Note: This takes place after War Games and it's based on a very brief conversation between Bruce and Barbara concerning Dick and Tarantula. That conversation is briefly referenced in this fic.

I will not be addressing anything other than Blockbuster's death. I considered it, but rape/aftermath of rape is not a subject I am comfortable writing for personal reasons. I will leave fics such as those in the hands of far better writers than me. For the purpose of this story, Dick was never hurt in that way.

Barbara sighed, brushing a tendril of red hair behind her ear, and wheeling her chair over the door's threshold.

The wheels bounced as they passed over. By now, she was so used to it that the event hardly even registered in her mind.

As she did so, she reached out, grasping the lamp's cord and giving it a brief, but strong tug.

Immediately, the room was illuminated with a thick, warm, golden glow.

The light wasn't enough to awaken the room's sole occupant.

Barbara paused for a moment, allowing herself one fond smile as her eyes landed on the sleeping form of Dick Grayson, but then the smile slipped and she was all business.

She wheeled her chair to his side and gently brushed sweat-dampened locks away from his forehead.

The covers were pulled up to his shoulder, but she could see the edges of his bandages peeking out.

Barbara had hoped he wouldn't fall asleep- she wanted to check the bandages before retiring for the night herself.

She didn't see how he could help himself, however.

He was probably exhausted.

Her mouth dipped in sympathy.

The poor thing…

Her hand lingered a little longer, brushing his hair aside, before moving to his shoulder. She'd try to shake him awake without jarring his injury.

Dick's face twisted into a grimace.

"Don't... " he whispered.

Barbara froze.

Nightmares were no stranger to any of them. She'd had her own fair share of them, a lot lately it seemed. Especially after the gang war that had recently seized Gotham, after Stephanie…

No. Quickly, she turned her mind to other things.

She wasn't going to think of that now.

Dick moaned, turning over in his sleep. His face screwed up in pain. He whimpered and Barbara's indecision melted away in a flash.

Her hand was back on his shoulder and she gave him a gentle shake.

"Dick, wake up. It's just a…"

He woke up so quickly that she didn't have the time to see any of this coming.

Dick Grayson had always been quick, quicker than most normal human beings (which opened a whole new can of worms as to whether or not Dick Grayson could actually be considered… normal), but this… this was beyond any of that.

"Don't touch me!"

His hand lashed out, knocking her own away from him and delivering a glancing blow to the side of her face.

Barbara gasped.

Automatically, her hand came to her cheek.

The impact hadn't hurt her. Physically, the blow was nothing- nothing compared to what Dick was capable of had he truly been trying to hurt her.

In the midst of a nightmare or no, he had never struck her before. Such an idea was so far from Dick's character as to be utterly laughable.

But when this happened...

It was jarring, to say the least.

And then- just like that- the moment was over.

Dick blinked once. Twice. Seemed to be trying to come back to himself.

One hand balled into a fist against the bedcovers.

And then his eyes found her.

"Babs?" His voice was still thick with sleep and... and he sounded so lost. "Babs," his voice choked a little on her name. He reached out for her, eyes wide with horror, "did I… did I just hit you?"

"Dick, it's okay…" she tried to soothe him.

"Oh gosh," Dick made an anguished little choke in the back of his throat, folding in on himself. "Babs," he whispered, voice thick with self-loathing, "I'm sorry."

"You were having a bad…"

He didn't seem to hear her. His next words were nearly inaudible, directed inward at himself, rather than at Barbara herself. "I'm such a screw-up…" He clenched his teeth.

"Dick, no!" Barbara reached for his arm- seeking to ground him, and it hit her like an electric shock when he suddenly jerked away from her touch.

His chin jerked up and his eyes, wide with panic, focused on her face but he didn't seem to see her.

"Don't touch me!" he snapped. His back was pressed against the wall and he snarled at her like a cornered feral animal. Then, he caved in on himself. "Don't touch me," softer.

Barbara stopped dead in her tracks. The action had hurt her more than she would ever put forth into words. "Dick," she mouthed. It was barely audible, barely even a sound.

He dropped his eyes, ashamed it would seem, and seemed to pull into himself even further, which was wrong.

It was so wrong, because Dick Grayson was open and vibrant.

He wasn't quiet and withdrawn.

After a pause, she repeated quietly, "You were having a nightmare."

Dick didn't answer, but she saw his hand grip the bed cloth tighter.

"Dick? Do you want to talk about it?"

Barbara longed to reach out, take his hand, ground him, show him that she was here to support him. She didn't, keeping them firmly clenched against her legs. She was sure she already knew what his reaction would be if what had happened previously was any indication.

She would let him have his space if that was what he needed, but a selfish part of her was afraid of getting burned again.

Barbara closed her eyes, ashamed at the idea. This was about Dick. Dick was the one struggling. Not her.

"I…" Dick chewed his lower lip, his eyes staring straight ahead. He looked so haunted. It wasn't right. That look didn't belong there.

