Disclaimer: The characters appearing in the following fic belong to DC Comics. Not me, tho when I rule the universe (and I will some day, mark my words!) they'll be ALL MINE!!! Ah, but of course I'll share them with you guys ;)
Synopsis: Dick's recovery following being rescued from Slade and leaving the Titans. Or rather, attempt at recovery...
AN: This picks up just a few hours after the end of Teen Titans: Shattered Wings. I strongly advise reading that first as nothing in this fic will make sense otherwise.
ARUGH!!! This stupid thing is doing it again! It won't take the chapter breaks, meaning I have to put in END SCENE to rep the chapter breaks. *Grumble*
Mending Shattered Wings
Part 1
Alfred watched anxiously as the Batwing came to a gentle rest in its usual place, forcing himself to wait until the engines had been turned off and it was safe to approach.
He had been fairly worried when, several days earlier, the Bat Computer had lit up with the emergency signal specifically designed for Robin. He had known that the signal would not have been activated if the situation were not urgent and being unable to contact Batman right away had been hard on him. The master had been away on a Justice League mission at the time, so it had been two days before the call was answered. Two horribly long days of not knowing whether or not his surrogate grandson was all right. This, of course, brought on nightmares of Dick dead or dying somewhere, waiting for help that was too slow in coming…
Alfred's worry had escalated to outright fear when Batman had called from Titans Tower to tell him what had happened. He had been a bundle of nerves ever since, even after learning of Robin's eventual rescue and that the boy was now coming home with his father. He had kept himself occupied during the long wait for their arrival by making sure Dick's room was thoroughly ready for him and that he had everything he needed on hand to make Dick's favorite meals. The lad never looked like he was eating enough…
Now Alfred hurried forward as the cockpit slid open and his heart jumped to his throat when he saw his surrogate grandson slowly climbing out of the plane. My Lord! the Englishman thought in horror, he looks dreadful!
Bruises dotted the exposed skin on Robin's arms and face, a testimony to the harsh battles he had been in and, from the way he moved, Alfred was certain beyond any doubt that more injuries lay hidden within. He was entirely too thin for Alfred's comfort and he looked several levels beyond exhausted. It was a wonder the boy was still standing at all. Uncharacteristic rage flooded the elderly man. What had that monster done to his grandson?
Struggling to keep control of himself, Alfred closed the remaining distance between himself and his charges, never taking his eyes from Dick. "Master Dick," he greeted gently, lowering himself down to Dick's eye level and placing his hands on his young charge's shoulders. He wished he could pull the boy into a tight hug and would have if the teen didn't look so fragile. He settled for a gentle squeeze instead. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you. I've been so worried."
To his credit, Dick managed a smile and initiated a gentle hug. "I'm glad to see you too, Alfred," he murmured into Alfred's shoulder, closing his eyes against the tears that threatened. " I've missed you too."
"And I you, young sir," Alfred replied, slipping into fretting mode as he pulled back and asked, "Would you like something to eat? I daresay you look like you could use a good, hot meal."
There was moment of strange hesitation where Dick glanced back at the Batwing before he quietly replied, "That would be nice, Alfred. Just some sandwiches maybe, but…but may I have a shower first? I feel pretty dirty right now."
Alfred glanced at Batman, who had not moved or said a word the whole time. For some reason, he couldn't help but wonder if Dick meant dirty physically or emotionally. He didn't comment on it though, and, with a smile and a nod, he replied, "Of course, young sir. You go have your shower. I'll take your bags to your room and then prepare some sandwiches."
Dick glanced back at the Batwing again, that funny hesitation returning once more. "Okay. Uh…Alfred? Don't unpack them, though, okay? I…I kinda feel like I should do that myself."
Alfred's eyes moved back to Batman, who still had not moved or said a word from where he stood just behind and to Dick's left. At the slight nod he got, Alfred turned his attention back to Dick and smiled again. "As you wish. Go on and have your shower, now. The sandwiches will be waiting when you get out."
