Fix You

How Many Days

Bright lights…. What time was it? Did Alfred open his curtains? Alfred… where was he? If he'd opened the curtains, shouldn't he have stuck around to make sure Dick actually woke up? Why was his bed so hard? And what was that smell?

Dick sat up, eyes flying wide open before suddenly the world started spinning and he thought his was about to explode. He felt his body crashing back down, but only vaguely registered the jar of hitting the hard surface beneath him. His brain felt like it was being deep fried and he couldn't get his vision to focus. Trying to fight down the panic he took a deep breath, only to feel a slight burning in his lungs and throat. A coughing fit soon overtook him and for a minute, Dick was sure he was going to die like that, choking and completely disoriented and he felt a slight twinge of fear.

Wait, slight? And then, as the coughing subsided and he closed his eyes, a few memories trickled back; three people, two doing something to him, the lack of emotion, the lack of feeling in general, being unable to move…. Well, he wasn't strapped down anymore, and he was beginning to feel again. That was good, right? Dick fought to think through the fog in his mind. He wasn't at home, that was for sure, and he was in the hands of unfriendly people, if he was any judge of character (though at the moment he doubted whether he was) and this was all bad. Especially since he had no idea how he got here. Wherever here was.

Dick tried desperately to think through everything – to process everything – but found he couldn't. He knew there were things he had to do. Things he could do to help him determine his location, or at least something of the place where he was at, but he couldn't get his brain to tell his body the actions. He couldn't even get his brain to think it all through. Dick growled, frustrated with his lack of ability. At least some of his emotions were coming back. He knew that was good. He did know that, right?

Suddenly his ears started to pick up sound and he tuned into it, trying to decipher the origin. It sounded like tapping, or slapping, and it was steadily growing louder. Dick wanted to open his eyes and try to locate the source of the sound, but the pain in his head was somehow getting through to his sluggish brain and wouldn't let him. The slapping got louder and louder and Dick began to think his eardrums would explode when finally it stopped and the air was deathly silent for a moment. Then a clicking echoed through his head and a creaking and then the slapping again and breathing and then the motion of a hand through the air and Dick felt his breathing pick up and he thought his head was going to explode and then he felt a prick and –

"A little overdue for that I think."

A voice. A women's voice. Dick recognized it. He'd heard it before….

"Much better, huh? Sixty-two was supposed to give you a dose a couple hours ago but I take that he didn't. Really begins to mess with your mind, doesn't it? The real world. I know how you feel."

Wait, was she talking to him?

"I hate it. All these voices, sounds, all telling you different things. Signs saying 'this way' and 'that way' and up and down. But it's okay. You're safe from that. At least for now. But soon, I guess you won't have to worry about all that stuff at all."

Dick felt a cool hand on his arm, rubbing. It rubbed for a moment before trailing down to his wrist. Then he felt something rough sliding over his wrist.

"I don't think these are necessary. You couldn't do anything any way. But Doctor Donovan insists. Of course he knows what he's doing, but sometimes I think he's a bit excessive. But you did evade him for so long…."

Dick felt the rough… strap? tighten around his wrist and he knew it should hurt, but his brain refused to acknowledge the pain. Unlike his head which… didn't hurt anymore either….