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Dick isn't sure how long he's been staring at this grey wall.
He isn't even sure how long it has been since he'd been brought here, or since She had taken his clothes…somewhere.
Or where exactly “here” even is.
Or where She had gone and for how long.
All he knows is that the wall is his friend.
It's safe.
It is always there for him, throughout everything She does.
They do.
He can't absolve himself from blame, no matter how much he didn’t and doesn't want any of this.
He still is playing his role.
Afterall, he could've just gotten up and walked out at any point over the last…however long.
Or pulled his arm away when She had dragged him to wherever they are.
Or pushed Her off of him the first time that She'd decided to take what She wanted.
Or any of the following times.
He has long since memorized the pattern of the wallpaper.
It is comforting. He can focus on it instead of Her.
On his wall, there are exactly 8 diamonds across, and 11.5 up, which makes for a total of 92 diamonds. He has counted them more than enough times to know that. He's practically memorized it at this point.
He's had more than enough time.
He can't remember the last time he did something other than lay in this bed, other than, well.
He tries not to think about it.
He doesn't tend to think about much these days.
Or move much these days, which is frighteningly abnormal for him.
Not since She brought him here.
He had barely gotten up the energy to turn onto his side earlier, toward his wall, and pull the sheet up over his body and head after She left.
It's like he is in a vat of molasses.
Or perhaps a more fitting metaphor is that of Atlas, who has the weight of the world on his shoulders.
It is a feeling he is unfortunately familiar with, despite the best intentions of his older brothers.
Gods, his older brothers.
He would give anything to have Dami here, to be able to hide behind his dad and feel safe, for him to make it all go away.
But that is just a dream. A wish. A fantasy.
Any minute now, She will come back, and his nightmare will continue.
She will come back. She will force him to the bathroom, pour some kind of vaguely salty liquid down his throat, and he will get oh so tired, and then She will take him to the bed, where She can do whatever She wants while he just doesn't have the energy to stop Her.
He just wants the rain to stop.
Maybe it's the universe's way of punishing him for his actions.
After all, he deserves it, doesn't he? So many people are hurt or dead, all because of him, he's a murderer.
Maybe this is just his penance.
It might as well be, considering he is complicit in his punishment. He's been raised, by two Batmen, not to mention his endless amounts of older siblings, to know and carry out appropriate justice.
And at least on some level, he knows what She is doing to him, is not it.
But he was also raised, at an earlier age, by a group with a true amalgamation of spiritual and religious beliefs, to believe in a higher power of some sort delivering its own form of karmic justice.
And who's to say that She isn't his own form of karma?
And if She is.
Well.
That's between him and his wall.
Afterall, it's not like anyone's likely to be looking for him.
Tim isn't necessarily on good terms with the family, and even though he is more fond of Dick, meaning he won’t immediately shoot him on sight, they don't exactly keep in touch. Jason has been busy with college and hasn't exactly been free to talk. And the few times Dick had tried before he lost his phone along with his apartment, which he had managed to get through slightly-less-than-legal means, well, Jason hadn't been very willing to listen. He hasn't been very happy with Dick ever since Bruce told him that he “ran away” almost a year ago. Speaking of which, Bruce also isn't really an option. And as much as Dick loves Alfred, he has taken to not-so-subtly telling him to come home every time they spoke, clearly believing Bruce’s tale, so, well, they hadn't exactly spoken for a while, even before he lost his phone.
And Damian…
Well, he's been on a mission in space, without any form of communication, for a little over a year now. It was the first space mission he’s gone on in years, after what had happened the last time.
It was why Dick had chosen to move to Bludhaven in the first place, to watch over it while Dami was gone, and, well. Maybe it was to feel closer to him as well. Dick had wished many times that Dami was here to help over the last year.
If he were, maybe Dick wouldn't have found himself homeless for the first, let alone the second, time in a year.
So no, no one is likely to come looking for him any time soon. No matter how much Dick might hope for it.
It is just him, his wall, and…
Her.
There's a fly on his wall. It has been flitting in and out of his vision for quite some time, searching for a way out of its entrapment within this room.
