Categories > Comics > Batman
Title: Broken Wings
Author: IndigoNight
Summary: Dick isn't feeling himself, but Clark is there to catch him when he falls.
Feedback: Yes please, yay reviews!
Pairing: Clark Kent/Dick Grayson, Superman/Robin I
Disclaimer: I do not own Superman or Batman; I'm just borrowing them for fun.
Spoilers: Nope, not really
Warnings: Angst, depression, implied drug abuse, other dark implied things, and man sex.
Beta: DevilChild13
Author's Note: Not entirely certain where this came from, just that I love this pairing a lot. I'm really proud of it; mostly on account of it's the first multi-chaptered fic I've managed to finish in a long time. So, read, review,
Enjoy!
Prologue
Dick doesn't really remember what it feels like to be happy. But then again, he doesn't really remember how to be sad either. His emotional range has gotten pretty narrow over the years; from tired, to pissed, to more pissed. For a while the mask helped, helped him pound out his aggression, his rage, his pain, but soon it simply wasn't enough. There weren't enough faces in Gotham to crush into a pulp to make him feel something anymore. And soon he realized it wasn't really the criminals' faces he wanted crushed, there were better (less healthy) ways to feel.
And that's how it started. Hunger, and pain, and restlessness, like there was a fire burning under his skin, making his muscles twitch and his jaw clench and nothing is ever enough. He tried everything to ease that itching, from bikes and beers, to girls, to boys, and then all four at once. None of it worked.
So he sits in this dirty, slimy bar in the worst part of Gotham. It's the sort of place even Batman doesn't like to go into. But Dick just can't bring himself to care. There's more smoke in the air than oxygen, and you could probably catch herpes or something just from sitting in the wrong chair, but none of that makes him so much as twitch an eyelash. There's a deep, burning blackness in his chest and he has to fill it with something.
Then a girl approaches him. She might have been pretty once. Maybe. But now she just looks strung out and sick, the sort of girl who'd do anything to get her next fix. And she's looking at him, with sunken, hungry eyes, like she just wants to eat him up, and if he let her it might be the first thing even remotely meal-like she's had in a week. She's got friends too, two men, one on each side, like body guards, except they're just as thin and sick and predatory as she is.
She sidles over to him, slow and sultry like, and he's pretty sure that whatever it is she's wearing doesn't actually count as clothing, or even as a dish rag. She sits down and leans in close to him, her jaggedly clawed hand on his thigh. Her breath reeks of sin and death just waiting to pounce, and there's something about her that's just so intoxicatingly, stupidly dangerous that he can't quite grasp and it's so frustrating something deep and primal in him wants to just grab her by the throat right then and there. But she dangles a little, harmless looking blue pill in front of him and her whispered promises are low and throaty.
He knows he shouldn't take it, knows he should get out of here and go back to his warm, safe bed in Wayne manor. A life time of rigorous training in what is and isn't good for an active human body flashes through his mind, everything from his mother's 'eat your peas, dear' to Bruce's 'one little caffeine-induced shake of your hand can get you killed'. He knows he shouldn't do it.
But somehow she knows exactly what words to say that would have him blindly following her to hell and back. "I can make you feel like you never have before."
Author: IndigoNight
Summary: Dick isn't feeling himself, but Clark is there to catch him when he falls.
Feedback: Yes please, yay reviews!
Pairing: Clark Kent/Dick Grayson, Superman/Robin I
Disclaimer: I do not own Superman or Batman; I'm just borrowing them for fun.
Spoilers: Nope, not really
Warnings: Angst, depression, implied drug abuse, other dark implied things, and man sex.
Beta: DevilChild13
Author's Note: Not entirely certain where this came from, just that I love this pairing a lot. I'm really proud of it; mostly on account of it's the first multi-chaptered fic I've managed to finish in a long time. So, read, review,
Enjoy!
Prologue
Dick doesn't really remember what it feels like to be happy. But then again, he doesn't really remember how to be sad either. His emotional range has gotten pretty narrow over the years; from tired, to pissed, to more pissed. For a while the mask helped, helped him pound out his aggression, his rage, his pain, but soon it simply wasn't enough. There weren't enough faces in Gotham to crush into a pulp to make him feel something anymore. And soon he realized it wasn't really the criminals' faces he wanted crushed, there were better (less healthy) ways to feel.
And that's how it started. Hunger, and pain, and restlessness, like there was a fire burning under his skin, making his muscles twitch and his jaw clench and nothing is ever enough. He tried everything to ease that itching, from bikes and beers, to girls, to boys, and then all four at once. None of it worked.
So he sits in this dirty, slimy bar in the worst part of Gotham. It's the sort of place even Batman doesn't like to go into. But Dick just can't bring himself to care. There's more smoke in the air than oxygen, and you could probably catch herpes or something just from sitting in the wrong chair, but none of that makes him so much as twitch an eyelash. There's a deep, burning blackness in his chest and he has to fill it with something.
Then a girl approaches him. She might have been pretty once. Maybe. But now she just looks strung out and sick, the sort of girl who'd do anything to get her next fix. And she's looking at him, with sunken, hungry eyes, like she just wants to eat him up, and if he let her it might be the first thing even remotely meal-like she's had in a week. She's got friends too, two men, one on each side, like body guards, except they're just as thin and sick and predatory as she is.
She sidles over to him, slow and sultry like, and he's pretty sure that whatever it is she's wearing doesn't actually count as clothing, or even as a dish rag. She sits down and leans in close to him, her jaggedly clawed hand on his thigh. Her breath reeks of sin and death just waiting to pounce, and there's something about her that's just so intoxicatingly, stupidly dangerous that he can't quite grasp and it's so frustrating something deep and primal in him wants to just grab her by the throat right then and there. But she dangles a little, harmless looking blue pill in front of him and her whispered promises are low and throaty.
He knows he shouldn't take it, knows he should get out of here and go back to his warm, safe bed in Wayne manor. A life time of rigorous training in what is and isn't good for an active human body flashes through his mind, everything from his mother's 'eat your peas, dear' to Bruce's 'one little caffeine-induced shake of your hand can get you killed'. He knows he shouldn't do it.
But somehow she knows exactly what words to say that would have him blindly following her to hell and back. "I can make you feel like you never have before."
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