Good Enough

by Skalidra

It's the middle of the night when Jason - as Stray - stops by Crane's lab, to drop off a tip and let Crane avoid Batman's raid later that night. While there, he gets accidentally dosed with one of Crane's newest formulas of fear gas. Untested, but it doesn't affect him until he gets back to Selina's loft, and then it activates. With a vengeance. - Stray Cat Strut!verse.

Hello! So, that's right, this is a part of the Stray Cat Strut universe. It's also a prompt! It was an anonymous request for prompt 14, "Hey I'm with you, okay? Always." specifically for Stray!Verse. So, here's some fear gas fun! Because what Batman universe is complete without at least one incident involving fear gas? This is quite a jump ahead in the timeline, but since it was a prompt I wanted to post it up. To refresh everyone, Dick is Nightwing at this point, Jason is Stray, Bruce is still Batman, and Selina is still Catwoman. There have been other Batchildren, but there are some spoilers involved in that so I kept vague. Enjoy!

Warnings for this are: past/referenced underage prostitution (oral only), all associated warnings that come with fear gas (panic, terror, hallucinations, etc.), abandonment fears, and emotional hurt/comfort.

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I flick open the latch to the window I'm perched on the outside of, and then dig a slim blade underneath the frame to hook the inside one and open that as well. Minimum amount of damage, no one should be able to tell it was opened unless they're really looking. I'm not expecting anyone to be looking.

I quietly hum a tune to myself as I crack the window and slide inside, settling my feet to the floor with a minimum of noise and then easing the window back down. Then I straighten up, taking a look around the deserted lab and focusing in on the crack of light splaying out from behind a closed door. I almost sigh, but bite it back and head across the lab.

"Crane!" I call, but don't get any answer. Not surprising. You could set off a damn air horn next to that man and sometimes he'll be so invested in his work that he won't notice. It's a little crazy. There's your problem with not-so-sane geniuses.

I listen for a moment outside the door, and pick up the sound of footsteps and then, a moment later, a hiss like some kind of gas. I let a few seconds go by, just in case, and then twist the knob to let myself inside. Sure enough, Crane is bent halfway over a table filled with notes, some kind of machine that looks decidedly beyond my level of scientific knowledge, and a collection of what looks sort of — speak of the devil — like air horns.

I take a couple steps forward, peering over his shoulder just to see if there are any plans on his table in addition to the tinkering, but I don't see anything. "Crane," I call again, a little quieter this time.

This time he whips around with a startled noise, and I get a fraction of a second to notice that he's got one of those airhorn things in his other hand before it's spraying up at me. I duck to the side, sinking to a crouch with practiced grace to snap a leg out and sweep his out from under him, but not before I get a decent faceful of the green gas. I succumb to the urge to cough as he flails, catching himself on his desk instead of crashing to the floor. His eyes are a little wild, and I aim a snarl up at him.

"Crane, what the hell did you just dose me with?" Crane gets his feet back under him, and I shift to the side before sliding back to standing, shaking my head a little bit. No dizziness yet, no fear, no noticeable reaction that I can see. Great. Maybe I got lucky and it's a dud formula?

"Stray!" Crane looks a little worried, and I snarl a little more but don't stop him from stepping forward and all but grabbing my face between his hands. He tilts it this way and that, pries my mouth open for a second, and then seems to do his best to peer into my eyes through my domino mask. "That's uh… Untested." He lets go of me, and turns back to his notes to scramble through them.

"I don't feel anything," I comment, wiping my mouth on my glove.

"Hah, well, no. You wouldn't, not yet."

I glare at his back, then step around to the side and plant myself firmly on the corner of the table to watch him. "I don't like the sound of that, Crane. Answers, right now. Otherwise I've got claws, and suddenly I'm not in the friendliest of moods."

He meets my gaze for a second, winces, and then goes back to shuffling through papers. "Well, if it works like I designed it, it should activate when you come face to face with whatever it is that triggers your deepest fears. Theoretically; I mean it's not tested I was just testing dispersal methods so it wasn't ready to be—"

"What the hell does that mean?" I snap, cutting him off.

Another wince. "Well, say you've got a fear of heights. This wouldn't activate until, for whatever reason, that fear is triggered. But it's deeper than that. It should target your deepest fears, even if you don't know them, not just little surface ones like that. Should." His mouth curls in half a grin, and he meets my gaze to stare at me. "This is really very fascinating. I've never tried this formula before; I'm excited to see what happens! You'll keep notes for me, won't you?"

