Hey Everyone! Hope you are all doing well. It's been a while since I last posted, so this is whumptober prompt 27: voiceless. This was giving me some real trouble. I'm not totally in love with how it turned out, but I do like it enough that I think I can be posted and if I rewrite it one more time I'm a little worried it will become too overworked. Honestly, it might be great and I've just been staring at it for WAYYYYY too long. Let me know any thoughts, I love hearing your opinions! Lots of Love - Lorna!
Dick came too with a groan. His head hurt, body aching and sore as he pushed himself up. Jason was looking at him, eyes tight and worried, but obviously trying to mask it. Dick's senses were sluggish, and it took him a moment to register the cold, hard edge of something metal pressing against his cheek. Jason was holding something to his face—a respirator, he realized belatedly. He tried to push it off but Jason shook his head.
"No can do, Dickie." Jason replied, voice soothing as he pulled Dick's hand away. "A canister of that toxin you found earlier on patrol exploded while Tim was analyzing it. Only traces of it are in the air, and you were far enough away you didn't get a heavy dose of it, but we're gonna run a blood sample before you can take this off, ok?"
Dick blinked, his eyes unwilling to focus. The words Jason were saying were fuzzy in his head, not fully connecting to one thing or another. He wanted to lie back down and stare at the bats chirping on the ceiling until he went numb again, but something was nagging at him. A distant yell, the pounding of his heart, Adrenaline spiking as he rushed toward a figure only to collapse.
"T-tim." He rasped. The name scraped against his raw throat but Dick continued, a sudden desperation he couldn't place sitting heavy ion his stomach. He wished his mind would take a that as it's cue to stop floating around in space and get with the bigger picture. "Where's Tim?"
Jason's jaw tightened and he looked away. Dick noted vaguely that was Jason's tell. He was angry at the disconnected feeling between his body and brain. "Tim was really close to the canister. He got a pretty heavy dose. It- the effects are only temporary, but he's not doing well." Jason whispered. Another tell. Jason was never quiet unless he was scared. Dick wanted to reach out and reassure him, but his fingers were tingling and it took a lot of though just to feel his heart beating in his fingertips. "We had to put him in medical restraints, he can't speak and whatever was in the canister is making him lash out."
His stomach was twisting at the thought and Dick forced himself out of Jason's grasp and to his feet. He was slightly unsteady, his mind still not fully connected to his feet, but he just forced himself to stumble toward the medical area. It was frustrating that it took effort to walk and his legs still jerked and twisted like they weren't quite with the program.
Jason exhaled sharply through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Dick push forward, undeterred by his warning. "Dick. Dick, you don't—Dick, I don't think it's a good idea," he cautioned, but his words fell on deaf ears.
Jason didn't follow. Maybe it was because he knew Dick needed to be the one to do this. Maybe it was because seeing Tim like this made something inside him twist too painfully. Either way, he stayed behind, watching as Dick stepped into the room alone.
The moment Dick crossed the threshold, the air grew heavier, suffocating. It felt like he was trudging through deep water, each step forward weighted with something thick and unseen. The room was eerily quiet, yet a faint sound—cloth rasping desperately against metal—filtered through the silence like a whisper of distress.
Dick's breath caught in his throat as his gaze landed on Tim, his mind dully noteing that not breathing was not conducive to his health. His heart lurched violently in his chest, something between horror and anguish tightening around his ribs.
Tim was thrashing against his restraints, his movements wild and jerky, like a puppet with its strings tangled. His body convulsed in erratic, uncontrollable spasms, every muscle locked so tightly that Dick could see the veins pressing starkly beneath his too-pale skin. His face—God, his face—was a mess of tear-streaked agony, the red tracks down his cheeks almost garish against his pallor. His lips parted soundlessly, opening and closing in frantic, silent screams or pleas that Dick couldn't hear.
Dick's mind screamed at him to move, to do something, but he hesitated, his hands hovering uncertainly in the space between them. Touching Tim might help—or it might shatter him further. He couldn't take that risk.
"Tim. Tim, stop," Dick croaked, his voice breaking under the weight of the moment. His fingers shook as he reached out again, barely stopping himself from making contact.
Tim's eyes cracked open at the sound of his voice, glassy and distant, darting around in frantic confusion. More tears spilled over as his expression flickered between too many emotions too quickly—hope, terror, desperation—each one hitting Dick like a fresh wound.
Tim's struggling grew worse, his body twisting and jerking against the restraints as his mouth moved faster.
Dick narrowed his eyes, willing himself to focus through the storm raging inside him. He needed to understand what Tim was trying to say. He needed—
Please.
The word ghosted across Tim's lips, silent but pleading. It took several agonizing seconds for the meaning to fully register in Dick's spinning mind, and when it did, his breath hitched violently in his chest.
His knees buckled, and he sank into the chair beside Tim's bed, his hands trembling as he reached out. This time, he didn't stop himself. His fingers wrapped gently around Tim's hand, his grip steady despite the way his own body trembled.
Tim's fingers twitched weakly in response, grasping at him with what little strength he had left. The movement was barely there, but Dick felt it—felt the desperate need in that weak, frantic squeeze. His chest ached, torn between the crushing weight of sorrow and the fragile thread of relief that Tim was still here, still holding on.
Dick swallowed hard, leaning closer, his voice thick with emotion as he whispered, "You're safe. Just hold on, okay?"
Dick carefully released Tim's hand to cup his cheek. The warmth of Dick's hand seemed to cut through some of the chaos. Tim's thrashing slowed, his muscles trembling from exertion but no longer jerking violently. His breathing was still shallow, but the panic in his eyes dimmed ever so slightly, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. Tears spilled freely down his cheeks, and Dick reached up with his free hand to wipe them away, his thumb gentle against Tim's feverish skin. Tim's cheeks trembled under Dick's thumb, lines of tension that Dick knew Tim was trying and failing hide.