Dick can only hope that it manages to escape before it falls into one of the spider webs spread throughout the room.
He is all too familiar with how hard it can be to escape once ensnared.
Spiders are just too cunning.
And unfortunately, there is no rain coming to wash the spider out, no matter how much Dick, his wall, and the fly wish for it. Instead this spider brings the rain with Her, almost basking in it.
Dick expects it won't be much longer before he runs out of hope altogether.
It seems like that moment might be coming sooner than later; he can hear the faintest of footsteps coming down the hall.
Dick squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe if he pretends like he is sleeping, the Gods will take pity on him, and She will leave him alone.
He can hear the doorknob rattling as She tries to get the door open. He is desperately hoping that it is because She has lost her key and can't get in, and not because She is angry, drunk, or high, which unfortunately is the case more often than not.
Alas, it seems like the universe isn't on his side today. He bites back a whimper as the door slowly creaks open.
He hears a sharp inhale (but why? She is well aware of the state of him and Her room, so how can it be a surprise?) as She stands in the doorway.
“...Richard?” A deep voice (so unlike Hers, and oh so familiar, but can he dare to hope? It’s been so long since he’s heard it, he could just be hallucinating) calls out.
Dick doesn't have the energy to suppress his flinch. She calls him that—Richard, quiet mi amor—which he is strangely grateful for. If one of his names is to be tainted, at least it isn't one of his preferred nicknames, even if it is what Dami, his dad, often calls him.
The voice stops. Dick naively hopes for it to be because they have decided to leave, and not because they have realized he is awake and not sleeping like he is desperately pretending to be, even though he ruined the illusion with his stupid flinch.
The footsteps start up again, but this time they are louder, and almost more…cautious. Almost like they are purposefully more audible.
“Dick?” The footsteps come around his side of the bed. The person pauses, inhaling slowly. Dick hears their clothes rustle as pressure is put on the bed.
They have…crouched down? And placed their hand on the bed? That isn't something She has done before.
“Dick? Will you open your eyes?” the voice says, the normally formal tone tinged with the slightest of panic.
Dick stubbornly keeps his eyes shut. He doesn't want to face Her, and if the Gods have decided to punish him in some new way by forcing him to confess what he—what they—did to his family, well, how can he? Bruce has drilled the no-killing rule into all of them, and Dami had worked so hard to adjust, and Tim has come so far since his return, and even he has never killed innocents, and Jason is always heartbroken by the death of innocents–though he always masks it with anger.
He simply does not want to face the inevitable consequences of his actions.
“...ick? Habibi?” The mysterious voice says. “Please, open your eyes. Please,” The voice cracks.
Dick reluctantly opens his eyes. He blinks, trying to clear the haze from his eyes. His gaze drifts across the room, eventually landing on the figure, who is in fact crouching, in front of him.
Damian.
Dami.
His dad.
He must be so disappointed in him.
“There you are, habibi,” Damian says, “Do you know where your…companion is?”
Dick blinks at him, a stray tear leaving his eyes as he unglues his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Dunno,” he rasps, “Left a while ‘go.”
Damian's mouth tightens. “Alright. Can you get up? We are leaving.”
Dick's gaze drifts to his wall. He isn't sure he can. He feels so heavy that moving is impossible. But he also isn't sure that he wants help. He honestly just doesn't want to be touched anymore, but.
This is his dad.
He is the one who had raised him while Bruce was assumed dead, and even after Bruce came back, Dami is the one who takes care of him whenever he is injured or sick, and he is the one that Dick confides in when he needs to. At least, until he left, and Dick became alone, but that isn't really Damian's fault, it’s his, so.
If anyone feels safe, even now, it is him.
Dick's eyes refocus on Dami. If he didn't look worried before, he definitely does now. He somehow raises the energy to shake his head.
Damian frowns, reaching for Dick's face.
Dick can't help it, he flinches.
Damian pauses. “I was checking your eyes,” he says, “...May I check your eyes?”
If Dick didn't know better, he would think that Dami looks unsure of himself, but that is impossible. Damian is never unsure of himself. Dick feels a flash of guilt before it is overtaken by the all-encompassing numbness that he's been drowning in for the last however long.