I glare a little harder. "I am not your experiment, Crane. Give me the antidote and I'll just go."

"Uh…" My jaw tightens. "I don't have one. I suppose the antidote for my original toxin could work, but this is a very different build and I really wouldn't risk that combination." I clench my hands into fists, considering where I can hit him that will hurt like hell but not actually do much damage. He gives a nervous laugh. "You should be fine," he says, like he's trying to convince me. "It should wear off in a few hours, and the amount in one of these cans shouldn't be enough to do any damage unless you have some kind of pre-existing medical condition that stress would cause to flare up. You don't, do you?"

I make myself ease out. "No," I snap. "Are you serious? You mean I've just got to suffer through whatever your stupid drug drags up and then it should go away?"

"Oh, it will be out of your system in a few hours regardless of whether it's triggered or not. I suppose… Try not to run into anything you have deep fears about?" I have to stop myself from trying to strangle him, and it only barely works. He takes a step away from me. "Is there something that you needed, Stray?" he asks, with a strained smile. "You don't usually come around just to socialize."

I seriously debate not telling him anything for a second, but then practicality wins out. "Yeah. Bat's dropping by your east side store house sometime tonight. Might want to clear anything out of there that you want to save. Catwoman said to pass on that the two of you are square now." He starts to make a face, like he's thinking about arguing, and I flex my hands so my claws dig into the wood of his desk. "You just gassed me, Crane. The two of you are even or god help me I'm going to spend the next few hours fucking with you."

He swallows, and then gives another nervous laugh. "You got it, Stray." I push off the desk, shooting a last snarl at him before I head for the door. "Hey, take notes!"

I slam the door behind me, not even dignifying that with an answer. I stalk across the room and back to the window I used to get in, digging my phone out from my belt as I slip back outside and hook the latches closed again. I wait until I'm a couple of buildings away before pausing, picking out Selina's number from my phone and raising it up to my ear. The edge of the building is a comfortable enough perch while I wait for her to answer, and I take the opportunity to check how steady my hands are. Just fine, which makes me roll my eyes and aim one last glare in the direction of Crane's lab. Bastard.

"My Stray," Selina purrs, immediately after the phone has been picked up. "The information?"

"Passed on," I answer. "You're even with Crane, he agreed." I snort, getting a little more comfortable on the edge of the building. "Paranoid bastard also spazzed out when I got near him, sprayed me with something. No effects so far, looks like it might be one of his dud recipes." I can almost feel the worry in the moment of silence. "He said something about it being like a sort of sleeper agent mix; only activates when a person comes in contact with the trigger for a deep fear."

"But nothing so far?"

"Nada. No shakiness, no paranoia, no fear, just a whole lot of irritation. I'll head home, just to be safe, but I don't think it's going to do anything." There have been times where Crane's recipes didn't end up doing anything at all, or just inspired this nagging wariness that was more of a pain in the ass than anything else. Even geniuses have their off days, I guess.

Selina makes a slightly concerned noise. "Stop by my place first for a few minutes. We can grab dinner, and I can make sure you're alright?"

I roll my eyes, but my mouth curls in a small grin anyway. "Yeah, sure. I'll be there in…" I check exactly where I am; do some mental calculations. "About ten minutes. See you soon." She makes an agreeing noise, and then there's the click of her hanging up. I tuck my phone away, straighten up so I can arch my back for a moment, and then reverse a step so I can gain a bit of momentum.

Not much feels more natural than swinging and running through Gotham. This has always been my home, but it was only after I really fell into being Stray that moving across the rooftops became more natural to me than walking down streets. Up here with Selina, the Bat, Nightwing, and all the other little birds and bats that have taken the name over the years. I know all of them in one way or another, but my Robin, the first Robin, will always be the one I'm closest to. He's been my friend for so long that sometimes I can almost forget how much I want him. How much I've always wanted him.

Almost.

It doesn't matter. He's straight as far as I know, he's been totally unreceptive to any and all advances — even if he's never flat out told me to stop, which is the only thing that keeps that tiny hope burning — and I'd never push him farther than just teasing. Not without an invitation. I cherish our friendship too much to press my interest on him like that. I know he gets enough attention for his looks, and that he's not entirely comfortable with it. He doesn't need me doing that to him too.

I set to climbing the building Selina's apartment is in, digging my claws into the cement and following worn out holds where both of us have made the same climb over and over again. A grapnel helps, and our whips do some of the work, but sometimes you've just got to climb with nothing but your hands and feet. It can almost be like meditation, if you've got the pattern down and don't have to really think about it.

