Chapter Text
“Richard!” Dick turned to the sound of a familiar voice with his typical Richie Grayson smile on his lips.
“Amy! How are you, my dear?” He gave the woman a little one-armed hug to keep his champagne flute steady. Amy was about a foot shorter than Dick, with long blonde hair and pale white skin, but hugged him fiercely despite her smaller size.
Amy Delope was a few years younger than Dick but had always looked much younger than she was. Dick thought it might be due to her autoimmune disorder, which caused her to be a rare sight at galas such as these. She took Dick’s hand and started dragging him across the ballroom. “Dickie, you have got to meet my plus one! It would make my mother furious!”
Dick chuckled, a rare real sound at one of these events. Amy and Dick had been a force of mischief during their younger years. Amy had always been a welcome sight when surrounded by the all-rich and all-powerful of Gotham. Now, though, he had a horde of siblings to try to keep from causing the chaos. But he smiled fondly at the memories as Amy hooked her arm in his.
Dick let Amy drag him across the room, catching sight of Mrs. Delope with a scowl on her face. Dick waved. She did not wave back.
Amy brought them to a woman with short black hair who was wearing a long black dress that was clearly borrowed, judging by the way she tugged at it repeatedly. Dick smiled as Amy introduced him. “Pleasure to meet you…?”
She shook his hand. Dick ignored the sweat on her hand. “B-Beatrice. Nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne.”
“Please, call me Dick.” Dick noted the confusion on her face, but before he could explain, Amy took Beatrice’s hand.
She explained in rapid Spanish that it was not an insult and that Dick was a nickname for Richard. Beatrice nodded and smiled at Dick, still a little wide-eyed.
The three conversed for a bit, switching between Spanish and English rapidly. Dick felt slightly more relaxed as time went on; it was much easier to get through these events when there were people he could talk to and generally enjoyed their company.
Dick was laughing at a story Beatrice had just told about how they met while they both were studying abroad in France over the summer, before he caught a glance from Bruce that meant one of his siblings was getting in trouble and that he should take care of it. He turned to see Jason absolutely demolishing some renowned socialites at a game of pool. Socialites that have deep pockets for their charity tonight. “It was good to see you, Amy.” He gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and shook Beatrice’s hand again. “And lovely to meet you. I hope you’ll come again.”
The brunette smiled, patting his forearm gently. “You too, quidero.”
And wasn’t it funny how a simple touch and one stupid word could make the entire world fall away. Could cause a ringing in the ears so intense that it caused a person to stumble. Could make a stomach drop so hard one might vomit spontaneously.
“How much champagne have you had?” Someone giggled, but the sound was far away, as if Dick was underwater or as if he was across a rooftop. Far, far away with a wind that prevented the words from meeting their mark.
The wind roared in Dick’s ears. The sound of rain joining the Earthly scream. It was so loud. He was cold. And wet. From the rain and… blood. There was blood. He could smell it. He could feel it on his hands, on his face, in his suit. Was it his? Did someone need help?
Dick blinked, and the gala was back. He stumbled back a step, the sound of his rapid breathing filling the space left by the rain. He was mumbling niceties and excuses, but even he couldn’t understand them. Beatrice had her hand clenched over her chest. Her eyes were wide with fear and confusion- that wasn’t right. She had been so nervous; Dick wanted to help.
He shifted his gaze to Amy, looking for the answer to Beatrice’s fear. Amy’s lips were moving, her brows pinched in concern. She grabbed his elbow to help steady him.
Dick gasped at the contact and rain filled his mouth, his throat, his lungs. He was going to drown in the rain. He was certain. Knew it like he knew his own name. He would die on this roof- from the rain and his own weakness-
He gagged, turning away from her to vomit on the gravel. The bile burned his throat as it forced its way out. The hand had been on his elbow, but it was also on his chest, pushing, taking, claiming. They were in his hair, tugging at his suit-
More hands. More insistent. More pressure. They were on his hips- a finger on his lips- everything was tingling as the rain washed over everything- but his body wouldn’t listen to his commands. He trembled as the world around him blurred, his knees shook, and he went limp- hands scrambling to catch him.
His hands brushed the ground, loose gravel coated with rain and blood and fluids. He gagged again. Somehow the rain seemed softer, less drumming in his ears and more like a distant hum. Or perhaps the ringing had just grown louder in his ears. Drowning out the source of his suffocation.
Dick could still hear his fast breathing. He felt like he was moving? No- floating. As if he could exit his body and escape, and he wouldn’t have to deal with this-
There was a door opening and closing. The rain patted on the window. Dick could smell the motel. The smell of sex, blood, and smoke. He shut his eyes. He didn’t want to be there. He just wanted it to stop. Wanted his legs to listen to him. Wanted his body to respond-
Something cold pressed into his hand and closed his fist around it. He could feel the ice melting in his hand. Why would she give him ice? He could feel a dull throbbing in his other hand, the sting of cleaning solution. Warm, thick, calloused hands were wiping it clean.
