#Triggered my hallucinogenic PTSD

[ozthelosttimelord]

another birthday spent wondering why I'm still alive

[anonthany0306]

Imagine a magical modern world where everyones ability is to manifest their personality/mental state/subconscious into a physical thing, and scientists find that theres a pattern within manifestations that allows doctors to diagnose people with a simple examination of their manifestation.

Trigger warning

And everything im about to list off would be traits if their abilities, not the actual abilities themselves

They stack, but are as powerful as the impact they have on the user

Narcs' manifestation would probably have something to do with themselves, or having themselves as the center

DID would probs be the ability to manifest multiple small/weak/incomplete symbolic (or not) things representing their alters or a single materialization of something cracked/split (necromancer except they bring to life their alters)

Id imagine depression would involve an ability with the perk to draw people in, like a siren

Anxiety would involve something to do with an unnerving type sensation, sounds, vibrations, disruptions, the sense of slowed or sped up time

Bipolar, a changing, fast, or sudden type ability

Ptsd/cptsd would probably have a flashing, sudden, or jarring type ability

Schizophrenia would be hallucinogenic, (that one spiderman scene from homecoming with that bastard man showing spidey things that arent real), aoe tyoe ability

Ocd maybe would have something to do with controllingness, intrusive/invasive actions (the itrusive thoughts in ocd becomes the premise of what happens to who ever their using their ability against? Idk ocd that well)

Phobias - depending on the phobia, the way you'd deal with what your afraid of being your ability. Arachnophobia - your ability being pest amd spider resiliant, agoraphobia - your ability having something to do with being able to hide somewhere safe that youve made (small portable inner world? Invisibility??)

ED; makes the person feel the opposite of their disorder (if the user has binge eating issues, then their power would make others feel empty/hungry/hollow; anorexia or restrictive would be like overwhelming the sense with a feeling of fullness, stuffiness, claustrophobia; etc)

Disassociative having something to do with an incredible europhoric/dream feeling or with an incredibly grounding, kind of like "oh yea i just remembered my entire life situation and cant escape" type feeling

ADHD either has something to do with the inability to have others activate their powers, control them well, or consistantly.

Addiction/substance abuse would be kind of like the helplessness, constant incessant need for something, anxiety, etc

[idkwhattoputhere000]

SPENCER REID GHOST!SPEAKER AU

TW: TRIGGER WARNING

MENTIONS OF DRUGS AND DEATH

(Also spoilers for season 2 of criminal minds if you haven't finished it)

So I had this idea that Reid can talk to ghosts after he dies in Revelations and at first he thinks he's just high but then he gets clean and the ghosts are still there.

I also hc that he's super attached to just one ghost that is pretty much always there. Talking to other ghosts besides this one takes like a lot of energy from him so he doesn't do it often. But he does end up being able to use his ability for cases eventually. He's able to talk to the victims and finds out how they died. Then they just have to prove it. This takes a really long time for him to be able to do though, like past s6.

Basically here are my main ideas about this (I might make it into a fic eventually):

-Tobias ends up being the one ghost that he can easily talk to bc of their connection and their deaths being so close together. Tobias kinda tethers himself to Reid accidentally in the graveyard after he shoots him.

-It starts with small things, seeing Tobias in a mirror, things moving and breaking around his apartment, hearing Tobias talking to him.

-Reid knows he's high and while he's using Tobias' stash, there's a hallucinogenic in there too. so he writes it off as a combination of this and PTSD.

-This all just makes him even more on edge though and is part of why he's so off on cases after Revelations.

-Also in this au he acts even more paranoid and jumpy. he'll also be "talking to himself" sometimes and the team notices. Reid snaps at them a lot here too bc of the withdrawal but also bc they confront him on it and he gets pissed bc he's not crazy or anything.

-Part of him thinks this is a schizophrenic break but prefers to think it's all just the drugs and trauma, which is why it takes him so long to actually decide to quit using bc he doesn't want to lose that excuse if this is all denial and he's really losing it.

-(He also stops writing his mom during this time. as terrible as he feels about it, he can't handle her disease right now, not if he has it too)

-Time passes, no one finds out exactly what's going on. I do think he'd tell Morgan a little bit bc there's no way Morgan would let this go but as alarmed as Morgan is, he also thinks this is just PTSD too.

-But anyways he eventually finds out this is all real. I don't know how, maybe Tobias is actually able to touch him or maybe he talks to him and Reid realizes he isn't making this up himself.

-So he gets clean (in this au Tobias helps him get through it) and life goes on and is fairly normal. besides y'know being able to talk to a ghost.

-And eventually he discovers its not just Tobias he can talk to.

I hope people like this bc I actually am probably going to post about this a lot. I have more ideas but this is like the "origin story".

