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He wondered dully who would find him. If some lone civilian would happen upon his body in the early hours of the morning, scaring them out of their wits. Or well let's be honest, this was Bludhaven, so probably not out of their wits. More like a gentle startling. He wondered if it would be Bruce, or Tim, or Dami. God, he hopes it’s not Damian.
He thought of Bruce running to his cold, idle body, barking out a “Nightwing!” sharply. The cracks in the dark knight's exterior becoming more prominent the longer he held his fingers to Dick’s pulse points and realized nothing was happening - that nothing was going to happen. Dick thought, with bemusement, that he felt guilty. Which should spark a whole other issue.
His guilt. Because he knows that he’s got the whole guilt-martyr-oldest child-perfectionist syndrome down to a motherfucking T. He knows it. And even though he knows it, he can’t seem to stop himself. So here he lied, the blood pumping out of his stomach where the blade had gone in (and out), worrying about how much this was going to hurt Bruce. And hurt Tim. And Damian. And Jason, even though he wouldn’t want to show it. He couldn’t bear to leave them here, to feel like he was abandoning them. But he had a fleeting thought - one that he would never speak aloud even if given the chance. A fleeting thought of finally resting. Because he was so goddamn tired. He was so tired of fighting, both as a detective by day and vigilante by night. He was tired of always being the one to stand between his angry brothers, he was tired of feeling like he has the responsibility of keeping B alive. To keep B from losing himself in the cowl.
He shifted slightly and a sharp pain ran across his torso, he gasped, feeling a bit like a fish out of water. His fingers danced above the wound, feather light touches ghosted around it. He was tired of this cruel world. This cruel world that seemed to chew him up and spit him out at every chance it got. He felt a tickle make its way up his throat and coughed, tasting copper. Not good. He heaved a breath in trying to catch it and black spots appeared across his vision.
Above him, Bludhaven buildings loomed in his vision. His other hand pressed against the concrete below him. The cold of it seeped every ounce of warmth from him. He idly lifted a hand to his ear, even though he knew it would do him no good. His comm was broken, and because he’s an idiot, he didn’t tell anyone he was going out tonight, he wanted some alone time he didn’t think he needed to. Rookie mistake. As he brushed his fingers to his ear, he hissed as his vision swam. He lifted his hand into eyesight and his vision went to double and back, his fingers were bright red and warm. Exhausted, all the strength in his arm went out and it dropped to the concrete, he barely even felt the pain. Not good.
His vision swam again, the black dots again began creeping from the edge of his vision and blocked everything out, the last thing he saw was Bludhaven. Not good.
He woke with a start, the image of his parents falling - their hands outreached to him. There was nothing he could do. His skin was drenched and he slowly became more aware and realized that arms encircled him, slowly rocking. A mantra of sounds filling the room:
“It’s okay, it’s okay Dick, I’m here,” the voice relaxed him and he melted into the arms, “I’m here.” Idly, he realized that he had been crying. He tried to gather his thoughts, but his parent’s deaths were still fresh, the image was frozen in his mind. It had been under a year since Bruce Wayne took him in.
“B?’ His voice cracked and he could feel a hiccup clawing its way up his throat. He winced as he swallowed. His throat was sore and his ears ached. No doubt the cause of crying in his sleep. He hated waking up and feeling this way.
“Hey chum, you with me?” Bruce’s voice was soft and quiet, like a spider’s legs running across a silkweb. He dragged a small hand across his eyes, leaving the streak of tears as a smear.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he croaked and sniffled. But they’re not. Fresh tears welled up in his eyes and his fingers tugged at the edge of his shirt. His face began to crumple as the tears fell. “I miss my mom.” And his dad, but that was all he could get out right now. He felt it in his gut, an eternal ache that he knew would just never go away. He wanted to curl up in his mother’s lap. He wanted his dad to pick him up after he fell, already saying “rub some dirt in it!” In reference to a freshly skinned knee. He wanted his parents. And that was as far as his brain could get him. His thoughts couldn’t go past that singular thought that drummed through his body.
I want my mom. I want my mom. I want my mom.
She was gone and nothing could get her back. The tears streamed down with a renewed vigor and he choked out a sob.
