Chapter Text
Part One
Oh, be patient with me
For the night weighs on my chest
With a terrible storm
“This is the beginning of a new life,” Batman intoned, shrouded in darkness and lit only by the single candle flickering beside him.
An eight year old Dick stared up at him, shivering from both the coolness of the Cave and the weight of Batman’s words. The fearsome cowl hid the soft crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the dark curls of his hair, smoothing him out into something more myth than man. And if Dick wanted to stand by his side, then that was what he needed to become as well.
Batman took a breath, and the candle’s flame wavered beside him. “A life of service to others, of helping,” Batman continued, his gaze filled with expectations that Dick wasn’t sure he could meet.
Batman held one hand out, and Dick placed his tiny palm inside it as impossibly large fingers closed over the top. Batman held his other gloved hand up, and Dick mirrored the position obediently. “Swear to help make the world a better place,” Batman instructed.
“I swear to help make the world a better place,” Dick said, his new American accent slipping a little from nerves.
“Swear that you will fight against crime and corruption,” Batman continued, the shadows falling over his face so heavily that Dick could barely see his eyes underneath the cowl. “And that you will never swerve from the path of righteousness.”
“I swear to fight against crime and corruption,” Dick said firmly, his voice no longer wavering and his French-Slavic accent banished once more. “And to never swerve from the path of righteousness.”
Batman stared at him for a long moment, before Bruce’s face cracked the tiniest of smiles. “I’m proud of you, Robin,” he said, pulling Dick forward into a hug.
Decades later, Dick couldn’t quite remember another time that Bruce had ever told him that as a child. He was sure Bruce must have done, but it had obviously never stuck in his memory. But he’d held onto that night though, holding it tightly to his chest as a precious gem with a shine that never tarnished, no matter how disappointing Dick became. There was a time when he was worth something, Dick would think to himself. There was a time when the best man he knew could be proud of him.
Sometimes Dick would wish that he could have a do-over, travelling back into the past to right the ship and steer it into less turbulent waters. If he’d been a little more compliant and a little less angry and resentful, would Bruce have adopted him? If he hadn’t been so self-assured in his own cleverness, would he have kept the people he loved alive? If he hadn’t been unforgivably arrogant and stupid, would he have avoided spending eighteen days being broken apart completely by the enforcer of a sex trafficking gang?
Dick didn’t know the answers to these questions, but he knew it was stupid to even ask them. But, on late nights spent hollow-eyed and awake in his childhood bedroom, that knowledge didn’t stop him from doing so.
Dick had often since thought that Bruce’s ‘path of righteousness’ was somewhat of a misnomer. A path implied a pleasant stroll, an unencumbered walk free from gnarled roots or boulders liable to snap your ankles if you stepped on them wrong. In Dick’s experience, the path of righteousness was more like a tightrope over a burning abyss that whispered how sweet it would be if you just let yourself fall in. And Dick was an acrobat from birth, but even the greatest of performers grew tired eventually.
As an eight year old Robin, Dick had traversed that tightrope effortlessly, innately understanding how to navigate the morality of the world in the way that only a child could. He knew right, he knew wrong and he knew how to differentiate between the two. As an adult, Dick didn’t have that certainty, and he no longer ran, skipped and cartwheeled over that tightrope. Instead, he crawled in a way that felt humiliating, even when no one else knew how much he was struggling to stand.
It had been six months since he’d saved himself from his captivity, dragging himself from the warehouse burning down around him like some kind of avenging phoenix. And he’d spent that time painstakingly putting his persona back together in a way that belied the total destruction wreaked over his mind and body.
Sure, the lie wasn’t as perfect as he wished it was. He had vivid flashbacks that could turn violent in the blink of an eye. The heroin dependency the gang had left him with screamed for attention, and Dick was beginning to get concerned that his secret drinking habit wasn’t stifling it effectively enough. And then there was the fact that every casual touch that Dick endured from his family left his skin crawling with disgust and panic. But, there was leeway, Dick would remind himself. His family knew enough of the horrors he’d endured to justify the blank stares and the nasty comments and the hours spent in peaceful solitude away from them all.
They didn’t know that all of that was hiding the most basic of facts; that the old Dick Grayson was dead and buried in the deepest corners of his mind. When the gang’s endless cycle of beatings, heroin and sexual assaults had repeated itself over and over, again and again, Dick had hidden himself underneath the floorboards of his head. And then… he’d simply never let himself out. In fact, over the past several months, there had been some serious construction work.
First, those floorboards had been covered by bricks. But that hadn’t been enough, so he’d laid down hundreds of feet of reinforced concrete, sharp shards of rebar piercing through to keep it intact. The river that had laid overtop had swelled and broken its banks, gobbling up the trees and grassland and flowers to become a roiling, angry sea that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was so large and all-encompassing that Dick wasn’t even able to pinpoint where his grave was laid, and that was exactly how he liked it. After all, the old Dick Grayson was dangerous, and he could never see the light of day again.
The monster that inhabited his body was neither kind nor good-hearted, but it did a decent job at pretending as such. It had lived with the old Dick Grayson for thirty one years, after all. It was just as good of a performer as he was, and it was only getting better by the day. Dick didn’t know where the end game for all of this was, but he just didn’t think about it. Instead, he focused on taking it step by step, day by day. The concrete grew by itself, and the ocean swelled, and the monster got better and better at pretending that it was human after all.
On the bright side, Dick wasn’t going to have time for more existential dread and nihilistic navel-gazing, because he’d given himself a distraction. The Moan2 gang that had beaten and drugged and starved and assaulted Dick to within an inch of his life had been given such intense news coverage that it had earned them national fame. And Gotham's district attorney had responded in kind by fast-tracking their trial so that it would all be wrapped up before Christmas and the nation’s eyes would no longer be on her city. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have affected Dick. After all, his job was usually finished once the criminals were in custody. But, this case was different. This time, Dick had made the decision to set a Gotham vigilante precedent; he was going to testify.
Almost everyone had tried to talk him out of it. They’d told him that he didn’t need to do it, and that there were seventeen victims that could carry that burden. But Dick had held fast in his stubbornness. This was his mission, and he needed to complete it. It was the least he could do considering all the awful failures he’d committed during his investigation; the dealers Dick had accidentally marked for death with his interrogations, Chris’ suicide, the seventeen victims that had spent weeks in unimaginable conditions because Dick hadn’t been fast enough.
Yet, those failures were just the tip of the awful iceberg. Because buried underneath the water were the sixteen other trafficking victims who were lost forever to the worst fate imaginable. Dick had looked for them. He’d really, really, really looked for them. He’d untangled every part of the boss’ financials, every stray email address that had ever been associated with him, every distant acquaintance who might have had trafficking connections. And none of it had come to fruition. So, he’d pivoted. He’d sent Bruce to re-interrogate the boss. And when that didn’t work, he’d sent Jason. And when that didn’t work, he’d half-considered shoving a duffle bag of cash in Slade’s direction and seeing how far the mercenary could get. But wherever Slade had been at that particular moment in time, it hadn’t been somewhere that Dick had been able to find, so he’d let the admittedly idiotic idea slide away.
The point was; Dick couldn’t find them. He’d looked, and he’d looked, and he’d looked. But they were lost. And Dick thought that they might be lost forever.
So, really, the trial was Dick’s penance, and he’d only worry about what he’d do afterwards once his debt was paid. Besides, he really could do with the distraction. And that’s what he told every single person that tried to talk him out of his plan. It didn’t matter how scared they looked, or how concerned their voices were, Dick reassured them that this was a positive thing. That this was just part of the healing process, and that they shouldn’t worry.
Bruce hadn’t argued against the idea though, despite the fact that he himself had set the original precedent to never testify in a court of law, even though superheroes worldwide would and did. Instead, he’d sat down with Dick and talked it through with him. And then, when he was satisfied that it was what Dick truly wanted, he’d taken the idea to Jim and Gotham’s district attorney himself.
Dick didn’t know how that conversation had gone, because he hadn’t been there for it. But Bruce had told him that they’d been surprised, but pleased. After the very public rescue of the trafficking victims, Nightwing’s popularity had soared in a way that both bemused and unsettled Dick. It was disconcerting how often he would walk down the street and see his own symbol on a hoodie, backpack or t-shirt. Stop it, he’d want to shout at those stupid civilians. Don’t you know you’re deifying a monster? But, he could admit that it would come in handy for the trial, and both the district attorney and the assistant district attorney had seemed ecstatic at his involvement when they’d first met.
Of course, that excitement had soured somewhat when they’d both realised that Dick was, for lack of a better phrase, a raging pain in the ass.
“No, you can’t say that,” Rashid said in a pained tone, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking like he wished that he’d called in sick to work today. He was relatively young for an assistant district attorney, ambitious and hungry in a way that Dick could respect, even if it wasn’t something he particularly liked. “You know that.”
“Why not?” Dick asked, amused and irritated in equal measure as he folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “It’s the truth.”
“It’s hearsay,” Rashid said. “And I know you know that, so can you please start taking this seriously?”
Dick opened his mouth to needle Rashid a little more for his own enjoyment, but Bruce shifted beside him and he shut it again. B was right, he knew. He was being an asshole. “Fine,” he said shortly. “Ask the question again.”
“Why did you believe that the defendants had a vendetta against you?” Rashid said in an exceedingly level tone.
“Other than the fact that all of their dealers kept telling me so?” Dick asked in a deadpan tone.
“Yes, other than that inadmissible piece of hearsay,” Rashid replied, barely restraining himself from snapping. “Primarily because there’s an excellent piece of photo evidence that we can introduce if you give the correct answer.”
Dick gave a thin smile. “Well, Rashid,” he said in a falsely polite tone. “Other than the fact that literally every single dealer I collared during this mission asked why I had such a vendetta against Moan2, the gang also left a wonderfully handy message for me scrawled into the chest of an innocent bystander.”
“And what did that message say?” Rashid gritted out.
“It said ‘Nightwing, watch out’,” Dick said. He paused and then grinned. “And I didn’t heed that message very well, clearly.”
Rashid’s eye was definitely threatening to twitch, Dick noted with interest. Maybe if he wound him up enough, they could stop this ridiculous prep work and just let him fly free on the stand.
“If you get up there in front of a judge and jury and testify like that,” Rashid said steadily. “You’re going to do more harm than good up there.”
Dick gave him a flat look that he hoped translated through his mask. “I’m not going to testify like that,” he said in an obvious tone. “I’ll do it properly on the day.”
“Well, why can’t you practice that now?” the district attorney asked. She was leaning against the wall and had been observing silently for the past hour. “I know you care about this, so why aren’t you taking it seriously?”
Dick didn’t really have a good answer for her on that front, so he just looked away scornfully and sighed. “Ask it again,” he said resentfully.
Rashid looked like he’d rather boil his head in acid, but he cleared his throat and tried again. “Nightwing, can you please explain why you believed that the defendants had a vendetta against you?”
“Because a man who I’d asked to keep an eye on a Moan2 cache from a distance washed up on a New Jersey beach with a message cut into his chest,” Dick said flatly.
“And what did that message say?” Rashid asked.
“It said ‘Nightwing, watch out’,” Dick said, feeling his jaw clench painfully. “And, clearly, I didn’t.” He looked up at Kim. “Better?” he asked.
“Marginally,” Kim sighed. “Look, I know we keep asking this, but are you sure you want to do this? We were all for your testimony when Batman first told us you’d suggested it, but I’m getting the feeling that it’s… proving a bit more difficult than you thought,” she said lightly.
“No, I’m fine,” Dick said flatly. “I just hate sitting still and we’ve been doing this for an hour now.”
“Do you know how long you’re going to have to sit still in court?” Rashid asked exasperatedly. “If you can’t handle an hour of prep, how are you going to get through days of testimony?”
