Disclaimer: don't own
Summary: During the funeral of his neighbours Dick thinks and meets Slade. One-Shot about the start of the Renegade arc, hints of parings but nothing concrete.
Notes: didn't turn out like I wanted it, so expect another One-Shit in this setting^^
Voices from the graveyard
It is a gloomy afternoon, rain-clouds preventing the warm glow of the sun and it's raining, not the soft fall of tears but the heavy pour of a torrent destroying everything in its path. The grass field, meant to give a sense of comfort, is nothing but mud, quicksand which threatens to swallow him whole. Grass clings on his shoes as if the fingers of his dead friends reach out for him with the desire to pull him down. His clothes are drenched with the cold water, he feels tired.
There is nobody with him there to grieve.
Nobody who cares for him, after the six years of blind loyalty.
Nobody who cares for him, after stealing the costume he built in his parents memory from him.
Nobody who cares for him, after he swallowed his anger and offered his hand in peace.
Nobody who cares for him, after following every of their orders.
Nobody who cares for him, after he became the reliable son.
Nobody who cares for him, after he became the ever forgiving older brother.
What ever he gave, it doesn't matter does it? Because it is okay for them to demand everything from him and never give anything in return? He isn't angry or even surprised is he? Whenever his guardian did something they expected him to forgive and smile, later the same with his brothers. They didn't mean to hurt you, just smile, always smile...
Yet if you can't be judged for your negative actions what does it mean for the positive ones? The ability to feel goes on a multitude of ways, can you really just cut one of? Can you really claim to love someone if you have to constantly ignore their flaws?
Nobody who cares for him, the one time he needs them and it leaves him numb.
The sound of an umbrella opening close to his left ear leaves him breathless, a glimmer of hope sparks a fire in him and he looks over his shoulder into an all too familiar grey eye.
The flames turn into an inferno and he knows that one moment of letting it warm him will consume him.
Slade just stands besides him, no words of comfort, just a strong reliable presence besides him. He should run or start a fight with the dangerous mercenary, but he doesn't. Instead he breathes in, a mixture of wet clothing and underneath the older man's unique scent hits his nose, almost against his will his body and mind start to relax.
A part of him wants to punch the other, he is a villain just like Blockbuster, does it really matter whom he hits as long as he can finally hit someone?
Another part of him wants to lean against him, take the comfort and return to his duties.
Those two possibilities are old either punch him to get his aggressions under control, knowing he could never really hurt him, or allow himself a moment of weakness only to return to his family in the morning.
A third voice arises, deep as if from the graves surrounding them. You can't take another lose, you can't take another day of pretending everything is alight and smile. The deep chorus of a sentence spoken by several buried voices at once drowns everything else out. He is unable to resist, the knowledge that the warmth will be the warmth of hell does nothing to stop him, so he leaves with the older man, while the priest, who spoke during the funeral, offers them a smile on their way.