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The skies were blue, tinged with pinks and oranges. The air was dusty and suffocating. But two exhausted men sat next to each other, leaning against the shambled remains of a collapsed concrete parking structure.
Dick had his face turned up towards the sky, his breathing shallow, and his eyes were closed. His dust-covered face had clean streaks through them from where his tears had washed away the weeks of filth that had gathered. He gently ran his fingers through the hair of a twice-dead man, whose head lay in his lap, trying to work out the infinite knots in his hair.
Next to him sat Damian, one leg pulled up to his chest, the other stretched out uncomfortably in front of him. That leg also had a large gash in it, infected and throbbing painfully. Damian’s face was pulled in a tight grimace, a sharp contrast to Dick’s almost peaceful expression. He was also burning up with fever for days now, his skin clammy and sweaty, making him feel like he had been sitting in a tropical rainforest instead of the simulated post-apocalyptic remains of Gotham City. He shifted his injured leg, biting back a hiss.
“You need meds again?” Dick asked quietly, his voice scratchy from his grieving screams not too long ago.
Damian shook his head, even though Dick could not see him. “No,” he whispered. “It’s not so bad, and we shouldn’t splurge our resources so carelessly.”
Dick laughed bitterly. “It’s just us two now, Dami. There's not need to ration things. It’s practically over.”
Damian turned and looked at Dick, whose eyes were now open and staring up at the sky, swimming with tears anew.
“It’s not over yet,” Damian said firmly. “That’s what you told me when… when Drake died.”
A small sigh left Dick’s lips. He changed the subject. “Any regrets, Little D?”
“Of course,” Damian said. “Many.”
The corner of Dick’s lips twisted up, though there was no hint of a smile. “Me too. Stupid, trivial things, mostly. Things that shouldn't matter in our life or death situation.”
“Like what?”
“I regret always second-guessing things and having the opportunity disappear. You know I was engaged twice, right?” Dick went silent for a few seconds before his hand tightened in Jason’s hair. “It would have almost been three… if we hadn't been dragged into this- this mess.”
Damian did not comment. “There was one time, Alfred tried to make me see reason for when Father benched me from patrol, and I yelled at him, saying he didn’t understand because he was just the help. I was thirteen, and I still regret it.” And now he’s gone too, went unsaid, but both of them heard it anyway.
“I never thanked Bruce for trying. He wasn’t the greatest dad, but he tried,” Dick whispered, his voice cracking, one of the tears dripping from his eyes. “None of us would have made it this far without him on that first day. He was a good man.”
“I regret not telling Mother that I forgive her.”
“I regret playing hard to get for so long,” Dick said. He finally looked down, his tears falling in streams now, landing on Jason’s face. “I took for granted the amount of time we had. I didn’t know it would end so soon.”
Damian turned away from the intimate scene, his own heart aching. He knew how Dick was feeling. He had gone through a similar situation almost two weeks ago. And even now, the wound was raw, and it hurt more than the infection in his leg that would inevitably kill him.
“I regret hiding my emotions under faux hatred and annoyance,” Damian continued, staring at the sun that was slowly setting over the horizon.
Dick let out a soft sob. “I- I regret snapping at him this morning when all he wanted was another kiss before we left.”
Damian’s eyes closed. He remembered that moment well. He had been waiting by the door of their most recent hideout, and Dick was telling Jason to hurry up rather snappishly. Jason had given Dick a smirk and said he would consider hurrying if Dick gave him a kiss. Dick yelled at Jason for being so uncaring and lazy instead.
“At least he knew you love him,” Damian forced himself to say. “I… I never told him.”
Dick sniffled, wiping his eyes with his dirty sleeve, blinking away the tears. “You never told Tim you love him?”
Damian shook his head. “Never,” he whispered.
“Dami…”
“I was waiting for him to say it first. Like you, I thought I had time. I regret not saying it right before he decided to use himself as a distraction to let me escape. I wanted to yell it at him, but I was in shock and in pain and I… I just left.”
Dick could recall that night as well. Tim and Damian had gone out to search for supplies that night since Dick had hurt his ankle and needed something to hold it in place while they moved throughout the day. But nighttime was when the vicious, blood-hungry zombies crawled the decimated city.
At daybreak, Damian returned alone with the supplies. When Jason asked where Tim went, Damian shut down and responded to no one. A few hours later, when there was still no sign of the third Robin, they knew. Damian only recounted what had really happened a few days ago, when he had finally accepted that Tim was really gone.
