Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kon was going to be okay. 

In fact, he was right now! He was absolutely perfectly fine. 

He would be fine. 

Because Tim was smiling at him, and Cassie was smiling as well, and Bart was running around all of them to hug them, and there was nothing that could truly hurt him as long as his friends were there with him. 

The fact that Bart's hug only pushed the Kryptonite splinters stuck in his side further in didn’t bother him. That was his best friend, and he’d always be happy about a hug from him.

No, he wasn’t hurt.

Just a bit wobbly on his feet from the fight they’d just won. It was normal, perfectly normal. He could deal with this on his own later. 

They didn’t need to know. Not when Cassie was celebrating that the mission had gone so well with her as their leader, not when Rob seemed at least halfway relaxed for the first time since Kon had met him. 

It wasn’t their fault that he got injured, so they didn’t have to know. 

He’d rather see them happy than have this taken care of right now. Because it was such a rare sight. Bart might be joyful, but rarely did the imp smile as genuinely as he did now. It was an expression usually reserved for the sleepovers in which nights turned to days, when the jokes were lighthearted and soft, almost like they were talking about their past instead of using humour to hide it all. 

Because Cassie, always looking to prove herself, had finally seen that while she’d been doubting herself, the team had trusted her all along. She was capable, she was strong, she was the person they all could trust against any and all instincts. And this time there was no doubt left about it, because all had gone well.one of them had even gotten hurt! They won!

Because Tim seemed like a weight had fallen off his shoulders, like the muscles in his face were relaxing for the first time in years. They’d been okay without his leadership, so he didn’t have to worry quite as much anymore. For once, he didn’t need to take care of absolutely everything. He could just be. 

Kon would give up anything to see them like this, and if today that meant waiting for a while longer before trying to get those splinters out of himself, he’d survive it. 

They meant more to him than he could ever mean to the world. So even if he was trading his life for their smiles, it was worth it. They were worth it. 

Unfortunately, Kon was pretty sure that he might actually be dying this time. Maybe. If the way he collapsed the second he managed to separate himself from the rest of the team was any indication, he probably was. 

But there was still time. He could fix this on his own, without having to worry any of them. 

He got out of his costume as fast as he could, trying to get a good look at what he was working with. Three Kryptonite splinters had sunken completely into his side, big enough to still be glowing even though they’d sunken into his skin completely. The first two were on the lower side of his ribcage, the last one in the side of his hip. They must’ve gotten there while his jacket wasn’t covering him because there were no holes to be found. That also explained how the rest of the team hadn’t noticed them immediately. 

Tim had told him to get out of the fight as soon as the Kryptonite had shown up. But it wasn’t a lot and they had the medical equipment to fix him up if he got hit - and they needed every person they could get. The fight hadn’t been easy. So Cassie told him to stay. 

And she was right. He hadn’t died, he barely would’ve been hurt if he got this treated right away. It was purely due to his own stupidity that he hadn’t. 

His skin had already closed around the entrance wounds, trapping the splinters in there. From the look of them, they were only one or two inches long. 

Usually a small problem. Like this, though? Major problem. How was he even going to try to get these out? Maybe his skin was still vulnerable because of the Kryptonite right under it? But then again it probably wouldn’t have closed up this fast. 

And with every passing second, he felt himself weaken. Like the splinters were draining his energy right from within him, sucking him dry until even his feet felt heavy and his brain was too foggy to do much more than stare at the mineral that was slowly killing him. 

Would he still be able to save himself? 

Was all of this a mistake? 

Just as he was about to move - perhaps do something that he’d regret, like trying to cut his skin open with a kitchen knife - Bart entered the room. 

“You good man? You were moving strangely earlier and the Kryptonite was near you for a second- What is that!?” 

It had taken a second for him to notice, but now, Bart was staring at Kon's side, absolutely horrified at the faint green glow coming out from under his skin. In an instant he was all over Kon, inspecting it and spouting out theories about what could’ve happened. Kon tried to calm him down but it was too late for that now. 

His friends cared about him as much as he didn’t care about himself. Which, if he was being honest, was probably a pretty worrying amount.  

“You need help. I’ve never helped you. I’m getting Tim” 

Great. Now the entire team would know about this. Because if Tim was involved, Cassie definitely was.

