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Wasn’t Hell all about fire and screaming? Or was it cold, chilling one’s core? — Dick couldn’t actually remember. When he’d asked Zatanna and Constantine, they’d just looked to each other, wincing the slightest.
“It’s… complicated?” He remembers them saying.
He decided not to push, which was probably for the better.
Now he’s stuck staring at Jason’s battered Robin uniform in the glass case, and he really can’t tell if he’s hallucinating Robin!Jason taunting him or if since this is literal Hell, it isn’t a hallucination.
Or maybe Hell is a hallucination in and of itself. Maybe he just imagined that encounter with the magician — who knows?
“Maybe you’re just more fucked up than you realised,” the broken image of the boy suggested.
“Is it surprising though?” Donna’s quirked brow and smirking lips stared at him, mocking with the traces of faint smoke. “Not fast enough, not strong enough, certainly not good enough—“
“Just a sad, sad mess,” a hot breath purred into his ear, a single eye reflecting off the glass over his shoulder. “I told you this would happen, Little Bird — it’s a shame, I could easily fix you right up but you insist on being stubborn for reasons you don’t even know.”
“Well,” a laugh, “It isn’t like you’re all that better than us, now are you?” Catalina leans over, pressing a palm to the memorial. “Not when, well,” a grin stretches, and she waves a hand, the container with the broken Robin suit replaced with Desmond’s dead body, still fresh after death.
Step aside.
(He stepped aside.)
“Honestly, I’m proud,” Jason beams, a boyish joyful expression lighting his face up on his adult form — one he’s only seen once since his return — as he surveys the body. “I thought you’d sworn not to kill anyone after Joker, but to let someone else do it? Damn, big Wing, most would say that’s just as bad!”
“Then again, Freds, ya should’ve known you’d end up beating a few people to death, you’ve always had it in you haven’t you?” Boone drawls, leaning against the wall. “No remorse for being the reason our mentor died; even as a kid you’ve been so cold hearted.”
Slade barks a laugh, “Oh, if only I actually knew your body count, Grayson. Can’t believe you’ve always been so adamant to go against me when we could be the best.”
Dick sucks a sharp breath.
“We were the best, Richard.” Damian whispers, and they’re standing alone, face to face, in the spot where the boy had died, no sight of Heretic anywhere.
“We were the best.” Damian repeats, as his body turns to ashes starting from his stomach.
Dust kicks up, and the next second, he’s staring into the abyss that was created after the bomb dropped.
“Well hello there.”
And everything freezes.
Dick doesn’t turn around, glued to the sight of what was left of his city.
“Um, so what exactly am I looking at here?” Dark hair peers down next to him, before cocking up to see his face.
“A city.” He replies. His mouth quirks up at the edges in a sardonic smile as his eyes glide over to the Brit’s, “Or what was left of it.”
The man whistles, long and sharp. “So that’s the reason why so many crooks entered Hell at the same time. I always wondered ‘bout that.”
“Why are you here, Lucifer?” Dick asks in lieu of a response, eyes sliding away from the barren scene. “Don’t you have better things to do than being here?”
“Well, I was told I had a rather special guest, and here you are!” Lucifer grins, making jazz hands.
“Here I am,” Dick agrees dryly, eyeing him. “Isn’t there supposed to be more… torturing — going on? Or is that reserved after a dinner date — maybe candlelight by the window?”
“Oh torture? That old thing?” The one in charge of Hell where “tormented souls” end up, laughed. “Oh no, no, things changed a bit a while ago and, uh, now it’s more talking than anything really. But that candlelight dinner sounds amazing — tell me, do you know any good one’s back up there? My wife would absolutely adore visiting.”
‘Oh great,’ Dick thinks, hysterically, ‘Oh god I’m going to be tortured through conversation. Conversation about helping the fucking Devil figure out where to take his date.’
“It’s not like you wouldn’t deserve it,” Roy hisses into his ear and Dick flinches, more surprised at the sudden appearance than anything. “Hell, you’re getting off really lightly here aren’t you? You don’t know what it’s like to really be tortured, do you? What happened with the Injustice League doesn’t count, you know.”
‘Shut up.’ Dick mentally wills.
“That little part where your heart stopped? That’s not really dying, now is it? Flatlining comes with the job, genius.”
Lucifer frowns, staring at fake!Roy inquisitively.
