She offers herself as company for his stressful day, a back rub, a bedroom companion. He can't explain to her that he isn't himself, he shouldn't be doing that. He can't tell her that she used to be a companion of his 'father' so to speak. That it was weird for them to do this. That the fact they were sleeping together was so awkward that he actually still refused to tell anyone what they were doing.
As Dick opened his mouth to tell Yael, because it's not Talia, no his head began to pound and his breath turned into a struggle. What was this feeling? Was it a panic attack? Then a voice spoke in the back of his mind. You'll never be able to live up to her standards. Face it, wonder boy, you'll always be a little kid playing dress up in daddy's clothes. Can't fill the cowl, can’t satisfy the woman. Move on. His heart rate picked up quickly and he could barely squeeze out an ok before he hangs up.
There were supposed to be good memories in every inch of the manor as he walked it, but instead he felt only anxiousness. He followed his family around like a lost puppy dog, constantly looking for approval and acceptance. He needed to feel like he was wanted. Maybe this was Parallax'’'s twist for Dick's mind. The normally overly confident man was crumbling. He was scared, nervous, paranoid and fidgety. Dinah had called him an arrogant bastard that no one really liked and he believed every word.
As he walked into the kitchen he could hear talking in the other room so he moved closer. Every word sounded like a dig at the man. They were simply talking about what they should do next, but to Dick it sounded more like they were talking about how badly they wanted him to leave. He wasn't supposed to be in the manor, he wasn't supposed to be a part of the batfam. He wasn't good enough to be apart of the team, he got on their nerves. He was cocky and rude and needy for attention. That was what it sounded like to him.
He had felt this feeling before. It was intense, overpowering, it crippled him from inside his chest outwards. The sweat trickling down his face, his heart escaping his ribcage. He tried to remember all the tactics Bruce had taught him over the years. He had to slow his breathing; he had to gain control himself….
He was getting his ass handed to him. He didn't have time to assess what was going on because it was happening so fast. The man was all over him, vicious, angry, and relentless. He didn't play by Nightwing's code of conduct. Despite the fact that Dick had proven himself worthy of the night there were sometimes when he felt at an extreme disadvantage. Dick had just barely escaped a blaze of bullets when he heard the voice. It was familiar, gruff. It was two-face.
"Lets play a game, kid. Double or nothing." His burned hand clutching the t-shirt covered chest of a young boy. He patted the boys chest and then pushed him out off the ledge of the building to where he had barely his toes and no balance. He was depending on the kindness of the man who held him. The young boy's face was distorted with fear. He knew the face. The young boy was crying, begging the man to not let go. He apologized for everything under the sun, begged, promised, clutched his hand, but it wasn't enough. "What we got here is a dilemma… do you want to nail me or SAVE the squirt?"
Just like that he let the boy go with a giant grin. It didn't take long for Nightwing to react; it wasn't a question of Two-face or the boy. It was always going to be the boy, the question was if he could get to him in time. He launched himself over the edge of the building, quickly adjusting his body into an aerodynamic dive in an attempt to reach his terminal velocity. He shot his grappling line behind him to catch the building so that when he did reach him they wouldn't continue their death descent. He screams out as he tries to catch him, one hand stretched out. His face is so familiar; he’s a recurring figure in his nightmares. The boy's mouth moves to form words that he can’t hear. The masked man gets closer, his fingers just out of reach when the words finally hit his ears like a gun shot igniting a keg of gun powder inside his brain.
"YOU'RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH" And with a deafening sound the boy hits the pavement below. The line catches it and lowers Dick to the ground safe but hard. He hits down immediately on his knees, grabbing for the young boy. It doesn't take long for tears to fill his eyes and stream down his face as his hands feel wet and warm, covered in his failure. He failed him. He failed the boy. He let him die, it was his fault. He wasn't fast enough. He wasn't good enough. He wasn't Batman. He wasn't Bruce Wayne. He didn't have the skill or the speed or the power. He screamed out, filling the empty night with his pleas for forgiveness.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, god. I'm so sorry." He clutched the kid to his chest until he was so beyond the ability to calm down that he had to let go only to drag himself far enough away that the boy's body didn’t end up covered his vomit as he heaved. He could hear more voice. More familiar voices as if they were right on top of him, as if they had watched the whole time.
"I should have known you couldn't handle it." Batman.
"He failed and that poor boy paid for it. You no longer deserve that suit, Sir." Alfred.
"I'm so-sorry. I-I tried. I tried to save him." His hands were covered in the blood. His face contorted in pain. "I'm sorry, I did my best. I can't save everyone. I'll catch Two-face. I'll earn it back…. I'll train harder. I'll get faster. I'll save him another way." The answer rising inside of him wasn't fear anymore but determination.
His vision blurred as he tried to regain control of his emotions. He had to pull himself together to be able to take off the mask and the suit. Just as he started to calm down he jolted himself awake. Panting and sweat covered. His face wet from the fact he had been crying in his sleep.
For days now he had feared putting on the suit. He walked around, always looking over his shoulder as he walked down streets. He understood now why he had been so afraid. He couldn't put on the mask and the suit because he feared his failure more than anything. He feared dropping the boy or a woman or a man. He just couldn't bring himself to get dressed for patrol or to talk to his family for more than a few moments. He had kept his distance for the reason that he was ashamed at how disappointing he had turned out to be to them. At least that was before now. As he surveyed his location, his bed in his room at the manor, he almost felt a sense of calm wipe through him. This had been what he was told to do, face his fear, beat it.
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