I'm breathing a bit harder by the time I get to her apartment and slip onto the balcony, but it's nothing extreme. It's just a climb. I head inside, disengaging the claws on my gloves and rolling my shoulders back to dispel any lingering tension in them. It's habit more than anything.

"I'm home!" I call into the apartment, with just a hint of teasing to my voice.

Selina appears a moment later, sliding through the open doorway leading to her bedroom. I move to meet her, and her arms wrap around my chest. I ease into the hug, returning it as I duck my head down against her shoulder. It's still a little strange to have to bend down to do that; I've been taller than her for years now but never really got used to it.

We stay in the embrace for a moment, and then she gently disengages. "Alright, stay still and let me get a look at you." I snort, but hold still. Her hands come up to either side of my face, fingers stroking over my cheeks and tracing the edge of the domino mask before she gently pulls it off to check my eyes for a moment. Then one hand dips to press against my throat, checking my pulse as she presses the mask back into place.

"I'm fine, Selina. Promise." The extended concern is making me just a little wary, and I shift a bit and try not to squirm under her touch. "Hey, I'm serious. I—"

"Your pulse is picking up," she says, cutting me off as she meets my eyes again. Now there's actual concern. "Tell me what Crane said about the gas."

"I—" I click my jaw shut, staring down at her. I can feel it. I can feel the cold wash of something like fear, building at the back of my chest and focusing my wariness — first clue, should have paid attention — into real panic. Come on, if this is like normal fear gas than the terror is going to make me pretty mute. Important facts first. "Said there wasn't an antidote yet, it's untested, not ready for actual use. Should wear off in a few hours. It activates—" I swallow, fighting the rising urge to pull away from her touch. "Should activate when the person comes into contact with the trigger for one of their deepest fears. Even if they don't know what that is."

"The normal antidote for fear gas?" she asks, and I lose the battle. I jerk away from her hand, taking half a step backwards.

"Didn't want to risk mixing it; different chemical formula than the normal." A thick shudder shakes my shoulders, and I can feel the world around me bending. Darkening, focusing down on Selina and drawing my eyes back to her. Hallucinations; rationally I know it has to be that. "It can't be you," I breathe, taking another step back. My hands are shaking. "I'm not afraid of you."

There's a ripple through the world, and I wince and close my eyes for a second. This doesn't make any sense. Selina is the only change, and I'm not afraid of her. Maybe once, a long time ago, but not anymore. She's the closest thing I have to family, she's practically my mother, I love her more than anyone else I know. She can't be what's causing the gas to kick in. Can't be.

There's a hiss, and my eyes snap open again. Selina is still in front of me, still looking up at me, but her eyes are narrowed, bright, and vicious. I take another step backwards, seeing her form waver and blur at the edges but god I can't look away from her eyes. She's angry, why? It's just stupid gas, it's just a reaction, I didn't—

"Stray," she hisses, and I recognize the weird quality to her voice but it doesn't really register. I swallow, staring at her. "Did you think that was praise, Jason? A cute name for one dirty little street rat that happened to catch my eye? That's all you are. One starved, lonely, yowling, stray that got lucky." The hiss turns to a sneer, and I back up as she takes a step towards me. "Luck's over, street rat. You don't belong here, you never did, you never will."

My breath comes fast, hard, and my stomach wrenches because I've had this nightmare before. The one where Selina realizes that I'm not worth the effort she's put into me. The one where she takes everything she's given me back and throws me out onto the streets. I've woken up shaking and biting back tears, but never saying a word or calling attention because she'd be right. I was never worth what she gave me; everyone knew it but her.

"Run, Stray. Go back to the gutter you climbed out of and curl up in some dark little corner to rot. You don't have anything that doesn't depend on me you rat, so run."

I retreat until my back hits glass, and she follows me with that sneer and the half-crouched, ready position she always uses before she pounces. "Selina," I manage, my voice cracking even as I stare at her. She doesn't feel small, not anymore. "Don't. Don't."

She circles sideways, and distantly I register that it puts her between me and the balcony door. Only distantly. Her hands rise, claws glinting sharp at the ends of her nails, and I choke back a whine of fear. I can picture the way they'll feel digging into me, how it will hurt, how I'll bleed. A yowling cry bursts out of her mouth, and I jerk back and away from the glass of the wall. Instinct makes me back towards the front door, as she follows me. Hands still up, still threatening, and that sneer twisting her mouth.