“If I could handle eighteen days of torture, I think I can handle a few days in court,” Dick snapped. “None of the trafficking victims can testify for the crimes of all six of them like I can. If I’m your main witness, they won’t have to shoulder the burden. Stop asking me stupid questions about whether or not I can handle it and just assume that I can. Now ask me a proper question.”
Rashid swallowed down what looked like several more protests and looked down at his notes instead. “If you knew that the gang had a vendetta against you, why did you continue to investigate their crimes?”
Dick stared at him. “Is that honestly a question you have written down?” he asked, craning his head to peer at Rashid’s notes. “What the hell am I supposed to say? ‘Oh, I had some downtime between fighting aliens and putting supervillains back in Arkham and I thought I’d just round it all off with a nice bit of torture’?”
“Nightwing,” Bruce said quietly beside Dick.
“Oh, come on, B,” Dick said, looking at him. “It’s not my fault he’s asking dumb questions.”
“He’s setting out a narrative,” Bruce said, looking back steadily. “You know that.”
“It just looks like he’s setting out his own idiocy to me,” Dick said petulantly, ignoring the flat look Bruce was giving him.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Rashid groaned, looking up to the ceiling as though he was asking it for strength. “We’re on the same side here. Can you please try to remember that?”
“We’re not going to put you on the stand if we can’t trust that you’re going to do a good job,” Kim said firmly, pushing off from the wall and placing her hands on the empty chair beside Rashid on the other side of the table. “This case is too important for that.”
“I am going to do a good job,” Dick gritted out, looking at her. “I would never jeopardise this case. They’re all going to prison, and they’re going to go there for a very long fucking time.”
“Then why can’t you help us out by showing us what your testimony will actually look like?” Kim asked calmly. “Not only have you never testified before, but neither has any Gotham vigilante. We have no idea what you’ll behave like on the stand, so you need to understand why we need to stress-test you.”
“Trust me, I operate fine under stress,” Dick said in irritation.
“No, I can’t trust you,” she said. “Because I don’t know you, and neither will the judge nor the jury. There won’t be room for sarcasm or jokes. You have to take this seriously.”
“You think I’m not taking this seriously?” Dick asked, deadly quiet.
“No,” she met his hard stare with a calm look of her own. “Not right now, I don’t.”
“Then you’re an idiot too,” Dick said coldly.
Bruce sighed. “Can you give us a minute?” he asked.
Kim nodded and tapped Rashid on the shoulder, who rolled his eyes as he got up. When they’d closed the door behind them, Bruce turned to Dick. “I know you’re finding this hard,” he said quietly. “But you’re not helping things right now.”
“They’re asking dumb questions,” Dick spat, looking away.
“No, they’re not,” Bruce said firmly. “They’re just asking questions that you don’t like.”
Dick stood up suddenly and paced away from the table. “They don’t know what it’s like,” he said frustratedly. “They don’t know what it takes to talk about this.”
“Yes, they do,” Bruce said, standing as well, but not moving from the table. “They’ve worked with hundreds of victims before. They know how to get good testimony out of them.”
“I’m not a victim,” Dick spat, wheeling around. “I’m a vigilante.”
“And you’re a victim,” Bruce said. “In the eyes of the law, in the context of the testimony you’re giving, you’re a victim, Nightwing.”
Dick didn’t have a good answer to that, so he just turned around again and stared out the window. “I’m going to do a good job on the stand,” he said eventually.
“I know you will,” Bruce said quietly. “I’m certain of that. But that’s because I know you. They don’t, and you’re not doing a very good job at convincing them.”
Dick closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. “Why do I have to convince them?” he whispered.
“Because if they don’t trust you, then they won’t put you on the stand,” Bruce said. “And then it’ll fall on the other victims.” He paused. “And I know you don’t want that.”
“No, I don’t,” Dick said, thudding his forehead against the glass dully. “They were all taken in Gotham’s sleaziest clubs. Some of them have got years of prior drug use, including the casual use of Moan2. I can’t let them be cross-examined in the same way I will be. It’ll be horrific.”
“You’re trying to do a good thing,” Bruce said, stepping up beside Dick at the window. “But they’re not going to let you do it unless you convince them you can. It’s a high profile case, Nightwing. If they lose it, it’s going to sting.”
“Trust me, they’re not more invested in this than I am,” Dick muttered, although he did so without any real bite.
“I know,” Bruce said, laying a careful hand on Dick’s shoulder that Dick struggled not to shrug off. Instead, he let it rest there, heavy and sickening. He looked at Bruce and gave him a grimaced smile that hopefully looked as though he was grateful for the support, rather than disgusted by the touch. “But you’ve got to show that to them too.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Dick asked, his brow furrowing.
“It is to me,” Bruce said. “And it probably is to them too. But they’re thinking about a jury who won’t see you as a victim. They’ll see you as a man in a mask who doesn’t trust them enough not to take it off. You’ll need to convince them to trust you anyway, and,” Bruce said quickly when he saw Dick about to reply hotly. “And I know you will.” He looked towards the closed door. “But they don’t.”
Dick groaned and let his head thud against the glass again. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “Call them back in.”
Bruce left his side to open the door and nod Kim and Rashid back in the room while Dick turned to sit back down in the chair.
“Ready to try again?” Kim asked calmly as Rashid sat back down at the table, landing his files on the surface with a heavy thud that made something inside Dick want to flinch.
Dick didn’t answer her at first, instead he tapped his fingers on the table for a moment. “I’ll be good on the stand,” he said quietly, staring down at the way his fingers moved in a scattergun pattern. “I’ll be really damn good. I’ll be perfect, actually.”
“Okay,” she said. “But why can’t you practice that with us?”
Dick looked up at her. “Because I’ve only got one performance in me,” he said. “That’s it. Just the one. And you don’t want me to waste it in this box of a room rather than in open court.”
“We can’t put you on the stand if we don’t think you’re going to hold under the pressure,” she said quietly. “And I say that not just for our benefit, and not just for the trafficking victims’ benefit either. I say it for yours too. How do you think you’ll handle it if you fall apart on the stand and jeopardise the entire case? I imagine not very well.”
“I won’t fall apart,” Dick said, his jaw tightening again. Not on the stand, anyway, he thought.
“How do we know that?” she asked.
“We need a preview,” Rashid said, leaning forward. “Show us what you’ll be like for a question and a follow-up, and I’ll get off your case. You can be as shitty and sarcastic as you like for the rest of prep, and I’ll take it all with a big fucking grin. But if you can’t put on your show for one question in prep, then I’m just not confident that you can do it at all.”
Dick looked at Bruce, who looked back steadily. Dick sighed and slumped down in his seat. “One question and one follow-up,” he agreed reluctantly. “No more than that, and then we’re done for the day.”
“Even better,” Rashid quipped, and Dick snorted despite himself. “That doesn’t mean you get out of prep though,” he warned. “It doesn’t matter how good your performance is. Lawyers are good at getting under your skin, and the defense has a very, very expensive law firm that’s being paid a shitload of money to do just that. They’ll dredge up everything, Nightwing. And you need to be prepared for that.”
Dick waved his hand dismissively. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll give you a preview of how I’m gonna fucking dazzle that jury, then I’ll do all the prep work you want after that with as much sarcasm as I fucking like; and you’ll trust that I’ll pull it all together at the right moment?”
Rashid rolled his eyes. “Deal,” he said, holding his hand out for Dick to shake, who just stared at it flatly. He sighed and withdrew the hand, picking up his notes instead. “I’m not gonna softball you,” he warned. “It’s gonna be a tough hitter.”
“Wonderful,” Dick said sarcastically, folding his arms and sinking back in his chair.
“Okay, are you ready?” Rashid asked, clearly electing to ignore Dick’s comment.
Dick closed his eyes for a moment as he checked the concrete foundations hiding the old Dick Grayson’s dead body. There had been a few extra feet added since he’d last looked, and the ocean above it was as calm as it’d ever be. He opened his eyes, rolled his shoulders back and gave Rashid a calm, encouraging smile. “Of course,” he said steadily. “Ask away, Mr Khan.”
If Rashid was disconcerted at the sudden change, he didn’t show it. Instead, he pressed on with his question. “Nightwing,” he began, a sympathetic look suddenly flickering into place over his face. “I know this might be a difficult question to answer,” he paused, clearly waiting for Dick to rail against the condescension, but Dick didn’t say a word. “But could you please recount for the court the time you spent in captivity?”
Dick leaned forward and placed his forearms against the table, emanating openness and honesty from every pore of his body. “It’s not a very nice story,” he said ruefully. “Should I go into details or give the broad strokes?” He looked over to where his imaginary jury was sitting. “I don’t want to upset anyone,” he said, solemn and serious.
Rashid looked faintly fascinated. “Please go into as much detail as you feel able to,” he said. “The more the better, as it will paint a vivid picture of the atrocities this gang committed. Please don’t worry about upsetting anyone.”
Dick nodded to himself. “Of course,” he said. “I just want to be helpful.” He looked at Rashid, his gaze not wavering in the slightest. “They took me while I was on patrol. I was investigating a dealer that I thought might have deeper ties to the gang, but when I was questioning him, they shot him in the head and then made it clear that they had a sniper trained on me.” Dick looked to the side and gave a sigh. “Even as I saw the bullet hole in his head, I still wanted to help him.” He shook his head and gave a sad smile. “Silly of me, I know,” he said to Rashid.
“Not silly at all,” Rashid said, leaning forward and staring at Dick. “Please, go on, Nightwing.”
“The sniper shot me in the neck with a tranquilizer dart,” Dick said, before giving another sigh. “Although I thought it was a bullet at first,” he admitted. “When I awoke, I was strung up in the basement of their warehouse. I thought they were going to give me Moan2 and order me to kill myself, and I was fine with that, because I’d trained myself to mitigate against that possibility. But…” Dick gave a slight grimace. “I’d angered them more than I’d thought,” he said. “They wanted me to suffer.”
“Suffer in what way?” Rashid asked. “Can you tell us what they did to you?”
Dick took a steadying breath in a way that spoke to strength and resilience rather than despair and defeat. “They administered heroin,” he said. “And they did that for roughly twelve hours, keeping me on the edge of my high. When I was starting to come down, they beat me. I remember them stomping on my stomach so hard that I vomited twice.” Dick leaned back against his chair. “After that, they still had some anger left to burn, so they waterboarded me.”
“How long did they do that for?” Rashid asked.
“I’m not sure,” Dick admitted. “I think it was around ten rounds, so I would hazard a guess at it being about twenty minutes or so.”
“Thank you,” Rashid nodded. “Please, continue.”
“After that, they dosed me with heroin again,” Dick said. “And that was the cycle that they followed for the next eighteen days. They gave me massive amounts of heroin for hours at a time, let me dry out and then beat me while I was coming down. The beatings were never the same, and they always came accompanied with something new.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Let me tell you,” he said, striking the perfect balance of regret and humour. “It definitely felt like an error to have designed myself electrical weapons during that time.”
“That sounds incredibly painful,” Rashid said, all sympathy and sad puppy-dog eyes. “Are there any other details you’d like to share with us?”
“The last few doses of heroin were dangerous,” Dick said. “The Breaker told me himself that he thought he might have given me too much. As I was going to sleep, I wondered whether I would ever wake up.”
“Kirk,” Rashid said, his voice suddenly flat and serious.
“Huh?” Dick said, a little startled.
“His name’s Kirk,” Rashid said. “You can’t call him ‘the breaker’. The jury will know him as Kirk Schrier.”
“Oh, right,” Dick said, swallowing. “Of course. Um…”
“Sorry,” Rashid said, clearing noting the glare Kim was giving him. “I shouldn’t have interrupted.”