Okay, Bart was probably right about wanting to get Tim's help with this. The bats were one of the few people trained on how to do medical procedures on Kryptonians - and he was also definitely the only one with anything on him that could actually get through Kon's skin. But also, Kon didn’t want Tim to be involved in this! 

It really wasn’t that big of a deal. At least not big enough of a deal for his crush to start operating on him-

Yeah, there it was. He had a big, shitty crush on Tim. And he was really trying to keep it secret, alright?

Apparently, he was an awful secret keeper. Because only minutes after he thought that he’d successfully hidden his injury, all of his friends stood surrounding him worried about how to help him. And of course that also meant Kon's face turning bright red when Tim touched his side as he was trying to inspect the wounds better. 

While Bart was running around, carrying half of the equipment from the MedBay back and forth according to what Tim asked him to bring him or get away again, Cassie was on the side having half a panic attack. Kon really wanted to calm her down but any attempt at that seemingly just made her worry more. 

“Holy fuck how did I not notice that I’m so sorry Kon-” 

“Not your fault I was trying to deal with it on my own” 

“But I’m your leader I’m responsible-” 

Pretty quickly, they were cut off by Rob. 

“Everyone except Kon is out of here. Bart, please take everything but this-” he pointed to a stack of medical supplies he’d picked from the piles that Bart had brought with him “back to the MedBay. I’ll let you know what’s going on in an hour, alright?” 

Both of their friends followed the orders almost immediately, and way too soon, Kon found himself alone in his room with only Tim . Tim, who was inspecting his side like he was a damn case file. 

Without much words, Tim disinfected the skin above the splinters, professional and clean. 

The opposite of what Kon really wanted from him, but probably exactly what he needed. He just wished that all of this — Tim's hands on him, this quiet, mutual feeling of trust —would’ve happened differently. 

That the touches were more loving than medical, that it wasn’t about Kon being hurt but about both of them healing together. Not from a battle but, from the unspoken scars the war they seemed to be fighting had left on them, just as it did on any hero. 

Justice was a war, and though it was less deadly, it was no less bloody and cruel, especially not to its kids. Young soldiers had never been known to live very long. And even if, their lives were a product of war.

They had chosen this for themselves, and they probably would never leave. But the scars were still there, ever lingering, reminding them of the toll that those countless battles had taken on their bodies and brains. 

He wanted to spend years curled up in Tim's arms, learning to love himself through the pain. He wanted to reassure the Robin that it was okay to be hurting just the same. 

He wanted to love him just a little more than a friend would. 

But instead, he was laying on his bed, barely breathing, barely thinking, while Tim was asking him if numbing cream had any effect on him. 

“Probably not? Does it have one on Kryptonians in general?” 

“Well, it doesn’t for Clark, but you’re also half human so I figured you might benefit from it” 

“Just give it a try then” 

Kon let his TTK shield down completely now, and suddenly Tim was touching him. He wasn’t just letting the disinfectant pass through the shield, no, he was letting Tim through, and he was being so gentle, massaging the cream into his sore skin as if he was giving Kon a massage. 

It felt awful, because Tim was touching his skin right above the Kryptonite, almost pushing it further in — although he didn’t really, he was very careful with Kon — but at the same time, it was the best feeling Kon had ever experienced. Tim's hands on his side, being so gentle, almost loving with him was something that he never thought he’d get to experience. It was better than he ever could’ve imagined. 

But all of that went by way too fast, and suddenly, Tim got out the scalpel. 

“I’ve got to put you under the red sun projector for this. It will hurt but I need you to keep mostly still, can you do that?” 

“Yeah” 

He most certainly could not, at least not under normal circumstances. But for Tim, he could at least try. 

The moment he felt the red sunlight hit his skin he wanted to back away, run away as far as his legs would carry him. But his body had given up on him and his mind wanted to stay around Tim, so he simply froze up, forcing himself not to move. 

Not even a second later the blade came, slicing through his skin as if he was just a piece of meat on a cutting board, being cut up into pieces before he was going to be cooked. 

He’d happily be a meal if Tim would want to eat him. 

But that’s not what was happening, and somehow, Tim got the first splinter out in less than a minute. Kon wanted to scream, wanted to curl up into a ball and cry until the pain became a little more bearable, but he couldn’t. Because there were still two more to go and he didn’t want to disappoint his Robin. 

