Chapter Text
Something is wrong. He unholsters his gun, as protocol. The house should be empty, it’s been condemned by the city. They are just doing a sweep for squatters. Nothing dangerous. The fire is crackling. A silhouette stands by the fireplace, wild hair poking up like a bad weed whacking job. Officer Grayson moves slowly towards him.
His blood vessels pucker, his back tightens, his hackles raise, he suddenly wished he didn’t eat that doughnut now. Does he know?
“Hello officer,” his voice curdles and Dick despite himself flinches back. No matter how long he has pretended to be death defying, or how long he has joked in the fear of danger there are still things that shake him. Joker will always be one of them. His partner shouldn’t be so far behind.
The chills jolt him awake, and his heart steadily pangs for the safety of back up. He should have listen to that gut feeling.
Dick has been a bone deep tired for months now, the kind that just won’t leave. An almost cancerous affect of leeching out his energy and no matter how much he sleeps it never goes away. If he can sleep, he really does try. Being tired in the field is dangerous, his instincts dulled. He can’t trust his instincts when he is like this.
There had been an itching, one put aside as just him being over cautious. It’s an itch he wish he listened to. He had that feeling as him and his partner filled up on nourishment. The coffees steamed in the chilly morning dew, and the dozen doughnuts sat open on the hood of their cruiser. Dick munched away at his last doughnut, and asked Neil if he was coming. He insisted he would be right behind him. Dick didn’t want to go in alone, something in his gut clenched at the idea. But Neil was just going to take forever.
He should have listened.
The Joker turns ever so slightly, the fireplace illuminating his gaunt stretched face. Tremors scurry down Dick like beetles under his skin. He steps into the uneasy waters, immediately the slouch and the tired dissipates away. He steps a just bit closer. What does Joker want?
“Don’t move, or I’ll shoot,” he warns.
“Of course, Officer,” Joker hisses, Dick steps closer with his firearm drawn. He’s not sure if he will actually use it. Dick steps even closer, too close, the stoker sears through his abdomen right under where the bullet proof vests ends. The Joker holds steady and the wrought iron scorches Dick’s skin, he can smell it burning. His abdomen scorches, curling at the heat, searing into him. The skin is trying to close in around the poker. His hands are reaching for something- anything steady. All he feels is cobwebs, dust, and air. Just as violently the Joker yanks the poker away. Dick gurgles and topples back.
The Joker chortles as Dick stumbles, and before Dick can get his bearing he is grabbed by his lapels. Joker has always been stronger than expected, for such a scrawny looking man he slams Dick into the nearby table with no issue. The table folds in with Dick, leaving him laying in the debris.
“It would be much better if you stay down,” the Joker mocks. Dick can’t think, just wantonly grasp at the debris below him.
Where is his partner? His fingers scramble to his talkie, and he desperately goes to call for backup, but his fingers never manage to grasp onto his one lifeline. He has the poker again, the poacher scorches through his shoulder. A scream gurgles out of his throat. The poker is ripped out. His eyes roll into the back of his head his vision fills with white. It takes all of his strength to roll over, all of his determination to just stay alive. He fights to get up.
His feet steady. Joker laughs. It curdles Dick’s blood. Everything is switching off, the panic is being replaced. Determination streamlines through his brain, he jumps towards Joker, tackling him to the ground. Joker sneers up at him. Dick doesn’t enjoy being this close where his foul breath curdles Dick’s nose hairs. Joker tries to rock him off.
“Light as a feather officer,” Joker cackles and Dick stone cold punches him. He just laughs even more wildly, and then throws Dick off. Joker twists to grab something and then pulls the gun as Dick is stumbling back. Joker shoots him. The gun cracks, and bullet drives into his chest, the only thing stopping it is the vest.
Pain blooms, but the adrenaline is high. Dick skitters back, pushing himself behind the wall, and takes a deep breath. The bullet albeit never piercing, thank goodness, left bruising. Thankfully the fire stoker wounds basically cauterized itself, still his energy is sapping away. His heart pounding too fast.
“Come out, come out little bird.” Dick’s breath catches, “I won’t shoot, I promise.”
For some reason he has difficulty believing him, but he steadies himself. Then pressing against the wall slides up into an uneasy standing position, and rounds the pillar. They stand across from each other with only the debris of the table in between.
Joker flings the gun over to Dick and with years of instinct he snaps it out of the air. Before Dick can even register the gun in his hand, Joker pulls out a automatic rifle from under his coat. Dick aims the gun with and doesn’t think. He holds the department’s sharpshooter record. The trigger squeezes. BANG! His beady eyes still stare back, still laughing manically. The blood curdles from the shot. It slides down his throat. He shot him in the throat, but the monster still stands. How?
BLAM! He shoots the Joker in the chest and the man stumbles back but only a little. The riffle clatters to the ground. Dick is safe now.
He doesn’t think as he takes the next shot. His mind is empty, and he is just doing.
BOOM! A single red dot pierces through the center of the maniac’s skull, and he clatters to the ground. A small stream slithering down his laughing marks. The feeling comes back in a burst, the gun falls from his hand.
Dick stumbles back into the mess of the table. What will Bruce think?
Faces float above him in ghostly perforations; hands sink under his armpits and lift him up. His head dozes on one of their shoulders.
☺☺☺
Dick wakes groggy and drained, never rested. He wakes with unease, tied down with all the bows and ribbons of IVs and drips. There is always uncertainty waking up in the hospital, but especially now, when the effects of what he has done are catching up to him. For once the idea of being tied down isn’t so horrible; at least he can take a break. Just a moments breath.
He killed a man.
His heart rests easy when he sees Bruce and Alfred. Maybe all hope isn’t lost yet. He inches his fingers towards them, and he groans a little. Bruce is suddenly intent on him, he looks stricken and concerned. They haven’t told him yet. Maybe… maybe he can forgive Dick for what he has done.
He’s not going to. Dick feels guilty as he allows Bruce’s hand to encapsulate his own. The breathing mask on his face is making it hard to talk. He should say something, even if it means risking Bruce leaving. He can’t lie to him.
But then the feeling of just laying down seeps into him. Gravity melting him into the bed. Dick doesn’t want to go to sleep, because if he does what if… what if… what if Bruce finds out. He wouldn’t be here then when he wakes up. So he fights the sleep. He fights the drugs slowly filtering through his body. Against his numb brain, against everything screaming sleep. If only it means he can hold onto his dad for a little longer.
His body betrays him. He slips away, Bruce’s grasp slips away.
☺☺☺
“Alfred,” his voice cracks. Weathered hands smooth the blanket over his shoulders, and despite being a grown man he shudders, “Alfred, where is Bruce?”
Alfred’s brushes his craggy hands across Dick’s forehead, “Let’s not worry about that sweetheart.”
Dick’s heart seizes, he feels the tears welling, “He abandoned me, didn’t he?” The ugly sobs wrack in his body, and Alfred sits on the edge of the bed.
“Hush now, it’ll be alright.” But it isn’t, because his dad rejected him. The wails fill the room in misery, and no matter how hard he tries he can’t keep them locked away. His heart rattles empty. He just wants a hug from the person who yanked out the plug in his heart. That has his hollow heart bleeding out. Even Alfred can’t heal this pain.