chapter ten - targets

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GOTHAM CITY
SEPTEMBER 9th — 02:38 EST

dick wasn't cliché on purpose. believe him, it was an accident. so, when he caught himself brooding above the 7-story apartments of gotham city at two in the morning on the very first day of school, he was a little surprised by himself.

he stepped up onto the ledge of the roof he was on, closing his eyes and feeling how the warm breeze blew onto him. a zephyr, dick recalled. he'd played the word in scrabble once. he still lost.

against the zephyr, dick didn't teeter, he didn't lose his balance, he just breathed. he breathed and he listened to the sound of the wind around him. rustling through distant trees, blowing away nearby clouds.

it was a nice view. from up above, one couldn't see the litter or the graffiti or the dried blood or the rats. sure, dick could see arkham asylum—just down the road—and the smallest, worst-kept houses in the city, but it was nice. it was simply gotham.

dick pulled something out of his utility belt—his rebreather—and tossed it from hand to hand. he watched how high he could throw it and still catch it, he tried to toss it as fast as possible, he-

"you're supposed to be asleep."

the voice came from a few metres behind dick. he dropped the rebreather, watching as it betrayed him, crashing violently on the ground below. it was surprising that he had been found so fast. perhaps he was too cliché.

dick never moved from his stance. it didn't scare him—the voice, the dark, the height, the thought of falling. he'd learned to love it. he'd learned to lust for it.

"it seems as though i'm caught with the cat in the bag." dick let his arms fall to his sides and he turned around to meet the figure of batman, just a few feet away. "i just came to get some air."

"air? we live on the complete other side of gotham." bruce sighed, pinching his nose-bridge. "you have school in the morning, robin. don't you think that you should get some rest?"

"it's the first day, b." dick sat down, turning back around so that his legs were dangling off the side of the building. "i'm just savouring summer."

"can't you savour summer from our property?"

dick placed his hands on either side of himself, leaning forward so that he could see the street just below. how many floors was he up? 5? 7? dick couldn't help but wonder how long he'd be in the air if he were to fall.

to fall.

"robin?"

"hm?" dick snapped out of his trance, spinning to face bruce once again. all this turning was making him nauseous.

"i said that it's time to go home. it's 3am." bruce folded his arms across his chest, taking a few steps forward. it was a power stance, but he didn't look intimidating at all. more... concerned.

dick hopped back onto the roof, running a gloved hand through his hair. it was still long—long and curly and thick and slightly perspired. it'd been months since he last cut it. he wouldn't trim it, dick nodded to himself, he wouldn't cut it yet. wally liked it at this length, said it suited him.

dick followed bruce down the fire escape, but both stilled, almost immediately, at the sound of a voice, distantly calling their names.

"batsy! robin!" the man wasn't too far, perhaps just down the block. "i saw you up there! come say hi!"

dick glanced at bruce, who motioned for them to head toward the voice. was it a criminal, someone with a vendetta?could it just be some homeless guy on drugs? maybe even an avid fan of justice, hoping for a photo?

no matter how dick weighed the choices, the math always led to it being someone out for blood. his blood.

"i don't recognize the voice," dick whispered as the dynamic duo walked toward the man who was still shouting their names. they were on the street, pressed up against a dark wall near the end of a thin alleyway.

bruce grunted, peeking out from the alley for a second before ducking right back in. "you'll recognize the appearance."

dick raised an eyebrow at his partner, before glancing out himself. bruce was right, he recognized the man, even from 20 metres away. it wasn't necessarily the orange pants, or the matching orange shirt that was familiar. it wasn't the muddy shoes or the bloodied hands. it was the mask.

the scarecrow mask.

"holy fuck!" dick whispered, ducking back in to the alleyway. "scarecrow? it can't be. he's in arkham."

bruce sighed, reaching into his belt for something. "not anymore."

"batsyyy!"

the voice was quieter. dick peeked back out, but saw nothing. "shit." he grimaced. "you lost him."

bruce frowned. "we lost him."

they walked out into the middle of the road, but there was no one in sight. not even the odd drunk or the ignorant junkie, the kid sneaking out or the cops whizzing by.

it was strange.

