#gotham problems

In his defense, he was very tired.

It was the same color, the same brand, and the same size: literally identical. The only difference was a few dents, scratches, and the general "I've been through hell" aesthetic his own pristine suitcase didn't have. If he had been even 10% more awake, he might have noticed.

He wasn’t.

And normally, this wouldn't even be a problem — his actual suitcase has trackers in it. Plural. The lock had a tracker.

Which is why he knows the bag's definitely been opened, because the lock's tracker blinked offline like it had been booted into the afterlife.

Now Tim has two problems:

1) Despite his best attempts to stuff all his vigilante gear into his carry-on, he absolutely forgot some very incriminating Red Robin tech in the checked luggage. Again… he was tired.

2) He is now in possession of a suitcase that definitely belonged to either a villain, a mad scientist, or both. Because nestled between the cracked vials, scorch-marks, and unstable-looking gadgets…

is Lazarus Water.

Which raises a deeply concerning question:

Did he just accidentally steal from the League of Assassins?

How does he even proceed from here? Call Bruce? Blow up the suitcase? Run?

Meanwhile…

Danny is going to die. Again.

He grabbed the wrong luggage. And obviously, the wrong luggage belongs to a vigilante. There's recon gear, encrypted weapons, and a spandex suit that screams, "I am from Gotham, do not make eye contact."

Sam told him forthrightly:

“Stay off Gotham vigilantes' radar. They don't like ghosts.”

And here he is. Holding one's suitcase. Like an idiot. But that isn't even the biggest crisis. That bag contained all his college textbooks. He starts classes in a week. He can't show up with nothing but a pens-worth of ectoplasm and vibes. He just wants his clothes. His books. His ectoplasm synthesizer. Is that too optimistic to pray the vigilante isn't already plotting to stab him? Danny: Can't I just. find the Lazarus goo in my bag, find the guy and politely ask for an exchange? Please? I'm tired. I've done my hero time. I want to go to college in peace. Being a Halfa doesn't mean they can legally kick me out, right? That's discrimination! He just wants his stuff back. Please, Gotham. Have mercy for once.

Patient: Bruce Wayne Therapist: Dr. Misaki Eto, Ph.D. Date: [REDACTED] Session Number: 1 Security Clearance: LEVEL OMEGA

SESSION TRANSCRIPT – EXTREME CONFIDENTIALITY ENFORCED

Dr. Eto’s Pre-Session Notes: Bruce Wayne does not talk.

That was the warning. That’s what every previous therapist wrote down in their notes before giving up and moving on. “Uncooperative.” “Unwilling.” “A waste of time.”

I was prepared for a man who would sit in front of me for an hour, arms crossed, saying nothing. Maybe he’d throw in a grumble for variety. I was fully expecting my coffee to do all the work in this session.

I was not expecting Bruce Wayne to walk into my office and, within minutes, lay his entire existential crisis at my feet.

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

Dr. Eto: Mr. Wayne.

Bruce Wayne: Doctor.

(Note: Patient sits with perfect posture, but there’s tension in his shoulders. Not defensiveness—exhaustion. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are sharp, and he already looks like he regrets being here. Expected behavior so far.)

Dr. Eto: You’ve never stuck with therapy before. What changed?

Bruce Wayne: I have nothing to prove anymore.

(Translation: He got tired of pretending he was fine. Interesting.)

Dr. Eto: That’s not really an answer.

Bruce Wayne: I don’t have time to sit in a chair and—

(He stops. Exhales sharply. There’s a shift—like he’s realized, in real-time, that the excuse doesn’t work anymore. He leans forward slightly, rubbing a hand down his face before speaking again.)

Bruce Wayne: No. That’s a lie. I could make time. I just don’t.

(Note: Self-awareness. That’s rare. He moves past the lie without shame, which means he’s thought about this before.)

Dr. Eto: And yet, here you are.

(He huffs a humorless laugh. Shakes his head slightly. Then—)

Bruce Wayne: …I’m so tired.