“I don’t want to have any more regrets,” Damian said, his voice stronger than before. He shifted himself closer to Dick and leaned over the man, prying Jason’s gun from his hand. He cocked it with a definite click.
“What do you mean?” Dick asked, watching Damian’s movements cautiously.
“I’m done,” Damian said. “This entire thing is an act of revenge on us Robins, right?” He struggled to stand up, leaning himself heavily on his not injured leg. “This entire fucking thing is just one huge simulation. None of this is real.”
“This is real, Damian,” Dick said darkly. “We can die here.”
“And that’s all that is real,” Damian said bitterly. “Everything is fake, except us and our deaths.”
“Even so,” Dick said, glaring up at Damian. “That’s what matters, isn’t it?”
Damian’s expression became hard. “Is it?” he asked. “The only way out of this is to play the way they want us to. Last one standing wins, right?”
“Damian…” Dick said, sitting up a little straighter. He eyed the cocked gun in Damian’s hand, very aware of his own lack of weapons. “We promised to stick together from the very beginning. We said if we had to go through this, we’d do it together, not alone.”
Damian laughed, but the sound was far from happy. It was not sad either. It was just… indifferent. “Drake lied making that promise, making it only 51 days. He knew it was not him who would make it to the end, and he ensured that by using himself as a distraction to buy me time,” he said. “Todd lied making that promise too, but he made it 63 days in this simulated hell. He made his choice when he pushed you out of harm’s way. Now it’s just us two: the original and the blood son.”
“Damian!” Dick said sharply. “It doesn’t have to be this way.” He was nearly pleading now. He tried ignoring the fear coursing through his veins. His heart thumped hard, almost audible to his own ears. He could not move without getting Jason off his lap, and Dick could not make sudden movements without possibly setting Damian off.
“It does,” Damian insisted. “The sun’s setting soon. Zombies will be coming. I have a feeling we won’t survive the night together, so it might as well just end now. I need to do what needs to be done.”
“Damian… no,” Dick said. “Let’s- Let’s not make any rash decisions.”
Damian just shook his head again. Then, he took a step backwards, to Dick’s surprise. “You should get going,” he said. “I’ll give you a head start.”
Dick’s fear slowly turned to confusion. “Huh?” he asked. He eyed Damian’s leg, pretty sure that Damian was not going to be able to chase him with that injury.
Damian took another step back. “Go, Grayson,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’ll hold them off for you." He gave Dick a classic Damian smirk. "I'm going to get very far with this leg anyway.”
It hit Dick hard, what Damian was planning to do. His fear surged again, turning from a fear of for his own life to a fear for Damian’s. He scrambled to his feet.
“Damian, no!” he yelled. He stumbled forward, slipping on loose gravel and falling to the ground again. “Damian, stop it! Get the fuck back here, Dami!” Tears welled up once more, seemingly no longer under Dick’s control. Damian’s silhouette became blurry as he kept walking backwards, away from Dick. “I can’t lose you too!” Dick screamed.
Damian just gives him a small wave and turned around, walking away from Dick. He hummed quietly under his breath - Tim’s favorite song – as he squinted against the final rays of sunlight.
“Sorry, Grayson,” he whispered, knowing Dick cannot hear him. “Just going to go out the way I should have on that fifty-first day.” He glanced over his shoulder at where Dick was still screaming at him, but no longer completely intelligible. “No more regrets,” he repeated before stepping decisively into the street, the gun by his side.
A few minutes after sunset, the sound of gunshots filled the night. Dick had no choice but to start climbing. Wiping tears from his eyes one last time, he hoisted himself up over the rubble of the parking garage, out of reach from the zombies for the moment. He sat down with a heavy thump, curling his knees to his chest and burying his face into his arms, waiting and waiting and waiting.
The gunshots stopped.
The sound of zombies groaning filled the air, and Dick could see them lumbering in his direction. They would be on him in a few minutes.
Dick had no choice but to keep climbing, regardless of the dry sobs wracking his body as he climbed.
He had to keep going. All of them were dead now. They died so he could go on, and like hell Dick was going to let their sacrifices go to waste.
Dick reached the top of what used to be the Wayne Enterprises building, knowing it would be impossible for the zombies to scale the vertical side of the building. He stood at the edge and screamed at the top of his lungs, his anger, pain, frustration, and grief pouring into that one sound.
It was also a warning to the fuckers that did this: Dick Grayson used to be bright and happy Nightwing. Take away his happiness, and all that is left is a cold-blooded monster out for vengeance.