He could be good right now. For Tim. 

“So, why’d you try to hide this?” 

Really? Now? While Tim was finger deep in Kon's flesh, his blood probably staining all of his clothes? 

Kon could feel the blade touch his skin again, ready to cut to the next splinter. 

“Didn’t want you to worry” 

“That’s pretty stupid” 

Tim had made the cut and was now pulling out the splinter. Kon had never been in more pain in his life. He wanted Tim to hug him, tell him that it was over now. That he’d been good, and that he wouldn’t have to hurt anymore. 

“Yeah I guess” 

Once again, the blade touched his skin, now further down on his hip. There was a short second in which it was just there, not cutting yet, not inside of him yet-

“Don’t do that again” it sank into Kon, clean, precise, professional. 

Everything he was not. Because Kon was a mess, physically and mentally, and all of it was because of Tim. 

“Why?” he managed to bring out, more of a whine than an actual question. 

“I don’t want you to deal with this on your own” 

Kon couldn’t respond anymore, couldn’t formulate a sentence while all he felt was pain, pain, pain, but he wanted to, he wanted to say something-

The strange feeling of the sun lamp shining onto him ceased, and within seconds, the pain started letting up. 

He still wasn’t okay. He wanted to be cuddled and reassured, wanted to replace the memory of mind numbing pain with the feeling of Tim's body snuggled up against his. 

But he couldn’t, because Tim was just his friend. Tim didn’t even like touch most of the time. Not that he hated all of it — but it took a lot of trust for him to actually enjoy it. Trust that Kon had probably just lost by hiding his injury. 

“How are you doing?” 

Did Tim seriously just ask him that?

“Bad” 

“Yeah, makes sense. Can I do anything to help you?”

Kon was feeling bold. Not because he had any reason to, but because he was desperate. He didn’t want to miss another chance. 

“Stay?” 

Tim seemed confused for a moment, but before Kon could add anything, say that he didn’t have to, the Robin had already crouched down to look him right in the face. 

“I’ll let Cassie and Bart know that you’re alive first, okay? Then you have me all to yourself” 

God, that sounded too good to be true. Maybe he’d died and was hallucinating now? Maybe he was in some pain-induced elysium? 

Either way, he wasn’t going to question himself. He was right where he wanted to be, even if he wasn’t entirely sure about how real the whole thing was. One nod later, Tim was already out of the door, leaving him alone in his bed for a minute. 

As the seconds passed, Kon became more certain that this wasn’t a dream. Partly because he could hear his friends talking right outside the door, and partly because he could feel the blood still covering his body and part of the sheets slowly getting more sticky. It was an unpleasant feeling, but that was a problem for later. 

It didn’t take long for Tim to return, sitting down beside Kon's bed on the floor. But Kon didn’t want him on the floor, he wanted him on the bed with him. 

Was that too much? Was he asking Tim to do things that the Robin would normally decline? 

“Cuddles?” 

Kon wasn’t sure what he had expected, but certainly not that Tim's eyes would almost light up and that he’d jump straight onto the bed with him, wrapping his arms around Kon as if he was a drowning man holding onto his last shred of hope in the dark, cruel sea. 

After a moment of silence, it was Tim who started talking again. 

“I was really worried about you” 

“You already said that. I think” 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you” 

That was- 

Oh. 

Oh.

Kon wasn’t sure if that meant what he thought it did, and he didn’t want to assume. But it was certainly… good. 

Instead of saying more, rushing them even though he felt perfectly happy right now just with how things already were, he simply leaned his head onto Tim's shoulder and answered with a small whisper. 

“Me neither” 

It might not have been much, it wasn’t everything that Kon had ever hoped for, but it was more than he ever expected to happen. 

And it was so much better than any dream.

Chapter Text

Jason was walking again. Normal, right? 

And still, every step served as a reminder. A reminder that all of this used to be so much easier. That he used to walk, run even, without pain shooting through him like sharp, bright bolts of lightning. 

He used to be an acrobat. Sure, compared to Dick he’d been nothing, but he was still good. Doing flips on rooftops, chasing criminals for lengths that he couldn’t even imagine walking now. He used to be good with his hands, sneaking bites of food and money from others pockets. And while that of course hadn’t been the best time of his life, he’d been able to do it. 

