— Wasteland, Baby - Dick Grayson
pairing: Dick Grayson x gn! reader
summary: after getting dosed with fear gas on a mission, Dick does his best to take care of you even if it brings his feelings for you to the surface
cw: 2.7k, fear gas, canon typical violence, Fear Toxin, nightmares, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, reader is/was part of the Titans, yearning, pining, bedsharing
— requested by anon as party of my fall event, request can be found here
froggi yaps -> some nightwing hurt/comfort to kick off september <3 this ended up being like twice as long as i wanted but tbh im happy with it. hope everyone is having a good day & school goes well for all those who have it <3
Dick only has his back turned for a second, spinning around to take out the man behind him. It’s only one second, hardly a breath. And yet, when he turns back around, you’re gone.
Panic swells in his chest at your absence. The bank is clouded with dust, the remnants of the vault that had exploded earlier. Through all the dust and decay, he can hardly make out the door, let alone find you.
He calls your name, feeling his way to the door. The comms piece in his ear is filled with static, another unfortunate after-effect of the explosion. His mouth is impossibly dry, each shout for you hoarse and desperate.
The hallways are somewhat clearer than the room with the deposit boxes, but not by much. Dick squints into the distance, ears peeled for any sign that you’re around, that you’re safe.
Each step into the corridor brings disappointment. Not only are you nowhere to be seen, the bank that had been bustling with criminal activity only minutes earlier is now empty. Eerily silent.
He’s formulating a plan with every second you’re gone. A million solutions form in his mind, ranging from rescue missions to body recovery.
His thoughts are cut off by a scream.
His blood runs cold—he’d recognize your voice anywhere. His vision tunnels, he doesn’t give himself even a minute to think before he’s rushing in. It’s stupid, it’s reckless, but when it comes to you, he can hardly think straight.
He finds you in the basement, an old storage room littered with boxes and metal shelves. The room is empty, whoever you’d been fighting with long gone.
You’re curled up in the corner, shaking, chest rising and falling so fast he’s worried your heart will give out. Sweat glistens on your face, down your neck, soaks through your costume.
His heart sinks. He knows that look in your eyes, the terror on your face—he would recognize the symptoms of fear gas anywhere.
“Hey.” He’s slow to approach you, his voice level. “Are you alright? Can you get up?”
Your eyes flick up, pupils dilated with fear. “S-stay back!”
Dick crouches down, arms outstretched like he’s closing in on a wild animal. “It’s just me. It’s okay. You’re safe.”
There’s a flash of recognition in your eyes. Your lips part, quivering in fear of whatever nightmare is plaguing you right now. You blink beneath your mask.
“It’s okay,” he repeats, now only an arms length away. “You’re okay.”
You reach a hand out. Dick parrots the motion, hand reaching for yours, and then you’re pulling away like you’ve been burned. A blood curdling scream rips from your chest and you press yourself further into the corner.
Dick stops dead in his tracks. From the way your heart is beating so hard he can almost hear it, he knows you can’t take much more of this.
He takes a deep breath, bracing himself as he pulls an escrima stick from the holster on his back. “I’m sorry,” he says, and then he’s smacking the stick against the top of your head and you’re falling unconscious.
He hates it. He hates himself for doing it. But god, would he hate himself so much more if he had to watch you die.
He looks at your crumpled figure on the floor, breathing slowing to a normal rate. He knows this is just a bandaid and that when you come to, you’re going to face the effects all over again, on top of one hell of a headache.
He tucks himself beneath your arm, pulling you to your feet so that you’re leaning over his shoulder.
-
You come to in a bed that isn’t yours. Your head aches, your eyes burning like they’ve been open for hours without blinking.
A deep breath wracks your chest as you try to remember the events that led you here. You remember the bank, remember chasing down a couple gang members to the basement and then—oh, god.
You slipped up, just barely. Had followed them into a locked room, not noticing they’d strapped on gas masks until it was too late. You’re not sure how they’d gotten their hands on the Fear Toxin—Scarecrow has been in Arkham for the past month.
The nightmares you’d faced are still heavy in your mind, glimpses of shadow people flashing in the corners of your vision. It’s not as bad as it had been earlier, with horrible monsters hunting you down, shadows morphing into evil.
And Dick. Oh, god, Dick. You’d left him behind, too eager to catch those last few men so you could go home. You can only hope he’d gotten out, that the dose they’d given you was the only one they had.
You push the grey comforter from your body, muscles straining as you force yourself to your feet. You pause—realizing your costume was removed, replaced with a Superman t-shirt and sweatpants.
