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Something people tend to forget is that Dick was not only the first child hero, but he’d been in the hero game longer than most of the senior heroes on the League. People also tend to forget that, due to this, they didn’t have all of the technology and safety measures in place that they did now when he first started as Robin. Most of the measures had been put in place because of things that happened to him—in all ways, he was the guinea pig for child and adult heroes alike.
This uncertainty left room for a lot of testing and boundary pushing, and with no one else around, he and Bruce were the only subjects. For every working piece of tech or antidote, there were schematics and prototypes for fifty duds somewhere deep in the Cave’s walls. And while a lot of the trial and error hadn’t been pleasant, Dick would always say he was glad it had been him and not one of his brothers.
It had never occurred to him that his experience wasn’t common knowledge, so he never felt the need to expand on why his reactions to some things were so drastically different than the others who were affected, and no one else thought to ask. There was no reason to ask why he could handle small amounts of Joker Venom, or why it took significantly more sedative to keep him down than nearly anyone else. It was just a fact of hero life.
His reaction to Fear, though, was something that his brothers found nothing short of remarkable. Somehow, no matter how new the strain, Dick was always able to stay in the fight for as long as he needed to, before retreating back to his room or apartment to lick his wounds. They never really questioned why, just assuming he preferred privacy for the fallout that he, somehow, managed to put off until he could deal with it. All they knew is that he would isolate for a few hours, with no one but Alfred and Bruce permitted in his space to synthesize and administer an antidote, and then he’d come back looking good as new, barring some eye bags.
It was just a fact of life, and in typical Bat fashion, no one pried. It seemed the system worked, and too many cooks would make a mess of the kitchen. Plus, it meant they wouldn’t have to see any new emotions on their eldest brother. Seemed like a net positive for everyone involved.
Good things couldn’t last forever, though, which is why they ended up in the unfortunate situation they’re in now. Crane had been planning on releasing a new strain of his toxin by the docks where Penguin’s men were working—apparently they had some bad blood between them after working together recently to escape Arkham. They managed to get all of Penguin’s men out of the area, but not before one of the thugs got a good hit on Red Robin’s belt and damaged his rebreather. Crane released the gas, and Nightwing put his rebreather on Red’s face before anyone could stop him. He fought well regardless, but Crane’s men got in a few too many lucky hits on Nightwing after he was gassed, so Alfred had to keep him in the medbay instead of letting him retreat to his bedroom.
The rest of the Bats can’t resist their nosy nature even if it’s for the greater good, so they brushed off Alfred’s comments about leaving the Cave and hung around where they could see, giving some flimsy excuses that Alfred didn’t have the time to argue with. This was a side of their brother they’d never gotten to see before, and even if they’d never had the desire to, the opportunity was too enticing to pass up.
"You boys really should go upstairs. Your brother wouldn't want you to see this," Bruce said as he brushed past his three younger sons to the medbay. Jason scoffed.
"You can't really think that's gonna work, old man. And besides, he's seen all of us under toxin. 'Bout time we return the favor." Bruce sighed, a concerned crease ever-present between his brows, but didn't say anything else. Alfred spoke up from behind the wall.
"If you will not leave, then you could at least make yourselves useful. Master Tim, it would be helpful if you synthesized a new antidote. Master Jason, come help me treat his wounds. Master Damian, go shower and find him a more comfortable change of clothes," he said, and his no nonsense attitude and terse phrasing told the boys that their best bet was to listen. The two youngest scurried off to do their tasks while Jason walked into the medbay.
He wasn't sure what he was expecting. After years of silently wondering, he had imagined hundreds of scenarios of what his brother was like under toxin, but the reality left him puzzled.
Dick laid in the cot, eyes wide and glossy. He wasn't restrained, and wasn't even hooked up to anything but saline in an IV. His injuries were deep, and while they were not life threatening, there were enough of them in enough tender places that he should've been showing signs of at least some pain, no matter how much of a martyr he tried to be when injured. Really, there was no sign of toxin in his behavior, other than his racing heartbeat beeping from the monitor. Jason furrowed his brow, but before he could ask or think any further, Alfred was putting him to work.
The entire time they worked to patch him up, Jason's brother did little more than breathe. It unnerved Jason to no end, and would've pissed him off if it weren't for the misty look in Alfred's eyes. And Jason could never deal with elderly people being sad, much less Alfred, so he didn't push, he didn't ask, and he did what he was told.
Bruce, who had been standing vigil by the entrance, had yet to move to help at all. He just stood and watched, his eyes never straying from his eldest's face. And normally, that would've pissed Jason off, too, but the permanent crease of concern combined with the lack of barking orders had him on uneven ground. This isn't the Bruce he was used to. He was out of his element.
Soon enough, they've cleaned and covered Dick's wounds, and all that's left is to wait for Damian with the clothes and Tim with the antidote. Predictably, Damian returned first, hair still damp from his shower and a Gotham University hoodie with Superman pajama pants in tow. His face twitched as his eyes landed on their oldest brother, but, thankfully, one sharp glance from Jason kept him quiet. He didn't want to ask any questions until both of his brothers were present; everything was telling him this was a bigger deal than he thought.