That was more than he had now. 

The Red Hood was strong, but he did not run. He didn’t swing around the roofs of Gotham like Robin would’ve, he didn’t fight like a hero would. No, he used guns. Easy to wield even if your hands were painful and broken. 

There might be a reason behind his actions, but they were empty. Skillless. 

And with every passing day, Jason became more afraid of losing the abilities that had once made him Robin. Would he still be able to do a flip if he really, really tried? 

He hadn’t dared to do so for a while now. 

Jason Todd had been resurrected, but the real him stayed behind in that cold, dark grave. The part of him that was empathetic and kind, the part that had been able to move without being in pain. 

At one point, Jason looked up what happened to his body after he’d died. It didn’t take very long for him to find the answer. 

Rigor Mortis. He’d gone stiff and cold, his muscles rigid because they were never supposed to be used again. From what he figured, his body had never recovered from that. 

His fingers still felt stiff, barely moveable at times. His legs were almost frozen in place, screaming with every movement when he so much as dared to try and walk. Of course, he’d learned to manage some of his pain, but it never quite went away. 

It felt like he was trapped in a cage, the metal bars being his own body holding him hostage. Holding him from living like anyone else could. 

The moment in which Leslie (who he’d contacted secretly, bribing her to never mention any of their conversation to Bruce) had told him that there was nothing she could do for him, he died once again. 

No treatment, no real hope. Not for him. 

The undead don’t get blessed by a god who didn’t even want them in his realm. 

Jason had never felt quite so lost. After months of enduring it at the league, thinking that it was normal, that it would all go away soon.After even more time in Gotham waiting and waiting for it to finally fade, he’d thought that going to Leslie would finally save him. 

Instead, he’d had to hand over all of his hope as he walked out of her office door. 

Death cannot be cured, not even for living people. 

Since then, Jason had learned that managing pain was worse than leading any kind of gang. Because unlike anything else, the more effort he put in, the worse it got. He could not work towards getting better because any kind of work he did would only aggravate his condition further. 

It was a spiral from hell, and Jason had already started at the very bottom. 

Eventually, you get used to it. Pain becomes a part of your life, just like eating and sleeping. Like normal people cannot imagine being in pain all the time, you cannot imagine being without it. 

And still, Jason looked back at the before. At the child who ran around the manor, searching for Bruce in order to tell him about the book he’d just started reading. At the teen who mastered various fighting styles, never having any issues with delicate or complicated moves. 

And he tried to imagine what it would be like. What his life would be like if his fingers still worked like they used to and his legs didn’t slowly force him into walking less and less. 

He feared that one day, he wouldn’t be able to use them anymore at all. 

Or was that just a fact now? Was every day another tick from the clock inside of his body, ticking down to his demise? 

Doomsday was coming, and Jason was so deathly afraid. Afraid of using the little things that had remained through his death to an illness that had already everything from him. 

An invisible, unpredictable enemy that he could not fight, destroying him from within. 

People, creatures, they could be beaten. It might be hard, hell he might die trying, but he could try. But the one thing that could not be beaten was his own body. His death. 

No, he could only manage it. Manage pain like it was just another team member. But how could he manage something that was slowly but surely destroying his life? 

It didn’t have to be deadly to kill him, he knew that now. Because a person isn’t just their beating heart or their functioning brain, everyone is a sum of their abilities and memories. Death didn’t have to mean a smoke-filled lung, it could also be everything about you slowly fading away until you didn’t have anything to add up anymore. 

Until your fingers go completely stiff and your brain’s so foggy from all the pain that you can’t even remember how to walk anymore and your legs are so painful that you don’t even want to try. 

What is left at the end of that? Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be Jason anymore. He could barely call himself that now, because the man that had come back had almost no resemblance to the boy who walked to his grave anymore. 

Jason didn’t want to be around when the rest of that boy died, forgotten in the actions of a broken man. And still, he kept fighting, kept going down a path that he knew everyone who used to love him would hate.

Because no matter how much pain he was in for every step he took, he would rather walk right back into his broken coffin than let death wrap another kid into his cold, unforgiving arms. They deserved a warmer hug than that. 

