Chapter Text
Jason was dead. Donna was dead.
Dick had lost a lot, but he hadn't expected to lose them. There was something deeply gnawing, biting, breaking about their absence. Teeth marks no one could see infecting his soul. He kept smiling and moving, but he couldn't live with himself.
The gem knew it.
(He wasn't sure where it came from. It could have been one of Raven's mystical items that she kept locked away. Maybe it had sensed his hurt and come for the feast. Then again, it could have been a stowaway on a mission he didn't remember. It could even have been from nothing - a coincidence or his imagination. Maybe it was just a wildly hurt, deranged imagination, and there was nothing to worry about at all.)
(Either way, it burrowed into his chest as it whispered in his mind.)
The gem knew everything Dick couldn't say.
You want them back. It seemed to say.
(Dick knew logically that he should run. He should warn the Titans or Bruce or even the League that there was something in him, something literally inside of his beating chest that was ready to feed. However, it was hard to remember that something was a parasite when it whispered such sweet nothings in your ear - when it promised a child's laughter back and a platonic soulmate to be returned.)
"What would it cost?"
A little force. A little danger.
Dick closed his eyes. "I don't want to kill."
We can ensure it.
Dick's hits weren't as harsh, his threat still there, yet somehow diminished. His instincts were still strong, but the only one he threw off rooftops anymore were superpowered mercenaries and gods hidden in men.
He should have felt nervous at the prospects of such a trade, of the way something could steal away and twist his very instincts, but all he felt was relief.
Until he was standing over the Joker's dead body, blood on his hands with a terrified child staring at him.
That night, discomforted by the Joker's continued existence when he'd been so close to ending him, Dick breathed out "I don't want to be a monster."
We could stop you from becoming a monster.
"I have to feel guilt for this. I need to value every life." Dick said. "Otherwise, I'm no better than them."
We can take your discernment. We can eat your emptiness.
Dick closed his eyes, and when morning came, he didn't have a second thought about Bruce reviving the monster that killed his brother.
When Mirage happened, there were whispers, but he quieted them. He didn't want them. He didn't need it.
When he lost Kori, he nearly gave in, but Barbara was a balm to his sorrows. She didn't make him feel. She made him think, and then somehow, that burrowed into his chest deeper than the stone ever could.
Until Tarantula plucked her away.
Then Tarantula did more.
Dick held it together. He held it together really well. He did.
Dick was doing great. So great.
He survived Chemo, he came out the other side of Bludhaven's demons, he infiltrated with Slade, and - and -
(And late at night, he tried to come up with the right words, but he didn't know what he wanted, and he couldn't make a deal if he couldn't seal it -)
Then he had a moment. A horrible, awful moment in the grocery store.
A woman with dark hair and eyes had tripped over a broken carton of eggs, her body spilling into his, and then her hand was pressing into his chest, and he was on the ground, and she pushed herself up. She asked if he was okay, but it was hard to hear over the rain, and -
We can take it back. We can undo what they did to you.
Dick almost choked on his words, closing his eyes. "Un - Un - "
We'll undo it.
"Are you alright?"
Dick opened his eyes, staring at the woman on top of him. She was too concerned to see all the disturbed eyes on them, the way her legs bracketed his hips, how her hand still laid on his chest over his heart.
And Dick -
Dick smiled. "Yeah. I'm just fine."
It took him too long to realize, but the stone did what it said. It undid those touches, the theft of his body, his soul, his sense of self and safety and wholeness -
It also undid years of leadership. The League. The Titans. The . . . The Outsiders? He wasn't sure who else he worked with, what groups he'd been a part of or stood at the frontlines. They were all fuzzy, and he didn't remember them.
But it was okay. It was a worthwhile trade.
It was worth it.
And then he was Batman, and little Damian Wayne needed Robin to stay, but he was thinking about going back to his mother, and Tim was off the map, and Jason was somehow alive but still so far away, and Bruce was gone -
Family? whispered the stone in his chest as he stared at his ten-year-old. We can give you family.
Dick's eyes flickered to the side, searching for Alfred's shadowy form before he spoke. "I miss having a family, sure, but I want my family. Not just anyone."
Timmy and Dami and Little Wing -
"Just tell me what you want."
We want the puzzle pieces. It sang. A bit of your mind. Nothing you would miss.
A shiver went down Dick's spine. He closed his eyes, steepling his fingers in front of his face and pressed his fingers into his forehead. He opened one eye to look at the sleeping child before him. When he wasn't cursing or spewing insults, he was awful cute. Dick smiled. "Take me."
Cases were harder. What used to take a single leap of logic now took three. A day-long case lasted a week. At first, it was frustrating. It hurt - It made him want to scream when he realized it took him so achingly long to do his multiplication tables, but then, he'd looked at Damian, and he thought There's some upsides, too.
Insults slid off of him easier.
(It was harder for them to sting when he had to take so long to figure out what they meant.)
So what if he lost some puns?
That was the least of his worries.
The worst of his worries were his family. They were back, even more of them than before, but they didn't fit together right. Everything seemed . . . off.
But he couldn't figure out how to fix it. He didn't know what had to be fixed -
Until Damian died.
His body was so . . . small. The cape had flipped over his face, covering him like a mourning shroud, and . . .
"I wanted them whole." Dick whispered at his son's grave. "My family - I wanted them together and happy and whole."
We can give you that. the stone hummed inside his chest.
"All of them?" Dick asked, finger skimming over the impression in the stone that read Damian Wayne.
All. We give you all.
Dick shut his eyes, and he didn't ask the cost.
(He wouldn't understand the answer anyway.)
Dick didn't think anything changed. He couldn't tell, honestly. He didn't feel any different.