A few minutes later, Dick was changed into comfier clothes, and Tim rushed in with the newest antidote. He administered it with little thought, and watched as his brother didn't change in any perceivable way. His brow furrowed and he finally seemed to notice what the other two had seen.
"What's wrong with him?" He asked bluntly, and Jason couldn't hide a small snort.
Bruce sighed from the doorway, eyes stuck on the sweaty face of his eldest son.
"I suppose now is as good a time as ever, sir," Alfred said, halting his cleaning of the room and moving to stand beside Dick's bed.
"I suppose you're right, Alfred," Bruce replied, looking between all of his sons. "Before I begin, I know you boys are going to be upset with me. I need you to know that I regret the decisions I made with everything I have, even if it doesn't mean much now."
Jason narrowed his eyes, pushing himself back in his chair and crossing his arms. He didn't like the sound of that. A thick seed of dread planted itself in his stomach. "Say what you need to say, Bruce."
Bruce took a deep breath, clasping his hands behind his back as he looked sorrowfully at his eldest son. "When I had first taken Dick in, I had only been Batman for about two years. At that point, Fear had only recently made its first appearance, and I didn't have the technology to synthesize an antidote. I took Dick on as Robin and around then is when the villains became more... eccentric. Everyone had a gimmick, and everyone wanted my attention. They all knew Robin was the best way to get it.
"Crane especially wanted to be seen, and attacked at a much higher frequency than he does now because he could use the same formula. Dick and I got dosed a lot, and at that time, with no rebreathers and no antidote, we had to find a way to stop it from completely incapacitating us in the field," Bruce walked to Dick's bedside, gently resting his hand in his hair. Dick was still completely dissociated, with his heart rate slowly but surely dropping to its regular BPM. Jason looked at Bruce, shocked to see his face tighten in a way that, on any one else, might mean he was trying to stop tears from falling. He felt completely out of his element. Bruce continued.
"My only hypothesis was that we had to train ourselves to be able to withstand toxin. The only way I could think to do it was—"
"Exposure," Tim interrupted. It wasn't a question, and Jason could hear something dangerous undercutting the words. He felt Damian muffle a gasp beside him. He couldn't feel anything within himself.
"Yes," Bruce confirmed. "We... I exposed him to toxin everyday for a month until he could withstand it without falling to it for over 10 minutes. It seemed to work well at the time with few side effects, but the next time he was dosed on the field, we made it back to the Cave and he was completely catatonic. It seemed that the only way his brain and body could process the toxin anymore was to shut down once he was safe."
Silence reigned in the Cave for a moment, until Jason heard the chair behind him scrape and fall on the concrete.
"How old was he?" Jason asked, even though he knew no answer would be good enough. Bruce hung his head.
"Eleven. We started having effective rebreathers when he turned 14, and synthesizing antidotes at 16, right before he... left, for the Titans."
"Did Richard agree to the experiment?" Damian asked, and Tim shook his head.
"That doesn't matter, it shouldn't have happened in the first place, Damian."
"Tt. I'm well aware, Drake, but we may be able to garner more information on Richard's side of the story if we know whether or not he was willing to do it," he huffed, turning his attention toward his older brother, then back to their father.
"Yes, he agreed, and was told he could pull out anytime he wanted," Bruce said, and Jason scoffed in his face.
"Yeah, because doing something Batman asks you to do is so easy to decline when you're a freshly orphaned child vigilante," he clenched his fist, baring his teeth. "Tell me, Bruce, do you really think Goldie would have said no, even if he did feel like he had the choice?"
Bruce opened his mouth, closed it, breathed out through his nose. "No, he wouldn't have. And I know now I was in the wrong, but I'm far too late to fix anything." As usual, Jason's mind supplied, but in the recesses he knew he was being a bit unfair. "All I can do now is help him how he'll allow me," he ran his hand through Dick's hair again, who still didn't seem any closer to resurfacing. It pulled at something in Jason that he wasn't ready to face today.
"Yeah, well, this time we're going to help him out, and you're going to leave so we can talk to Dick about this without you brooding or interrupting. Capisce?" Jason said, leaving no room for argument. Not that he thought Bruce would; the man looked more remorseful than Jason had seen him since... ever. He just nodded, turning on his heel and taking his leave. Alfred was a step behind him, turning to face them before he fully exited the medbay.
"I was as much at fault as Master Bruce. I will take my leave as well, to give you boys privacy. When he wakes, please offer him some water and pain medication before bombarding him with questions, will you?" He asked, looking at Jason. He nodded, sending Alfred a thumbs-up. He never really blamed Alfred for Bruce's actions, even if his inaction did enable the man.
When they were gone, he turned to his younger brothers, both looking up at him for guidance. Jason was once again reminded why he hated having to play oldest--he didn't want that kind of responsibility. He took a deep breath, sighed, and moved to pick up the chair he'd knocked over. He groaned as he sat down, slapping his hands on his thighs as he looked at his brothers.
