Dick Grayson one shots

Finished

Whumptober day 29: Fatigue

Dick stared horrified at the body laying in front of him. 'My fault,' his brain screamed.

"I do hope this ruins your night," Joker hissed, a maniacal laugh bursting from his lips. "To know it was your fault this man died. That I killed him because of you."

Dick fell to his knees next to the body, his hands trembling as he checked for an all too absent pulse.

"It's no use Nightwing, you're too late," Joker said in a singsong voice as he twisted on the ground, trying to get free from the bola he'd been trapped in.

"Why?" Dick asked, his voice cracking as he looked up at the madman.

Joker cackled. "Because I hate you Nightwing... and I just know you're the emotional type."

Dick shuddered at the venom in Joker's voice.

"Don't expect this to be the last body I leave you," the psychotic clown hissed. "The next ones though... those will be much closer to that bleeding heart of yours."

Dick stood, stepping away from the joker and calling in a report to the police. "Empty promises Joker, you won't be able to do anything from your cell in Arkham," he said, though the words rang false to his own ears. He was well aware of what Joker could do inside or outside of Arkham.

Joker just continued laughing as Dick left the way he'd came.

He swung through the night, his chest tight with emotions he couldn't afford to stop and unpack.

When it seemed like his trembling hands might slip off his grapple he finally stopped, falling to his knees on the rooftop of a random building. His breath was coming fast, his whole body trembling.

He tried to breathe, to calm himself down somehow, and for a moment it seemed like it might work. Until he looked down at his blood smeared gloves.

Nausea roiled within him. Joker had killed someone because of him... and it wasn't about to be the last death if anything the man said could be believed.

Why?

Why did he have to carry sorrow with him wherever he went? To drag death along with him, cursing his friends and family members to an untimely demise.

Memories of his parents' death surfaced from the corner of his mind they'd been buried in, so vivid that he could nearly smell the sharp metallic scent of their blood mixed with the other smells o the circus.

Dick leaned to the side and dry heaved until what little was in his stomach came up onto the rooftop. He sat there shaking, reliving the memories of each loss he'd suffered in his life... each friend or family member he'd outlived.

The soft whooshing of Bruce's cape as he landed on the rooftop elicited a flinch from the nearly unresponsive acrobat... another person he'd failed.

"Nightwing?" Bruce called. "You feeling alright?"

Dick shook his head numbly. "I'm done," he mumbled, his voice quiet and broken. "I... I can't take any more."

"What?" Bruce asked.

"This life has taken everything from me... I've lost everyone at some point," Dick replied softly. "I-I can't lose anyone else... I can't watch anyone else die Bruce."

Bruce stood there for a moment before speaking. "If you think you giving up is going to somehow keep everyone else safe... you're kidding yourself."

Dick turned teary eyes toward his father. "Someone died today because of me," he said softly. "They would've been better off if I'd have given up earlier."