As Dick moved off, Alfred turned his worried grey eyes on Bruce, who had now pushed his cowl back and was watching Dick disappear into the shower area, his eyes completely unreadable. The worry in Alfred's eyes evolved to ask the million dollar question, 'Is he all right?'
Bruce's eyes met Alfred's and he sighed and shook his head. "I don't know yet, Alfred," he answered the silent question before moving off to the showers as well.
Alfred watched him disappear, his heart sinking further and further with every second. He collected the few bags Dick had brought back with him, leaving the ones that contained weapons in the cave and taking the two remaining bags upstairs to Dick's room. It *could* have been the exhaustion talking, but the boy he had just spoken with had only borne a passing resemblance to the child that he had helped raise from the age of the nine. He sincerely hoped it was just the exhaustion and that any damage that had been inflicted was more physical than emotional.
The odd hesitation that Dick had displayed entered the forefront of Alfred's mind. What had that been about? Both times, Dick had looked back at the Batwing, as if there was something there that had been calling out to him, something only he could hear. Alfred's eyes moved down to the bags he carried and he wondered if that something was contained there, in one of them. That fact that Dick clearly didn't want anyone else going through his bags strongly supported that theory. However, Alfred was no snoop and Dick was entitled to his privacy. Whatever was in the bags, Alfred would leave for Dick to sort out.
After putting Dick's bags in his room, Alfred went down into the kitchen and made some turkey sandwiches. Placing them on a tray, he picked it up and went back down to the cave. Not seeing either of his charges, he set the tray down and headed back toward the shower area.
Pausing in the doorway, he came upon a sight that caused his heart to warm a little and a tender smile to touch his lips. Dick was lying on a bench, fast asleep with Bruce sitting next to him, running a gentle hand through Dick's dark, damp hair. There was a tender, if amazed, look on Bruce's face as he gazed down at his sleeping son and the trust that the boy had unconsciously and so freely showed in him. It was an expression that Alfred hadn't seen in far too long a time, and lauded its return with a heartfelt sigh. But the touching scene was darkened by the ugly discolorations decorating Dick's chest, stopping where the pajama bottoms began. The peaceful, innocent expression that had always dominated Dick's features when he slept was absent, replaced by the exhaustion and pain currently ruling him. Moving closer, Alfred saw even more bruises that the mask had previously covered, adding to the effect currently being projected. It caused Alfred's heart to ache even more at the thought of what Dick must have gone through whilst in that monster's dubious 'care.'
Bruce looked up, silently regarding the older man for several seconds before standing and gently gathering Dick up in arms and leaving the shower area, heading for the stairs and the Manor Proper. Alfred followed, hurrying forward to clear the way for Bruce, the sandwiches forgotten for the time being. They went upstairs and into Dick's room without a word, where Alfred quickly turned back the covers, allowing Bruce to carefully place his cradled bundle in the warm, safe bed. He stood back, then, and watched as Bruce covered Dick up, one hand gently touching Dick's cheek before reluctantly pulling away and straightening up. Still without a word, Bruce left the room, leaving Dick to get some much needed rest.
Alfred followed quietly, much of the awful tension he had been struggling with for the last several days finally leaving him. Dick was home. He was safe and their little family was whole once more…
END SCENE
The clock gradually swam into focus as Dick's eyes slowly flickered open. 10:28A.M.
What?! Oh shit! Slade is going to give it to me for sure... As that thought crossed his mind, he heard movement nearby and panic seized him. "Forgive me, master!" he cried out, sitting bolt upright and preparing to evade the blow he knew was coming. "I didn't mean to sleep so late, I..." He stopped his rambling, taking in the startled visitor who was most definitely *not* Slade. "A....Alfred?"
