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Dick blinked. He felt heavy, like he was sinking into his bed. It should be more comfortable than it was. Instead all he felt was dread. All consuming dread. It filled him to the brim yet he felt empty. His mind was simultaneously empty and going a mile a minute.
Why wasn't he moving? He should be doing something. There was so much to do and he wasn't doing any of it. People's lives were counting on him doing something and he couldn't get out of bed. So stupid… All he had to do was get out of bed. It shouldn't be that hard!
The only thing he wanted to do was sleep.
Sleep and not have to be conscious. The world was so much easier to deal with when you were asleep. There was no one to save, nothing to punch, no expectations. No one to fail. He was so tired. Bone-deep exhaustion held him down. Except despite craving sleep it didn't seem to come to him. Normally, after patrols, he'd strip down and flop into his bed then be out like a light. However he was just… tired. Not sleepy, just tired. Tired of existing. Dick wished he could sleep.
But sleep came with nightmares. Cursed dreams of every mistake he had ever made. His failures, swirling and taunting him. Burning him.
Guilt clawed at him and sunk it's claws into his flesh. It was his fault. It was his fault they all died. Everyone always died. He would never be enough to save them so why try? Why reach out when they always fell to their deaths. His parents reached out and he could still see the fear in their eyes as they freely fell to their deaths. Fear that haunted him. He wondered what it was like. To fall and know that it was the end. Sometimes… sometimes he wished it had been him. That he had been the one to fall. Then maybe…
His parents’ eyes bore into him in his mind. Wide, terrified. Dick imagined Jason had the same eyes as them when he too died. The Joker tortured him for months before leaving him for dead in a rigged warehouse. Alone. No hope. Brutalized. Where had Dick been? Why hadn't he joined the search? Why hadn't he saved him? He'd been so terrible to Jason too. Treated the boy who had come off of the streets like a thief, someone who had stolen his life from him. At least he'd had parents, Jason had no one when he first came into Bruce's care. And Dick had poured salt in the wound just because he had issues with Bruce. Issues that didn't involve a child. Dick should have been there for him. Then maybe he wouldn't have run off on a red herring mission towards his demise. He'd been so young…
Dick needed to get up.
Yet he rolled over and closed his eyes. He just needed sleep. Needed reprieve. Escape from the guilt and anxieties that plagued him. He was so tired. It'd be nice to just drift off and not have to wake up…
He felt the tears silently slipped past his eyes and roll horizontally down his face and onto his pillow. He had loved living once upon a time. It felt like so long ago when he had smiled at the world and meant it. He had no grand delusions that every day would be a happy one but he couldn't remember when the last time he had smiled and meant it genuinely.
Every day had become a chore and he could barely stand to leave his bed. His body felt weighted down but his insides felt light from skipping meals. Dick missed being happy. He missed not feeling like sleeping forward was the solution to all his problems. He knew what this was, what he was feeling, but he just… he couldn't find a part of him that cared and it scared him. Deep down he was scared because as much as he thought about dying it scared him. It wasn't him. It had never been him. But now there was an imposter inside him and the imposter craved an escape from the pain. He wasn't who he had been before all the hurt and he yet wanted that version of him back. He felt alone, depressed, and so hurt inside.
But he couldn't get out of bed.