At least that was an easy excuse to put a warming function into his suit. Easier than admitting that he actually needed it to be able to move. And it worked after all. The kids loved him, often running right up to him when they saw him walking by. Because although he looked scary and often smelled like blood, they didn’t know any other scent, and the food and warmth he brought were often their only option for survival. 

One day, he’d adopt them all. Make sure that they had three meals a day instead of the one that he could bring them. Make sure that they had a warm room that smelled however they wanted it too. Whether that was Vanilla or a pile of sweaty clothes, they at least would finally breathe in something different than the dingy smell of blood and street dirt. 

One day, if he still had the time to do that. If he succeeded in his mission. If he could be stable enough to own a house that wasn’t just another safe house. If he would still be able to walk by the time that he’d have all of that. He might be working fast, but nothing was ever fast enough when time was moving against him. 

Being like this had done a lot of things, but worst of all, it had made him admit that his goals were probably never going to be reachable. Not because they were unrealistic, but him being able to function properly for long enough to achieve them was. 

He’d have to make sure that these kids had some type of help before he went off the deep end. Because the Red Hood might be a good protector now, but his symbol would not mean much for long if he pulled up to the drug trade in a wheelchair. 

Sure, there was always the possibility of that just not happening. 

But then again, he still had days like this. Days on which he could barely move without a fuck ton of painkillers and an insane amount of masochism. 

He might still go out, he might run the streets like his legs were still able to carry him normally, but in reality, he was broken. He was running not on his limbs but on adrenaline hoping that it wouldn’t let him fall at the wrong moment. And if he was being completely honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if what he was doing was good for him. 

If he was being completely honest with himself, the way he stumbled and collapsed into his bed after days like these, the struggle he experienced for a whole week after were probably signs that he was doing too much. That he was making his already struggling body take more than it could handle when it was already at its breaking point. 

Destroying himself was easy. 

Doing nothing felt worse than any kind of pain he could put himself through. Staying still felt like he was back in that coffin, letting his body go cold and his legacy twisted as he just laid there, motionless, unable to do anything at all. 

He had to use what he’d been given, the little parts of him that had come back. And while he had not been given the body to achieve what he wanted, his anger at the state of things, his drive to make a difference had come back unchanged. If anything they’d only gotten stronger in that grave, slowly eating up the doubts and morals that had held him back before. 

The Red Hood had become a symbol of hope, not for Gotham, but for the kids that deserved better than that rotten city. But at the same time, he was a symbol of everything that Jason wasn’t. 

Agile, acrobatic, unbothered by pain. 

Kind, merciful, hopeful. 

Sometimes he wanted to walk up to the man that used to be his brother and say that he knew how he probably felt. Because while Jason's brother hadn’t died, he was grieving as well. 

Grieving a kid who would never grow old, who would never live the life that he’d been imagining for himself. 

But even after all of this time in Gotham, his identity hadn’t even been revealed yet. After all, most of the moves that would’ve marked him as a former Robin were now almost impossible for him to pull off. 

Originally, he’d planned to reveal his identity just a few months after he got here. Jason wasn’t even really sure why he hadn’t, but every time he thought about it, there was this weird feeling in his gut. 

What if they wouldn’t believe him? 

What if Bruce didn’t consider him his son anymore?

Jason wasn’t even sure if he’d believe himself. He used to be Robin, and now? He couldn’t even do a few simple tricks. He had nothing, no proof that he really was himself besides the empty coffin and his DNA.

How could he be Bruce’s son if he wasn’t Robin anymore? 

How could he be even a former Robin if nothing of what he’d done in his time in the role remained? 

Bruce had a new kid now. One that jumped from roof to roof, one that flipped around and did all the tricks that a Robin usually did. How could Jason ever compete with that? 

How could he claim to be anything at all with a shattered soul and a completely ruined body?

Chapter Text

The silence felt like a scream. Not a silent one, no it was violent, nasty, painful as it ripped through him. 

But still, nothing came out. No visible tears, no cry for help. Maybe he had gotten that from Bruce. Maybe he’d finally become like Bruce, always wanting to do everything alone as soon as things got hard. 

His cheeks were wet, but the tears had long run down his face, only leaving behind invisible streaks. 

He could still feel her fingerprints, breaking the sea of tears and instead leaving burn marks. Marks that branded him as hers. 

That was what she’d said. He belonged to her. 

