"Hey, kiddo," Dick calls, trying to keep his voice steady, but it wavers. The panic is there, creeping in at the edges, tightening his throat. "Can you open the door for your big brother, please?"

He knocks lightly, pressing his palm against the door like he could reach through it. You’ve locked yourself in again, and that’s never a good sign. He knows how you get when the weight is too much, how grief twists things in your head. And Bruce—Bruce’s death changed everything.

"Come on, baby bat," he tries again, gentler. "Just talk to me. You don’t even have to say much, just—just let me know you’re okay."

Silence.

Dick exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. His heart is pounding, a sick rhythm of fear and helplessness. "I’ll do anything, okay? You wanna leave Gotham? We’ll go. You wanna sit in silence? Fine. Just let me in." His voice cracks, and he clenches his jaw, hating the desperation bleeding through.

"You’re my responsibility," he says, and yeah, he knows you hate that, but it’s the only way he knows how to explain. "You always have been. Since the moment I met you. And I know—God, I know everything’s been falling apart, but I can’t lose you too."

He presses his forehead against the door, his hands shaking. "Please, kid. Just let me in."