Chapter Text
A flash of red hair in his peripherals distracted him just long enough to catch a kick to his stomach, knocking the breath out of him.
He really shouldn't have come out tonight.
The past week had been hell. But then again, what was another week on top of months? If he hadn't been sick before, he definitely was now. Even before being kicked, his breath had been hard to come by, and his head pounding. He was exhausted and that definitely was not helping the situation.
It wasn't that he'd kept on going with working through the night - in fact, he was pretty much caught up on any backlog work and didn't have much else to do - but that the nightmares didn't let him get more than a few measly hours a night. He was trying to eat full meals, but making them was a lot more effort than he could put in and eating them never sounded appetising. All classic symptoms of grief - ones he was personally acquainted with - but he couldn't bring himself to care. Especially not now as he got beat up by some low-life thugs on his way to a drug bust.
It took another hit to his torso for him to pay attention again. It was three-on-one, so he should have beaten these guys within the first two minutes but instead it had been almost ten and he had yet to knock any of them down for good.
He blocked the next punch and retaliated by grabbing the guy's outstretched arm and using his momentum to flip him over. It was a move Dick had used countless times in the past so he knew that it shouldn't have made him so tired to do it now.
A sharp pain at the back of his skull made his vision swim. It was only instinct that helped him dodge another blow and avoid getting held down. In the confusion he thought he saw a glimpse of a bright yellow costume zoom down the opposite street but he knew it couldn't be him.
The sleep-deprivation had started really getting to him a couple days ago. He'd thought leaving the Manor would have helped since memories wouldn't assault him everywhere he looked - whose fault was it that he didn't have enough memories with Wally at Dick's apartment? - but it seemed his mind had taken to hallucinations instead. Flashes or glimpses of his friend just in the corner of his eye, a moment of hope and joy only to be snatched away with a fresh dagger to his heart when he remembered that Wally was gone.
Wally was gone.
The lump in his throat was too big for him to swallow this time. He'd been trying his best to shove it all down, ignore it for so long, but he didn't have the strength to do that anymore.
A fist connected with his jaw but even that wasn't enough to pull him out of his thoughts now that they had grabbed hold. A part of him didn't want to fight back anyway, knowing that he deserved it.
If you could have just let Wally and Artemis leave then he'd still be alive, his mind hissed and he didn't have anything to say to defend himself. If you were a better leader, a better hero then you could have managed without putting other people's lives on the line for you. You just had to play at being Batman, pretending you could do it all. Look where that got you. Look where it got Wally.
He tried to block the voice out. These thugs weren't even part of his plan for tonight. There was a major drug bust he was supposed to go take out and he was wasting time here.
A kick to the back of his knees knocked him down. A weight on his back kept him pressed firmly against the pavement, one arm twisted painfully behind him. The adrenaline blocked out all of his thoughts long enough for him to reach for his escrima with his free hand and electrocute the guy on him but the adrenaline didn't last long. He'd reached his limit of pushing everything down and he knew it.
Just a few more hours or even more bodies will be on your hands, come on!
He staggered as he got up and faced the other two thugs unsteadily. His vision had started blurring, but he didn't know if it was from a lack of sleep, sickness, tears, or his head injury. Maybe a combination, probably all, but whatever it was, he had to fight it off.
One of the men rushed him, and soon his escrima was flung away again, making him resort to hand-to-hand combat. He could feel his body shutting down, having passed its limit days ago. He was taking more blows than he was landing, and he tasted copper in the back of his throat.
Can't even take care of three small-time guys without weapons? No wonder Jason and Wally died. You're useless. Pathetic. The teams are all probably having parties to celebrate you leaving because it means they won't die now. They have a competent leader again, one they can trust and knows what they're doing. One who doesn't get his best friend killed…
He faltered, because that last line hadn't been just any random voice in his head - it had been Wally's.
Big mistake to freeze up if only for a second.
He wasn't even entirely sure what had happened, just that his whole body exploded in pain, leaving him gasping on the ground. The part of his brain that was still functioning tried to prepare for more blows that would inevitably come, but none did. Over his loud thoughts and the pounding in his ears, he faintly registered the sound of fists against flesh and two thumps as the men fell, unconscious.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and his instincts screamed at him to knock it away but it didn't hurt him. He thought he heard a voice, someone speaking to him, but it was hard to tell if it was real or he was imagining it.
Well, one thing's for sure. It's not Wally, his mind giggled cruelly.
Shut up, he shot back, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself up onto his feet. He would have fallen if it wasn't for that hand still on his shoulder, holding him up.
"Nightwing?" Batman's gruff voice finally broke through, probably because of the panic Dick's subconscious picked up on.
"What are you doing here?" Dick managed to get out, asking more out of habit as he batted Batman's hand away than actual interest. His mind was still too loud, body still too out of sync.
"Alfred said… weren't ans-… his calls."
Bruce's voice sounds muffled, incoherent. Dick doesn't have the energy to pay attention or decipher it.