(His voice drops, almost a whisper. His hands tighten on the armrests of his chair, but he doesn’t look away. I let the silence settle. He fills it himself.)

Bruce Wayne: You know how long I’ve been doing this? I don’t even know. My whole life? Feels like it. Every night, out there, trying to fix things that just keep breaking. Gotham never stops. It never slows down. The second you think you’ve won, another criminal, another tragedy, another disaster, another war. It’s like trying to drain the ocean with a cup. And the worst part? It’s not the sleepless nights, or the fighting. It’s the fact that I’ve dragged people into this.

(His fists clench for half a second before relaxing. He inhales slowly. Keeps going.)

Bruce Wayne: I tell myself I didn’t have a choice. That it was either bring them in or let them get themselves killed. That if I didn’t train them, they’d still be out there—just worse off. But that doesn’t help when I see the scars on their backs. When I realize I’ve raised them to fight a war I still don’t know how to win.

(He leans back, staring at the ceiling. His voice turns flat, factual—like listing his failures makes them easier to control.)

Bruce Wayne: Jason died.

(Pause.)

Dr. Eto: I know.

Bruce Wayne: He came back. And he hates me for it. And he’s right. Because if I had been faster, if I had been better, he wouldn’t have died in the first place.

(His expression doesn’t change. His voice doesn’t shake. But he blinks—too slow, like he’s forcibly suppressing something before it surfaces.)

Bruce Wayne: But he still calls me when he needs backup. He still comes home sometimes. So what does that mean?

(He waits for an answer I can’t give. He doesn’t expect one anyway. He moves on before I can try.)

Bruce Wayne: Damian doesn’t sleep. At all. I pretend I don’t notice, but I see the lights under his door at three in the morning. He’s ten, and he thinks he has to be better than me. I don’t know how to tell him that I don’t want that. That I never wanted any of this for him.

(His voice tightens, but he doesn’t stop.)

Bruce Wayne: Tim is running himself into the ground. His diet consists of caffeine and spite. He thinks I don’t see what’s happening. He thinks I don’t notice the way his hands shake when he reaches for his fifth cup of coffee at two in the morning. But if I say something, he’ll just double down out of principle.

(He huffs, shaking his head slightly—like he’s amused, but also furious. He keeps talking before he can stop himself.)

Bruce Wayne: And Dick? Dick is the best person I’ve ever known. He’s a better man than me. But every time he looks at me, I can see the part of him that still thinks I should have stopped him from leaving.

(He exhales sharply, rubbing his temple. His voice shifts, quieter now. Almost detached.)

Bruce Wayne: I make sure they have everything. I do everything I can to keep them safe. And it’s still not enough. I wasn’t enough for my parents. I wasn’t enough for Jason. I wasn’t enough to save Gotham. And I don’t know if I ever will be.

(Long silence. His fingers tap against the armrest of his chair. A restless habit. I say nothing. He finally looks at me again, head tilting slightly, evaluating.)

Bruce Wayne: You’re a good listener.

Dr. Eto: It’s my job.

(He smirks. Just a little. Then it’s gone.)

Bruce Wayne: Hn. Maybe I’ll come back.

(He stands up. Session over. He doesn’t even give me a chance to respond. He’s already gone.)

Dr. Eto’s Post-Session Notes:

I was told Bruce Wayne would never talk.

I think the truth is, nobody ever listened.

it’s weird, dating someone who’s part myth.

you start to forget where the mask ends.

like—

is he quiet because he’s thinking?

or because he’s tracking a crime syndicate across three time zones?

sometimes he disappears mid-sentence.

sometimes he texts me back like

“sorry, got shot. you up?”

i keep an extra phone charger at his place.

he keeps a bandage kit under my sink.

we don’t talk about it.

last week i found a feather in his hoodie pocket.

he swears it’s from a pigeon.

(it wasn’t.)

anyway.

i’m making dinner tomorrow.

spaghetti and the illusion of control.

