Chapter 33: Despair


November 19th

Watchtower

Nightwing

"Sparrow was-"

Dick felt his throat close up, and he halted, unable to get the rest of the sentence out. The heroes around him stood patiently, allowing him a moment to collect himself. He looked at his feet and then across the crowd. Sniffles broke the silence of the room every few seconds. The entire Team was there, as well as every member of the League that wasn't off-world or otherwise detained.

M'gann was a mess, her red-rimmed eyes leaking tears like they had since Dick had arrived at the Watchtower an hour ago for the memorial. Connor held her close, his face pale and drawn. Karen had clearly been crying too, but Dick knew she had gone to the bathroom to pull herself together ten minutes ago, and now she stood with a blank stare. Dick's family stood off to the side, looking stoic but like a heavy weight had been placed on their shoulders. Zatanna hovered at the back of the room, leaning against a tree like she didn't trust her legs to support her. Dick knew she felt guilt, just as he did.

Everyone that Morgan cared about were here, except for - her mom.

Abigail had been told two days after it had happened.

Though he wanted to think of anything but that moment, it haunted him. Even now, as he stood in front of his Team, their pale, pained faces made him slip back into that memory.

His hand had never shaken more to knock at a door. Dick felt his arm lower, wishing to prolong the moment as long as possible. He took a shallow breath, carefully allowing numbness to keep his emotions locked up firmly. He couldn't allow himself to fall apart. Not when-

Not when other people were counting on him. There was still so much to do – although the world had been saved, it hadn't been without complications. Buildings had been leveled; people had been hurt. None of that had gone away.

Statements had to be made to the public. And they-

They had to plan.. a funeral..

Wetness rushed to his eyes, and he quickly closed them, breathing deeply, shakily, to chase the tears away.

Minutes passed. His hand hovered by the door, ready to knock on it.

Eventually, he gathered the courage, and he knocked. His stomach fell. He wished so dearly that someone else could have delivered this news but he.. it had to be him. He was responsible, after all.

Abigail opened the door, features already etched into a worried look.

Then she saw him. And Dick realized the look on his face must have been enough because her mouth slipped into a gasp, and she held her hand to it.

"No." Tears were already slipping down her cheeks and it was all he could do to not join her. Dick firmly kicked his feelings back into the closet he had locked them in. He wasn't here to seek comfort. He was here to help her.

Abigail crumbled to the ground and Dick quickly went inside, shutting the door after him so none of her neighbors would hear.

Abigail let out a sound like a wounded animal, a mix of a sob and a scream. Dick hovered on his haunches by her side, his hands stretched out, but not daring to touch her shaking form.

"I-" his voice failed him and he swallowed laboriously, fighting to get past the heavy lump in his throat. "I'm so sorry."

Abigail turned towards him, and she looked furious. The kind, wise woman he had known was gone, replaced by a creature held together entirely by sorrow and anger.

"This is your fault!" she seethed. "If she had never met you, she wouldn't have gotten caught up in your world. You doomed her!"

Dick reeled back like he had been slapped, and he fell onto his behind. The dark look in her usually kind eyes could only be described as hate. He didn't defend himself, nor did he defend Morgan's own choice to pursue this life.

The truth was, there was nothing she had said, that Dick didn't already think himself. There was no blame she could put on him that he wasn't already carrying.

Morgan was dead because of him. Because he had rejected his part of the spell. Because he hadn't been able to fix this. Because he had let go of her hand.

Because he had found her that November night three years ago, and suggested she join the team.

All of it – if he had simply stayed away, Morgan would be alive.

He had doomed her the moment he had laid eyes on her.

"Get out!" Abigail shouted and Dick was shell shocked by this wounded, hateful woman across from him. He had never imagined her capable of such cruelty, even when he felt that he deserved it.

He scrambled to his feet and left as quickly as he had come.

Dick blinked out of the memory, aware that he had taken too long to speak. He looked across the room again.

Not one person looked collected, and it made him feel slightly better about his own struggle. The blue hue of the memorial room made them all look pale and sickly. Directly behind him was the newly installed addition to the statues. He couldn't look at it – he already knew what it looked like. After all, he had seen it months ago in the Batcave.

Back then, he had guessed she had years left. If only that optimistic guess had been correct.