Dick gave a smile that he hoped didn’t look too pained. “No, it’s fine,” he said, giving a casual wave of his hand and falling straight back into the story Rashid had jarred him from. “But, through the grace of God, I survived,” Dick said, tilting his head to the ceiling as if he was thanking a deity that, in reality, he knew didn’t exist. Rashid looked pleased though, so it had clearly been the right instinct. “And now I know that I need to use this second chance to make sure that these men pay for their crimes.”
“Is that why you’re breaking the longstanding tradition of Gotham vigilantes to never testify?” Rashid asked.
Dick nodded. “Yes,” he said. “We’ve stayed away from courthouses before now, because we work best in the shadows. But I need to do whatever I can to drag these men into the light, because I can’t risk that they get away with the evil they’ve done.”
“Nice,” Rashid mouthed approvingly, before clearing his throat. “Is it okay if I ask you a follow-up question?” he asked. “It might be another difficult one to hear.”
“Of course,” Dick said solemnly. “Please, ask me whatever you need to.”
Rashid looked through his files in front of him and withdrew a picture, placing it on the table. “This is an image you supplied for us during the discovery process,” he said. “Can you please tell us how you acquired these burns?”
Dick stared down at the image of the ten cigarette burns on his own chest. He felt his hand creep up to his heart protectively, but he decided to allow it. It was humanising, he thought to himself. “The Breaker liked to smoke,” he said. “Sometimes he would put his cigarettes out on my chest.”
Rashid’s eyes flicked to Kim, but he didn’t say whatever thought he was clearly holding back on the tip of his tongue. “Were those burns associated with anything?” he asked.
Dick felt himself move his fingers to his ear, tracing the cool silicone of the prosthetic hiding his mangled earlobe. “They were associated with particularly large doses of heroin,” he said. “To be honest, I barely felt them most of the time. I was just too high.”
Rashid looked back at him for a long moment, before turning to Kim, who nodded. “Okay,” Rashid said, glancing back at Dick. “You’ve convinced us.”
“Great,” Dick snapped, forcing his hand to drop and folding his arms immediately. “I’m glad I’ve passed muster.”
Rashid sighed at the sudden reappearance of Dick’s ire. “But you have to call him Kirk,” he said insistently.
“Kirk?” Dick asked, frowning. “Who the fuck is that?”
Kim and Rashid looked at Dick strangely, and Dick could feel Bruce stiffen beside him. “Just kidding,” he forced out, sardonic to cover the strangely rattled feeling he had in his chest. “Of course I know who he is.” And he was almost certain that they must be talking about The Breaker, but he wouldn’t tip his hand unless they forced him to.
Rashid looked like he wanted to send his chair careening over Dick’s head. “Don’t joke about shit like that,” he said exasperatedly. “I can’t be terrified that you’re gonna crack up on the stand.”
Dick rolled his eyes heavily behind the mask. “Don’t worry, I’m as sane as can be,” he said flatly.
“Clearly,” Rashid said, already rifling through his files again. “But, seriously, if you call him The Breaker, it’s not gonna look good. It’s gonna look like you really believe in his name, like you really think that he broke you.”
Rashid was still looking at his files, so he didn’t see the flicker of anger and revulsion that passed over Dick’s face before he could smooth it back out. But Kim did, so she laid a hand on Rashid’s arm. “I think that’s enough for now,” she said quietly. She turned to Dick. “We’re happy to put you on the stand,” she said. “But I want you to think seriously about whether you want to do it or not. We’ve got seventeen other victims that we can rely on if you don’t think it’s a good idea for you to do this. It won’t matter if they cry or struggle on the stand, because the jury will expect them to. They won’t expect it to have affected you in the same way.”
“It didn’t,” Dick said flatly. “It didn’t affect me.”
Kim held his look for a long moment. “Okay,” she said calmly. “It didn’t affect you. But my point stands. No one wants to see a masked vigilante cry, and I think I can safely assume that you’d be the one that would hate it the most.”
Dick snorted with laughter. “I’m not going to cry,” he said, struggling to withhold his disbelief. “What the fuck do you take me for?”
“I take you for a victim,” Kim said quietly. “Even if the jury won’t look at you as one. And I’ve worked with victims for a long time, and I know that they can be unpredictable.”
Dick stood. “I’m not a victim,” he said. “I’m Nightwing, and I’m done with this conversation.” He looked over at Rashid, who had somehow become his favourite between the two of them in the last minute of conversation. “Tell Jim when you next want to meet and he’ll let me know,” he said, striding over to the window and throwing it open. He didn’t wait for a reply before leaping out of it, sending his grapple out and swinging away from the office. Dick flew for a long time after that, putting as much distance between himself and the justice department’s building as possible.
It took Bruce a while to catch up with him, and it was only because he’d come to a stop on the old clocktower he favoured. “Don’t say anything,” Dick said hotly before Bruce had even finished straightening up. “That preview was almost perfect. I don’t need to do any more than that.”
“I wasn’t going to criticise you, Dick,” Bruce said quietly. “I was just going to ask if you were okay.”
“I’m fucking fine,” Dick spat, turning around and kicking Tim the gargoyle so hard that part of the stone chipped off and tumbled down the clock tower’s facade. “I wish you’d stop asking me that.”
“I’ll never stop asking,” Bruce said, leaning against the wall and watching Dick pace up and down the ledge they were standing on. “Even if you looked like you were operating at one hundred percent, I’d still ask you that.”
“Well, don’t,” Dick said angrily. “And don’t try to convince me not to take the stand either. I can do it. I know I can.”
“I know you can too,” Bruce said calmly. “I don’t doubt you in the slightest, Dick.”
“Then why do you look so fucking worried,” Dick said, wheeling around and slamming his fist against the wall of the clock tower. “It’s such a stupid fucking expression, B.”
“I’m allowed to be concerned about you,” Bruce said, his eyes resting on the hand that Dick was now cradling angrily to his chest. “I’m not going to pretend that I don’t see how much this is impacting you.”
“But I want you to,” Dick seethed out. “I want you to pretend that I’m fine, so that I can pretend I’m fine.”
Bruce looked at him for a long moment, before sighing. “If that’s what you need, then I’ll give that to you,” he said quietly. “But you’ve got to promise me that when the court case is over you’ll take a proper break from this all. We never did take that beach trip. Let’s go somewhere hot with far too many palm trees, and you can start to…” Bruce paused, obviously trying to pick a word that wouldn’t set Dick off into a fresh rant. “Relax,” he finally settled on.
“I don’t need to relax,” Dick said spitefully, leaning his back against the wall and looking out over the city. There were a flock of birds on the horizon, and he watched their slow journey across the skyline for a few moments. “But that beach trip better include a spa day,” he gritted out reluctantly.
Bruce let out a soft chuckle. “I’m sure I can arrange something,” he said.
“You should come too,” Dick said grumpily. “I want to see you in a white fluffy robe with cucumbers on your eyes.”
“I’m not sure they do that anymore,” Bruce said, looking over at him. “I think that was a nineties thing.”
Dick rolled his eyes. “Well, cut your own cucumbers then,” he said. “You’re Batman. I think you can sort out cucumber slices on your eyes if I want them.”
Bruce smiled to himself. “Yeah,” he agreed fondly. “I think I probably can.” He looked back out over the skyline. “Will you come back home with me now?” he asked. “Damian wanted to watch that movie with you before he goes out on patrol.”
Dick gritted his teeth at Bruce so readily using Damian as a manipulative bargaining chip. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s go.” This time, when he leapt from the clocktower, Bruce was right by his side. They made their way back to the Batmobile without another word, and then Dick commandeered the driver’s seat without asking. He must have looked particularly awful, Dick thought to himself resentfully as he roared down the Gotham streets, because Bruce hadn’t even breathed a word of protest.
When Dick pulled into the Cave, he strode off to the showers without even acknowledging Bruce. He didn’t mean to be so angry at him. He knew that, objectively, Bruce was actually being a complete fucking saint right now. But there was just so much rage burning up inside of him, and Bruce was the only safe outlet. After all, Dick thought as he roughly scrubbed his body down under scorching hot water, Bruce had years of anger to make up for before they could consider themselves even. But when Dick snapped at Jason, or Tim, or Duke, or, worst of all, Damian, he couldn’t fucking bear it. Because not only did he have to deal with the pain, and the rage, and the ever-present shame that whispered just how disgusting and foul he was, he also had to feel himself be violently buffeted by the waves of rancid guilt at taking out all of that pain on his family.
Dick stayed in that shower a long time, but everyone was used to that too now. He needed to be clean in a way that he had never felt before. His usual daily showers had tripled in frequency, and Dick would change clothes at a similar rate. It didn’t matter how red raw his skin was at the end though, sometimes he still felt the grimy slide of the Nightwing suit soaked in bodily fluids against his skin anyway.
When he finally emerged over half an hour later, dressed in soft sweatpants and a large hooded sweatshirt that swamped his body completely, Bruce was sitting at the computer. “I’ll be down here if you need me,” Bruce said quietly as Dick walked past him in a beeline for the stairs out of the Cave.
“I won’t,” Dick said irritatedly, climbing the stairs two at a time.
Damian was already in the main sitting room when Dick popped his head in, frowning down at a medical textbook as he sat cross-legged on the couch.
“Don’t tell me you’re reading that for fun?” Dick asked, suddenly amused despite the foul mood he’d been in up until the point he saw Damian’s face.
“Not for fun,” Damian said, glancing up at him. “For gaining knowledge.” Damian paused and then gave a small grin that he tried to hide by looking back down. “Which is fun,” he admitted.
Dick felt a smile crack the cold stone of his face. “Did Duke want to watch the movie with us?” he asked.
Damian nodded. “I texted him when I heard you walking down the hall,” he said. “He should be here soon.”
Dick wandered into the room and flopped himself down on his armchair in the far corner. He’d dragged it there himself months ago, unable to handle sharing a couch with anyone or having any type of space between his back and a wall. It felt odd and disjointed from the rest of the furniture, but Dick supposed that was just a metaphor for his life now. “What’s the movie about?” he asked, slumping down in the chair tiredly.
“I believe it’s about a chef attempting to woo a customer,” Damian said, flicking the page of his textbook over before glancing at Dick. “I’ve been told that it’s a sickly-sweet romance,” he said.
Dick brightened a little. “Oh, perfect,” he said. “That’s the only kind of romance worth watching.” Damian gave another small smile to his textbook.
“You haven’t started it without me, have you?” Duke asked breathlessly as he came into the room. “I hate missing the beginning.”
Dick gestured at the TV’s black screen. “Like we would ever do that to you,” he grinned.
“You did it last week,” Duke complained, flopping himself down onto the other end of the couch opposite Damian. “It’s not my fault I was finishing my homework.”
“Hey, you had a deadline,” Dick shrugged, picking up the remote and switching the TV on. “It’s up to you whether you hit it or not.”
“Rude,” Duke laughed. “I’ll remember that the next time you’re late.”
“Ah, I’m afraid Nightwing privileges mean that all movies need to be paused until I’m in the room,” Dick said sagely, navigating to the movie Damian had bookmarked the previous day. “I don’t make the rules.”
Duke snorted. “Sure, Dick,” he said, before groaning at the movie title. “Wait, is this a romcom?” he asked, aghast. He turned to Damian, who looked invariably pleased with himself. “You said we were watching a thriller.”
“Oh, did I?” Damian asked lightly, turning another page of his textbook. “I must have been mistaken.”
“We could do a thriller instead,” Dick said idly, navigating away from the movie. He was watching the screen, so he didn’t quite see the silent conversation held between Duke and Damian, but a moment later, Duke cleared his throat.
“Actually, maybe the romcom is a good idea,” Duke said. “What better way to learn how to romance girls, right?”