"it's like a ghost town," dick muttered, pulling up his hologlove. "arkham hasn't reported him missing."

"arkham never reports anything."

they walked toward the asylum, keeping low and in the shadows. of course this was happening right now, why wouldn't it? dick just wanted to sit on the ledge and watch the grimy, crime-filled streets of gotham one last time before autumn hit.

why did he have to come to the one area of town that's near arkham asylum?

"where could he possibly have gone?" dick muttered, yawning. "he escaped a high-security institution just to taunt us and then run? it doesn't make sense."

bruce stilled, touching his fist to his chin. "it doesn't make sense-"

"i guess he is an asylum patient-"

"no." bruce shook his head, turning to dick with a subtle smirk. "you're right, it doesn't make sense. dr jonathan crane always makes sense—in his own twisted way—that's why he's one of the few people riddler works with."

"i thought that was just because riddler's gay and scarecrow's kinda hot."

bruce glared.

"okay, okay, yeah, it's suspicious." dick checked his hologlove again, but there was still nothing. scarecrow must be working with someone on the inside. what was it with prison guards being fucking corrupted?

"everyone's corrupted in gotham," bruce mumbled, anger on the tip of his tongue.

had dick said that last part aloud? he didn't mean to. god, he was tired.

the tall, daunting gates of arkham asylum came into view. the building was a dark grey and appeared black in the shadow of night. it wasn't that sinister looking—it looked like a small hospital—but it was the noise that scared dick. or, rather, the lack of noise.

why was it so quiet?

it was the kind of silence that you didn't just hear, you felt. the kind of silence that made your stomach drop and your hands sweat. the kind of silence that led to a panic attack. the kind of silence that meant something bad was happening.

"peculiar." dick said it just to break through the haunting quiet, even for a moment. "it's certainly peculiar."

bruce shot him an odd look before nodding. they were almost at the gates now. the big, looming, ominous gates with a stout figure standing just behind them.

wait, what?

bruce reacted first, running toward the gates at Maximum Velocity. dick followed close behind, just as fast and twice as agile. unfortunately, they were running toward a giant set of closed gates, which severely affected their chase after the scarecrow. in fact, it stopped it entirely!

"shit," bruce swore, hitting the gates with his fist. "they're locked."

"this is a prison," dick muttered. "climb?"

"climb?"

"well, you want to get in, don't you?"

bruce cocked his head. he looked just like alfred did when dick proposed an idea that he deemed preposterous. it was uncanny how many quirks the two shared, one would think them father and son.

"okay." bruce nodded. "climb."

-

honestly, the climb wasn't half-bad. neither was the walk across the asylum property. but, will this tranquility be ruined the second they step foot inside arkham asylum?

that certainly was the question.

dick pondered this as they walked toward the front door, and then he pondered this some more when he found it unlocked. he held his breath and he mulled over the question and he pushed open the door.

creak.

it was noisy inside. there were whispers echoing around the barren walls, quiet conversations reverberating until all they were was a single, unintelligible sound. dick paused, trying to make even one word out, but found it impossible.

"where we droppin'?" dick turned to look at bruce. "...boy?"

"jonathan's inside, it's dangerous to go in." bruce hummed. "he has at least half the inmates and a few guards on his side, possibly even the legion of doom members."

dick waited for bruce to continue, but he didn't. he just stared at the door.

"so, are we-"

BOOM!

the walls shook. the ground shook. his vision shook. dick shook.

his ribs felt like they were reverberating and the ground felt like it was an earthquake and the entire asylum seemed to bounce and dick just stared at the door because there was a bomb.

alarms went off, shrill and unstopping. dick put his hands on bent knees and closed his eyes, gathering himself for a moment, before standing tall and evaluating the situation.

"prison break."

bruce was silent—dick had forgotten he was there—but he nodded, pulling the door wide-open and stepping inside.

-

"this is creepy," dick commented. he was right, it was so incredibly eerie inside the asylum. the walls were white with grey accents and red lights flashed as an alarm rang. there were no staff in sight.

