet Titus. Titus, Grayson."

The dog approached the bed cautiously, sniffing at the bedcover before jumping up and moving over to Dick. He sniffed Dick's arm, nuzzling the appendage all the way down to Dick's hand which he proceeded to lick.

Dick bit his lip, lips twitching upward as he lifted his hand to gently pet the dog's head. "Hello, Titus." He whispered, watching in awe as Titus curled up against his side, dropping his head to rest it on Dick's leg with a contented huff, before he looked up at Damian. "Thankyou, Dami... I... I appreciate it." This time, he did manage a full smile, even if it was a bit forced.

"Of course. Titus is a great sleeping companion." Damian nodded, gaze warm as he returned Dick's smile. That alone was enough to make Dick quickly look away. His plan to avoid the others was not going to work if they kept on being this nice.

But, as his family left the room and closed the door behind them, Dick could not help but think that maybe, just maybe, he could do with letting them get just slightly closer. Especially if that meant him getting to sleep with a dog at night.

"Pssst."

Dick blinked, looking up from his computer to glance around the room. What was that strange noise?

"Pssssssssst. Dick! Psssssssssssssssst."

His eyes focused in on the window, widening at the sight of an all too familiar redhead perched precariously on the windowsill, face pressed up against the glass. It would have been creepy if Dick was not used to it. Although, the fact that he was accustomed to the speedster randomly appearing at his window probably said something about their relationship.

Dick put his computer down, carefully sliding himself off the bed and into his wheelchair, turning it on with a few quick button presses and steering it over to the window. Actually getting the thing open was a bit of a challenge, but Dick managed eventually, heaving it open and leaning back, breaths coming in soft pants.

"Wally, what are you doing?"

"Coming to see you, duh." The redhead responded, slipping through the window and closing it carefully behind himself before turning to grin at Dick. He was practically buzzing with excitement. "Barry told me that Canary told Green Arrow that Bruce told Wonder Woman that Zatara got the demon out. But that was weeks ago, so I figured I'd come visit because while I know you probably weren't going to have forgotten about me or something, but you might have and that would have been sad. But also I was worried about you, because three years, Dick. Three years. Dude, your hair is so long now, what the heck. Also... woah. That's a crash wheelchair. Did Bruce design that thing? There are so many buttons. Have you been eating? You look like you haven't been eating. I'm seriously so worried, you have no idea. That black stuff that got into looked absolutely terrifying. And the news reports. Man, that demon was rampaging. Seriously horrifying stuff. You really need to eat more. Speaking of eating, you got any food around here?"

Dick blinked.

Then he blinked again.

His shoulders began to shake ever so slightly, making Wally's eyes go wide.

"Oh no. Are you crying? Please don't cry! You don't look that bad. Just maybe like... a haircut and some food and you'll be fine. Why are you still shaking, Dick? Say something? Please? I don't know what to do." Wally looked like he himself was about to start crying, and that was what did it for Dick.

A soft laugh bubbled up from his throat, the sound strained and unfamiliar, but a laugh, nonetheless.

"I'm not crying. Perfectly whelmed, see? You just... you haven't changed a bit." Dick murmured, lips twitching upward into a faint grin.

Wally returned the grin with full force, reaching over and ruffling Dick's too-long hair. "Nah. I totally changed. I can fit thirty marshmallows in my mouth at once now. That's a whole ten more."

"Now that's something I need to see."

"Well, get me some marshmallows and I'll show you."

Hours later when Bruce returned home from work and went to check in on Dick, he was stopped in the hallway by a smiling Alfred.

"I would not recommend disturbing young Master Dick at the moment." The old butler spoke, glancing toward Dick's door with a happy look in his eyes. An expression that Bruce had not seen in an extremely long time.

"Why not?" Bruce asked, confusion and concern making him too focus his gaze at the door down the hall.

"Just listen."

Moving quietly, Bruce came to a stop outside the closed door, a soft gasp slipping from his lips as he heard a sound that was so familiar it hurt.

Dick was laughing.

Another voice joined in the laugher, and Bruce had to fight back a groan.

Of course, the redheaded speedster had gotten in somehow.

Of course.

But, listening to that laugh, Bruce did not have the heart to send the other boy away.

So, he turned instead toward his older sons' rooms, intent on warning them to leave the friends alone.