“Right,” Dick laughed hollowly, feeling his heart sink a little at Duke’s obvious lie. How far he’d fallen, he thought to himself. The youngest members of the family couldn’t even trust that he’d watch a silly action thriller without falling apart. “Are we ready then?” Dick asked, trying to sound cheerful and not like he wanted to blow his brains out of his fucking skull.
Damian closed his textbook and tossed it onto the coffee table. “Of course,” he said, bringing his knees up to his chest and circling them with his arms.
As hard as he tried to pay attention, Dick felt his mind drifting a little as the movie played. He wasn’t the only one who was distracted, because Duke was absentmindedly playing on his phone while half-watching the film. Damian was fully engrossed though, resting his chin on his knees and giving small smiles at each joke. Dick watched the sight fondly, and then sighed to himself. The least he could do was try and pay attention. Damian had clearly chosen this film for him after all, and he might want to discuss it once it was done.
Dick refocused himself on the screen, watching the busy rush of the kitchen. The scene was moving in a whirlwind of knives moving over chopping boards, pots boiling over flames, glasses tinkling against each other as the crates they were in were jostled. Dick frowned at the sound. It reminded him of something, somehow. He leaned forward in his chair, concentrating. The chef was plating up a meal, placing tiny portions in precise positions that Dick personally couldn’t see the point in. When he was done, he put the plate under the heat lamps, knocking the ceramic against the other waiting dishes.
And then, Dick wasn’t there anymore.
Because those weren’t plates or glasses. They were chains, and they were wrapped around his wrists and ankles. Each time Dick moved, the metal links clinked against each other. If he listened closely enough, he could hear the words they were whispering; you’re about to die, Dick Grayson. And, he was, wasn’t he?
Dick felt the certainty settle in his stomach, thick and discomforting. He was about to die. It was going to hurt, and it was going to be humiliating, and his family would have the image of his defiled, desecrated dead body in their heads forever.
Slowly, Dick felt himself slide from his armchair down to his knees, his hands resting placidly on his thighs in the thick, heavy chains. It was time to face the reaper. It was time to accept his fate. Distantly, Dick was aware that people were leaving the room. He closed his eyes in resigned acceptance. The Breaker was going to hurt him one last time, then. Another cigarette burn would be added to his chest, and Dick’s soul would be crumbled apart just a little more. How destroyed did a soul have to be to have no chance of entering the afterlife? Dick didn’t know, but he thought there was a good chance his own was far beyond that point.
Dick couldn’t have said how long he was knelt there, face tipped to the ceiling with his eyes closed as the chains dragged down his wrists. But, eventually, there was a presence in front of him. Dick opened his eyes blearily.
“Hey, Dick,” Bruce said calmly. “What are you doing on the floor?”
“I’m following my order,” Dick whispered back. “They told me to kneel.”
“Okay,” Bruce said. “What made you remember that order?”
Dick felt his brow crease. “The chains,” he replied. “The chains are too loud.”
“How can I quieten them for you?” Bruce asked, looking back into Dick’s eyes steadily.
“I don’t know,” Dick said quietly, closing his eyes again. “But could you loosen them? They’re too tight, and they hurt.”
“Of course I can,” Bruce said, and Dick felt the warmth of Bruce’s hands against his wrists for a brief moment before they retreated again. “Is that better, Dick?”
Dick hummed his assent and nodded. “Thanks, B,” he said in a slow, dazed voice.
“Dick,” Bruce said quietly. “I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I’m invisible, but you can call for me. What am I?”
“What?” Dick mumbled, his eyes still closed.
“I need you to tell me the answer,” Bruce said. “I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I’m invisible, but you can call for me.” Bruce paused for a moment. “What am I, Dick?”
Dick screwed up his face as his brain tried to fight its way through the thick, syrupy haze that shrouded it. “I don’t know,” he said. “Figure it out for yourself.”
“I can’t,” Bruce said. “I need you to figure it out for me.”
“God, do I have to do everything?” Dick muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Bruce gave a soft huff of laughter. “I’m helpless without you, Dick,” he said in a warm fondness that Dick knew he didn’t deserve. “I need you to solve the riddle for me.”
“You can outwit the Riddler, but you can’t solve one lousy riddle,” Dick mumbled, feeling his head loll against his chest haplessly. “S’stupid, B.”
“It’s very stupid of me, yes,” Bruce agreed. “But that’s why I need my Robin to help me out.” When Dick didn’t reply, he heard Bruce shift his weight slightly. “Dick, can you hear me?” he asked.
Dick gave a noncommittal noise.
“Let’s go through the riddle together,” Bruce said calmly. “I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. Can you repeat that for me?”
“Speak without mouth…” Dick said, feeling his words being dragged down by something so very heavy. “Hear without ears.”
“Very good,” Bruce said. “I’m invisible, but you can call for me. Repeat that for me, won’t you?”
“Invisible,” Dick sighed. “But can call f’me.”
“That’s it,” Bruce said encouragingly. “And can you tell me what I am now?”
Dick frowned in concentration. He could do this. He could figure out the answer. “It’s…” he said slowly, feeling himself wade through the sticky syrup towards a small scrap of dry land. “It’s…” he opened his eyes and saw Bruce sitting there, looking calm and steady. “It’s an echo,” Dick said quietly.
“It is,” Bruce confirmed.
Dick blinked at him, then suddenly groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said bitterly, falling out of his knelt position and landing back heavily against his armchair.
“Are you okay?” Bruce asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dick said, bringing his knees up so that he could rest his elbows on them, then burying his head in his hands. “That hasn’t happened for a few weeks,” he said.
“Try not to beat yourself up about it. I don’t think it’s surprising that it happened today,” Bruce said. “It wasn’t exactly an easy conversation that you had with Kim and Rashid earlier.”
Dick made a hollow-sounding noise. “It’s not an excuse,” he said resentfully. “I’m Nightwing. I shouldn’t be taken out of action with one fucking conversation.”
“Dick, I just said not to beat yourself up about it,” Bruce said in quiet exasperation. “You had to speak about something difficult with them. I was… half-expecting that this might happen.” Bruce immediately clocked that that had been the wrong thing to say, because he held his hands up in defense when Dick glared angrily at him. “Don’t read anything into that statement,” he said quietly. “I’m just worried about you, Dick.”
“Well, don’t be,” Dick spat. “I told you not to worry.”
Bruce gave him a look, and Dick groaned loudly and let his head thud back against his seat until he was looking up at the ceiling. He stared at it for a long, long moment. “God, I’m being such an asshole to you,” he muttered eventually.
“I don’t mind,” Bruce said, shifting his weight backwards until he was sitting more comfortably. “I told you all those months ago. You can be as angry as you like at me, and I’ll bear the brunt of all of your pain and rage.” He paused and took a steady breath. “You know it’ll only get worse during the trial, don’t you?” he asked quietly.
“We don’t need to talk about it like it’s a foregone conclusion,” Dick said irritatedly, even though he knew Bruce was right.
“But we do need to prepare for it,” Bruce said gently. “Because we both know that it’s a strong possibility.”
Dick sighed heavily. “Are Duke and Damian okay?” he asked quietly, changing the topic entirely.
“They’re fine,” Bruce answered. “They came and got me as soon as you slid off your chair.”
“They didn’t try to talk to me?” Dick asked, his heart in his throat.
“No,” Bruce confirmed. “They didn’t.”
Dick felt a little of his tension bleed away. “Good,” he muttered, his eyes sliding shut tiredly. Despite being instructed otherwise by Dick, Bruce and Jason, Damian had attempted to talk Dick out of one of his earliest flashbacks. The sweet, gentle boy had done a great job. He’d crouched in front of Dick at a safe distance and spoken to him in Romany, chattering away about the birds that he would feed in the woodland on the Wayne Estate. Dick had come back to himself slowly, becoming steadily aware that there was someone speaking his mother’s language in front of him. As soon as he’d been lucid, Dick had realised what had happened.
And Dick had never, ever shouted at Damian like that before.
Panic and terror had roared in his chest as all the awful possibilities had flittered through his head at lightning speed. He’d yelled so loudly that Bruce had come sprinting down the hall from his office, but when B had heard what he was saying, he hadn’t interrupted. Dick had asked Damian what the hell he’d been thinking, why on earth he would put himself in danger like that. Because Dick wouldn’t have fought back like it was a friendly spar. He’d have fought like he was fighting for his life. And Damian could have been seriously injured, or worse.
Damian had tried to argue that it had worked, that he’d pulled Dick out of his flashback. And Dick had had to restrain every single part of him not to punch his fist angrily against the wall. Instead, he’d crouched down in front of Damian, looked up into his eyes and whispered a quiet plea. “Please don’t put me in a position to hurt you, Dami,” he’d said.
“You won’t hurt me,” Damian had said confidently, and Dick had clenched his fists by his sides where Damian couldn’t see them.
“I could,” Dick had gritted out. “I could hurt you, Damian. And that would kill me. It would hurt me so much if I hurt you.” Dick had carefully placed his hands on Damian’s shoulders. “Please don’t hurt me like that,” he’d desperately pleaded with every ounce of his being.
“Damian,” Bruce had said quietly from where he was watching. “Dick is right. Please don’t do that again.”
Damian’s face had flickered with hurt and confusion as he stared into Dick’s eyes. “But I trust you,” he’d said.
Dick had closed his eyes in abject pain and misery. “Don’t,” he’d said. “Don’t trust me.”
Dick had got what he’d wanted; Damian had never attempted to talk him out of a flashback again. There were only two people that Dick had agreed to let try; Bruce and Jason. The others had been instructed to leave the room as soon as they noticed that he’d disassociated. If Bruce or Jason were around, the others would find them to help. If they weren’t, then they’d close and lock the door behind them and wait for Dick to ride it out himself. Even if it took hours, which it sometimes did.
It wasn’t like Dick was a stranger to flashbacks, but these were just so much more violent than the ones that Catalina had induced. Over the past six months, Dick had given Bruce a fat lip, a black eye and had almost dislocated his wrist. Jason hadn’t fared much better, receiving a broken nose from a particularly brutal sucker punch to the face when he’d made the mistake of touching Dick’s arm lightly to try to bring him back to the room.
Every time he had to look at an injury that he’d imparted with his own hands, Dick felt sickened with himself. This was why he was a monster, he’d tell himself. His family were trying to help him, and he just kept hurting them.
Dick sighed as he stared up at the sitting room ceiling. It was panelled in a dark wood, forming dozens of squares that stretched underneath a particularly garish chandelier that Dick had never liked. “You should really redecorate this room,” Dick said idly.
“Alfred likes it this way,” Bruce gave his own sigh, looking up at the ceiling too. “God knows why.”
“Tradition, probably,” Dick suggested.
“Hn,” Bruce said in agreement.
Dick reluctantly lifted his head and looked at Bruce. “Thanks for helping me,” he said quietly.
“I’ll always help you,” Bruce said.
Dick’s mouth twisted. “Yeah, I know,” he said. And, he did. Bruce had been nothing short of saintly since Dick had come home from his captivity. His presence had been a rock that stood stoically in the midst of the wild ocean of rage that flooded constantly from Dick.
It didn’t matter whether Dick was roiled in violent flashbacks or just loosing his anger in cruel, screamed nastiness that echoed through the manor, Bruce accepted it all. And when Dick’s anger was momentarily spent, when there was the briefest break in the storm clouds that cast such darkness over his heart, Bruce would turn to him and ask if he was okay. The question was so unutterably stupid that Dick would sometimes laugh, and that would make the corners of Bruce’s mouth twitch up in a way that both cracked Dick’s heart apart and simultaneously soothed it.