That was what she’d done. 

Dick had never wanted to disappear just as badly as he did now.

Being loud had always been him. He’d enjoyed the show, the applause, the admiring expressions from the crowd. 

He never wanted to be seen again. 

But you’re such a pretty boy. 

You wouldn’t dress like that if you didn’t want it too. 

Still in his nightwing costume, Dick laid on the floor of his apartment in Blüdhaven. Alone, but with the kind of company that you can’t just get rid of. 

Memories. 

His suit had never felt quite so dirty as it did now. No mud, no alien goo could compare with the impact of her touch. 

It was like she’d reached right through his flesh and had squeezed his heart instead of feeling up his chest. 

He wanted to get off, to get this dirt, this feeling off of him, but suddenly he was trapped on the floor again. Just like he had been five minutes - an hour - however long ago, when he’d been too afraid to push her off. 

Who’s going to believe a man?

A boy?

He’d spent his life fighting for justice. Given up everything, left behind his family in Gotham to expand his reach, to make sure that every city had a hero who’d fight for its people. 

Justice was the reason he got up every day, the cause he’d dedicated everything to. 

But as he was lying there under her, terrified, crying and pleading and screaming, he knew that Justice had abandoned him. 

He couldn’t move, couldn’t try to get her off even as he desperately tried, his arms and legs suddenly losing all function when he needed them most. 

Look, you’re practically made for it. 

Would he ever be able to get up again? 

His heart felt empty and his limbs were heavy, like she’d sucked him dry and pinned him down with weights instead of her body. But she hadn’t done that, she’d just left, left him there on the street to run away with his messed up hair and pain-stained suit. 

But the darkness refused to swallow him, leaving him to lie there like a helpless piece of prey. 

Was that how she had seen him? 

Weak? Had he been too trusting, too careless? 

Had Bruce been right? Was this his fault for being careless? 

Dick didn’t know how much time had passed anymore. It could’ve been hours, days as his aching limbs and bruised hip slowly seemed to become one with the floor. But finally, slowly, he reached for the comm link that he’d put into his pocket. She’d thrown it away initially – discarded on the floor, so far away that Dick could never reach it while she was still pinning him in place. His family, his biggest helpline, gone before he even realized what his ally was about to do. 

The mission had been completed. It wasn’t unusual for him to turn off his comms at that time. 

She knew it. 

She knew that this was the one moment in which they wouldn’t come looking for him. 

With shaking hands, he tried to turn the gadget on again, hoping that it wasn’t broken. He hadn’t thought to actually look for that before putting it in his pocket and running away as fast as he could, afraid of being cornered again. 

Thankfully, he soon heard the familiar click, signaling that it was connected. Who would hear him? Babs? Was Bruce still out on Patrol? 

“Hey” he tried, not brave enough to utter more than a breathy whisper. 

“Nightwing? I thought you were done for tonight?” the robotic voice of Oracle answered. Her concern was clear, even through the voice filter. 

He’d never been this unsure about what to say. If he could even talk after how she’d used his mouth. 

Would his own body always be a reminder of this awful night? 

“Can you get Bruce? I- I’m sorry please-” even asking for that felt like too much, like he wasn’t even worth talking to. So he apologised, apologised for ever speaking at all. 

“Of course” Without another question, he heard the line switch, an already alarmed Bruce talking to him now. 

Was Barbara still listening in? He wouldn’t really mind, she had been almost like a sister to him for a while now. Sure, they dated as teenagers, but over the years they’d simply stuck together. He still loved her, and he knew that she would always act in his best interest. 

“Are you okay Nightwing? What happened I thought your battle was over” 

“It is” 

“Do you need me to come to your location?” 

Dick didn’t know how to respond to that. Did he? What if Bruce saw him, saw the mess he had become and just turned around? 

“Dad- I- She-” 

He could feel the sobs softly rippling through his body now, his voice shaking as he tried to explain, trying to tell Bruce something that he couldn’t even properly think about. And as he was stammering and crying, he barely even noticed how the concern in Bruce’s voice grew immediately when he heard Dick call him dad. While he might always be his father, the boy didn’t usually call him dad out of fear of revealing too much, maybe cursing him to end like his first father had. 

“Hey, it’s okay chum. Can you take a deep breath for me?” 