Why had he agreed to be the one to give a speech at her memorial?

Dick took in a weak breath.

Because it could only be him. He wouldn't have had it any other way if this was to be his new reality.

"Sparrow was extraordinary." His voice came out deceptively strong. He had so much he wanted to say – how was he meant to define her in only a few sentences, when she had been so much, and meant so much?

He wanted to talk about how amazing Morgan had been, not just as a hero, but as a person. All of the little quirks that had made her who she was. He felt he could talk about who she had been for hours.

How much he loved her.

He looked at Zatanna again. Aside from her, and he assumed Barry and Bart, no one knew that the two of them had reunited the night before.. before-

They had had the good grace to not mention it. As far as the rest of them knew, Dick and Morgan had simply been friends and exes.

No, it was safer to keep his statements impersonal. He could talk about her like she was a colleague. He couldn't stomach the thought of the sympathetic looks he would have to endure if people found out the two of them had gotten back together only hours before she died.

The moment with Abigail had shocked him enough for emotions to surface, and he already longed for the profound emptiness he had managed for the past two days.

Once he got home, he stood in the middle of his apartment, unable to figure out where to go from here. He couldn't enter his bedroom, not after he had attempted to sleep in there the first night. He had woken up after a few hours of terrible sleep, and the emptiness on her side of the bed had been the most excruciating sight he had ever beheld.

Dick drew a deep sigh and quickly went through his bedroom with closed eyes, heading for the bathroom. He needed a cold shower, something to restart his system and push these feelings at bay once more. He was supposed to be at the Watchtower right now. He was- he had to-

Dick stripped out of his clothes and as he caught a look at himself in the mirror, a hiss blew past his lips.

Hickeys and love marks still littered his throat and chest. He was almost glad of them because they served as a reminder that she had loved him. That she had been alive. She had been here. But he knew that with each day, the marks would fade until one day when they would be gone completely, just like her. It left him feeling panicked, wishing they would never leave him – as long as they were there, she didn't feel so far away. Her presence was there, on his skin. Her touch on him and his life lingered.

Dick quickly went into his shower and allowed the frigid water to pelt him.

This was hell. Dick was no stranger to death, but each time, he was as unprepared as the last.

What was he supposed to do? He felt lost. On the surface, he felt numb, but directly beneath that, he felt an aching. He felt the heavy weight that was his bleeding heart, his grief and despair. He was afraid to dive into it, fearing that he would lose himself.

He stayed under the water until his body was overcome with shivering tremors and it was starting to feel like torture. Then, he went and passed out on his couch. He was unable to even look at his bed.

"We all know no one was more stubborn than her." A few grins scattered across the room at that. "And it was that stubbornness that made her such a valuable part of the Team, and later the League. She was only a hero for three years, but in that time, she proved herself to be a formidable force."

He cleared his throat, trying to remove the squeeze that threatened to cut off his voice again.

"And-and she died to save the world." His voice trailed off to a whisper and he knew he wouldn't be able to say anything else. He looked at his feet again, feeling his composure waiver. Inside, he felt hollow, the last five days without her slowly eating him up from the inside until there was nothing left but emptiness.

Kaldur stepped up beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He must have sensed that Dick was close to breaking down, because he spoke up, finishing the eulogy. Dick was sure if he was less empty, he would've felt grateful.

"Losing a teammate is never easy," Kaldur's voice was soft, but steady. "Especially one whom we all counted as a dear friend." Kaldur looked at Dick and squeezed his shoulder.

"Zatanna has told me that Sparrow knew of the risk, and willingly chose to go through with the plan anyway, to secure the world for years to come. Her sacrifice was not in vain, because we are still here. And we will honor her for that choice – the most selfless choice one can make."

Dick was glad for the mask he wore. It soaked up the single few tears that managed to escape his eyes.

He vaguely registered that they did a round of cheers for her, but he was frozen where he stood.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, trying to ignore the beckoning of the blue hue at his back. By the time he looked up again, he realized he was alone.

He looked across the room, his eyes finding the memorial of Wally. It speared him with another throbbing pain in his chest, but it felt safer to look at than the statue at his back.

He started towards it but halted when he realized he wasn't entirely alone.

Artemis, previously hidden behind a tree, was looking at the statue, arms wrapped around herself.