“You know, Ray-Ray really hates you heroes,” Lucifer casually said, and Dick blinks, startled. “You all go off to die only to come back again. So annoying.”
Lucifer’s shaking his head and Dick doesn’t know how to reply to that.
“Even dead your existence is an annoyance for everyone around you,” Jason scoffed, looking as angry as the last time Dick’s seen him.
“I have… A Lot of work cut out of me don’t I?” Lucifer cut him off early from a mental spiral.
“What?” Dick heard himself ask.
“It means you’re better off dead,” Dick stiffens, sharply inhaling as clawed hands grip the back of his neck. Chills run down Dick’s spine.
“Now that is just freaky,” Lucifer stared, wide eyed at Earth 3’s Dick Grayson, decked out in his Talon uniform.
Talon cocked his head, looking at Lucifer with annoyance. “A shame. You could have been a great partner, but you’re soft.”
Then, Talon lunges at him, claws outstretched to slash at Lucifer’s face.
The Devil lazily stepped to the side — more showy than actually dodging.
The claws connect.
Lucifer hisses, eyes staring in horror at the blood his fingers come back with.
“How?” Lucifer stared, shocked.
“This is his Hell, so you play by his rules.” Talon grinned over at Dick, and Dick feels sickness churning in his gut.
Hisfaulthisfaulthisfaulthisfault—
“Isn’t that right?” Talon cooed stepping closer as he speaks. “Otherwise you could’ve just figured out that it was Bludhaven yourself. You didn’t need to ask us what happened.”
Another step, and the Devil narrows his eyes.
“You’re not really all-mighty here, are you?” Talon waited, and without a denial given, he laughs.
Before his image shatters.
“I may not know everything,” Lucifer starts with a growl, “But I still control this place.”
Dick swallows, heart racing beneath his chest as darkened eyes land on him again. He’s going to die here isn’t he? Lucifer is actually going to kill him for good for what just happened.
“You don’t deserve to just die,” Bruce laughed, sharp and cruel. “Where were you, when I needed you to find me? Too busy playing father to my son? Too busy repurposing my company to your wishes? Too busy being a fuckup, a failure—“
“Please,” Tim scoffs, “He’s always playing failure. Playing dead, playing ignorant, playing favourites, playing benevolent,” Tim sneers.
He can’t breathe.
His vision is swimming.
It’s true, isn’t it? Everything his imagination’s all said to him. He can handle Bruce kicking him out, and Tim being cold but — that’s how they really feel don’t they? Nothing they said was a lie in the first place.
But hearing it out loud like this in their voices— even if it didn’t come from them—
“Hey,” there’s a hand behind his head, and he’s being pressed into someone’s chest. “Hey, focus on me.”
Dick inhales, trying to copy the man’s breathing pattern, warm baritone voice grounding him to the spot.
“I don’t know why you’re here,” Lucifer honestly told him once his breathing had gone back to regular. “You’re technically not dead. However, whatever’s sent you here is keeping you here, acting as though you are dead.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Dick laughed a little, feeling hysteria in the shaking of his shoulders.
“I could, with some time, find a way to get you out, bypass whatever magic it is covering this room or get one of my contacts to do it.” Lucifer looked him dead in the eyes.
“Or, we do this the traditional way.”
“And what’s that,” Dick asked, tensing.
“To make it short,” Lucifer sighed, “Therapy.”
Dick stared, waiting for him to take it back as a joke.
And waited.
And waited.
And—
“What the fuck?!” Dick shouted, snapping once he realised the Devil wasn’t joking. “No. No way. I am not having any fucking therapy sessions with you. Not a chance in hell and we are in hell.”
“Grayson—“ Lucifer sighed irritably.
“No! Where’s the fucking torture chambers? I’ll take me there myself!” Dick snarled, turning around and walking a random direction since it seemed this room was endless.
“What the hell do you Bats have against therapy? Jesus bloody Christ, and man was he bloody,” Lucifer hissed, running after him.
“IT’S NOT EVEN THERAPY!” Lucifer shouts after him.
Dick stops, turning wary narrowed eyes at him.
“It’s just— working through guilt so you can leave,” Lucifer explained. Dick’s eye twitched. “Basically, we figure out what you feel guilty about, and then we resolve those feelings of guilt.”
“That’s literally therapy,” Dick deadpanned before shaking his head. “No. I’m fine.”
“You, are very clearly the opposite of fine,” Lucifer heaved out.
