"Hey, little wing? We're doing movie night." Tim said, poking his head through the door.

Dick looked up, quickly closing his laptop where tab upon tab of news footage had been pulled up, all detailing the rampage of Crimson. Tim did not need to know what he was looking at. "What are we watching?" He asked, gritting his teeth as he lifted his body with shaking arms, inching off the bed and toward the wheelchair.

"You know I can help with that, right?" Tim entered the room, a frown spreading across his lips as he reached for Dick. Dick flinched back and Tim's frown deepened as hurt seeped into his eyes.

"I don't need your help. I need to learn how to do this myself." He insisted, hating how Tim's hurt expression made his chest ache. This was for the better. Or at least, that is what he told himself. It was for Tim's protection.

He had already nearly killed him once.

Dick made it into his chair, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he kept his gaze averted from Tim.

Tim sighed, the sound loud enough to make Dick flinch. "I wish you would just let us help, Dickie... we want to help. It's not like we think you're weak or incapable. You survived for three years with that thing inside you. We know you're strong. We just... we're just trying to make up for how useless we were with rescuing you."

"You didn't tell me what we're watching." Dick mumbled, putting extra effort into keeping his tone cold as he snapped his fingers, the large, black, form of Titus jumping down from the bed and standing close to his chair as Dick began to steer out of the room.

"Bruce said you can pick." Tim said with another sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat as he trailed after Dick into the living room. He missed how Dick had been before, missed the playful and energetic kid who had spent his time jumping off walls and pestering him and the others constantly. It had been nice having him around. Now, everywhere Dick went, gloominess persisted. It was heartbreaking to see the empty shell that his brother had become. Tim hated it.

Dick continued to ignore the older male as he guided his chair toward the couches where Bruce and Damian were already sitting. Family movie nights were something that Dick had insisted on when he was younger; back when Jason was still alive and Dick himself was not dying. It had been nice back then.

Now it felt more like a chore, what with how much effort Dick had to put in to properly ignore his family.

He could not let them get close.

He could not risk hurting them.

Still, when Bruce patted the spot on the couch next to him with a welcoming smile, Dick pulled his chair up closer and slipped into the empty space, letting Bruce wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him closer.

The closeness was something that the old Dick would have reveled in.

Now it was all he could do not to pull away.

Because as much as hurting his brothers was hard, it was nearly impossible to do with Bruce.

After all, Bruce was the man who had taken him in when he had nothing, who had cared for him when he awoke from nightmares, who had taught him that he could be happy again after his parents' deaths. Consciously hurting Bruce would be a betrayal of everything Dick stood for. Not that he had not tried though. Bruce was like a wall; strong, immovable, unchanging. Nothing Dick said or did seemed to scare him away.

That alone was comforting.

Bruce would hate him if he hurt his brothers.

Dick moved closer to Bruce as Tim joined them on the couch, widening the gap between them, the ache in his chest spreading as he caught Tim's hurt expression.

He was doing this to protect Tim.

He needed to remember that.

A quick glance up showed him that Damian was sitting in a recliner to the other side of the couch. Good. That was a much safer distance.

"So... movie suggestions?" Bruce asked, smiling warmly down at his youngest.

Dick looked down, hand reaching forward until it found Titus' soft fur, fingers stroking the dog's head in an attempt to soothe the rising anxiety. "I... I don't know. You guys can pick."

"Superhero movie? Infinity war?" Tim asked, the excitement palpable in his tone.

Damian snorted. "No. We are not watching a superhero movie. If you make us, superheroes, watch a superhero movie, I will murder you in your sleep."

"Damian, no death threats, please."

"Yes, father."

"Dick, are you sure you don't want to pick the movie?"

Dick nodded, fingers still running over Titus' head as the dog jumped up, curling into his lap. Another glance up revealed that Damian was watching him with a barely concealed smile. He hurriedly looked away once more.

"Okay then... how about Lord of the Rings?" Bruce asked, leaving the question hanging for a few moments before nodding. "Alright. Lord of the Rings it is." He scrolled through the movies on their TV before pulling up The Two Towers.

The room settled into comfortable silence as the movie began to play, but Dick hardly gave the movie much attention. Instead, he kept his eyes downcast, focusing on scratching carefully behind Titus' ears, the big dog heavy in his lap. Not that he minded though. Titus really had ended up being a big help.

He looked back over at Damian again, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment when he saw that Damian was watching him too. Ducking his head and moving in closer to Bruce, Dick finally began to pay attention to the movie.

After all, it was important that he look normal... that he act normal. He could not show that he was worried about hurting then. He could not worry them further. He could not be more of a burden; not when he was already going to be one for the rest of his life.

Still, he was tired.

He was always tired.

Slowly, his eyes grew heavier and heavier until his head dropped to rest on Bruce's shoulders and his eyes fluttered closed. With the movie playing in the background, Dick drifted off to sleep.

It only felt like moments later when yelling woke him up.

"What the fuck? And you wonder why I stay away from you people. You're fucking assholes, that's why. Get your filthy little paws off me, Drake. I swear, I will shoot you."