Dick nods.
Damian pulls back, studying him. He must have decided it is truly okay, because he nods to himself before cautiously leaning in to reach towards Dick's face again. He rests his fingers on Dick's forehead, using his thumb to pull one eyelid up, then the other.
Damian's frown somehow grows deeper as Dick suddenly finds himself attacked by a flashlight. He exclaims in betrayal, pulling his head back sharply while blinking, trying to clear his vision. Once his vision clears he glares at Damian, trying to express his displeasure.
Damian's mouth twitches up to the side in an almost smile, a sharp contrast to the seriousness of his eyes. “I am well aware that you are familiar enough with first aid to know that checking how your pupils respond to light is a necessary step,” he says, “Though I apologize for not giving you a heads up. May I have your wrist? I would like to check your pulse.”
Dick scrunches his nose. He is not particularly fond of the idea of leaving his blanket. It is safe, and while he has been fairly out of it, he knows what marks could be spread across his body.
She is not exactly gentle.
He reluctantly pulls his arm out from the blanket, offering it to Damian.
“Thank you,” Damian says, taking Dick's hand in his. He inhales sharply, his grip tightening as he pulls Dick's hand closer to him, turning it back and forth. “What–” he says, trailing off, his gaze darkening with fury.
Dick's gaze follows Damian's to his wrist, wondering what has made him so angry. Is there still blood on his hands from Blockbuster?
Oh.
Dick blinks, staring at the dark overlapping distinct handprints trailing from the base of his hand up to where his arm just above his elbow disappears under his blanket. He knew She was rough, but this? This was…worse than he was expecting. He hadn’t thought he had let Her be this bad.
He looks up at Damian, scared of his reaction to the evidence of Her—their—actions.
Damian has closed his eyes, his breathing controlled in the way that Bruce had trained all of them—except for Dick, Damian himself had been the one to teach him—to calm themselves down with, his grip slowly loosening. Damian opens his eyes, his facial expressions carefully blank.
“I will check your heart rate,” Damian says neutrally, placing two of his fingers on Dick's wrist. The two of them sit in silence for the couple of minutes he takes to check then re-check Dick's heart rate. Damian takes a slow breath in as he finishes, shifting to hold Dick's hand in both of his. “Qalbi, did she give you something? Perhaps a drug of some kind?” Damian asks.
Dick frowns. “Don' think so,” he says, “She gives me some water, but I don't know what's in it.” He watches as Damian's thumb rubs back and forth on his hand. It's grounding, in a way that is simultaneously nice and brutal.
“Water. She gives you water.” Damian stares at him, an indistinguishable look in his eyes. “Where does she obtain the water from?”
“Dunno, it doesn't taste good though, it's salty.” Dick isn't quite sure what to make of Damian's facial expression. He can tell that Dami is angry, but it's tinged with something Dick hasn't seen before.
If it was on anyone else’s face, he would've said it is heartbreak.
Dick will never forgive himself for putting that look on his dad's face.
“Alright. We are leaving. Now. May I help you up?” Damian asks, squeezing Dick's hand.
Dick stares at him. This is what he has been hoping for quite some time, but…
He can't help but wonder if it's all too good to be true.
This could just be a dream or hallucination.
If it is, well.
Flying without a net has always been his specialty.
“Please,” Dick whispers.
Damian smiles at him, ever so small but present. “Let us start with getting you sitting up.”
He carefully reaches for Dick's blanket, telegraphing his every movement. Dick would be annoyed by how cautiously Damian is handling him, but he would be lying if he said there was a small part of him that doesn't appreciate it at this moment. Damian slowly pulls the blanket out from over Dick's head and down to his chest.
“I am going to reach for your shoulders now, to help you sit up,” Damian explains, waiting for Dick to nod. He then reaches for Dick's shoulders, gently helping him turn onto his back and sit up against the headboard, pausing halfway.
Dick looks up to find Damian staring at the deep bruises and scratches (and are those bite marks?) marring his neck and chest, which had been revealed as the blanket fell down around his waist. Damian's eyes darken for each new mark he finds as his hands spasm on Dick's shoulders. His gaze meets Dick's, brimming with fury.