She must have heard him approach, because she looked at him and gave him a small smile that carried no warmth.

"I never really go in here," she said.

Dick swallowed dryly and shook his head.

"Me neither," he croaked out.

Artemis didn't speak again. He watched the way her gaze traveled over the statue of her dead boyfriend, taking in every detail. He realized she was perhaps the only person there who could know how he felt right now.

"How did you deal with it? When he died?" Dick asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Artemis let out a little chuckle and gave him a conspiratorial look.

"Funny.. you're not the first person to ask me that this week."

Dick felt his heart sink.

"She-?"

"I told her the memories ease the pain."

"Oh."

"Did she find you?" Artemis asked, and Dick realized Morgan and Artemis must've had their talk right before Morgan had found him and confessed her feelings.

"She did." He sniffled and rubbed at his face, feeling worn and raw. "She.. she loved me."

The words have barely gotten past his lips before a deep sob wracked through his body. He felt distantly that he should've been embarrassed by the show of weakness, but he had no more emotion to give, aside from grief. He'd kept a tight lid on it for days - he hadn't allowed himself to cry, always choosing to chase that numb feeling instead.

Artemis came and wrapped him in a fierce hug, and he returned it, clinging to her like she was an anchor in a storm. The tears flowed freely, and he had to take off his mask to let them out. He couldn't contain them anymore. The dam he had spent days hiding behind fell apart like it was nothing more than weak kindling.

This past week had been hell – some of the worst days of his life. And despite his young age, he'd had many worst days.

From the immediate aftermath in the clearing, to the moment when he went to tell Abigail.

To every night that was plagued by nightmares – Morgan's screams of pain never left his mind.

This couldn't be it.

How could he have failed to protect her this spectacularly?

How was he meant to keep going when the weight of the guilt he carried made him feel like Atlas holding up the entire world?

Only he wasn't a titan. He was just a human. He felt sure he was going to break under the pressure.

At some point, his knees had buckled beneath him, and Artemis followed him as he fell to his knees. He realized she was crying too.

He wasn't sure for how long they sat there. He wasn't sure if Artemis was crying for him or herself, but it didn't matter. Knowing that someone there understood what he was going through was enough to ease the hollowness, even slightly.

Then, when he stopped crying, she released him.

"I'm here when you need me," she promised him. "To talk. To cry. Or if you just need someone close by who.. understands."

Dick nodded, but he didn't meet her eyes.

She left.

The statue at his back was still burning at him. He had to turn around and see it – right? Surely that was what he was supposed to do.

He stood up. Took several deep breaths. The cry had left him empty again and the emptiness could be mistaken for composure.

He turned slowly; his eyes trained onto her feet before they dared travel higher.

Dick slowly approached the statue, the knots in his stomach only growing tighter and more painful with each step.

There she was. His Morgan.

The blue hologram failed to capture her essence, but she still wore an impish little smile that he recognized as wholly her.

He felt himself grow irrationally angry as he looked at the smile the hologram wore. How could she tell him she loved him, and spend the night with him, if she knew she was going to die the next day? He had asked himself that question several times since her death. It felt cruel to give him that taste of her, if she knew they would be ripped apart immediately after. He had even found himself growing angry with her in the days after her death.

I told her the memories ease the pain.

Artemis' words shed new light on her actions. He understood now – understood why she had found him that night. Even then, hours before her sacrifice, she had been thinking about how she could comfort him. How she could ease the sting of her passing.

Dick sat down in front of the statue, forcing himself to look at it.

The others had been sad – everyone hated that the sacrifice had been necessary.

But they were also relieved that the world had been saved. Nabu had confirmed that the fabric between realities had grown strong once more. He had even congratulated Nightwing on a job well done.

The thought made Dick scoff. All he had done was continually fail Morgan.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Yes, everyone at the memorial had been sad and respectful, but he had also observed people start to act normal at the Watchtower. Some of the younger members of the Team had begun to joke around with each other and laugh again. The conversations at the cantina were relaxed.

Did people really move on so fast?

Meanwhile, he felt adrift, alone with his grief.

He got up and left the memorial room. His mask was back in place, and he walked down the hallways with stiff, swift strides. People watched him as he passed by, but no one tried to talk to him.

He hurried to leave the Watchtower and get back to his apartment where he knew he wouldn't get interrupted.

