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Under his skin, there is an itchy sensation, crawling from his gut to his chest to his throat. For the sake of his sanity, he blames it on the unfamiliarity that it is to wear the Nightwing suit again. Despite his best efforts to cope with the suffocating emotional confusion as he knocks down Punchline and her goons, his body fails to relax.
'This isn’t right,' he thinks. His flexibility is a little bit rusty, though Dick wasn’t expecting anything less. Ric didn’t train half of the hours per day that Dick usually does. 'Yeah, sure. It’s the lack of training.'
But it’s not. Not really. Whatever training Punchline got, she doesn’t stand a chance against him. What truly is bothering is the Joker’s face living free rent in his mind, the fake memories he made him believed. Dick wishes it could stop right there. However, the flux of plastic memories come and go, fighting to claim a spot in his brain. 'Please, leave,' Dick begs, closing his eyes, knowing that will cost him. And it does. Closing your eyes in battle is reckless. Pretty stupid, really. Though a kick on his ribs hurts less than the fake memories in which his parents were alcoholics, abusing him just for fun.
"No" sounds a lot like a whine coming from his clenching throat. He knows what he has to do. Going into autopilot works the best in these dangerous situations. Putting all his emotions under the rug, pretending it’s all okay. He can do it, except that he can’t. He’s trying so hard, but it turns out that a head injury can, and it does damage your relationship with your brain.
Fed up with the dizziness, the brain fog that insists on messing with him, he takes the risk of going hand-to-hand against all of them. Using his tech is the plausible option, but what he needs is to blow some steam. Knocking down scum is the best therapy for angry people like him.
"Getting clumsy, little bird?" Punchline mocks him.
She is a clown. She’s a loser—just another mindless follower. Even Harley, at her worst, was a better opponent. "Trust me, Punch. After I’m done with you, the Joker won’t need to tag your collar with your name."
"Dick." Oh, Dick forgot. She actually knows his real name.
Suddenly, someone lands behind him. That’s bad. Another issue to add to his list of pending: to work on his space awareness.
"Yes, he’s a Dick," Garth smirks and pats Nightwing’s shoulders."The best Dick."
Though Dick’s memories are still fuzzy, he remembers how comforting is the weight of Garth’s hand on his shoulder.
"What do you say, Wonder Boy?" Donna walks towards him, proud and tall, coming out of the shadows with her lasso on her hands, looking as stunning as always. "Want to do it like the old times?"
"As a team?" Garth adds. Dick smiles inside. Garth's raspy voice is as sexy as he recalls.
"Troia, Tempest and the one and only, our Nightwing." She’s trying to stay composed. Yet Dick can see through her and Garth as well.
The tension in the air doesn’t lie. They are waiting for rejection. And it hurts that these two people he adores have paid the price of his amnesia. But they are not like the others. Both are standing in front of him, protecting his right and left sides. Both are ready to attack. Talking doesn’t do justice to what their facial expressions say. They didn’t come to play. Protection isn’t even the right word. No. They are here to kill for him.
"I’ll say we’re more than just a team, aren’t we?" It isn’t the right time to discuss if there’s hope for him. Asking if they still want him in their triad is selfish, but when it comes to them, Dick crosses those foreign lines of selfishness and possessiveness. He doesn’t have a choice. What he loves, he protects, and what he protects is a part of him.
"Sweetheart, you and us, always." Her voice can be so loving. Dick feels hugged, and she hasn’t even touched him.
"Always." Garth pats his back and kisses his hair. How could Dick had forgotten how tall and big his Atlantean boyfriend is?
With his arm reaching Garth, Dick wants to return the gesture, but Garth moves faster to block Punchline’s attack.
"What do you say, Wing?" Garth asks.
"Titans, go!" He screams, and damn, what a way to feel alive. His lungs expand, filled with air that lights up the fire inside him. He is alive. He is Dick Grayson again. Acrobat, Robin, Nightwing, protector, leader, and safety net. He is back, more enlivened than before.
The fight is over within minutes. Having an Amazon and an Atlantean as his lovers has its perks.
As Garth piles up the thugs, Donna writes a note for Jim since he’s the only cop they tolerate. Thanks for taking out the trash. With love, Titans.
Now that they are not dancing, synchronized to each other moves, the silence is rather uncomfortable. At least, it is to him. How long has it been since he saw them? Almost a year. Are they mad? Dick recalls that time they tried to speak to him. It went bad. Ric didn’t make it easy for them to explain the dynamics of their relationship. Ric called them insane. The thing is that Ric didn’t know Donna and Garth. But if by chance he had had the pleasure to grasp the wonder that they are, he would have fallen head over heels for them too.