Dick blinked his eyes open, finding that he was now alone on the couch, the rest of his family nowhere to be seen. But he could definitely hear them. The shouting was loud.

It was also vaguely familiar, but Dick could not place the voice.

Not yet at least.

"Put the gun down." That was definitely Bruce, but what he was saying made no sense. Had someone really brought a gun into the manor? "This is exactly why we didn't tell you."

"What, you thought I was going to fucking shoot him? Wow, you really are dumber than you look."

Someone pulled the door closed, and the voices grew muffled, although the angry tones were still very much present.

Frowning, Dick gently nudged Titus off his lap and hauled himself into his wheelchair, making sure that his oxygen tube was properly in place before steering it toward the door. Whatever was going on, he needed to know, especially since the yells were escalating into what sounded like a full-on fight.

Halfway to the door, it was yanked open, slamming against the wall as a tall young man stepped into the room, green eyes wild, a patch of white hair contrasting strongly against the raven black locks covering the rest of his head. The green eyes fixed onto Dick and the man lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Dick as best he could, considering the fact that Dick was sitting.

Dick blinked.

Then he blinked again.

Slowly, his arms moved to wrap around the taller male's waist as a soft gasp slipped from his lips. "J-Jason? You... you died..."

"Oh fuck. They didn't fucking tell you either?" Jason asked, pulling back giving Dick a fond smile as he ruffled his hair. "Good to see you again, Dickie-bird." Then he turned, eyes narrowing at the rest of the family who had now come to stand just outside the doorway. "What the fuck, Bruce."

"Look, we can have a calm conversation about this. If you would just sit down..."

"Bruce. He's alive. You... you didn't... were you just not going to tell me at all?" Dick asked, tone wavering dangerously as he stared in horror at the man who had raised him. He had been distraught when Jason had died. Extremely heavy on the dis. They had been close. Closer even than Tim and Dick were, and Dick was very close with Tim. To know that Jason was alive and to just... not tell Dick about it... well... Dick was not happy about it in the slightest.

It was reassuring to see that Jason was clearly not happy about it either, if the way his brother was playing with his gun holster was anything to say about it.

"He didn't even tell me that you had been caught, let alone kinda mostly fixed." Jason growled, moving to stand protectively over Dick's chair. "I had to fucking find out from Roy. Roy. And you want to know how Roy found out? Huh? Because Wally had to fucking break in to find out if Dick was actually okay or not. You spew all this bullshit about us being a family about how oh it's all my fault for not wanting anything to do with your dumb asses, and then you go and you do this? Oh, don't you dare try to say anything. I've got stuff to say and I'll be damned if you don't stand there and fucking listen for once in your godforsaken pompous rich dipshit life."

Jason stopped for a breath, and Dick reached out, placing a hand on Jason's arm, earning him another smile from his brother before Jason returned to glowering at Bruce who was in fact looking suitably chastised. "First of all you didn't even tell me that he'd been fucking possessed in the first place, which might I add happened because you sent a bunch of kids on missions that you didn't do enough research on and were too lazy to get off your ass and do yourself, and then you have the nerve to fucking whine at me like some bitch ass two-year-old for not wanting to be a part of this haphazard collection of morons that you call a family? Guess how I found out that he had been possessed in the fucking first place? Fucking Roy Harper. And he found out from fucking Wallace West, exactly like how this fucking played out. If you don't have the decency to tell me about something like this yourself, at least make sure it doesn't have to go through two fucking redheads to get to me, goddamn it. And now I find out that you didn't even fucking tell him that I was alive? I might hate you lot and burn voodoo dolls of you as a nightly ritual, but I actually fucking like Dickiebird."

"... Thanks, Jay... I like you too." Dick mumbled, patting Jason's arm gently in an attempt to calm the raging hero down. Sure, he was mad too, but Jason looked about ready to pop a blood vessel.

Bruce let out a heavy sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is that all?"

"Like fucking hell it isn't, asshat." Jason snapped, taking a step toward Bruce, only held back by the fact that Dick still had a hand on his arm. "You don't tell me he's possessed, you don't tell me he's come back, you don't tell me he's dying, and you don't even fucking tell him that I've come back to life? What, were you just going to keep it a fucking secret until he kicked the bucket?"

"Todd. He is not dying. Or at least not if we can help it." Damian spoke up, frowning at Jason. "Would you please just calm down and take a seat? Grayson is still recovering, and all this yelling is not good for him."

Dick glared. "I've told you. I'm fine."

Tim sighed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah. Sure. Fine. You just can only be awake for a few hours, need constant medicine, and have almost died in your sleep nearly every night this week alone."

Jason frowned at that, glancing down at Dick with concern written all over his features. "Is that true? How bad are you doing?"

"I'm fine." Dick insisted, although if the bags under his eyes and the tiredness on his expression were anything to go by, he was definitely far from fine.

Bruce stepped past them, moving to take a seat on the couch. "Please, Jason. Join us. I know that I may not have handled things the best possible way, but at the very least we can have a civil conversation to sort it out."

