A/N: This was requested! I hope I did the request justice. The bold words are specific sentences requested.

The song that you absolutely need to listen to while reading this is "Scars" by Ondi Vil

I hope you guys enjoy this!

Much love!

I'll be the stitches to your scars babe

If the word meaningful ever needed a living representation, many, many people would agree on who it should be.

Richard "Dick" John Grayson.

Tim would be one of the first to agree and, undoubtedly, the rest of his family would be quick–in their own ways–to agree.

Just hold me

He was the glue that kept them all together. Dick is the light of their family.

And, really, he never asks for anything in return for what he does. All he asks for is an occasional hug. Just a gesture to reassure him that he's valued and loved.

That's all he asks for in return to being the stitches that hold the scar that is the Batfamily closed.

Just hold me

Bruce sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with a hand. He hasn't been able to find Joker. The clown has been keeping a low profile ever since…

He shakes his head, lifting it to look at the memorial case he'd made for his son.

Bruce is deep in his brood-session when he hears familiar footsteps approaching. He tears his gaze away from the empty Robin suit to see Nightwing leaning on a wall of the Batcave.

"Bruce."

"Dick."

His ward stares at him for a long moment, analyzing him, and Bruce found he doesn't care.

He doesn't care about a lot nowadays.

"Alfred's worried."

"Hm."

With a huff of exasperation Dick makes his way over to where Bruce sits before the large monitor of the Batcomputer, bracing his hands on either of the arm rests and leaning in close. "Get your shit together Bruce. He's dead. You don't need to chase him to the afterlife," he snarls.

Bruce instantly responds, shoving Dick back as he rises to his feet. He's standing threateningly close to Dick, head tilted down and glaring at his ward. Dick doesn't back away from the challenge, instead glaring right back at Bruce with his own oceanic blue gaze.

After a minute or so of this Bruce closes his eyes again and sighs, exhaling through his nose. "Why are you here?" The question is asked dully; hollowly.

I'll be the stitches to your scars babe

Dick scowls. "Alfred. I already told you he's worried." He eyes his mentor; his father; his partner, before wearily meeting Bruce's gaze again. "You're not the only one who lost him, you know, Bruce."

The older man says nothing, simply turning and heading to the mats, unclipping his cape on the way.

Dick shakes his head, folding his arms as he follows.

Once both mentor and former protégé are on the mats, Dick starts the spar off with a round house kick that Bruce easily steps back to avoid.

Just hold me

As they spar, Dick decides to play therapist. "Jason's dead."

Bruce grunts in response.

"Say it Bruce."

Dick is knocked off his feet, quickly regaining his footing to dodge a right hook.

"Jason died."

Dick throws a few rapid punches of which Bruce blocks. "Good. Now. He died almost a year ago," he leans back to avoid a high kick, "Why are you still acting like it was a minute ago?"

Uncomfortable and upset, Bruce holds his silence as the spar continues. Dick manages a powerful left hook, prompting Bruce to respond.

"Because he was my son! I loved him!" he yells. His attacks become relentless and Dick struggles on the defensive. "He was my son and I should have dealt with that clown sooner! I failed!"

Bruce suddenly stops, putting his hands on his knees, and Dick straightens.

Just hold me

Walking over, Dick puts a hand on Bruce's back as he starts verbally venting.

"I should have protected him. I failed him, Dick, when he needed me most. I failed."

Dick crouches in front of Bruce, hand still on the Bat's shoulder. He licks his lips, trying to figure out what to say next. "I did too, Bruce," he ends up whispering just loud enough for Bruce to hear. Dick lets his head hang, blinking away tears. "I should have been here."

A beat of silence passes before Bruce drags Dick into a tight hug. No words are exchanged between them at that moment. All they do is hold each other, united by grief.

"You'll be fine, Bruce, just take care of yourself." Dick's voice is trembling and Bruce can tell he's on the verge of tears.

Bruce nods. After a few more beats of silence, he speaks.

"Thank you."

And all Dick can do is nod.

I'll be the stitches to your scars babe

Jason's sitting on his bed, head in his hands, as his emotions threaten to take hold of him, in one of his safehouses.

Bruce just has to go and ruin the good thing they've had going on every time, doesn't he? It's impossible for him not to.

Just when he thought he finally had his dad back…

Then again, maybe Jason's the problem.

He doesn't move when he hears the window in his room slide open. Doesn't bother to. Jason already knows who it is.

Just hold me

"Leave, Dick." That he didn't use Dick's name as an insult or barb is a representation of his current mood.

There's some shuffling before the bed dips to his left and an arm is over Jason's shoulders. "Hey Little Wing."

"I said go away."

"And I'm still here, hugging you, and you're not doing anything about it."

He'll never admit it out loud but Jason enjoys hugs, actually. They bring comfort. They express love. They prove he's not as alone as he thinks.

Dick doesn't say anything more and Jason doesn't move his brother's arm. He just sits there and allows the comfort his brother is trying to show.

Just hold me

"Wanna talk about it?"

Jason sighs, shaking his head.

Dick hums, pulling Jason closer and resting his chin on Jason's head, wrapping his second arm around his little brother. "Okay."

Jason rests his head on Dick's shoulder. This is one of the only times he accepts his brother's comfort. If he's being honest with himself, Jason needs this right now.

"…thanks, Dick."

Dick gives a soft smile. "Always."

