Lost Stars

Chapter Forty Five

-Dick's POV-

I grit my teeth. Bruce left me on the rooftop of Gotham. He didn't say a single word to me, just grappled away and grumbled to himself.

I looked down at my gloves. Splatters of blood coated the knuckles, blending in with the red stripes going down my hands. However, because most of my uniform was black, Red Hood's blood glared at me. The more I stared at it, the more it seemed to be accusing me.

I could hear Bruce's voice. Why did you let your feelings get in the way of a mission!? He was blaring inside my head, screaming at me and lecturing me. I felt like someone had placed a Batman-shaped boulder on my shoulders. Even though he had left, I could still feel the pressure of being watched by him. I wasn't sure that that feeling -- that feeling of needing to impress Bruce by any means -- would ever go away completely.

In the back of my mind, I also could hear Athena's voice. It sounded hurt and soft, like someone had beat her into that tiny corner in my brain. Not someone, me. What were you doing!? Why would you do that!? What is wrong with you? She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. Personally, I had never heard her sound like that, but the guilt in my heart was taking over my imagination.

Deciding I couldn't take the weight of my failures anymore, I fled the busy city. I escaped to the outskirts where I knew I had a safe haven. I tried to avoid looking at myself. I felt that if I saw with my own eyes what I had become, I would throw myself into jail.

Red Hood wasn't a good guy, by any means. He deserved to have his ass kicked. But the way I beat him...I could've killed him if I wasn't stopped. That was what ate me up inside. The fact that I would've killed him. He wasn't as bad as the Joker or the Scarecrow or any of the guys in Arkham. Yet, I loved the feeling of seeing him cowarding under me as I drove my fist into him.

I fished out my key and plunged it into the door. I pulled open my door. I hadn't been to my Gotham apartment in weeks. The room was devoid of any smells or traces of me. Instead, the familiar smell of Barbara's favorite perfume filled the room up. Her clothes were laid out on the coach in a very organized way. That was the thing about Barbara and I. She was organized, I wasn't. I stood over the kitchen sink. I turned the water on all the way and shoved my hands under. I stood there for a solid ten minutes, but the blood was stained. Not a single drop bled out. I scrubbed as hard as I could. My fingers started to hurt and my skin started to tear, but I still continued to scrub.

"Yeah, I can come in tomor-- Dick!" Barbara shrieked, coming around the corner on her phone. She smiled, but turned back to her phone. "No no, not you, Luke. I'll talk to you later. See ya."

I turned and leaned back against the sink, taking off the top of my costume. I ran my hand along my hard stomach, all the scars making me feel bad. Barbara walked towards me. She flung her arms around my neck. I draped my arms around her hips stiffly, my body refusing to conform to hers. She jerked back sharply.

"What's wrong?" She asked, her greens eyes searching my face, full of worry and concern. The disappointment I felt for myself bubbled up into frustration.

I sighed, trying to convey how drained I was. Instead, I sounded like I was angry. Barbara noticed. Her eyebrows scrunched up over her eyes, her expression twisting into something sour. I felt even more guilty for hurting her feelings, which made me even more frustrated.

Barbara crossed her arms over her chest and tossed her red hair over her shoulder. "So it's about me, then?" She hissed, cocking her head to the side in a condescending way. I felt like someone was squeezing the sides of my head. I rubbed at my forehead, trying to silence the noise in my mind.

"No," I groaned, pressing my fingers into the soft spot above my ear. Barbara tsked and rolled her eyes.

"Am I annoying you? Jeez, I'm sorry for fucking asking." She turned on her heel. I grasped her elbow and turned her back towards me.