Dick groaned so quietly it was practically a whimper; he didn’t want to come back. Didn’t want to be present in his body- why make him? He tried to let go of the ice, but a hand kept his hands closed. He felt a sudden heat behind his eyes- she never made him stay before- never cared if he was actually there or not- as long as she got what she wanted. Why now? Why-
Dick hissed as his other hand stung sharply. He turned to see the hands wrapping a towel around it. They were… big. And gentle. The fancy napkin had gold lace trim. The rest of it turned red from his blood. Was he bleeding? Maybe that's why his head felt so funny. “-here. You’re safe-“
Those weren’t her hands. “-deep breaths- feel the ice-?”
That wasn't her voice. “-a gala. It’s June 13th. I’m here-”
That was Bruce’s voice. Dick blinked slowly. “-Jay, Timmy-“
Someone wiped his wet hand. Dick turned and flinched; the figure was shadowed with long hair. Their hands were soft but felt like burns where they brushed his skin. He sucked in a sharp breath, trying to pull away-
“-just Stephanie-“ The figure moved out of his line of sight, and Dick wilted, his shoulders falling. He could smell grease and dish soap. The floor under his hand was smooth and cool to the touch. The world began to blur again-
Someone took his injured hand and placed it flat on their chest. He went. He was putty, perfect to mold to whoever’s will. The chest was hard and muscular; Dick squinted at it. The fabric was soft. The rain quieted. The heartbeat under his sprawled fingers replaced it in his ears.
It was a little fast but steady. Loud. Dick curled his hand into a fist, twisting the fabric. Alfred would be mad for messing up his ironing job. The chest vibrated as the owner spoke. “We’re right here, Dickiebird. You’re safe.”
Jason.
That was Jason’s voice. That was Jason’s heartbeat. Jason was kneeling in front of him. His knees almost touched his shin. Bruce was to his side. Dick blinked; he clenched and released his hand on the chest cautiously. Testing. He could feel the injured skin stretch and complain at the movement. He did it again.
Bruce was muttering encouragement loud enough to hear, but Dick had to focus on the voice to understand what was being said. He was saying that Dick was safe. Listing who was in the room. Where they were. The date.
Dick unclenched his hand from Jason’s shirt. Morning the loss of the steady beat. He was on the ground, his legs out straight in front of him. He was slumped against something hard, cold, and metal behind him. The lights were buzzing softly. Dick sucked in a sharp breath.
He shifted, straightening his spine from the awkward angle. His hand hurt, but not unless he focused on it. He was in a kitchen, the smell of grease and dish soap in the air. There was also a warmer tint to the air, as if the cooking had abruptly stopped. Dick swallowed against his dry mouth, licking his dry lips.
Both figures next to him leaned back, giving him more space. Bruce grunted as me moved, the position probably hurting his back. Dick looked between Jason and Bruce, slowly. Then rapidly. Analyzing.
They were both trying to make themselves as small as possible to not overwhelm him. Their brows pinched in concern, almost matching. Dick took in their fancy clothes, as well as his own. The fancy kitchen, but one he didn’t recognize.
The gala. Amy and her girlfriend. A word and a touch. The world falling away.
Dick sucked in a sharp breath. He’d lost his shit. Over a fucking word. In front of hundreds of onlookers. In front of endless cameras and reporters. In front of his family- in front of-
Dick shot to his feet, uncharacteristically stumbling till he moved to the adjacent wall. He turned back to the other two, blinking away the feeling of rain and skin- “Shit-“ he muttered, running a trembling hand through his hair.
Jason and Bruce rose with him. “Dick-“ Bruce began, his hands open and in front of him to show he was not a threat- like Dick was a wild animal that needed to be tamed.
“Shit-“ Dick mumbled, breathlessly again. He could feel his heart rate pick up. “Shit- fuck-“ He tugged at the dark strands of his hair. How many people? How many had seen Richard Grayson, eldest son of Bruce Wayne, have a panic attack in the middle of a gala? In the middle of Jason's celebration gala? As Dick's mind cleared, he felt bile rise in his throat at the mere thought of the situation that lay before them.
“Dick, sweetheart.” Bruce took a step towards him. “What do you need?”
If Dick had the energy, he would have laughed, because what did he need? He needed this to not have happened. He needed Bruce and Jason to stop looking at him like- like that. He needed that night on the roof to not have happened-
Instead of saying that, he met Bruce’s eyes as he backed into the wall. “Fuck- I’m sorry- I-“
Jason scoffed behind Bruce, the sound reminding Dick so much of Damian. He felt unexpected and unwelcome tears form behind his eyes at the thought. “Only you apologize for having a fucking-” Surprisingly, Jason closed his mouth when Bruce shot him a look.