“I know buddy, I miss my mom too,” Bruce said and gripped Dick just a little bit tighter. Dick sighed, Bruce was like him. He was like Bruce. However depressing it might be, it was a comforting thought. The dead mom and dad club, the orphan club…whatever you wanted to call it. Once you made it in, there wasn’t anything that could get you out. No amount of wishing or praying could make you not part of the dead mom and dad club. He wished Bruce’s parents were alive, in the same way he knew that Bruce wished his parents were alive. There was nothing either of them could do about it, which was a crushing thought in itself.
“What do you do about it?” What was he supposed to do with the eternal ache? Bruce stilled for a moment before restarting his calming rocking. The room was silent for a moment, save for Dick’s sniffles, as Bruce gathered his thoughts.
“Well chum, you just keep going I guess.” Bruce’s head dipped so his chin was against Dick’s hair. “You keep living and you take the time to think of them, you’ll never let them go - and no one will expect you to. It’ll still hurt, but eventually it won’t hurt as much.” Dick blew out a controlled breath. “You just do what you think would make them proud.” That didn't seem to help, in fact, Dick thinks that might've made it worse.
A fresh round of sobs racked through Dick’s body, he couldn’t seem to stop. Bruce said that it’ll go away eventually, but he doesn’t see how that is possible. He can’t imagine that this ache would ever be less, it would always be more, more, MORE. How was he ever supposed to make them proud? He didn’t even know what they would want him to do. He doesn’t know what kind of actions equal his parents being proud. He tried to think of what they would want, of what the movies usually say when a parent exclaims their pride for a child. They would want him to be happy - yes. He doesn’t know how to be happy though, how to be happy with them gone. It feels like a betrayal, every smile, every chuckle, every adventure without them is a betrayal. How could he indulge in those things when his parents were stolen from him?
They would want him to be healthy? He guessed he was, for the average 10 year old. Bruce and Alfred never left him wanting for anything. He always got a full breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Bruce even had the gymnasium built on the 3rd floor of the mansion. Yeah, he was healthy. He thought of how he could have made them happy, as opposed to himself happy, but the thought of them being happy just caused more tears to stream.
How was it ever supposed to be less? The sadness in his heart weighed on his whole body like concrete was attached to his arms. Every action was harder now that they were gone. Moving used to be easy for him. He could jump, run, and soar like no one else. The air around him always seems to assist his movement instead of weighing him down like it does now. He squeezed his eyes shut, a headache starting to form in between his eyebrows.
He was getting closer to getting back to sleep though, at least. With all the crying, his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls, but with Bruce besides him, his eyelids began to feel heavy. Bruce’s calm rocking and gentle voice continuously soothing him. His breaths started to become more even. Bruce was kind of the closest thing he has to a parent anymore. So instead of thinking how he could make his parents happy, he could think of how to make Bruce happy. That thought didn’t cause grief to strike through his heart again, he thinks he actually felt some of the sadness lift away from his shoulders. He felt the vice that has been constant in his chest unravel itself a bit. Yeah, he could just keep focusing on how to make Bruce happy.
“I know,” whispered Bruce as silent tears continued to creep out of Dick’s eye, “I know Dick.” Why was he here and they were not?
He awoke again with a start, but this time the pain seeped through every single damned hair on his head and he cried out. His vision swam and it took every ounce of his will power to open them into tiny slivers. The familiar feeling of salty tears making their way out of his eyes washed over him. There was pressure, pressure on the very painful knife wound that was inflicted on him.
He cried out again and tried to push the hands away. His strength had left him though, and he was sure that the push barley felt like a gnat hitting against a window. His breaths came fast and sharp. He barely let one in before he was repelling it out. Fast, too fast, he needed to slow his breathing. The stabs of pain wouldn't let him though. Everything was coming to a head.
“I know,” a voice whispered, “I know.” His eyebrows scrunched together. The pain in his body was going into overload, tendrils of fire crept up his chest, down his arms, and out his fingertips. I know, I know, I know crept through his head. The familiarity of those two words dug into him.
“B?” It came out like a wisp, the sound just barely carrying through the air. He grimaced as the tiniest movement sent shockwaves through his body. A gasp plucked itself from his mouth as the fire raced through his chest again.
“Try again idiot.” He sighed, Jason. Was he dead? Jason had been dead, right? Dick bet that Jason really didn’t like being mistaken for B. As much as Jason seemed to hate their father figure, he was probably the one closest to being like Bruce. Which Dick knew would earn him a sucker punch for saying. He knew that Jason knew it though. He briefly wondered if that was why Jason hated Bruce so much.