Damian and Dick have been close enough for long enough that he can see Damian fight with himself to get his rage under control.
Dick just hopes that Damian will wait to unleash it upon him until after he has gotten Dick out of this place.
Even if he is angry enough to cast Dick out, just like Bruce did, it's fine. Dick has lived through that before, he can do it again.
Even if it will break him to lose a fourth parent.
Damian takes a deep breath, his hands calming. “We are halfway there, not much more to go. We can make it the rest of the way,” He says, continuing to pull Dick upright until he is fully sitting up against the headboard.
“Dad–” Dick gasps, closing his eyes and reaching desperately with one hand for Damian, finding his forearm. He isn't sure if it's because the room itself is spinning or because he hasn't eaten or drank in quite some time, but…
“Habibi? What's wrong?” Damian asks, his voice forcibly steady as he shifts his grip to return Dick’s grasp on his forearm.
Dick swallows back the saliva filling his mouth. “Nauseous. Dizzy,” He mutters, clinging to Damian like his life depends on it.
“I will get you some water,” Damian says, going to stand and releasing his grip.
Dick hesitates, not letting go of him. He isn't sure that he’s ready for Damian to leave him, but… If he doesn't let him, he's going to get even more worried than he already is. He opens his eyes, glancing up at Dami.
Damian tilts his head. “I am fetching you water, habibi, that is all. I will be within your sight the entire time, I swear it.”
Dick reluctantly lets go as Dami watches him. Dick watches as he waits a second before walking around the bed towards the bathroom. Damian looks for a cup on the counter, quietly cursing as he realizes there isn't one. Crouching down, he opens the cabinet under the sink, moving items around. Dick hears the distinctive rattle of a pill bottle as Damian goes silent and stops moving.
“Dami?” He calls out, as loudly as he can manage, which is admittedly fairly quiet.
He hears Damian take a shaky breath as he stands up with a glass, shoving something in his pocket. Dick hears the water run for longer than he would've expected just to fill a relatively small glass. Damian walks back towards him and around the end of the bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed beside Dick, he wordlessly holds the now full glass of water out to Dick, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Dick doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dami shaking before, not unless he had been hit by fear gas, so what does it say that Dick has pushed him to that point?
Dick grabs the glass. “Thank you,” He mumbles.
“You are welcome,” Damian says, smiling tightly at him. “Now, where are your clothes?”
Dick takes a sip, averting his gaze and pulling his knees up to his chest, careful to keep the blanket around his waist.
“Qalbi?”
Dick avoids looking at him, staring intently at his wall.
“Dick?”
Dick really doesn't know how to admit that all of his clothes, except for his Nightwing suit, had gone up in flames alongside his apartment, and She had taken his suit away as soon as they got here, which She joked was for easier…access.
“Richard. Look at me,” Damian says, his voice changing to the no-nonsense tone he always used with Dick as a child when getting ready to count from ten to one.
Dick flinches as he reluctantly shifts his gaze to meet Damian’s. He never could tolerate that tone, he always gave in early, typically around the number eight, growing up. Except as Robin, as Robin he always found great joy in disobeying Batman for the greater good, a habit that Bruce did not tolerate well upon his return.
“Where are your clothes?” Damian asks, his face stony.
Dick shrugs mulishly. “Don' have any. Had my suit, but She took it when we got ‘ere.”
Damian closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. Opening his eyes, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, dialing a phone number.
“Who are you callin’?”
Ignoring him, Damian waits for the person to connect. It only takes two rings before–
“Drake? I need clothes.” Damian listens as the person, apparently Tim, responded, which was weird because they never talked. He sighs. “Yes, Timothy, I found him. Let Jason know, but do not let him come. He may meet us at my apartment once Richard has been taken care of and gotten some rest. Now, the clothes? Bring some close to his size.” He listens, nodding occasionally. “The motel address is —,” He says, rattling off the address. “G–” Groaning, Damian pulls his phone away from his ear, glaring at it. “He hung up. He should be here soon since he is already in Bludhaven.”