"Get out," she spits, and I cringe. "You stupid little brat. I'll never care for you; I never wanted a child but you were so easy to use, so eager to please just to get scraps of attention. Time's up; you're not useful anymore and I'm done pretending to care whether or not you starve. Die for all I care!"

It knocks the air out of me like I've been punched, and I have to gasp for more as I stumble back. Wood meets my shoulders.

It's an escape, it's an out, and god I can't listen. I can't think past the pain and the terror in my chest. Selina took me in, she gave me a home, she all but made me everything I am, and to have her take all that back? To just be some nameless nobody on the streets again, stealing for scraps and selling whatever I have to for enough to live another day? I can't. I can't do it again. I can't go back to the pain, and the dark, and the cold. I can't go back to a life without someone, anyone, to care for. God, I can't.

One of her clawed hands reaches for me, and I react before I think about it. I engage my claws, twist my mouth in a snarl, and slash at her hand. She jerks out of range, and then fear crashes into my skull like the weight of someone tackling me. What have I done?

"I'm sorry," I gasp, dragging my right hand up and through my hair, grasping and tugging. I can feel the sharp slice of pain across my cheek and scalp, but it doesn't really register. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Jason—" she starts to hiss, and I squeeze my eyes shut and just move. I push forward, slide around her, and run for the balcony. I only open my eyes once I'm sure she's behind me.

It's only just in time to avoid crashing through glass, instead of the open door. I slide through the opening, reach on instinct for the grapnel in my belt, and find it just a moment before I dive off the side of the building. Then I twist and let it fire, my body working on instinct and training even as my heartbeat pounds in my head and my breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps. The grapnel hooks, pulls tight, and I press the button to let it unwind. I don't risk looking up, don't risk the possibility Selina is staring down over the ledge, I just let the grapnel lower me as far down as it can before grabbing onto the building and retracting it. From there it's a simple swing to the next building over.

I get five blocks away before I notice that the adrenaline is wearing off.

I stumble to a stop, sinking to my knees on whatever the hell rooftop that I'm on and wrapping my arms around my chest. The fear is fading; the pain is not. It still feels like Selina swiped her claws up my chest and sliced me open, like my guts are spilling everywhere and only the grip of my arms keeps them manageable. It's not the fear either, even though that would be easier to deal with. This is all me. Oh, I'm going to kill Crane for not warning me. This isn't triggering deeper fears, this is bringing a fucking nightmare to life. If it was as simple as a fear it wouldn't hurt this bad.

I choke out a pained sound, and then force my head up to figure out where I am. I can't do this on a random rooftop in Gotham. I need to be somewhere safe, somewhere secure, somewhere that I can curl into a ball and lick my wounds in private. I need to heal.

My apartment is the only place I have that's even vaguely like that. There's nothing at my apartment to trigger the gas again either, so that's a point in its favor. I can get in my bed and underneath every blanket I own, and then I can either shake or cry until this is a little easier to manage.

Rationally, I know that what Selina said up there was a hallucination. I know she would never throw me out, she would never hurt me, and she does care for me. That doesn't mean that it didn't feel real. Every inch of that felt real at the time, even if now I can see all the little holes and flaws in what my brain dreamed up. The easiest to focus on is that humans don't have claws, or at least Selina doesn't. She'd need her gloves for that and she didn't have them on. It's a solid point I can cling to, so I can remember that what happened was nothing more than a nightmare brought to life by Crane's stupid gas and my own stupid brain. That's it.

When this is all over, and this shit is out of my system, I can go back up there and I'll still have a home. Selina will still care for me, I'll still love her, and we'll still be family. That's not going to change.

I drag myself to my feet, swallowing down pain and the lingering fear that's making my hands shake a little bit. It doesn't work that well, but it works well enough for me to figure out where I am, and which direction I need to go to get to my apartment. Making myself head that direction is a little harder, but it gets easier after the first few steps. Then it's just momentum, and the effects of the fear gas are waning every moment. Crane wasn't kidding; it's activated by specific triggers, and then seems to fade just as quickly as it comes on.

God, if my fear hadn't told me to run, would this have raged on for the whole few hours until it was out of my system? If I'd gotten trapped there with Selina, how bad would it have been? Crane said it wasn't enough to kill me, or at least shouldn't be, but I can still see that messing me up pretty badly. Even just those few minutes hurt like hell, so a few hours instead?