Those rare moments of quiet laughter were something that Dick valued more than he knew how to say, and he was grateful to Bruce for giving them to him. But, even in that fleeting hush, there was still a giant chasm between the man Dick was, and the man Bruce thought he saw. So, when Bruce would turn to ask him the same old question he’d uttered weekly since Dick’s captivity, Dick would give the same old answer. Will you let me adopt you? Bruce would ask. Keep asking, and maybe one day I’ll say yes, Dick would promise in return. After all, Dick could admit that it was nice to be asked, even if he couldn’t really see a world where he ever actually did say yes.
Dick cleared his throat softly and looked away from Bruce. “I’m gonna go feed the cow.”
“Okay,” Bruce said. “Do you want any company?”
What Bruce was really asking was; do you need any company? Are you going to have another flashback if you’re left alone?
“Nah,” Dick said, shaking his head and scrambling to his feet. “I’ll be fine.”
“Will you be back for dinner?” Bruce asked, standing up too.
Dick shrugged. “Don’t know,” he said as they walked out of the sitting room together. “Set a place for me, but don’t be surprised if I don’t show up.”
“Okay,” Bruce said, ambling by Dick’s side down the hallway. “We’ll put your dinner in the fridge for you if you’re not back in time.”
“Sure,” Dick said, already patting down his pockets for his cigarettes. Bruce watched him withdraw the packet.
“I assume you’re not going to smoke in the barn with the cow?” Bruce asked lightly.
Dick gave him a flat look. “Of course I’m not,” he said. “Damian would go mad.”
“It’s also a gigantic fire hazard,” Bruce pointed out.
“Hence why I’m not going to smoke in the barn with the cow,” Dick said in an obvious tone, popping a cigarette between his lips in preparation to light up the second he got outside. They reached a crossroads in the hallway and Dick gave Bruce a tight smile. “See you later, B,” he said in an obvious dismissal.
For a moment, Dick thought Bruce was going to try and follow him anyway, but he simply sighed. “See you later, Dick,” Bruce said, turning to walk back towards the Cave.
Dick watched him for a moment, before turning away himself. As he reached the double glass doors that led outside, Dick withdrew his lighter. The doors had barely clicked shut behind him before he was holding a flame to his cigarette, taking several quick puffs to encourage it to light. When he drew in his first drag, both dizzying and steadying in equal measure, Dick gave a grimace. “I swear they’ve changed the recipe for these,” he mumbled to himself as he inspected the cigarette closely. It looked the same, but the taste was just off somehow. “Fucking annoying,” he muttered, shoving his spare hand in his sweatshirt pocket as he idly wandered across the gravel towards the rolling stretch of grass that led to the barn in the distance.
Dick took his time on the walk, meandering through the grounds in a lazy pattern that took him through the edges of the woodland, even though dusk was hanging heavily over the land. By the time he reached the barn, Dick had smoked through two cigarettes and would have finished a third if it hadn’t made him start to feel sick. If it had been a year ago, Dick would have white knuckled his way through, but he couldn’t risk vomiting now. No, Dick thought as his hand absent-mindedly cupped his ear, he couldn’t be sick.
Crouching down on the concrete laid in front of the barn, Dick stubbed out his cigarette and then placed the remainder in his pocket. A few months ago, Alfred had threatened to start throwing out his cigarette packets if he found one more ground-out butt on the meticulously maintained manor grounds, and he’d looked pissed off enough that Dick had believed him. It had been kind of nice actually, Dick thought with a small smile. It had been the first time someone had talked to him without having the hushed, reverent tone of speaking to the dead.
“Evening, Clover,” Dick said as he entered the barn. Bat-Cow looked dolefully at him, and Dick gave a small laugh. “I know that’s not your name,” he said. “But I can’t just call you Bat-Cow the whole time. It’s ridiculous, I’m afraid.”
Clover the Bat-Cow didn’t seem to agree or disagree, as she just lowered her head and continued pulling hay out of the net in front of her. It didn’t really need filling again, Dick knew. But there wasn’t any harm in making her a fresh batch, so he gave her a conciliatory pat on the head and unfastened the net.
Dick felt a little bad about stealing Clover from Damian. He knew how much his youngest brother liked taking care of her, but there was just something about her quiet, steady presence that Dick found… calming. There was no expectation from her, beside a steady supply of water and hay. It reminded him of feeding Zitka at the circus. He’d used to spend hours with the elephant, laying on her back and feeling the warmth of her underneath his body as she’d moved slowly around her pen.
Now, decades later, Dick did that with Clover too. Laying on her back with his legs dangling either side of her haunches as he stared up at the barn’s roof was probably the closest that Dick came to peace these days. Sometimes she dropped unexpectedly to her knees as he laid there, and Dick would roll off with a laugh as she settled herself into the hay for a nap and gave him a reproachful look. She’d always let him come and lean against her though, resting his back against her belly and feeling her chest expand and compress as she breathed.
Sometimes Damian or Jason would wander into the barn to find him, but they never stayed too long when he was like this. They seemed to sense that this was a sacred time for him, and they didn’t ever encroach. Dick would never quite fall asleep, but he would come close sometimes.
There was something comforting about the feeling of a body next to his. One that wasn’t human, and that had no hands or fingers to touch him with. He could trust the warm bulk of Clover underneath him and know that she would never, ever set out to hurt him. She wasn’t capable of it, after all. She was a warm-blooded mammal innocent of the sins of humanity, and he could trust her.
It reminded him of the times when he would lay on the couch in Jason’s apartment, his legs over the side and the top of his head brushing against Jason’s outer thigh. His brother would stroke through his hair and Dick would close his eyes, feeling comforted and loved. Or when Dick would wrap Damian tightly in his arms and press a kiss to his forehead. Or when he’d scoop an arm around Tim’s shoulders and pull him close for a quick side hug, grinning down at his brother’s amused expression.
None of those things were possible now, of course. But the memories were good enough, Dick would tell himself. They were all he had, so they had to be good enough.
Dick wasn’t so foolish as to think that he could work his way back there with time. The Breaker had unwritten him completely, tearing apart every scroll of parchment that made up the library of Dick Grayson’s mind and body and then setting the ragged scraps on fire. All that was left was violence, and it thrummed through his veins every second of every minute of every fucking day.
That’s not to say that Dick didn’t ever touch his family, because he did. He gave carefully choreographed allowances. A pat of the shoulder here, a wry nudge of the elbow there, and, on the really good days, even a brief hug. But he did all of that with the understanding that his skin would prickle and crawl and scream with deafening horror the entire time. And that was okay, because his skin would prickle and crawl and scream with deafening horror anyway; but at least he’d get something out of it this way. Because he needed his family to believe that he was getting better, that he wasn’t fucked up completely. They were doing so much for him, having no idea that the man that they loved was dead and buried beneath concrete and ocean. And having no idea that he’d done it all to himself.
Sometimes Dick let himself wonder what would have happened if he’d told Jason the truth about his capture; Yes, I let myself get captured, Jay. I don’t know why I did it… Except, actually I do. I’m an arrogant idiot who thought that I could outsmart the cruellest, nastiest gang I’ve ever come across in twenty two years of vigilantism. I catapulted myself into the sun and I stared into its eviscerating light as it burned away every single feather and left me to fall into total nothingness. I hurt you. I hurt all of you. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Jay. Please forgive me. Please.
And then Dick tried to imagine what Jason would have said back; Fucking hell, Dick. How the hell could I ever forgive that? You let yourself get beaten? Electrocuted? Waterboarded? Shot up with heroin? You gave your body to The Breaker and let him use it however he liked? That’s fucking sick. Did you like it? It’s unforgivable, Dick. You’re unforgivable.
And then Dick would generally stop that train of thought altogether, because the Jason in his mind was right, but he didn’t really want to think about it. At least in that alternate reality he’d been brave enough to tell the truth. He wasn’t stringing out a tenuous mistruth in the hopes that no one would ever figure out any different. He hadn’t looked into his brother’s desperate eyes and lied to him. Again.
Dick sighed as he swung the heavy net of hay back over the stall door, hanging it on its hook. “There you go, Clover,” he breathed, watching the cow lean in to pull out a few strands as though the net had never been missing. “I should really stop thinking about these things, right?” he asked her. “It doesn’t really do much good.”
Clover looked at him with baleful eyes, and Dick hung his head. “You’re right,” he said softly. “There’s not much good to find elsewhere anyway.”
Dick didn’t end up making it back to the manor for dinner that evening. Instead, he spent most of his time sitting in the corner of Clover’s stall, an arm resting gently on her warm body as she laid by his side. He didn’t fill the silence with chatter, nor music from his phone. Instead, he just existed in the silence and appreciated every calm second of it.
Despite the chill of the early winter air piercing through the open barn, Dick could find enough warmth from pressing his side against Clover, even though he’d shed his jacket. And that was useful, because it gave him the opportunity to indulge in another one of his bad habits. He would draw his knees to his chest and rest one arm on top of them, flexing it until the veins would stand proud through his skin. Then he would trace their path, meandering up and down his arm in a never-ending journey as he imagined filling those veins with something that would blow all of his ugly thoughts away. Sometimes, when Dick was feeling particularly pathetic, he would close his eyes and dig a fingernail into the soft crook of his elbow. And then he’d imagine the sweet hurricane of the heroin blasting through him, rendering him soft, insensate and oblivious to the world around him.
He wouldn’t do it, Dick would tell himself every night. He wouldn’t give in to the draw of the hurricane. But, there was no harm in thinking about it. There was no danger in the sweet bliss of reminiscence. Nor in the idle plans he would find himself making.
On nights like these, when Bruce and Damian were on patrol, Duke was asleep, and Alfred was busying himself in some dusty corner of the manor, Dick knew exactly how he’d do it. There wouldn’t be any need for a genuine attempt at subterfuge, because Dick was a good enough hacker that he could erase and loop the Cave surveillance footage without throwing up any red flags. He could just stroll through the Cave, go right up to the newly-installed hard drugs cabinet and spend the evening cracking the code of its electronic lock. And, yes, it would try to send emergency signals to Bruce, Jason and Tim, but if Dick wasn’t capable of blocking those, then he’d never had a right to call himself Nightwing. When the cabinet door inevitably swung open, he could skim a little off the top from the hardest opiates he could find, and then he could leave the Cave with his tracks seamlessly covered behind him.
But, that was a stupid plan, really. Because, sure, Dick could do it without getting caught. But the risk was ridiculous when there were far simpler ways to get his fix. For example, he could go get his bike right now and drive into Gotham. There were more drug dealers than rats in Crime Alley, and Dick was certain he could find something suitably stupefying within thirty seconds of stepping foot in the district. It wasn’t like Dick was on house arrest. If he wanted to leave the manor in the dead of night, then he could.
But, that was also a stupid plan. Because how the fuck would he explain a midnight excursion into the most deprived area of Gotham? Don’t worry, Bruce. I just fancied a drive to blow away all those cobwebs from my tortured, fractured mind. It’s a total coincidence that my wallet is hundreds of dollars lighter, so just try not to think about it too hard.
Yeah, that probably wouldn’t fly, Dick snorted lightly to himself as his fingers traced up and down his veins. Really, the way to do it would be to coordinate it with a planned excursion. Jason lived on the outskirts of Crime Alley, after all. All he’d need to do would be to go see his brother, stop off in the first alleyway he saw on his journey back, and then he’d have everything he’d need.
But, even that was a stupid plan, because he wasn’t going to take any heroin, Dick reminded himself firmly. Because, of course he could keep acquiring the heroin a secret. But, how the fuck would he keep taking it a secret? It was hard enough hiding his alcohol binges, but Dick had a feeling that the heroin would be a little less polite than the alcohol. It wouldn’t let itself be tidied away into a box that was only opened when and where Dick allowed. It would spill out everywhere, infecting everything and destroying the facade that Dick had worked so hard to build over the past six months.
“No,” Dick breathed out steadily, pulling his sleeve back down over the veins asking so wistfully for something to pump through them. “That’s not the way,” he murmured to himself, barely audible even in the dead stillness of the night.