"S' okay Tim. Let it out." Dick continued to rub at the tear tracks on Tim's cheeks as fresh tears rolled down, fat and finally free as Tim unclenched the tight muscles.
Please. Tim mouthed again after he was able to catch his breath again. Dick just rubbed harder at the tears, wiping them away as the last few stragglers fell down. He carefully maneuvered Tim's still twitching limbs to settle more comfortably in the restraints before he sat again, all but collapsing on the chair. Pain shot through his spine at the abuse, but he ignored it in favor of curling close and trying to self-sooth.
"What's wrong, Tim? I can't— I can't." The room was spinning a little, even though Dick was fairly sure that he was still sitting.
Tim looked at him, his eyes sliding to some resigned disappointment.
Not crazy. Please. Tim mouthed slowly, over and over until Dick understood. His entire body flooded with dread.
"No." Dick rasped. "No, Tim, it's not, I'm not—"
Tim was shaking now.
Dick sighed, heavy and painful. "I'm not." He knew he didn't make sense, wasn't reassuring, but he couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't say that he wasn't shipping Tim off to Arkham, wasn't sending him to some strange place praying that it would help his grief-stricken brother. He hated himself that Tim would ever think that this was what Dick had wanted for him.
Tim just drooped, seeming to submit to the defeat. His head leaned against the rough metal cradling his body and silently sobbed. His entire being shook with soul-shattering shudders and Dick was almost grateful that not a sound left Tim's mouth.
Dick's cries were not nearly so silent, but he tried to stifle them, burying his face into his knees to silence his tears.
The knees of his pants were soaked through before the medical doors opened and shuffling feet and whispers made him pause. A large hand cupped his shoulder.
Oh no.
Oh please no.
Anyone but Bruce, he couldn't- he didn't want to look into the eyes of the two people he failed the most. He breathed, in and out, trying and failing to force himself to gather the courage to look up. He tried to suppress the childish desire to hide under a blanket until the problem went away.
"Chum." The voice was soft as the figure moved around to kneel in front of him, his large hands now bracketing both of Dick's shoulders. Bruce was here. Alive. Safe. And he was looking at Dick with the kind of understanding that only made the guilt claw at his insides even more.
"Bruce," Dick's voice cracked, and before he could stop himself, his face was crumbling again. The shame of what he'd done--of how he'd failed Tim, of how he'd doubted him when he needed him most--it was all too much. He let out a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut.
Bruce squeezed his shoulders gently. "What can I do to help, Dick?"
Dick let out a broken laugh. "Nothing, Bruce. I should've believed him. I should've--he kept saying you were alive, and I just--I thought he was losing it, I thought he was breaking, and I didn't--I didn't listen, and now he thinks that I would ship him off to some insane asylum and there is nothing you can do to help because it wasn't your fault."
Bruce's expression softened as he shifted to sit beside Dick on the floor, a steadying presence. "We all made mistakes, Dick. I put you all in an impossible position, you especially. You carried a burden that shouldn't have been yours alone and kept everything together when it by all means should have fallen apart. And Tim--he never stopped believing, stopped searching. That says something about both of you."
Dick shook his head but was able to bring himself to look up. He met Bruce's worried eyes before turning away. He went to look at the boy on the cot, still bound by medical restraints, trembling slightly from exhaustion. His glassy, red-rimmed eyes had been watching them, silently taking in everything, as the toxin wore off ever so slowly.
Bruce followed Dick's gaze, and his jaw tightened slightly before he stood and moved to Tim's bedside. He reached out, hesitating just for a moment before placing a warm, grounding hand against Tim's hair, smoothing back the damp strands as Tim twitched and shook. He looked like he was trying and struggling to speak. "Tim," he said softly, his voice so full of warmth that Dick felt his own throat tighten all over again. "Shh. You're safe. The toxin should be wearing off soon."
Tim let out a choked sob, the silent tremors overtaking him again, and Bruce didn't hesitate to cup the side of his face. "I'm so proud of you," he murmured, thumb tracing gently over Tim's cheek. "I'm sorry we scared you."
Dick wanted reach out too, to take Tim's shaking hand in his own again. Bruce must have seen his hands twitch because he carefully took Dick's wrist and pushed it toward Tim's hand. Dick interlocked their fingers, feeling Tim's squeeze his hand, whether it be intentional or simply a side effect of the poison flowing through him.
"I should have been there for you. I'm not - I would never have sent you away Timmy." he choked, voice rough with regret. "I'm so sorry I let you believe that. I'm sorry I let you down and I'm just so sorry baby bird."
Tim blinked sluggishly, more tears spilling down, and for a long moment, Dick thought maybe Tim would refuse to look at him. But then, in a strained and hoarse whisper, Tim finally spoke his first words since the toxin had taken his voice.
"I forgive you."
Dick's breath caught in his throat, and something in his chest cracked wide open. He had expected anger. He had expected rejection. But not this. Not the soft, fragile forgiveness that Tim was offering him now.
Tim coughed, gross and wet. Every ragged breath sounded like it hurt. Tim made another choked noise, like he was trying and failing to continue before Bruce's hand settled heavily on his shoulders, grounding him.
"Don't speak right now Tim. We'll finish this conversation when both you and Dick are not lacking some of your inhibition and can actually speak to one another."
Tim gave the barest of nods, ignoring the jovial tone to Bruce's voice, exhaustion pulling at him again but this time, his body relaxed. Dick could feel the tension seeping out from his frame, and for the first time in too long, he let himself rest, safe in the knowledge that he hadn't broken his bond with Tim more than he could fix, letting himself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could heal.