Dick glanced around, suddenly recognizing his room in Wayne Manor. His confusion quickly dissolved as he remembered what had happened. He had been liberated from Slade's possession and had come home, leaving leadership of the Titans to Cyborg. Images raced through his mind of his time with Slade like remnants of some horrible nightmare. Stealing for him, being forced to fight the Titans, being violently punished when he angered the man…
Alfred, who had been in the process of setting the tray he had been carrying down, turned quickly at the cry from his surrogate grandson, a soothing reply at the ready. A reply that never made it past his lips when he took in the sight before him. He watched Dick silently, as deeply disturbed by what he was seeing as Dick seemed to be by what he was thinking about. His earlier hopes that the injuries had been mostly physical were quickly dying out just based on this one witnessed reaction. Good lord in heaven, the boy had only been *resting!* How could he have expected to be punished for doing something he had obviously been in desperate need of? This Slade must have been a very cruel man indeed to instill fear like this, especially in *Dick* of all people.
As he watched Dick's gaze wander the room, slowly putting things together in his head, Alfred couldn't help but notice, now that the boy was awake and sans his mask, that the light that normally filled the young acrobat's eyes had dimmed alarmingly. The warmth and carefree confidence that had always radiated from them was also missing. Alfred suddenly found himself desperately wishing to see that bright, mischievous smile that had always seemed to hover below the surface, just waiting to burst out and make someone's day better….
Dick's attention was finally drawn back to Alfred as the elderly caretaker cleared his throat and was now saying, "You may sleep as long as you wish, master Dick." He indicated the tray he was holding with a nod of his head, holding it up a little more. "You have, however, been sleeping for two days and I thought you could do with something to eat."
He moved over to the bed and Dick quickly adjusted himself as his surrogate grandfather gently placed the tray down over his lap. Dick blinked down at the food, a small, sad smile playing across his lips as he discovered it was his favorite, blueberry pancakes. Good old Alfred...
"Thanks Alfred," he murmured quietly. He really wasn't all that hungry but he knew that if he didn't eat, the old gentlemen's gentlemen would fuss and worry. So he forced himself to eat, half listening to Alfred prattle on about Gotham current events as the butler 'tidied' the already pristine room.
His attention was starting to drift off again when Alfred dragged it back again by saying, "Oh, and Miss Barbara called yesterday inquiring as to how you were. She may be dropping by later today or tomorrow if you're up to visitors." There was a note of hope and suggestion in Alfred's voice, indicating that he thought a visit from the lovely Miss Gordon, A.K.A Batgirl, was a wonderful idea.
Dick looked up sharply, eyes widening slightly. "B...Barbara?" Oh boy, now *there* was someone he didn't think he could face right now. She must know at least some of what had happened…what would she think of him? What would she think of Robin the 'Boy Wonder' falling into the hands of a madman...forced to do his bidding or watch his friends die? She would be so terribly disappointed in him, especially once she got a good look at him. I must look utterly pathetic… "Uh....Alfred, do you think you could let her know I won't be up to seeing anyone for a few days yet?" he asked, a slight tremor in his voice.
Alfred looked like he might argue, but the ringing of the phone stopped him. "Excuse me, young sir," he said before hurrying out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.
Dick sighed, finally allowing himself to relax a little now that Alfred was gone and, putting the remainder of his breakfast aside, he lay his head back on the headboard, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't believe he had actually slept for two whole days...Wait a second! Two days?! His eyes widened at the realization and he scrambled out of bed, hurrying to his dresser and, hurriedly yanking open a drawer, pulling out a small, locked box. Opening another drawer, he fished out a key and used it to unlock the box, revealing special items and keepsakes from his childhood. But they were not what he sought right then.
Removing the treasures carefully, he freed the false bottom and breathed a sigh of relief when he found the little pile of those wonderful, horrible pills lying there, safe and sound. It took a few minutes, but he did recall waking up in his darkened room at some point, alert enough to retrieve the pills from where he had hidden them in one of his bags and hide what he had managed to bring back with him before falling asleep again.
Repacking and locking the box, he put it back and then went into the bathroom, mentally calculating how long the supply would last him. If he was careful, he could probably stretch it out to around two months, maybe a little longer if he cut the pills in half and only took them when he *really* needed them. But what would he do after that? Maybe he could analyze one and figure out how to make more himself...
At the same time as that thought was crossing his mind, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and froze. His reflection seemed to be looking back at him in disgust and a voice matching that disgust sneered, 'Look at you! The great Boy Wonder reduced to nothing more than a pathetic addict, wondering how to keep himself in supply of his precious drug.'