Also when Tobias dies, he isn't Charles or Raphael anymore so Reid is only talking to him. I know DID systems aren't as simple as portrayed in the show but I'm writing it this way bc I want Reid and Tobias to be close in this au (there was so much tension between them in Revelations tbh). Also I don't think this would all happen this way if Charles and Raphael are still there. So Reid and Tobias become friends and Tobias is free from his father now. He's actually more ok in this afterlife than he ever was before. And he helps Reid out a lot too, especially with dilaudid cravings and convincing him to go to meetings and to open up to the team about it. Which Reid eventually listens to.

Thanks for reading all this if you did and definitely expect more on this :)

[galaxitic]

Nobody??? I'm a somebody!!! Tell me about your charactersssss

You are going to regret asking this. I will now proceed to explain to you my entire plot as it stands.

Just so you know, it’s very much incomplete.

........Well, we’re gonna have to start with the basic facts about my WIP, I guess—

(Also: potential trigger warnings for PTSD, war, drugging, hallucinations, torture, death, suicide, and a lot of other dark themes)

In summary, my story’s about a revolution that takes place in the tyrannical kingdom of Idris. We have three perspective characters (listed in no particular order):

- Brinne Alistair (22), the queen of the kingdom. Controlling, emotional, paranoid. Has bipolar disorder.

- Adrian Caldaver (22), the queen’s advisor. Timid, visionary, guilt-ridden.

- Rowen Pierce (25), the leader of a major rebellion in Idris. Passionate, sadistic, determined.

We also have four secondary characters as the story is right now (though that number’s undoubtedly going to go up over time):

- Lennox Warren (22), a noble of the kingdom. Controls criminal justice. Rigid, professional, calculating.

- Grace Hudson (22), another noble (although she’s secretly part of the rebellion). Controls public relations with other countries. Persistent, analytical, zealous.

- Evander Pierce (27), Rowen’s brother and moral compass right-hand-man in the revolution. Pragmatic, serious, good-natured.

- Zurielle Tessing (20), a noble of the kingdom, and Adrian’s fiancée. Shy, practical, melancholy.

We can probably start with some history. Six years before the actual story begins, before Brinne is queen, there’s an attack on the castle lead by none other than Rowen herself. Shit goes down, and a fuck ton of nobles and royalty die, including the parents of all my characters in nobility. 

Brinne and Adrian aren’t killed, but Adrian is shot in the leg and Brinne is not only stabbed, but also gets the symbol of the revolution carved into her left cheek by Rowen. They’re both left to die, but neither of their wounds are fatal.

Flash forward five years, they both have PTSD from the incident.

Starting with the actual storyline, Rowen infiltrates the castle with help from Grace, looking for both Adrian and Lennox. She enlists their help in her revolution, promising that if they lend her their aid, they won’t be killed. They both agree.

Specifically, Adrian’s job is to convince Brinne not to make any decisions that oppress the people further. Lennox’s is to make criminal punishments more lenient, because the rebels are going to be committing a hell of a lot of crimes. Both are instructed not to get in each other’s way.

✨Time skipping✨, Grace executes a plan to fake her death and escape living as a noble. Her motives for it are somewhat tentative as of now, but they’re related to being able to work closer with the revolution and have it be less risky.

Over the next six months or so, Grace and Rowen do some gay shit, and Grace does a ton of stuff for the revolution. Things are going better than ever.

...That is, until Grace is found and arrested for treason.

Rowen goes to the castle after Grace’s arrest in an attempt to negotiate with Lennox for her. However, in the process, Lennox shoots and arrests Rowen as well.

Rowen is put on death row for treason (as is Grace), but before her execution, she’s sent to be interrogated by Lennox. Lennox finds a file on Rowen in the castle archives of the kingdom’s citizens, and based off information in it, he has Evander detained in the dungeons as well. Through Rowen’s interrogation, she refuses to say anything until Lennox threatens Evander’s life in front of her. That gets her...real talkative, to say the least.

Post-interrogation Rowen is not doing so well. She isn’t dehydrated or starving anymore, but the only food and water she’s given in captivity is heavily sedated and laced with hallucinogens. Lucky for her, though, Adrian comes to rescue her (and Evander and Grace) via Methods I Don’t Know Yet. His motives behind it largely relate back to his guilt and moral dilemma, but they’re also fear-based.

When Rowen, Evander, and Adrian get to Grace’s cell, she’s dead. She’d committed suicide with a vial of poison that revolutionaries have on them at all times after hearing that Rowen was captured. However, since Rowen is still under the effects of hallucinogens, she hallucinates that Grace is alive and well, and escaping with them.

When Rowen and Evander make it back to where they live, and it processes that Grace is dead, Rowen’s mental state collapses.

Adrian feels exceedingly guilty over helping the traitors, and figures the least he can do is tell Lennox they’re gone. He does, and Lennox decides it isn’t safe for him to stay in the kingdom.

