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Dick comes to abruptly, a scream caught in his throat as he instinctively kicks— he immediately registers hands on him, moving up and down his torso, fingers running across his ribs, touch burning through the kevlar.
His hips ache, back grinding violently against the concrete, wrists pinned above his head as he tosses it from side to side, dizzy, scorching bile making its way up Dick’s stranded throat.
“I love you.”
No, no, he doesn’t want this, he—
“It’s okay, my love, he won’t bother you anymore. It’s just us now.”
Rain drenches his hair, melts the glue that’s keeping the ruined domino mask in place, the incessant pit-patter loud in his ringing ears.
Dick’s stomach churns, lungs starved— he’s supposed to be strong.
Tears pool at the corner of his eyes, the domino mask torn and bloodied, fists tight and unmoving under her unyielding grip.
And, oh, he hates it.
Dick hates not being strong enough, so pathetic and helpless as she violates him, so exhausted as she kisses and touches and rapes him until he can’t breathe anymore. He wants to, but he just can’t, he can’t tell her to stop, to leave him alone, to let him go home and kill hims—
“Nightwing, listen to me— Dick, hey, you gotta calm down.” another voice calls, urgent.
The weight on his hips hurts.
Hot breaths tickle his neck, the hairs on it standing as he squirms in a vain attempt at wiggling out of the vice hold. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want her, he doesn’t want to let himself lose it now, not with her, not here, not like this, nor ever—
But he can’t, he can’t scream, Dick’s voice won’t come out, lungs barely cooperating, helpless as rough hands make their way up and down his body.
More hands on him, so gentle and caring and no, no, no, please, he doesn’t want this, he wants out, he wants his dad, he wants—
“...toxin, administering antidote now…”
“...wing, Nightwing, breathe, hey…”
“...erratic, he’s gonna…”
He rubs his thighs together, legs crossed, knees locked— she can’t take him, he doesn’t want to, she can’t make him—
The foreign fingers pry, they wrap around his wrists, press under his neck, take his domino mask away—
And no, he can’t let her know, she can’t take it from him, please, she can’t—
Dick vaguely registers the sound of a cap being popped off, then a soft hiss and a dull ache in his upper arm.
He squirms, frantic, and kicks his feet, almost managing to throw the weight off of him.
“...down, God fucking damn it…”
Fatigue washes over him, but he doesn’t want to pass out, he wants to stay awake, he needs to know what she’s doing, he needs to be aware, he doesn’t want to lose track of the hands and—
They card through his matted hair. He shakes it, mouth gaping, bare eyes not opening past a slit, pupils rolled almost all the way back.
“...new strain, maybe…”
“...Cave? That’s too far, he…”
“...on, he’s waking up, I think. Hey, Nightwing…”
His wrist is still being held, but when he tries to yank it back and cradle it to his chest, he can’t move, and no, no, please, why can’t he move?
He’s sobbing, throwing his head back against the concrete hard, bleeding, over and over and—
“Pl’se, pl’se d-don’t to-touch, pl’se!” he pleads, breath cut short, throat raw.
Dick can’t move, he can’t see— he needs to get up, needs to leave, he wants his dad and please, please, let me go—
The grip on his wrist relents, slackening in the slightest, a thumb gently massaging his skin.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m not— look, hey,”
The hand’s gone, and so’s the weight.
“You’re free now, okay? But you gotta breathe, alright? No more thrashing and kicking.”
That’s not her voice, his hands are free, his hips don’t burn, there’s no rain falling— but he can’t, he can’t.
He gags, head instinctively turning to his side as he brings up half-digested food and bile, scratching at his throat, pressing against his lungs.
It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts.
The hand on his wrist is back, just for a second, not even long enough for Dick to shake it off—
“Fuck.” someone shifts around him, a voice speaking into the void.
“B, he’s going to give himself a fuckin’ heart attack, I— Yeah, alright, okay B, I got it. I— fuck, okay, hang on.”
The voice above him is talking, talking to him maybe, Dick isn’t sure, he can’t focus on anything but the pain in his back and hips and—
Dick feels something being pressed inside his left ear.
“N-no, no, don’t, no, n-no, d-don’t t’ch, C-Cat, pl’se!”
“Dick.” a voice calls, firm, grounding, “Dick, it’s Bruce. You’re okay. You got dosed. You’re okay, bud. Breathe, sweetheart.”
He sobs. “B-Bruce? Pl’se, I need t’, pl-pl’se, I— she—”
The voice— Bruce— hushes him gently, “It’s okay, Dick, it’s okay. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’ll be there as soon as I can, alright? But you got to let Hood—”
A pause.