"Hey you, tell your head to take a break," Garth says, smiling with such fondness that it’s hard for Dick to assimilate.
For a moment, Dick is clueless, uncertain of why Garth is looking at him as if he is something precious. Then it hits him. Ric thought no one loved him because there is no way that the love Dick receives can ever be replicated.
"No more overthinking, sweetie." Donna hugs him, and Garth joins. Both embracing him is all he needs to appease his aching soul.
He feels loved. Seen. Accepted. It’s too much. When was the last time he was hugged? Rejection is what he knows. Rejection is what he can handle. But this overwhelming feeling of sweet fullness—No. Impossible.
"It’s okay. Breathe." That’s Garth’s voice whispering in his ear.
"We got you." Donna. She is the one talking. She is the one crying. "I’m sorry, Dick. We didn’t know. I promise you. We didn’t know what you were going through all alone."
Garth kisses the top of his head, lingering, jaw resting on him until Donna tells him it’s time to go home.
On their way to the Titans Tower, Dick doesn’t say much. So unlike him. Though Donna and Garth don’t push him to talk, Dick is aware of how worried they are. But Dick doesn’t trust himself talking without crying. What’s even worse is that he doesn’t trust they are going to take him back if he shows them how broken he is. They deserve better. The one they miss is Dick Grayson before Ric, but that Dick Grayson no longer exists. What is left is a man built of fragments, pieces of memories glued together.
But Donna and Garth are clever. Sooner or later, they will realize he is an impostor, just a replica of who he used to be.
A hand squeezing him pulls him out of his thoughts. "Dick, we’re here," Garth says softly, voice almost a whisper. He must have seen him frowning his nose during battle, the noises got too loud in the warehouse: just another new flaw, courtesy of his head injury.
"Don’t worry. Come in. No one will bother you here," Donna reassures him, gently holding his hand, leading the way to the suite they used to share. "We asked everyone to leave for a few days to give you space. We figured out loud noises, shiny lights, and strong smells might cause you trouble."
"Yeah." Besides nodding, Dick doesn’t know what to say. They obviously still care for him, however, getting used to their kindness is walking a dangerous line. He might end up alone again.
"Garth? Aren’t you forgetting something?" Donna says, playfully brushing Garth’s hair.
"Neptune, yes!"
God, Dick did miss them.
"Are you thirsty? Hungry? I’m in charge of the kitchen." Garth towers over him, smoothly passing his arm behind him and tugging him from the waist. This close, Dick can’t avoid the gaze of his magnetic dark purple eyes. Thank Neptune, Garth is gorgeous.
"No. I’m fine—Who put you in charge? Are we running that low in personnel?" he teases, forcing himself to conceal his fatigue—another consequence of getting shot in the head.
Garth laughs, though he isn’t amused. Looking at Dick's struggle to stay awake tells him all he needs to know. Dick still has a long way to recover fully. Either his family is stupidly hopeful—which, of course, they aren’t—or they lied when they told them that Dick was fine on his own, begging to be left alone.
"We really didn’t know. The Bats said you were fine. Healthy—That you didn’t want to see anyone from your past."
"Garth, later," Donna tries to stop him. And she’s right. The wisest thing to do is waiting until Dick has some rest. However, Garth can’t imagine another day going to waste, another day ending with Dick Grayson believing that they didn’t care for him.
"No, Donna, he needs to know," he does his best not to raise his voice and startle Dick.
"Tomorrow. We are supposed to be better than the assholes that recruited him to fight the Joker after not talking to him for months!" Dick wonders if it is an inherent trait of the Amazon warriors to look damn fine when they get mad.
It seems nothing has changed. They are still fiercely on his side, throwing shade at his family. Nice.
"We are not better than them if we don’t explain to him why we weren’t there for him!"
Though Dick appreciates the sentiment of honesty, and he truly values that his partners actually want to talk to him, right now might not be the best time. Not after he forced his brain to direct his body in a fight with perfect grace and strength.
"Stop it. Damn it!" Dick says, loud and clear, proud that his brain decided to lower down the pain on his right side for him to speak coherently. "I’m right here—With you both—" maybe he tasted his victory too soon. His words can’t possibly match all the storm of feelings bottled in the depth of his heart. All the shame of becoming a failure. He was Nightwing, and then he was nothing. Just Ric Grayson. A useless soldier coming home from war, realizing that he has nothing left. An old defective toy thrown away to live in the streets. Alone. Rejected. Like the orphan he was meant to be before Bruce took pity on him.
Blame it on the side of his brain that still needs healing, but sometimes he catches himself dreaming of his old Robin's days—Bruce wasn't perfect, but they had a good time together—Yes, he has been that lonely, hitting rock bottom, willing to give up on his independence for a dose of attention, looking for a fix like a drug addict—How low is too low? How much will he fall before he gets back on his feet?
