Ingenious >>>(Young Justice/Dick Grayson)<<<

Chapter 8

March 19th
02:10
Wayne Manor

"It's a school night, Dick," Parker sat on one of the counters in the kitchen.

"It doesn't matter." He gave a soft smile, sitting across from her. It was the fourth time since her arrival that he had had to wake her from a night terror. "You know you're going to have to tell me what's going on eventually."

She shrugged, eating her egg.

"Parker, I don't know what's going on with you." He said. "If this doesn't stop, I'm going to have to tell Bruce." The sentence was a complete lie. Bruce already knew, and he knew exactly what was happening. It was she who did not know what the situation was.

She still kept to her egg.

Dick sighed. Desperate times call for desperate measures, he thought. "What if I told you about me? Then would you talk about you?"

"What would it do?" She asked, speaking for the first time since she had awoken.

He jumped down from the counter and walked over to the one she was on. In one swift movement he was sitting next to her. "I'd like to consider myself your friend, but I realize I hardly know you. I think maybe it's because you don't know me. You don't trust me, and I get it." He gave a reassuring smile.

When she had no response except staring down into open space, he left her there with her thoughts, hoping to try again soon.

This was one of her games. She was seeing how long she could go without spilling. This race against time would end, though. Dick would make sure of it.

He returned to his room. Back in his bed, he stared at the ceiling. His thoughts consisted mainly of his concern for Covert. She pretended she was strong, but, in reality, she was just trying to forget.

He sat up when a figure opened his door. He propped himself up on his elbow, waiting. The figure walked slowly over to his bed and sat down, leaning against the backboard.

"They're not real." Parker said, adjusting herself so she wasn't uncomfortable. "My dreams, I mean. After my parents died, I went through a rough period. I didn't talk. I didn't make eye contact. I didn't eat. I was five; I didn't know how to deal, you know?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he said sadly. "I do."

She pushed herself, making herself talk about the nightmares. "There's this guy. I don't know who he is. He always wears a mask. Not, like, the kind you wear, but a plaster drama mask." She brings her knees to her chest and hugs herself. "Every time I have the nightmare, he thinks of different ways to hurt me. Usually, he is with others who just sit and watch and laugh from time to time."

He matched her position. "What was it tonight?"

She winced. "He tortured me with water, pulling me out only when I was on the brink of unconsciousness."

"That's horrible." He hand reached over an inch to place it on top of her's. It was a kind and friendly gesture, a comforting warmth on her cold skin.

"I woke up after I thought I had drowned. That's why I didn't want to talk." She put her other arm across her knees.

Then, Dick did something unexpected. He removed his hand, then brought his arm around her in a hug. She gratefully accepted it, leaning her head against his shoulder. He gently stroked her arm. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

She looked slightly up at him. "You didn't do anything." She assured him.

"I should have." He told himself. "You need help, Logan." The casual use of her first name rolled off him naturally.