You blink. You’ve seen this shirt before. Memories of a day of shopping with the Titans wash over you, flashes of a familiar man with dark hair and a blue shirt. Dick.
Just as you realize where you are, the door swings open and Dick’s eyes are fixing on you. He’s dressed in plaid pyjama pants and a black t-shirt, a bruise peaking out from the collar of his shirt.
His eyes are bloodshot, the blue richer in contrast. His hair is tussled, worry written over every feature. “You’re awake.”
You nod slowly, letting yourself settle back in on the edge of his bed. The scent of it hits you now, laundry detergent and his cologne.
“How are you feeling?”
You rub at the back of your head where the pain radiates from most. There’s a small bump—you must have hit your head on something while you’d been gassed.
“I’m…alright.”
You’re left dizzy and confused. You’ve never been to Dick’s apartment in Bludhaven, let alone his bedroom. And now he’s looking at you with a kind of devastation only a lover could have and those feelings you’ve suppressed for the sake of friendship are rising to your throat.
Dick steps into the room, settling onto the edge of the bed next to you. He fights against the insatiable urge to throw his arms around you, to profess his relief at you being okay.
“And the fear toxin?”
“Slowly wearing off.” With him so close to you, you’re suddenly too aware of your body, of every move you make. “How—how long was I out for?”
His eyes settle on you and refuse to move, as if when he looks away you’ll suddenly disappear. “About four hours.”
Your brows furrow, head turning to glance at his window. The sun is starting to kiss the horizon, the dark night turning shades of gold. “Oh.”
You rub your sweaty palms on your sweatpants, rising to your feet once more. “I should—I should get going.”
Dick’s on his feet before you even finish speaking, hands catching your wrists. There’s pleading in his touch, in his eyes, in the way his lips purse together. There’s a pause, heavy silence blanketing the room. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, harsh and heavy and wanting.
Dick releases your wrists, his own hands falling limply at his sides like a man defeated. “That’s not a good idea.”
His voice is clipped and retrained but his eyes betray him. An ocean of barely restrained feelings—relief, concern, confiliction—lie beneath.
After years of being on a team with him, of him leading you into hundreds of fights, you’re inclined to listen. That part of you that wants to appease him, that wants him to be proud of you, wants nothing more than to sit down and drop it.
But you’re standing in front of him in his bedroom, wearing his clothes. And you’d be lying if you said your head wasn’t spinning, that you aren’t lightheaded and one gentle breeze away from being knocked on your ass. That part of you that wants him, that relishes in the way he’s looking at you right now, wants nothing more than to run.
Dick sees that look in your eyes—wild and afraid and still wracked with nightmares. He steps further in your way, bracing himself to catch you if you try to run.
“I just—I need some air.”
He nods, “I’ll grab my coat.”
You’re tempted to argue but he’s walking away before you can even open your mouth. He comes back with a sweater draped over each arm, passing the thicker of the two to you.
You pull it over your head, hating how the scent of it—of him—soothes the turbulence in the pit of your stomach. It’s heavy and warm, the inside soft and lined with fleece.
Dick gestures you out the door, waiting until you exit the room to trail only a few feet behind you. The walk down to the street—one hallway, a set of stairs and a straight stretch through the lobby—feels like forever.
Dick clings to you, so close that you can feel the heat coming off of him. The cold early morning air smells like relief, the sidewalk beneath your feet sturdier than anything you’ve ever felt.
You let your eyes flutter closed, the cold air washing over you. It falls over your skin, slips between your fingers and through every gap in your—Dick’s—clothing. Despite the harsh bite, the cold feels good. It feels real.
“Are you still seeing things?”
You nod slowly, entirely too aware of his eyes on you. His gaze burns, begging you to open your eyes, begging you to look at him.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.” His voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it, that earlier commanding tone gone.
You turn to face him, eyes fluttering open to meet his. Protect you? The idea is laughable given you were the one who’d gone off on your own.
“Why would you say that?” Your brows scrunch together, “it wasn’t—Dick, it wasn’t your fault.”
“I’m the leader. I’m supposed to come up with the plans, make sure everyone gets out safely and I—” his shoulders drop, his voice cracking, “I almost lost you.”
You catch his hands in yours. “You didn’t. Lose me, I mean.”
His hands clench around yours. The world is silent for a minute, the rising sun turning his skin golden, highlighting the bags that line his eyes. He smooths his thumbs over the backs of your hands.
“I tunnel visioned,” he admits. “I fucked up, I ran in there without any thoughts because I was looking for you. I could’ve gotten us both killed because I didn’t think.”
