Distortions (revised)
Title: Distortions on an Empty Face
Fandom: DC Comics
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: DC abuses them more than me.
Summary: After being hit by Alexander Luthor, Jr., Dick has the opportunity to change things in Robin's life, though he is thoroughly stuck in his own.
Distortions Chapter 3
.:N:.
Batman never should have let him out of the cave in his former domino masks, the ones he had worn as Robin and with the first two Nightwing uniforms. The proof was blinking back at him in the mirror. He knew his eyes intimately well -- the navy outline of his iris, the powder blue ring around his pupil, the starbursts between which were so blue they were nearly black -- he had had them long enough, seen them long enough, to know that the eyes in the mirror were his own.
For his first lesson in suspect interrogation, Batman had grilled him. The idea had seemed amusing when Bruce explained it to him; all he had to do was answer questions, lying sometimes and being honest others. It wasn’t as if Bruce wouldn’t know the answers to the questions beforehand -- the man had been there when his parents were murdered and been there since -- and Dick could hardly understand what the exercise would accomplish. He sat down at the table cocky and calm, not in the least intimidated by the darkness which was only held off by the single light above his head. After five minutes of waiting, Dick began to fidget slightly; after ten, he stood up; after fifteen, Dick turned around into Batman.
At the circus, Dick had seen Batman as his vengeance, as an element of the curse made real that he had put on his parent’s murderer. In the previous few months, Dick had seen Batman as his mentor, as an element of the new purpose into which he had sworn himself. At that moment, Dick had seen Batman as the legend, as an element of Gotham which made even the most ruthless criminals shake. He had no idea what the criminals saw when they met up with the Dark Knight in an alley -- like if the force of Batman was some kind of inkblot test of a person’s fear -- but Dick knew what he saw: nothing. There was an emptiness in Batman that resonated within himself, as if they were that finely tuned, well oiled machine, though it was set at an excitation frequency so close to their own natural frequency, the gears were going to jump and skip and everything would break down. Dick had been less frightened huddled on the floor with his parent’s blood and brain matter on him.
Then the questions started, not the ones he had been expecting. Some of the questions were about people and places he knew nothing about, questions about events before he was born. Others were personal, questions about the most difficult moments of his life. Soon, he could feel himself physically vibrating with that emptiness and knew if it kept up he would explode instead of break down. He no longer knew what the questions were or if his answers were true or false, only that he needed to give answers so the questions would stop and the emptiness would go away. And when the world was gone and there was nothing but the light above him and the chair beneath him, and when Dick was certain there was nothing left in the world, and his nine years had never existed, Bruce was suddenly around him. Dick returned the grip without thinking, securing himself to Bruce’s chest with his arms and legs. Trying with sweaty palms to push Bruce into that emptiness, that void, Trying to use the man to change his natural frequency so he would never resonate with the nothingness again. If he had been older at the time, Dick might have wondered at his instinctual separation of Bruce and the various Batmans, though that was the last night he had seen the empty Batman until Jason was murdered. Bruce Wayne is a mask I wear, that I’ve been wearing since I was a child. The same Batman Dick refused to see when Vesper had been murdered.
Some people would have called it child abuse, though no more so than anything else that involved him dressing up as a human target for a war on crime. Dick never thought of it as such, there were simply things that needed to be learned and maybe they had both learned something. It had taken Batman two days to give him the rest of the assignment, a video with the instructions to watch himself and determine when he was lying and what indicators were present. Despite the poor lighting conditions, the recording was crisp and the resolution high enough he could zoom in when necessary. The tape, fortunately, did not have sound and he had not yet mastered lip reading, so the actual questioning remained garbled in his head. On his fourth report submission, Bruce had only made corrections to his grammar, and the fifth submission was returned without red marks, so Dick figured the lesson was closed. Half of that report was on his eyes; he had gone over the tape more times zoomed in on the eyes than anything else. The truth had been there.
For his first lesson in subterfuge, Batman had told him he only had to learn to lie to one person and then handed him a mirror. In that mirror, Dick learned to lie to anyone because he first convinced himself it was true. He had to be telling the truth, because he had never taught his eyes to lie. Batman never drilled it into him.
Looking in the bathroom mirror, Dick wondered how anyone who had looked into both Dick Grayson’s eyes and Robin’s eyes had ever been fooled. There were those heroes who worked without masks and still maintained a secret identity -- Superman came to mind. Tim, even after all the publicity of No Man’s Land, could have gone out without a mask and never been recognized. It wasn’t because of the glasses or the spiked hair; they were different people in and out of the costume. Those around them found it easier to not see the connection than to see the lie, to dig past the person on the surface. Dick wondered how much Tim was left outside of Robin.
Batman should have put Dick in a full face mask. He never separated Dick from Robin from Nightwing, except in what he wore, but he always wore Dick Grayson in his eyes. That was who was in the eyes in the mirror.
Dick widened his eyes until he could see his entire iris and map all the tiny blood vessels. Keeping his focus on his pupils, he cocked his head slowly to the right. His eyes were locked in place as his skull rotated around them, the glide smooth on his tear fluid. The other Robin could be trapped there, within those eyes, drowning in the sea of blue. But Dick lacked the ability to see the Robin if he was indeed there. He stood at the mirror, his nose almost touching the glass, until his eyes began to water.
No longer able to look at those eyes, Dick slammed his hand against the smooth glass surface, covering the reflection as much as he could. There was a bottle of spirit gum would hold against extreme conditions, least of all a shower, and he was tempted to reapply the mask. His skin itched in response and he put down the bottle reluctantly.
Dick did, however, cover the mirror with a towel.