As Dick finally surrendered to the increasing chill and pulled his jacket back on, he could hear footsteps sounding outside the barn. Dick felt his heart pound in his chest in a terrified way, even as he logically knew exactly whose footsteps they were and that there was nothing to be frightened of.
“Master Dick,” Alfred called from outside the barn.
“I’m in here,” Dick called back, curling his fingers into Clover’s shaggy fur.
The footsteps drew closer until Alfred’s face peered over the stall door. “Ah, there you are,” Alfred said. “You missed dinner, my dear boy.”
“I’ll eat it later,” Dick shrugged, stroking Clover gently.
Alfred gave him a slightly flat look. “Or you could come eat it now,” he suggested. “Seeing as the day is almost done.”
Dick sighed and let his head rest against the wall he was leaning against. “Or I could stay here,” he said hopefully.
“If you sit in here much longer I’ll never be able to rid your clothes of the smell of cow,” Alfred said in a slightly pained tone, looking at Clover with faint distaste.
Dick laughed and leaned over to press a kiss to Clover’s head. “Don’t listen to him,” he told her. “You smell lovely.”
“I don’t think she understands English,” Alfred said drily. “You need not lie to her, Master Dick.”
Dick snorted as he reluctantly got to his feet. “See you later,” he said to Clover, patting her head gently as he stepped over her. When Alfred backed up, Dick vaulted over the stall door, brushing off the stray straw when he landed.
As they walked back to the manor, Dick lit up another cigarette, ignoring the silent, yet still very loudly emanating, disapproval from Alfred. It was only when they neared the manor that Alfred finally gave voice to his thoughts. “That cigarette better not make its way onto my lawn,” he said warningly.
Dick dug his hand into his pocket and withdrew the small collection of cigarette butts he had there. “Worry not, Alfred,” he said. “The lawn remains cigarette-free.”
“How long have they been in there?” Alfred asked, newly perturbed. “I would hope that you’re clearing out your pockets before your jeans make it to the laundry.”
“They’re just from this evening,” Dick shrugged, shoving the ends back into his pocket.
“Oh,” Alfred said, a little quiet. “If you don’t mind me saying so, that’s an awful lot of cigarettes to get through in one evening, Master Dick.”
Dick shrugged again. He’d spent the past few hours alternating between smoking outside Clover’s barn and then huddling up to her body for warmth, so he guessed he’d probably burned his way through almost half a pack. “Worse things have happened to my body,” he pointed out, taking a long drag. Alfred was silent at that, but Dick didn’t really have it in him to feel bad. Instead, he bent down to grind the cigarette into the loose brick he’d commandeered as his makeshift ashtray. “Okay,” he sighed. “Let’s head in.”
Dick wasn’t really hungry for the goulash Alfred had made for dinner. But he appreciated Alfred’s attempt to make something he’d find comforting, so he dutifully sat at the table and slowly ate mouthful after mouthful. Alfred had thankfully made a tactful disappearance, so Dick didn’t have to struggle with the metal spoon that had been laid out for him. Instead, he ate his dinner with a wooden stirring spoon he plucked from a drawer. Did he feel stupid doing it? Of course he fucking did. And if there had been anyone else in the room, Dick would have ignored the white hot terror that speared through his gut at the feeling of cold metal between his lips. But when he was alone he could indulge his weakness without the worry that someone would ask; Um, hey Dick. What the fuck are you doing? Why can’t you put metal in your mouth anymore? That sure doesn’t line up with all the lies you told us about your captivity and torture.
When there were just a few mouthfuls left, Dick considered himself done. He washed up the bowl and spoon, then put them away in their respective homes. “Time for another restful night of sleep,” he told the empty kitchen, which replied with all the sympathy he deserved.
Strangely, Dick didn’t tend to dream about The Breaker. Of course, there would be the odd nightmare filled with knives between his teeth and cigarettes pressed against every inch of his flesh. But, actually, his dreams were usually more abstract than that. He would wander down streets with dead bodies littered across the asphalt, strewn over the tops of cars, speared down street signs like awful, surreal human kebabs. So much death. So much destruction. And there was nothing he could do about it. Or perhaps he would be stuck in a collapsing house, walls falling into him from every direction. He could run and run as much as he liked, but those walls would find him every single time. Then there were others where he watched his family’s bodies walk mindlessly, their heads covered in black boxes and wrapped with chains. They knew nothing, they saw nothing, and they never would.
So, yeah, Dick wasn’t a huge fan of going to sleep. But, at least he wouldn’t be totally alone with his nightmares. Titus was already waiting expectantly at the kitchen door, ready to accompany him upstairs. The dog was another thing that Dick had stolen from Damian, but he had the feeling that Damian was just quietly glad that he could help in some way.
“Come on then, boy,” Dick said quietly, patting Titus’ head and smiling at the dopey way his tongue lolled out of his mouth. They walked through the manor together, padding silently on the thick carpet.
After Dick had taken his usual half hour shower and emerged, hair damp and skin red and warm to the touch, Titus was already fast asleep and half-buried in the covers. Dick huffed a quiet snort of laughter and crawled into the bed. He wound an arm around Titus and buried his head into the back of the dog’s neck. “Thanks, buddy,” he said, as he said every night. And Titus ignored him completely, as he did every night.
All things considered, Titus was a terrible guard dog, Dick smiled to himself as he leaned over to turn his light out. In the safety of the dark, he pulled out his hearing aid and placed it on his bedside table. There were some nights that he slept with it in, but he knew that he really shouldn’t. Besides, the hearing loss wasn’t that bad. Considering he’d fired a gun at point blank range right next to the ear, it could have certainly ended up a lot worse. And Leslie had told him that it could still improve over the next six months. Dick didn’t think it would ever go back to normal though. Not without a medical or magical intervention, anyway.
Dick turned on his side, pressing his bad ear into his pillow and leaving his good ear free to hear whatever it needed to. And then he wrapped his arm around Titus and pretended to himself that the dog would come in handy if someone broke into his room in the middle of the night.
The next morning, Dick awoke with a gasped start, sweaty with a pounding chest. Titus whined in his sleep and kicked Dick for the disturbance, which was funny enough to jolt Dick out of total despair and desperation. “Stupid dog,” Dick said shakily, petting Titus’ chest soothingly. He reached out a hand for his hearing aid, slotting it into place without even looking at it. Only then did he let himself look at the clock, letting out a quiet groan when he saw that it was only just past five. “I guess that’s better than last night, right, buddy?” Dick asked Titus, who was dead to the world once more and didn’t even slightly stir.
The day passed slowly. Dick spent most of it with the animals, alternating between sitting with Clover and taking Titus for smoke breaks in the woodland. When Duke and Damian got home from school, they all spent an hour finishing off the movie from the night before. Then, Duke and Damian got ready for patrol, and Dick waved them off and tried to look like he was sorry he wasn’t joining them.
Despite what everyone expected from him, Dick didn’t have any particular desire to be Nightwing again. When Bruce and Tim and Jason and Alfred had all separately, solemnly told him that they thought he ought to take an extended break from patrolling, Dick had fought their suggestions just as hard as they were expecting him to. But, when he finally gritted out his reluctant acquiescence, he was secretly pleased. He thought that, actually, maybe he’d given enough. Maybe he didn’t need to experience any more pain. Maybe he was done.
Besides, he had far better plans that night. Before his capture and torture (and assault and assault and assault and assau-), Dick had been slowly, tentatively building something really quite beautiful with Adam, his former physiotherapist. Adam had been a very good friend after the suicide attempt Dick had made over a year and a half ago, giving up countless Sunday afternoons to sit and talk with Dick about how awful humanity could be; and all the ways it could be wonderful too.
Sometimes, Dick let himself think about the two times they’d slept together. It had been dizzyingly gorgeous, sweet and perfect, warm and happy. Adam’s gentle hands had pressed against Dick’s skin, and there hadn’t been an ounce of danger or terror or fear or horror to be found. Instead, there had only been care and respect and fun. Dick didn’t even know how to miss all of that, but he knew that he wished he did.
The idea of pressing his skin against Adam’s was horrifying now, so Dick didn’t ever let himself consider it. Instead, he sat on the end of Adam’s couch as a cold, brittle facsimile of the man he used to be. It was selfish of him, really. He should cut Adam free and stop wasting the man’s time when he was only caring for someone long dead and buried. But the monster couldn’t quite let go of the fact that there had once been the possibility of real, true happiness. So, it continued to haunt Adam as much as it could before he finally came to his senses and drove it away.
It was doubly selfish when Dick considered how dangerous he’d become. He’d taken every precaution both he and Jason could think of to protect Adam, but he still lived in cold, petrified fear that he’d snap himself awake to see Adam’s bloodied face underneath his hands.
For the first couple of months after he’d come home, Dick hadn’t had any flashbacks. He’d simply been cold and dead inside, which the monster had become better and better at hiding with each day that had passed. As his physical injuries had gradually shrunk away, Dick had forced and contorted his mind to mimic the same kind of healing shapes. He would force himself to see his family at lunch, slipping the cold metal of his fork inside his mouth and steadfastly ignoring the cold grip of terror at feeling The Breaker’s knife between his teeth again. Then, afterwards, he wouldn’t slip away to disappear into the barn like he’d desperately want to. Instead, he’d sit beside that family member on the couch and watch a movie, or join them in the Cave to talk over a case, or go into the city to get a coffee with them.
When it would finally, blessedly, come time to part ways, Dick would tense every muscle in his body, tell himself to get a fucking grip, and he would give whoever he was with a piece of physical affection. It didn’t have to be big or over-the-top, he’d tell himself. There was still leeway, after all. But the old Dick Grayson loved hugs, and hair ruffles, and kisses on the top of his siblings’ heads. So, the monster had to find a way to bear them too.
And, for a while, Dick could handle it. He could carry the weight of the horror and terror that came from being so close to another human body. But then, one day, after ruffling Jason’s hair fondly and seamlessly disguising the same old putrid jolt of nausea, Dick had felt reality slip away from him entirely. When he’d come to, there had been blood streaming from Jason’s nose while his brother had looked at him with a wild, wary expression.
All it had taken was that one singular chip in the glass for the entire facade to shatter. All of a sudden, Dick was a danger to others. Overnight, he went from being a protector to being someone who others needed to be protected from. He could no longer escape from reality by sitting in Adam’s apartment on his worn couch with its comfortingly lumpy cushion. Now, he had to be prepared for the worst to happen.
When Dick and Jason had both showed up at Adam’s door with matching serious expressions, Adam had looked bemused at first. Then, when they’d laid out all of the tech they wanted him to keep on his person whenever Dick was around, he’d straight up laughed at them. But when they’d explained what each of it all actually did, he’d looked vaguely horrified.
First, there was the watch that functioned as both a panic button with a direct line to both Jason and Bruce, and that also housed a powerful knockout gas that would spray outwards towards Adam’s attacker. Then, there was the taser that Adam was supposed to keep in his jeans; powerful enough to fell a man with a single short, sharp blast. Next was the heart rate monitor that was the failsafe if Dick caught Adam off guard before he could react; if Adam’s heart rate suddenly spiked over 100 BPM, then the piece of technical weave that Dick wore under his t-shirt would activate and he would immediately be rendered unconscious from its electric shock.
“I think this is the definition of overkill,” Adam had said, looking frankly appalled. “You’re not going to hurt me, Dick.”
“You don’t know that,” Dick had replied miserably, staring down at the array of tech laid out on the kitchen table. “I hurt Jason, and he’s got years of experience as a fighter.” Dick had looked up at Adam, his brow creased painfully. “If this is too much, I understand,” he’d whispered. “I know it’s all just… fucking ridiculous.”