He flees to another country with some rather...unconventional help from Brinne. He puts a gun to her head and demands permission to leave the kingdom, to which she complies. Brinne nearly kills herself after aiding him, but stops herself out of fear of death.

There’s going to be a lot in between that and the next thing, but I don’t know what any of it is yet - all I know is that after some time, the actual revolution both starts and ends, and spoiler alert: the rebels win.

Great! So the war is won, the people are happy, and now they just have to decide what to do with the queen. Rowen and Evander argue over how to kill her, which seems like a pointless argument, but considering Rowen’s idea is to burn her alive, it’s not really unreasonable that Evander’d want something more humane. If only he’d won the argument.

After being completely humiliated, Brinne is burned alive, and all the remaining nobles in the kingdom are hanged.

Meanwhile, Adrian finally does the same thing Lennox did: he runs. Specifically to the country next over. After a whole day of not stopping to rest, he eventually comes across a secluded cottage right on the beach. Not what he’s used to, but it’ll work.

Over the next year, Rowen works to establish a just government in Idris. Things go surprisingly well for her.

Adrian, on the other hand, is not doing okay at all. He’s completely suicidal at this point, and has attempted both drowning and starving himself.

Rowen visits the country Adrian is in for a diplomatic mission of sorts. She realizes there’s a beach nearby where she’s staying, and she’s never seen the ocean before, so she figures she might as well go.

She finds Adrian there, who’s contemplating suicide again. Adrian asks her to kill him using the knife she has on her, and at first she refuses, claiming she has no reason to. After some persuasion, though, she caves. She stabs him right below his ribs, and using the last of his strength, Adrian takes her knife and stabs himself a second time.

Rowen is scarred. She tells no one about that day, not even Evander. In truth, Adrian and her were always equally scared of each other, to an extent, and Rowen’s fear of him only increased with the encounter.

I’m bad at endings, but pretty sure it’s going to end with a reflection on Rowen’s part.

So yeah, that’s my WIP! I’m so sorry this was so long - I really hope at least somebody took the time to read all that, cause it took a super long time to write.

I really do crave validation for this - commenting/reblogging would mean the world to me, and asking me further questions or DMing me about it would mean even more. Thank you so much if you read all the way through that...I love y’all more than I can describe. Please don’t be shy to ask me more about any of this, it’d legitimately make my day.

[little-blueberry-pie]

Tribulation

Chapter 4

Triggers: Drug use (LSD), Drinking, language, ptsd (his fear of hurting Johnny stems from his childhood), gun mention, leg injury

Words: 1440 

Songs: Tribulation by Matt Maeson and Hallucinogenics by Matt Maeson

If I did not add a trigger and you think I should please let me know!

~~~

Dally stared at him for a moment and all Johnny wanted to do was run but he couldn’t. He had started this and he had to finish it. 

“Dally I- I like you- no I love you, Dally.” Johnny looked up at him with pleading eyes, full of love and admiration. And Dally? Oh god, he wanted nothing more than to take that kid and hold him tight. But he was scared. Scared he couldn’t love anymore.

“Darlin', can't you see I'm a broken man with addictive tendencies. And I think I love you but I don't ever think I can ever learn how to love just right,” Johnny looked at him with watery eyes but before he could do anything  Dally continued, “So run away from me, run as far as your dark brown eyes can see. Just as soon as you know that I don't ever think I can ever learn how to love you right,” Dally was close to crying now. He cared so much for this kid but he knew he would just hurt him in the end. 

 “And all the ways you won’t bend are the only ways I live my life. I'm tryin' to cope and burn just right. Yeah, I think I'm better on my own but I get so lost in you. But I'm so obsessed with you.” Dally leaned against the wall and slowly slid down. There was nothing he could do now. He told Johnny to run and he was sure the kid would listen, he always had before. But for once Johnny didn’t listen. He couldn’t. 

The smaller boy sat in front of the other and put his hands on his face. 

“Dally I could never leave you. Even if you screamed. I see you care too much and I’m not about to break the heart of the guy I love. Especially when I just heard him say he loved me too.” Dally couldn’t help but grin a bit. He felt his face heat up but he could care less right now. Johnny was his and in his arms, and that’s all he could ever want. Or so he thought. 

“Dallas,” Johnny looked deep into his eyes, “just fucking kiss me already.” And he needed to hear no more. 

Dally quickly but gently grabbed Johnny’s face and smashed their lips together. It was shorter than Johnny thought it would be but he wasn’t unhappy. 

Dally couldn’t stop staring at him. This was the first time in a while Dallas actually smiled and Johnny couldn’t help but smile too. 

~~~

The Two boys walked to the Curtis' happier than they were before. At some point during their walk, Johnny had intertwined his hand with Dally's. And when the older boy felt that he gave it a small squeeze to show his appreciation. 

Dally knew it was going to be hard to show his love and Johnny knew that too. He was ready to be patient and wait until Dally was ready. 

