Work Text:
Dick is floating.
The pain has faded away into a dull, numb nothing. The pain is pushed down, down, down and faraway. The pain is… is…
Stop thinking about it!
Dick is floating.
He remembers a time almost like floating.
Flying. Soaring. Up high, high, high.
Twisting and twirling and tossing up in the air.
But now he is weighed down by lead, like an anvil, an anchor, sinking him deeper and deeper. Confined down on the ground. Stuck, trapped, far from the sky.
He’s floating, but he’s hovering lower and lower.
There’s chains cutting into his wrists, chafing and chewing at his skin with their rusty ribs.
He can’t remember the days. Can’t remember the time when there was time.
Now, all he remembers is the fuzzy, floating.
Time moves slow in the floating feeling. He can’t recall when he last ate. He can’t recall when he last felt the sunshine on his skin.
Did he ever? He can’t remember.
Commotion. Loud and growled and gritty.
Dick is floating.
Dick is… is…
There is the pressure of gentle hands caressing his cheek. It anchors him back to reality, pulling him down, down, down from the floating.
It hurts. He hurts.
A small, pathetic whimper escapes his throat.
“I got you, chum. It’s gonna be alright. You’re gonna be alright.”
That voice. It’s warm cuddles in the movie room under fluffy blankets. It’s ice cream on hot summer days. It’s big calloused fingers carding through his hair.
It’s safe.
It’s… it’s…
“B?” he whimpers, the small consonant coming out with a dribble of blood.
“It’s me. I’m here. I’m right here.”
Dick scrambles to hold onto the safe. His arms flail to find the familiar figure.
He’s pulled into a gentle embrace, his cheek hitting leather-y kevlar.
“B,” he sobs, voice croaking and cracking.
“We’re going home,” the silky, safe voice murmurs. “I’m taking you home.”
Dick sags into his hold and begins to lose himself to the floating once again. He’s safe. He doesn’t have to hurt anymore. B will protect him.
Time moves differently when you’re floating.
It’s murky and gelatinous. It drags on as time is tick, tick, ticking but it flies by and protects you from feeling time itself.
Being present is prickly and precarious. It takes his shield and shatters it.
But the safe words spoken softly in his ears lure him out from the floating once again.
He lies on a cloud.
At least, compared to the cool, damp cement he’s become so accustomed to, it is a cloud.
His hand is held by a bigger hand. It’s the hand with the calloused fingers tha card through his hair.
It’s… it’s Bruce.
“B,” Dick whispers.
“Right here. I’m right here, Dick. I’m so sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”
“M’ss’d you,” Dick slurs.
Bruce chuckles wetly. “I missed you too. I missed you so much.”
“Knew you’d find me,” Dick whispers. “Knew it, knew it, knew it.”
Bruce pets his hair. “I found you. I did. I’m here.”
And then Dick crumbles.
Something in him finally cracks. Tears stream down his cheeks as he gasps for air. His world spins and swirls. His temples throb with unbearable pressure and his lungs burn and burn.
The cloud he lays upon dips and there’s suddenly strong pressure wrapping around him.
Dick just sobs harder.
His entire being just aches. Just ripping apart until he’s bare and raw. He’s home, he’s safe, but he doesn’t feel like it. He doesn’t think he’ll ever feel safe again.
His head is fuzzy. It’s not quite floating, just a static in his brain that hums a tuneless tune.
He lets himself fade away. It’s better than being where he is.