Dick Grayson one shots

Echos of screams

Whumptober day 27: voiceless

Dick wouldn't scream.

He refused to.

His screams were bit back as he was beaten, his body contorting in pain, his gloved hands clawing at the ground.

Bruce would come for him soon enough. He was sure of it. He only had to last until then.

A hit to his side caught him by surprise, a pained cry ripping itself from his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears trailing down his cheeks. The next hit elicited another scream, his leg lighting up with pain when he felt the bone splinter.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, the world spinning. He clenched his jaw, drawing in sharp short breaths.

"And here I thought you were being rather well behaved."

The voice made Dick's skin crawl. He kept his eyes screwed shut, knowing if he opened them he'd see Professor Pyg leaning over him. He could feel the heat of the man's rancid breath on his face. "Y-you're sick," he said, his voice choked with pain.

Pyg snarled. He gripped Dick's face with one hand, turning it to face him.

Dick's eyes snapped open, his heart rate picking up when he saw the flecks of blood dotting Pyg's mask and apron.

"I'm fixing the world," the man hissed. "And you're luck enough to be the next one to become perfect."

Dick's breath hitched. Bruce was coming wasn't he? His chest tightened with worry. What if Bruce was too late?

"Y-ou're not f-fixing anything," Dick retorted. "You're t-the problem. M-making people in... into your disgusting p—" his voice cut off as professor Pyg pressed his polished black shoe down on the acrobat's throat.

Dick's body jerked, sending spasms of pain up his broken leg as he was starved for air, his hands desperately trying to push the foot from his throat.

The pressure was finally lessened and then removed, leaving Dick grasping for air. He curled in on himself, black spots dancing in his vision.

"Talking back is a nasty habit," Pyg tutted, an evil glint in his eye. "You'll be much more pleasant when I'm finished with you."

Dick let out a shaky sob. Tensing as two dollotrons steps toward him. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying as he tried to balance on one foot. His vision was fading quickly, his strength deserting him as the humanoid creatures closed in on him. He slumped as they grabbed him, his head spinning from the pain in his leg.

He was dragged into another room by the dollotrons, barely hanging onto consciousness as he was tied down to a metal operating table.

A piece of his suit was cut away, exposing most of his left arm. He tried to tug his arm away as it was exposed to the cold air, but the dollotrons had a grip like steel, pinning his arm down as Pyg started an IV.

Dick's heart beat a panicked rhythm in his chest. He grew hysteric, watching as a concoction of chemicals was hooked up to his arm. Tears rolled down his cheeks, a fountain of pleas and sobs bursting from his lips.

He screamed when Pyg tried to touch him, his body trembling in fear.

Pyg huffed, stepping out of view for a moment.

Dick's screams were slowly fading, his limbs growing heavy as the chemicals being pumped into his body took effect. He fought to stay awake, but his eyes eventually dropped closed, the last thing he saw was Professor Pyg standing over him with a scalpel.

—

Bruce raced through Gotham, the tortured sound of his eldest's screams still echoing in his ears. They'd all gone their separate ways at the beginning of patrol, but Dick had been the first of them to find serious trouble. He'd given a vague description of a location mid fight, and had then gone radio silent.

Every vigilante in the city was out looking for the acrobat, but even Babs had been unable to locate him. Something must've been scrambling the signal of his tracker as well, as it repeatedly came back with 'no signal'.

Bruce had hacked into Dick's communication device, alarmed to hear the fear filled screams of his son. Dick didn't just scream.

Thoughts ran through Bruce's mind, reasons for Dick's fear.

Bruce perched for a moment on the roof of an abandoned hotel. He overlooked a crumbling building that had previously been a butcher's shop.

Fitting if he was going up against who he thought he was.

Pyg's scalpel dug into the iodine stained skin of Dick's forehead, blood welling up in its wake. He hadn't gotten far when a batarang knocked the medical instrument from his hand, sending blood spattering onto the white sheet that covered most of Dick's body.

Bruce dropped into the room, incapacitating dollotrons, his sights set on Professor Pyg himself.

Pyg grabbed a stained meat cleaver and ran at Bruce, slashing with the thing.

Bruce blocked the strike, kneeing the pudgy man in the groin before punching him in the chin.

Pyg fell to the floor with a grunt, something Bruce immediately took advantage of, pounding his fists into the man as he lay there.

He finally stepped back, his rage still burning as he looked at Pyg's bloodied face.

Bruce turned, rushing to his son's side.

Blood ran down the side of Dick's face, gushing from the line the scalpel had carved into his skin.

Bruce grabbed some gauze squares from his utility belt pressing it to the wound with one hand while he rummaged around for something to secure it with.

Finding a roll of fresh white bandages, Bruce began to tightly wrap the wound. He felt sick when he noticed how his son's hair had been shaved close to his scalp, memories of the acrobat's time as Ric coming to the surface.

Bruce carefully removed the IV from Dick's arm, collecting a sample of the liquid before pulling the white cloth off from over his son's body.

Dick's chest moved steadily up and down as he breathed, but what caught Bruce's eye was the bloody gauze taped to his neck.

Bruce didn't dare to remove the gauze, scared of what he'd find.

—

Dick woke up in the familiar recovery room at Dr. Leslie's clinic. A quick glance around the room proved his siblings to be gathered around his bed. That was nice at least.

He glanced around at the somber faces, feeling the uncomfortable weight of the tension in the room. Why was everyone acting so strange. He felt fine... perhaps that was just the pain meds talking, but he hadn't been turned into a dollatron, and the break in his leg hadn't seemed bad enough to warrant an amputation... so why the somber mood?

Deciding the mood needed to be lightened somehow, he opened his mouth to say some sort of joke.

Only... no sound came out.

He turned his gaze to Bruce who'd been standing in the corner.

His mouth moved, trying to form words that weren't coming out.

Bruce looked away, his jaw tightening.

Dick's shoulders shook as he let out what would've been sobs.

Damian grabbed his brother's hand, looking him in the eyes and telling him he was going to be fine.

Dick pressed himself back into the pillows, trying to push away the anguish he was feeling inside. At least he was alive right?

That's what everyone always said wasn't it?

Unfortunately, Dick had discovered that there were many things much worse than death.