“No, it’s not too much,” Adam had said insistently, staring into Dick’s eyes meaningfully. “But… some of this tech is scary, Dick. I don’t want to hurt you either. I mean…” Adam’s expression had grown a little baffled. “What if we watch a scary movie or something, and then you’re just… electrocuted?”
“Well, maybe don’t watch scary movies,” Jason had suggested helpfully, and Dick had shot him a half-hearted glare.
“It doesn’t matter,” Dick had said. “I don’t care if I’m hurt. Adam…” Dick had trailed off and he’d sunk his head into his hands. “If you’re not protected, I can’t come here anymore.”
“I don’t need to be protected from you,” Adam had whispered, placing his hands on his kitchen table and leaning forwards. “Dick, you’re not dangerous.”
“Yeah, he is, Adam,” Jason had said quietly, and Dick had closed his eyes. “And if he hurts you, he’s never going to get over it.” Jason had paused for a moment. “If I thought this was a dumb idea, I wouldn’t be on his side on this. But… I think it’s necessary.”
“It’s selfish of me to even risk it,” Dick had croaked, his eyes still closed and his head still buried in his hands. “And if I was a better man, I wouldn’t even be here. I just…” Dick’s voice had grown so strangled that he could only whisper his next words. “I don’t want to lose you…”
“You’re not going to lose me,” Adam had said, firm and steady. He’d taken a breath and then picked up the watch. “I promise, Dick. You’re not going to lose me.”
Every time Dick visited Adam’s apartment, he could see just how much the man detested the tech he was wearing. He would trace the outline of the heart monitor with his finger, his expression flickering with disgust and fear as he breathed long and slow, as if he was worried that he would electrocute Dick with the slightest spike of anxiety. When he wasn’t doing that, he was holding the wrist with the watch far away from himself, looking like he was concerned he would accidentally activate it. But, he wore everything that Dick and Jason had given to him every time Dick came round. And it was the kindest thing that Adam had ever done for Dick.
Despite all of the precautions they’d taken, Dick hadn’t had a single flashback at Adam’s apartment. In fact, he hadn’t had a flashback at all outside of the manor or Jason’s place. If he was still in the habit of being honest and open with Andre, he would have asked him why. But, he wasn’t, so he didn’t know. His best guess was that the flashbacks only happened when he felt it was safe to have them, which felt like a bit of a cruel piece of irony that he could have done without.
But, no matter how many times Adam turned to him with a smile and told him, “I knew everything would be okay,” Dick wouldn’t let himself get lulled into a false sense of security. There was a monster living in his bones, and he couldn’t let it hurt the innocent civilian who’d had the misfortune of falling in... to something complicated and tangled with him.
On that particular evening, Dick stood in front of Adam’s apartment door and paused there for a long moment. As he always did, he wrestled with the morality of what he was doing. He could hurt Adam. Why was he here? Why was he risking it? But, just as it always was, the monster was selfish enough to knock on the door.
A few seconds later, the door opened and Adam’s warm face appeared. “Hey,” he said, and just the sound of his greeting quietened the raging oceans inside Dick’s head.
“Hey,” Dick said, feeling a smile appear despite everything.
“Was your drive okay?” Adam asked, opening the door wide enough for Dick to step through. “The rain’s coming down hard out there.”
“Yeah, it was fine,” Dick said, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up on a hook far enough away from Adam’s own coats that it wouldn’t get them wet. He placed his motorbike helmet on the floor beside the shoes he’d just kicked off. “What movie have you got for us today?”
“Oh, it’s a real classic,” Adam said, grinning as he locked the front door. “Ever heard of The Peanut Butter Solution?”
“Should I have?” Dick laughed quietly, following Adam down the hallway to the living room.
“Only if you’re a fan of cult kid’s movies from the eighties, I guess,” Adam said, tilting his head. “You’re probably too young for it.”
“I’m a nineties baby, I’m afraid,” Dick said, flopping onto his end of the couch. “Not an ancient eighties crone like you.”
Adam groaned, but his eyes were sparkling with humour. “One day, when you’re in your forties, you’ll regret all of your ageism,” he laughed.
“If I make it to my forties,” Dick said idly, before realising what he’d said and immediately grimacing. “Ah, fuck, I didn’t mean that.”
Adam was making a heroic effort not to look perturbed, but he wasn’t really succeeding. “Dick…” he said quietly.
“No, that wasn’t some cry for help,” Dick said embarrassedly. “I swear, that was just dark vigilante humour.”
“Should I really believe that?” Adam asked, quiet and serious.
“Yes,” Dick said insistently. “You should.” He paused for a moment. “I wouldn’t do that to my family again,” he said honestly. And he really, really wouldn’t. No matter how bad things got, Dick would never attempt suicide again. After everything he’d done to his family, he owed them that much at least. “And I wouldn’t do that to you either. I promise, I didn’t mean it, Adam.”
Adam held his gaze for a long moment, but eventually sighed and looked away. “Don’t scare me like that,” he said jokingly, before grimacing in an entirely genuine way. “Not when I risk electrocuting you at the mildest of surprises.”
“100 BPM isn’t mild surprise,” Dick reminded him with a tone of amused exasperation as he brought his knees up to his chest and wound his arms around them. “You know that.”
“Yes, well, forgive me for being melodramatic about the taser you have strapped to your chest,” Adam said, looking distinctly frazzled for a moment. But, when he saw Dick’s stricken expression, he immediately relented. “But, at least our dates aren’t boring, I guess,” he said, somewhat lamely.
Dick took the olive branch. “I think most people would call a date where their heart rate stays below 100 BPM quite boring, actually,” he snorted.
That managed to coax a laugh out of Adam, even if it sounded a little pained. “No matter my heart rate, no date with you is ever boring,” he said, and he sounded completely and utterly genuine.
Dick’s smile was just as pained as Adam’s laugh had been. “That’s a very sweet lie,” he said quietly, resting his chin on his knees and tilting his face to Adam.
“It’s not a lie, Dick,” Adam replied, looking at him seriously. “I love spending time with you. You know that.”
Dick looked away for a long moment. He should say it, he knew. He should say the thing that had been weighing down on him ever since he’d realised that he just wasn’t going to be able to pretend his way back to a sex life. “Adam…” he said slowly.
“No, Dick,” Adam said firmly. “Don’t do that.”
Dick gave a quiet, sad laugh. “You don’t know what I’m about to say,” he said.
“I know it’s about to be silly,” Adam said firmly.
Dick looked at him with a creased expression. “Adam, come on,” he said. “What are we even doing here? I’m just… I’m wasting your time.”
“You’re not wasting my time,” Adam said, before he tried to laugh. “See, I told you that you were about to say something silly.”
This time, Dick didn’t take the olive branch of humour that Adam had extended. “I just think that you should start seeing other people,” he said in a low tone, before immediately wincing. “I mean, if you’re not already,” he mumbled. “It’s not like we were ever exclusive.”
“Dick, of course I’m not seeing other people,” Adam said, his voice a little upset. He opened his mouth to continue, but then paused. “I… I’ve got to take the heart monitor off for this.”
Dick felt his own heart rate spike. “No, you can’t,” he said in a panicked voice. “I could hurt you.”
“I’ve got the watch,” Adam said, already reaching underneath his t-shirt to unstrap the heart monitor. “But I’m upset enough that my heart rate is already climbing, and I can’t have this conversation and then render you unconscious because of it.” Dick scrambled from the couch and walked across the room until he could press his back against the opposite wall. Adam watched his movements with a stricken expression. “Dick… you’re not going to hurt me,” he said. “You’ve never even come close.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dick said, sliding down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. “All it takes is one time.”
Adam opened his mouth to argue, but clearly remembered the countless times they’d had this discussion and thought better of it. Instead, he sighed. “Dick,” he said carefully. “I’ve told you a thousand times. You’re worth waiting for. I don’t mind how long it takes, I’m here for you.”
“But…” Dick shielded his eyes with his hand and stared down at the floor. “What if what you’re waiting for never arrives?” he said quietly. “What if this is all there ever is, and all there ever can be; movie nights at the opposite end of the couch while you try to keep your heart rate low and I try not to snap and hurt you.”
“It will arrive, Dick,” Adam said firmly. “You’ve just got to have faith.”
“Faith?” Dick was startled enough to laugh at that. “Adam, Jesus Christ… I’m wearing a fucking taser.”
“And I’ve told you that that’s overkill,” Adam said. “You would never hurt me, Dick.”
“You can’t say that,” Dick said forcefully. “I’ve broken Jason’s nose, I’ve given Bruce multiple injuries. I am hurting people.”
“You’re hurting the people you think are safe to hurt,” Adam said. “I’m not saying it’s a good thing, obviously. But they’re the two people you know well who are bigger and physically stronger than you.” He paused. “I really, really don’t think you would ever lash out at anyone other than them. I think your body knows who it can trust to handle your anger and pain.”
“Yes, Bruce and Jay are bigger and stronger than me,” Dick gritted out. “That’s why they’re the only ones I allow to try to break my flashbacks. It’s a cause and effect thing, Adam. My flashbacks aren’t magically virtuous enough to distinguish between people that way, and it’d be really fucking dangerous to treat them like they were.” Before Adam could attempt to argue his point again, Dick shook his head. “Anyway, we’re getting off topic,” he said frustratedly. “My point is… that I’m not doing you any good. I’m dragging you down into this pit of fucking despair, and it’s really fucking selfish of me. You deserve someone who’s safe to leave the apartment with, who wants to hold your hand, who- who-” Dick closed his eyes and felt his hand creep up to his ear. “Who’s capable of kissing you,” he whispered past the rancid bulk in his throat.
“Dick, it’s my choice who I spend my time with,” Adam said seriously. “And I want to spend it with you.”
“But I don’t understand why,” Dick choked out. “It’s not like you’re having fun.”
“Yes, I am,” Adam said. “I always have fun when I’m with you.”
“Don’t lie to me, Adam,” Dick said frustratedly. “No one could be having fun like this. I’m just…” broken, disgusting, pathetic, really fucking awful. Dick let his hands fall to his lap and stared down at them. “I’m just not good for you,” he croaked.
“You make me happy,” Adam said quietly. “How is that not good for me?”
Dick looked up at him and felt his brow crease with anguish. “But in six months, am I going to make you happy? Or in a year? Or two?” Dick let his head thud back against the wall. “You’ve got to face the fact that I’m not getting any better. And you’re wasting your life on someone who’s never going to be able to be a-” Dick felt his voice begin to strangle. “To be a partner,” he said hoarsely.
“I believe in you, Dick,” Adam said firmly. “I know that you can get through this.”
“Adam,” Dick said forcefully. “You’re not listening to me. Answer my question. What happens if I never get better?”
Adam stared across the room at him, and Dick could see the absolute truth in his eyes; he just didn’t have an answer to Dick’s question.
“I’ll answer it for you then,” Dick whispered, letting his eyes flick up to the ceiling. “We have to stop this. I have to let you go live your own life.”
“Dick, that’s not what I want,” Adam said, a rare edge of panic fluttering around the edges of his voice. “You can’t just make decisions on my behalf like that.”
“I’m supposed to protect people from harm,” Dick replied dully. “Not expose them to violence and danger.”
“I don’t know how many times I can say this,” Adam said, a slightly manic laugh bubbling through his words. “You’re not exposing me to violence and danger. You haven’t ever made me feel unsafe. The only danger in this apartment is that stupid fucking taser vest you’re wearing.”
Dick waved Adam’s words away with a dismissive motion of his hand, not even bothering to argue out loud. “I’m not a partner to you, Adam,” he said instead. “I can’t hold your hand, or- or kiss you, or have sex with you. We can’t even properly sit next to each other on the couch. I-” Dick closed his eyes tiredly. “I’m holding onto something that I just don’t deserve. I’m being really damn selfish.”