Then he was captured, hooked up to a machine, and -
And Bruce beat him.
Bruce beat him into submission, and Dick found himself thinking The old Dick Grayson cared more about himself than this. The old Dick Grayson never would have let this happen.
But this new Dick Grayson, this version of Dick Grayson - He had enough spirit to fight but not the self-worth.
He often shut his eyes, but he never let himself cry.
When Dick came back, he hurt, but he knew things would settle into family. He'd paid for it, after all.
When they finally did, he almost didn't notice. But Tim was coming over to drink coffee from his shitty machine instead of his own expensive professional set. Jason would randomly crash on his couch and grouse if he didn't do his dishes. He often walked Cass to Ballerina classes when the morning sun would begin to glow. Stephanie would pass out on a stack of books, and he'd carry her to his bed. He had tea times with Alfred, and there were even times where Bruce popped by for a full conversation. He started to get to know Duke and show him the best spots to hide when Bruce was being annoying.
And Damian . . .
Damian was the best. He was alive.
Dick was overzealous, but no one stopped him from attending parent-teacher conferences or sparring with him or doing patrols or stealing him for random weekends or -
"Dick, would you mind taking Damian tonight? I don't mean to dump him on you so much, but -"
Dick shook his head. "I enjoy it. I'll pick him up from school tonight. You can tell Alfie I got him."
Bruce huffed out a sigh of relief.
As Bruce walked away, Dick couldn't help that little bit of longing in his chest just under the stone that wished that Damian really was -
Before the whispers could start up, he clamped down on the thought.
(He didn't notice intelligent, dark eyes narrowing in on his chest.)
The next morning, Damian walked out of his apartment to the waiting limo below, and Dick sunk into his crappy couch, a groan on his lips.
Jason's judgement from the kitchenette was loud.
But not as loud as him.
"God, Goldie. It's like you can't say no." Jason snarled.
Dick almost laughed.
Of course, he could say no. He hadn't traded that away.
(Yet.)
Everything was fine. Everything was fine.
So it took him off guard when Tim leaned back and said "Have you been having chest pains lately?"
Dick almost jerked back.
Almost.
"No. Why?"
Tim pursed his lips. "Health screenings. I'm doing them for everybody, and you're at the age where plaque in the arteries starts to have ill effects in athletes."
"No, I'm not." Dick scoffed.
"Aren't you?" Tim argued.
Dick's lips parted and then shut.
(Was he? All that time he'd traded away - Did his body still remember? Had part of him aged and part of him gone backwards?)
(Or did athletes have those issues earlier than Dick knew?)
(He missed the pieces of his mind that he traded away. Tim would never have been able to confuse the man he used to be.)
"No." Dick said. "No issues. Heart or otherwise."
He almost forgot about the screening.
Then he caught Bruce going over old X-rays of his.
Then he caught Jason on the phone with Roy. That wouldn't have been suspicious except for the fragmented words that sliced through his (partial) mind. ". . . could have been . . . Titans mission around my time or before . . ."
A sick feeling squeezed his stomach, and he almost ran to his room to grab his duffle. He had to run before -
(Before the gem in his chest realized that his family was a threat.)
He didn't make it. He didn't even make it into the hallway.
Because Cass was in his doorway
He stumbled backwards towards the window, but her dark eyes narrowed. Determination set her jaw as she stalked forwards. Then Cass pointed at his chest, wide eyes raising to his, and somehow, Dick just knew. Somehow, someway, she wasn't actually pointing at Dick's heart.
She was pointing at the gem.
We can eat your sister. whispered that awful voice. Tell us what you want.
Dick jolted backwards, sharply jerking away from Cass. Her eyes became impossibly larger, a hint of fear somehow sliding in for a moment, and -
We will eat your sister. Tell us what you want. Tell us what you want. TELL US WHAT YOU -
"No." Dick gasped out for the first time. "No."
There was an unholy screech in his brain, and his chest felt burning hot. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he clutched at his ears. If he cried out, he couldn't hear it - not over the parasite in his chest. When his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and sweet silence claimed him, he found it in himself to be grateful.
He was sedated. He knew he was sedated.
He didn't fight it.
". . . think we should . . ."
". . . safer this . . ."
"Surgery is . . ."
". . . can't be serious . . ."
". . . can vibrate his molecules . . ."
". . . possess the Flash? I don't . . ."
"Dick wouldn't . . ."
There was a demon standing over him, and its long talons were in his chest. He wanted to fight, but there were more shadowy hands clenched around his ankles, his thighs, his chest, his wrists -
"Awake! He's -"
"LET US KILL THE MONSTERS, BREAK YOUR CHAINS -"
Adrenaline rushed through Dick's veins, but he pushed it down, because the last he remembered was Cass -
"THEY WILL KILL YOUR FAMILY, DESTROY YOUR HOUSE -"
Dick huffed in pain, and glowing, red eyes stared at him in shock. Dick blinked. "Wally?"
It smiled with a million rows of tiny, needly teeth, and -
Darkness.
Dick opened his eyes to stare at the cave ceiling. For a long moment, he just stared. Then his head fell to the side.
Tim was sitting there. "How do you feel?"
Dick blinked.
Then a wave of disappointment crushed down on him as he said "The same."
Tim frowned. "Does your chest hurt?"
Dick rested a hand over his heart, suppressing his flinch before remembering that he didn't have to. "Yeah."
"Bad? Do you need pain killers."
Dick didn't say anything long enough that Tim stood up to grab them. Then his voice broke through with a strange wobble. "No. No, it's - I haven't felt like this in years."
"Years?" Tim whispered.
Dick's head fell back, and he grinned, bright and free. "Years."