Dick Grayson Imagines

If Anything Happens I Love You

Talk to him, already!

Say something to her!

He needs you!

She can't be alone right now!

The atmosphere in your shared apartment feels thick once more for another night as you eat your dinner in silence alongside your husband. Not a word has been exchanged between the both of you, but it's not like neither of you knew how to start off a casual conversation at this time.

You weren't really sure if it was the longing of pleasant nostalgia or some twisted way to punish yourself by sending a mental reminder of what you've lost, but you cooked spaghetti and meatballs; their favourite food.

Maybe I should talk about that first time they helped cook the pasta. You encourage yourself in thought. A small, warm smile grows on your face in response.

Poking your fork into a meatball beforehand, you finally open your mouth to speak.

Only to find your spouse already walking away from the dinner table; empty dishes in his hands. You let out a small sigh of defeat, proceeding to eat your meal with the same sorrowful quiet atmosphere which fillled your home. It was an empty gap, a void that could never be undone.

The energy of the home you built with your lover has lost its vibrance in the weeks that followed from... it's unspeakable. In the days that passed, you tried to get back into the swing of things, albeit this time around was done more solemnly.

When you pulled out the fresh laundry from your drying machine, a single shirt managed to slip from your hands. A child-sized red shirt with a 'R' symbol placed proudly onto the centre of it. Hot tears then brimmed your eyes as the silence was interfered yet again with sounds of sobbing as you buried your face into the shirt, letting yourself sulk down to the floor by sliding your back against the machines.

Dick on the other hand, drowned out his melancholy by downing cans of beer while staring aimlessly at the bright screen of the television; gradually forcing himself onto a state of numbness in the process.

He wants to be there for you, but he's never felt so weak before. Knowing that he was supposed to be your hero, your child's hero, and he failed. Dick had failed as a father, and by extent he has failed as a husband. He failed to provide the security he's vowed to give to you when the pair of you had married. He failed.

And his subconscious hasn't stopped berating him with that thought ever since.

Ears drowned out with the miserable sounds of your sobbing, you were unable to take notice of the soccer ball that dropped from the shelf above the washing machine. Once it bounced off the ground which it landed on, the ball swiftly rolled out of the laundry area, and into the bedroom that was previously occupied by, just weeks ago.

Your black cat, Bruce, who caught sight of the soccer ball making its way down the hall to your late child's old bedroom, perked his head inside. Searching for the ball's whereabouts, it stopped right next to a record player; a vinyl disc still placed inside. Bruce, then, fiddled around the record player instead, flinching backwards a bit once the record began to play.

A soft melody fills the room, causing the black cat to calm down, and rest beside it.

As the bedroom door remained slightly open, the sounds escape from the small gap, the music found its way to you, pulling you out of your sob session. Now curious to discover the source of which the tune came from, you walk away from the laundry machines; the small red shirt still in hand.

You didn't know how to react once you found yourself face-to-face with your kid's bedroom door, now discovering where the music had come from. Nobody could possibly be in that room, right? Perhaps it could be Dick, but what business did he have to be in there?