"Dick," her heart was pounding, her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might beat right out of her chest, but she was careful to keep her tone of voice neutral, "Dick, does this… does this have anything to do with…"

Barbara stopped herself. She had her suspicions. The way he'd been acting with… with her in Gotham.

"Dick," she continued softly. "Did someone…. hurt you?" The words felt sour in her mouth, as if saying them was somehow a violation in and of itself.

Dick pulled his knees up to his chest, pressing his palms against his eyes. His breathing was rapid; he was close to hyperventilating.

And she was still sitting where she was, so damn helpless to do anything but sit and watch her best friend fall apart right before her eyes, afraid to touch him for fear it could only make the situation worse.

Hot tears pricked the back of her eyes. She couldn't bear to see him like this. She brushed at them with her thumb.

"Babs," Dick spoke again and he sounded appalled, appalled with… with himself. "Babs, I'm sorry." He tried to straighten himself out and winced as his movements jarred his injury. "I shouldn't…" Dick was panting now, staring at the wall, staring at nothing.

Whatever was in his head… its memory was not something Barbara was a part of. She didn't know what he was seeing. She didn't know how to help him.

"Dick," she repeated, trying desperately to reach him. "Dick, you're here. With me. You're safe."

Barbara hesitated… and then she reached out, touching his elbow.

Dick flinched, but he didn't pull away from her touch.

That was encouraging.

She massaged his arm, wrist to elbow.

"Whatever you're remembering, you're not there. Dick, breathe with me…"

"No!" Dick suddenly snapped sharply. He pulled his arm away from Barbara. "You weren't there, Barbara. You don't know what… I let her!" The vehemence suddenly drained from his voice, from his countenance, leaving behind total exhaustion in its place. "You don't know what I let her do."

"Let who do, Dick?" Barbara asked. When she didn't receive an answer, she decided to go out on a limb. "Tarantula?"

She had noticed the difference in his demeanor when the woman was in town during Gotham's gang war.

Bruce had too.

In fact, he'd spoken to Barbara about it, asking her for her opinion. Barbara had told him then that if he had suspicions, he'd better bring them up with Dick.

She didn't know if she had. It wasn't any of her business, so she hadn't asked.

But now she was asking.

And judging from his reaction to her name, she knew the answer.

Dick's side was pressed against the wall. One knee was pulled up to his chest. He was watching her like some sort of frightened wild animal. "She shot him, Barbara. I let her do it."

"Blockbuster," Barbara whispered softly, realization dawning. She remembered his death, remembered that Dick had been involved somehow.

She'd asked him about it. He'd skirted around the question. He wasn't ready. She told herself that he wasn't ready to talk about it. That he would tell her when he was.

"I told her no," he said. "I told her… don't do it. But she did it. She shot him. And I was there. I could have stopped her. I should have stopped her. But I didn't. I just stood there. I stood there and let her do it."

"Dick, stop it," Barbara ordered.

Startled into silence by the vehemence in her tone, Dick did.

"You can't... " Her voice was softer now, tender. She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to find the words that would help him. "You can't blame yourself."

She wanted to touch him, to hold him so bad, but he wasn't close enough and she… she was confined to her chair.

Damn the chair!

He stared at her.

"I was there," he said. His voice was haunted.

"Did you pull that trigger?" Barbara asked fiercely. "Did you hand her the gun? Tell her stick a bullet in him and put him out of his miserable existence?"

Dick didn't answer.

Barbara pressed forward.

"Because the Dick Grayson I know wouldn't have done a single one of those thing."

"I wanted her to," Dick whispered, so quietly that Barbara almost didn't hear him. "I… I wanted her to. So who does that make me, Barbara?"

Barbara reached out, cupping the side of his face. "It makes you human," she said. "When the Joker shot me…" she swallowed painfully. "I wanted him dead. I was in so much pain and… so scared. I thought I was going to die, it hurt so bad. But underneath it all? I wanted him to die. I wanted him to hurt the way I was hurting." Her shoulders shook with the weight of this confession.

She took Dick's hand in her own, rubbing it tenderly with her thumb.

"We can't save everyone, Dick," she said gently. And wasn't that the flat-out cliche of the day? Wasn't she supposed to be Oracle? The one who had the answers at the end of the day? And at the end of the day, she had… what? This? Some rehashed, feel-good phrase they'd all heard repeated over and over again.

But… at the end of the day, it was what she had. And she was going to make it work.

"We can't save everyone, Dick," she repeated. "Good guy or bad guy. No matter how much we want to. No matter how much we try to. But what matters," she paused, taking a moment to run her tongue over her lips, "what matters is that you tried. We can't control the actions of others. What Tarantula did… it in no way changes who you are, Dick Grayson." Her voice was growing more forceful by the minute. "And you…" her voice was wavering now. She was on the verge of tears, "you will always be a good person. The best." She had to stop, rubbing at her eyes under her glasses. "And I love you for it. Dick, I want you to know that. I love you. I love you and no matter what you think you did, no matter what you think you're responsible for, that is something that is never going to change. I swear it!"