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Dick still hesitates on the training mats. He can’t help it; six months ago, Roy could barely walk, couldn’t hold a conversation without getting tired and well… Dick’s been there, hell he’s seen Roy there before, but this time is different.
His hesitation earns him a swift trip to the ground, reacting too late to avoid Roy’s sweep kick. He rolls, putting a good amount of distance between them. “Dick, if you let me win, I swear I will-” an unsharpened pencil whizzes past his ear. “-kill you.”
“You better not.” Garth grunts. He and Donna topple to the ground, on the opposite side of the mats. It’s two on two, although they squared off pretty quickly pitting the heavy hitters against the humans. Garth is his partner. Dick hums, settling into a defense stance as Roy charges.
He blocks the first punch and twists to avoid the following kick. Side stepping, he follows through the motion, and pushes Roy’s back, sending him stumbling. He takes a step back towards Garth, who’s pinned to the floor by Donna. A flurry of pencils follows him, and he’s forced to dive out of the way.
Sweat drips in his eyes. Roy pants. Then gives him a shit eating grin. Dick charges, ducking Roy’s left hook and plowing into his chest, grappling him to the mat. Roy twists, making him hit first, and he follows through on the momentum using it to throw Roy off, before rolling to his feet. He makes eye contact with Garth, and breaks into a run.
His intention was to double team Donna. Get the momentary advantage while Roy recovers, shake things up a little bit. Donna raises her right arm, pinning Garth with her left, about to pummel him.
The sky was blue behind her, the metallic tang of blood stung, clinging to his nose. Lightning cracked, outlining Donna’s silhouette. He ran faster, warnings lost to the wind. “You’re in too close!” She didn’t care, she kept going.
Garth’s eyes glow.
Donna raised her hand for a final punch, to avenge her friend, to protect him. She was only too close because he had been. The android lay on the ground, smashed but intact enough for one final charge. Its eyes began to glow. For a half second, time slowed, and Dick was too far away.
He panics. It happens faster than he can think, he moves with practiced instinct.
Donna was dead before she hit the ground. A pool of her own blood near her head. No pulse. No breath. No life. The beam had sliced through her heart. There was nothing he could do, but cradle her in his arms and stare at that vacant haunted look in her eyes that signified nothing was left.
Donna’s on the ground, his arms wrapped around his waist. “What the hell kind of strategy was that?” His back burns. She pins him easily, he taps out. He’s not dumb enough to think he can take Donna in a fight (anymore at least, he tried when he was twelve and she sat on him and laughed).
When he was twelve he got up onto the trapeze equipment that Bruce had bought for him, heart racing, breath catching painfully in his chest. He looked over the edge of the platform and leapt. Falling into the nets, twisting and turning. Then got back up and did it again. There was a way to save his parents, and he found it. He hangs in the net, the stalactites staring back down at him, as if to ask “What was it all for?”
He shrugs. The motion hurts. “Something new I’ve been working on.” He laughs, keeping his tone casual. “Guess it’s back to the drawing board.” She looks at him quizzically.
He clung to her, feeling a piece of himself die as Roy closed her eyes. He didn’t stop until he found a way to save her.
And now he knows it would have worked, if only he were faster then. He sits on the shower floor, long after fingers pruned, with his arms tucked around his knees letting the tepid water wash over him. It takes the sting out of the burn, leaving a dull numbness in its wake.
There’s a photo that sits in his dresser, which stays in his hand.
He stares at it now. Five foolish kids, who thought they could take on the world. It was three at first, and then Donna joined. And Roy started coming around more. And from there, the number grew. Every year, there were more Titans. Until they hit a tipping point. More Titans, more death. He’s tempting fate by staying here. He’s tempting fate by leaving. There’s no winning. No stopping. You can’t escape the fate of your family.
“Dick, quit brooding in the shower, you’re wasting water.” He also can’t escape pissing off Roy. He picks himself up and turns it off, puts on a pair of worn joggers and a threadbare shirt that Donna gave him for his sixteenth birthday (it still fits, barely), and transitions to brooding on the bathroom floor, without wasting water.