“No I can’t- I’m sorry dad I’m so sorry” 

“You’re good. Do you need anything right now?” Dick could hear the worry in Bruce’s voice rise even more, but he didn’t want it to, he didn’t want to seem even weaker than he already was. However, he also could not bring up the energy to lie right now. Not when his dad, the one man who had always been able to fix everything was so close. 

“Make it stop” 

“I’ll be there soon, okay chum? Just wait baby, I’ll be there” it sounded like he was talking to little Dick again, like he was just a kid who’d scraped his knee while stumbling over a rock and needed a bandage. 

Maybe he just had to wait for his dad to show up and wrap his wounds up in nice, clean gauze. 

But suddenly, the darkness wasn’t quite as comforting, attacking him from all around. Like she was still here, taking control of him, choking him until his lungs were about to burst and holding him down as if his limbs weren’t already tied to the floor. 

Like she was all around him again, like she’d never even left in the first place. 

He didn’t want to be hers, he wanted to be who he’d been just an hour before. Nightwing, unafraid, bold, maybe not happy but more than just tragic. 

He wanted to be himself again. 

Soon after, or maybe hours later, he heard the door being opened. Not gently, no, it was rushed, like the person was expecting to find something urgent inside. But it was just him, on the floor. For a moment, he considered getting up, but his legs were still way too heavy to move on his own. 

“Chum? What happened?” 

Before Dick could answer Bruce was already by his side, checking if he had any wounds. But as he touched Dick the younger boy flinched, flinched as if Bruce’s hand was actually just her reaching back out to touch him again. 

Immediately, the older man pulled back, instead sitting down beside him while still giving Dick some space. “Are you physically hurt?” 

“Don’t think so” 

But in reality, he felt like his organs had all been ripped out of him, leaving him utterly empty. Maybe she’d taken his soul, and that was why he felt so hollow. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” 

No, no he could not. He could never speak of this night, never even try to explain the pain he was in right now. It was more than he could take, more than he could explain. 

And it was his fault.

How could he tell Bruce that this was all because of him, that he’d risked his safety, basically asked for it? 

How could he say that after all that training, all those safety protocols, he’d let his guard down with the wrong person? 

If he had any tears left to cry he would be sobbing right now. But even imaging the feeling of his skin or his suit touching his skin right now was too much to curl up and try to sob, and the tears simply wouldn’t come. Like she’d wrung them out of him, pressed him dry until he was finally man enough. 

She felt just like that. 

Was he man enough now?

Was this a good enough lecture for Bruce to trust him with taking care of himself from now on? 

“Chum it’s okay, I’m here now” 

But nothing was okay, nothing could ever be okay again. Not as long as he could still feel the burn of her touch, as long as he could hear her poisoned whispers spoken right into his ear. 

“No” his voice sounded broken, almost like she’d taken that too. Along with his soul and his heart. 

“I know – I know I can’t make it okay, I’m sorry chum,” 

They both sat in the silence for a while, Bruce seemingly completely helpless on what to do. 

The man might not express many emotions but over the years, Dick had still learned to pick up on them. A slight muscle twitch was enough for him to know what was up. 

“Do you maybe want to get up?”

“What if I can’t?” that sentence almost drove tears to his face again, and Dick would’ve been relieved if that meant that he’d actually be able to cry. But of course, he wasn’t granted that kind of relief. 

“Then I can bring you some water?” 

Bruce was being way too nice considering what Dick had done. What he’d let happen. 

“You don’t need to” 

Without another word, Bruce stood up and got a glass of water, gently placing it down next to Dick while being careful not to touch him. 

It was strange. Dick had always been a very touchy person, hugging Bruce as much as he would tolerate it. But now, he was the reason for the distance between the two of them. 

“Whatever it is Chum, I’m here for you” 

Dick wanted to disappear. He wanted to scream and fight and throw the glass right back at Bruce’s face, shouting that he didn’t truly mean that. 

That nothing could change or excuse what had just happened. 

That he wasn’t the same child that Bruce had raised anymore. 

Instead, he just laid still, hoping and waiting that somehow, he’d get the power to do all of that. 

But it never came. He just laid there on his floor, defeated, useless, empty.

Useless as a hero, a protector. A protector who couldn’t even protect himself. 

Empty, like the toy she’d used him as.