Dick stared at his brother, his brother who had been through so much. Who had just started joining them for movie nights and eating family meals with them-
What was Dick doing? Causing more drama in the papers to plague their family? This entire night was supposed to be about celebrating Jason’s return as legally living. And he was having a panic attack over a word? Corrupting the night like- like poison.
Bruce took another step towards Dick, his mouth open to speak and his face full of concern- Dick looked away, unable to look at the blatant care on his father's face. The acrobat let out another shaky breath; “I’m fine.” He forced his hands to be steady as he straightened his shirt and suit jacket.
Dick noticed the slight grimace in his father's face. “You-“ Dick cleared his throat. “You need to go.”
Bruce’s brows pinched in confusion. “Do you want me to go?” His voice was level, calm. Dick hung on to those grounding feelings like a lifeline.
‘No, please, don’t go-‘ Dick wanted to say, the words caught in his throat- "I freaked out and the reporters-“
Bruce shook his head. “Don’t worry about that-“
Dick reached forward and grabbed Bruce’s wrist to get him to stop talking. “You have to do damage control- gods, I fucked it up this time-“
Bruce glanced at Jason before taking both Dick’s hands in his own. “I’ll take care of it. That’s not important right now. Let’s go home, okay, chum?” It wasn’t supposed to be a question, but Dick heard the uncertainty in his father’s voice.
Bruce pushed open the large, metal kitchen doors, holding them open for his sons. Dick straightened his back, mentally preparing for the horde of reporters and photographers that awaited them. Dick walked behind Bruce, with Jason to his side. He tried to shake off the feeling of a hand on his chest- of legs encasing his hips-
Bruce guided them to a back door that led to the parking lot of the hotel where the gala had been held. Dick looked up as the doors approached. It was raining. He stopped in the hall.
Dick shivered. He noticed the security personnel struggling to keep back a mob mentality of cameras and shouting just outside the automatic glass doors. Jason called out to Bruce, who turned back around.
Then he was in front of Dick, grabbing his biceps gently. “Dick? What is it?”
Dick glanced at Jason, who stood in front of the windows, blocking them from the cameras. “It’s raining.” He shivered, the droplets thudding on the gravel next to him. Mocking his weakness. Eroding the blood and sweat and tears and-
“We can use an umbrella, okay?” Bruce squeezed his arms. They were warm.
Dick didn’t remember any warmth on the roof. Everything had been cold. Even the person on top of him had felt like ice. Dick hummed; someone had asked him a question, right?
“Dick, you with me?” Dick hummed again. Where else would he be? He couldn’t move from the scratchy sheets. Couldn’t escape the smell of smoke and sex and poison.
“Dickiebird.” The voice was different; Dick looked up. A familiar head of black and white coming closer. “It’s Jason. And Bruce. We’re going to take you to the car. Okay?”
There was an arm around his shoulders, guiding- but not pushing, not taking. He flinched when the doors opened to flood his senses with noise. People were yelling over each other, flashes of cameras assaulted his eyes, making him blink rapidly; he could smell the Gotham musk in the air- mixing with rain and grime- there was an umbrella, but it did nothing to keep the rain from pelting his Nightwing suit, from making him shiver and drowning-
Then it was gone. Or at least dulled. The thud of a car door- soft leather under him- the sound came and went twice more. Dick stared at the back of the seat in front of him. There was murmuring around him, but he couldn’t make out the words. His head flopped back so he was looking up at the car ceiling. He didn’t have the energy to maneuver it to a more comfortable position. His neck would curse him later. Besides, he was supposed to watch the moon cross the sky.
He wasn’t sure where he was going. Or how he was moving. But it’s not like he ever really got a say in either of those. The buildings flew past, bright lights and colors passing fast enough to blur. Dick let himself drift, let his limbs fall away. It was easier that way.
He didn’t close his eyes, choosing to believe he was flying past the Gotham buildings, grappling hook in hand and wind in his hair.
. .
Later, once they’d made it back to the manor. Dick sat in the family room with a warm cup of tea in his hands. Jason sat on the other side of the couch, doing his best to look genuinely interested in the movie that was playing on the TV. Dick could hear Bruce pacing in the hall, trying to diffuse whatever tidal wave of bad press Dick had just created.
The kids had all gone to bed, with varying degrees of worry on their faces. Dick still felt a little disconnected from it all, everything just a little muffled to his senses. But the tea was helping; strong in flavor and in heat. Jason was helping too. Just having another human present did more for Dick than he realized.
Dick stared at the screen, refusing to look at Jason. The silence stretched on, but neither was in a hurry to break it. Dick took a deep breath.
