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DICK NEEDS THERAPY. He's got a new problem, on top of all the others. A huge one. He narrows his eyes at the place where his old suit used to be, and sighs.
"Yeah, you run to Dove. Hurt her more than you already have."
He takes a deep breath, and turns to the Bruce Wayne his mind made up.
So yes. He needs therapy.
"They say the suit makes the man. In your case, I guess it would be a... memorial urn. A whole life reduced to a decorative can of ash. But you're not sentimental, are you?"
He chuckles, and Dick looks away, jaw set.
"When you walk away from a job, you really walk away," he goes on. "Let things go, let, ooh, people... go. I guess you figured one less Robin in the world wouldn't hurt. Or maybe you had another idea. Let me guess. You were gonna trade your life for Jason's. Noble."
He watches as Bruce steps forward to him, unable to move.
"And fuckin' stupid," he adds. "You thought Deathstroke wanted you? Guess what, precious? He wants everybody but you. At least for now. You were supposed to protect these kids. That's why I sent Jason to you. You were supposed to make him right – Dove tried, at least. But you, you hurt him, you ostracized him, humiliated him. You lied to him."
He can feel tears pricking at his eyes, and he swallows thickly, trying to get the lump from his throat out.
"Not the florid lies you told in grade school. This was, uh... more insidious," he specifies. "A lie of... omission." Dick's breath hitches in his throat. "This blood feud between you and Deathstroke... you just let Jason walk right into the middle of it." He wants to say something, but doesn't, afraid that it'd make him real. "Psst. Hey. You know what this is really about?"
He nods, ever so slightly.
"Dick?" He looks up to Dawn, coming up to him. Bruce is gone. "You okay?"
He takes a deep breath, debating if he should say something, but decides against it. It's not Dove... it wouldn't feel the same. "Yeah."
"I can't say the same about the kid who saved Jason."
He fiddles with his hands, putting the towel he had on his shoulders, trying to hide the fact that they're trembling. "I thought Dove patched him up."
"She did the best she could, considering his state and her own fucked up leg. But there are complications. You might wanna come take a look."
He follows her silently to the infirmary, not so far away. The first thing he notices when he walks in, is Dove, her sleeves rolled up, and frowning. She has a thick bandage around her thigh, that makes his stomach churn. His gaze falls on the guy in the hospital bed.
"Is he stable?"
"For now," Dove answers. "But there was something in those bullets he was shot with... looks like a toxin, or something."