"Well, here we are," Dallas let his hand go and opened the door. 

"Will you stay?" Johnny asked and Dally shook his head.

“I probably shouldn’t,” Dally started but when he looked at Johnny he couldn’t help but change his mind, “Alright fine I’ll stay. But if I get questioned in the morning you’re explaining.” Johnny sniggered as they walked through the door to the living room. 

‘How did I get so lucky to be with a kid like Johnny?’ Dally couldn’t help but stare at him. Just the way his hair fell over (and never stayed out) his face. His eyes sparkling at every word he was saying. 

But him thinking about all this gave him so many questions. Is he even able to do this? He knows Johnny is willing to try but that doesn’t mean he won’t stop worrying. The last time he loved someone like this was- he couldn’t actually remember the last time he loved someone. 

The two were laying on the couch together, Johnny already out cold. 

He sighed and pushed himself up off the couch. He knew Johnny would be ok but he needed a break. Making his way through the room he found his way to the door and pushed it open. He knew exactly where he needed to go and that’s where he was headed. 

It was quiet outside. The night only disturbed by Dally’s soft footsteps against the pavement. The crickets chirped several tunes that all overlapped each other but still somehow sounded good. The trees loomed over the street in dark shadows and the wind gently blew. 

‘Did it always look this weird at night?’ Dally wondered as he pushed past an abandoned bicycle. He patted his pockets searching for a pack of weeds. 

"There ya are" he muttered to himself as he put one to his lips. Taking his lighter he lit the end and breathed in the chemicals. Then he blew out all the smoke out in a perfect ring. 

Not too long after he reached Bucks place and sure enough it was still empty. 

"Buck! I need another fucking beer!" He shouted as he collapsed into his seat. 

Dally was back at square one it seemed. Drinking so he could forget how much he loved Johnny.

"Dal are you sure you're good? Cause we both know if you want to get shitfaced drunk it'll take more than a few beers." Buck placed the bottle in front of him and then reached under the counter. He pulled out what looked like a thing of stamps. Buck pulled one off and handed it to Dally. 

"Here. Put it in your mouth. It should just dissolve. This should help ya forget." Dally took it and studied it. 

"What the fuck is it?" He looked up at Buck in confusion. 

"I got it a while back. I think they call it LSD or hallucinogens or some shit. I don't remember man, just take the damn thing!"

"Alright Damn!" He put the drug in his mouth and soon it was gone. 

"Alright now what?" Dally demanded. Buck just shrugged in response and Dally groaned. 

He decided he'd just keep on drinking while he waited. 

He sat, drink after drink but nothing happened. Until it hit. 

It all kinda came at once but his world started to spin. Things would randomly appear and disappear, some on command even. 

"Buck what the fuck. What's up with your hat man?" Buck patted his head quick and then put a hand on Dally's shoulder. 

"Dude, I think you're high." Dally looked confused. 

"I'm what?" Buck shook his head. 

"High," he repeated. 

"Oh hey Buck. How's it going?" Dally asked and Buck laughed his ass off. 

"Oh man, I can't wait to tell you this later!" Suddenly Buck's head enlarged and his body got tiny. 

"Anyway the drugs will wear off…" and then Bucks’ voice was too high pitched for Dally to hear. Besides he didn't care. And then Dally started to quietly sing, something he would never do.

“Pushin' past the limit, trippin' on hallucinogenics. Rippin' with my sinners 'cause fuck it, man, I ain't no beginner. And then I crawled back to the life that I said I wouldn't live in." Dally jumped out of his chair and ran around the bar. 

"'Cause I just couldn't open up, I'm always shiftin'. Go find yourself a man who's strong, and tall, and Christian. Drunken in Seattle, two more xans and without a paddle. I don't remember your face, or your hair, or your name, or your smile." Everyone was now staring. Dally, the toughest criminal in all of Tusla, was singing about his feelings and being high. No one could believe it. 

 "'Cause I just couldn't open up, I'm always shifting 'cause I carried on like the wayward son. And now through and through I have come undone with my bloodshot eyes and my shaky hands. 'Cause I carried on like the wayward man." Dally did a weird little dance and continued.

 "Now I’m pushin' past the limit, trippin' on hallucinogenics. My cigarette burnt my finger 'cause I forgot I lit it.” Someone in the other room started clapping and cheering.

"Oh shit!" Dallas yelled, "Was that a gun? Was it mine?" He whipped his head down and clutched his leg. "Oh fuck my leg's bleeding!" Buck watched from afar as Dally yelled and rambled on about how his perfectly fine leg was going to fall off any minute now. 

"Oh man, Dallas is gonna kill me when he finds out about this," then he walked into the backroom to go clean some shot glasses. 