Dick frowns. “Why is he already here?” That’s incredibly weird. Tim never came to Bludhaven except to irritate Damian, but that didn’t seem to be the case. And Tim letting Jason know that Damian “found” him? That was somehow even weirder.
“Habibi,” Damian says, looking up at him, “Timothy and Jason came here once they realized that you could not be reached after your apartment building exploded. They contacted me and I joined them as soon as I could be back on the planet. It took us a few weeks to track you down. It was…harder than we anticipated,” He says, an apologetic look on his face.
Dick looks away, nodding. He didn’t quite understand why they had such a hard time finding him, and he's not quite sure how to feel about his family putting all of this unnecessary effort into finding a murderer. They must not know what he's done, otherwise they wouldn't have wasted their time.
Damian tilts his head. “Do you think you are able to shift to the edge of the bed? That way you can get dressed easily once Timothy arrives.”
Dick scrunches his nose. Honestly, that's the last thing he wants to do. It’s going to take so much effort that he doesn’t think he has in him.
The corner of Damian's mouth twitches up. “I understand it seems overwhelming, habibi, but I believe it may take us some time to get you there, and it will make it much easier. I believe it will be worth it, and I will help, just like before.”
Dick groans. It does sound practical. Reluctantly, he nods. Taking a final sip of his water, he passes the cup to Dami, who stands, placing it on the nightstand.
He stares at the side of the bed, trying to psych himself up for the move.
Damian extends his hands, silently asking Dick for his permission to touch him. Once Dick nods, Damian pulls the sheet further around Dick's waist, gently grasping his knees and swinging them around to the edge of the bed. Shifting his grip to Dick's shoulders, he helps Dick sit up. Cautiously releasing his grip, Damian watches as Dick wavers, trying desperately to breathe through his nausea and dizziness.
“-ick!”
Dick startles as he feels Damian's hands grab his shoulders tightly. Opening his eyes (when had he closed them?), he inhales sharply, finding the bed suddenly much closer to his face than it was a moment ago.
“Qalbi? Are you alright?” Damian asks semi-frantically.
Dick blinks, trying to reorient himself. He nods, trying and failing to push himself upright. Luckily, Damian takes pity on him and pulls him upright.
“Sorry,” Dick says, avoiding meeting Damian's eyes, “Don' know what happened.” He can feel Damian's eyes on him, and can tell even without looking that he is being assessed. Damian had never quite gotten out of the habit of assessing whoever he was worried about as if they were an enemy that he was trying to figure out the best way to vanquish.
“It is alright, habibi,” Damian says haltingly, “I will watch to make sure it does not happen again before Timothy arrives. He should be here momentarily, he was merely stopping at my apartment to grab some clothing you left there upon your last stay with me.”
“Mmkay,” Dick mumbles, focusing on remaining upright, which admittedly was much easier with Damian's support, despite how much he hated needing it. He reaches a hand towards his water, making grabby motions.
Damian eyes him, clearly trying to decide if it was safe to let him go. He slowly lets go of his left hand, grabbing the water and passing it to him. Damian watches him carefully as Dick sips on it, keeping his hand right by the glass. They sit in silence as Dick sips on it.
Dick fidgets with the sheet wrapped around his waist, not sure what to say. He feels such overwhelming shame, and…
Well.
What can you say to the person who has raised you for close to a decade when you've betrayed everything he's spent so much time and energy teaching you?
Damian might as well go ahead and disown him now, before Dick can get used to being able to depend on him again.
Dick startles as someone knocks on the door, water from his cup splashing onto his hands and blanket. Damian takes the cup of water from him, setting it on the nightstand before using a corner of the blanket to pat Dick's hands dry.
“I am going to let Timothy in, habibi. I will come right back.” Damian stands, turning to head to the door.
Dick stares at the ground by his feet, listening to Damian's footsteps as they near the door.
“Who is there?” Damian asks, his tone somewhat hostile, as he does to ward off strangers or the media.
“The Joker, now let me in, dipshit,” Dick's second oldest brother snaps.
