Evangeline wants to be (upintheclouds) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-01-24 13:58:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | door: dc comics, nightwing |
Who: Dick Grayson
What: RISE FROM THE DEAAAAD
Where: The Laz Pit in Wonder City then running around like a lunatic.
When: YOU KNOW WHEN
Warnings: Craziness.
Death was easy, at least Dick Grayson's death was easy. He didn't remember being aware of anything, but he did remember dying. But now there was only heat and fire. There was no way he was actually in hell. No, this was different. He didn't know how he knew but he knew it was different. It was like being jostled violently awake from a peaceful sleep only to be too late to escape the fire. He tried to scream but his mouth filled with thick liquid and he fought his way through it with every ounce of strength he had. It wasn't much to begin with, it was like he was just learning to move again. But the harder he fought and the more he struggled the stronger he got. At least that was how it seemed.
Somehow, he grasped the edge of something and pulled himself out, hacking and heaving as he did. He was on his knees on the edge of the Pit for just a few short moments before he was able to open his eyes and look around. He was alone. He'd died alone and he'd risen alone and if he didn't know better he'd find something disturbingly poetic about it. But for now he was just angry. He was angry beyond belief, his body hurt, and his lungs stung, and every bit of him was angrier than he'd ever been in his life. He found himself bitter to his core. The ache of the anger weighed heavily on him, and he felt alone, and abandoned which made the screaming he was doing seem pointless and altogether endless.
He looked around again, his head whipping from right to left and his heart pounding - which it should not have been doing - and he saw nothing. He heard nothing. He didn't know where he was he barely remembered who he was. But he caught sight of something. The Tumbler. Bruce Wayne's Tumbler. Was it possible? Had Bruce done this to him? And why? To what end? He was panicking - the man he'd started to trust had turned him into a monster and there was no reason Dick could find. He ached, he was furious, and his brain wouldn't stop taunting him wrong, bad, monster. But on a level that Dick rarely paid attention to inside of himself - he felt invincible.
He bolted toward the car, and pounded on it wherever he could reach. It was empty, he didn't know that, he knew Bruce Wayne was in there. Watching him. Seeing what he'd done. Making a mess of everything. Death was easy - rising was horrible - and he didn't know what came next. He wanted to run, he wasn't tired after what seemed like hours of screaming at the Tumbler. Calling Bruce a coward, his hands were bleeding by the time he was done, which was ironic considering his body had just been healed. Bruce wasn't going to come out and fight him - he wasn't a man. He wasn't Batman. He didn't deserve it. Not after this.
After this. There was nothing after this. No life. No Damian. No Nightwing. Nothing. This was it, he was done. He'd died, he hadn't been happy to die, but at least that was just blank nothingness. An ending. This was being woken and stripped of everything. He'd run. He had to run. This wasn't Gotham City. It still hadn't registered where he was so he just ran East. He found his way out eventually, his barefeet were aching and blue from the cold. He noticed it and broke the window on a closed up shop and helped himself. What did he have to lose? Who did he have to impress? He was no one. Not anymore. He was the walking dead man. Everything had been taken from him and the one thing he didn't want had been given back. Shoes, socks, a coat, and he was off again. Pushing people out of his way, stepping over people he'd have normally given a hand to. He yelled, he elbowed his way through to nowhere. He was in the worst part of town, he'd been here a million times flying over rooftops thinking he was important. But now he was all wrong. And all alone. He felt amped and sleepy all at once, he was awake and exhausted. Loud and quiet. Every thought he had he said out loud, paying no attention to the people on the street who were likely as crazy as he was.
If he wanted to scream in frustration, he did. If he wanted to yell at someone, he did. And if he wanted to laugh - terrifying as it was - he did.