[audreycritter]

overshadowed

Hullo! This is a fic exchange with @fuyunoakegata . It’s rated T for language. It’s Gen in content.  overshadowed (AO3 Link) The apartment was full of blasting 1990s pop music and five minutes before, Dick Grayson had been cheerfully singing along. Or, he had been trying to with an intentionally forced cheerfulness. But now he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror just staring at himself.

For a moment, it felt like he was making sure he was still there, but that was a little ridiculous. Of course he was there. No, he was making sure he was still...himself.

It should have been an easy thing to answer.

It wasn't.

He shook it off and left the bathroom, his toothbrush still unused on the vanity counter with a glob of toothpaste that would dry and turn gummy as the day wore on. He turned off the music and left the apartment.

Hour after hour seeped by and he ran through errands on autopilot, always half distracted with the mess inside his own head. He was running on three hours of sleep but that didn't really explain why he flinched at the bang of a cash register or why the crackle of electrical work on a street corner made him break out in a cold sweat.

By afternoon, he was exhausted in a way sleep wouldn't fix. He turned the corner from numbing fear to anger around dinner at the Manor, right before encoded strategy messages started filling the secure group channel.

He edged out of conversations, made flimsy excuses, left half a plate of food unfinished when he left for his apartment. He claimed he would catch up on sleep.

He did not sleep.

When night fell and he shuttered the windows and pulled black and blue over his chest, onto his arms, flexed his fingers in the gloves and pressed the mask into place, Dick Grayson was furious and absent.

His mind was years and miles away, strapped down and full of the tang of incense and blood, while his body leaned over the edge of a roof and he tapped his comm only to say,

“The cult guys are mine. I won't need backup.”

“O on monitor. Red on standby if you change your mind.”

“I won't change my mind,” Nightwing said firmly.

“If you need backup,” Batman amended Oracle’s statement. “Robin and I are also available after Tennyson Street bust.”

“I won't need backup,” Nightwing repeated, a little irritably. He tried to lighten his voice, to not sound so much like how he felt. “It’s not that complicated. What am I, a rookie?”

He muted his comm.

He didn't need the distraction.

He was already too far away. ***

The stupid thing about city cults, from a vigilantism standpoint, was that they were full of desperate and weirdly skilled people. People with a lot of nothing to lose and fractured lifetimes behind them. Men like ex-cons and trigger-happy soldiers with PTSD, looking for a shot at redemption or silence in their battered souls.

Nightwing knew what it was like to want something like that.

Their ranks, even small, were usually full of women both timid and fierce, made hesitant by trauma or loneliness and made forceful by the instinct to protect the one thing they believed in: their leader.

Not every cult was worth systematically taking down. But other cults, even the ones not set on world domination, sometimes ended up involved in dangerous and shady stuff-- experimental drugs, suicide pacts, ritual sacrifice. And Gotham was a breeding ground for the weird.

Illegal activities mixed with fervent acolytes made for a deadly cocktail. The most recent manifestation was a congregation of forty or so people, an adherence to five hundred year old missiles of an excommunicated Irish monk that might have been forgeries, and a manic depressed fourteen year old girl offering herself for spirit-summoning bloodletting that would probably kill her.

Nightwing had been tracking their activities, including the hallucinogenic drugs they were smuggling, for a few days and tonight was his last chance to act.

The Gaelic was unfamiliar but the robes they wore heightened his sense of unease, disrupting what focus he had. And when he leapt, the monotone chanting swelled in volume and the involuntary shudder that wracked him threw off his balance midflip and he staggered through his landing, skidding onto his knees.

He heard the shots before he saw the guns and it just figured that it would be the sort of cult to have semiautomatics. It was such a Gotham thing to have.

Nightwing was already on his feet again and he disarmed three of them, fighting toward the leader who was rushing his lines and standing near the teenager with a ceremonial dagger that looked so gaudy Nightwing was pretty certain it had been picked up from a Chinese bulk manufacturer.

The next man fell under his sidekick and then Red Robin was right next to him, scowling as he relieved two more congregants of their weapons.

“Turn. On. Your. Comm,” Red hissed while spinning to take someone down with his staff.

“I’ve got this,” Nightwing answered sharply, as a woman with a heavy candlestick managed to land a blow across his back.

“The gunshots were called into GCPD,” Red shouted back, while using a shoulder of a falling man as leverage for leaping into a double kick. “We had no idea if you were okay.”

“I'm good!” Nightwing yelled over the frenzied Gaelic chanting of the leader and one disciple who held the girl’s wrists down while she was clearly having second thoughts. Nightwing saw her face, that moment where she shifted from aligned to fractured in intention and understanding.

“Nightwing!” Red yelled and the man slipped right by Nightwing’s punch and lunged forward. All Nightwing was aware of was that the man missed him, he had moved quickly enough and he could get to the girl in time.

The disciple went down hard and the girl was already scrambling away from the crude altar. The dagger sliced through the sleeve of his suit and the leader’s face took a blow and another and another and--

It might have been more, it might have been too much, but in the mere seconds it had all taken, the man Nightwing thought he had evaded made it to Red Robin instead.