No! Dick protested. It's not like that! I'm not one of *them* and I never will be. The...they'll help me recover...help with the pain...
His reflection snorted at him. 'Yeah right. That's what they all say. No wonder the Titans believed you had betrayed them. You're weak....pathetic. They must have seen it in you from the very beginning. They were right to believe the lie....'
"Shut up!" Dick shouted and put his fist through the mirror, shattering his smirking, judging reflection and silencing that sneering, awful voice. He stared at the shattered image of himself in the slivers of glass at his feet, breathing hard and trying to regain control. He could feel the blood oozing down his hand and dripping onto the glass on the floor, distorting his image even more….
"Master Dick? Are you all right in there?" came Alfred's voice, followed by a knock on the bathroom door. Dick spun around as it opened, taking a quick step away from the mirror as the startled Englishman cried out, "Good heavens!" and quickly closed the distance between them. "What happened, master Dick?" he asked, glancing at the shattered mirror before turning his attention to Dick's bloody hand.
Dick blinked, suddenly becoming aware of the pain in his hand and realizing what he had done. "I....I...." he stuttered, struggling to think of something beyond the confusion and pain crashing through his senses.
Alfred shook his head, saying, "Never mind, now. Let's just get your hand fixed up."
He had Dick sit on the toilet seat and set to work cleaning and bandaging the wound. He had been startled and a little frightened when he'd heard the shout and the breaking glass, and that fear rose even more when he had entered the bathroom to find Dick standing among the remains of the mirror, his hand bloody, looking…well, he wasn't quite sure *what* the boy had looked like, except that he certainly didn't like it one bit. But whatever it was, it had disappeared at his question and was replaced by a look he knew well. It was one he had seen on Bruce's face many, many times over the years: the look of the lost.
He glanced up at Dick when he finished with the hand, noting the now thoughtful, haunted expression that he had also seen mirrored on Bruce's face hundreds of times. Deciding to give the boy a few more minutes with his thoughts before offering counsel, Alfred turned away and began carefully cleaning up the glass from the floor.
Dick sat in numb silence as Alfred worked, the little pills waiting in his dresser the only thing he could think about. "Alfred?" he finally asked in a whisper, "am I weak...pathetic?"
Alfred, who was nearly finished cleaning up the broken glass, stopped and looked at the teen in surprise. "Master Dick!" That was the last question he would have ever expected to hear Dick ask. "Where on Earth did you get such an idea from?"
Dick opened and closed his mouth, unable to find a reply. He didn't really know *how* to explain, considering it had been his reflection who had said it. Alfred would surely think he was ready for Arkham Asylum if he tried…
When Dick wasn't forthcoming with an answer, Alfred knelt down in front of him, putting a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezing gently, mindful of any hidden bruises under his shirt. "Dick, you listen to me," he said softly, firmly. "You are neither weak nor pathetic. You are one of the strongest, smartest young men I have ever known and I am honored to consider you as a member of my family. Weak and pathetic men don't have what you have....people who love and care for you who are going to help you recover from this ordeal and when it's all over, you'll be stronger than ever." A soft smile passed Alfred's lips. "And I'll be just as proud of you as I am now."
Dick didn't know whether to smile in relief or break down and cry. It was so good to be home again, back with those who knew him best. Except that they don't know you, that voice whispered mockingly, much softer than it had been before. Not anymore, not the real you, not if you keep what's in your dresser a secret...
"Master Dick?" Dick forced his attention back to the older man. "You look so troubled, son." The hand that was on Dick's shoulder moved to gently cover Dick's bandaged hand, a meaningful look in those wise, grey eyes. "Is there something you would like to tell me?"
God, yes! another voice spoke up. Tell him! Prove his words aren't a lie! Tell him!
Are you kidding? the other voice countered. Do you seriously want to give up the only thing that's keeping your soul from shattering into a billion pieces? You tell him and I guarantee you won't survive the outcome.
