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Bruce is used to going ignored by his eldest.
Of course, in the present time, it's nowhere as bad as it had been in Dick's late Robin years to early Nightwing years... for many reasons. Tim may know just how much good he has done in bringing Bruce and Dick out of their no-contact stint but Bruce can never be thankful enough.
But the days, weeks, months of silence... they can still happen. Dick is incredibly independent and he can drop off Bruce's radar without a warning at the drop of a dime. Bruce tries not to worry until two weeks have passed of no communication, but by a month Bruce begins to act under the suspicion that something is wrong... Ie, there's something Bruce needs to apologize for usually.
However, this time is different. Not only has Dick not contacted Bruce in seven days, but he hasn't contacted Damian as well...
And that's entirely unlike Dick Grayson.
So, Bruce left for Blüdhaven the morning after Damian came to Bruce with the concern that Dick had been ignoring his texts. However, this does mean that Damian has invited himself to tag along, and seeing as it's a Saturday, Bruce doesn't have much reason to say no.
Bruce can't help the grunt of relief he lets out as he pulls the car over to park in front of Dick's apartment. Damian jumps out of the passenger seat before Bruce can turn the car off, but Bruce takes another moment to compose himself. He looks up at the building, knowing the exact floor and window that belongs to his eldest.
The blinds are shut, there's no lights.
He gets out of the car and quickly catches up with his youngest, looking for any suspicious signs as they enter the lobby using the spare FOB Dick gives all of his siblings. Nothing seems out of place, the leasing office worker looks bored, the elevator to the parking garage has a middle aged man stepping in with an armful of reusable grocery bags, the lamps lining the hallways need dusting.
They wait for the elevator to be available to go up to Dick's floor, stand in tense silence as the old, creaky machine rises, then walk just slightly above a normal pace to Dick's door.
Bruce tries the handle. It's locked.
Damian is already digging out a spare key, but Bruce stops him, knowing that with Bruce involved, Dick would appreciate an attempt at knocking first.
He knocks.
No answer.
Bruce looks down at Damian, and Damian gives him a narrowed look back.
Bruce sighs, knocks again.
Nothing.
Damian continues pulling out the key, and Bruce allows him to.
Damian unlocks the door and swings it open, stepping in first and striding into the front area of Dick's two bedroom apartment.
They don't have to search far, as it's immediately clear that Dick is in neither bedroom that he is paying rent for. Bruce and Damian stop in their tracks as they spot the man of the hour.
Immediately, Bruce sees red flags.
Dick is laying on his sofa, curled up under the minky blanket Barbara had gifted him for his birthday two years ago. Only the top of his head is visible, and each unruly black strand is clumped with sweat and grime.
There's a half eaten burrito from Taco Bell abandoned on his coffee table, and bags of takeout poking out of his kitchen trashcan.
"Richard?" Damian asks, voice soft but demanding. Bruce watches as Damian approaches Dick, how Dick doesn't react to the voice.
"Damian," Bruce steps forward, gently grabbing his youngest by the shoulder before he could try and shake Dick. Damian, clearly unsure of the situation, steps back and allows Bruce to take his place.
Bruce reached forward. "Hey, chum," He says softly, wrapping his hand around where Dick's own shoulder would be under the fluffy blanket.
He pauses, concern smashing into him as he hears Dick's breathing hitch, and the muscles in his arm tighten.
Something is wrong.
"Chum? Dick?"
No answer, just a tense body beneath Bruce's hand with irregular breathing.
The opportunity for Dick to lead the exchange has passed, Bruce grabs the top edge of the minky blanket and slowly pulls it down to expose Dick's head.
Dick's breath catches again as air meets his face. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his hands shoot up to cover them. His teeth are grinding, his skin ashen and sickly.
"Dick? Come on, lad."
Dick mumbles to himself, curling further up so he can hide his face in his elbows. Bruce leans forward, frowning, as Dick mumbles become clear to be an almost pleading mantra for Bruce to shut up and go away.
"Dick," Bruce tries again. "You haven't spoken to anyone in a week, we're just making sure you're okay."
"Stop," Dick says more forcefully, not moving, not looking.
Damian scoffs, but it's a frightened sounding thing. "Richard, this is ridiculous-"
Dick whimpers, fingers finding his hair and pulling at the strands.
"Not real... not real..."
Bruce frowns, and looks at his eldest again. His hands aren't only clutching at his hair, his right hand is also pressing against a very particular part at the side of his skull, like he's... in pain.
"Damian," Bruce turns to his youngest, a question at the back of his throat that tastes bitter at the mere fact that he must ask. "Does Dick's TBI still bother him?"
Damian opens his mouth, but Dick laughs. "Like you actually care," he says, his voice laced with pain.
Bruce pauses. "I-"
"Shut up," Dick groans, "just shut up..."
Bruce feels out of his depth.
He nods at Damian to follow him, and Damian reluctantly complies. Once they're further into the kitchen, Bruce lowers his voice to a whisper, as he can only assume maybe Dick is sensitive to sound.
"Damian?" He asks.
Damian picks up the alluded question.
