#follower extravaganza

There was no sound of footsteps on the roof tiles, but Dick could feel the presence settle next to him.  He turned instinctively, letting his head rest against a thigh as he continued to stare up.  Fingers slowly carded through his hair.

“My parents,” Dick said slowly, “Died because of me.”

The response gave no room for argument - “No.”

“Zucco - the Court - Haly’s Circus - all because of me,” Dick said, his face numb.  He’d spent hours crying when they discovered the truth, hours sobbing once the threat of the Court was gone and he’d peeled off his costume and stepped into the shower and broken completely.

“No.”

“Then whose fault is it?”

“I know this sometimes escapes your miniscule brain, Dickiebird,” a low voice drawled as booted footsteps clattered down the roof, “But you’re not the center of the goddamn universe.”  Jason flopped heavily down on the other side of Dick, and stretched his arms back as he got comfortable.

“The Court wanted me,” Dick said bitterly, “The Gray Son of Gotham.”

“The One Who Is All,” Cass rejoined from above him - Dick hadn’t sensed her presence at all.  She poked him in the forehead.  “Destiny is ours to make.”

“It’s still my fault,” Dick said lowly, “My great-grandfather -”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Steph called out from where she was trying to climb up the side of the roof, “Stop pushing Tim - you really want to talk about villainous family members with us?”

She finally pulled herself over the edge and dropped down on top of Bruce’s legs.  Tim followed - Jason gave a small grunt as the baby bird practically sat on his stomach - and blinked at Dick, “We’re not responsible for the actions of others.  Even if they’re family.  You were the one who told me that.”

It - it wasn’t the same.  It wasn’t.  It - all this time, all these years, his parents’ deaths had been a tragedy.  He’d hunted down the man responsible and put him away.  The circus burning down was a tragedy.  He’d hunted down the man responsible and - well, he didn’t want to think about that, but the man was dead.

And yet all this time, Dick had been the one responsible.  Every tragedy that had befallen the people he loved had been because of him.  They would’ve all been better off without him.

“If I’d never been born,” Dick said, “My parents would still be alive.”

“Are you sure about that?” Damian scowled, crawling on top of him, and Dick automatically adjusted to wrap his arms around his youngest brother, “You are not the only Grayson.”

“I am -”

“You are now.  But you weren’t always.  Why do you assume that, as a nine-year-old, you were expected to know more about your family history than your parents?  They should’ve protected you, and they didn’t.”

His parents hadn’t known.  Or had they?

“We should’ve never came to Gotham,” Dick said quietly, “The circus would still be here, my parents would still be alive, I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t be -” a Talon.  Nightwing.  Robin.  Dick wouldn’t have had any of this - not his father, not his little brothers and sisters, not his grandfather, not his aunts and uncles and teammates and friends.

Silence stretched across the roof.  No one said a word.

“Is it horrible?” Dick asked, his words so soft they were stolen off his lips by the wind, “That if I had the chance to change it, I don’t know if I would?”

~#~

Kyran wasn’t expecting much.  Death, maybe - demons were harder to kill than most, but not impossible, and running empty on magical energy while bleeding from a blessed steel dagger would be enough to overcome his healing abilities.  Or capture - his teleportation had failed at the end, he hadn’t managed to make it to ‘safe, alone’ like he’d been aiming for, he knew that, and he could’ve landed anywhere.  Or waking up collapsed in the middle of nowhere, aching and sore and so, so alone.

When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t met with the fires of Hell.  Or cage bars of blessed steel.  Or even emptiness.

He was met with warm light, a distant fire crackling, a blanket drawn over him, a soft surface below him, and wounds that weren’t aching as fiercely as they’d been before.

He slid his eyes from side to side, but he could see only a couple light fixtures on the ceiling from his limited point of view, nothing to indicate where he’d landed, or who had dressed his wounds.  He should’ve been trying to get up and get out, to claw back his armor and the taunting smile and the carefully calculated impression of the sly trickster he’d spent years cultivating -

But he couldn’t.  He didn’t want to.  He was tired, and heartsick, and sore, and he just wanted to sleep on the soft cushions and accept that, for once, he’d been found by someone that didn’t want him dead.  It wouldn’t last, of course - Kyran had a particular talent for inspiring murderous urges - but he was exhausted.  He could deal with a murder attempt when the time came.

Soft footsteps shuffled closer, and Kyran sighed.  He tried to gather up his weapons of words, all the jagged, poisoned blades that had served him well for years, but they kept slipping through his fingers because he couldn’t hold on.