Damian had told Dick that Tim was coming, but Dick honestly hadn't expected him to actually show up.
Damian huffs, a sound that would sound irritated to anyone who isn't Dick, who knows that Dami is actually affectionately amused. “Ti–” Damian says, opening the door, breaking into furious whispers as he sees who is on the other side. “I…tol……ome….lone…” he whispers, in a tone that is as close to shouting as one can get while trying to keep what they are saying unintelligible.
Dick carefully looks over his shoulder, trying to avoid the dizziness that has been overwhelming his existence. For a moment all he can see is the reassuring sight of Damian's shoulders. His shoulders strain to keep the door cracked as—Tim? It must be—shoves on the door. He watches as Tim manages to wedge himself in the doorway, forcing it most of the way open. For a moment, Tim and Damian's dispute is encompassing his vision, but then.
They shift.
Not much, but just enough for Dick to be able to see through it. He locks eyes with Jason, who pauses mid-sentence, his eyes going wide as he sees him. His line of sight cuts off as Damian blocks his view and he hears Jason call his name. Dick watches as Tim's focus shifts to him, his protests dying out on his lips, and Damian turns sharply to look at him, locking eyes with him.
Damian's brow furrows before he whirls back around, gearing up to yell, no longer worried about controlling his volume now that he knows Dick has seen the situation.
He stops abruptly as his gaze lands on Tim, who appears to have been stunned into speechlessness, an incredibly rare occurrence. Dick watches him deflate as Tim snaps his mouth shut, tearing his gaze back to Damian, who whispers to him softly (to Tim? That’s a first). Tim nods jerkily, before turning and walking away, dragging Jason behind him.
Just before he’s out of sight entirely, Jason and Dick lock eyes.
Dick isn’t sure that he’s ever seen Jason’s face that pale before.
He must be scared. But of what? Or whom?
Damian closes and locks the door. He stands in silence facing it, just breathing.
After a moment he nods to himself, squaring his shoulders as he turns around.
“Let us get you dressed, habibi,” Damian says, walking towards the bed with a bundle of fabric in his hands. He pauses when he gets to Dick's side of the bed, setting a hoodie, longsleeve shirt, sweatpants, underwear, and socks on the bed. He kneels by the bed, placing a pair of slippers on the floor in front of Dick. “Do you think you can do it yourself?” He asks, his gaze nonjudgmental.
Dick pauses, trying to evaluate his capabilities. He doesn't think he can, but needing help would be mortifying at best. It wouldn't be the first time Damian had helped him get dressed, but those times were typically when Dick was injured, and…
Well.
He isn't exactly injured, not really.
Then again, he honestly isn't sure that he would actually know if he was.
Dick can feel Damian's eyes on him, expecting an answer, as he stares at his feet. He's desperately hoping that Dami will get the hint and help, without him having to say anything.
He just can't bring himself to ask out loud.
They sit in weighted silence as they both wait for the other to speak.
Dick's shoulders rise reflexively as Damian sighs, his overwhelming levels of guilt somehow managing to increase.
Damian silently grabs the pile of clothes off the bed, kneeling by Dick's feet.
“May I?” He asks.
Dick nods, keeping his gaze on the ground. If he can't see the disappointment and judgment in Damian's gaze, maybe this will be more tolerable.
Alas, Damian seems determined to thwart Dick's plans. He leans down, trying his best to catch Dick's gaze.
Reluctantly, Dick looks up, allowing Damian's eyes to meet his.
“Habibi,” Damian says, stiltedly, “I would prefer a verbal yes or no. Please.”
Dick blinks at him. Even though Dami is better than he used to be at saying please, after Dick had good-naturedly fussed at him about it incessantly as a child, he still doesn't say it often. Not unless he's serious about something.
Dick unglues his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Yeah, ‘s fine,” he responds, fixating his gaze above Damian's shoulder on his wall. He really doesn't want to see any of this process, or himself.
Damian nods, grabbing underwear and sweatpants from the pile of clothes. Pulling the sheet up around Dick's thighs, briefly pausing at whatever he sees, he gently feeds Dick's feet through the holes one at a time, pulling the clothes up to Dick's knees.
