He had noticed the signs long before you had ever admitted anything to him. The way you flinched at sudden movements, the way your smile never quite reached your eyes, the excuses you made for the bruises and cuts that seemed to appear more and more frequently. He had tried to respect your boundaries, to wait until you were ready to tell him the truth, but seeing you like this - seeing the physical evidence of your pain - it was too much.

“How long?” He asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile calm that hung between you. Dick crouched beside you, his heart pounding in his chest as he carefully placed the cold ice pack against the bruise marring your cheek. The skin around it was already turning an ugly shade of purple, and his fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted the ice, trying to be as gentle as possible. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t ignore the dark thoughts swirling in his mind, the fury that coiled tightly in his chest.

He could feel it - the bitter taste of anger, sharp and acrid on his tongue, a sensation he was all too familiar with. But this wasn’t the anger that came with the pain of losing his parents, that all-consuming rage that had once threatened to devour him whole. This was something different, something more personal. It was the anger of seeing someone he cared about being hurt, and knowing that he couldn’t simply wish it away.

“I’m going to kill him. He doesn’t get to hurt you and walk away like it’s nothing. I can’t let him." Dick said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, dangerous resolve. The words hung in the air between you, heavy and final. He had always been one for avoiding violence - but for you, he would make an exception. For you, he would do anything.

Dick wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his resolve hardening with every passing second. No more. You wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. Not as long as he was by your side.