They had saved the world, but the people responsible still hadn't been caught. And he knew one thing for sure – he would find out who had created the rifts in the first place, and he would bring them to justice.

It was the one thing that could distract him from the grief. The hours he spent investigating the rifts, riffling through ancient text and new, scientific research, trying to understand the rifts so he would know how to track down their creators.

He didn't care who they were. He didn't care why they'd created the rifts. He would find them.

They were going to pay for her life.


November 29th

Batcave

Dick

His eyes swam but he willed himself to stay focused on the screen in front of him. his legs were aching, but he couldn't let himself sit down, because if he sat down, he would fall asleep.

Dick scratched at the rapidly growing stubble on his face and suppressed a yawn behind his fist.

His head started spinning and he leaned his hands against the control panel in front of him. His thoughts muddled and his vision grew dark. The room was silent.

"Dick."

He jumped when Barbara was suddenly by his side. Had he fallen asleep standing?

"Babs," he answered, his voice sounding like wheels running over gravel, and he cleared his throat.

"Dick," she repeated when he started typing on the keyboard instead of looking her way. "You need to sleep."

"I'm fine," he said, clenching his jaw against another yawn. As if he'd be able to sleep with the headache currently splitting his skull in two. As if forcing himself to stay awake wasn't the better option, when he knew the dreams that were going to plague him, if he went to sleep.

They weren't nightmares of her death – oh no, they were much, much more torturous. Every night as he went to sleep, he was bombarded with the night they had spent together. He got to see her, full of life and strength, and oh so alluring. It was bliss. Until he woke up, and reality came crashing down on him. Then, the pain became that much stronger.

He couldn't keep going through that cycle of torture. So, he stayed awake.

"Let someone else take over for now. I'll stay here and help out, but you need to go home and sleep."

"I need to keep looking!" he snapped, his paper-thin patience running out. He was so close to a breakthrough, he could feel it. Any moment now, he could find the missing piece that blew this case wide open. He would find out who had done this, and he would hunt them down. He would make them pay.

"It's been weeks," Barbara shot back. "Do you really expect any change in the next few hours?"

"No – if I go to sleep, there'll definitely be no change in the next few hours," he said dismissively, "If I keep looking, however.."

She let out a disappointed sigh. "You're even worse than Batman."

He felt his fist clench, but he didn't rise to the bait.

This wasn't about obsessive revenge.. It wasn't about some crusade against Gotham's underbelly. This was about avenging Morgan. This was about keeping the world safe – as long as they didn't know who had done this, what was stopping those monsters from trying again?

He ignored her, and Barbara sighed deeply before leaving the cave.

Hours went by. At some point he had to sit down, and he ended up snoozing for ten minutes. Then, the dreams started, and he jerked awake.

He got on his feet again and paced around the room to wake himself up. He gave his cheeks a few good slaps to keep his mind alert.

Then, he went back to his search. He had already traveled from place to place, seeking out any site, library, laboratory – any place that might have a connection to dimension-hopping. He hit dead end after dead end, but his list of ideas never grew shorter. He was willing to follow any ridiculous idea.

Just as long as he had something to do, something to keep him busy.

At some point, the Batmobile drove up the ramp and parked by the entrance to the cave and Dick realized Batman and Robin were back from their late-night patrol.

Robin hopped out of the car and went to his father's side. Dick could feel their stares on his back, but he ignored them.

"Damian, time for bed," Bruce's low voice rumbled. "I'll be up in a minute."

Oh great, Dick thought bitterly. Another talk.

He felt more than heard Robin slip past him and up the stairs, and then the dull thud of the grandfather clock slipping into place sounded.

Batman came up to stand beside him and he pulled the cowl back, eyes roving over the good dozen or so documents Dick had on the screen.

"What do you need?" he asked.

That gave Dick pause. He turned towards Bruce, his bloodshot eyes studying the older man's face, trying to discern what his angle was.

"I've been trying to break into this database but it's some system the computer doesn't know about." He pointed at the small hacking window at the bottom of the screen, letters and numbers flying by as the system looked for an inside.

"Can I take a look at it?"

Dick nodded hesitantly.

Bruce sat down and got to work. Dick went back to translating the ancient text he had pulled from the national archives in Turkey.

