See You in the Storm

17

I still haven't slept since returning to my apartment. Sitting on the cold bathroom floor, I cry until I can't anymore. 

Those kids deserved better. They deserved retribution. They deserved everything. 

I know that they will never be the same again, I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. Maybe some of them will end up like me. 

I put my head in my hands and close my eyes, pressing down hard on my eyelids. Today kicked me ass and the worst part is that I will get up tomorrow morning and the sun will still rise and the world will keep spinning. 

Most of all, the worst part is that I want to call Dick and cry into his arms and make him tell me that it's going to be okay. But I can't do that. Because I'm not who he wants. Because he left. 

I hold my breath until my head swims and then release it, repeating the motion over and over again until my chest aches. 

I miss you whenever you're not around.

I don't want anyone else. 

I want you.

My cries whistle through my teeth like the wind. What I need to do is focus on anything else. Like Louis show, all of the hard work he put into it just for it to be soiled by my fucking love life. 

Can you call it "love" if he never liked you back?

I tap my fingers on my knees to the tune of Louis' song. I don't remember the lyrics, he wrote it himself, but the tune is familiar. I remember that it was the last one he played, one minute long. I remember Dick's hands on my waist and the rhythm along my bones. It was moving and beautiful and only makes me cry harder. And I remember it. It is so familiar to my ears. 

I rack my brain. How would I have heard it?

No.

No, it couldn't have been.

Because the only person who I've spent the last four hours with was-

The pieces click into place miserably, like skin sliding off bone. I audibly gasp, sitting straight up, panting. 

It can't be. That's the impossible. The very worst case scenario I'd never even thought of. 

I stand, splashing sink water onto my face until my eyes are bloodshot. I am delusional. Off the fucking rails. Maybe it is because I only have four days before my brother is sentenced to death and in those few days I have to finally figure out who the Bats are. Maybe it's because I've just figured it out. 

I'm an acrobat, remember? 

A friend helped me. 

Be safe.

You don't know anything about me. 

He was right, I didn't. Now I do. 

Everything adds up. The song, the house, the bruises, the familiarity. 

Because Dick Grayson, my closest friend is Nightwing.

I run to my mattress, grabbing the list of things I've learned about the heroes. Ages. Physical features. Eyes. Smiles. 

That stupid fucking feeling of "I know you." "I remember you."

I knew before I knew. I felt it. I recognized him blind and in the dark and in separate bodies.  Different realities.

Here is my evidence, in my fucking hands along with everything I have ever loved. All of the highest stakes, the most impossible of odds. 

Nightwing was turning eighteen, so was Dick. They had the same smile, the same hair, the same eyes. Both of them shared mannerisms: hands scratching necks, sure footed steps, quick reflexes.