Dick Grayson one shots

Threats

Dick's hands shook as he folded the newest note, tucking it away quickly into his pocket before anyone else could see. He took a steadying breath.

Why was he scared? Him of all people, who'd faced death a thousand times over. It was almost funny how a death threat written on an unassuming piece of paper and tucked into his desk at work could create such a strong physical reaction.

It was probably just some jealous coworker trying to pick on him... at least that's what Bruce would probably say.

Notes written on a notebook's lined paper wouldn't make Bruce's hands shake. He would lose any sleep over the scrawled words, wouldn't find himself compulsively checking over his shoulder as he walked...

Any that's why Dick didn't think it worth mentioning. He shoved the notes away in a dresser drawer and tried to pretend that he wasn't scared out of his mind by the things written on them.

It was when notes started showing up on his kitchen table that Dick finally did something about it. He packed up a few of his things, put in a request for some time off, and headed up to Gotham, toting a ziplock bag filled with death threats along with him.

—

Dick flopped down onto the couch in front of the warm fire, a bone-deep tiredness lingering in his limbs. His thoughts strayed to the note stuffed into his pocket. The first since he'd came to Gotham, found by him this morning on his civilian motorcycle.

The couch shifted slightly as someone sat down next to him.

Dick didn't need to peek to see that it was Bruce, and he immediately tensed a bit more than he'd have liked.

"How long are you planning to stay?" Bruce asked, the question coming out a bit more gruff than he'd meant.

Dick's brows pressed together, and he pressed his hands against his legs to try and stop their shaking. Of course Bruce wouldn't want him there. "I-I was thinking maybe a week or so," he said, his voice sounding far too small and fragile for his liking. In truth, he'd taken a three week leave... but he didn't want to overstay his welcome.

Bruce grunted in response, pausing for a few moments. "I'm curious as to why," he said finally.

Dick's breath caught in his throat as the words on his latest note repeated in his mind, far more frightening than any of the others had been. "I... I don't feel safe in my apartment right now," he managed to choke out, clasping his hands together so harshly that his nails dug little crescents into his skin.

A gentle hand on his caused Dick to loosen his grip, his eyes snapping open to find Bruce looking back at him, concern shining in his eyes.

Dick bit his lip as it too began to tremble. He had to fight the urge to pull his hands out from under Bruce's, to wrap his arms around himself in a weak attempt at offering the comfort he so desperately needed. The thoughts in his head were swirling faster and faster, the urge to check over his shoulder for someone watching him growing stronger and stronger.

Panic and anxiety were flooding his system, the world tunneling rapidly as his breathing quickened and quickened and quickened...

Suddenly Dick was wrapped in strong arms, the familiar smell of Bruce's fancy cologne enveloping him as he was held tightly to his father's chest.

The tension slowly bled from Dick's body as he embraced the safety that Bruce's presence brought. It took him a moment to realize that tears were running down his cheeks.

"You're safe," Bruce said quietly, rubbing soothing circles on Dick's back.

Dick's eyelids fluttered closed, the exhaustion from weeks of being on edge finally catching up to him.

Bruce's whispered, "I've got you." Was the last thing Dick heard before he drifted off in peaceful slumber.

—

Alfred tutted quietly as he picked up the dirty clothes that had been scattered around Dick's bedroom, placing them in his laundry hamper before heading to the bathroom to replenish the stock of extra toilet paper rolls.

The leg of a pair of pants dangling from one of Dick's drawers caught his eye, and he sighed quietly, a fond smile playing on his lips as he opened the drawer, pulling the pair of pant out and folding it neatly.

He frowned when a crumpled piece of paper fell to the ground, picking it up and smoothing it.

A bag of similar pieces of paper shoved in with the other items of clothing in the drawer caught the butler's eye.

Something didn't feel right...

Alfred gingerly unfolded the note, gasping in shock as he read the hateful words scrawled across the paper.

A quick check of the papers in the bag proved them all to be notes of a similar nature, all anonymous death threats directed at Dick Grayson.

Alfred snatched up the bag, rushing down the stairs toward Bruce's study, praying the man hadn't yet left for work.

Bruce looked up when the butler rushed in, worry creasing his brows when he saw the haunted look on the old man's face. "What is it Alfred?" He asked.

Alfred simply held the bag out for Bruce to take, the notes impressing their own horror on him as he read one.

The bag slipped from Bruce's grasp, and he was running, calling for his son as he ran through the manor. He searched desperately, his panic rising with each passing moment.

But it was no use. The only sign he found of his eldest was a smashed phone and a smear of dried blood.