Half an hour passed.

"There you go," Bruce blew up the window and pressed a button, and the database opened up.

"Thanks," he mumbled, perusing the documents.

"Dick, maybe you should let me have a look at this, and then you can go take a nap."

There it was.

Dick blew out a harsh breath. "Can you guys stop obsessing over my sleep," he ground out, his jaw clenched to the point his teeth hurt. "I'm fine."

"Mhm," Bruce hummed. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I'm not hungry."

"At least have something to drink," Bruce walked away, his cape swishing behind him, and grabbed a water bottle from the minifridge at the back of the cave.

That, at least, Dick could accept. Bruce poured the water into a cup, and Dick drank from it. The moment the water hit his lips, he realized how thirsty he was, and he downed the entire cup in a big gulp.

"More?"

He nodded and then grabbed the bottle, finishing off the whole thing.

The water was refreshing, and it gave him a boost of energy. He kept looking through the documents. Only minutes later, his eyes started swimming again. This time, the drowsiness didn't sneak up on him – it was like a heavy blanket someone threw over him – one minute he was fine, and the next everything was starting to darken.

He felt his balance slip, and then Bruce caught him.

He sensed nothing after that as his mind slipped into a deep sleep that he was unable to wake up from.


December 1st

Wayne Manor

Dick

Light streamed in through the tall, gothic windows, hitting him in the face. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open groggily, and his vision swam for a moment before his gaze focused and he could see where he was. His old room at Wayne Manor.

Dick sat up slowly, his mind a fuzzy mess and his body drowsy and heavy.

He placed his head in his hands as he tried to remember what he was doing here. When had he gone to sleep?

Reality came crashing down on him when the hollow presence of grief made itself known in his chest.

He realized he hadn't gone to bed willingly.

Bruce had drugged him.

Dick looked at the bedside watch and he realized he had been asleep for over twenty-four hours.

Twenty-four hours of lost progress.

He jumped up from the bed, but the lingering drowsiness made his legs wobble like jelly and he stumbled through the door.

Fury made him see white and he charged down the hall like an angry bull. Turning a corner, Alfred came into view, and the butler looked at him with a carefully polite face.

"Master Richard, might I offer you something to eat?"

"Not now, Alfred!" he barked, breaking into a run to reach the cave faster. He entered Bruce's office and pushed the keys on the piano, barely waiting for the grandfather clock to slip open before he tore down the stairs.

"You drugged me!" he seethed, pointing a finger at Bruce. The man sat unmoved by the computer.

"I've had a look at the database you wanted to break into. None of it's useful. You were wasting your time on dead leads because you were too tired to think straight," he coolly responded, sipping casually at a cup of coffee.

"How dare you drug me!" Dick shouted. He could feel his chest rise and fall with agitated breaths.

"You needed the sleep."

"That's not your call to make!" he retorted. "I'm not a child and I don't need you to control what I do!"

"Dick, this pursuit you're on is a waste of time." Bruce got up, fixing him with a piercing look.

"So, I should just not bring the ones responsible to justice? Isn't that your whole schtick?"

"You know this isn't about them, this is about Morgan."

"Don't say her name!" he snapped. "You don't get to talk about her after you tried to keep her away from me!"

"That was a mistake," Bruce admitted, speaking sternly over Dick's raging voice. "I made a bad call. I thought I was protecting you. And I'm trying to protect you now by telling you: You need to let this quest for revenge go."

Dick laughed scornfully, an ugly, grim sound. "Empty words, coming from you."

Bruce furrowed his brow, his blue eyes flashing.

"Finding out who created the rifts is not going to bring Morgan ba-"

Bruce didn't get to finish the sentence, because Dick lunged forwards and punched him across the face.

He knew Bruce spoke the truth, of course. None of this would ultimately help him achieve the goal he truly wanted – bringing her back.

But how was he supposed to do that? It wasn't like there was a body for him to drag to the Lazarus Pit, otherwise he would've done it. But she had crumbled, turned to dust in his hands.

This was Wally all over again.

He should've known, the second they suggested using those cursed MFD's. Those did nothing but take and take from him.

"Get out," Bruce said darkly, fingers reaching up to assess the damage to his cheekbone.