Usually I don't think of myself as being afraid of much, if fucking anything, but fear gas is a different game. My nastiest fears aren't anything to be laughed at, and Crane's formulas murder my ability to control myself.

Which is so obvious because I tried to hurt Selina. I tried to claw her. Shit, I didn't need that extra fuel for the irrational, screaming fear that she's going to throw me out. It's still alive and burning in my chest, even though I don't think the gas is really affecting me that much anymore. A little, definitely, but not enough to explain how sick to my stomach this fear is making me feel. It shouldn't surprise me, I guess. I know how awful I've felt on mornings after nightmares like that, so it should be worse when it's so much more real, shouldn't it?

Usually I try and push away all other thoughts while I'm rooftop running, just in case one stupid thought breaks my momentum and causes a stupid accident. Right now I'm not really capable of that. It feels like forever before my apartment building comes into view, and the final climb is nothing short of grueling.

I get inside my window, lock it, tug the curtain closed, and then let myself lean against the wall. I want to slide down to my knees, but I lock them back instead to make sure that doesn't happen. If I end up on the ground, I'm not sure that I'll get back up again. That's not a good idea. If I'm going to collapse — really more of a 'when' than an 'if' — I'm going to do it in my bed. I won't spend the next few hours curled up on the floor, not when my bed is only a room away.

"Stray?"

My eyes snap open from where they'd drifted shut, and I jerk my head around. A black and blue form slips out of whatever dark corner he was in, moving towards me at a slight angle. Nightwing, and he's got a set to his mouth that I know is steel determination. I can feel the gas click into gear again.

No. I'm not doing this. Not with him.

I spin, drag the curtain open, and get the window halfway undone before hands are grabbing my upper arms and jerking me around to slam me back against the wall. Not hard enough to really hurt, but his grip is tight enough that I'm not going anywhere without a real fight. He's in my face, unyielding but his expression shifting from cautious to concerned.

"Stray, wait." His tone is hard, voice quiet but no less commanding because of it. "I'm not going to hurt you, alright? Catwoman told me you got dosed with fear gas; I need you to talk to me. Tell me what's going on and we'll work through it. Together, alright?"

"No," I refuse, jerking against his hold. "It only works when it's triggered, leave me alone and I'll be fine. Fuck, please, Nightwing. I can't—" It's digging into me, my heart rate picking up again as that nagging fear spirals up into real terror. I know what's going to happen, I know it in my gut because I've had these nightmares too. My nightmares involving Nightwing only ever revolve around one thing. I don't think I can take it happening in real life.

Nightwing's hands clench on my arms, hard enough to bruise. "Give me your gloves." He sounds urgent, but the words don't make sense to me. My gloves? "Stray, give me your gloves and I will turn around and walk out, okay? You've hurt yourself already, you're bleeding; I can't leave you with those claws."

I'm… I'm bleeding? What did I do? What didn't I feel? I was lucid for most of the time this has been in me, and I know I didn't feel anything even after the gas was triggered. It can't be that serious, can it? Was I really that out of it?

"Stray!"

I snap to attention, staring at Nightwing's mask. I almost whimper when it starts to warp, curling at the edges as his mouth parts to bare white teeth and sharp canines. A shudder slides down my spine, and I push back against the wall to — completely in vain — try to put some distance between me and those teeth. If he's just a little farther away, and if he's not touching me, maybe this will hurt less.

"Don't," I plead, pulling against his hold a little bit. "Please don't."

"Don't what, Stray?" The tone doesn't match the snarl, not yet. The hallucination is only visual so far. So far. I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. "I'm going to let you go. Don't run, alright?" The grip on my arms eases, and then I can feel him step away from me. For just a second I consider turning and leaping through the window next to me, but I'm not quite that far gone. The glass would cut me apart even through my costume, and jumping at that angle wouldn't give me anything to hold onto. I would never be able to outrun Nightwing like this anyway.

I carefully look up, avoiding his face and focusing somewhere around his chest instead. It's safer. "Please don't make me listen," I manage to get out. "I— I can't take this. Not from you. Please just let me be alone; please." I twist my head away, grit my teeth together. "God, fucking hallucinations. I can't—"

"Stray, I'm not leaving you. It's not safe. We will weather this together, alright? We'll get through it. I won't let anything happen, you know that." That same gut wrenching ripple shakes through me, like what happened with Selina, and Nightwing's voice darkens into something angry. Something mocking and dangerous. "Isn't that right, Stray? I'll never let anything happen. Not between us. Not ever. I'm a hero, remember? You're just a broken little street rat who thinks he's got a chance with the big shots. Thinks he has a chance with me."