The first voice started to protest but was overridden by memories of how much better those wonderful, terrible pills made him feel....memories that just felt so damn good…
"Alfred," he said quietly, hating himself more and more with each second, "could I, um, be alone for a while?"
Instead of the disappointment he had expected to see, understanding filling the older man's kind eyes. "Of course."
With one last, reassuring squeeze, Alfred moved to leave, stopping when Dick called out to him. "Thank you." Alfred smiled and nodded, then left the bathroom.
Dick sat there, listening until he heard his bedroom door close, then silently left the bathroom, retrieving the box and revealing the little while pile again. He stared at them for several long seconds, the voices at war with each other, before snatching one out and taking it. He put the box back, then proceeded to dress in shorts and a T-Shirt while the magic pill did its thing.
By the time he left his room, the voices were finally, mercifully, silent.
END SCENE
Bruce stood watching Dick meditate on the lawn in the backyard of the manor. Alfred had told him about the incident that morning and, like the older man, he couldn't help but be worried. Especially since Dick had not yet told him everything that had happened when he was in Slade's possession.
In the time between getting the boy out and bringing him home, the only thing Bruce had been able to get out of him was the adamant reassurance that the bastard had done nothing sexual with his son. The rest of the time Dick had spent sleeping, but now that he was awake, it was past time to discover the extent of the damage that *had* been inflicted. He wasn't expecting it to be easy and he knew it would take time, but Bruce was a patient man and as long as it helped Dick, and brought back the boy he knew, he didn't care how long it took.
As he watched Dick, sitting so still, he realized how wrong it looked. According to Alfred, he'd been out here in that same position for quite some time. That alone sent the warning bells off in Bruce's head. Dick had *never* been one to sit still for very long. He always had to be active…on the move, doing *something.* It was almost like the boy would go crazy if he didn't…
Moving outside, he walked silently across the lawn and sat down next to his boy, taking up his own meditative position and patiently waiting for something to happen…for Dick to acknowledge his presence.
Nearly fifteen minutes passed before Dick said quietly, "You're in disappointed in me, aren't you." It was statement, not a question.
Bruce looked over at Dick, who still had not moved an inch, or opened his eyes, and really took in the boy's appearance. He was much thinner than the last time they had seen each other and, despite the two full days of sleep he had gotten, he *still* looked like he hadn't slept in a month. He caught sight of a fading bruise along Dick's jaw line and, hiding his unease at the comment, Bruce forced himself to ask mildly, "Why would I be disappointed in you?"
Dick opened his eyes, determinedly staring straight ahead as he quietly replied, "Because I fell into that trap you've always warned me about. I allowed myself to be captured and used by an enemy because of my friends. I allowed Robin to be turned into a criminal." A touch of bitter disgust filled his voice as he added, "How can you *not* be disappointed?"
Bruce didn't need J'onn's abilities to feel the anger and self hatred practically oozing from the boy, and it was a long moment before he could find enough words to answer. He needed to phrase his response just right and the warning bells were once again clamoring in his head. Dick was far too…calm about this, which contradicted what he knew was going on inside the boy's heart. It was highly unlike Dick to hide his feelings. In all the years Bruce had known his surrogate son, Dick had *always* let it be known how he was feeling. This lack of display of emotions was…disturbing.
"No, Dick," he began gently, "I'm not disappointed. You simply got yourself into a situation that you couldn't get out of and you did exactly what I trained you to do. You went into survival mode and you did what you had to do to survive until help got to you. How can I be disappointed in you when you did what I would have expected?"
"I brought shame to Robin's name," Dick replied, still staring straight ahead. "I went against everything that Robin stands for."
"No, Dick, you didn't," Bruce countered gently but firmly. "It wasn't Robin who was doing Slade's bidding. Sure, the name was the same, but were you in Robin's mind? Were you flying with Robin's wings? *You* were not at fault, Dick. The only mistake you made was one that I've made hundreds of times myself."
Dick finally turned his sorrowful eyes on him, a questioning look in their haunted depths. Bruce's heart ached to see that sorrow…that same look that had also been in residence just seven years earlier when the boy's first pair of wings had been broken with the deaths of his parents. It had taken a while then, too, for Dick to learn to fly again….