.:N:.
Fandom: DC Comics
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: DC abuses them more than me.
Summary: After being hit by Alexander Luthor, Jr., Dick has the opportunity to change things in Robin's life, though he is thoroughly stuck in his own.
Distortions Chapter 3
.:N:.
Batman never should have let him out of the cave in his former domino masks, the ones he had worn as Robin and with the first two Nightwing uniforms. The proof was blinking back at him in the mirror. He knew his eyes intimately well -- the navy outline of his iris, the powder blue ring around his pupil, the starbursts between which were so blue they were nearly black -- he had had them long enough, seen them long enough, to know that the eyes in the mirror were his own.
For his first lesson in suspect interrogation, Batman had grilled him. The idea had seemed amusing when Bruce explained it to him; all he had to do was answer questions, lying sometimes and being honest others. It wasn’t as if Bruce wouldn’t know the answers to the questions beforehand -- the man had been there when his parents were murdered and been there since -- and Dick could hardly understand what the exercise would accomplish. He sat down at the table cocky and calm, not in the least intimidated by the darkness which was only held off by the single light above his head. After five minutes of waiting, Dick began to fidget slightly; after ten, he stood up; after fifteen, Dick turned around into Batman.
At the circus, Dick had seen Batman as his vengeance, as an element of the curse made real that he had put on his parent’s murderer. In the previous few months, Dick had seen Batman as his mentor, as an element of the new purpose into which he had sworn himself. At that moment, Dick had seen Batman as the legend, as an element of Gotham which made even the most ruthless criminals shake. He had no idea what the criminals saw when they met up with the Dark Knight in an alley -- like if the force of Batman was some kind of inkblot test of a person’s fear -- but Dick knew what he saw: nothing. There was an emptiness in Batman that resonated within himself, as if they were that finely tuned, well oiled machine, though it was set at an excitation frequency so close to their own natural frequency, the gears were going to jump and skip and everything would break down. Dick had been less frightened huddled on the floor with his parent’s blood and brain matter on him.
Then the questions started, not the ones he had been expecting. Some of the questions were about people and places he knew nothing about, questions about events before he was born. Others were personal, questions about the most difficult moments of his life. Soon, he could feel himself physically vibrating with that emptiness and knew if it kept up he would explode instead of break down. He no longer knew what the questions were or if his answers were true or false, only that he needed to give answers so the questions would stop and the emptiness would go away. And when the world was gone and there was nothing but the light above him and the chair beneath him, and when Dick was certain there was nothing left in the world, and his nine years had never existed, Bruce was suddenly around him. Dick returned the grip without thinking, securing himself to Bruce’s chest with his arms and legs. Trying with sweaty palms to push Bruce into that emptiness, that void, Trying to use the man to change his natural frequency so he would never resonate with the nothingness again. If he had been older at the time, Dick might have wondered at his instinctual separation of Bruce and the various Batmans, though that was the last night he had seen the empty Batman until Jason was murdered. Bruce Wayne is a mask I wear, that I’ve been wearing since I was a child. The same Batman Dick refused to see when Vesper had been murdered.
Some people would have called it child abuse, though no more so than anything else that involved him dressing up as a human target for a war on crime. Dick never thought of it as such, there were simply things that needed to be learned and maybe they had both learned something. It had taken Batman two days to give him the rest of the assignment, a video with the instructions to watch himself and determine when he was lying and what indicators were present. Despite the poor lighting conditions, the recording was crisp and the resolution high enough he could zoom in when necessary. The tape, fortunately, did not have sound and he had not yet mastered lip reading, so the actual questioning remained garbled in his head. On his fourth report submission, Bruce had only made corrections to his grammar, and the fifth submission was returned without red marks, so Dick figured the lesson was closed. Half of that report was on his eyes; he had gone over the tape more times zoomed in on the eyes than anything else. The truth had been there.
For his first lesson in subterfuge, Batman had told him he only had to learn to lie to one person and then handed him a mirror. In that mirror, Dick learned to lie to anyone because he first convinced himself it was true. He had to be telling the truth, because he had never taught his eyes to lie. Batman never drilled it into him.
Looking in the bathroom mirror, Dick wondered how anyone who had looked into both Dick Grayson’s eyes and Robin’s eyes had ever been fooled. There were those heroes who worked without masks and still maintained a secret identity -- Superman came to mind. Tim, even after all the publicity of No Man’s Land, could have gone out without a mask and never been recognized. It wasn’t because of the glasses or the spiked hair; they were different people in and out of the costume. Those around them found it easier to not see the connection than to see the lie, to dig past the person on the surface. Dick wondered how much Tim was left outside of Robin.
Batman should have put Dick in a full face mask. He never separated Dick from Robin from Nightwing, except in what he wore, but he always wore Dick Grayson in his eyes. That was who was in the eyes in the mirror.
Dick widened his eyes until he could see his entire iris and map all the tiny blood vessels. Keeping his focus on his pupils, he cocked his head slowly to the right. His eyes were locked in place as his skull rotated around them, the glide smooth on his tear fluid. The other Robin could be trapped there, within those eyes, drowning in the sea of blue. But Dick lacked the ability to see the Robin if he was indeed there. He stood at the mirror, his nose almost touching the glass, until his eyes began to water.
No longer able to look at those eyes, Dick slammed his hand against the smooth glass surface, covering the reflection as much as he could. There was a bottle of spirit gum would hold against extreme conditions, least of all a shower, and he was tempted to reapply the mask. His skin itched in response and he put down the bottle reluctantly.
Dick did, however, cover the mirror with a towel.
.:N:.