My eyes slide open, and I look up. I shouldn't, I know I shouldn't, but I just have to.

Nightwing takes half a step forward, hands curling into fists at his sides. "How dare you, you cocky, arrogant little bastard? You're nothing to me. You're a criminal; a useless son of a bitch." He sneers, standing tall for a moment as his hands part to either side. Like he's showing off. "Look at me, Stray. I'm gorgeous, I'm twice as good as you'll ever be even in your wildest dreams, and you think I'd ever lower myself to care for you? You're nothing but damaged goods, street rat; not even worth whatever change your past 'relationships' paid for you."

My heart pounds in my ears, and it takes me a second to realize that the high-pitched whine cutting through the air is coming from me. I shudder, swallowing it away and only staring as Nightwing steps closer and his mouth curls to a cruel smile.

"You think love has anything to do with it, Stray? How would you even know what love is? Obsession, maybe, but you're too fucked up to feel something like love. No matter how hard you try and convince yourself, you'll never be anything more than that brat of an orphan who gave everything but that last first away for the promise of a few meals. What has your survival left you with, Stray? What little part of your pride survived how it felt to have a stranger wrap his hands in your hair and fuck your mouth until your jaw ached for days afterwards? You choked on him but it was nothing you hadn't agreed to; just a stupid child who was so desperate to eat he'd take anything. You're not worth more than a handful of bills and the back of an alley, and we both know it, Stray."

I freeze up, and then I'm shouting some kind of wordless cry of fear and rage and pain and launching myself at Nightwing. He goes down with me, hands grasping my wrists and knees planting in my stomach as he flips me over his head. I hit the ground hard, the breath driven out of me momentarily but not enough to stop me rolling over and digging my claws into the floor. He's facing me, that fucking smile still on his mouth.

"Love you?" He barks out laughter. "I can barely stand the fucking sight of you."

"Shut up!" I get my feet underneath me and push myself at him. I just want to make him stop. Make him close his mouth before my heart breaks in half or stops working altogether. It hurts.

He meets me, and then we're grappling. I try and get my claws into him, try and slam him against the floor or make him bleed, but it doesn't work. Somehow I wind up with my right arm twisted behind me, my left pinned down by my wrist at my side, and Nightwing's full weight leaning in the center of my back. I writhe, shout, dig my claws into the wooden floor to try and get some kind of leverage. Nightwing stays steady on my back, holding me down and making it hard to even breathe.

And then he's spitting words down at me, fingers tightening a fraction over my wrists. "How long have you looked at me the way you do, Stray? How long have you violated my trust by jerking off to me behind my back? How dare you even look me in the eye?!" His voice rises to a shout at the end of the sentence, and he shoves me down against the wood. "You're nothing but a stalking psychopath, Stray! Nothing! I don't want you in my life, you understand me?!"

I drag in a breath, straining against Nightwing's grip even as I vaguely register that my shoulder is grinding in a way it shouldn't be. "Don't," I beg, my face buried against the wood. "Please, please, please." My thoughts have gone white and hyper-focused; pain sings through my chest to the nauseous swirl of my gut.

Nightwing, gone? I can't. He's my best friend, and I love him. I always have. I always will. The thought of him shunning me, of refusing to see me, of hating me… God I can't. My life practically revolves around him, how would I ever manage to survive? How would I live with myself knowing the one person that I loved threw me out because of that love? How could I ever get past that kind of pain?

"You lied to me all these years but now I know what a sick bastard you are, Stray. Pretending you could be my friend when all you wanted was to bend over and let me take whatever I wanted. Well here's a clue, Stray. I don't want you. I never will, you street rat. You're not close to my level and you never will be. Pathetic little bastard."

I can feel myself shaking, and I squeeze my eyes shut and try to gasp in enough breath to speak. I manage a small, "Stop. Nightwing, please."

He shifts on top of me, and I can feel his breath as he leans down to speak in my ear. His voice is a low hiss. "I'm going to leave, Stray. You understand that, don't you? You've wanted me all these years, loved me, lied to me, but that's done. You'll never speak to me, never look at me, never come near me again. I'll make sure of that. Your sick little fantasies will never come true, and you've lost me because of them. You understand me?"