Mentally shaking himself from memories of the past, Bruce explained his statement. "Obsession, son. It makes us deaf to the voices of our allies and blind to what the enemy is really up to."
Dick turned away, staring at the grass in contemplation.
Bruce let the silence go on for a couple of minutes before finally clearing his throat and asking, "How's the hand? I heard the mirror attacked it this morning."
Dick's shadowed eyes flickered to the bandaged hand in question as he shrugged. "It's okay. Hurts a little but nothing major."
"What happened?"
"Tripped," Dick replied succinctly, gaze still fixed on his bandaged hand.
Bruce raised a brow. "Tripped?"
Dick nodded, not elaborating any further.
Bruce didn't believe the story, wouldn't believe it until Dick could make the claim while meeting his gaze, but decided to let it go for now in favor of something else he'd been wanting to ask the boy. Something that had been bothering him since first witnessing the interaction between Dick and Slade several days earlier. "Dick, could I ask you something?"
Dick turned his gaze back on Bruce, a silent 'yes' in his eyes.
"The night that Slade had you take the stealth prototype from LexCorp, I was there, watching. I trailed you back to his hideout and watched everything from up in the rafters."
Dick froze, eyes widening a fraction.
Bruce didn't notice Dick's reaction, caught up as he was in bringing a surge of anger under control at the memory of that interaction, and, after a few seconds, continued. "He mentioned your having only minor injuries before giving you something." He paused, not really wanting to ask the question for fear of what the answer might be. After a few seconds of continued silence, however, he plunged on. "What was it he gave you?"
Something passed so fast through Dick's eyes that the untrained eye would have likely dismissed it as a trick of the light. But Bruce's eyes were very well trained and he saw something he would recognize anywhere. Fear. The Bat stirred within him with marked interest, watching as Dick turned his gaze back to the grass and made a show of contemplation. The teen stared at the grass with such intensity that one would have thought he was discovering the secrets of the universe in the meticulously cut blades at his feet. This caused the Bat's interest to rise even more. It had been a simple question, there was really no need for such a display….
After a long moment of silence, Dick slowly shook his head and said, "I don't remember. Mustn't have been that important."
The Bat came to full attention at the outright lie and Bruce scrambled to intercept him. A quick struggle took place which Bruce just barely managed to win by appealing to the Bat's sense of logic. The last thing they wanted was for Dick to clam up and retreat even further into himself than he already was. As much as he wanted to know why that question inspired such fear in his son, letting the Bat out would be a bad idea at this point. No, if he wanted answers, he was going to have to try something else first. The Bat growled but backed down, though not before issuing a warning that he would not stay back for long.
With this threat echoing in his head, Bruce allowed himself one deep breath to center and calm himself. "Dick," he began carefully, gently, "you know you can talk to me or Alfred about anything, right? We won't be angry, not with you." He reached out and put a hand on Dick's shoulder, noting with a pang of despair the quick flinch before he squeezed the too thin shoulder reassuringly. "We're here to help you get yourself back together, son."
Dick nodded, refusing to look at the older man. "I know," he whispered.
When he didn't say anything else, Bruce squeezed his shoulder again and said, "It's almost dinner time. Come on in and wash up."
"I'll be there in a minute," Dick replied with another nod, his gaze focused on some point somewhere in the distance.
Bruce nodded as he stood and left his son alone with his thoughts. He had gathered a lot of disturbing information during that little talk and he had a lot to think about himself.
"Well?" Alfred inquired after Bruce shut the door silently behind him, the older man having been on his way to call out the dinner time heads up.
"He's certainly hiding something," Bruce sighed, glancing back outside with troubled eyes. "Whatever it is, he doesn't want it getting out."
"What should we do?" Alfred questioned, allowing a small amount of his own worry to seep into his voice
"Watch him….closely," was the final decision, heavily influenced by the Bat. "Whatever it is, he can't hide it forever and he knows it. Maybe giving him a little time to think about it will convince him to come clean. I don't want to have to force it out of him if I don't have to."
