Pairings/Characters: Bruce/Dick, Roy, Alfred, Clark
Categories: Angst, Drama
Warnings: Violence, aftermath of torture
Summary: A mission in Eastern Europe goes horribly awry for Dick.
Date Of Completion: October 13, 2007
Date Of Posting: October 13, 2007
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 754
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: This story came to me today out of the blue. I’ve been in a melancholy mood and this was the result. I’m not even sure if this is any good (toldja I’m in a mood! ;) ) but I decided to post because, well, the world needs more Bruce/Dick fic. ;)
Dick shivered, the sound of water trickling down stone walls loud in the silence. A patch of blue sky showed through the barred window, but he had no voice left to cry out for help.
He was beyond numb. The cold had seeped into his bones, and the pain? So intense that he didn’t even feel it anymore. It was a part of him, fire burning in his lungs with every breath, searing along his ribs with every movement, slicing through his head with every waking moment.
Dimly he remembered New York, a Romanian Embassy attaché leaving Roy for dead in an ambush in an alley during a smuggling case, Dick standing beside Roy’s bedside in the ICU, volunteering to go to Romania and bring a sadistic attacker to justice. With his knowledge of the language and ability to blend into this particular part of the world, he had been the logical choice.
Even if he hadn’t been, he would have volunteered…
& & & & & &
The beeping of the machines was a sadly familiar sound by now. Dick’s eyes never left the battered face of his best friend.
“Sir, how is Master Roy?”
Alfred put a hand on Dick’s shoulder.
After a space of minutes, Alfred asked, “Are you sure about this mission, Master Dick?”
Dick looked at the faithful butler and old friend.
Worry shadowed Alfred’s eyes. “I do wish that Master Bruce wasn’t away on that off-world JLA mission.”
Dick smiled slightly. “I’d still go.”
“I know.” Alfred squeezed his shoulder. “Just…be careful.”
& & & & & &
Things had gone well at first, Dick infiltrating a gang of rebels with ties to the attaché, but then a careless Government official had spelled doom. One of the rebels had seen him meeting with the official, and it was all over. They thought he was one of the anti-rebel Government forces, and no protestations otherwise made any difference as they declared him a betrayer.
There was a reason that people feared the Mob and the rebels in this part of the world.
Vicious, merciless, with a taste for blood.
Torture had been slow and excruciating.
Now he couldn’t remember how long he’d been here, or the name of the man who had hurt Roy so badly. He was afraid of damage, but it really didn’t matter anymore.
Dick had failed. He had failed Roy, and he had failed Bruce.
He was dying.
He could feel the internal injuries, and blood stained the dark stone floor of the dungeon. He was grateful that he still had all his teeth and his face was bruised, not sliced open. He would make a handsome corpse, something Selina always preached (“Live fast. Love hard. Die young. Leave a good-smelling corpse”).
He could fit that philosophy.
He didn’t think there was a bone in his body left unbroken.
Labored breathing mingled with the sounds of the dripping water. His body could not stop shaking.
What would Bruce do when he was gone? Could Alfred and Clark keep him from falling into the abyss?
What Dick feared most about dying was leaving Bruce behind.
He feared an Avenging Bat.
He feared an Avenging Bat who would lose his soul.
He feared Bruce swallowed up in Darkness.
Because Bruce loved him with all his heart and all his soul, and Bruce did not love lightly. He felt deeply, and this loss would destroy him.
Dick ached for freedom as he looked at the tantalizing patch of blue sky, remembering his flights with Clark, free and happy and joyful.
He wanted to be rescued...
...by a healthy Roy...
He looked through that small window, watching as the day’s light began to fade.
Began to die.
No more Light for Bruce, who desperately needed that Light.
Dick’s eyes began to close, dark stands of hair falling over his face. He wanted (needed) to be home in the bed he shared with Bruce (I need him as much as he needs me), warm and cozy with a fire blazing in the fireplace, a plate of Alfred's warm chocolate chip cookies on the nightstand, and Bruce’s strong arms around him, soft lips kissing his temple, his forehead, his lips. .
A tear slid down his cheek.
“Sorry, my love,” he whispered as the numbing cold began to stiffen his broken body, the light streaming in through the window turning to starlit dusk.