Chapter Text
The candle that had been lit in his room, was becoming a source of comfort, it was making the room feel like less of a suffocating shroud. Wally's warm, soft sweatshirt was also becoming a source of comfort, it smelt so much like his boyfriend that the nauseating smells that had filled his nostrils the previous day were masked almost completely. Wally had helped Dick put on the sweatshirt when the trembling in his body wouldn't stop. Dick knew it wouldn't help but he loved his boyfriend more for the gesture. It did help some in the comfort department. Dick’s gaze drifted from his currently sleeping boyfriend to the large windows, the Manor grounds seemed ordinary, like they did every other day, but were a blurry, indistinct mass of colors. The physical pain was manageable, dulled by the strong medication they had him on every four hours, but the emotional wounds continued to gnaw at him, relentless, internal bleeding, bleeding his soul from his body. He wasn't just physically injured; he was broken, his sense of self fractured into a million jagged pieces. He feared Jason was the only one who knew this.
He understood, now, with a clarity that felt both terrifying and liberating, that Jason’s violence hadn’t been a random act. It was the culmination, the brutal apex of a long, insidious campaign of control. Jason wanted to be number one with Bruce, both as a son and as a sidekick, Jason wanted to be number one with everything he did. Dick hadn't found fault in that, there was nothing wrong with wanting to be the best at what you did but, Jason had gone too far. Dick had been so blinded by Jason's need to fit in, to be accepted, to live up to the impossible standards that Batman set for them, that he’d failed to recognize the subtle red flags, the toxic masculinity he showed towards Dick, the creeping tendrils of Jason’s manipulation. He’d interpreted Jason’s actions not as abuse but as boisterous fun, if not sometimes cranky, an enviable confidence that he desperately yearned to possess.
The pressure to conform to Batman's ways had been immense, on both of them. While Jason had only been with him and Bruce since they were thirteen, Dick had been with Bruce since he was nine. Dick had grown up surrounded by the echoes of traditional masculinity: the expectation of stoicism, the suppression of emotion- emotions were not justified for every occasion. Jason grew up with the glorification of violence and aggression, growing up as an orphan on the streets of Gotham. Jason has known violence towards him since he was little. If you weren't tough with everyone you got eaten alive out of the streets. These things had been deeply ingrained in Jason, they had become societal norms, but they had also distorted his perception of reality. It had blurred the lines between healthy relationships and surreptitious control over those Jason was in any form of relationship with. Dick had even seen it a few times with Jason and their dad, but Jason quickly changed that behavior with Bruce because he didn't want to end up back on the streets. Jason liked the cushy lifestyle and crime-fighting too much. Dick had learned to equate strength with silence, and resilience with suffering in silence. He had been trained, subtly and systematically, to accept Jason's behavior as normal, even expected. He’d absorbed the narrative that real men don't cry, real men don't show weakness, real men don't complain. Both from Bruce and Jason.
The room's dark blue walls became a reflection of his internal state. The rigid lines of the wallpaper and the cold surface of the glass windows mirrored the fractured pieces of his psyche. He saw his reflection in the mirror over his dresser, a ghost of himself staring back, his eyes hollow, haunted by the memories that continued to flood his consciousness. The quietness of his room, of the Manor, of the grounds, was like a relentless, maddening buzz marking the passage of time, a painful reminder of his vulnerability, his brokenness.
Dick couldn't help but recall countless instances of his and Jason's interactions, there were tons of things that had been previously dismissed as harmless jokes or playful banter, now revealed as calculated acts of aggression. Jason's constant need to one-up him in conversations, the subtle ways he’d undermine Dick's confidence, the casual put-downs disguised as friendly teasing about his looks, and his body – it was all part of a pattern, a systematic dismantling of Dick's self-worth. The laughter that had once seemed carefree was now imbued with the chilling resonance of control, a subtle weapon wielded with devastating accuracy.
Dick thought about the movies they’d watched together, Jason always insisting on watching the violent thrillers, Dick had been desensitized to the very nature of aggression through being Robin. Jason’s hand on his knee during those screenings, initially interpreted as a sign of camaraderie, was now recognized as a blatant assertion of ownership, a subtle declaration of dominance. It had been a calculated move, a gradual erosion of his boundaries, a slow suffocation of his personal space. Dick didn't know how he had been so blind to it all.
