do surprise updates count when it's been over three years? lol

i may edit and fix the first two chapters, but they suck ass so hard idk if i have it in me to try

quick rant on what sucked ass:
there were so many unnecessary apostrophes. so many.
artemis got bitchy way to fast.
stupid endings.
every was so overly dramatic i am so sorry
why is dick such a drama llama
why am i such a drama llama
we may never know the answers to these questions

oh well, enjoy

also, this chapter has pretty descriptive gore, so prepares urselfs

Dick didn't choose to react like this.

You'd think he'd be better at handling his emotions by now - it'd been six years, after all. Not to mention he was trained to do just that by none other than Batman. He really couldn't have had a better teacher when it came to controlling himself.

However, there was just...something about it. Since he'd grown up in a circus, he'd been moving around since he was born, never settling down long enough to make lasting relationships. His parents were really the only friends he had, in a way. As a family, they were incredibly close. Dick could only compare their deaths to something like losing a limb. He still felt the phantom pains - so real, and yet, just out of reach.

It felt tangible enough now, though.

After he'd spent a good couple minutes letting himself cry into Wally's sweatshirt, he pulled himself together enough to offer a weak smile.

"I'm sorry in advance for tonight," he'd said, in a last-ditch attempt to make the situation humorous.

Wally's expression remained grave, despite Robin's efforts, and he put a hand on the younger boy's shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"Don't apologize, man. As soon as anything happens, I'll be there. You know that."

Dick nodded, his appreciation showing on his expression.

"I know," he agreed simply, because he did. If there was anyone he could count on when it came to nights like these, it was Wally. Despite his complete inability to take things seriously on normal occasions, Dick's nightmares were something he never joked about.

"Try and get some sleep," Wally said, dropping his hand. It was an empty suggestion and they both knew it, but Dick didn't call him out on it. Instead, he simply nodded his head and they parted ways, heading towards their separate rooms.

Even before he opened his door, Dick's heart started to pick up speed. He dreaded what he knew was about to happen, and loathed the fact that he could do nothing about it. As much as his conscious self had accepted his parents' deaths, his subconscious had other ideas. Every year since the funeral, without fail, he'd been plagued with remarkably accurate annual nightmares. They were more like night terrors, actually - he'd done his research.

There were a few things he'd learned, though none of the information helped when it was actually happening. Night terrors were primarily present in younger children, and they rarely persisted past the age of twelve. Obviously, there were exceptions to that rule. They're a state of being partially awake, so they differ from the average dream or nightmare, even, which is a variation of a dream. His eyes could be wide open, but all he sees are the things in his head. Bruce has described what he's like in that stage a few times, and it sounds generally unpleasant. There's screaming, flailing, and lashing out involved, he knows. He doesn't remember most of that part, which is normal. He just remembers the dream, and then, the waking up.

The waking up is both the best and the worst part.

Dick rubbed at his mask, and, as an afterthought, pulled it off and set it on his bedside table. Something told him there wouldn't be any use for it here, after tonight.

After brushing his teeth and changing onto a cotton t-shirt and a pair of sweats, Dick collapsed on his bed, throwing an arm up and over to cover his face. He stayed in that position for a few moments before turning onto his side, eyes open and staring at nothing. His chest was tight with nervous anticipation, and his eyes felt swollen from his tears. He was sure he looked like a wreck - he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, after all. Most likely, there were ugly bags under his eyes to back that up. He'd avoided the mirror in the bathroom, so he couldn't be sure.

Dick closed his eyes, and remembered.

His parents were beautiful.

There was really no other way to describe them - and he was with them constantly, so he would know.

His father was strong and reliable, and his mother was graceful and elegant - the kindest people he'd ever known. Even now, six years later, he remembered almost everything about them. He could recall the tune his mother's song-bird laugh, and the way his father's eyes crinkled when he smiled. He'd be able to recognize his mom's favorite perfume in a crowd, and the callouses on his father's hands were so prominent in his mind he could practically feel them on his skin, ruffling his hair after he'd mastered a new trick on their trapeze.

Spending every waking moment of eight years with them had certainly left a lasting impression.

The were like birds when they performed, and no one was ever more impressed by their bravery and skill than Dick was. They were incredible - the most talented acrobats he'd ever seen, to this day.

The way he could still see them soar left a kind of peace in his heart, and he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

The screaming started not long after midnight.

The thrashing came first, as it always did, but Dick was still deep in slumber, even after he'd managed to smash his wrist painfully against his bedside table. His neck arched against the mattress, pressing his head to his pillow, and his breathing grew ragged, eyes jerking back and forth behind closed lids. Taking everything in.

What only he could process was the blood and the shrieks of terror and confusion. The line snapping and that culminating gasp that sounded like all the air in the lungs of the crowd was snatched up by the sight of a free falling duo in the exact same moment.

Only he could feel his blood rushing cold with dread and his stomach drop in the way it does when he knows something bad is going to happen. Only it's not just a bad thing - it's the worst. The worst thing that could possibly happen to an eight year old so in love with the way his parents could fly.

Only he could look into his mother's eyes as he did then at the very moment she knew she was going to die. That look was what broke him every time - that, and the outstretched had he'd been so close to grabbing. So close to saving them - but he wasn't fast enough.