"I'm not-"

"Take a walk, Robin," he barked with his most authoritative Batman-growl, and Dick found himself snapping to attention at the clear order. "You can come back and use the computer when you've calmed down."

Dick leveled a fierce glare on Bruce. It was a waste of time – no one could out-glare the Bat.

He tore down the walkway and out of the cave, freezing wind immediately whipping at his face. Snow was falling, hitting his skin like little needles. The walk from Wayne Manor to the outskirts of Gotham was roughly ten minutes, but this weather would surely slow him down. However, with the angry snowstorm tearing through the streets, he finally felt like the world somewhat matched up with how he felt inside.

Bleak, gray. Angry and lost.

He stuffed his hands deeply into his pockets and looked up at the pitch-black sky.

The streets were empty, and he wandered aimlessly about, watching the snow blow stark-white across the black streets of the cursed, dark city. The more he walked, the emptier his head became. His anger died down, replaced by deep, throbbing sadness. He thought to keep his breath under control, promising himself he had shed all the tears he needed to.

Loath as he was to admit it, the long sleep had done him some good. He wasn't about to thank Bruce for the complete breach of trust it had been, but he felt marginally less unhinged, at least.

He found himself standing in front of the telephone booth that doubled as a zeta tube.

Maybe he should go home. He scratched at his face and felt the stubble. Yes – perhaps a shower and something to eat would be best. He needed to keep a sharp mind so he could keep searching for answers, and that meant taking care of his body too. It didn't make sense to destroy himself in the short term - he was sure this search would be long. Perhaps it would be months, even years, before he got his retribution.

Unlike Bruce, Dick could understand that obsessively neglecting himself for days on end didn't contribute to productive work.

Dick grimaced as he stepped into the telephone booth.

He usually understood it.

But these past two weeks had been.. rough.

He was ashamed to admit it, but his obsessive search had very little to do with wanting to solve the mystery of the rifts, and everything to do with wanting to shift the intense guilt he felt eating him up.

If only he hadn't broken off from the spell. If only he had been able to think of a better solution. If only he had stopped her from even picking up the golden thread that contained the spell.

If only, if only, if only.

He resumed his aimless trek, now in Blüdhaven. The snowfall was more heavy, but there was less harsh wind than in Gotham, and so it fell lazily, gathering into large, soft tufts. He could barely see more than ten feet in front of him and the world had grown completely quiet. The snow crunched between his feet and he stopped, taking a long, cleansing breath.

It was almost peaceful.

Continuing down the street, his ears picked up music as he passed by apartment buildings, and he realized it was Christmas carols. His eyes looked up to the lit-up windows of the residential buildings and he saw fairy lights and Christmas ornaments decorating them.

Was it December already?

He pulled his jacket closer and headed home.

Once he hit his building, he shook the snow out of his hair, noting that he really needed to get it trimmed.

Mechanically, running purely on habit, he opened his mailbox and emptied it.

He frowned when a small-ish, square box dumped into his hands. Heading up the stairs, he looked through the stack of letters – most were simply bills.

One letter stuck out, the envelope an obnoxious black and blue.

He unlocked his front door and went inside, slipping the door shut with his foot. Throwing the bills onto his coffee table, he went to sit at his kitchen island where he put down the box and looked at the black and blue envelope.

It was an envelope fashioned to look like his Nightwing suit, with the blue symbol printed onto the black paper. The little symbol at the bottom of the envelope told him it was from one of those shops that made a quick buck slapping superhero symbols onto products – it wasn't like any of them could claim copyright without having to reveal their secret identity to process the paperwork, and so lots of these were available.

He froze at the handwriting on the front – it was Morgan's.

He tore the envelope open and pulled out the letter, his heart hammering a heavy rhythm against his ribcage.

Was she?

He quickly read the contents of the letter, and his hopes were dashed.

Happy Birthday!

If you read this, there's a big chance I'm dead.

I know that's not a very good way to start a letter when I'm trying
to wish you a happy birthday, but I figured I would get that
elephant out of the way as quickly as possible.

I know your 21st year wasn't exactly easy. And I probably
had a big part to play in that. But I just want you to know,
I believe better times are ahead for you. You're one of the
strongest people I know, and I know you can get through this,
too. Please don't think this was your fault. Please allow yourself
to heal and keep finding happiness in the little things. For me.