Red shrieked and Nightwing threw the leader behind the altar, where he lay writhing and moaning.

He took the last guy out from behind, a stunning blow that wouldn't leave him unconscious but dazed and immobile for at least a few minutes.

“I thought you had him,” Red gasped at him, a hand to his side. He was standing, leaning on his bostaff. “Sorry. I'm good. I just thought…”

He swayed and Nightwing reached out, put a hand on his shoulder.

He turned his comm back on and swallowed hard.

“We need GCPD and some Bat clean-up here,” Nightwing said. “I'm taking Red to the Cave.”

“What happened?” Batman demanded.

“They fought back,” Nightwing said sourly, torn between defensiveness and guilt. He could have asked for help, he could have gone in prepared, he could have been better.

“It's not that bad,” Red said when Nightwing didn't clarify. “Just give the Doctor a heads up.”

“Done,” Oracle said. “He’ll be down there by the time you guys arrive. Now’s the time to be honest, boys.”

“Just a level two,” Red said. “Really.”

“Robin and I will handle cleanup,” Batman added.

Nightwing reached out once more to steady Red, but the younger man jerked away from him and began picking his way through the groaning bodies.

This was his fault. He could have prevented this: Red getting hurt, his own cut on the arm, the girl fleeing to the streets and not getting help, breaking the leader’s jaw. He was so weary, so shaken, so bitter, so lost, all at once. All things Nightwing-- Dick Grayson-- was not supposed to be.

He didn't feel like himself.

And he hated that feeling.

***

Kiran Devabhaktuni was sipping a morning cuppa that felt a rather lot like an afternoon cup of tea after an overnight shift at the hospital. Alfie was reading a newspaper and Damian Wayne was sitting between them at the small, round table.

Dev had taken advantage of both Damian’s proximity to Alfie and his own penchant for stealing and munching on straight brown sugar cubes. A simple nod while Alfie was buried in the paper had bought Damian’s complicity and lured the boy out of a sulk.

With a casual motion, Dev would snatch a sugar cube and then slip it under the table to Damian’s waiting hand. The boy was silent and had perfected sneaking as an art form and he was quietly adding each cube to Alfie’s untouched tea.

Damian sipped his own tea while this was going on and shoved back his bed-mussed hair more than once when Alfie glanced over the paper at them. Dev neglected his tea through most of this.

Finally, Alfie set the paper down, folded neatly.

They were up to fourteen cubes.

“How long did you sleep?” Alfie asked Damian, squeezing lemon into his teacup.

“Long enough,” Damian said sourly, his bitter mood returning a bit.

“I'll talk to Dick,” Dev said, guessing at the mood. Damian met his gaze with a startled lift of his brow and then nodded and looked down at the table.

“You were out much later than usual,” Alfie said calmly. “Shall I keep you home from school to sleep?”

At that offer, Damian yawned and stretched.

“I ought to go,” he said, “but if you insist on my truancy…”

“Stay home,” Alfie said with a fond smile. “The year’s almost out and I think you deserve a day off.”

Damian picked up a spoon and fumbled it out of his fingers; it fell beside Dev’s chair and Dev bent over to snatch it up.

“I'll use another,” Damian said, his hand already over another spoon when Dev sat up with the utensil. Dev shrugged and set it aside. He'd thought Alfie was just being kind but perhaps, if the boy was randomly dropping things, it was an attempt to get him to actually sleep.

With role models like Bruce and the other Waynes, it wasn't surprising he had a hard time setting aside appropriate time for rest during busy weeks. As the weather picked up, so did the criminal underbelly of Gotham.

Dev lifted his tea and sipped it and immediately recoiled. The brew was so sweet his teeth stung and he winced in reaction.

“Everything alright, Kiran?” Alfie asked in a mild tone.

Dev set the teacup down and nodded, but gave Damian an affronted look. The boy gave him a crooked grin in response. Alfie sipped his own tea, finally, and then sipped again as if nothing was the matter with it.

“I put too much sugar in this,” Dev said, standing with the tea cup.

Alfie looked up at that.

“I didn’t think you took sugar in your tea,” he said.

“I thought I’d give it a--” Dev stopped mid-excuse because Alfie was none-too-subtly exchanging an amused smirk with Damian. “Bloody hell,” Dev muttered as he took the tea to the kitchen. He dumped it out in the sink and wondered about the problem of how precisely to talk to Dick Grayson.

Ever since he’d come to the Cave with a wounded Timothy two nights before, and frankly even before that, he’d been acting oddly. Dev hadn’t seen much of him, exactly, but what little he had seen, the younger man had been brooding and reclusive in conversation and quick-tempered. It had worsened since Dev had sutured Timothy’s side and Dick’s arm in the Cave that night.