I shake a little harder, and then something snaps in me and I go limp underneath Nightwing's weight. My eyes burn, and I can feel tears gathering in the corners before streaking down my face. The fear is still there, screaming in my mind and burning at the back of my chest, but the pain is so all encompassing I don't even know how to process it. Not even the terror is enough to stop it.

Nightwing's grip eases a little bit, and then he purrs, "There, isn't that easier, Stray? Isn't it better when you admit how worthless you are?"

I suck in a sharp breath, and then tense up so I can shove backwards. It doesn't do anything more than make him slam me back against the floor, and I shout something that's probably like, "No!" My second round of fighting doesn't get me any farther than the first, and I can't keep it up for nearly as long. Not with the tears in my eyes, and the sharp, shallow pace of my breath. It doesn't take long for me to collapse back against the wood.

I try and shut the hissing voice in my ears off. Try and stop listening to that cruel tone and the vicious words. It doesn't work.

I have no idea how long I stay against the floor, I just know that eventually I run out of energy to be afraid. The terror is still there, and I couldn't stop trembling even if my life depended on it, but I lose all energy but what little I need to whisper 'no' over and over again in quiet desperation. I don't have the concentration or the will to fight, or scream, or — eventually — even to cry. I just can't. There's a point on the other end of fear where the world stops mattering, and fighting fades to surrender. I hit that point a long time before the gas is done with me.

Eventually, after I've stopped speaking and even trembling, Nightwing moves for the first time since I stopped fighting him. His hands loosen their grips, and I can feel some of his weight ease off of me.

"Hey, are you with me again, Stray?" His voice is soft, worried, and so unlike the one that's been hissing in my ear that for a moment I don't place it. Then a shudder makes me seize up for a moment, before I manage to jerk my head in a small nod. "Can you understand me now?"

I work my jaw for a moment before managing a rough, "Yeah." It comes out weak, but at least it comes out.

Nightwing lets go of my left wrist, and then carefully eases my right arm out from behind my back. My breath catches, and then I let out a quiet cry of pain as my shoulder screams murder at me. "Shit, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Stray, I just couldn't hold you without enough leverage. Too much of it. I didn't want to hurt you."

I swallow back a second cry, drawing my right arm in close to my side as Nightwing gets off of my back. There's sore muscles there too, but nothing bad enough that it really draws my attention. I curl up as I twist my head, finding Nightwing kneeling at my side, mouth drawn tight with worry and what looks like guilt. He looks like he's hovering between reaching out or not, and leftover fear strikes me hard.

I snap my hand out, reaching for his thigh, or arm, or anything I can hold to just feel him, and it's like a sucker punch when he jerks away. "Nightwing," I breathe, recoiling into myself as I twist my head down into the wood, dragging my arms in underneath my torso. A fresh wave of pain rolls through my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut to try and stop the tears.

"Woah, Stray." Nightwing's hand is on my back, sliding up between my shoulder blades. "Claws, okay? Your claws are still out and if you grab me you're going to slice me. Put them away and we can be as close as you need, promise."

Oh. Oh, yeah.

I uncurl enough that I can carefully deactivate the claws in my gloves and send them back into their sheaths. The second I do, Nightwing's hands are sliding down my arms, lightly squeezing. "Come on, Stray. Let's get you up, alright? Not far, just to the couch."

"Bed," I manage to counter, even though the thought of Nightwing near my bed sends a sharp pang slicing down into my gut. "Please."

"Of course," he agrees easily. "The bed, you got it. You're going to have to work with me here though, Stray. I can lift you but it'll be a lot easier if you help me." I manage to drag in a breath and then start to move, and his hands and arms end up in all the right places to carefully get me more or less to my feet. My injured arm ends up across his shoulders, and I'm hanging more weight on him than I should but I feel so drained and raw that I can't help it. "That's it. Let's just get you to the bed, okay? Can you help me do that for you?"

A distant part of me recognizes that the repeated questions are a way to keep me somewhat focused, like I'm in shock or something, but I don't care enough to do anything with that information. I can only follow his direction with what little of my mind is still working, and lean on him to help me across the living room and through the door to my room. He mostly shuts the door, and then gets me to sit down at the corner of the bed.

"Hey," he murmurs, kneeling down in front of me, "We need to get you out of that suit, alright? I'm just going to start taking it off, so you can sleep comfortably." His hands slide around my neck, to the zipper at the back, and I swallow as I feel him start to slide it down. My head dips a little bit. He peels the suit off my shoulders, carefully easing it down my arms, and I let him. It drops to my lap, and then his hands rise to my face.