“Dick,” Adam said forcefully, and Dick opened his eyes at the tone to see Adam leaning forward on the couch. “How on earth can you say that you’re selfish? God… after everything you did. After everything you gave. You’re the best, kindest, most selfless man I’ve ever known. And…” Adam’s voice grew tight. “And I don’t want to lose you. I- I never want to lose you, Dick.”
Dick stared back at Adam. “But… why?” he heard himself ask, and Adam’s face flickered with a strange mixture of sadness and disbelief.
“Because you’re so beautiful,” Adam said quietly. “Heart, body and soul. I’ve always believed that, and I always will.”
Dick looked away, not able to look Adam in the face when the man was so obviously lying to him. “I’m not good for you,” he repeated in a murmur.
“Let me decide that,” Adam said. “Don’t just decide it for me. That’s not fair on me, Dick.”
“Well…” Dick was uncharacteristically lost for words. “Well, we need to do something,” he said, gesturing his hand weakly. “I can’t just usurp your time and energy indefinitely. We need a… a time limit, I guess.”
“A time limit,” Adam repeated quietly.
“Yeah,” Dick said, realising that what he’d just said actually made quite a lot of sense. “Like, if I’m not better in three months, we draw a line under this and you get to move on.” Adam looked like he was about to argue, but before he could open his mouth, Dick pressed on. “Adam, I just feel like I’m wasting your life right now,” he said. “I know that you’re too kind and good to let me go, and I can’t just take advantage of that forever. I… I need to know that you’re protected,” he whispered. “I need to know that your heart is protected. Please don’t argue with this. Give me three months, and then let me let you go.”
Adam didn’t look particularly happy. “Three months isn’t a very long time,” he said pointedly. “I think it should be a year.”
Dick blanched at that. “I can’t waste another year of your time,” he said. “That’s far too long.”
“You’re not wasting it,” Adam said exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose in a rare show of frustration.
“It’s already been six months since I came home,” Dick said, pressing his point. “If we did a year then that would be eighteen months in total waiting for me to pull my shit together in vain. I’m… I’m not getting better, Adam. Another year would be delaying the inevitable to the point of ridiculousness.”
Adam gave him a flat look. “It’s not delaying the inevitable,” he said. “And you are getting better. You just need to give yourself time.” He paused for a long moment, then his face suddenly fell into a reluctant grimace. “How about six months?” he asked, before pointing a finger at Dick. “And you’ve got to promise that you’ll let yourself believe that you can heal from this. You need to remember how far you’ve come since you first came home. I know that I can’t touch you right now, but your brothers can. You’ve got to see the good, Dick. You can’t just focus on the bad.”
If Dick was a good man, he would have refused. He would have shaken his head, told Adam the truth and said that there was nothing to wait for, because the old Dick Grayson was dead, buried, and never coming home. But, the monster wasn’t a good man. It was a fundamentally selfish, self-absorbed, self-obsessed creature that cared only for itself. “Fine, Dick said, looking away. “Okay, Adam… let’s do the six months.”
“Thank you,” Adam said, and he sounded so happy that Dick felt another sick wave of guilt crash over him.
Dick closed his eyes against the feeling. “Can you put the heart monitor back on now, please?” he asked quietly.
Adam sighed and checked his heart rate on the watch. “Okay,” he reluctantly agreed. Dick looked up to watch him draw his t-shirt off and pick the heart monitor up, winding the strap around his chest and securing it into place. Dick followed the motions carefully, letting his eyes touch the warm, tanned skin of Adam’s chest, even if his fingers were unable to.
“You look beautiful,” Dick heard himself whisper.
Adam’s face creased into a painful smile. “So do you, Dick,” he said, meeting Dick’s eyes. “You’re always beautiful.”
Dick’s hand found his ear again, holding the mangled edge of his earlobe gently. “Hn,” he said noncommittally, letting his eyes fall from Adam’s completely.
There was a small pause, before there was a rustle of fabric and Adam cleared his throat. “Okay, you can come back to the couch now,” he said. “If you want,” he added.
Dick pushed himself up off the floor. “Of course I want to,” he said quietly, crossing the room and sinking back onto his side of the couch.
It was funny really, Dick thought to himself. Considering he’d somehow managed to manipulate Adam into spending even more of his time and energy on him, he would have thought he’d feel happier about it. But he just felt the same constant waves of putrid guilt and shame that he always did. But, he guessed they weren’t strong enough to force him into doing something about it, because he could have stood up and left at any point that evening. He didn’t, though. He just sat on the couch and watched the movie, enjoying the calm, warm presence of Adam nearby.
When the credits were rolling, Adam turned to Dick. “You can stay the night, if you want,” he said, as he always did. “The spare bedroom is always up for grabs.”
Dick looked at him. “I’ve got to be getting back,” he replied, as he always did. “They’re expecting me at the manor. Maybe next time.”
“Okay,” Adam said softly. “Maybe next time.”
Dick stood reluctantly. “At least you can take off all that tech you hate now,” he offered.
“Yeah, at least there’s that,” Adam said, letting Dick pass him by before he stood. “I’ll see you next week?”
Dick nodded. “As long as you’re okay with that,” he said quietly, walking down the hallway and hearing Adam follow behind at a careful distance.
“Of course I am,” Adam said. “Don’t be silly, Dick.”
Dick looked over his shoulder at Adam and gave him a small smile. “You should be used to that by now,” he tried to joke.
Adam gave him his own small smile. “I guess I should be,” he said.
Dick shoved his boots on quickly, wrinkling his nose at the way they were still slightly damp from all the rain. He didn’t bother putting his jacket on. Instead, he cradled it in his arms along with his motorbike helmet, holding the bulk of them inbetween him and Adam as if he needed it to stop the two of them from touching. “I’ll see you later,” he said.
“See you later,” Adam said, unlatching the door for Dick. Before he opened it, he sighed and looked meaningfully at Dick. “Look, please let me know if you want to see me again sooner,” he said. “My door is always open to you.”
“I know,” Dick said quietly. “Thanks, Adam.”
For a split second, there was the anticipation of a hug goodbye, or a kiss pressed warmly to each other’s cheeks, or a meeting of the lips. But the moment faded immediately, and there was only the disappointment of nothing at all. Adam cleared his throat and opened the door. “Drive safe,” he said.
Dick passed through the boundary, gave Adam one last smile and then walked down the hallway. When the door closed behind him, he let his smile, his shoulders and his entire countenance drop. He wandered slowly down the hallway, idly wondering whether he should inadvertently turn his lies into truth and go home to the manor, even as he knew that he wouldn’t.
Because there was another selfish, disgusting reason why he had visited Adam. And it had nothing to do with how kind and sweet and gentle the other man was.
When Dick left Adam’s building, he didn’t turn right towards the street where he’d parked his bike. Instead, he rounded the corner to the left and wandered down the alleyway slowly, ignoring the rain soaking into his thin t-shirt. When he reached the fire escape, he looked up, squinting his eyes against the drops of water racing down from the sky towards him. Then, he took out the grapple he technically shouldn’t be carrying as Dick Grayson and sent it up to the top floor apartment.
When he landed on the fire escape, he shoved the grapple back in his pocket and worked his fingers into the tiny gap he’d previously left in the window the last time he was here. The window squeaked open and Dick let himself inside.
He cast his eyes around and breathed a sigh of relief that nothing had changed since last week. The deflated air mattress was there, as was the useless air pump it had come with. The rechargeable camping light was next to it, ready to be switched on. And then, in the corner of the room, there was what Dick had come for; several half-empty bottles of vodka.
It had been too perfect, really. This top floor apartment had been empty for years. Some investor had snapped it up, gone bust before they could finish the renovations, and now the residence was caught in a legal nightmare that meant that no one could officially live in it. But, luckily, when Dick squatted here once a week, the tracker in his cell phone would back up what he’d told his family; that he was sleeping at Adam’s place.
Obviously, it was still risky as all hell. If Jason ever happened to mention the nights that Dick was ostensibly spending at Adam’s place to him, then the confused look on Adam’s face would be enough to send this tenuously placed house of cards tumbling down around Dick. But, Dick could live with the risk. Well, more accurately, he had to live with the risk. Because it was the only fucking thing holding him together.
Dick broke to his knees, ignoring the air mattress entirely and shuffling over to the vodka bottles. “I’ve missed you guys,” he murmured, picking up the one closest to hand and immediately unscrewing the metal cap. “I’ve really fucking missed you all, actually.” He let himself thud against the wall as he sat on the floor, lifting the vodka to his mouth and taking a long, relieved draw.
Doing this once a week wasn’t enough, but it was all he could risk. Every single moment that Dick spent sober, the heroin screamed through his bones, vibrating through the collagen, calcium and marrow so loudly that sometimes Dick didn’t know how he even heard anyone else’s words. Its roar was so excruciating that when Adam, or Jason, or Tim told him that he was just so damn strong, Dick had started to wonder whether they might be right, actually. Because the fact that he didn’t have a needle in his arm and the sweet bliss of a hurricane pulsing through his veins was nothing short of a fucking miracle.
At least he had a reason to keep himself together, Dick thought, taking another deep drink from the bottle. The trial was going to be difficult, but it was giving him a higher purpose. He had to make sure that those six men would never, ever see the light of day again. And he had to protect the trafficking victims as much as he possibly could during the process. After all, it was what he owed them. Some of them had spent almost two months in that tiny basement room they’d all been kept in. The men had escaped sexual assault, because they’d been used as slave labour to produce the Moan2 pills at no extra cost to the gang. But the women had been seen as fair game while the gang had waited for there to be enough captives to justify the cost of shipping them overseas. And they’d all experienced horrors that Dick should have protected them from.
Dick closed his eyes as he took another drink, listening to the liquid winding its way down the neck of the bottle. So much failure. So much pain. So much death. And all of it was hanging around his neck, a heavy albatross that curled all the way to his good ear, whispering its disappointment inside.
Dick sighed. There was a good amount of alcohol in his system now, and it was enough to dull down the heroin’s claws in his heart, the fetid bulk in his throat, the slide of a suit soaked in eighteen days worth of bodily fluids against his skin, the continual low level buzz in his ear, the constant sting of the cigarettes on his chest, and the way his earlobe just kept tearing and ripping apart.
He turned to the pump for the air mattress and switched it on, listening to the lazy whine of the fan beginning. It always took an age to fully inflate, and the entire thing would be flat in a few hours anyway. But, by that point, Dick would be so drunk that it wouldn’t matter.
Dick watched the slowly inflating mattress detachedly, taking the occasional swig from the bottle and feeling the tension leak from his body with each mouthful he swallowed. “Wish I could do this everyday,” he mumbled quietly to himself. But, that was a foolish thing to think when he lived under the watchful gaze of his entire family. It was a damn miracle that he had these weekly indulgences, and he knew better than to try to push his luck.
By the time the air mattress was full enough to lay on, Dick had a pleasant buzz going. He crawled over and collapsed onto it, careful not to spill the vodka as he did so. He stared up at the ceiling and let a small smile spread over his face. He would sleep well tonight, he knew. He would sink into the dreamless black of the vodka, and it would buffet his body gently throughout the night. When he awoke, he would inject himself with the ondansetron in his jacket that would stave off the worst of his hangover’s nausea and ensure that he wouldn’t vomit. Then, he would thank his lucky stars that this apartment was somehow still connected to the water and shower off the lingering stink of vodka before he drove back to the manor and spent the day hiding his hangover in Clover’s stall.
But he didn’t have to worry about any of that right now. In this moment, Dick could rest. He could swallow sweet serenity by the mouthful and feel it dull everything else down. Finally, there was a whisper of real peace that Dick could brush his fingertips against and pretend that he could own.
Dick closed his eyes and curled his hand around the cool glass of the bottle tighter. “Everything’s fine,” he breathed. “Everything’s totally okay.”