Chapter Text
Dick can feel the smoke enter his lungs as he bursts into the scorched room. His eyes tear up, pointlessly trying to ease the burning sensation from all over. He can barely see over the strong flames engulfing the room. Not to mention the scorching air that surrounds him.
“Charlotte?” he shouts, as loud as he can over the fires. Should he call her by her last name instead? They might not be on a first-name basis yet… He smacks himself in the head as he pushes what once used to be a door out of the way. He has to get his head straight. There’s still a chance that she’s alive, and if so, he has to…
“Oh, fuck.”
His eyes are drawn to a limb beneath a series of rubble. He frantically plows through the pieces until he sees the body in its entirety. Despite how goddamn hard he tries to resuscitate her, she remains limp.
He frustratedly wipes away tears from his soot-covered face. If he had been faster, smarter, hell even stealthier, this could’ve been prevented.
Her vacant eyes bore holes through his skull. In their reflection, a pathetic version of himself looks back. Bile claws its way up his throat, threatening to escape.
With trembling fingers, he brushes her eyelids closed. Maybe she’ll rest better that way.
Dick tosses and turns in his bed. It's already one in the morning, and he hasn’t fallen asleep. Images of the incident flash through his mind, tormenting him every time he closes his eyes.
He abruptly rises from his bed and heads for the front door, grabbing his car keys as he does. Maybe he can stay the night at a friend’s place. Besides, it would only be for a few hours, and he wouldn’t make much noise.
He shakes his head. He can’t let them see him like this. Not like this. He slips on his helmet and secures himself onto the motorcycle. But where else could he go? Dick curses under his breath, reaching for his phone and dialing Bruce’s number. He hesitates for a moment, looking back at the time. Bruce might still be on patrol right now with Damian, so there’d be no point in calling him. He sighs, shoving the phone back into his pocket.
The ride is almost therapeutic, the wind whistling around him as he goes. It gives him something else to focus on, if only awhile. He slows to a stop and looks up at the looming double doors before him. They should be intimidating, but for Dick, they’re inviting.
He takes off the helmet and hops off the motorcycle, not caring to park it in a designated spot. If old Bruce is really bothered, he can move it himself.
The only thing audible as he enters the halls of the house is his own footsteps. This is exactly what he wants: a distraction. Somewhere to escape the noise of sole responsibility in Bludhaven.
It takes him no time to find his bedroom. It's practically a time capsule for his teenage years. Classic rock band posters and group photos from Gotham Academy are plastered all over the walls. He can’t help but let his eyes linger on one photo in particular. It's a photo of him receiving a reward for helping the city as Nightwing. He sighs before flopping onto his bed.
In a way, he feels like he’s somehow ruining the purity of this room. Like his presence, or maybe purpose, tarnishes the innocence of this room with something unwanted and dirty. He sighs, feeling a small shiver travel throughout him. The air in the manor is much cooler than his own place. Maybe he can bring himself to care a little more in the morning. He closes his eyes, hoping to fall asleep to the silence that failed to fill his own apartment.
Dick groggily grabs his phone to check the time. The numbers before him make him groan in agony. It’s already 10 am, meaning he overslept. By now, Alfred and whoever else is wide awake, are fixing breakfast downstairs. Making a silent escape back to his apartment now would be nearly impossible.
Dick slowly rises from his bed and throws on whatever fits from his closet. If he’s going to be noticed, he might as well have breakfast. Dick lingers at the corner of the stairwell and listens in to the conversations below. This is no small breakfast with Alfred. The voices of Tim, Bruce, and Damian are also audible.
It’s no secret that Dick enjoyed company. He loves the feeling of being surrounded by family. But right now, this is the last thing he wants. The company right now is just more people to spin into his web of lies. Or worse, more people to be disappointed in him if they figured out the truth. Forget breakfast; he's just going to say hi and bolt home.
The group, except Bruce and Alfred, of course, collectively gasp when Dick emerges from the stairs. Naturally, Tim is the first to ask questions.
“I thought you were still in Bludhaven with that big case and all?”
“It ended prematurely,” Dick replies as his gaze falls.
Alfred begins to set up a spot on the dining table, which is big enough to fit twenty people. “I’m sure Master Richard wants to eat before getting interrogated,” he says, stepping in.
“Actually, I was planning on heading out, just wanted to pop in and say hi,” Dick replies before rushing out the door.
“He didn’t even say bye, weird,” Tim says through a mouthful of pancakes.
Damian silently agrees with Tim. Dick usually loves these types of things, why is he acting differently now? Somethings definitely wrong with Grayson; he just refuses to say it.
Dick places his helmet on his head before mounting his bike. Had he been too suspicious? He shakes his head. They have too much going on in their lives to care about the minuscule details of his own.