A/N: even more Traught week. Enjoy and please review!
Burned
Her skin doesn't feel like it's right.
It feels backward and odd and she's not exactly what going on. All she remembers is heat and fire and burning. The swell of heat that surrounds her entire body is trying to get her to remember, like trying to remind her, but all she remembers is heat—the curls brushing her skin and leaving it uncomfortable and bothersome.
A cool sensation rushed over her sensitive skin. Her eyes flung open. The fuzzy form of Robin loomed over her. His head cocked to the side to see her eyes try to stay open, "Robin?" she tried, but nothing came out.
He shushed her and continued rubbing the ointment into her loose skin. Needless to say, she basically leaned into the cool sensation. It was the only relief from the constant itch of heat that seemed to be stuck underneath her skin. He reached over and brought a water bottle to her mouth, "Here, Art."
Why was he talking like she was a two year old?
The water didn't help the dry itch that seemed to also be stuck in her throat, but it dulled it enough so she could at least speak. "Robin, what happened?"
"You don't…remember?" he asked, the whites of his mask complete voids of emotions. She couldn't read them at all. Usually, she could at least get a feel for what he was feeling, but everything feels wrong.
She shakes her head and feels the strain on her face, neck and shoulders. The pulling and strain like if she tugged her head just one more notch to the right her skin would just rip.
He finally flips the lenses of his mask up, so she could finally see the blues of his eyes. She's only seen them once before—the mission with Haly's Circus—and she's almost forgotten how blue they are against everything else that looks so dull. "Firefly," he answers like it should trigger.
And it does.
She remembers Barbara. She remembers Barbara asking her to help her take out Firefly while she was away. She remembers the difficulties she had.
She remembers Batgirl.
She remembers the fires. She remembers the flames that dried her skin and cracked it. She remembers not being able to figure out how to disable the flamethrower without hurting all of the civilians. She remembers falling. She remembers being cornered. She remembers the burning.
And suddenly her skin is itching way more than before.
"…he overpowered me," she admitted.
Robin doesn't look anymore pleased about the reveal. Instead he's staring at her chest—the yellow symbol that's usually a green one. The suit she has on—black and fully covering instead of green with the midriff.
Or at least the suit was fully covering. The fire of Firefly burnt through most of the suit. A huge patch on her stomach is bare skin. Same with her left arm. A patch on her hip. Her right foot, too. And every area of skin is read and she finally realized why her skin doesn't feel right.
She's burned everywhere.
The scars, the reminders that she'll have from this night, they're everywhere.
Dick's hand moves from her arm up to her cheek to spread the medicine. His fingers are just gliding over her face as he lets the gel soothe and do its job.
"Why?" he asks, breaking the silence.
"What do you mean?"
His hand pauses for a second and lingers over her nose before continuing to rub the gel in, "Why were you Batgirl?"
She wants to turn her head to the side, to avoid his eyes, but she knows it won't do any good—besides, to feel the pull on her shoulders and neck again…
"A friend asked for me to fill in."
Underneath the domino mask, she can tell his brow arches. "Barbara Gordon?"
"It doesn't matter. She asked me to take care of Firefly."
She can see the irritation cross over his face as he hunches over and let his hands rest on his legs finally. "Why as Batgirl and not as Artemis?"
She goes to answer, but instead coughs. Robin nearly jumps at her to help her stop. One hand underneath her jaw to lift her head—the pull—and the other grabbing the water bottle. He slowly drips the water into her mouth and she swallows it without much trouble. "Batgirl is a symbol already, Robin."
"Firefly wouldn't have attacked you like this if you were just Artemis."
"But I would have been just Artemis."
He continues to rub the ointment into her nose—she's glad because out of everything on her body, her nose feels like it's the first thing that's going to fall off. "You wouldn't have gotten hurt," he murmurs.
"I had to be Batgirl, Robin. Batgirl is hope, and when all else is gone…"
"…hope is left."