“You got to let Jay take you to his safehouse, you need to listen to him, okay? He’ll take care of you until I get there. Can you do that for me?”
He nods, frantic, tears spilling from hazed eyes.
“D-Dad, pl-please, I n-need— please.”
“I’ll be there soon, okay? Listen to Jay, now. You’re going to be alright, he’s going to help you until I get there. I love you.”
Someone— Jason, that’s Jason— retrieves the earpiece, putting it back in his own ear. A hand hovers close to his face, but relents.
“You back with me?” Jason calls from above him, gruff, in a way that Dick has learnt to identify as worried.
“Look, I’d rather not inject any more shit into your bloodstream, but— but if you need it, if you want me to, I can give you another dose of antitoxin, alright? You follow me?”
Dick blinks, slow, barely making out Jason’s outline. He doesn’t nod, nor does he shake his head.
“Pl-please, hel’...”
His brother hesitates, shoving the autoinjector back in his tactical pocket. “I’ll tell you what, let’s wait, okay? And if it gets worse, I’m giving you the second dose. Sounds good? But we need to move from here and we need to do it now.”
“Pl’se, no, n-no, can’t breathe, c-can’t—” he whines, broken, flailing to no avail, “Hur’s, make ‘t stop, m-make it— I don’t wan’ to, pl-please, n-no!”
He’s sobbing, throwing his head back against the concrete hard, over and over and—
Dick whines, eyes rolling, breath cut short once again.
His mouth tastes like copper and death and spit and please don’t, stop, stop it, please move, move move move— a choked gag escapes his lips, then another.
Strong hands grab at his shoulder and turn him on the side, another hand on his back.
“You’re okay, you’re okay now, get it all up.” the voice speaks as Dick empties the contents of his stomach, acidic bile scratching at his sore throat, tight and raw and—
He throws up some more, the hand on his back rubbing circles between his shoulder blades, and it burns, the touch burns, he wants out.
“St’p, ple-please, don’t t’ch me, don’t!”
The hands are gone in an instant.
“Right, fuck, sorry. I’m sorry.” the man says, audibly upset, “I’m not touching you anymore. Just breathe.”
He’s supposed to be stronger than her, he’s taller and trained and— he can’t remember, he can’t remember if he told her no, he can’t remember.
Dick let her, he let touch him and strip him and oh, please, no, he can’t remember if he told her to stop, he doesn’t think he did.
“You’re hyperventilating again. Breathe.”
Right, right.
Dick tries, he does.
“That’s it, you’re alright.” Jason speaks, soft.
“D-don’t t’ch, pl-pl'se.”
“I’m not. I won’t.” his brother hums, low, “But we gotta move. So, as soon as you’re good to go, let’s get the fuck out of here.”
He didn’t tell her— not the first, not the second, not the twentieth time, he didn’t tell her to stop, he couldn’t, just laying there and—
“Still with me, Dick?”
He should’ve told her, Dick should’ve told her to stop, should’ve forced his own body to move, to shove her away and run, far, far away from the roof and the motel and—
Fingers snap in front of his eyes, and he jerks, yelping.
“Hey, don’t go spiraling on me.”
Dick manages a shaky nod. “S’rry, m’s’rry. Jus’ gi’me a mom’nt...”
Jason hesitates, hands hovering.
“D-don’t t’ch me.”
“I won’t. Promise. Nobody’s touching you.”
His hips ache, his insides still burn, but the weight is gone, her voice doesn’t ring in his ears anymore.
Dick inhales, then exhales, slow, ragged.
Minutes pass, and Dick just lays there, motionless, fists clenching and unclenching, tailbone regaining feeling.
“Fuck.” he hisses, “M’good. F-fuck.”
“Okay.” the youngest breathes out, unsteady.
A pause.
Jason’s jaw tightens.
“Okay. What the fuck was that?” he asks, running a hand through his own sweaty hair, helmet under his arm.
“Who— Dick, who the fuck is Cat? What did she—”
And Dick flinches, hard.
Jason glances at his older brother, pale and shaky. Something in his own chest hurts.
That can’t be right, Dick doesn’t flinch— he simply doesn’t.
The youngest takes a breath, steadying.
“Sorry. It doesn’t matter now.” he grunts, standing and taking a couple of steps back, to avoid hovering menacingly over an evidently-traumatised Dick.
“You— you doin’ okay?”
“I—” No. I’m not. “Yeah. Let’s— let's just go.”