Always Traught

Miniature World

He laid on the floor of a random warehouse. Dust filled his lungs and old dirt strained his eyes. His blood became matted to the ground. It was like he was drowning in it. He had survived much worse wounds, but it didn't matter. He could hear the whispers of death around him. Blood kept coming out of his mouth. He was choking on it. It all felt so similar to him. Except this time he was on the ground, not looking down at two broken bodies. He was looking at the sky. Whoever was up above was looking down at his broken body. It was cruel how the world worked, wasn't it?

He wanted to bring many things into death. He wanted to bring the sight of long, gorgeous, golden hair with him. He wanted her sugar brown skin that always smelt like cinnamon. He wanted her lips, hips, and spirit to come with him. He wanted to bring her healthy, no longer confined to a wires, nurses, or a wheelchair. That was what he wanted to bring with him. But at the same time he didn't. He wanted to bring all those things into life. He wanted to see her breathing on her own, walking on her own, and see her smile. He wanted to see her walk down the aisle, holding Oliver's hand, and then standing next to him on the alter. He wanted to have his first dance into a new life with her. He wanted to marry her. He didn't want to get married in a hospital room. They had already gotten engaged in one.

But as he applied pressure on his stab wound, he realized that would never happen. He would be long gone by then. He would be the one to rip any happiness from their miniature world away. What would be her hope now? He couldn't call her and say goodbye. He couldn't do that to her. He knew she wouldn't make it if he did. Doctors said that she was dying, but that would kill her.

His fingers ached as he reached for the communicator in his belt. Movement lit his body on fire. Was this what it was like to protest death? The thought scared him. He pushed himself to press the familiar numbers that dialed the Watchtower. Someone would pick up, either it be Black Canary or Martian Manhunter.

"Watchtower to Nightwing, what's up?" Nightwing wanted to feel relief when he heard Flash's voice come out of the speakers. He couldn't. It was as if his emotions were growing weaker. Everything was cloudy.

Dick spat out the blood coming from his mouth and forced himself to talk, "I'm dying," That was the only thing he could think to say.

"What!? Where are you!?"

"Tracker," He breathed out. Even now Barry still forgot simple things. Destress did that to people, he guessed.

"I'll contact the rest of the league. Dick, I promise I'll be over there in a flash," The speedster explained. Dick gently pressed the end call button and waited. That was all he could do. Wait. His eyes felt heavy, but his feet were the exact opposite. They were too light. He couldn't feel them. And what about his fingers? Were they even there anymore? He didn't want to die without feeling his fingers. That would be weird.

The brunette choked up more blood. He was pretty sure his stomach had stopped bleeding, but more crimson kept coming up his throat. It forced its way through. It tasted like copper and the scent was strong. Well, at least his nose and tastebuds worked.

It felt like a dozen hours until Barry found him. Realistically it was only two minutes. Dick's mind was foggy. Now it felt like he was forgetting that blonde hair and smell of cinnamon he cherished. And when Barry loomed over him and propped him up, Dick could barely see anymore. He expected a light, but little black dots prickled and blurred his vision together.

"We're going save you, Buddy. Just hang on," Once the speedster picked him up, everything got worse. His head started to pound and his coughing got worse. The taste of copper overwhelmed him to the point where he threw up. It made the pounding in his head even more often way out. And while Barry was running, Dick's eyes fell down, his breathing slowed, and darkness consumed him completely.

Light. It was thing people claimed to see when they died. For a second he believed it. It seemed realistic to him. Death was the darkness and light was the chance of something new. But when he imagined the afterlife, he never imagined hearing his name through sobs, a weak hand squeezing his left bicep, or rather loud curses in Vietnamese being directed towards him. And it wasn't for a moments until his eyes looked up at another ceiling and the awful smell of hospitals hit him full force.

"You asshole!" Dick heard a familiar voice yell at him. He nearly scream as pressure hit him in his abdomen.

"Please stop, Artemis!" He rasped out as his own hand shot over to pull hers away. He grabbed her fingers and locked them with his. He turned his head as he placed their connected digits on the handle of his bed. Dick gave her a weak smile, but the blonde still glared at him.

"What were you thinking?" Artemis asked him, "Going in all alone after a guy that dangerous?"

"I don't know, Mai, I can't remember. But I'm safe now," He rubbed a circle against the back of her hand. The tan skin he remembered wasn't the same he saw now. Her skin was ghostly and her arms were nicked with tiny marks. Her bones were apparent. Almost all her muscle and all of her little bit of body fat had disappeared. And her golden hair didn't bring attention to her face anymore. It was the tube that forced oxygen up her nose and down to her lung. It wasn't the girl he loved.

"I saw you die, Dick," She whispered. Her tears were coming back and her weak grip got an inch tighter, "I had to watch them bring you back to life."

"I'm watching you die everyday," His smile turned sad and eventually faded away. Artemis' lips fell completely and tears flowed more steadily. Instead of dwelling in depressed silence, he offered her to give him her other hand. He wanted to lay with her and hold her for as long as he could. They would have to bring her back to her room eventually. "Come on, give me your hand."

"I don't need to," The archer shook her head. She let go of his hand and wiped the tears from her face. Dick leaned over a little, not knowing what she was going to do. When she stood up from her wheelchair, he quickly grinned ear to ear. He hadn't seen her stand up in such a long time. Then she put one foot in front of the other, and then that foot in front of the other one. After that she placed herself on his bed and laid next to him.

"You walked!" Dick exclaimed in disbelief. The blonde shrugged and leaned her head against his shoulder. He put an arm around her like it was his instinct to.

"I took five steps this morning," She said it like it was nothing. Dick knew it secretly meant the world to her; it did to him.

"I wish I was there," He yawned, "But now, it's nap time."

"Fine with me."

He knew death would catch up with one of them eventually, but he had been pulled back into their miniature world. Perhaps she was slowly coming back into it, too. And as he closed his eyes to rest, smelling the sweet scent of cinnamon shampoo, he knew that was enough for him. Just this time.