I'm vaguely aware of somebody's arms around me, dragging me to the bathroom, before my face is splattered with cold. I cough and shiver. I look at Tim-he's panicked. There are traces on my back where his hands stroked my flesh; I can feel the red raw welts beginning to form. I bite my lip hard and deep, gushing blood into my mouth. I spit the red substance into the sink, licking my lips. Must keep clean. Can't be dirty. Oh, Dick. You're already so dirty. Tim's eyes are small and panic stricken. I smile weakly at him.
"Don't worry little brother," I whisper. My hands ache to wrap themselves around his broken form in a hug, but I draw back as I remember his earlier warning. He arms twisted themselves around me, and I let him cradle me, pushing out my thoughts.
"Just hold on, I'll get help." No, I whisper. I don't need anybody. My tongue is swollen in my mouth and I cannot speak.
"No, Tim… I'm okay, really." He must think I'm insane, and he wouldn't be wrong. He must… he'll never come over again. His scent is warm and comforting. I shift in his grasp and close my eyes before pulling away. I'm okay, I repeat.
"I'm okay." My eyes flutter open and closed, blue windows into my blue soul. Does that make me a sad soul? "It just surprised me, that's all. What you said. It overwhelmed me and my body just failed me. I'm sorry I scared you."
"Dick, let me take you to your bed. You should lie down and you need some water. I'll stay the night to watch you. You don't have a choice. I won't tell B--Barbara." I look at him, wrenching myself from his grasp. I want to be fine, I want to be his savior and deliver him from this situation.
"It's okay. I'm fine." I stand up; walk around to prove my point. "You never should've seen that. I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault." Everything a good guy should say. Someday when I'm old I'll tell the truth. Tim, do you remember that time you cut my heart open-how did you know how to hurt me? But I know how. It was part of your training, part of what you devoted precious hours of your life to trying to become. I was never good at that part, I didn't like causing that kind of pain. Physical wounds are shallow, and I am too much of a coward to slice where it hurts deeper, as Bruce and Tim and Barbara all know how to do. Jason too. Even fiery, short-lived Jason was better than me. Did Bruce touch you like this too? No Tim, he didn't. He never even really looked at me. I was never the one he touched like that yet always the one who wanted to be touched.
Well you can take your bats and your forsaken little boys with blue eyes, God, and leave me be, leave me in peace. There is not even peace in my mind anymore, though it is vacant and lonely in the recesses between my temples and my mane of hair. Tim is attempting to be my hero now. It is not really such an intense role reversal, though he may perceive it to be such. Tim, you were always the one to save me, the one I was waiting for. You pulled me out of loneliness. My mouth shudders at the thought of spilling these few precious words I've left out onto the rug before the bewildered boy. His hands tremble slightly as he escorts me about, attending to me, insisting I rest. My eyebrows curve into a natural frown as I am not used to being treated like this, with such soft concern, such slim hands. Surely he does not see me as small. Surely he cannot see that deep. I close my eyes, having half-collapsed, half been pushed onto the soft fibers of the couch and for a minute I hail myself as to having chosen such a comfortable, attractive piece of furniture. If only you had the same taste in mates, Dick. Or partners for that matter. But I cannot blame Bruce; his methods did me well, they hardened me into a man. If it wasn't for Bruce, I may have taken a lesson from Peter Pan and never grown up. They all think that when you lose your parents, it forces you to grow up so quickly but the opposite is true. People all around fawn on you and the only choice is to retreat back to the safe hollow space you've reserved in your mind for all the future experiences you would've had with your loving parents before their lives were unmercifully snuffed out. But Bruce left me no hollow places, nor did he fill them with affection and caring. He always understood, however, and perhaps that's what was most important to me. Is. He filled up the emptiness in me with desires: to train more, to learn more, to feel more, to be better. To get revenge. It was not Bruce's intention to turn me into a creature of empathy and emotion: quite the opposite. But he inadvertently led me to crave humanity as though it were a very dangerous drug. I began to believe that human beings were like small packets of life, the honey begging to be sucked from their shells and then discarded. Bruce was, at that point, something far beyond humanity. His skin was sour and coarse, but it needed to be so, and I could not understand why he needed to protect himself from such soft creatures that were obviously beneath him. Until Jason died and everything changed.
I close my eyes, deciding it best to feign sleep, or at last mediate to relax a bit. I slowed my breathing as Bruce taught me to, trying to rid my mind of the demons clawing at its edges but it's useless. Better to just embrace them and let them tear me apart until there is nothing left to worry about. My breathing becomes even and soft. Scent floats to my nostrils as I make a mental map of my apartment and the creatures it in only from smell. Tim smells faintly of aftershave, fresh laundry, and arousal. My nose wrinkles at the interesting combination, and I lick my lips, trying to grasp precious moisture and retain it in the petals of skin that flutter slightly with my breath. My mind floats to the previous night and I cringe internally.
"Get over it, Dick. " Her blue eyes peered at me through resentful slits. We all had blue eyes.
"He was standing there, in front of Jason's old costume… the shrine… and he /flinched/ Barbara. He flinched when I tried to comfort him."
"I'm tired of you doing this, Dick. I'm tired of hearing it. It's been years and you still can't get over the fact that he chose Jason over you. He chose Tim over you. He chose everyone over you. He chose /me/ over you." The last phrase came stumbling hastily from her mouth before she could get a hold of it.
"…You? Barbara?" I looked at her with wide eyes. I must've looked so idiotic, and I may have cared if she hadn't thought me to be a complete moron already. Coward. Weakling. Still nursing the same old emotional wounds that they all thought were taken care of. No, which they knew were still there and chose to ignore. Bruce and Barbara? I didn't look back at her as I jumped from the window, praying the wind would somehow pierce my mould and I would turn to dust and be carried away.
The corners of my mouth were undoubtedly turned downward as the memory seeped into the crevices of my mind and poisoned my frontal lobes, both hemispheres, and partially paralyzed me. Now we've something in common, Babs, I told myself bitterly. To the outside world, my form must've looked simply like a stiff sleep, though I'm sure Tim registered the slightest change in my body. I tried not to shift or move at all as my mind relaxed and allowed the poisonous fumes of nostalgia to lull it to sleep.