"'M fine," he mumbles, picking up his escrima's from where they were scattered in the alley and moving to climb the fire escape to get to the rooftops.
"Where are you going?"
"Drug bust," was all Dick said, fighting the pain and nausea that hit him suddenly as he held onto the rungs of the ladder. He forced himself to push through it and keep climbing. If Bruce noticed anything wrong, he would stay and pester Dick and Dick didn't have the energy to pretend he was okay for much longer. If Bruce saw how broken Dick really was, what leading for only a few months had done to him, how he was barely holding himself together and just bullshitting his way through life and being in charge then… ugh everything hurt too much to even think.
"You're injured, Nightwing. Stand down."
Dick ignored him, just kept climbing until he managed to pull himself over the top of the building, pretending that just standing wasn't taking all the energy had and then some.
"Come on, Rob, hurry up. I don't know why you didn't just let me give you a piggy back ride and run us both up the side of the building."
He shook his head to dismiss the memory but he only succeeded in making the world spin around him.
"Dick." Bruce's voice was firm but not harsh as he put a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Names," Dick whispered out of habit, but Bruce didn't smile when he came around to face the younger vigilante.
Any adrenaline that had kept Dick going quickly ebbed away, and suddenly, his legs gave out. Instead of crashing painfully to the ground though, Bruce wrapped his arms around Dick and lowered them both gently to the floor. With Bruce's arms wrapped tightly around him and his face buried in the older man's shoulder, Dick couldn't hold the tears back anymore.
Everything inside him that had been shoved down or hastily taped together for the past few weeks - months - finally overflowed and shattered. The numb feeling that had been there since Wally died ripped away like a bandaid and left the gaping wound inside him burning as it was finally exposed to air.
"It's okay, Dick," Bruce murmured softly in his ear.
It's not, he wanted to shout. It never will be again. But he could barely breathe, only remembering to because of Bruce's quiet reminders, scattered among other words of comfort and reassurances.
"I'm sorry you had to make all of those decisions... It's not your fault, Dick… You did so much better than I ever imagined. I'm proud of you." Some of Bruce's words make it past the storm in his mind, but they only make him cry harder.
He doesn't know how long they stay there on the rooftop. His tears have run out and his throat is hoarse and his head feels like someone stuffed it with cotton then decided to use it to play a game of soccer. Bruce still holds him as his breath continues to hitch, shaking with silent sobs and exhaustion and pain.
This was the bit that he'd been terrified of. A part of him had expected the whole world to shatter with him, to flood with his tears, for time to just stop. He didn't know what to do when life went on, sirens sounding in the distance, Bruce still rubbing his back as he sat there - not numb, but empty, utterly spent. It was what to do now that made him feel like he was standing on the unstable edge of a cliff.
Before he could figure it out for himself, his body made the choice for him and he let himself sink into the darkness without a fight.
He woke up in his old bedroom at the Manor. It took him a while to figure out what had happened - his memories were fuzzy but he remembered Batman showing up so he guessed Bruce must have brought him back - and even longer to open his eyes. They felt glued shut, his whole body protesting at the minuscule movement but he had the terrible feeling he'd been out for a lot longer than he should have.
He squinted against the sunlight that peeked out of the curtains, then froze when he noticed another pair of eyes staring at him.
"Shouldn't… you be at school?" His throat felt like sandpaper, so he gratefully gulped down the water that Tim offered him after helping him sit up a bit.
"Shouldn't you be smarter and not go out when you're sick and sleep deprived so you won't get your butt kicked?" He could imagine Jason saying if it had been the younger Robin by his bedside instead of Tim. The thought caught him off guard but his emotions were too spent for it to make him feel much.
As it was, Tim just raised an eyebrow. "It's Saturday… and past the time school would have ended on a weekday anyway."
A quick look at the clock on his bedside told him it was, indeed, 4:30 pm. Saturday though…
He would have bolted upright if his body wasn't as heavy as lead. "I've been sleeping for- "
"About a day and a half, yeah," Tim finished for him, getting his phone out to text Alfred and/or Bruce probably.
Dick reached for the edge of his blanket, intending to fling it off and get up, but Tim reached out a hand to stop him.
"Unless you want to face the wrath of Alfred, I wouldn't do that. I don't know if you've noticed, but you kind of have a high fever and are on bed rest for at least a couple more days."
As soon as Tim said it, it was as if his body had decided to prove it to him and suddenly all of the exhaustion came rushing back, forcing Dick to slump back against his pillows. He could feel the soreness in his eyes that always appeared whenever he had a fever, as well as his pounding headache and nausea. His whole body was sore, but that could be from the sickness or from the fight.
Tim watched him with a carefully blank expression, but he couldn't hide the worry in his eyes.
"The, uh, Team's been worried about you," Tim started, fidgeting. "They kept asking me about how you were doing but you weren't exactly answering anyone's calls so…"
"I… was busy." The excuse sounded lame even to Dick. The look Tim gave him told him he knew that, but with the way Dick avoided his gaze, the younger boy seemed to decide it wasn't worth pushing on yet. It racked Dick with guilt, but he wasn't ready to talk about that yet, was barely keeping himself awake as it was.