Will somebody catch him?—No. He’s a soldier—a leader. Asking for help is a weakness he can’t afford. Garth and Donna might be his lovers, but they are also his teammates. And though the Titans don't like to face the truth, it remains as a fact. He is the leader. He is supposed to take care of them. This weakness disrupts the natural order.
Goddam, his legs are shaking, and is he sobbing? Why has his vision gone dark?
'Just open your eyes, damn it, Dick. Just do it.'
"Hey, sweetheart. Feeling better now?" Dick shouldn’t be this proud every time he remembers someone’s name just listening to their voice, but he is. It’s the little wins that count.
"You had us worried. You zoned out." Oh, that’s Garth talking, peppering his face with soft kisses. "Head still hurts, babe?"
"Can you open your eyes, Dick?" Yes, Donna is smart. Why doesn’t he open his eyes? He doesn’t have to guess who’s talking to him.
"Maybe if I turn off the lights?" Garth, so considerate. Dick feels the weight of his body leaving the bed, but he can’t allow that. He needs both of them, grounding him with their embrace.
"Don’t. Don’t leave." The me is implied, and thankfully, they don’t look him down for being such a needy brat. "The dim lights are fine."
"As you wish," Garth smiles and kisses his forehead with such reverence that Dick can’t help but wonder that maybe he has been apart from them too long, forgetting how much they love him.
"And forgive us if we intruded your personal space," Garth says, holding his hand on his chest in an attempt to not reach out for Dick’s hand and kiss it.
But Dick doesn’t understand why they are keeping their distance. He is theirs. All of him. They can have him unless they don’t want him.
"Garth and I talked about it, and we get it. We don’t know what you went through as Ric, and the last thing we want is to trigger you—"
"Mirage," Garth spits her name.
"And Catalina." The disgust on Donna’s face speaks for itself. "And we know you, sweetheart, you don’t like being treated as if you were made of glass—"
"You are brave, fierce, independent, and strong," Garth assures Dick, believing his words. It seems that Garth knows him better than he thought. This is what Dick needs. Someone else who remembers who he was, who he still is.
"And we love you for that, but you are terrible asking for help," Donna chuckles with her bittersweet words. "We just want you to know that if you need extra help, we won’t judge you, but you have to ask, Dick, because Garth and I, we are not the Bats, we aren’t going to cross your boundaries."
How can Dick begin to explain how grateful he is to have them in his life? With a group make-out session? No, he is too dizzy for that. Telling them that he loves them seems right—He truly does—but it’s too soon. So he settles for teasing them, which is in itself a part of his love language. "Look at you both," he smirks, "discussing our relationships like grownups, talking boundaries and all that shit—Honestly, guys, where have my Donna and Garth gone?"
At least, Garth laughs. Snorting, Donna hits Dick's arm playfully. "Stupid!" There is no bite in her words, though. "Said it like your true self."
"I missed you too, Donna." Finally, he gathers the courage to close the distance between them and kiss her. Her lips are like he remembers, soft and warm, covered in a sweet reddish lipstick. She kisses him with open lips welcoming him back to the place where he belongs. These two wonders are his home.
His hand searches for Garth’s and entwines their fingers together. Garth gets the message and holds him, kissing his neck, rubbing his two-day beard against his skin in perfect motion. If they don’t stop soon, his erection will wake up fat and hard, making it impossible for him to go back to sleep.
"Sorry," he says, reluctantly letting go of Donna’s lips and patting Garth’s shoulder for him to stop. "You guys have no idea how much I need you, but I think I might throw up if we try—It’s my head’s fault. Not yours. You’re both very hot. The hottest duo."
"A curse you’re familiar with," Garth says casually, but he can’t fool Dick. He would recognize the lewd words spilling from his lips anytime.
And so does Donna, who eyes Garth with a scolding gaze. "Don’t worry about us, Dick. Get some sleep, and I’ll take care of Garth later."
"Later? I might die, woman!" He is joking, though. Nothing that his hand can’t fix.
"Shut up, you foolish man of the underwater." Yeah, he missed his Amazon vs. Atlantean bantering. Though their jokes are bad, Dick laughs because it’s them.
Lied down in bed, eyes closed and head resting on a soft pillow, Dick listens to their banter. Slowly, his mind drifts away into sleep, and the sound of their voices vanishes. Yet he can still feel their presence radiating warmth, next to him, watching over him.
That night, Dick sleeps with a smile on his face, unbeknownst to him, giving his lovers the peace they need to feel at ease.
"Welcome home," Donna says to his sleeping lover, right before they join Dick in the land of dreams.