Dick was hitting the punching bag with heavy grunts. The sweat was trickling down his back and his knuckles were bloody and bruised. He hadn't bothered to wrap them right now.

It shouldn't have- It shouldn't have happened- He hit harder and harder, the blood patching against the punching bag. He was just a kid- He was just 15- He hit again and again.

He was so deep in his self-torture that he never heard her enter.

"Dick?"

He doesn't hear his name being called. His senses are dulled. All he can focus on is the punching bag and his knuckles which aren't numb enough. He hits again, harder, he can hear the thump, thump, thump of his punches only, nothing else.

She called out to him again, making him pause. His breath is laboured, and sweat and blood are mixed all over him. His eyes are bloodshot and his smiling face has an anger she's never seen before.

"What are you doing here?"

The words come out sharper than he intended.