🩵

SESSION NOTES:

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

Dr. Misaki Eto enters the room with a cup of tea, placing it in front of Richard Grayson, who is sitting with a bright—albeit tired—smile.

Dr. Eto: "Alright, Richard. Before we begin, I should let you know that this is a safe space. You can talk about anything, no judgment. Also, I brought tea. Because, frankly, you look like you need it."

Grayson: chuckles "Oh, you have no idea." takes the tea gratefully "And you can call me Dick."

Dr. Eto: "Dick, then. So, tell me, what brings you here today? And if you say ‘Bruce made me,’ I will absolutely call him and tell him he needs therapy first."

Grayson: laughs, but it sounds a little too practiced "Well… technically, it wasn’t Bruce. It was a friend. They said I needed to ‘get my head checked out’ because I don’t know how to take a break. Which is ridiculous, by the way. I love breaks. Breaks are great."

Dr. Eto: raises an eyebrow "Uh-huh. And when was your last break?"

Grayson: sips his tea, eyes darting to the ceiling as if the answer is written there "...Does sleep count?"

Dr. Eto: "If you have to ask, then no. So, when was it?"

Grayson: "Define ‘break.’"

Dr. Eto: "Time where you are not working, fighting, solving other people’s problems, or emotionally carrying an entire group of people who do not understand the concept of processing their emotions properly."

Grayson: silence blinks sips tea

Dr. Eto: "Yeah, that’s what I thought."

Grayson: sighs, rubbing his face "Okay, okay. So maybe I don’t take breaks. But I like helping people. I can’t just… stop. What if someone needs me?"

Dr. Eto: "What if you need you?"

Grayson: pauses, clearly thrown off "...Well, damn."

Dr. Eto: "Yeah. Damn. That’s what I thought." leans forward "Dick, I’ve seen a lot of people like you. People who think that if they just keep moving, they won’t have to deal with all the weight they’re carrying. But let me ask you this: what happens when you finally stop?"

Grayson: "...I don’t know."

Dr. Eto: nods knowingly "That’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t know because you never stop. You’re a high-functioning burnout case waiting to happen."

Grayson: huffs "Okay, that’s dramatic."

Dr. Eto: "Is it? You flinch when I bring up rest. You deflect with humor. You refuse to admit you’re exhausted because then you’d have to acknowledge that you need help. And if you do that, then what? You think everyone around you is going to fall apart?"

Grayson: "...Maybe."

Dr. Eto: "Alright, let’s do something fun. On a scale from ‘I’m doing great’ to ‘I cried in my car last week and pretended it was just allergies,’ how are you?"

Grayson: sips tea aggressively

Dr. Eto: nods "Got it. Not great."

Grayson: laughs softly "You’re good at this."

Dr. Eto: "You’re not the first person I’ve met who wears a smile like armor." leans back in chair "But here’s the thing, Dick. I don’t care how many people you help if you’re running yourself into the ground while doing it. If you burn out, if you collapse, who takes care of you?"

Grayson: quietly "...I don’t know."

Dr. Eto: softens "That’s what we need to fix. You deserve rest, Dick. You deserve to stop without feeling guilty about it."

Grayson: nods slowly "...That’s really hard for me."

Dr. Eto: "I know. Which is why I already made the decision for you."

Grayson: blinks "...What?"

Dr. Eto: "You’re taking a mandatory two-week break. Effective immediately. No work, no fighting crime, no carrying the emotional baggage of your entire family. Just rest."

Grayson: laughs, but in the way someone does when they’re hoping you’re joking "You can’t be serious."

Dr. Eto: "Dead serious. And to make sure you actually take this break, I’ve already written letters."

Grayson: "...Letters?"

Dr. Eto: "Letters. One to your work—because I know you have a job outside of whatever it is you actually do—one to your family, and one to whoever signs off on your daily self-sacrificial tendencies."

Grayson: stares "You did not."

Dr. Eto: smugly "Oh, I did. And if I hear that you are not taking this break, I will personally show up at your home and read them all aloud."

