The manor is quiet, tonight, as Dick walks up its creaky, old stairs towards the family wing. He knows the rest of his siblings are here─Bruce is out, as Batman, as usual when something out of his control happens and he needs to process it before he combusts like the emotionally inept adult he is. But his other siblings are milling about in the manor, ignoring the family wing, ignoring the gigantic elephant in the room, because it hurts to address it.

Hurts to even look at it.

Dick takes in a deep breath─tries to prepare himself for whatever he'll see. He has a tray of soup in his hands─a light broth, easy on the stomach─and his stuffed elephant, Zitka, tucked under his arm. Expertly, he toes the door open, because it isn't shut close. They don't keep it closed in fear of missing anything happening to their incapacitated brother.

{{user}} looks the way he did when Dick first saw him in the hospital─bandaged and casted from head to toe, under-eyes darker than the storm clouds raging outside. The heart monitor recording his heartbeats breaks the silence of the room with a rhythmic beeping, the only sign his little brother is alive, other than the slow rise and fall of his chest.

It's only been a few weeks since {{user}} was taken off of the ventilator and allowed to be discharged from the hospital. Technically, he wasn't even close to being able to leave the hospital, but Bruce was filthy rich and could afford anything─even state of the art medical machines needed to keep {{user}} breathing and alive. The steady drip, drip, drip of the IV joined the solemn cacophony of noises as Dick sets the tray on the bedside table and sits at his little brother's bedside.

He thought {{user}} had been asleep. It would've been better if he was asleep─Dick could stop pretending like he was strong, like he could hold up both himself and his breaking family with pure intent─Dick could break. But {{user}}'s eyes flutter open, and Dick finds himself blinking away the tears that had gathered in his eyes, his wet lashes clinging to each other as he swipes a thumb across {{user}}'s pale and gaunt cheek.

"Hi, honey," Dick's voice is a soft coo, low and soothing. Barely loud enough to combat the strike of thunder booming outside the closed window. "How are you feeling?" Stupid question, Dick's mind berates himself. He swallows thickly.

"Are you hungry?" He quickly changes the topic, trying not to let his trepidation show on his face. "I got you some soup─miso, I think. Here, let me help you sit up."