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“Dick?”
“Hm.”
“Want anything? Water? Saltines?”
“No.”
It feels like hours since Dick took the anti-venom to counter the Joker toxin he was exposed to earlier, and side effects are still going strong. He’s laid out on the couch with his head in Roy’s lap and his arms wrapped tightly around a pillow. There’s a puke bucket Roy’s had to clean up far too many times sitting on the floor somewhere - he’s still too disoriented to figure out where it actually is. Roy rubs his back.
“You should at least drink something. We have ginger ale. Gatorade. You’re going to get dehydrated.” He runs his thumb against the back of Dick’s neck. The slight touch is grounding, an anchor inside a whirlpool of darkness.
Dick shifts, opens one eye, and immediately regrets it. There’s four of Roy sitting over him, and the background is lines blurred together as if they’re hurtling through orbit. He squeezes it shut, but the sensation remains. “Hang on, your mouth is stuck again.”
Once Roy points it out, his brain helpfully focuses more on the painful contractions of his cheeks. His mouth aches from smiling. “Hm.” He’s not sure which way is up, but Roy’s calloused thumbs massage his face. Roy cups his warm hands around Dick’s chin and slowly moves them. Dick gives a thumbs up as his face relaxes. Well, he thinks he gives a thumbs up, but he’s not really sure where his hand is in relation to the ground.
“I’m going to get up to grab food. You need anything?” Not wanting to risk speaking, he flips the orientation of his thumb, hoping that it’s the right way. “When I get back, you’re at least trying ginger ale.” Dick groans, but it doesn’t stop Roy from leaving.
It feels like an eternity before Roy comes back. Without him, there’s no grounding, and he quickly loses even more confidence in his orientation. He falls, but never hits the ground. And he spins, and spins, and spins. He tries opening his eyes to find the back of the couch, but everything is too blurred together. Leave it to Joker to figure out a toxin that puts you on the world’s worst carnival ride when you try to cure it.
“You ready?” He’s not, but he gives the ‘thumbs up’ anyways. Roy pulls him into an orientation that his body registers as sitting, and keeps one hand across his chest like a seatbelt. It feels like he’s trying to balance on top of a bowling ball that’s pitching back and forth. Something cool touches his right hand. He closes his fingers around it, brushing fingertips with Roy. His hand shakes.
“Is this a sippy cup?” Talking was a mistake. His face hurts.
“Yeah. Sorry, but you spilled everything else, and I don’t want to clean the couch again.” And Dick doesn’t want to leave the couch to let Roy clean up again, so he doesn’t protest anymore. Together, they guide the cup to his lips. They don’t feel like they’re where they should be. But the cup touches them. It’s the strangest sensation.
He takes a single small sip, then pushes the cup away. “That’s it?”
“Mm.” He’s scared to drink much more. He lurches forward as the world accelerates around him, but Roy keeps him in place. He shakily finds Roy’s arm by crawling his free hand up his chest. He hangs on for dear life.
“Are the after effects usually this bad?” Sometimes, for a little bit, he’s dizzy and shaky. But it never seems to last this long.
“Time?”
“It’s been two hours since you took the anti-venom.” It feels like forever. “Your breathing’s improved but…” Roy trails off. The dizziness and disorientation and whatever the hell he’s supposed to call this rollercoaster of lying still picked up shortly after and only seems to be getting worse. “Do you want me to call someone more familiar with this?”
“Nope.” He really doesn’t want to see Bruce right now and get lectured for not reporting the side effects earlier. Alfred would be fine but he’d tell Bruce what’s been going on.
“I have Justice League clearance. We could-”
“No.” Bruce would know if they visited the medical center.
“What about-”
“I can ride it out.” Like a carnival ride. He smiles. That’s kind of funny. It gets a laugh out of him. His stomach cramps and his lungs ache, but he laughs again. The world’s worst carnival ride from a clown. It’s hilarious. His lungs burn as he laughs. He can’t breathe as he laughs. He’s dying and it’s hilarious. He laughs so hard he cries and shakes and retches up whatever’s left in his stomach. He can’t feel anything and his eyes are squeezed shut and he can’t breathe and he can’t-
A needle pricks his skin. “Dick. Relax.” He can’t. His lungs are on fire and his face is stuck in one place, and his chest moves without his permission. He’s going to die over a joke that isn’t funny. He opens his eyes to find eight of Roy standing around him. “Breathe.” The voice is too deep to be Roy. Bruce holds his hand against his chest and stares piercingly. Dick tries to figure out which one to look at.
“Follow me.”
Bruce’s chest expands and contracts. He tries to follow along. It’s not really working. His head pounds as a tight band constricts around his chest, molten lava pouring into his lungs. He doesn’t pass out, but the world tunnels out, and Bruce feels further and further away. “His lips are blue.” Someone says. His brain bounces the word around in his mind. Blue. Like his Nightwing suit.
“Breathe.” The word is bold in front of his eyes. He takes the e’s and the a’s and juggles them. The t stabs him through the chest and pins him to the floor. He can’t move. He can’t scream. His own blood pools around him, rising to cover his face. He turns his head, trying to keep it above. Blood soaks him, and he chokes.
“Dick?” He blinks. The ceiling is still. There’s one Roy looking down at him.
“Hm.”
“Want anything? Water? Saltines?” His stomach flips at the notion.
“Not yet.” Roy cards a hand through his hair. There’s a heating pad across his chest and ice pressed to his cheeks. “Was Bruce here?” He vaguely remembers hearing another voice.
“Yeah, sorry. I had to sedate you while he figured out a way to counter the side effects of the first antidote.” Roy looks sheepish as he brushes the bangs out of his face. “I know you didn’t want him to see you like that, but I mean, you were kinda uh…”
“Dying.” Suffocating. Panicking. He’s not exactly sure what happened. “Thanks for ignoring me.” And he means it. “I think you saved my life.”
Roy lets out a long suffering sigh, and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Just don’t do that again.” Dick gives a thumbs up, and for the first time in a while, he’s confident it’s pointed in the right direction.