Right now, the manor might as well have been under siege. Security was going insane trying to keep the endless wave of protestors back. All of them were chanting the same thing over and over like some kind of emotional war cry— “BRING BACK DICK! BRING BACK DICK!”

Apparently, Gotham couldn’t handle losing its golden boy. Volunteer programs collapsed, recycling rates tanked, the general morale of the city dropped like a brick. Turns out, take away Dick Grayson, and suddenly Gotham realizes who was holding its collective hand this whole time.

Inside, Bruce sat on the couch, looking one more chant away from suiting up and going full Batman on the crowd outside. The muscle in his jaw twitched, hands gripping the armrest.

Jason was on the other end of the couch, rubbing slow circles on Dick’s back. Dick’s face was buried in your lap, hair a mess, eyes red-rimmed. He wasn’t crying—he’d done enough of that already—but he wasn’t smiling either. Just... quiet. Empty in a way that scared all of you.

Depressive funks weren’t new. Every member of the family had gone through it—Bruce, Jason, Tim, even you. But Dick? Gotham’s literal sunshine? It hit different. It was like watching the city’s last working streetlight flicker out.

Tim and Cass were sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a dozen tablets and blueprints. Trying to figure out the most peaceful way to disperse the crowd. “Maybe a distraction campaign,” Tim muttered, “or an official statement?” Cass shook her head. “They want him.”

By the window, Damian stood with his arms crossed, glaring at the protestors like he could scare them off by sheer willpower. Titus lay at his feet, tail flicking lazily, while your panther, Noctus, sat beside him like a silent shadow. The two animals watched the chaos outside as if debating who’d win in a brawl—the protestors or Bruce’s patience.

No one spoke much. The air felt heavy. Even Jason, who usually filled every silence with sarcasm, was quiet.

You brushed your fingers through Dick’s hair, the motion slow, grounding. His breathing evened out a little, the tension in his shoulders easing bit by bit.

Bruce finally sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They’ll tire out eventually,” he muttered. But it didn’t sound like he believed it.

Jason huffed softly. “Yeah, sure. Right after Gotham collectively stops being dramatic.”

A small noise came from Dick—half laugh, half sob. Everyone froze for a second before Cass smiled faintly, and Tim’s shoulders dropped with relief.

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

Outside, the chants carried on. Inside, the Batfamily waited—for the sunshine to come back on its own.