"understatement." bruce checked the reception area earnestly, but found no one. "i thoroughly dislike this place."

dick nodded. "it reminds me of that time i-"

he paused, cocking his head as if it would help him to listen. it sounded like footsteps running down the hall toward them. multiple sets of footsteps that were definitely running toward them.

"ruh roh. sounds like a prison break."

it really was a wonder why bruce still considered him an equal at this point.

a burly man with barely any teeth and even less hair made it to the duo first. dick ran up to him, dodging a punch and then jumping up to kick him in the face. this would've been great if it weren't for the fact that the man's face was indestructible.

"oi, fucker?" the man yelled in a thick irish accent. he rubbed his eye, twitched his lips, and lobbed a few more not-nice words dick's way. "y'ant to go for a fucker arounder yard?"

now, dick wasn't a native english speaker, sometimes he didn't understand what people said or he mixed up his words or something got lost in translation, but that? that was not english.

"stop slow-dancing and knock the guy out," bruce whined. "i hear more footsteps, robin."

dick did as he was told, punching the irishman and then wrapping his arm around the brute's throat, asphyxiating him until he fell unconscious.

"if you hated my dancing," dick started, standing above the unconscious man and wiping his hands off on his cape. "you shouldn't have enrolled me in lessons."

before bruce had the chance to reply, a dozen men and women stormed the room. a few of them looked familiar—dick couldn't quite place them—and they all looked angry. very angry.

"it's the batboy!" a girl yelled, pointing at bruce. "and robin!"

"furry and flyer!" a man chuckled. and then kept chuckling. he fell to the floor, grabbing his stomach and he laughed and laughed and laughed.

dick caught bruce's eye. let's leave. they give me the heebie jeebies.

they're trying to break out of prison. we can't leave.

c'mon? call the police and let's dip.

richard, i-

their silent, second-long conversation was cut off by the arrival of another two dozen arkham patients. they all ran toward the dynamic duo, holding both guns and grudges. a little zeugma to distract dick from the fact that there were nearly 30 inmates running at them with the guards' guns.

dick clenched his fists, bent his knees and started knocking out as many as he could. in the past, dick had fought large groups of martial artists and returned without even a scratch, but this? this was a 2v30 while dick was tired and hungry and unprepared and not ready to show up to the first day of school covered in bruises.

they got through the first ten or so men, taking many hits but giving tenfold more. the duo managed to secure almost all the guns, not even getting shot once. dick was hopeful! he was hopeful, right up until more inmates arrived at the scene.

-

the man's fist hit dick square in the jaw, making him double over and his vision go blurry. he spit out the blood in his mouth, ducking another punch and whacking the man with an escrima stick.

it would be easier just to take out a bird-a-rang and just slice all their throats, but bruce said that that was "mean," and "a crime," and would "murder them," so dick had to settle for the age-old take-a-hit-throw-two-more tactic.

"i'm calling the gcpd," bruce announced. "cover me."

yay! more guys to fight!

dick turned toward a lean man with blue hair and- oh, wow. he had the f-slur shaved into his head. the guy opened his mouth as if to say something but dick knocked him out with a swift punch.

"AJHWKJISJS!!" dick huffed, a cold, sharp pain coming from his thigh. he looked down, seeing a shank sticking out of his leg. "fucking fuck fuck fuck."

bruce appeared beside him, knocking out the man that shanked him and shooting dick a worried glance. "i called the gcpd and the jl. the flashes should be here soon."

dick dodged a bullet, yanking a gun out of an inmate's hand and using it to whack him over the head. "you invited kf?! to a prison gunfight in gotham?"

bruce grabbed two smaller guys, knocking them together and letting them fall to the ground. "he was there when i called flash."

"the infamous flash!" a voice called, booming even over the noise of the fight. dick glanced over to see scarecrow, proudly watching and wearing his mask. "wish i could meet him! unfortunately, i have more important things to do."

and with that, scarecrow waved, turned down a hall, and skipped out of sight.

"what the fuck?" dick muttered, looking over at bruce. "what is he going to do?"

bruce grimaced, knocking a few guys over, making a path toward where scarecrow ran. "follow him. the flashes will be here any minute."

dick nodded, awkwardly limp-running after scarecrow. "bye, b! knock these bitches out!"