“Hey, Kyran,” Rae said softly, appearing in his field of view.

Kyran blinked at her.  And blinked again.  Well, that was....surprising.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Tired,” he replied, drawing a wan smile to his lips, “Can’t you tell?  I’m sure my face is quite frightening.”

Rae huffed a small laugh.  “Your shadows have shadows,” she smiled at him, “It’s okay.  You can rest.  You’re safe here.”

No was her immediate, frantic response, lashing out at the foreign presence, get out, GET OUT -

But it felt like she was trying to punch smoke, like she was flailing in molasses, helpless and vulnerable and defenseless.

Riya, calm down, Lee instructed, I’ll figure out what went wrong and fix it.  I know you don’t want a witch in your head -

Oh, how wrong she was, it wasn’t the witch part Riya objected to, it was Laila.  The woman she adored.  The woman she betrayed.  The woman who would never look at her the way she used to, because Riya had torn that relationship to shreds, because she’d lost Laila her magic, because she’d taken and taken and taken, greedy on the high of someone actually caring about her and not realizing that Laila was slipping away until it was too late -

Riya, Lee breathed out, a maelstrom of emotions, and Riya realized that she could feel everything Riya was thinking.

No, the terror surged, but she couldn’t calm down, she couldn’t suppress her emotions, she couldn’t stop her mind from leaping onto every new panicked thought as Laila’s emotions roiled in the background.

That first beautiful kiss, the searing press of lips against hers - passion echoed in tune with hers, a sizzling spark of magic - the warm curl of magic inside of her, Lee inside of her, her protector - pouring more and more magic into writhing limbs, desperately hoping it would help - nasty curses and insults, seething to cover up the upset - hurt hurt hurt hurt why was she saying these things why -

The loss of magic, a bone-deep agony, a soulless void, and Riya screamed as Lee’s pain was reflected in her mind - losing her friends, losing her allies, seeing a horrible future and doing everything she could to prevent it - Riya lying still and pinned in the rubble, gasping breaths, calling desperately for her help - it hurt, it hurt so much, and Lee didn’t have magic, and it was all her fault - the warmth of magic blooming inside of her again, the press of lips to hers, right and wrong and right and wrong, all rolled into one -

Shh, Lee said desperately, shh, Riya, it’s okay, calm down, please.  Warmth encircled around her, and Riya clutched at it desperately - pathetic, she always took what Lee was just too polite to revoke - no, Riya, please, I don’t feel that way - and the heat curled around her, wrapping her in warmth like a hug.

I don’t hate you, Lee insisted, and I’m so sorry that you had to go through that.  I love you, and I never want to see you hurt.

She had to be lying.  She had to.  It - she couldn’t - not after what Riya had done -

My brave raider, Lee crooned, her presence cocooning her in protective warmth, I love you.

She shook her head, stumbling back a step.  It was so silent.  She - someone touched her shoulder, and she startled violently.  Gavin backed off, hands raised, and his mouth was moving as well.

She felt like she was underwater.  She felt like she was in a dream.

“Can’t hear you,” she said, or thought she said, because she couldn’t even hear herself - she could feel her throat vibrate, but she had no idea what came out.

Gavin frowned.  Ash raised an eyebrow.

“I can’t hear anything,” she said, a lump rising in her throat, and clearly her panic was evident, because Ash’s face scrunched up and Gavin reached out slowly to grab her shoulders.

Janiya let him, because she felt like she was going to float away, like the whole world was behind a muffled sheet of glass and she clutched at Gavin’s arms as she tried to remember how to breathe.

Gavin was mouthing something at her, taking large, exaggerated breaths, and she was trying, she was, but her heart was beating too fast and she was gasping and she couldn’t hear any of it.

Black spots danced around her vision, and she held Gavin tighter, her grip no doubt painful, but he didn’t let go of her, not even when her knees wavered as the room shifted around her.

Her collapse was more controlled than sudden, and Gavin had an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her back as he gently but firmly pushed her head down, forcing her to take a deep breath as the pounding in her head lessened.  She couldn’t hear anything he was saying, but she could feel his arms, feel the pulse below his skin, feel the gentle circles he was tracing in her back.

She looked up, vision blurry as a lump swelled in her throat, and she could see his mouth moving, words that weren’t intended for her, an expression crinkling to sympathy and protectiveness.  She couldn’t let go of his arms, and he didn’t try to make her.