Dev knew from both Timothy and snippets of overheard conversations in the Cave that Dick had been dealing with a violent cult. When it became clear that breaking up their gathering and imprisoning some of the key members had not solved the problem but rather exacerbated Dick’s foul mood, and that it was radiating outward through Tim and Damian now, Dev spent the night before his shift at the hospital sorting through older case and medical files.

He’d found...not much. Plenty of information, to be certain, but very little about cults and several concerning gaps of long stretches of time-- most of them right before and after the date Jason Wayne’s own files had details redacted in thick, black markings that Dev now knew were about his first death.

For all his frequent failings contradicting this, Dev wasn’t exactly a stupid man.

The Waynes were not precisely the sort of family where one could wander around demanding explanations from just anyone-- after months of feeling out of the loop, he’d realized they kept their secrets from each other just as much as from him. Some of those things were none of his business and others sometimes fell in that hazy approximation of doctor-patient confidentiality they maintained. Going to the wrong person and asking for information might result in answers and might just as likely result in, “He did what?” and hours or days of upheaval.

And Alfred, who seemed to know everything and maintain a constant calm, actually hid his own sour reactions and grieving aches behind that demeanor and Dev knew after fumbling through that a few times that even if the older man had information, it wasn’t always worth the emotional cost just to avoid asking someone more directly involved.

So, if there were gaps relevant to his current state, Dick Grayson would need to answer for them himself. Dev ran the risk of Dick refusing and shutting him out for weeks or months, but at least it minimized the damage and isolated it a bit.

“We’re having a family lunch,” Alfie announced, coming into the kitchen with a tray of tea things. “Would you care for another cup of tea before I clean up?”

And Dev knew, as he accepted the offer and poured another cup of tea and drank it standing at the counter, that Alfie was arranging things on purpose. The older man had a way of putting people in the right places that sometimes made Dev feel a bit like a piece on a chessboard, but with gratitude instead of a lingering sense of manipulation.

“I’m going to go sleep,” he said, yawning and setting the cup down. “The hospital was busy last night. If there’s lunch, I’m not going to bother going to my flat and coming back.”

“Cassandra is using the ballroom,” Alfie said as he left the room. “I’ll leave you to decide on earplugs or interrupting dance.”

Dev opted for earplugs.

And seven hours later, after lunch where everyone who happened to be in town was present, Dick Grayson had been pressured by Damian and Cass into staying to swim in the just-reopened pool. And Dev, still trying to decide exactly when and how to approach him, went to at least sit outside (he didn’t care much for freezing his bollocks off in the still-frigid water) and found Dick by chance, standing in the hallway to the back door.

Dev stopped and took a step back. Dick Grayson in best form would have noticed him immediately, but Dick right now was distracted and self-absorbed in some inner turmoil. He left the hall, but once outside, took a sharp right away from the pool. Dev followed, quietly, as Dick loped around the house and then from the patio off the ballroom doors, swung himself up the face of the house and onto the flat section of roof.

“Mate,” Dev called after him, and Dick’s face reappeared at the edge, stony and dark. “I’m not nearly as skilled. I’ll be up when I find a ladder.”

He expected Dick to protest this or swing down and storm off, but Dick leaned out of view and then a moment later called, “There’s one behind the hedge in the landscaping.”

Dev found it and clambered up without looking down, glad that the flat roof was walled in by steeper sections and more like a deck without railing than a proper roof. If Dick had gone any further up, he wasn’t sure how useful he’d be in conversation.

“You’ve been out of sorts,” Dev said bluntly, sitting down next to the younger man.

Dick shrugged.

“I’m sorry about Tim,” Dick said after a moment.

Dev blinked and leaned forward to look at Dick’s face.

“What?”

“Tim,” Dick said again. He swallowed. “I know...I mean, I know you guys are close. And I sort of figured you’d come chew me out if I stuck around long enough.”

“Mate, Timothy’s plenty good at getting himself injured without help,” Dev said. “It’s not your bloody fault just because you happened to be in the same building. Nah, I’m not miffed about that. He’ll be fine. I’m worried about you.”

Dick glanced up at that and frowned.

“And Dames rather is, too, if you hadn’t noticed.”

At that, Dick sighed and put his head in his hands.

“It’s been a bad week,” he admitted. “Just...a lot of stuff I’d rather not think about.”

“But you’re thinking about it anyway,” Dev said, leaning back and resting his palms on the gritty roof. In answer, Dick just nodded, his head still in his hands. “Flashbacks are bloody awful,” Dev said gently. “I’m not going to force you to talk about it. It doesn’t always help. But the option’s there.”

“Thanks,” Dick said, lifting his head and wrapping his arms around his knees.

“There are some...gaps,” Dev said slowly. “In your medical files.”

Dick looked at him sharply.

“Research,” Dev said, not feeling guilty in the least. “The files that are there are there for a reason.”

