Chapter Text
Dicks day started off bad. He woke up from a PTSD fueled nightmare feeling dirty and weak. He had dreamed of Catalina, or her touching him, raping him. He woke up crying and scared and sick to his stomach l. But he didn't have much time to let himself feel anything, he had to go to work. So he shoved all those emotions into a small dark corner of his mind. Took a shower, making sure not to scrub his skin raw and bloody like he had a habit of doing after nightmares. And left for work.
Even in his police uniform, he felt small and weak and dirty. He had to force himself not to flinch away from being touched. He had to force himself not to react to the intrusive memories and phantom sensory memories. He had to force himself to smile and play it cool. But he felt so dirty. So dirty and small and weak and scared. And it was only made worse when he had to take a report at work. A little boy being sexually assaulted by his female babysitter. The boy was giving his report and he looked ao scared. He looked as scared and broken as Dick felt inside. Seeing him sitting there almost breaking down while telling the story only made Dick feel awful. He wanted to tell the boy he understood but he didn't know how.
He was already on the verge of breaking down when the boy left the room but then the mother turned around to Dick. She told Dick she didn't believe the boy, that boys couldn't be raped and to throw out the report, she had only brought him here so he would shut up about it. Then she left. Dick was left alone in the room with those words heavy in the air. He laid his head down on his desk feeling so filthy and violated, listening to that boy's story and thinking of his own and the mother who didn't believe her son, and bruce who didn't believe Dick.
The day dragged on and the longer it went on the more on edge and close to a breakdown Dick felt. By the time he finally got off shift he knew he needed to go home and get ready for patrol. But he just got in his car, drove to a spot that was Simi-secluded enough that he knew nobody would come up on him, turned up the music loud and just began to cry. He had planned to hold off his breakdown till he got home but he couldn't do it anymore. Everything was building up in his chest and he felt like if he didn't let go he would physically explode.
He felt awful. Depressed, and scared, and dirty, and violated. He rested his head on the steering wheel taking a deep breath and wrapping his arms around himself like he might fall apart. He let out a quiet sob, then a slightly louder one till his entire body was trembling with the force of unrestrained sobs. He knew he looked like a fool but he didn't care. He unbuckled his seat belt pulling his legs into his chest and curling himself into a ball. He felt so gross and dirty. And he felt so alone, he didn't like feeling alone. He wanted someone to tell him it was alright.
Dick felt phantom sensory memories brush against his skin and he couldn't help but whimper and squeeze his legs together. He could feel her hand on his thigh and his chest. He could smell her perfume and feel the stickiness her lipstick when she kissed his neck. He dug his nails into his arm trying to disperse the feelings but it wasn't really working. He still felt so gross. The words she said rushed through his mind, he felt that sickness and grossness in his stomach. He hated every part of this. It had been a while since he had a really bad spell of memories like this but now they were here and painfully unavoidable. He could feel her on him, violating him.
"Don't touch me" he muttered quietly to nobody. That was the closest thing he had said to the word no. He had never told her no. He wanted to tell her no but when he needed it the word seemed to escape his vocabulary. He squeezed his legs together harder wanting everything to stop. It was hard to breathe with memories of her consuming him. Every one if his senses was her.
The taste of her lipstick when she kissed him. The feeling of her hands violating him. The sound of her voice telling him everything was okay. The smell of her perfume sickly sweet in the air. The colour of her hair when it brushed against his face as he tried to look at anything except her. Always her, everything was her
Dick nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone started ringing. He picked it up wiping tears off his face and trying to be as casual as possible. He glanced at the time before answering. He had been sitting here for over an hour.
It was Jason calling.
Dick picked up the phone trying to sound normal "hey jaybird".
"Where the fuck are you? We were supposed to meet almost an hour ag- ... have you been crying?" Of course, Jason would be able to hear him crying. Dick didn't want to say anything, he was half tempted to just lie and say he was fine. But he felt another phantom hand touch him and he whimpered unintentionally.
"whats going on? Where are you? Are you okay?"
"I-im fi-" Dick went to lie but he felt a phantom hand grab his upper thigh and he couldn't help but let out a pathetic whine. He put his hand on the spot of his leg digging his nails into the flesh trying to disperse the feeling. But it didn't work and Dick still felt her hand rubbing his thigh, forcing his legs open, touching him. He put his hand over him mouth trying not to let Jason hear how bad he was. "I'm fine, I'm sorry I'm late I got caught up at work" his voice was high and tight. He squeezed his eyes closed trying to focus on grounding myself in the present. Not to get lost in the memories.
"You're lying! What happened? Where are you?" Jason's voice was demanding and bordering on violent. Though there was an undertone of concern. Dick didn't want his baby brother to be concerned. He was fine, the rape had happened three years ago he needed to get over it.
"Dickie?" Jason's voice took on a softer more caring tone.
Dick fully whimpered this time letting out a small sob, he hated feeling so dirty and weak. He wanted it to stop. "Her hands..." he muttered knowing Jason would understand. There was a second of awful silence before.
"Are you home? I can be there in twenty"
"I'm heading that way" he muttered knowing that there was no chance of taking Jason out of checking on him.
"Okay, I'm headed your way, I'll see you in a little bit" Jason paused "don't do anything...drastic"
Dick knew what Jason meant by drastic. He meant self-harm or an attempt or something of that nature. Dick almost wanted to be insulted but he couldn't deny the scars he had left on his own body and the ever-so-slightly bleeding nail marks on his arms and leg. He drove home with his music blasting trying to keep himself together. The small mental breakdown in his car made him feel less like a pressure bomb ready to explode but he was still hurting a lot. He was still having sensory memories and he was still so scared and in pain.
By the time he got back his apartment, he felt like a pressure bomb again but he knew Jason was coming and he didn't want to be a mess when Jason got here. So he went to the kitchen making himself a cup of coffee and sat down on the couch to watch tv. Desperately trying to think of anything except the feeling on her hands touching him. He felt gross. His body had reacted so positively to her like he wanted it. He hadn't wanted it. He never wanted it. All he wanted was to feel clean again. He would never feel clean again.
Not long after Dick got home Jason arrived. He didn't say anything, just got a cup of coffee that Dick had left for him and sat down on the couch. After a few minutes of the shared silence dick laid down on the couch resting his head against Jason's lap. He stayed like that for a while still unspeaking. He felt like he was going to burst. "I can't" Dick whispered letting a few tears fall off his face.
"Can't what?" Jason asked softly
"I don't know I just can't. I can't do it anymore " he was crying harder. He balled his fist against Jason's leg "I'm so tired" he whimpered curling up more against his brother. He just wanted someone to tell him it was alright.
"I know" Jason's comforted him softly. He brushed his hand through Dicks hair. Dick appreciated it, the roughness of Jason's hands was a welcome difference from the sensory memories of her soft hands. "Trust me. I know and ill be here till it hurts less"
Jason had said 'hurts less' not 'stops hurting' they both knew it would never stop hurting. Three years, eleven years, a lifetime. It never stopped hurting, it just hurt less. It made Dick sad to know that the reason Jason was so understanding was he two had been a victim. But it helped Dick feel less alone on the bad days. He curled up close to Jason trusting him to protect him. He closed his eyes, after being so high strung and stressed all day he was exhausted and now that Jason was here Dick felt safe enough to let himself rest for a while.