Prologue
Back and forth.
Dick paced across the room, hands shaking. His breath came in sharp gasps as he tried to hold out. He eyes the drawer that held what he wanted, before tearing his gaze away.
Back and forth.
If he had reacted just a few seconds faster, maybe he would still be here. Maybe, he would be sitting on the ratty old couch in the den where he always was, family size bag of Chicken Whizzies next to him.
Back and forth.
Violent tremors wracked his whole body, not just his hands anymore, as he tried to stay strong. His eyes kept darting to the wooden drawer, looking so small and insignificant.
Well, as a drawer, it was. It was what was inside that drawer that mattered.
Back and For-
He lost it. All but ripping the drawer from its place, its contents flew out and he scrambled to snatch up one of the pieces of glinting metal.
He yanked up his sleeve, staring at the still-raw wounds a moment, before taking the blade to his flesh. The thin metal traveled along previous lined, tracing over old scars so they didn't seem quite so numerous when healed.
Of course, whenever they healed, there were always new ones that needed to be hidden.
He relished in the bite of the blade, effectively silencing the soundless screams in his head. Fresh blood quickly blossomed from pinpricks to beads to crimson trails down the ivory skin of his forearm. It dripped to the floor as it had been doing for the past several months.
He studied the uneven trails on his arm, old scars causing the dripping streams to waver. Most of them were just crisscrossing lines, but a special few that had never been reopened spelled out the source of... everything.
My Fault.
It was his fault Kaldur ended up undercover with Black Manta, it was his fault his best friend's girlfriend, soon to have been fiancé, was almost killed by getting involved, and it was his fault his best friend was dead.
Sure, the Speed Force theory was out there, but it had been months, and still nothing. As far as Dick was concerned, Wally was dead and he was to blame.
Maybe if he hadn't asked Kaldur to fake a betrayal, maybe if he hadn't asked Artemis, maybe if he had just stayed out of everything entirely, things wouldn't have happened the way they did.
The others told him time and again, it wasn't his fault, that they would have never known what the Reach were planning had Aqualad not been there. He could have never known that they had planned something as extreme as blowing Earth to bits. He could have never known one of the pods would go chrysalis, and that Wally's slower pace would end up...
His fault.
His hand flexed, and the harsh edge of the steel sliced into his palm, but that only made him squeeze it harder. A new tendril of blood snaked through his fingers, joining the fast growing collection of them on the floor with an ominous plip... plip...
Eventually, the razor was wiped clean, and the other various blades were picked up and stowed back into that oh-so-innocent looking drawer. The blood was scrubbed from the floor, and the cuts were bound and concealed beneath his jacket like always.
Exactly as life had been going on for months.
As far as he could tell, no one knew of his late night activities, though he was sure Superboy or Beast Boy would have smelled the blood by now. Maybe they just thought they were blows from combat. A reasonable assumption to make, if they hadn't noticed it was ever present. Not even the rookies got hit that much, let alone him.
Every day it was the same. Plaster on another fake smile, brush off the pitying looks, try to ignore the spasms of pain whenever something came into contact with his arms. Endure life.
But he could feel himself slipping away. Even the others noticed him growing more distant as the cracks in his composure widened. His mask of acceptance was full of holes, and people were finally starting to take note of it. In fact, just a few days ago, Black Canary had approached him, trying to be subtle when she said, If you ever just need to talk, I'm always willing to listen, meaning, I think you need help. That's what he heard, at any rate.
His leave of absence had been short lived. The Team needed, his, and it was his job to be there. But sometimes, it all felt like too much.
And then, it all began again.
He could feel the madness creeping into his mind, so slowly, he barely gave it a second thought, but as time wore on, he grew to regret doing so. His performance was slipping, though he did his best to hide it. They seemed to notice anyways, after a while, and he was sent out less and less, instead being placed at the controls in the Watchtower. At least there, they couldn't see his shaking hands as cameras were hacked and security systems were overrode in a matter of seconds. At least there, he could do his job without getting himself or others killed.
But soon, that too, began to slip. One camera was missed, and Robin nearly lost an arm when the security door snapped into place. Then, it was his fault his little brother nearly had a limb taken off. Of course, no one blamed him, but he should have been paying closer attention.
Little by little, everything was just... slipping away.
This is only my second YJ fic,so please don't be too harsh. My first is a one shot, but if I get enough good feedback on it, I'm willing to continue it.
Also, both are side projects, so please don't expect regular updates, or anything.