Dick sprang to his feet and flipped up into a handstand. He stayed upside down for a bit and then bent backward and came up on his feet. He brushed his hands off and sat back down heavily.

“There was a cult, a while ago. A guy named Brother Blood. It got some media attention.”

“I very vaguely remember that,” Dev acknowledged.

“Bruce knows that we, I mean, that the Titans and I were involved. But we weren't exactly on the best of terms, Bruce and I, I mean. He didn't ask for updates and I didn't offer them.”

“I can't imagine how you ever got to that point,” Dev said, prodding at Dick with his shoe.

Dick chuckled, a little low, and then sighed again.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me either.”

“So, massive dangerous cult and smaller dangerous cult,” Dev said. Dick shuddered in response and Dev’s brow creased in concern.

“I was captured and tortured-- you probably know the usual story by now,” Dick said with a wry frown. “It was awful, but honestly that wasn't the worst part.”

Dev is quiet, waiting him out, and cursing inwardly at the fact that capture and torture are in fact too common elements of stories that get brushed under the rug.

“The worst part was the mind control,” Dick said quietly. “And it went on for months without me knowing. I…” he paused and put a hand to his forehead. “I almost, no, I sold out everyone I cared about. I mean, obviously things didn't stay that way, but I didn't know about the mind control until after.”

“Well, bloody fuck,” Dev exhaled. “Months, you said?”

Dick nodded again.

“And the horrible thing is that I remember what it felt like, to want to trust people and defend them and being completely convinced they were awful at the same time. Just how divided I felt at the end, knowing and believing two totally different things at once and not being sure which was right.”

They’re quiet in the afternoon sun, the irritated shouts of Damian and high, pealing laughter of Cass drifting across the rooftops. Dev thought of his own internal dichotomy, that he fought against even now, of you’ll never be good enough and you’re probably fine.

“That's sodding terrible,” he said. “That's a lot of time to lose.”

“It ruined a lot for me,” Dick said in a small voice. “I recovered but it didn't fix everything, you know? Some stuff was just too far gone. And chasing this cult the past week, it wasn't like I really thought I was vulnerable, but it just dragged up a lot of stuff I hadn't let myself think about for a while.” Dick rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Thanks for talking. It does help.”

Dev shrugged and didn't mention how little talking he'd actually done.

“Anytime,” he said.

Dick stood and stretched. “You're swimming, right?”

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” Dev exclaimed, standing.

“It's not that bad,” Dick argued. “Al turned the heater on last night. Anyway, I'll meet you down there.”

Without another word, Dick sprinted across the roof and sprang up to the overhang of the sloped section.

“Those bloody slates are loose!” Dev yelled after him.

“Ain't nobody got time for that!” Dick yelled back without slowing down.

Dev took a deep breath and exhaled slowly and went down the ladder and replaced it behind the hedges. He strode over to the pool just in time to see Dick take a running leap off the roof and curl into a flip on his descent toward the deep end of the pool.

His heart skipped about five beats and he swore, but the water’s surface burst into a high splash and when Dick resurfaced, laughing, Damian raised an eyebrow and said, “Six out of ten.”

“Six!” Dick exclaimed in mock outrage, tugging the younger boy into the pool with him. He shoved Damian’s head under. When the younger boy came up sputtering, he shoved himself away and treaded water.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, while Dick floated on his back.

Dev sat in one of the lounge chairs and reclined until he was almost horizontal.

“Getting better,” Dick answered. “Wanna race?”

“Slowpokes,” Cass muttered from her perch on the diving board.

“You get down here and race with us,” Dick ordered. “C’mon. Dev! Sit up! We need you as a judge.”

Dev hauled himself off the chair and went to one end of the pool and put his feet in. It wasn't as cold as he was expecting but it was still pretty icy.

“Alright, then,” he said. “Best out of three. If any of you try to drag me in, I reserve the right to exclusively use Hello Kitty plasters for a month.”

“I fail to see how that is a suitable deterrent for either of them,” Damian called from the other side of the pool.

Dev studied the matching grins on Cass and Dick’s faces and he reconsidered. There was still a faintly haunted look in Dick’s eyes but it was faded far from what it had been earlier.

“All medicines will be dispensed in liquid form with strawberry flavoring,” he amended.

“Gross,” Cass said, wrinkling her nose. “Changed my mind, Dickface.”

“You've been spending too much time with Jason,” Dick told her seriously while Damian snorted into the water. “But yeah, that's pretty convincing leverage.”

“Are we racing or are we not?” Damian demanded impatiently.

“We’re racing!” Dick said, “Places!”

Dev ended up in the water anyway.

Dick took two separate medicines that month, both with artificial strawberry flavoring.

And Dev was relieved to see that while it took a few weeks and a few long nights just hanging out at the manor, the man’s mood improved and evened out and things went back to as normal as the Wayne household usually managed.