“If I help you balance, do you want to pull them up yourself, or would you prefer I do it?” He asks.
“I'll do it,” Dick says. He's confident, at least somewhat, that he can manage it if Dami helps. And it feels ridiculous to ask, considering how often they had to be undressed with each other for one reason or another, whether that because of injuries, toxins or chemicals, or just changing in the cave, but… Dick honestly can't bear the idea of someone, even Dami, seeing that much of him. “Can you…not look? Please?”
To Dick's surprise, Damian doesn't look shocked at the question. “Of course, qalbi. Would you prefer I simply look away, or close my eyes?”
“Closed, please,” Dick mumbles.
Damian nods, standing to step back and close his eyes. With the confidence that only someone who had been training their body since birth can manage with their eyes closed, he bends down, gently grasping Dick's shoulders.
Dick fumbles for a loose grip on the pants. The last thing he wants is for them to fall down around his ankles before he can manage to pull them up. Taking a deep breath, he steels himself. At least he knows what to expect now.
“Ready,” he says.
He slowly brings himself to a semi-vertical position, Damian's grip on his shoulders providing more support than he wants to admit. He clenches his eyes shut, hoping it'll help ease the dizziness and nausea enough to push through this. He pulls the pants up roughly before crashing back onto the bed, breathing a sigh of relief.
“May I open my eyes, habibi?” Damian asks, keeping his hands by Dick's shoulders.
“Mhm.” Dick's eyes close. He's utterly exhausted, which feels ridiculous considering how little he's done. To think he used to spend his nights running over rooftops on four or less hours of sleep after a full day of school and extracurriculars.
There's silence for a moment. Damian winds up breaking it, softly reassuring Dick that they're almost done.
“May I pull your shirt on? I also have a hoodie if you would prefer that, or we can do both.” Damian asks.
Dick considers for a moment. Multiple layers would be nice, but that's just so much effort, even with Dami helping. “Dunno,” he mumbles.
He can feel Damian assessing him, even with his eyes closed.
“Alright.” Damian gently grabs Dick's arm, feeding it through a sleeve of what Dick is fairly certain is the longsleeve shirt. He feeds Dick's other arm through its own sleeve before gently guiding the shirt over Dick's head and pulling it down around his waist. He pauses for a second before repeating the process with the hoodie, clearly having decided that it was best if Dick wore both.
Honestly, it probably was to reduce the questions they were asked by bystanders. That would've just been even more hassle, and he's already having to deal with Dick's shit. Damian, not to mention Tim and Jason working together, after all the years they've spent at each other's throats, had to track him down and pull Dick out of this absolute mess he's put himself in.
They're gonna be so pissed at him, especially when they find out the whole story, what he did and what he’s let happen, and that's if they don't already know.
Dick startles as Damian speaks, jolting him out of his spiral.
“Alright, qalbi, slippers next, then we are done. Then we will head home,” Damian says, kneeling by Dick's feet.
Dick's shoulders raise as his chest and throat tighten, his breathing becoming tight.
He can't go home, doesn't Damian know that?
Not only did Bruce kick him out, but Dick broke the one rule: we don't kill. Bruce would kill (well, not actually, but he certainly would be incredibly displeased, which would not be pleasant for a variety of reasons) him. And his home hasn’t been with Damian for years, no matter how much he wished it was.
Dick can feel his panic rising through the fog that has been overwhelming his system for however long.
Miraculously, Damian doesn't seem to notice as he slides the slippers onto Dick's feet, even as Dick's breathing worsens to borderline hyperventilating. He can feel his pulse racing as his head spins.
Desperately, Dick's hand shoots out, grabbing Damian's shoulder.
Damian looks up at him, his expression morphing into clear concern as he takes in Dick's state. “Habibi?” He asks. “What–”
“Can't,” Dick interrupts, as his shaking (and when had that started? Has he truly fallen far enough to have lost the most basic awareness of his body? He might as well just retire now, and if he retires, what does he even have left?) worsens. His grip on Dami's shoulders must be painful at this point, he knows that, but he just can't bring himself to let go.