"Master Dick," Alfred spoke from the doorway, relief evident in his voice. "It is good to see you awake."
Bruce came in after the butler, smiling at Dick softly. "How are you doing, chum?"
"Tired." It was a simple answer, but honest.
Bruce just nodded, smile becoming a bit sad as he sat on the edge of Dick's bed and ran a hand through the younger man's hair.
"Now, Master Dick, if I may…"
Alfred made quick work of checking Dick over, ordering Tim and Bruce to keep him awake long enough to down a few spoonfuls of soup. The three just chatted, avoiding the elephant in the room which limited their conversation mostly to how Tim's schooling was going. Dick started drifting off during a story of how Tim had gotten into an argument with a teacher about the right answer in a math test, Bruce quick to take away the soup bowl and help Dick settle down, running his hand through Dick's hair again until he finally fell asleep.
He started to actually feel better after the second or third time he woke up, but since his sleep wasn't as deep anymore, the nightmares started to come back. He'd been taking a nap on the couch - a compromise Alfred had allowed to his bed rest orders - head in Bruce's lap only for him to bolt awake, gasping for breath as tears ran down his face. His stomach had revolted then, the little food he'd managed to get down coming back up with haste. Thankfully, they'd had the sense to keep a bucket nearby just in case so it hadn't been that big of a fuss even if it had added a day of bed rest.
He was getting tired of feeling sick after a few days though, so used to being busy that it was almost like he'd forgotten how to relax. M'gann had somehow found out he was sick and had sent some cookies and a note home with Tim one day. It reminded him of the Team and what to do about his situation. He resolved to go see Artemis once he was well enough, but for now, he was content to snuggle with Tim and watch a movie.
When he started getting restless, Alfred let him go down to the Cave with strict orders to do light stretches only and if he really wanted to, he was allowed to be on comms for the first half of Batman and Robin's patrol. He had to admit that it did make him feel better. The fever eventually broke and he started to regain his strength. Alfred's food definitely helped his appetite.
Recovery meant dealing with the other thing though, making him anxious enough that it threatened his ability to get better. Bruce finally managed to convince him to talk, and while Dick had agreed to have some sessions with Dinah about it, he wasn't in any state to do that just yet and Dinah was busy too. Talking with Bruce helped enough to ease the pain a little. The topic of Jason managed to slip into the conversation too, making Bruce realise how long Dick had been suffering even if it hadn't been to the same extent. They'd both needed the distraction of a stupid old movie that night.
It was slow going but eventually, Dick found himself back on Artemis' mom's doorstep. He still didn't know what to say, and he still wasn't close to figuring out how to move on either but he knew Wally would have liked this as a first step. Before he could lose the nerve again, he knocked on the door.
He hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath until the door opened, revealing a surprised Paula Crock still holding onto the doorknob and a wide-eyed Artemis at the end of the hall behind her. Dick met her gaze, opening his mouth then closing it again.
He hadn't seen Artemis since that day almost two weeks ago - the archer having been exempt from the debriefs and everything else - so he had no idea what would happen when they'd finally meet. A part of him had expected her to be angry, part of him hadn't expected her to appear at all, and part of him had expected it to be too hard for him to face the girl his best friend had loved when he was the one who'd separated them.
Instead, he suddenly found Artemis' arms around him, her face buried in his shoulder as she started sobbing. He wanted to say something - I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, it's my fault - but words continued to evade him, and he found that when he tried to speak anyway, only a choked sound came out as his own tears ran down his face.
They didn't speak, but no words would ever be enough and they knew that. They ran out of tears, but that didn't mean there weren't more wanting to spill out. It still hurt, and it would keep on hurting, but they weren't the only ones in pain and they could see that now.
'Recovery' wasn't the right word, neither was 'moving on'. Maybe one day that's what they'd call it, but right now, all it felt like was just 'continuing to live'. The world didn't fall apart even if it felt like it. The Earth still spun, life went on, and you just learned to… accept that. Artemis would help Dick with figuring it out, and he'd help her. Learn to cry on her shoulder when he reached for his phone to call Wally only to realise he couldn't, just as she'd learn to call him when she turned to the other side of the bed, now empty.
The others would do the same, help remind them that they still had a life to live, that Wally would want them to still enjoy every little thing. That Jason would still want him to keep laughing because it had been that laugh he'd always looked forward to when Dick visited. And that wasn't something to be sad about. It was something for him to remember and smile about even if it hurt. The same way it hurt when he looked at the chandelier at the Manor that him and Wally had secretly broken and replaced with Superman's help when they'd gone a bit too far in a stunt but he still smiled at the fond memory.
He hated that he had experienced with loss and grief, but because he did, he knew it would get better over time. Easier, if not better, but it would change. Eventually.
Right now though, it was perfectly okay for him to just curl up on the bed him and Wally used to spend hours on, bury his face into his pillow, and cry himself to sleep.