-

the shank stuck out like a sore thumb. it also hurt like a sore thumb. scratch that, it hurt like a shank in the thigh. dick had only been following scarecrow for two minutes and it already—

"robin!" scarecrow's voice found its way into dick's ears. how unpleasant.

he was standing near the very end of a long corridor; dick didn't know where it led. in one hand was his scarecrow mask and in the other a palm-sized sphere.

it looked like a giant gum-ball. unfortunately, scarecrow wasn't the type of person to carry a giant, steel-grey gum-ball around gotham.

"how pleasant! i've been waiting to kill a bird with this stone!" scarecrow laughed, and dick finally realized what he was holding. it was just like a smoke bomb, but it wasn't smoke that was inside.

the fear bomb exploded and dense, purple smoke began to fill the room. dick shoved his hand into his utility belt, trying to reach for his rebreather, but instead found the pocket empty. he had dropped it earlier. he had dropped his rebreather the one night that he actually needed it.

he would never forget it again.

dick held his breath, squinting his eyes to try and see through the fog. it didn't work. he was getting tired now; his body was fighting against him, forcing him to take a breath.

it reminded dick of a memory. a memory buried so deep in his mind that he didn't even recall its existence.

him learning how to swim. him learning how to drown.

dick took a breath.

-

saudade was the only word that came to mind.

dick wasn't sure why, he didn't speak much portuguese and where would he have picked that up in english? but it was all he could think, all he could feel,

was
s
a
u
d
a
d
e

dick was laying on the floor, or at least, he thought so. his back was cold and rested on hard marble. his fingers would twitch from time to time and his vision was filled with intense, bright colours.

blue, purple, and black flowed along pinks and oranges and greens. not quite gas, not quite liquid. they created vibrant rainbows and beautiful shades in every aspect of his vision.

was this death?

was this life?

he didn't move. he just let his head tilt and his eyes follow the ever-flowing pigments. there was a pang in his chest, he wasn't sure why. he wasn't sure of anything anymore.

dick realized that it had been a minute or two since he last breathed. he inhaled deeply, staring up at the colours in the sky. the colours that were now fading.

they faded to black. his vision faded to black. the atmosphere faded to black and anxiety took root in dick's bones. he felt it everywhere, the black. it clung to his spine and filled up his lungs.

he could suddenly notice every sound around him. every scurry of a rodent, every word exchanged between two passersby, even the constant, low buzz of electricity.

his chest tightened.

dick sat up. he was laying in grass—why did he think it was marble? he was laying in grass and it was dark and cloudy and the only light was a beautiful circus-tent, just ahead.

-

"mircea?" dick called, walking toward a slender man with dark skin and even darker hair. he was the tight-rope walker, what was he doing out here?

"richard?" he looked up, stuttering in romanian. "wh-what are you doing out here?"

dick cocked his head. his hands started to shake. why wasn't mircea inside? why was everything black? why was he shaking and hyperventilating and sweating and nauseous?

"you killed them, didn't you?" mircea stumbled backward, tripping and falling to the ground. "you didn't tell them about tony, you wanted them to fall. you wanted them to die."

dick pressed his nails into his forearm. "what?"

"you killed your family; your ambition killed your family, richard," a voice came from behind dick. a distinct voice. a deep, monotonous voice with an italian accent.

dick bit his tongue and scratched at his forearms and stumbled back. "you- you killed them."

tony laughed, gesturing toward the sky. "it's all infinitesimal, no? does he even hear our screams? you're quite the bother, richard, and your pleads are met with only indifference. you never missed them."

"i miss them."

"let their rotting corpses become the dirt upon your casket." tony dropped his hands to his sides. "prove that you miss them—prove that you love them—but why do that? you're better off now."

"i miss them."

"you do not miss them. your veins will fill with ice and your lungs with poison and, still, you do not miss them."

dick's heart thumped against his chest. it hit his ribcage over and over, pleading for escape. his heart beat itself harder, faster, until it no longer beat at all.

dick closed his eyes and breathed as deep as he could. his body was screaming run, run, run, and so he did. he ran away from the circus tent, away from his family, and toward the dark forest. he ran until he could breathe no longer and he collapsed upon wet dirt, tears falling from his eyes and blood from his hands.

the world turned. the sky darkened. the stars shone. the trees rustled. the animals ran. the cold deepened. the noise quieted. the figures appeared.

