When a mission with the Young Justice Team goes wrong, Dick Grayson finds himself possessed by a bloodthirsty demon with no control over his body as the demon rampages through the country, leaving a trail of death and destruction in its wake. Can Ba...
Gritting his teeth, Dick slowly pushed himself out of the wheelchair and onto the floor of his closet. The manor was quiet today, what with Bruce at work, Damian working down in the Batcave, and Tim studying. It was the perfect atmosphere to attempt activities that the others would most certainly not approve.
They had removed the lock on his door before bringing him home from the hospital, but the closet door still locked. And, like all bedrooms in the Wayne Manor, the attached closet in his room was massive; large enough to start training his wreaked body, that was for sure.
"Titus, don't look at me like that." Dick mumbled, reaching out to scratch the dog's chin as the animal whined at him. "I know Bruce wants me resting. Trust me, I know. But I need to see what I can do... I can't... I can't just accept spending the rest of my life in that stupid chair. I used to be able to fly..."
The dog whined again, dark eyes clearly judgmental.
Dick huffed. "If it's too difficult, I'll stop." He told the dog, stretching out his legs and reaching for his toes. His flexibility had definitely gotten worse, and Dick hated it with a burning passion. In fact, he hated everything about his current situation. He felt so incredibly weak.
He was weak.
He had always been too weak, and now... well... now he would live as a burden on his family forever. Dick was not about to just sit by and let that happen. Even if he did have to actually sit by because of being stuck in a wheelchair.
Although, if his secret closet exercises worked, then maybe he would not be wheelchair bound permanently.
Slowly, Dick reached for the wall, using it to brace himself as, inch by inch, he slowly rose to his feet. Even that seemingly simple movement left him wheezing, chest tight and lungs aching. His heart was racing in his chest, vision blurring and legs shaking as he leaned against the wall, struggling to remain upright.
It hurt.
It hurt so, so much.
And then, his knees were buckling and his hand on the wall was slipping and he toppled back down to the floor.
Blood rushing through his ears and muffling Titus' whines, Dick gasped for air, frustration and sadness waring within him as he let out a soft cry, tears almost painful as they traced their way down his cheeks.
If he could not even manage to stand, how would he ever be able to fly again?
How would he ever be able to be Robin again?
How would he ever be able to be useful again?
Curled up into a ball on his closet floor, Richard Grayson cried. Because truly, he was not fine. He would never be fine again. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how slow he went, no matter how careful he was, Dick knew deep down that things would never truly be the same.
He would always be weak.
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