"Civil my ass." Jason huffed, although he did reluctantly follow Dick as he maneuvered his chair back to the couch, helping Dick onto it despite his protests and then perching on the armrest like an angry bird of prey ready to attack at a moment's notice.

Bruce waited until everyone was seated before beginning to talk, tone surprisingly calm considering the fact that Jason had been yelling at him mere moments earlier. "Jason, I did not tell you that he was back to himself yet because I wanted to wait until I could properly judge his mental state. Revealing something as important as you being alive while he's already in a fragile mental state could have adverse side effects."

"I'm right here, you know... my mental state is fine." Dick grumbled, although his fingers were once again in Titus' fur, the dog having joined him on the couch once more, head lifted and gazing intently at Dick who, to be fair, was starting to feel more than a little bit anxious.

Damian laughed bitterly. "Grayson, having nightmares every night and panic attacks on a regular basis does not qualify as fine."

"He's having panic attacks?" Jason asked, the worry once again overtaking his anger as he looked down at the fragile form of his baby brother. Dick definitely looked... well... he did not look like the overly happy and energetic boy that Jason had known, that was for sure. "Dickie, you're having panic attacks?"

Dick huffed. "You would be having them too if you got possessed by a demon for three years." He protested, stressing the words as he turned to glare at Damian. "Would you just stop bringing them up? I'm handling it fine."

"Stop using the word 'fine'. You are not fine. You don't need to be fine. We're just trying to take care of you." Tim broke in, reaching for Dick. This time he ignored the smaller male flinching away, grasping Dick's arm in his hand. "Just look at yourself, okay? You're skin and bones. You can't sleep, you can't make it through a day without freaking out, you can barely function at all. Don't you want to recover? We want to help you."

"Well maybe I don't want your help!"

Jason was frowning now, reaching down to ruffle Dick's hair gently. "Umm... Dickie-bird? You clearly need help. Like... fuck, you look horrible. If that dog ate a rabbit, shit it out, and the shit got ran over by a sixteen-wheeler, you would still look worse than the shit rabbit."

"Thankyou, Jason, for that... lovely... description." Bruce said after a moment of exaggerated gagging sounds from Tim and snickers of laughter from Damian. "The point that we're all trying to make here is that you're very clearly not recovering well, Dick."

"I'm fine." Dick inched away from Jason, nose scrunched up in distaste. "You know, I think I liked it better when you were still dead."

"Rude ass bitch." Jason retorted, pulling Dick back next to him with a smirk. "You know you love me."

Dick squirmed in his hold, looking to Tim with pleading eyes. "Please help?"

"Nope. You said you don't need help, remember?" Tim huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting.

"Dami?" Turning his gaze toward Damian, Dick reached out for his older brother.

Damian simply shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Tim's right. You don't want our help."

Jason laughed, ruffling Dick's hair once more and smirking down at him. "So, how about I force feed you some food? Or maybe drag you along to therapy? You'd be cool with me taking him to therapy, right, Bruce?"

"Sure, as long as you get him there."

"Jason, let me go."

"No can do, little bird. You're my prisoner now. I think I'm gonna keep you right here where I can keep an eye on you." Jason ignored Dick's feeble protests, although he was seriously concerned by how weak the younger was. If he could barely struggle against his light hold on his arm, how would he be able to do anything at all?

Dick let out an exaggerated huff, glowering at Jason. "You compared me to a pooped-out rabbit runover by a truck."

Jason grinned. "There are plenty more analogies where that came from."

"Okay. Fine. Fine. I'll let you guys help more. Are you happy now? Just get me away from him." Dick caved, giving Tim his best puppy dog eyes and quickly being rewarded when he was freed from the clutches of their more psychotic brother.

"See? That is how you get things done efficiently." Jason said, turning to lift an eyebrow at Bruce.

Bruce simply sighed. "I am sorry for not telling you sooner. I should have told you right when everything happened."

"It's not going to be that fucking easy to win me back. But I'll be coming around more to check on the little bird so you'll have time to make it up."

"Right... thankyou." Bruce nodded, reaching for the TV remote before a knock sounded on the doorframe and all heads turned to stare at an amused looking Alfred.

"Would you like tea? Some snacks perhaps?" The butler asked, tone ever calm and neutral despite the smile on his face.

Jason grinned. "Fuck yes. You got any cookies?"

"Master Todd, please refrain from using such language while inside this house." Alfred scolded, although it had no true bite to it. Alfred was no fool. No one would be able to make Jason stop swearing. "I will bring some cookies."

The butler turned and left, and the rest of the family settled back in on the couches, Dick curled up between Tim and Jason as the two fused over him and made sure he was comfortable despite his still frequent protests, and Bruce and Damian sharing fond smiles while the others were occupied.

In the kitchen Alfred pulled out his special stash of cookies and placed them neatly on a tray. Such a special occasion truly was worthy of delicious treats. 

AN:

I feel the need to end this by saying that this chapter was finished at 2am and I did not edit it. So the last part is probably not particularly coherent. Sorry about that. 

Anyway, I hope you all are enjoying the story thus far, thank you for reading.