Damian's eyebrows furrow. “‘Can't?’ You cannot what?”
“Home,” Dick manages to force out between gasps, “Bruce, he–, I–” Dick cuts himself off, a shiver going down his spine. How does he tell his brother (dad) that he had disappointed their father so much that he had been kicked out? And how does he tell Damian that he has broken the no-killing rule?
“Bruce?” Damian's gaze turns stony. “Bruce. Alright. I– What–” He stops himself, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Dick watches him as he pauses, silent.
When Damian reopens his eyes they're carefully blank, in a way that Dick is honestly not sure what to make of in this context. “I meant my place, habibi, when I said home. I apologize, I should have been clearer. We will not go to the manor,” he soothes, “is that… acceptable?”
Dick nods, slumping as the tension releases from his body, as if he is a puppet that had its strings cut.
“Alright. Alright,” Damian says, looking almost frazzled. “Is there anything that we need to bring with us?”
Dick shakes his head. He doesn't think there's anything of his around, She had taken it all when they arrived.
Damian nods, his lips pursed. “Can you walk?” He asks, standing and taking a step back.
“Think so,” Dick responds, lacking the energy to say anything else. He forces himself into an upright position, trying to ignore the dizziness and nausea that overtakes him. Damian hovers beside him as Dick takes two steps.
Maybe if he uses momentum, he'll be able to pull this off.
Or maybe not.
The floor goes out from under him as his knees buckle, the room spinning around him.
Damian releases a truly impressive string of curses in a creative mix of Arabic and English as he catches Dick by his armpits, grunting a little as he takes Dick's weight. Carefully, he pulls one of Dick's arms over his shoulders before bending down to get an arm under his knees to carry him.
“I have you,” he says.
“I c'n d’ ‘t,” Dick mumbles, too dizzy to form coherent words. Even as he insists that it's unnecessary, he can't help but fall into a familiar position, his head resting on Dami's shoulder as his hand grips onto the front of his shirt.
Damian huffs in response, his tone affectionate as he carries Dick out of the motel room.
It's been a while since Damian has carried him, something that used to be fairly common when Dick would inevitably fall asleep somewhere other than his bed, unable to unless he was in the room with someone. He had suffered through months of sleepless nights when Bruce was still alive, as he was never around, Alfred was busy, and while he and Jason had wound up close, there had been a rough adjustment period where Jason thought he was being replaced.
Then.
Well.
Bruce died.
And Damian had taken custody of Dick and technically Jason, though Jason wound up mainly staying at the manor with Alfred while Dami and Dick moved into the penthouse. It became common for them to do “movie nights,” an unsubtle ploy by Damian to get Dick to sleep after he had realized that Dick wasn't sleeping due to an unfortunate and embarrassing incident involving a bowl of cereal and Dick's face.
But then Bruce returned.
And suddenly Dick had to try to get used to falling asleep alone.
Then Dami left.
Dick's eyes close as he tries to reorient himself, a task admittedly made much easier by not having to desperately try to keep himself vertical. Although, the gentle swaying that comes with being carried is unfortunately not helping with his dizziness, despite the many years that he has spent throwing himself through the air at high speeds, or his drowsiness.
He can't help but doze off, resting in the land between waking and sleep.
He's just so tired.
And he's safe in his dad's arms.
He rests for what he assumes must be only a few minutes as Damian walks to what is presumably his car. He feels Damian stop, shifting Dick in a practiced way so he can use one of his hands to open a door, before carefully lowering Dick into a car seat. Dick is left to rest for a moment before Damian rudely tries to wake him.
“Dick?” He calls softly.
Dick tries desperately to open his eyes or make a sound, but he just can't quite manage it. He feels Damian buckle him in before softly closing the car door. After a moment, he hears Damian get in the driver's seat.
The last thing he feels before drifting fully off to sleep is Damian running his hand over Dick's hair.
“You may rest, habibi, till we get home. I will keep you safe.”
Dami's hand leaves his head as the car starts.
Everything is wrong, and nothing is okay, but in this moment Dick chooses to leave that as a problem for later, letting himself fall asleep.