Red Hood x Reader x Nightwing

Ch 12: Reflections

Looking in the mirror was not the most pleasant sight you'd ever seen. It was no longer a wonder of why all those people gawked at you so horribly.
     You touched your blanched cheeks—whiter than freshest of snow—poking and prodding at your features. Your fingers travelled over yourself—your new skin and body—and met with long inky hair, curling like wispy shadows. The nails at the tips of your fingers were long and well-kept, a tint of pewter colour to them.
     But the thing that startled you most—what made you jump away from your own reflection—was the bright, periwinkle irises that bore over you.
     You watched your movements in the mirror for what felt like hours, staring at every new line and crack and tone and detail of this foreign body—that wasn't yours.
      Until something squeaked, and you uncomfortably flung yourself onto the bed, breathing hard with fear. Someone tall and broad stepped trough the ajar door, and quietly clicked it shut. Your eyes knew who it was, but an instinct—something inside you—wanted to kill him.
     It took every ounce of self control not to pounce on the Grayson boy and rip his throat out with your teeth. He seemed to notice this, but didn't hesitate to move closer to you, and sit on the end of the bed. "Good morning, (Your Name)." His voice was calming, and smooth. Like the watery, honeydew rays of dawn. You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, and didn't move either. So he continued, "Bruce Wayne and I both think it would be better if you stayed here, for as long as you needed to—to get back on your feet. And learn how to control whatever it is you've been given. That means no school, either. Home schooling, Alfred suggested, would be our best option—and in your best interest.
     You remained still.
     "I'm going to take that as a maybe," he said. "Can I get you anything? Food? Drink?"
     Your head shook stiffly, like an old wheel on a ship. And though you were starving, you didn't feel like eating. Didn't want to.
     "All right. Ring that bell there if you need anything. Someone will come running, promise." He offered a warm smile, but you didn't return it. You were stiff and frozen solid. There was no way you could answer him without your voice cracking completely.
     Dick slowly rose from the bed, trying not to startle you as he do obviously had before, and crossed the room. With his hand on the knob, he turned back to face you and said, "If you wanted, lunch will be served in about an hour. Please, (Your Name), feel free to come downstairs to eat something." He added with a sigh, "You... don't look well."
     Remembering how you looked in the mirror, he was right. Yes, you were inhumanly pale, but your cheeks were sunken in and your collarbone poked through your skin.
     So you nodded again, and he left with a bright, Dick Grayson smile.

About an hour later, you heard footsteps down the hall behind the door. One pair was sloppy but somewhat light, and the other was solid, grounded and steady. You listened to them as they walked by—and slipped your legs over the edge of the bed.
     Your toes met with the lovely, squishy softness of the grey rug at the base of the bed. You felt your thinned muscles shifting as you slowly stood, one hand for balance on the duvet.
     How you had stood so steadily an hour before, you couldn't recall. But as you wobbled your way to the door, you slowly found it easier to move.
     Your hands, however, shook uncontrollably as you attempted to grasp the doorknob to turn it.
     Suddenly it turned for you, but the door slammed into you, and your ass collided with the floor. "Oh God! I'm so sorry!" Dick was frantic as he helped you up. "I just wanted to check on you before I went downstairs," he explained. "I didn't mean to hit you, I'm so sorry."
     You didn't reply, but were grateful for his help. His hands were gentle on the small of your back as he guided you through the door. He lead you through an open hallway, with a large golden chandelier hanging in the centre of the hall—which you assumed was the entrance to the Wayne Mansion, considering the massive doors you recognized.
     Down a flight of stairs and through a wide passage, and into another large room, split down the centre with a sleek wooden table. It was decorated in yellows and whites and reds with tablecloths and napkins and flowers of all kinds.
     Dick brought you to a tall chair, that matched the other—twelve at least—and pulled it out for you. Still a little out of it, you didn't have the energy to make a snarky remark about how you are an "independent woman" who "don't need no man". So you sat down and he pushed you in, before taking the seat next to you.
"Glad to see you're awake, Miss (Last Name). We're pleased to have you as a guest here at Wayne Manor." The tall, grey haired man from the night before said in a wonderful British accent. He stood by the entrance, in a long black suit.
     "I agree," said Bruce at the head of the table. "I want to ask you some questions."
     You looked to Dick for reassurance—and were given a nod—then back to Bruce.
     He folded his fingers. "Let's start with... Why were you on my driveway in a hospital gown in the middle of the night?"
     You had an answer... somewhere in your brain. But why couldn't you bring it to words? Why wasn't your mouth working?
     "Bruce, take it easy. She's obviously been through something pretty traumatic," Dick observed.
     "No," you finally managed. It was cracky, but at least you were talking. Dick seemed surprised but stayed silent. "Why was I on your driveway in a hospital gown in the middle of the night, you ask?" Silence filled the room. "You know what I'm just gonna tell you everything that I want you to know, got it?" Adrenaline suddenly surged through your veins and your heart began to pound—that thing inside you growling and hissing and itching to get out.
The look on Bruce's face said that we was annoyed by your rudeness, your abruptness.
But you continued, because in that moment you didn't give a shit. "Lex Luthor did this to me! I'm supposed to be this big plan! It's what he wanted!" you yelled. Your eyes narrowed down on the last Wayne.
Then the adrenaline slowed... and it was soon gone. And you heard a loud groan coming from your stomach.
You were hungry.
Alfred came in the room with a silver cart, handing plates out over the table, filled with different fruity breakfast foods and waffles and whatnot.
     Bruce didn't look at all pleased. "That doesn't explain how you ended up here," he said lowly.
     "I don't know how. I fell through the ground of this... this awful place... and ended up here. That's all I know. I tried to escape the Lex Corp. building, but, it didn't work and I was caught. I blacked out or something and... here I am." You rubbed at your face with a sigh. "I don't know anymore."
     "We'll start training tomorrow, (Your Name). For now you stay here, until you get this under control." Bruce began pilling food onto his plate.
"Get what under control?" you asked.
     You opened your eyes and froze. You hadn't realized the black tendrils of wispy shadow curling over your shoulders and pooling onto the floor.
     "How do I stop it?" you pleaded, jumping to your feet. "Make it stop!"
     Suddenly it disappeared. The darkness sucked into the floor, the walls, the shadows of Dick and Bruce and Tim and Alfred that all sat around you silently. They all seemed startled.
     To cut the quiet, Dick said, "Maybe we should start training today?"
     A hesitant nod from Alfred in agreement.
     "Yes. Please." Your hands were curled on the table, and you stared down at the clean, empty plate. "I want to start now. Right now."
     "You need to eat something, (Your Name)," Dick insisted.
     "She can eat, and then train," Tim said softly. "Dick's right though; you need to get some food into you."
     You nodded stiffly and poked a fluffy waffle from the stack, flopping it on your plate.
     Looking at your hands... how they looked like they had been soaked in bleach... It made you cringe. You remembered how your face looked, too. So pale... how were you ever going to be able to have a life—a proper life—like this? You didn't know. Perhaps one day you would. One day.
     But that day wasn't today. Because today... you wanted to die.