"He gets migraines sometimes," He mutters quietly with a shrug. "During bad ones he sometimes has trouble remembering little details, but I haven't seen him like this before."
Neither has Bruce.
He has no idea what's going on. Damian has no idea what's going on.
This terrifies him.
"We should get him back to the cave... run some tests-"
"Richard?"
Bruce turns to where Damian has so sharply turned his worried gaze.
Dick's back to his curled up position on the couch, however his eyes are half-lidded... his legs are twitching.
Bruce rushes over, swallowing down his panic as he recognizes the signs of a seizure. It seems minor, nothing more than twitching in his legs and, now that Bruce is closer, fingers. Dick's staring off into space, his jaw working down on nothing. Bruce still counts the seconds.
"What's happening?" Damian demands, now truly sounding frightened.
"I don't know," Bruce says, the words like acid on his tongue.
Thankfully, no longer than 23 seconds pass before the twitching stops, and Dick's eyes regain some awareness.
"Dick, please," Bruce pleads, brushing a strand of sweaty hair out of Dick's dazed stare.
Dick glances over at him, and his eyebrows furrow.
"B...?"
"Chum-"
"Arre...." Dick slurs, "you rrreal?"
Bruce can barely breathe. "Yes. Yes I'm real. Why wouldn't I be?"
Could this be fear-toxin?
"Mmm," Dick sighs, leaning his head into Bruce's palm. "Nnnever know... Mm'sorry... Seiz..sures... Just... A sec..."
Dick was aware of his seizure. That's a good sign.
Dick closes his eyes and breathes, then he begins to flex his muscles one by one, rolling his ankles, stretching his legs, circling his wrists, all the while keeping his forehead against Bruce's hand like Bruce is an anchor.
Bruce resolutely does not move.
Finally, Dick sighs and moves to sit up. Bruce helps him, feeling lost and concerned and confused.
"Richard?" Damian asks, and Dick startles.
He looks at Damian, then at Bruce. "Is... Is Damian real?"
"I am real, Richard!" Damian squeaks, but Dick doesn't look back at him even though it seems to pain him.
"Yes, Damian is real too."
"Oh," Dick huffs. He gives Damian a small smile. "Sorry. I.. Neither of you should have to see me like this..."
"Are you aware of what's going on?" Bruce asks.
"Mmm," Dick hums again, an affirmative sound as he rubs his eyes.
Bruce waits. Damian hesitantly comes over and sits down next to Dick, looking tense and upset until Dick puts an arm around his shoulder. "I'm okay. It's just... just a bad week."
"Your migranes?" Damian asks.
"Sorta," Dick replies softly. "It's kinda a bunch of things paired with a migraine. I..." His eyes flicker to the kitchen, and he swallows. "S-sorry, is Jason real?"
Bruce turns to the kitchen, and there's nothing there. "No, there is no one besides us three."
Dick nods. "R-right. Of course."
"You're hallucinating?"
Dick nods again, ducking his head down. "Happens when I'm stressed sometimes. Then it sorta just makes me more stressed. I felt a bad migraine coming on I think... Monday? Rescue meds didn't work, and it, you guessed it, stressed me out. Decided to call off work and bunker down. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry anybody."
"And the seizure?" Bruce asks.
"Ah, yeah," Dick laughs weakly. "Another migraine stress thing. They're rarer, I can usually feel them coming on. I've had them since, you know, the whole bullet to the head thing. I'll be fine, I promise. I'm seeing a neurologist. She's vetted, I promise. No magic crystals."
Bruce opens and closes his mouth, completely unsure.
Thankfully, Damian chooses this moment to snuggle closer into Dick's side. "I'm sorry, Richard. It does not sound pleasant."
"It's not," Dick agrees lightly. "But nothing some rest can't solve. I haven't had an episode like this in months, I'm going to speak to a doctor about it and maybe see about switching around medications. Not much else I can do."
"How long have you had hallucinations?" Bruce asks.
Dick pauses, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Nothing gets past you."
Bruce gives a soft smile, feeling like an idiot. "Not the world's greatest detective for nothing. It's the only thing that hasn't been specified as being a post gunshot wound symptom."
Dick smiles back, then sighs. "Longer than I've been bothering to keep track of. Don't worry, I don't let it get in the way of patrolling..."
Bruce wants to react. Scream, punch a wall, shake Dick by his shoulders and demand why he has never known any of this up until this point.
But Dick looks exhausted. Bruce has the feeling that the only reason he knows any of this is because he's caught Dick in the midst of his symptoms, and Dick is too exhausted to even try explaining his way out of it.
So, instead, he puts his arm over both of his boys, and squeezes. "Thank you for telling me."
"Oh," Dick replies, sounding surprised. "Uh, yeah."
"Please... let me know if there's anything I can do to help."
"Y-yeah," Dick sniffs. "Of course."
Bruce nods, then squeezes them both again. Damian turns to get more comfortable against Dick's side, fingers clutching to the material of Dick's pajama shirt. Bruce holds them against him, bringing a hand up to card through Dick's hair, he doesn't even care that it's dirty. All that he knows is that his boy needs him.
And for as long as Dick needs him, Bruce will stay by his side.