“Her name is Catalina.”
In another context, the way Jason jumped would have been amusing. Dick watched as his younger brother sat up straight, then tried to relax his posture, then reached to mute the TV. Dick kept his eyes forward. “She was a new hero. She needed guidance. I needed-” Dick cleared his throat. “I needed to feel like I was making a difference.”
The acrobat sighed, looking down at his cup. “I wasn’t in a good place.”
Jason swallowed thickly. “Why?” He asked. Not unkindly, just prompting.
Dick worked his jaw. “Things weren’t good with the Titans. Bruce was… well, he was Bruce.” Dick shrugged. “You were dead. Bludhaven was a disaster. And Barbara called things off. Thought I was cheating on her with… Cat.”
Jason shifted at the mention of his death. “Were you?”
Dick shook his head. “No. I’d never- we didn’t- not till that night.” Jason waited as Dick took a few deep breaths. “We worked together for a few months. I did my best to mentor her. Then Blockbuster came along.”
Jason watched as Dick stood, moving to stand to look out the window, a faraway look in his eyes. “He- he started methodically tearing apart my life. He discovered my identity.”
Jason turned to face him fully. “What?”
Dick didn’t seem to hear him. “He blew up my apartment building. 34 innocent people died.” Jason’s eyes went wide; he could only imagine how much that haunted his older brother. “He- he set Haley’s on fire.” Dick’s breath quickened. “He wasn’t going to stop.”
Dick turned to face Jason, suddenly setting his cup down clumsily. “He told me. Said every person who passed me on the street would be a target. That as long as I lived I would be sentencing everyone I knew to death.” Jason didn’t know whether to go to Dick or if he wanted space; he scooted towards the end of the couch but stayed where he was.
Dick covered his face with his hands. “We’d been chasing each other for months. An endless game of cat and mouse. I was so tired. I was so-" Dick swallowed hard. "So defeated. So when we finally got the upper hand- Cat pulled a gun.”
Jason did stand up then, but stayed by the couch. “Dick, you don’t have to do this. Not now, not ever.”
Dick ignored him, meeting his eyes for the first time since he started talking. “I- I stepped aside. I stepped to the side and let her kill him.”
There was a moment of silence before Jason let out a full breath. “If you’re looking for a reaction from me, I ain’t gonna have one, Dickiebird. Sounds like the bastard deserved it.”
Dick’s lips twitched. The remark seemed to give him courage to continue. “I only remember bits and pieces after the gunshot.” Jason nodded. “I ran to the roof, but I couldn’t breathe. I fell- or maybe she pushed me.” Dick closed his eyes, turning back to the window. “But I do remember her on top of me. I remember the rain. I remember watching the moon cross the sky.”
Jason felt sick to his stomach; he closed his eyes for a moment, hearing his brother’s pleas of ‘Don’t touch me’ and ‘Stop’ from that first panic attack all those months ago. “Dick-”
Dick was gripping the windowsill with white knuckles. “I don’t- I don’t remember if I said no. I don’t remember if I fought. I don’t remember how we got to the hotel-”
“Hotel?” Jason was scared to ask.
Dick nodded. “I don’t know how long we were there. A few days? A few weeks? I was so out of it. She could have-” His voice cracked. “She did do whatever she wanted.
Dick opened his mouth and closed it again, blinking back tears. “She called me- well, she called me a lot of things- but I guess ‘Quidero’ stuck.” He shrugged, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s like I’m back on that rooftop.” His hands clenched at his sides. “Useless and weak-”
Jason closed the distance between them, gently taking Dick’s elbow and spinning him so they were facing each other. “Listen to me. You are not useless.” Jason shook his brother a little. “No matter what that self-sacrificing maniac in your head says- you are not weak. You were raped.”
Dick took a step back, shaking his head. “Dick,” Jason said seriously, letting his brother move as he pleased but maintaining their eye contact. “You were in shock, and she took advantage of that. She used you while you were in a vulnerable state and raped you. Repeatedly.”
“I should have-”
“You don’t have to see it right now. Just talking about it is an amazing first step.” Jason paused. “One that you didn’t have to take with me. Thank you. For trusting me with this.” Jason worked his lower lip, hesitating. “Do you want a hug?”
Dick met his eyes once more. “Gods, yes.”
Jason wrapped Dick in his arms, making sure not to hold him too firmly and make him uncomfortable-
“Fuck, Jay, I’m not going to break.” Dick laughed as he clutched to the back of Jason’s shirt.
Jason tightened his grip to a respectable hugging amount with a small smile on his lips. Things weren’t perfect. They never were. But Dick had told someone. On his own, without anyone forcing it out of him. And Jason? He was just glad to be tall enough to rest his chin on his older brother’s head. It felt like protection for both of them.