Vigilante Struggles

Chapter 37

Dick panicked as he found himself unable to move. His limbs twisted in folds of bed sheets, slightly damp from sweat. His tired eyes bursting open with a crazed look, pupils as small as the tip of a pin, darting back and forth. Where was he?

He tried pulling his arms towards himself but they were stuck. Wrapped in sheets that were tucked under him like pythons squeezing whatever unfortunate animal they caught. It was sending him down a steep spiral of fear and insanity. He needed to get free.

Bruce. Bruce taught him how to remain calm. How to evaluate a situation. 'Deep breath Grayson. Jesus. Deep breaths'

A shaky intake of air through his nose was held and then released. In for five, hold for five and exhale for ten.

"Don't let fear get the better of you Dick" Bruce Wayne told a young Dick Grayson, a firm hand on his shoulder, grounding the boy. "Analyse the situation, make a plan, then react."

So Dick lay in bed, his eyes closed, breathing in. Out. In. Out. His heart rate slowing to a comfortable beat, his body temperature returning to normal. He took in his surroundings.

'What can you feel?'.

A cold breeze brushes against his face, enhancing the damp feeling of his skin and hair. His body was restricted but the fabric was familiar. He was lying flat on something soft, bouncy, like memory foam. He was in bed then. Opening his eyes he took in a white ceiling with light blue modestly decorated walls. Dark curtains that hid a large window, but still allowed enough light in to show it was mid morning.

Looking down he could finally see the mess of sheets interlocking his arms, legs and torso. He lets his head flop back onto the mattress, his pillow missing from the scene.

"Fuck"

A small whisper, almost clamped off by his tightening throat. He wanted to cry, curl up, even call ....someone but his release never came. He couldn't let himself relax, like he was invalidating his own feelings. It was a numbing feeling, but the pressure in his chest and the fuzz in his head remained. An intricate swirl of desperation and nothingness.

Turning over he pulled his arm from the loosened sheets. The appendage aching from the exertion he put it under earlier. Sitting up was harder. His ribs pulled and his head throbed. He should have wrapped them, then again he didn't think he would be fighting his bed sheets the next morning.

Looking at the clock on his bedside table he sighs. He would have to go or risk being discovered. It was only a matter of time before someone checked his apartment. He would miss it here, in Blüdhaven but he wasn't ready to face Bruce or whoever else he had been turned against...or shown the truth about.

He needed to sort himself out, get his head straight and he wasnt going to do that here, or in Gotham. He needed somewhere neutral.

Leaving his bedroom clean and removing any trace of him, he left with only a bag of gear, money, rations and the clothes on his back.

He did not look back.

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Something small😊