Grayson: mutters "This is an abuse of power."

Dr. Eto: "This is therapy."

Grayson: sighs, rubbing his temples "Okay, okay. You win. Two weeks."

Dr. Eto: smiles warmly "Good. Now, finish your tea. It’s supposed to help with stress."

Grayson: "Do you have one that helps with existential crises?"

Dr. Eto: grins "I’ll see what I can do."

[END TRANSCRIPT]

THERAPIST NOTES: Diagnosis: Overworked. Severely emotionally exhausted. Too good at pretending he’s fine.

Treatment Plan: Mandatory two-week break. Monitor stress levels. Introduce actual rest as a concept. Maybe trick him into hobbies that don’t involve saving people.

Letters Sent:

One to his very concerned workplace

One to his probably dysfunctional family

One to the man who may or may not be Batman

Conclusion: Richard Grayson is a chronic overachiever with a hero complex the size of Gotham. He is a genuinely good person who struggles to believe he deserves rest. For now, I will force him into taking a break. If he does not take it, I will personally track down the person who raised him and tell them to intervene.

…Though, something tells me that person is also in desperate need of therapy.

BEGIN TRANSCRIPT

Dr. Misaki Eto: [sipping tea, visibly unimpressed] Alright. Who called an emergency meeting at three in the morningbecause of a social media issue?

Tim Drake: [dead inside, holding an energy drink] It’s an engagement emergency. Nobody is commenting on the therapy post.

Jason Todd: [leaning back, arms crossed] Right. And this required DEFCON 1?

Dick Grayson: [soft gasp] Of course, it does! No comments means no interaction, no interaction means the algorithm buries it, and that means—

Barbara Gordon (Oracle): —less reach, fewer shares, and ultimately, fewer people seeing it.

Bruce Wayne: [clears throat] I fail to see how this is our problem.

Tim Drake: [snaps up to look at him, eyes wild] You don’t understand. It’s never happened before. The Batfam gets comments. The Therapy Series gets comments. Where are the people? Have they been kidnapped? Are they avoiding it? Are we shadowbanned?!

Damian Wayne: [arms crossed, unimpressed] Tt. You are all pathetic. It is an internet post. Who cares?

Dick Grayson: [gasps louder] Damian! It’s about engagement!

Dr. Misaki Eto: [raises hand] Okay, real talk—did anyone check if the site is down?

Tim Drake: [furiously typing] I did. Tumblr is fine. Engagement on other posts is normal.

Jason Todd: [grinning] Maybe they’re just afraid to comment after reading what you wrote. Y’know, intimidated.

Barbara Gordon: [thoughtful] That actually might be a thing. If it was an especially intense post, people might just likeit but not know what to say.

Dick Grayson: [dramatic sigh] We should’ve baited them with a “reblog if you relate.” Rookie mistake.

Bruce Wayne: [pinching the bridge of his nose] So what do you suggest we do?

Dr. Misaki Eto: [shrugs] Well, normally, I’d say just keep posting and it’ll pick up traction again. But since we’re clearly operating in full Bat-level paranoia mode, we could also just—

Tim Drake: —Stage a social experiment?

Jason Todd: —Threaten them?

Barbara Gordon: —Do a follow-up post?

Dick Grayson: —Make a meme about it?

Dr. Misaki Eto: …You know what? Do all of those. See what works.

Bruce Wayne: [deep sigh] I am far too tired for this.

Damian Wayne: [muttering] You are all disgraceful.

Tim Drake: [typing furiously] Okay, operation revive engagement is a go. Give it 24 hours. If nothing changes—

Dr. Misaki Eto: —Then what? Another emergency meeting?

Tim Drake: …Obviously.

Jason Todd: [laughs] Oh, this is gonna be fun.

END TRANSCRIPT

Next Steps:

Tim: Experiment with different post formats to boost engagement.

Dick: Meme the situation.

Jason: Threaten the algorithm within legal parameters.

Barbara: Monitor post analytics.