“Then I’m capable of compartmentalising, and right now the objective I have in mind is to get out of here without the need for unnecessary emotional bull-crap,” Dick spat the words out like venom, eyes glaring into Lucifer’s own.
Lucifer paused, frowning as he looked Dick over again.
“Why are you so opposed to talking about ‘emotional bull-crap’?”
Dick startled, eyes widening with surprise then a hint of panic.
“Useless,” Lucifer watched with churning morbid curiosity as wisps of whatever Dick could see hissed into the young man’s ear.
“Lucifer doesn’t actually seem all that bad, does he? A shame, because only you could poison the devil.”
A woman this time, and Lucifer could only make out dark hair and lips, what was meant to be a hand brushing down his cheek, trailing down his arm. His eyes were unfocused, staring at Lucifer, but no longer seeing him.
“Careful now, Dickie, don’t wanna let the demon know just how fucked up you are in head, do ya?” Daddy won’t be happy if he finds out now will he?” The first wisp twisted into the image of a young boy with jade-green eyes, staring at Lucifer with a sharp grin on his face.
“Grayson,” Lucifer roughly said, snapping him aware and the image away. “Focus on me.”
Dick’s eyes darted to him, and his chest heaved as though he was breathing fresh air for the first time in a while. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine—“
“No, you aren’t,” Lucifer frowned,
“I—“ Dick stopped himself, face falling down as he stares at his feet.
“What do you truly desire?” Lucifer asked, soft.
Dick doesn’t reply for a moment, but when he does, vulnerable eyes meet his; “I want… I want to be fine. ”
He looks away, starting to pace, “I can’t— I can’t fucking do this anymore!”
“I can’t keep—“ he snaps his mouth shut, stilling in place as guilt and regret settles on his features. “I just want everyone to stop.”
Lucifer has no clue what the fuck Dick’s talking about, but he can roll with it.
“Stop what?” Lucifer gently probed.
The younger man’s face fell again, arms crossing self-consciously.
“It’s— nevermind. It’s just— dumb. I’m being dumb,” Grayson insisted, and Lucifer wasn’t sure if he was trying to persuade him, or himself.
“Tell me anyway,” Lucifer steamrolled on.
“I— I don’t mind, helping people, that is. I just…” He swallowed, whole body looking wilted.
The room shifted around them, and Lucifer finds himself in a dark Cave, alit only by a giant monitor.
A single man sat facing the computer, and Lucifer narrows his eyes.
“Who is he?”
“B. Bruce. Batman.” Dick stares at the famed Dark Knight and Lucifer watches as memories play themselves out on the screen.
“What going on?” On-screen Dick Grayson asks, wearily sitting up.
“There’s only one rule. Win.”
Lucifer is silent, watching the fight unfold, the pleading and remorseless mission debrief over punches and throws.
Dick studies the Bruce in the chair, an amalgamation of all his memories, emotions towards his mentor, and what he represented, all combined into the avatar in Dick’s head materialised by the room.
“I wish he’d stop doing this.” Dick whispers, hugging himself as the fight dissolves, flashes of his time with amnesia pasting themselves over the screen in some crude comic-like style.
“He was taking advantage of you,” Lucifer mutters, eyes darkened and Dick snorts.
Lucifer glances at him, lips pursed with grimness, “How many?”
“Honestly, I think I’ve lost count,” Dick laughs, sharp and bitter as the glass scattered across the Cave’s floor.
Three women firmly plants themselves on screen, and myriad of other characters — Dick simply stops looking, and with a push of his mind their environment changes again.
Dick seats himself in one of his chairs of his Bludhaven apartment, leaning against the table as he stares up at Lucifer.
“I already know my guilt,” Dick confesses. “I know everything I could ever be guilty of. I know everything I feel guilty for.”
If this was any other person, Lucifer would have brightened, clapping his hands with enthusiasm, ready to fix whatever needed to be fixed.
But Bats, Lucifer has found, are hyper self-aware, but they’re also amazingly hyper in-denial and can be worryingly hyper oblivious sometimes.
“What’s wrong?” Lucifer almost sighs.
“It’s… kind of a long list?” Dick winces as Lucifer stares at him.
“Ok,” Lucifer move to sit at the table, crossing a leg over the other. “Where do we start?”
Dick’s mouth drops at him when he realises the, maybe not Devil anymore, was being serious.