Young Justice Trash

Obsession (Part Two)

-Big thanks to @WallyandDick , @Nightwing-Robin4ever , and @crun_chie who all really wanted this follow up. I hope it pleases-

They say that 'I'm sorry' is the hardest thing to say. They're wrong.

"He's not mad." Wally stated, as though saying it would make it true. "He's just worried, like I was." He but his hand on the boys shoulder, squeezing it tiredly. "Never fucking do that. Never again."

Dick was too tired to feel anything. anything but regret, and a deep disturbance which might be fear and might be the mildew reminence of whatever charcoal cocktail Wally made him drink. 

"I'm sorry."

"Stop it." The older boy coughed, his eyes droping and bagged.

"I- sorry-"

"Stop Doing That!" He begged. "Stop it, PLEASE!" His face had contorted into a disturbed grin. He sniffed quickly, he must have been awake hours.

"Why didn't you sleep?"

"I'm not going to sleep while you're dying!"

Dick choked again, it was likely his gag reflex settling, but he felt an angry stinging inside his ribcage. "But you... Sorry."

A crack rattled through the air. A vail came over Dick, everything was dreamlike, not effecting him. He was an ethereal witness on the sidelines, watching indifferently. 

Dick's eyes watched at .5 speed, everything layed out and calculateed. It felt planned. 

He felt nothing as the figure  towered over him, a festering glare inbedding in his ribcage. 

He felt nothing as the redheaded boy drew back, a hand still on the bed. 

He didn't even hear the huge figure speaking. The words washed over his brain without meaning. He let his mouth fall open, breathing carefully. He remembered one word, and let in fall from his lips.

"Sorry."

"Dick." He Recognized something Bruce said.

"I'm sorry. I'm Sorry, I'm Sor-" Like an uncontrollable tic, the word escaped; a solitary repeating sob.

"DICK." The word was firmer now.

"Sorry, Sorry, I'm sorry, please!" The feeling returned; It was definately fear now. Fear was foaming over in his stomach. 

Consciousness hit him. Everything was bright, everything was loud, that beeping sound by his ear was getting faster and stronger, and wouldn't shut up. 

The speaking was shouting, screaming in his head.His hand fell out towards the unseen figure to his sight. 

From the contractions in his chest, he could tell he was still speaking, or begging, pleading, shouting. 

No matter how hard he clossed his eyes, the nightmare was still there. Yet, he closed them firmer, crying for it to go away.

"DICK!" Something clamped around his wrist. "Calm down." The voice ordered.

He kept gasping for several seconds, his own words silent to him. Though they might not even be words at this point.

"Dick." The other voice placed a palm on his heavy chest. "Dick, listen,  I need you to calm down, please."

His words went silent and he gasped hollowly for air. His throught was dry. He wanted water.

"What happened." The first voice, the scary one, spoke. "Dick, what happened."

He mouthed the word a few more times. He made another grab at his side and grasped something. He squeezed the wrist, silently begging the other boy; don't leave.

"Dick," Wally let him hold his wrist. "Do you want to talk, or do you want me too?"

Dick shook his head. He didn't want to share this at all.

"Please." His adopted father said, a word he rarely uttered while masked. "Tell me." It was still an order, but it was less angry; just frusterated and exhausted.

"Sorry." Dick repeated. "It's late." He didn't actually know what time it was, time barely meant anything right now. "I scared you guys. I- I'm sorry." He put the back of his hand over his mouth, holding in a sniffle or choke of emotion. "I did something stupid!" It was his conclusive statement. 

Nothing in his brain told him what he did was stupid, but he'd been told a thousand times that hurting yourself is stupid. So he assumed it was. He just wanted this to be done. He could feel tired frustration scorching his left side.

"Shh." Wally hissed. "Dude, you're fine. I don't want to see you fucking cry again." He held Dick's wrist in return, squeezing it. 

"Leave." Bruce ordered, the anger seering Dick's skin. His son found the beeping increasing again, screeching in his ears. He didn't realize it was real until the other two stared up at the heart rate moniter over his head. Dick watched Wally glare back-and-forth between him and Bruce.

"No..." Dick gasped, immidiately silencing himself. He jerked his head at his father, alreay panicking. He did everything that could've angered Bruce, and then verbally disobayed him. A punch of anxiety clipped his stomach, he was fucked. FUCKED. Pain clogged his throat. FUCKED. He couldn't read Bruce's facial expression. FUCKED. Wally held him tighter, he could probably tell something was wrong. FUCKED.

"Dick." Wally shook him a little. "It's okay, man, I'm not leaving."

He nodded, shaking, he wanted to make himself puke again. He didn't need to, but he wanted to. It was nice to have Wally there, but all Dick wanted was to float through a dimension where only he existed.

"You need to tell me what happened." Bruce stated. Dick's stomach flipped and contorted. A few bars of some Imagine Dragons song started repeating in his head, involentarily.

The worst part was; Bruce already knew what happened. He already knew that Dick panicked, trying to take a seritonin booster and nearly killed himself. He knew it. But he wanted Dick to say it. He wanted him to confess he couldn't make it through twenty-four hours without Prozac. He wanted Dick to admit he felt his heart sieze in fear everytime He saw him in costume. He wanted a confession and Dick knew it. 

His lungs were filled with ruptured glass, every exhale hurt. He let go of the wrist. If he could, he'd definately be crying. 

"HEY!" Hands clapped, inches from his nose. Dizziness slapping him across the face. His throat was sore. He wanted water. "Dude! FUCK!- can we get him some meds? He fucking needs them!"

"Medication won't help, he hasn't eaten and has recently vomitted." Bruce ordered. "They'll do more damage."

A blur of red hair ducked into view. "How can I help you? Water?"

That would be great. He stayed frozen. Bruce got up and started pacing. He only ever paced if he was impatiant, or if he was furious. Another set of hands, wally's, forced a cup into his hands, holding it there incase he let go.

Finally, his father stopped pacing. Coming to a still at the end of his bed. After several long minutes, he seemed to deside on his words.

"Dick, I'm not mad..."

-Next part is Part 50! What do you guys want?-

1) A PRIDE part

2) A part Ft the season 2 team