"richard?"

dick fell backwards. he stared at the figure and gripped his stomach and nearly threw up and instead hit his head on the ground.

"richard?"

the figure seemed to dance before his eyes, but that was just because he felt faint.

"look at what you've done."

and he obeyed. he looked at them, at his parents. he couldn't tear his eyes from their skeletal bodies, covered in dirt and moss. both of their fingernails and hair were long and yellow-tinted whilst their skin was ripped and eaten and protruded by bones.

"i'm sorry."

his father leaped at him, gripping dick's face in his bony, dirty, broken hands and pressed hard, forcing his son to look at him. "see what've you've done? see it?"

dick struggled out of his father's grasp, but didn't have the strength to fight him off. john grayson's mossy hands held fast to dick's face. his long, yellow, cracked fingernails dug into dick's face and what was left of his skin was cold and wet and brushed dick's lips.

it was hell. this was hell.

"i'm sorry," dick pleaded. something wet ran down his cheek—a tear? blood?

"shut up," his mother spoke up. "shut your spoiled mouth. we gave you everything. everything, richard. and you left us. you left us to rot."

dick clawed at his father's hands but found him too strong. john sneered at him, saliva dripping onto dick's leg, and threw dick down onto the ground.

"you selfish little brat," john spat. "you should've died with us."

"you should've died for us."

dick picked himself up onto his knees. both of his parents loomed over him, angry. angry and dead and rotting and seeking revenge. seeking revenge on him.

"i should've," dick whispered. "i'm sorry."

"you aren't sorry for shit," mary said. she took a step forward as john handed her a dagger. "you're not worth our time, boy. you're not worth anything."

she fell to her knees beside dick, lifted the dagger up, and stabbed him in the heart.

-

dick screamed.

he sat up, panting and sweating and cold and hot and he screamed.

"woah, woah!" a ginger, dressed in yellow, suddenly appeared a metre away. he crouched down, looking at dick with furrowed brows. "are you okay? dickie?"

dick shook his head. in fact, his entire body shook. he placed his hands on the marble floor and just felt the cold, smooth material. he was here. he was in gotham. he wasn't back in europe. he wasn't at the circus.

"what's wrong?" wally placed a hand on his shoulder. "you're hyperventilating, dickie."

was he?

"scarecrow... fear toxin... i saw... my parents..." dick panted. "they... they..."

wally frowned, grabbing dick's hands and helping him stand. once they were both standing wally enveloped his boyfriend in a big, definitely-deserved, hug.

"it's my fault," dick whispered into wally's shoulder. "it's all my fault, right? i killed them."

wally put his hands on dick's shoulders and pushed them apart so he could see the other's face. "it is your fault."

dick sniffled. "it is?"

"you deserved to die with them."

dick let go of wally, stepping back. "what?"

wally stepped closer to him and gripped his face in his hand. it was exactly like how john did it. it was all his fault, it was. dick deserved to die.

"i deserve better than you." wally pulled a knife from one of his suit's snack containers. "we all deserve better than you."

"i'm sorry."

"fuck you, richard. fuck you. i wish you died during your dumb little circus act. i wish you killed yourself long before you kissed me."

wally threw dick onto the cold, marble floor. dick landed wrong, he bent his finger all the way back. he broke his fucking finger.

dick cradled his hand, staring up at wally. "you're right, walls. i'm sorry."

"you're not sorry," wally yelled. "if you were sorry you'd. be. dead."

and with that he swung the knife into dick's gut. he pulled it out slowly, twisting and turning it and watching how dick squirmed.

"you deserve a painful death." he sliced along dick's forearms. "you deserve a slow death." he stabbed dick's foot. "you deserve an invisible death."

all dick could do was sit there and watch. watch as wally smiled while he lost feeling in his limbs. watch as the blood dripped from the knife and onto dick's face. watch as he died.

wally leaned over top of dick, pressing a kiss to his lips. "i wish we never met," he whispered, and raised the knife toward dick's throat.

-

"DICKIE!" a voice yelled. dick shot up, wide-eyed. where was he. where was he. where the fuck was he?

"are you okay?" wally continued. he was kneeling by dick's side, his mask off and his eyes watering.

dick crawled as far away from wally as he could, as fast as he could. he crawled until his back hit a wall and he pulled his knees in. he was cornered, he was trapped, he was guilty.

"dickie?" wally was standing now, but he hadn't moved from his original spot. "it's okay, you're okay."

dick wanted to yell and scream and tell wally to leave him the fuck alone but found himself unable to speak. he was crying, really crying; hot, plentiful tears dripped down his cheeks and covered his suit.

wally put his hand on his forehead, glancing around. it was like he couldn't quite figure out what to do next.

"i'm gonna—i'm gonna come over there, alright?" he said, unmoving. "is that... is that okay?"

dick didn't answer. he just stared. he could barely breathe and he couldn't stop crying and his nose was stuffed and his eyes were sore and his head ached. why would wally want to come over?

and yet he did. he slowly walked over, stopping every few seconds to ask if it was alright. when he got closer to dick he sat down cross-legged, making sure to keep a metre of space between them.

"is... this real?" dick whispered in between sniffles. "i don't... don't-"

"it's real." wally frowned. "it's real, i promise."

"p-pinkie promise?"

wally cracked a smile, extending his hand. "pinkie promise."

-

"oreo?"

surely enough, in wally's outstretched hand was a singular oreo. he waved it, as if that would entice dick even more.

"i'm okay."

"suit yourself." wally shrugged, plopping the oreo in his mouth. "can you believe that scarecrow broke out of prison only to run back in and get caught? seems kinda anti-climactic."

dick and wally were both sitting on the edge of a nearby building's roof, watching the gcpd finish whatever they were doing. the sun was beginning to rise; it was gorgeous. and cold. very cold.

"i don't think his plan was to escape," dick said, rubbing his hands together. "he has a lot of enemies in gotham, if he were to escape he'd be killed or worse: captured."

"so why'd he do it then?" wally questioned, munching on another oreo. "bombing a high-security prison, killing nearly every guard, and using fear-toxin on the robin is just his idea of a friday night?"

"it's monday."

"no, no. not for dr crane."

dick laughed, rolling his eyes. "i think it was a test, for the most part. he wanted to see response time, test his alliances, and try out his new fear-toxin."

"new?"

dick nodded. "i've been dosed with his other stuff before but this one was..."

he couldn't tear his eyes from their skeletal bodies, covered in dirt and moss. both of their fingernails and hair were long and yellow-tinted whilst their skin was ripped and eaten and protruded by bones.

wally leaned over top of dick, pressing a kiss to his lips. "i wish we never met," he whispered, and raised the knife toward dick's throat.

"you aren't sorry for shit," mary said. she took a step forward as john handed her a dagger. "you're not worth our time, boy. you're not worth anything."

dick cleared his throat, fiddling with the bandage on his leg. "it was different."

wally frowned, interlocking their hands and giving him a squeeze. "so that's all? just a test?"

"scarecrow's a scientist, he's not crazy. he got his allies out—riddler, the terror twins and ten others—all while getting information and supplies." dick crossed his legs. "he lured b and me in there to dose us both, make us look bad, make us look weak. he didn't count on you and flash to show up."

"you think they would've...?" wally trailed off.

"i think i'm glad you both showed up."

wally smiled, bumping their shoulders together. "i guess we should get going, school starts in, what? an hour?"

dick sighed. "i'm surprised b hasn't dragged me home already."

"i think he passed out, babe. he's old now."

"he's thirty-four."

"ancient."

dick laughed until he yawned, then laughed some more. "okay, we should go. there's a zeta tube around here, i think."

wally slid off of the edge of the roof, extending his hand to let dick, the resident acrobat, jump off too. he then extended his elbow, tipping an imaginary fedora. "shall we?"

dick bowed, taking wally's arm. "oh, we shall."