He'd never quite let that go, despite his insistence on acceptance. Maybe if he'd loved them more; maybe if he'd have been stronger or faster or wiser or better, he'd have been able to wrap his fingers around his mother's and save her life. Both of them. Maybe if he'd been more aware, he would have noticed that the line had been tampered with and stopped the accident before it could have had the chance to start.

A cry bubbled in his throat, but he choked on it, head snapping to the side.

That was all it took to wake Connor, who sat up in his bed, immediately alert. He'd been unable to fall into sleep as deeply as he would like, and even the smallest sound of distress on his sensitive ears was enough to pull him from his restless slumber. He stood quickly and opened his door, emerging from his room and making his way to Wally's with long, rushed strides, fingers tapping in an uncharacteristically nervous fashion against the material of his pants. Finding the door he'd been looking for, Superman's clone stopped, listening for any other clues of their hacker's condition. He'd barely had time to lift his hand to knock when a scream, much louder than the last, rattled his eardrums.

Wally's door opened on it's own, then, and the speedster stood in the doorway, face grim and weary. Connor could hear the others waking, as well, the sudden noise piercing the former silence like a sharpened blade against soft, forgiving skin.

"Let's go," was all Wally said before the speedster blurred to Robin's room, faster than even Connor's exemplary vision could keep up with. The clone followed nonetheless, grateful when he heard the sounds of doors opening behind him. The others would be right behind.

When Connor got to Robin's room, the door was already open. What he saw made him pause for the slightest of moments, though his nervousness was nonetheless apparent.

Wally was inside, trying to quell the younger boy's thrashing. He'd never seen Robin in such a state - back bowed, fingernails digging harshly into his own skin, uncovered eyes screwed shut. A gasp behind him alerted him of M'gann's presence, and when he entered the room, Artemis, Kaldur, and the martian all followed.

The room seemed to shrink around them, though they could easily stand without having to brush against each other. They formed a hesitant semicircle around the bed - a pattern that Wally disfigured by his position perched on the edge of the mattress, shaking with pent-up energy and grief.

"Rob - Rob, you've gotta wake up, man. Come on."

Wally managed to pry Dick's hands away from his arms, wincing at the harsh crescent-moon imprints that they left behind. A bruise already forming on the teen's wrist made him loosen his hold. A quick glance to the bedside table, knocked crookedly to the side, gave him a hint of it's cause.

It was as if Dick hadn't heard him at all, not giving any reaction to even the tugging of his limbs. The lack of his usual mask or sunglasses left his face surprisingly open and easy to judge, and Wally didn't have to be the Batman to determine how much pain he seemed to be in. Whether it was from his injuries or what he must have been seeing inside his head, though, the Speedster couldn't guess.

Dick jerked in Wally's hold, a knee coming up to dig harshly into the redhead's side. Wally grunted but didn't let go of his forearms, even as the smaller boy's jaw clenched through a unconsciously withheld cry. Though he wasn't aware of it, Robin was still trying to hide his pain from them, as if a part of him knew he was being watched. As if he thought they would judge him for caring so much it destroyed him over and over again.

"What do we do? Wally, what do we do?"

M'gann was the first to speak out of any of them, eyes wide and hands trembling close to her face. It was no surprise to Wally that she'd be the most affected by Robin's unseen waves of torment. She must have sensed much more than the others, even without having to glance inside Robin's mind. He could tell she hadn't tried that - Dick's raging emotions would tear her apart.

The thing was- Wally didn't know what they should do. This wasn't his first time seeing Robin in this kind of frenzy, but it didn't get any easier with experience. For all Wally knew, there was nothing they could do, besides, perhaps, stop the boy from hurting himself.

"I-I..."

He was interrupted from scrambling to think of a response when Robin cried out, voice cracked and hoarse. It dissolved into a broken sob, and Wally watched as tears welled up in the corners of his eyes and threatened to spill over.

"We have to wake him up," Artemis rushed out, drawing his gaze away from the boy, eyes wide and afraid. Her voice had that raspy edge to it that it got when she was really scared, so Wally decided to bite his tongue, stopping himself from delivering a 'no shit' retaliation.

"I'm trying," he said instead, turning back to Dick, frustrated with himself and the situation as a whole. Tears were tracing wet lines down the sides of his face, disappearing into his hairline. Wally couldn't take seeing it any longer.

He took a deep breath, seeming to prepare himself for a fight. The toll would be just the same.

Dick was completely oblivious to his friends' struggles, too wrapped up in his own chaotic mind. Images flashed through his head, and to anyone else, they would be just a blur of unrecognizable memories. To him, though, they were slowed down enough for him to have time to relive each moment, his own fear making his blood rush cold and his limbs freeze up and then lash out with terror.

He saw the things he always did. The falling, the hopelessness, and the terror were all there - just as they had been on the night he stopped being a little kid and became something else.

It was sick that he couldn't look away, not even as they hit the ground with a sound that he knows he'll never, ever forget. He wish he had looked away. He would have saved himself these moments of remembering exactly what his mother's arms looked like when they snapped like twigs, or what his father's skull looked like when it smashed against the ground.

It was sick, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he didn't see everything as it happened. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he didn't see everything that happened because of him.

Never forget, he told himself, as he unconsciously lashed out at the very people who wanted nothing more than to help him. Never forget.

hahahahaa don't freak it's not over or anything lol

leave lovely comments and i will love u always thx