WOO SIX MORE DAYS AND THIS IS DONE WOO
Here is the first part again ( s/7734330/1/Basic-Skill ). Yesterday it didn't save the changes I made so the link didn't show up. That probably confused people. If you were a confused person then sorry.
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Oh god, the nights here.
He wished he was in the main prison. He wished he was anywhere else.
Across the block from him, someone was crying. Piercing, sharp little sobs that hurt his head. A few cells down there were occasional screams. Nightmares, he figured, but it could have been something else. Juvie kids put so much effort into being tough during the day that they crumbled in private.
At least he had his own cell. At least Batman cared enough to tick a box and have you labelled dangerous.
Did Bruce really think he would hurt one of these kids?
Obviously.
He might. He'd stabbed Raven after all.
You're capable of anything.
Someone shouted, swearing, at the crier and they began to howl. That was how it worked. You tried to fix something and you made it worse and-
Wow. Nice metaphor. Real subtle. Stop being dramatic and focus on how you're so crazy that you're critiquing your own inner monologue.
He could feel himself changing. Hardening from the inside out. He had group therapy as well as his own private meetings and he passed the time while the kids talked- listing who'd hurt them, 'opening up' was the shrink's buzzword- imagining how it would feel to kill them.
He didn't want to. He wouldn't do it.
But how could they complain? How could they dare whine about their petty little problems when he was sitting right there? When he was suffering so much more?
They weren't worth anything. They were soft children. They had no right.
He tried to feel sorry for them and realised it was beyond him.
He hadn't tried very hard.
Slade would be pleased.
The part of him that still cared about things- the part that wasn't just burning-up-angry-insane – hated that thought. Felt sick at the idea that he wasn't even trying to fight it, at the knowledge that he was doing exactly what he'd wanted: that he was becoming like him.
But what was the point? Slade had been right. People leave. They can't be trusted. Your only chance is to let go of them and take care of yourself.
Look at Starfire.
All that power-
When she'd arrived she'd been so strong. So distant and controlled. All warrior, no princess. And then-
He sat up, the thin mattress squelched under him. He wasn't thinking about the Titans. Whatever, the point was:
Friends made you soft.
The cell was six by eight feet. Concrete floors, concrete walls. The furniture was secured. A camera pointed at him- straight at him, not angled like the others- from the wall outside his bars. He had a feeling that was a present from Batman.
At least he was consistent: he was determined to screw up the rest of Dick's life as much as he had the start of it. Keep him here like a bug in a jar.
Not the start. Since Zucco. Since he wouldn't let you finish the creep.
If he had he'd have been here anyway, just a little sooner.
He considered trying to break out himself. Not because he thought he'd get past Batman, just for something to do while he waited for Slade.
You didn't know how good you had it when you were working for him.
Oh god.
Now and then he still had the power to shock himself by thinking something like that.
But – Dick lay back again and closed his eyes, sealed himself completely in the dark messy quiet of his head – it wasn't like he was wrong. Did he want to kill people? No. But-
And now you're the kind of person who puts a 'but' at the end of that answer.
Batman would be proud.
Dick's lip twitched.
He almost smiled.
Good.