“Dick…”
He laughs bitterly. “I can’t think straight when it comes to you. Even now—” He stops, eyes wide like he was about to say something he shouldn’t. “We got lucky tonight.”
You don’t feel very lucky, but you don’t dare admit that. Not when he’s opening up like this, when the vulnerability slips through the cracks in his voice. Not a thought runs through your head as you drop his hands from yours and wrap your arms around his waist.
You press your face into his chest, press your body completely against his. He’s stunned for a moment but then he’s wrapping his arms around you, squeezing you as close as he can without hurting you.
The weight of his own inadequacy melts away in your arms, his muscles relaxing for the first time all night. The adrenaline that’s plagued his body eases as the morning light washes over him.
“Would it be okay if I stay?”
And though he’d asked you to stay not even twenty minutes ago, your question hangs in the air. For a moment, you’re worried he’s going to tell you no, that he’ll ask you to go home.
“You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
A weak smile breaks out on your face.
When you get back into the apartment, Dick insists on you taking the bed. He gets you settled, pulling down his black-out curtains and tucking you beneath the comforter.
You consider asking him to stay with you but after what’s been said, and more importantly, what hasn’t been said, you don’t. You’re not sure if either of you could handle being this close right now, if your friendship could survive what’s bubbling beneath the surface.
Dick kisses your forehead and bids you goodnight, going to settle in on the couch in his living room.
-
You wake up screaming in a cold sweat. Your throat aches, tears cling to the corners of your eyes and your heart hammers in your chest. You sit up, pressing a hand over your chest like that will ease the relentless, painful heartbeats.
Dick’s bursting through the door only a second later, muscles taut and braced for a fight. His eyes scan you, scan the room for any threats. His shoulders relax when he finds none.
“Shh, it’s okay.” He’s slow to approach the bed, “you’re okay. You’re safe. It was just a bad dream.”
You shake your head, drawing your knees into your chest and burying your face between them. The tears fall freely now, head aching with flashes of the nightmare you’d just had.
Dick settles into the bed next to you, the mattress dipping down with the comfort of his weight. Each movement of his is slow, intentionally made to not scare you more.
He tentatively wraps an arm around you, squishing your body against his. “You’re safe, it’s okay.”
The world around you is dark, void of air and warmth and light. You gasp for air, lungs burning from the emptiness. Your heart pounds in fear, hitting your ribs so hard it hurts.
Each sob is like a knife to Dick’s heart, his own eyes glassy from seeing you like this. He pulls you into his arms, holding you like a baby on the bed. His arms feel so safe, the fabric of his t-shirt soft against the cheek you’ve pressed into his chest.
He holds you closely, murmuring words of reassurance to you while you cry. It feels like forever before you can catch your breath again and even after cool air fills your lungs, they ache.
It takes even longer for the tears to stop coming, each one rubbed into the fabric of Dick’s shirt. He kisses the top of your head, “it’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”
You rest your head against his chest a moment longer, allowing your heartrate to even. His touch is filled with tenderness.
It’s not lost on either of you how close you are, how Dick is holding you and how you’re clinging to him. This isn’t how friends, how teammates, are supposed to hold each other, and yet here you are.
“S-sorry if I woke you,” you mumble, your voice hoarse from crying.
You know you should move away from him, force some distance between the two of you before your feelings take over and you do something you regret. But you can’t. You’re bound to him, forever tied to him by some invisible thread.
“It’s okay.” He rubs a hand up and down the length of your shoulder, “just happy you’re feeling better.”
His grip on you loosens and he goes to let you go but suddenly you’re clinging to him, bunching the fabric on his shirt. His eyebrows lift in shock, head tilting ever so slightly to the side.
“Stay,” you mumble, meeting his eyes through your lashes, “please.”
Dick’s lost the minute your eyes meet his. Had you said anything else, done anything else, maybe he could have walked away. But you’re looking at him with those fucking eyes and the tearstains on your face have you looking so vulnerable and goddamn—how can he not stay?
He nods, slow and unsure. He releases you but his body doesn’t move very far. His head meets the pillow, splayed across the bed next to you. You feel awkward for a moment settling in next to him with your back pressed to his chest.
His arms fall around you like they were always meant to be there, his body slotting perfectly against yours. He plants a gentle kiss on your temple, “get some sleep, ok?”
You hum in agreement, resting your hands over his. Sleep starts to wash over you and in your sleepy haze, you mumble, "I love you."
The breath stills in his body, the words fighting their way to his lips. "I love you," he breathes, but by then, you're fast asleep.
He'll just have to tell you in the morning.
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tysm for reading & have a great night! /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹
