slightly inspired by Just - Radiohead 

He's here, Dick thought to himself when he saw a shadow run past the open doorway out of the corner of his eye. He buried his face in his pillow and screamed for it to go away. Dick didn't want to see it anymore.

There were better ways, he knew that. He could've gone to a doctor and explained his symptoms. He'd read online that medications and therapy could help him manage it. It might not cure him but it would calm them down a bit. That would require telling someone and he couldn't do that. Well, he could. He just didn't want to. He didn't want to talk about it because then he'd have to talk about finding out, how Bruce reacted to seeing him again and then capping it off with how he hadn't spoken to another person in weeks. In the process, he'd have to admit he's seeing Jason.

"You're gonna melt into the mattress," Jason commented. Right, the hallucinations weren't just visual. They were auditory. When it rains it pours. He shoved his face further into the pillow. "Having fun there?"

"Go away," he snapped although it was more of a beg than anything. He didn't want to see him again. It was always the same.

Since his fight with Bruce, he'd seen Jason every day. He wore his Robin suit that was littered with holes, burnt in various areas to expose smoking flesh and stained with the blood from his beating. His mask was partially ripped, revealing one eye without a white lens that pierced through Dick like a spear. It made him sick. He could smell the singed flesh and copper from his blood. It clung to his apartment even when the vision of Jason wasn't there. He tried opening windows to let fresh air in and burned all the scented candles Kori had left but it was still there. Hanging over him like a personal rain cloud. He swore it was woven into the fabric of his clothes and built into his sweat.

"Hey, Dickface, you're depressing the shit out of me here," Jason complained. He felt the dip of the bed and a small gloved hand rested on his shoulder. "Move."

"Get out," he demanded. Again, it was too desperate to be anything other than a beg. He'd been pleading for so long and it had done nothing. "Just go."

"At least look at me. It's your fault anyway."

"I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, he's sorry. Let me just rise from the dead because you're sorry," Jason replied sarcastically. "Poor Dick Grayson, alive and breathing but so sorry."

"Stop it."

"You gonna cry next? Maybe some tears will bring me back. Oh wait, they won't. Because I'm cold in the ground and you did fuck all to stop it."

"I was in space," he reasoned. How was he supposed to know what would happen? How was he supposed to expect Bruce not to tell him? What did this hallucination expect of him? He couldn't spontaneously appear in the midst of the explosion to pluck up his fallen successor. This wouldn't be another story they'd tell in a few years, remarking it as a close call. Jason was dead and there was nothing he could do. 

"Yeah, when I needed you most. You have a habit of running away at the worst times. Maybe if you sucked it up when B fired you, I would've never been Robin and I never would've died."

"You weren't safe on the streets either," he reasoned. Gotham was harsh to everyone, most of all people already down on their luck. If only Bruce had taken him in without the Robin title.

"We don't know because you ran out on Bruce and now I'm dead because you ran out on me. You're running out on your friends too. Maybe they'll be next to add to your body count. How many make you a serial killer? I'd say at least five." He screwed his eyes up impossibly tighter yet more tears slipped out. "You do it to yourself. You surround yourself with such promising people and then you get them killed. You fucking user."

"Please stop talking."

"God forbid you get your feelings hurt. I'm dead but let me give you some peace since you're clearly the one who needs it more." 

"What do you want?" he yelled. He felt like screaming but he didn't want to raise concerns with his neighbours. The last thing he needed was for the police to call on him. A wellness check wouldn't end well.

"I'm dead, Dick. Dead people can't want anything."

"Then why are you here?" he questioned desperately.

"You tell me. Maybe you're finally going mad. What a headline that would be. The great Nightwing gone mad. You can have a fun little reunion in Arkham Asylum."

"I'm not mad."

"Sure and I'm not dead."

It took hours for Dick to get up but he finally did. The pit in the bottom of his stomach was getting painful and he had enough going on already to suffer through. He dragged himself from the bed and stumbled to the kitchen. Jason followed after him, putting in his unwanted two cents whenever he could. He hopped onto the kitchen counter as Dick stared into his fridge. It was a sorry sight. One container of eggs he knew was empty, a Tupperware of something he'd had since he moved into the place and a bottle of near-empty mayo. He checked the freezer and aside from the various medical supplies that needed to keep cold, he found a box of microwave fries. He needed to get out for groceries but he couldn't risk breaking down in a Walmart from the visions of his dead foster brother.

"Planning a hunger strike?" Jason asked. "Maybe you can starve yourself to death."

"I'll order takeout," he muttered. He wouldn't. If he unlocked his phone, he'd see the wave of messages from his teammates asking where he was and if he needed help. There'd be a chance he'd see the news re-running the story of a dead Robin. Perhaps there would be a new grizzly photo he hadn't seen before that Jason could take the form of.  

For now, he grabbed the box of fries and threw them into the microwave. He watched them go round in silence. The soft whir of the microwave filled the kitchen until it was interrupted by shrill beeps. He numbly grabbed them and poured them out onto a plate, ignoring how his hand was burning from the steam coming off them. He stared at them.

"Forget how to eat?" Jason questioned. 

"No," he mumbled. Food wasn't that appealing but he knew he needed to eat. He knew he was losing weight even with his new sedentary lifestyle. He gulped and slowly picked away at the meal. It could hardly be considered a meal. It barely had enough calories for a kid let alone a full-grown man. He could feel Jason glaring at him. 

"Don't eat so fast, no one's taking it from you," he taunted. 

"Haven't you got anything better to do?"

"Well, it's between this and death so not really." He kept forgetting. How could he keep forgetting? Jason seemed so real. The only reason he knew he wasn't real was because he died.

A knock interrupted his sad meal and he froze. Who was that? His neighbours weren't particularly nosey people. The few times he met them, they kept the interaction short. He didn't know names or anything about them. Just said hello as he brought in groceries or nodded along when they complained about the landlord not doing something. They'd never batted an eye about him disappearing for days at a time but maybe he pushed it too far by yelling at his hallucination one time too many. 

Dick hoped his delayed response would deter them. They'd shrug to themselves and call it a loss. Another round of knocking told him they were determined to get some sort of answer. He glanced at Jason who glared at him. 

"Too scared to open a door? Oh, how the mighty fall," he commented. The acrobat slowly edged his way to the door, hoping they couldn't hear him move inside and peered through the peephole. It was strange how he still trusted his senses when a walking warning not to trust them was sat on his counter trying to steal his fries. 

"I know you're in there," Donna proclaimed, glaring at him although there was no real way she knew where to glare. "Open the door or I'll break it open."

"She sounds mad," Jason stated. "She'll be pissed that you didn't tell her."

"I seem to be pretty good at that," he said pitifully. 

"Good at what?" she asked. He mentally slapped himself for slipping up. In his defence, it'd only been him and the hallucination for a good while. "Dick, please. Open the door." He flexed his hand over the doorknob, almost taking it but not quite making the connection. 

"Probably shouldn't open that," Jason said. "You open it and you'll tell her everything."

"Is that a bad thing?" he whispered, hoping she couldn't hear it.

"You'll get kicked off the team," he whispered back with a grin. "They'll keep you at arm's length."

"They wouldn't."

"It took them this long to send one person. Not even your girlfriend. Do you really think they care enough to stick around?" 

Dick didn't have an answer. At least, he didn't have an answer he liked. It was strange that they didn't send Kori but maybe she just didn't know where to start. She knew loss well but that didn't always translate into being a good shoulder to cry on. Perhaps there was a mission he was missing that needed her but could spare Donna. They could be trying to use a bad cop-good cop approach. By sending Donna, someone who wouldn't take anything short of the truth, they were hoping he'd spill his guts. 

Yet for all those explanations, it was Jason's implication that made the most sense. They didn't care enough. They didn't care enough to see him through his mind turning against him like this. They'd been friends for so long now that they were expected to stick together and the only thing keeping them from going their separate ways could be shared history and nothing more. 

"I'm not going to beg through the door," Donna told him sternly. "If you want to rot in there, you're more than welcome to but you've got a duty to your teammates to tell us what the hell is happening. We need something. Even if it's just saying you can't work for a bit."

"Ah, that's it," Jason announced all too eagerly. "They want to know if you're still useful. Not that you were ever much help." He shook his head. "Don't lie to yourself. You know you don't bring much to the table. Anger issues, depression, PTSD and painfully human surrounded by supers. God even Speedy has a gimmick that takes some skill. Archery is super hard. Flipping? Anyone after a gymnastics class can do that." 

He stepped away from the door. She couldn't see him like this. He knew he looked as bad as he felt. She'd never unsee him as the pathetic figure he was now. How could he lead a team like this? No, how could he look at his team like this never mind lead them? How could he open the door to Donna and let her see what grief had done to him? He couldn't subject her to that whether she'd show empathy or not for his situation. 

"You know what, I've given you a chance. If you're not going to talk to me, that's on you. You have people who care about you and want to help but obviously you'd rather wallow here," she snapped. 

He couldn't fault her for getting frustrated. If he were in her position, he'd give up too. There was still a sting though. He wasn't sure whether it was from the rejection of sympathy or because what she was saying was true. He was making himself worse when he knew there were ways out. His world no longer revolved around Bruce and Alfred. It didn't end when Bruce blamed him for the death of Jason. He wasn't alone. 

What if she kicked him off the team even when he explained himself? She could deem him unreliable and a liability. She could laugh in his face. Tell him he was going mad and pass on the message to anyone who would listen.

Against his better judgment, he remained silent as her footsteps filled the hallway.

"More stellar work, Dick. You really know how to ruin a good thing," Jason teased.

"I'm starting to think it's all I'm good for," he replied quietly. 

"Probably. You sure do suck at saving people."

The depressing meal he made for himself offered no comfort and failed to fill the pit in his stomach. He stared at the empty plate as if expecting a free counselling session that would fix him. Jason disappeared from his view. Could hallucinations get bored? If they could, he guessed that's what happened to Jason. He wasn't much fun to humiliate and bully when he gave little reaction. It took far too much effort to pick the plate up and place it in the sink. Washing it was out of the question if moving it left him exhausted.

He was about to turn in for the day when he heard his window slide open. 

"It'd suck to die to a home invader," Jason remarked, reappearing on the kitchen counter. "Eye for an eye I guess."

"Eye for an eye," he repeated under his breath. He wasn't resigning to his fate. He'd fight back of course but that was out of reflex rather than want. He went to face the window he'd heard open only to be faced with Donna. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her face was like thunder. "Are you a new one?" he asked. She raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Another hallucination. You left."

"Another?" He gestured over to Jason but her eyes didn't seem to focus on him. Maybe they couldn't perceive one another. The mind was a complicated thing and he'd decided there was no point in trying to understand it. He was just too tired to attempt. "Dick, you're not making sense." He shrugged. 

This had to be a hallucination. Donna had left because he'd succeeded in ruining his life at every possible turn and now his mind knew it could manufacture a physical representation of the shame he held, it decided to add another into the mix. Admittedly, this one hadn't taken the role as easily as Jason had but he guessed there was a reason for that. It didn't matter though. He was already weary from his first and he wasn't in the mood for a second. He willed himself to start heading to bed but Donna blocked the doorway. He tried to pass through her but she was solid. 

That was odd. He could often feel Jason but it was never solid. It was like his body expected the touch so it made him feel it. This was different though. He'd never been stopped in his place before. Could hallucinations evolve?

"We're not Pokemon," Jason drawled.

"She's different," he pointed out. "Can you stop me in my tracks like that?"

"Who are you talking to?" Donna asked.

"Jason," he answered. He may as well have said he kicked puppies for fun by the way her face pulled into a disturbed form of concern.

"He's... you know he's dead, don't you?" Pretty hard to forget a fact like that.

"Yeah."

"So you know you're not talking to him." He nodded. "Are you seeing him?"

"Like I'm seeing you."

"Yes, but I'm right in front of you."

"And he's right beside me."

"You don't think I'm real," she said in realisation, her eyes growing wider. 

"You're not. You left," he reminded her. 

"I didn't leave- Well I did but I left to get through your window. You were talking to someone and I wanted to make sure you weren't here against your will."

"He's here against my will," he muttered. He didn't have the energy to add the joking tone it needed to remain light. Instead, it became a sullen statement. "You're nicer." She didn't seem to know what to do with that information. "He's not."

"No?" she replied, her voice the softest he'd heard it all night.

"No," he confirmed. "Guess I deserve it though."

"How did you deserve it?"

"I wasn't there."

"Dick, you couldn't be there. You couldn't have stopped it. Even Bruce couldn't and that's his territory."

"He'd beg to differ."

"Bruce or Jason?"

"Both."

"You talked to Bruce?"

"Talked to, got yelled at and kicked out. Same difference with him," he answered with a shrug.

"Can you guess what I'm going to suggest?"

"See a doctor. I would but you'll kick me off the team if you find out. Hell, you'll disown me. Not to mention the risks. I'll handle it."

"You've been doing a great job so far," Jason taunted from the sidelines. "You looked like you were really handling it when you cried in bed for hours."

"We're not going to abandon you," Donna assured him. He almost believed her but he'd made her up. Of course she would comfort him. "I think our best move now is to get you to a doctor ASAP and move you back into the tower."

"Sounds nice," he muttered wistfully. 

The last thing he expected was for Donna to reach out and grab his bicep, holding him tightly so he couldn't wriggle out of it and begin to pull him towards the front door. Hallucinations didn't do that.

"Donna?" he called. "Are you here?"

"I am," she said confidently.

"Where are we going?"

"Doctors. You need help and I think right now, you can't help yourself so I've got to step in. I'm sorry that I've made you feel like it wasn't possible but I'm telling you now, it is. You'll be alright. I promise you that." 

And for the first time in a while, he actually considered it was possible. Whether it would be, only time could tell.

"I don't have my shoes on," he mumbled.