The door clicks open. “Hey!” Roy rolls his eyes. Dick tries not to let his own drift to the gap where the rest of his right arm should be. Another victim of the curse of their generation of heroes. Maybe if he’d stayed with the Titans, he wouldn’t have been in the watchtower that night. Maybe if Dick hadn’t left, Roy would have stayed.
“Can it, and stop staring.” Roy looks pissed. He’s tired. They’re both tired. “If you really wanted to be alone, the door would be locked.”
“It was.” Roy picked the lock.
“That doesn’t count. You would have made it harder.” Roy rolls his eyes. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” He doesn’t mince words. “Look, I lost an arm, get over it. Do you know how frustrating it is to-”
“I’m over it.” Dick replies flatly. “I won’t hesitate next time.” And he means it. It’s not fair to Roy that he keeps doing it - their enemies won’t hesitate, so he needs to stop.
Roy sits against the door, joining the brooding session. He stares at Dick, then sighs, lowering his voice. “Did you throw the fight?” And Roy gives him the out. He can lie and say yes, make it about Roy, have another fight. Or he can tell the truth.
“Does it matter?” Of course it does. He opts to stall. Fishes for more information. If Roy was confident that he’d thrown the fight, he would have come in guns blazing. “What makes you think-”
“Dick, I saw Donna’s body too.” He closes his eyes. There was an entry wound through her chest, and an exit wound higher up on her back. Roy isn’t stupid, he knows crime scene analysis, he’s an archer, he knows about angles, and where Donna must have been. And he knows because Dick told him. “She would never forgive you.”
“I don’t care.” There’s a web of grief that she’s tangled up in, inextricably entwined with the deaths of so many others. He was the one in charge. It isn’t fair to blame her. He doesn’t. Entirely. She’s back. He has to put it aside. But that would mean admitting to the anger in the first place. And he loves Donna. He would never blame her. The tightrope he walks is a thin line.
“I missed her too.” But this is unhealthy, goes unspoken. There’s a weight over them, a distance born from Donna’s death, that he wedged and made worse, and Donna being back doesn’t fix that. There are things that he said that can never be taken back. He doesn’t want to hurt Roy anymore.
“Why are you still here?” Go somewhere far away from me. Somewhere I can never touch you again. I don’t deserve you. I’m at my worst when I’m with you and I can’t figure out how to make myself better.
“There’s nowhere else to go.” And in the end, everyone had abandoned Roy, but when Dick tried to, Roy said no. And they had clung to one another as Dick dragged the both of them under. This is unhealthy, goes unspoken.
“You have a daughter.” Dick’s voice is small. His chest is tight. You can leave. You should leave. I don’t want you to.
“And you have a son.” And before Dick can interrupt- “Brother. You get what I mean.” You can leave. You should leave. I don’t want you to. “Let me see where Garth tagged you.” Roy only wanted to help.
“It’s not bad.” And Dick rejected him. And fought to keep him away. And his own words echo back to haunt him. He fiddles with the edge of his shirt. A habit he picked up from Tim. “I can feel it, it’s not that deep.” It didn’t cut him to the bone. But left him hollowed out.
“I’m not trying to be an ass, but how do you expect to take care of it by yourself?” It’s out of your reach. In a blind spot. You can’t get to it on your own. There’s a medical kit underneath the sink which has seen far too much use. It sits in Roy’s lap. Let me help you.
“I-” don’t want you to keep trying. But Roy will never stop trying. And he can keep being stubborn or- he takes off his shirt. “Fine.” Roy can win this round. He’s not sure where they stand in the war. He can’t help himself but flinch as Roy rubs cream into the wound, two lines running from the center of his right shoulder blade to the center of his back. Connect the dots.
“Sorry if this hurts.” His touch is excruciating.
“Just get it over with.”