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0:00 (midnight), Wayne Manor
The world was a blur of black and white, if the snow were a night sky, his blood would be the stars, red poetically cold.
His hands blurred, everything blurred- why was everything so blurry? Absolutely no idea.
Oh wait. He’d been shot hadn’t he? Ok, so he had an idea. Thanks Adrenaline!
Was he Nightwing or Dick right now? Doesn’t matter. (It does. He chastened himself- pretty sure he was in civies though)
Where is he? Ahead of him- as he craned his neck up- and- why was he on all fours? God it was cold. His hands were burning from the snow-
Up. Focus. Biiiiiiiiiiig building. More of a castle. All lit up in the inside, like Dracula and Santa got cozy. Ha.
Wait he knew that silhouette- The Manor? Oh- shit- what day was it- Christmas- he promised he’d make it- “Owwww…” he whined.
hand now pressing into his side. It burned. Was he gonna die? He hoped not.- usually when he thought of death- or dying- he was never shot- at least by a- who shot him?
He couldn’t remember. He was hungry. Also loosing blood. That’s why he was dizzy?
“Gotta- get- uuuupp…” Dick rubbed his nose- snot- frozen. Ugh… his face burned. His hand burned.
Worst. Day. Ever. He heaved himself up, groaning, adrenaline slowly but surely leaving him for the wolves. Not that they had wolves. Unless Dami found some. Wait did they have wolves? (No. They didn’t.)
He was now stumbling. A start. “The first step on the road- to- success—-“ Cough, sneeze, splutter, “is the- wait- that’s not how it-“ he made it a few steps before hacking his lungs out. -“goes.”
He began to sway, stumbling forward towards the manor like a drunken man. Maybe he was drunk. (Was he? He hoped not. B would have his head if he was.)
“Onward!” He wasted breath. Trudging through the snow, he left a rose red trail of blood, his hair was powdered with snow, and as were his shoulders- and he was so- so cold- he couldn’t die now-
Nope- that would- He would miss everyone so much- -he couldn’t leave now… not… they still needed him- he still needed them- he loved them- so much- it would be cruel-
“You’re… not dying.” He chided himself through gritted teeth. “just… have a little- bleeding problem… you’ve had worse…” he hugged his hand to his side.
“Cmon… let’s g-g-go…”
In the end. After tromping and hissing, he made it to a window. It radiated warmth- a bright fiery- toasty- rosy warmth- he imagined it-
Alfred- bringing steaming- mouth watering meals- then sitting and having dignified conversation- with a firm tone-
Maybe Steph would poke at Jason- maybe Tim would too- maybe Duke would laugh like a thousand sweet bells-
maybe Dami would huff when they prod him too- and he knew Cass would be sat, a beaming smile as bright as the sun-
And Bruce would be at the head, smiling, maybe with pride? He pictured it.
And he knew there’d be a food fight. Perhaps Steph starts it- then they’d all join in- one by one- but he knew who’d win it- He missed them.
He couldn’t remember why he’d been away so long- or why he’d been tossed in the snow- or how he’d even got here- but he knew he missed them. Dearly.
Had no one looked for him? Traitorous thoughts flooded his mind, betraying him, stealing his warm paradise.
He lifted a hand. The snow blessed one, untouched by his own gore.
He pressed it to the sparkling window, it even felt warm to touch. Nostalgia. He missed it.
Blood dripped onto the snow. Red. Like carnations, poppies, roses. He found poppies fit this situation better.
Roses were too romantic, and carnations too kind, too lovely in the wrong way for this situations. But Poppies?
They fit just right.
~~~~~~
Dick was found dead, in the morning.
—-shot in the side, it’s thought he died from blood loss at 21:00. (9 Pm).
His body found collapsed in the snow, just a few feet from the Wayne Families Manor, one hand outstretched, and another frozen to his wound.
He had never made it to the window.