The memory of the mall incident surfaced again, vivid and painful. Liam’s invasion of privacy, his casual perusal of Dick’s messages, had been presented as a harmless joke, 'let me see what your loser friends are talking to you about' then he would always hold Dick's phone out of his reach. Dick always took the teasing as a testament to their closeness. Now, it stood as a stark reminder of Jason's control issues, his ability to penetrate Dick’s personal sphere, to violate his sense of autonomy without remorse. The seemingly insignificant acts, Dick could now see clearly as a profound violation, a calculated move designed to maintain Jason's power and superiority in their relationship.
Dick now recognized the slick nature of Jason's manipulation, his ability to subtly warp Dick’s perception of reality. The constant barrage of subtle insults- look at your body, its- and not-so-subtle insults- that outfit makes you look dumb- and criticisms- you're hitting weakly with your left side- had gradually eroded Dick's confidence in their relationship, leaving him feeling inadequate, unworthy of respect, and utterly dependent on Jason’s approval. He hadn't realized it 24 hours ago. He had internalized Jason’s distorted view of masculinity, believing that his own perceived weakness was the cause of their tumultuous relationship. He’d accepted the blame for Jason's actions, convincing himself that he’d somehow provoked the abuses he would receive.
The pressures to maintain a façade of strength, to deny his vulnerability, had been enormous. Both with his father and his friends. He'd clung to the societal expectation of masculine stoicism, suppressing his emotions, swallowing his fears, convincing himself he was strong enough to withstand Jason’s abuse. He’d internalized the message that seeking help was a sign of weakness, a betrayal of his masculinity. The past two years had been horrendous. He now understood the deep-seated insecurities that fueled Jason's need for control. The bravado, the arrogant posturing, was merely a carefully crafted mask, designed to hide a deep-seated fear of vulnerability and a desperate need to dominate. Jason’s violence wasn't just a random act of brutality; it was a desperate attempt to assert his control, to maintain a power imbalance that had become essential to his sense of self. He needed Dick to stay weaker than him. To feel weaker than him.
Dick's contemplation shifted from his past to his future, and along with it came a whirlwind of emotions. The road ahead was uncertain, filled with the daunting task of rebuilding his shattered self-esteem and confronting the deeply ingrained societal norms that had allowed his abuse to happen. He knew the healing process would be long and arduous, but he also knew that he was not alone, telling everyone who had done this to him would be hard, Bruce may never let him tell anyone it was Jason. He knew he had Wally, Donna, Hank, Dawn, Roy, Kory, Jericho, Kal, Rachel, Garfield, Zatanna, Barbara, and Connor, and he had Bruce, Clark, Diana, Hal, Oliver, Barry, and Alfred, he would have to lie to most of them. Dick hoped he would have a chance to break the cycle of hatred and self-doubt he felt right now, that was gripping onto him and holding tight. He hoped to challenge the toxic masculinity that had shaped this experience and redefine his understanding of strength and resilience. He hoped, though he didn't know if it would happen.
The bedroom, which had once been a symbol of his peace felt like a symbol of his vulnerability. It wasn't his sanctuary anymore, it wasn't a space for reflection and healing after crime-fighting. It felt wrong. The only thing that was making him feel comfortable at all in his room was Wally.
Dick let out a groan as he felt the sweatshirt being moved, revealing his lower stomach once again. The cool air that hit his skin caused goosebumps to form in its wake. He tried not to panic, he knew it was only Wally. Wally hadn't let anyone else tend to him since he had arrived at Wayne Manor. The antiseptic smell no longer felt suffocating; it was the scent of healing, the faint aroma of getting past what had happened. The silence was only broken when Dick let out a hiss as Wally rushed through the cleaning of his wound the faster Wally did it the less pain it cause Dick in the long run. Wally hadn't said much since he had joined Dick in the isolation of his room. It wasn't like Wally to be quiet and it was starting to worry Dick. He was bracing himself for a fight, that he wasn't sure would even come.