Pain. That was the thing he was most conscious of as he laid in his kitchen, not quite sure how he made it back to his apartment. Something in his lower body throbbed maliciously but there was pain everywhere so it was hard to pinpoint where and why.
The confusion was finally ebbing but leaving in its place exhaustion. Complete exhaustion, unfortunately, it didn't stop there. He didn't feel good and not just because of the pain aching in his bones. He felt warm but not the good kind of warm like he had earlier when he had felt so nice, cozy, and warm- but bad warm.
His stomach hurt, bad, just like something down below but it was hard to focus on exactly what hurt besides his stomach. All he knew was that the bright sun coming in through the windows was not helping in the slightest. Dick moved his arms protectively around his abdomen but the pain didn't go away; if anything, the contact made it worse. He groaned softly, feeling like the room was spinning and falling at the same time.
He was going to throw up. He was going to throw up. He should get off the hard linoleum floor and go to the bathroom...but he was so tired. The room kept spinning and Dick gripped his stomach tighter.
He was going to throw up, he had to get to a toilet. It was too far. Three rooms away. Dick doubted he had the strength.
Something closer? There had to be something closer. It was still hard to think. Not as hard as earlier but still hard. Sink. There was a sink in the kitchen- where he was. He had to get to it, he had to stand. Dick tried to move his feet so that he could leverage his body -only to groan in pain.
Okay, he was definitely aware of what the other pain was now. His ankle, his right ankle. The other pain in his stomach reminded him of its existence and Dick was barely able to turn to his side before he vomited all of the floor and himself. Unfortunately, even though he didn't have much in his stomach, it refused to stop trying to expel its contents.
Sweat dripped down his face as Dick fought to keep himself up, as to not vomit on himself. His throat hurt from the barrage and so Dick tried as much as possible to breathe through his nose. The more he breathed, the worse his throat felt.
Dick didn't know how long he remained on the floor in front of the counter. He laid alternately on his side and then curled into himself, trying to lessen the pain in his stomach. He would accidentally move his foot, which shot sharp pain any time he so much as moved it an inch, which made him move his stomach and his stomach punished him again.
He wanted to get up, to at least vomit or dry heave into the sink that was less than five feet away. Any time he tried though, he just ended up dry heaving again. He wanted to wash off the vomit that was drying on his face. He wanted to be able to get up and move into his soft bed with a bowl, so at least he could be more comfortable
But more than anything, he wished someone would help him. That he would just open his eyes and Tim or Babs and even Damian or Bruce would be beside him telling him that he was going to be okay. That they weren't going anywhere. That they were here for him. He wanted to see them. He wanted to open his eyes. He wanted his family. But when he lifted his head and looked he saw nothing. No one. No one was there. He was alone in his apartment. Always alone.
Dick dry heaved again and hot tears streamed down his face. It was partially from the pain and effort of dry-heaving but mostly Dick was tired, exhausted, and bone-numbingly tired. Tired of everything. Tired of breathing. Tired of being alive. He wished it would just stop. Permanently. Maybe he could aspirate on his own vomit. Maybe then, it would finally be over. Anything to make this end.
A/N The next one or two chapters are going to be here I'll get back to Guilt in a little bit.