He winces, and his left hand swipes across the right side of my forehead before pulling back a bit. My gaze drops to it, and there's crusted blood across the pads covering his fingertips. I stare, confused and just a little nervous. Nightwing must notice my look, because he raises that hand back to my forehead.

"It looks like you cut yourself with your claws," he explains, his fingers tracing up and now I'm noticing that it actually does sting a little bit. "Across your forehead and back a little ways into your hair. Bled a lot, but I don't think any of the scratches are deep enough to need stitches. You can clean them out in the morning."

I nod, and his hands slip down to either side of my mask. Something in me clenches, and I flinch away from the touch. "Don't," I'm saying before I even understand it, drawing my arms across my stomach and folding in a little bit.

His hands pull away without even a fraction of hesitation. "Understood. Leave the mask. I get it, Stray, don't worry. You want me to go?"

That springs another reaction on me, and I snap both hands out and grab his arms before I can think how bad an idea that is. "No," I gasp, fear bursting to life in the center of my chest. "Please don't leave," I beg, staring at his mask and wishing I could see his eyes. Wishing I had any idea what color they were. "Please, Nightwing, please."

His hands grip my arms in return for a second. "Hey, I'm with you, okay?" I make myself let go, and his right hand rises to my face again. It touches my cheek, brushes back, and I can't help the instinctive relaxation that happens when it strokes over the skin back behind my ear, along my hairline. "Always. That's a promise." Another soft stroke, and I close my eyes and lean into his touch.

Normally I fight it, normally I pull away or snap at him to stop, but right now that weakness is one of the only things holding me together. I grit my teeth and shake through the shudder that sweeps up my spine. He moves closer and wraps his free arm around my back, drawing me into a hug.

"Come on. Just a little more and you can get in the bed, alright, Stray? I'll stay; I'll be here. Right now let's take care of you." He gets me partially to my feet, just enough that he can curl his fingers at the edge of my suit and get the rest of it off of me. Exactly how escapes me, but I know that he stays close to me, and that the second it's off he's guiding me towards the top of the bed.

I fall into it more than lay, but he gets the covers up and over me anyway. My breath catches in my throat when he pushes in beside me, and my mind flashes through hope, pain, fear, and then right back to something like hope.

"Is this alright?" he asks, his hand tracing down my arm. "I can just sit next to you, or be over the covers, or whatever you need, but this seemed best to me. If it's not comfortable for you I'll get right back out, promise."

The words choke me, so I just reach out instead to wrap my arm around his waist. It feels like a nightmare and a dream all at once to pull him closer, but he comes without a fight. His arm mimics mine, draping over my waist and pressing up against my back to hold me close, and I duck my head down against his chest. I can't take looking at him, and this is selfish and stupid of me because it's only going to make all of this hurt worse, but I can't make myself stop either. I can't make myself refuse the comfort.

"Easy," Nightwing whispers, fingers tracing over my back. Then they rise up to stroke through my hair, carefully working out blood-stiff pieces and pressing lightly against my scalp. "I've got you, Stray. I'll be here for as long as you need me."

I manage a small nod, and his fingers brush against that spot behind my ear again. I lean into him, closing my eyes and just trying to let his warmth ease some of the emotion sunk deep into every inch of me.

He shifts just a little closer, and then murmurs, "Stray?"

My voice sounds like hell, but I get out another, "Yeah?" against the black and blue of his suit.

Another pause. "Whatever that was, it's your business. But I want you to know…" His hand stills, and then his arm tightens around my back as if to make up for that stillness. "No matter what, I'd never abandon you, Stray. I might get angry, I might need space, but no matter what you tell me I would never give up on you for good. That's a promise."

I'm frozen, I can barely breathe, but then motion clicks back in with a jarring, shaking drag of air. I tighten my grip on Nightwing, push my head a little harder against his chest. The dam breaks. I'm trembling, clutching him to me, crying into his chest for reasons I can't even explain except to say that I'm in pain. And he takes it. He murmurs meaningless reassurances that I can barely even hear over my tears, holds me with that arm at my back, and doesn't make one single move to pull away.

It's like a purge. By the time the tears dry, and I'm breathing mostly evenly again, I feel empty. Drained, but in a good way. Like someone's leeched all the poison and the pain out of me, and left me with just exhaustion and the last stinging reminders in the background that this is temporary. It will hurt again, later, it just doesn't right now and that's good enough.

For right now, I'm okay.