"Well, there's... really not much we can do except wait. I don't want to do anything that might push him further or freak him out or somethin', so let's just wait it out. How's about you go take a shower, Timmy?" He said, and Tim hesitated a bit before relenting, moving toward the showers. Jason gestured for Damian to sit in the chair next to him, and then settled in for the long haul.
Jason was three quarters of the way through annotating his copy of Northanger Abbey when Dick began to stir. He and his brothers sat up straighter, Damian grabbing his eldest brother's hand as Dick's lashes fluttered and his breathing stuttered. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before his eyes shot open with a rough sigh through his teeth. He looked around, regaining his bearings as he slowly sat up, making sure to keep his hand tight around Damian's.
He seemed to notice his younger brothers all at once, looking more resigned than embarrassed or upset. "Hey, guys," he said, his voice rough from sleep. Tim passed him a glass of water and some pills, which he took without a second thought.
"How ya feeling, Dickhead?" Jason asked, barely bothering with his usual nonchalant demeanor. As much as he loathed to admit it, seeing his older brother like that shook him more than he expected. Seeing someone react to Fear Toxin was one thing, but seeing someone who had to learn to protect themselves from it was something else entirely. Dick shrugged, dark eyebags clashing with his unusually pale skin tone. He was rubbing his thumb over Damian's knuckle. Jason recognized it as a grounding technique.
"Been better, been worse," he said, cracking his neck and rolling his ankles and free wrist. "Mostly just mad about the stitches. Since when do Crane's men use blades?" He was trying to lighten the mood, but his brothers didn't seem to want to humor him. He sighed. "Fine, let's just cut to the chase. Ask your questions."
"Why did you hide this from us?" Damian started, surprising everyone but Dick.
"Would you believe me if I said I wasn't trying to hide it?"
"No," three voices said in unison. Dick chuckled.
"I guess I deserve that, but hiding it wasn't really my intention. I isolated myself because it felt... safer. It's what I was used to. And if it had the added advantage of you guys not needing to see me like that, then I wasn't going to complain." Damian nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Tim took the floor.
"You were dissociated for approximately six hours. Does it normally take about this long for you to... come back?" He asked, uncertain of the phrasing. Dick thought for a second, then nodded. Tim's brow furrowed, "Then why do you isolate for days after?"
"Ah, it's just... easier, I think," Dick scratched lightly at the bandages on his neck, not to take them off but to have another point to focus on. "I tend to be more susceptible to flashbacks and more dissociative episodes for a couple days after toxin exposure. Plus, it's nice to not... have to pretend like I'm feeling any better," he admitted, staring down at his pajama pants.
"Are you pretending to feel better than you do right now?" Tim asked, both clinical and caring in a way only he, Alfred, and Leslie could ever manage.
"Yeah. I'm... not used to letting you guys see me when I'm any less than great. Really, the only reason I'm telling you this now is because I'm still disconnected enough to not really care what I'm saying," he chuckled a bit, and if Jason looked close enough, he could see the way his brother's eyes were still a bit dull, how they lagged a millisecond behind when he was looking at something new. He decided it was his turn to speak up.
"We'll discuss that later, but for now I just have one more question and then you can go to sleep. That okay?" He was being gentler than he normally would be, but his brother seemed more fragile than he'd ever seen him. Dick nodded, looking the most alert he'd looked since joining them. "Are you upset with Bruce about this? Do you blame him?"
Dick seemed to consider this question deeper than the others. He continued rubbing Damian's knuckle, messing with his bandages, rolling his ankles. His words were slow as he answered.
"No. I know it might not... make sense to you guys, but you weren't there. Really, there wasn't anything else he could've done. I was going out there whether he wanted me to or not, and I was going to get gassed. At the time, this was a much better alternative to... seeing my parents die in my head while getting the shit beat out of me in real life. So, no, I don't blame him," he turned to look at Jason. "I know that there probably was something that could've changed, but this is how it happened. You guys know as well as I do that things aren’t fair, and me being a test subject for this stuff before I was in middle school is one of those things. But it's just... a fact of life, now. As a family, we have bigger things to worry about, and he's shown me that he regrets his decision more times than I can count. So, while it might suck, overall I'm good. Okay?"
Jason, predictably, didn't like that answer. The longer he thought about a little eleven-year-old acrobat being purposefully exposed to a toxin that has made grown adults piss their pants, the more he felt the familiarity of green taking over him. But Dick was right. Nothing they did now would change it or make Bruce feel any worse than he already did. All they could do now is be there for Dick. He sighed and shook his head.
"Alright, Goldie. Whatever you say," he said, and was rewarded by Dick's tired but bright smile. "Now, go to sleep. You look like death warmed over, I would know." Dick huffed out a laugh and laid back down, pulling a (barely, unconvincingly) resisting Damian into the bed with him.
"You guys should get some sleep, too," he said, words slurring a bit as he already began slipping under. Tim snorted.
"We'll be fine, mother hen. We'll sleep down here with you, if we get tired, but we're not leaving," he said, and Jason nodded as he found where he left off in his book. He continued reading, relaxing to the sounds of his brother's snores.