First Breath After A Coma
*clears throat* So. We all knew this was coming one day. A sad fic. Like a really truly angsty fic that I find myself somewhat apologetic from, but you know what? I haven’t really tried it beyond super shorts, so enjoy this.
(and please don’t hate me)
Some quick context: This fic takes place snugly between the events of Forever Evil and Nightwing #30 (from New 52) and is set fairly close to Dick joining Spyral.
Warnings: dangerous/self destructive behavior, depression, very short thoughts of wishing to die, memories of death, this one’s sad, and please read at your discretion
Summary: Dick’s trying to figure out just how he feels about dying, losing Damian, and everything in between.
Dick steps into the tent. The tent with no power. Not anymore. Not after Joker and what he did. Not after it all fell apart. This doesn’t surprise Dick, nor does he actually need it. There is still light filtering in from the sun through the open flap, and torn slits in the fabric. The sun is hanging in the sky, lower than he’d like, but high enough for time to think.
That is what Dick needs. Time to think. That is the reason he is staring into this ruined tent and not at the safehouse Bruce tucked him away in trying to recover.
That is a lie. Dick does not need time to think. All he has is time to think. He is trapped. Trapped and hidden away like a prisoner or a jewel. Maybe both. He is supposed to be resting, recuperating from dying.
But if he’s really supposed to be doing that. If Bruce really cares, why is he here now?
That’s a stupid line of thought. Bruce cares. But Bruce must also keep up appearances. “The world thinks you’re dead, and for now that’s a good thing.” He’d said, “Take this time to recover, Dick. No one will hover over you right now.”
All Dick wants is his family hovering over him. All he wants is everyone to know he’s alive. All he wants is Dami—
He needs to move.
It is not a run, but it should be with the time it takes him to make it from the opening of the tent to the center ring. It is just like he remembers it. Except for the blood. And the shattered pieces laying everywhere. Some of that is his blood. Most of it belongs to his friends, his old family.