“J’son,” his breath was labored, “y’re de’d?” Woah, his speech was slurred. This isn’t what death is supposed to be like. He always thought of death as a silken pillow he could lay his head down on. It wasn’t supposed to be eternal pain. He was supposed to open his eyes to bright lights, feeling lighter than air, instead, it felt like there was lead in his chest.
That is, unless he’s in hell. “You’re about 3 years late on that hotshot.” That didn’t make any sense. The pressure increased and he cried out, again. Damn, when did he go so soft? “Where’s that med evac, replacement? We needed it yesterday,” there was a pause, “copy,” then a sigh, “just hurry, okay? He’s losing a lot of blood.” God, he was tired. He really needed that silk pillow about now. He didn’t have the energy to keep the slits of his eyes open, it really made everything worse anyways. The colors constantly cascading into each other and the buildings in his vision continuously circled around him. Yeah, eyes closed was way better.
“Hey, keep your eyes open Dickwad, no naps right now.” A finger tapped roughly against his cheek. When he didn’t respond, they wrapped around his chin and shook his head. He groaned, feeling close to spilling whatever was in his stomach. “Eyes open Nightwing.” His eyebrows scrunched again before he lifted his eyes, just a centimeter. The buildings were really going around this time and then he really did lose his lunch. “Goddamnit!” Two hands were lifting from the wound on his stomach and twisting his shoulders so the vomit went to the floor instead of back down Dick’s throat. As soon as he settled on his side, one leg was bent to balance him. One hand went back to his stomach while the other drew circles on his back. He drew in a shaky breath and felt more tears slip down. Everything hurt so much. Nothing else could get through his head. Just bright neon lights flashing on and off; hurt… hurt… hurt…
“It’s okay, I just need you to open your eyes, can you do that?” The voice was so soft this time, reassuring. Not something he would usually associate with Jason. At least, not anymore. Long gone was the bouncing child who showed up at the manor suddenly. It was sudden to Dick at least, one day he was fired from being Robin and the next Bruce was handing the title over to Jason. A title that wasn’t even his to give.
My little Robin, he could hear her voice. He swore he could…
Jason was always a rough edge. His entire being was rough. He always stood angularly, his shoulders tight, never a slouch in his posture. Jason’s body was always wound tight, Dick mused, like he was ready to run at a moment’s notice. It made sense. If Dick had been through what Jason had, he’s pretty sure he would be ready to bail at any moment. He would always only rely on himself. Why trust others with your life if they’ve already proven untrustworthy in saving it?
Jason!
The voice he had been hearing finally clicked and vaguely he thought that he already knew Jason was around. But wasn’t Jason dead? Maybe he was dead. The feeling of dejavu washed over him, did he just have those same thoughts? He needed to know for sure though, if Jason was here. He drew his eyes open again, this time, he was met with a gray brick wall. No one in sight, but that couldn’t be right, because he still could feel the hand on his back. “Jason?” His voice came out in a whisper but he thinks he spoke clearer this time. A calm began to wash over his head and encircled him with warmth, which was good. He was too cold.
“There you are Dickwad,” Jason leaned over his body, Dick finally spotting those eerily green eyes and fluff of white hair at Jason’s crown, “how’s patrol going?” The corner of Dick’s mouth upturned in a grin.
“‘s good.” Jason let out a huff of air, it started out as a chuckle, but very quickly turned into a sigh. Dick took a couple of moments to just breathe, “ ‘m I d’ed?” Dick could see Jason’s face tighten, his mouth thinning into a thin line.
“No Dick, you’re not dead. B’s on his way, just hang on, okay?” No names in the field, Dick thought, he didn't think Jason would care though. Dick’s saliva felt thick, courtesy of the vomit no doubt. God, he hated throwing up. It was one of the worst feelings in the world. The way your mouth filled up with uncontrollable saliva before the vile violently clawed its way up your throat. You always feel shaky after, and weak. And no matter what, any time he vomited, sobs racked his body against his will. He smacked his lips a couple of times, not having the strength to spit, then grimaced. “I’m gonna put you back on your back, okay?” Jason said as he slowly eased Dick down and scooted him away from the bile.