I'll be the stitches to your scars babe

Tim's sitting on the floor of his new room in Wayne Manor with the lights off, his knees drawn up against his chest, and his back to a wall in a corner. His tears caress his cheeks sadly as they drip down. His head is tilted to the floor in his arms which are folded over his knees.

Tim doesn't care. He'd gone home to see his dad's dead body, blood just pooled around him, and it's so much different when it's someone you know–someone you care about–who's lying in a dark puddle of their own blood.

He hears the door open but doesn't lift his head, instead trying to bury his head deeper into his arms and curl in on himself tighter.

Soft footsteps make their way over to him after the door closes again, and soon Tim feels a presence sitting to his right. It isn't Alfred because he would have left the door open or turned the lights on. It isn't Bruce because the footsteps are too light.

Just hold me

It's Dick.

"C'mere, Timmy."

Without checking to make sure it's actually Dick–if there was any remaining doubt with the use of his new nickname–Tim immediately flung himself at Dick, clutching desperately at his big brother.

Dick's arms immediately embrace him and hug him close. Tim's tears wet the older's shirt, but Dick doesn't mind. It isn't important. Tim sobs into Dick's chest and Dick merely rubs his back, murmuring words of understanding and comfort.

Just hold me

He lets Tim know that it's okay to cry. He lets Tim know that he's not alone. He lets Tim know that he'll always be here for him.

And all Tim can do is cry into Dick's comfort.

I'll be the stitches to your scars babe

It isn't often that Damian expresses any emotions that resemble or imply weakness. It's just how he was raised.

But is that relevant when all you've known about your father is what you've heard and, when you finally unite with him, he's taken away from you?

Damian sniffs as he sits out in the vast lawn of the Wayne Estate alone. He'll never get to bond with his Father–will never get to know him as one. All he'll know are stories recounted to him.

How is that fair?

Why does it feel like, no matter what, Damian is always getting and going to get the short end of the stick in life?

Just hold me

Damian watches Grayson approach from the corner of his eye, uninterestedly.

Grayson, Damian has learned, is one who is never ashamed to express his true emotions. The first Robin is someone Damian expected to surpass–someone Damian expected to hate.

He doesn't hate Grayson.

Just hold me

The new Batman sits down in the grass beside Damian. There's a peaceful silence that hangs between them and Damian finds himself relaxing. Calming.

Grayson glances over to him. "Hey, Damian, you know I'm here for you, right? Look, I–I know we got off on the wrong foot but… I'm here, kid, and I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

Damian finds more comfort in those words than he'll ever admit. "Understood."

The other man nods. "Good."

It is silent, again, for another few minutes before Damian whispers a small, "Thank you."

Grayson flashes him a bright grin. "Anytime, Lil' D."

I'll be the stitches to your scars babe

Screams ring out in the night sky, sirens soon to follow. Normal for Gotham, but this time her guardians are already trying to get a handle on the situation and having a hard time doing it.

It isn't a villain–rather, it's a fire. It has spread across two apartment buildings in the Narrows, and only three quarters of the first building has been cleared out. It's all hands on-deck but the Birds of Prey are unavailable and Cassandra is in Hong Kong. They're sure, though, that the original four male Robins and Batman can handle a 'small fire'.

Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin are, however, struggling.

Just hold me

They're all working to clear civilians, breaking down doors and handing the civvies off to fire rescue and other present first-responders.

Dick calls Tim over when they're both outside the recently-cleared first building. Tim jogs over.

"Yeah Nightwing?"

Dick licks his lips, glancing to the second building before hurriedly explaining. "Hood already went to help the firemen in the second building. I'm heading over but I can't do this on my own. Robin is already heading after him, so I need you with me."

Tim nods, tapping his comm. and asking Bruce how much longer until the water arrives. The answer is about five minutes.

Once they're inside, Dick starts caving doors in and getting people out, handing them off to Tim for him to guide them out of the building.

He's just gotten a mom and her children out of a room when he hears a voice call out for help. He's the last one left on this floor.

Immediately Dick is moving toward the direction the voice had come from.

It's a struggle to breathe, but the rebreather make it easier on Dick's lungs.

Just hold me

Minutes later he's handing the old man off to Tim and checking to make sure the floor's cleared when the roof starts to cave in. The tile beneath his feet trembles and Dick taps his comm. to make sure his little brothers are out of the building and safe.

He knows he won't make it out when they all confirm and bits of the floor start to fall. The nearest exit is too far and the closest window is even farther.

Dick isn't getting out of here.

Removing the rebreather, he speaks. "Guys. I'm sorry."

"WHAT?" Jason explodes into his comm. "DON'T YOU DARE, NIGHTWING. GET OUT!"

"'Wing?" Tim. Damn it. "What do you mean? Get out of there! You'll die!"

Larger bits of the roof start to fall and bigger holes appear in the floor. "I'm sorry." Faster, the ceiling continues to fall. Rushes to seal his fate. "I love you guys."

The fire burns at his uniform and the smoke chokes him without the rebreather on. Dick coughs as he tries to clear his lungs of the suffocating air.

Jason's screaming and yelling at Dick to at least try and get out, Tim's silent, Bruce is yelling, and Damian speaks up,

What he says crushes Dick's heart.

"Please don't say goodbye."

"I'm sorry. I love you."

I'll be the stitches to your scars babe

Just hold me

Just hold me

When the building comes down with Dick trapped inside…

The scars rip open.

I'll be the stitches to your scars babe