I wish you the best 22nd year you could imagine! I know these
aren't as fancy as what you got for me, but I'm a broke-ass student
and that fancy bakery you went to don't have delayed delivery
available, so this will have to do.

Much love,
Morgan

He was ashamed to admit he had forgotten it was his birthday. He had completely lost track of time.

Inside of the envelope was another piece of paper, and he pulled it out. It was the picture he had given her of them and Alex. Attached was a little sticky note on which she had scribbled 'You need this more than I do, now'.

His hand shook as he looked at the picture. It was the worst kind of torture he could imagine. It was a testament to all he had lost – the future he had hoped for, which had blown away like sand through his fingers.

Dick grabbed the box and ripped through the sticker, opening the top to reveal, of course, a selection of macarons.

He read the letter through again, and an involuntary, somewhat hysterical laugh bubbled forth.

This was exactly the kind of polite, distanced thing she would write while trying to not make her feelings obvious. It was clear to him that she had written the letter before the night they had spent together, before even admitting that she loved him was a possibility to her.

Which begged the question.. had she always believed she would die?

Dick felt another throb in his chest at the thought.

Clearly, she had been preparing for it. She hadn't believed him when he had promised her that he would fix this.

And she had been right. He had failed. And she had died because of it.

An impulsive thought occurred to him and he raced back out of his apartment, running through the heavy snow and towards the zeta tube. He had to go back to Gotham.

He was at her apartment fifteen minutes later, and he quickly scaled the building, landing on the fire escape outside her window. He peeked inside and his chest grew cold.

The apartment was empty.

She had known – all this time, she had been preparing to die.

Dick leaned his face against the icy window, watching as condensation formed when he breathed against it.

"What am I supposed to do now?" he whispered. He sat down heavily, and the fire escape shook, making the settled snow drizzle down onto the street. He looked up at the dark sky.

What was he supposed to do? How was he meant to shake this emptiness? Why did everyone he loved keep dying? Family, best friends, lovers..

Was he cursed?

How was one person meant to move past so much loss?

He shivered in the cold, but it didn't matter. He was here for the foreseeable future, completely unable to move.

His eyes turned towards the sky again, watching the heavy clouds gather and move under the angry wind. His mind grew numb as he allowed himself to hit rock bottom, wallowing in his grief and self-pity. More tears fell down his face, bitingly cold in the icy weather.

Then, a light, beyond the clouds drew his attention. It took him a moment to really notice it through his numb state. But then he saw the large outline of some kind of ship, floating right at the point where the clouds mostly covered it.

He got up, leaning out over the railing to get a better view. Then, he climbed the rest of the fire escape to reach the roof of the building, to get a clearer view.

"What is that?" he mumbled, squinting his eyes. He pulled his mask out of his pocket and put it on, the night-vision allowing him a better view.

He needn't have bothered. As soon as he stopped on the rooftop, a large spotlight shone down on him.

He shielded his eyes from the brightness of it. Then, he felt a tug at his stomach, and his feet left the roof.

Was he.. being abducted?

"No way," he said, annoyance his chief emotion. This was not what he needed right now. He was kind of in the middle of a breakdown.

But there was nothing he could do. He had nothing to grab onto – and his grappling hook was still broken.

He felt himself get sucked up, and then everything grew dark.


Sorry for dumping 6.5k words of just straight misery on ya'll. Dick is not doing so well, dawg. Next chapter will bring more clarity, but I just wanted to show him really hitting total rock bottom first. And I'm sorry I took a bit to upload, I honestly wanted to get this out in the weekend, but I had some family engagement so I didn't have the time. I promise next chapter will be up much quicker, because I feel bad for leaving us all in this super sad and vague place!

Also thank you so much for the responses to the last chapter! I was pleasantly surprised that I'd managed to scramble signals so much that people were still cautiously optimistic that they'd make it, because that way the death hits so much harder.

For song reccs:

I'm not usually a Coldplay girlie, but during his walk down the streets of Blüdhaven, I was trying to capture the vibe of Christmas Lights.

ALSO! forgot to add one in the last chapter, or maybe it fits the chapter before better, but Hold me Closer by Cornelia Jakobs fits the emotion of "I know I'll be gone tomorrow so we have just this one night together and I'm trying not to let my grief take over but its not easy."