Alfred nodded, casting a worried look in the unmoving teen's direction. "What do you suppose it is, sir?"
Bruce shook his head as he headed for the stairs. "I don't know, Alfred. But I have my suspicions."
END SCENE
Oh God, oh God, oh God…. Dick struggled to get his raging fear under control, not moving from the spot where his guardian had left him. Did Bruce know? No, he couldn't. If he did, the pills would have been gone or he would have come straight out and told him what he knew. No, at this point, the *detective* only had suspicions. He didn't know anything for sure. Not yet….
Oh God, I can't hide this, he thought despairingly.
Give the boy a prize, came a sarcastic voice. So, what are you going to do about it, genius? You want to be a fucked up mess forever? Get up, go in there, and tell them what Slade did to you, then hand those awful things over and be done with it.
Awful things? another voice purred almost seductively. How can you say that? Those 'awful things' are what kept you going…what helped you survive. In fact, you should be grateful to Slade for giving them to you. How else could you have accepted the Titans' betrayal and their abandonment of you without those wonderful pain killers? Besides, telling Bruce and Alfred about them would be disrespecting Slade. You don't want to disrespect the Master do you? He'll be back for you eventually and you don't want him angry with you, do you?
Now *there* was a truly terrifying thought. His heart rate sped up in reaction and apprehension washed over him. Then Dick frowned in confusion. Wait, what was it that he was terrified of? That Slade would come back? Or that his master would be angry with him for talking?
Slade isn't your master! the first voice, now devoid of sarcasm and filled with what might have been desperation, shouted in his mental ear. 'Don't you see? It's the drugs talking! *Nobody* is your master but you! Take back control, dammit!'
"Dick!"
Dick jumped as Bruce's voice penetrated his once again warring thoughts. Forcing himself to calm his pounding heart, he looked back to find his mentor poking his head out the patio door.
"Come in for dinner!"
Silently, Dick obediently rose to his feet and headed inside. And with every step he took, the second voice was talking to him again, whispering seductive, terrifying thoughts. But, not to be outdone, the first voice was also present, contradicting everything its counterpart was tormenting him with. They were confusing him and making him want to fall to his knees and let out soul shattering scream in an effort to shut them up. Entering the bathroom, he leaned against the door and squeezed his eyes shut before pushing away and turning on the sink. He avoided looking in the mirror as he contemplated what he could do.
He knew that he could silence the voices by taking another dose, but he also knew he had to ration himself if he wanted them to last very long. So, he tried something that had seemed to work that morning: pain.
Gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw so that he would not cry out too loudly, Dick slammed his injured, sensitive hand into the wall of the bathroom. He offered up a silent, heartfelt thanks to whatever Powers That Be that may have been listening when he succeeded in once again silencing the torment, even though the echoes remained for a while longer, slowly getting softer, slowly fading.
As he entered the dining room and took his seat, aware of Bruce's eyes on him, both voices returned briefly. Soft, faint whispers filled his mind riding the echoes of their voices and filling him with the deepest despair and fear. They were back already! How strong could they possibly be? What was he going to have to do to silence them next time? Cut off a finger or two? Break a bone? Oh God, please….please help me!
One of the voices managed to gain strength and whispered encouragingly to him and Dick suddenly felt a surge of confidence break through the heavy barrier of despair, giving him the strength to raise his eyes to Bruce and say quietly, "Bruce?"
"Yes?" Bruce replied, his own eyes encouraging, silently inviting Dick to open up. The Bat once again moved forward in interest the second he saw the look in Dick's tormented eyes. He knew an inner battle when he saw one and Dick was certainly fighting a mother of one. His eyes and body language were betraying him. It was clear as day, any fool could see it. Come on, Dick, he silently prompted, come out and say it. Let us help you.
What Dick really wanted to say was: "I need help, Bruce. Slade… he…he got me addicted to some kind of drug. Please…*please*…help me stop…"
But the voice of reason disappeared and the whispering stopped completely, leaving behind nothing but emptiness, fear, and confusion. Dick lowered his gaze to stare in disinterest at his food and instead whispered, "Nothing."
TBC