“O…kay,” Dick breathed out. The ground below him jostled as he landed on it…or wait, that didn’t make sense. He was the one jostling, the ground couldn’t move. For a moment, that thought was funny, he wasn’t sure why, put a giggle escaped through his mouth, also letting out a spray of blood with it. His lips now speckled red. The ground moving, what a silly thought. The giddiness faded as quickly as it came and his face drew to a sober expression. He needed to tell Jason goodbye, he realized.
He forced the world to stop moving, even if it was only for a second and found Jason’s eyes. Jason’s eyes were wild with what Dick could only describe as panic and Jason drew back in surprise when their eyes met. Dick hasn’t exactly been coherent this whole time. Dick used the last tendrils of his strength to bring his arm up and grip onto Jason’s jacket. Jason’s eyebrows drew together as he glanced first to Dick’s hand, then back to Dick’s face.
Dick knew that he had to get the words out right now, or they were never going to leave his throat. At the same time, he knew how final that word would be. He didn’t want to make Jason panic, but the thought of not getting that last farewell? It was even worse. He never got to say goodbye to his parents. He just froze as he watched them fall to their deaths. He needed to do this. He lifted his hand from Jason’s jacket and cupped his cheek, “good…bye” he had to take another breath, “....lil’ w’ng.” Jason’s eyes widened as Dick’s hand fell, it left a streak of blood down Jason’s cheek and neck. Dick’s line of sight shifted, as his eyes unfocused, from Jason to Bludhaven’s starless sky.
He felt like he was on a seesaw, everything was going up and down - repeatedly. At least, he thought, his stomach doesn’t hurt anymore. In fact, nothing seemed to hurt anymore. Numbness spread through his body like he was being dunked in an ice cold bath. His vision seemed to stretch, everything streaking into a plethora of colors. Jason was in his face again, his lips were moving, but Dick couldn’t hear anything. Jason’s hand lifted to his comm, it almost seemed like Jason was shouting, but that couldn’t be right. Dick couldn’t hear him, but it also makes sense that Jason was shouting. His little brother, pent up with so much rage. Dick felt like Jason’s default was always just anger now, but every so often, Dick saw the old Jason break through. The little kid that always wanted to make him and Bruce so proud.
But Dick was too busy fighting B back then to notice. Dick never noticed Jason back then, and by the time he wanted to, Jason had died. That was Dick’s greatest regret - Jason dying. Because Jason did die, he never came back. Another version of him did, one that Dick loved greatly, but that little kid who was always so eager? Dick might as well have killed that kid himself.
Jason was gripping Dick’s shoulders, he thinks. He might even be shaking Dick, but it didn't register. This was it, he thought, this is when he dies. Because there’s no way he’s getting back from this. He’s lost too much blood, he’s been lying on this cold ground for too long, there’s no way he can come back from this. In a moment, calm washed over Dick, this was it. And he was goddamn relieved to think that he didn’t have any energy to stop the thoughts from flowing through his body. I’m coming home Mom.
Then the chaos around him started to pick up. It felt like he had just blinked and the Batjet was hovering above the buildings that surrounded him. It wasn’t just Jason here, but it was Bruce too, something was shoved into his mouth and B was fitting an oxygen mask around his face. He was barking orders around him, which was something Bruce exceeded at - barking orders. An emphasis on the “bark.” Batman’s word was law and the law had to be obeyed. He yearned for the days when it was just him, Bruce, and Alfred. Not because he didn’t love his brothers - no he loved them so much it hurt. He missed when it was just him, Bruce, and Alfred because Bruce seemed softer back then. He hadn’t lost himself completely in the cowl and actually had a life outside of Batman.
When Bruce was closer to a father than a superior, when Bruce would just let go some days and they would race to see who could get from the top floor of the mansion to the bottom. The infamous day that Dick used the chandelier to launch himself down a couple of floors and he was pretty sure he gave Bruce a heart attack doing that. No matter though, he had won that day. Bruce didn’t have fun anymore, and he missed that so much. He missed what his life used to be but he would never be upset by having more family. You needed spares in family. It wasn’t something a lot of people realized. You could never have too much and with however much you would fight, there was always someone in your corner to fight with you. He would fight for every one of his family members. If they were fighting each other he would stand in the middle and demand they fight him instead. It was always better for him to hurt rather than someone else.
He shot back to reality when he realized that B was cupping his cheek, speaking slowly, no sound came through, but Dick knew what Bruce was saying.
It’s okay, you’re going to be okay. They had made it. His family was going to save him, and there was no way in Hell that they would let him go.
Dammit.