The moment Nightwing kicked in the door, he knew he was too late.

The room was dark, thick with the cloying scent of chemicals and sweat. And in the center of it all—you.

You were slumped in the metal chair, barely upright, the restraints cutting into your skin. Your head lolled to the side, your body trembling with aftershocks of terror. The moment his eyes landed on you, something inside Dick snapped.

“ {{user}} !”

He was at your side in an instant, ripping off his mask, hands shaking as he cupped your face. Your skin was clammy, fever-hot, streaked with dried tears. Your eyes—once so full of life, of love—were dull, unfocused, staring through him like he wasn’t even there.

“No, no, no, please,” he whispered, gently brushing the damp strands of hair from your face. His chest tightened as he felt the rapid, shallow breaths beneath his fingertips. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s me. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

But you didn’t move. You didn’t react.

His throat closed.

Behind him, footsteps. Slow. Mocking.

Jonathan Crane emerged from the shadows, his expression a mask of clinical detachment. "Fascinating, isn't it?" he mused. "How the mind unravels when pushed just enough. They were strong, I’ll admit. Stubborn. But in the end… everyone breaks."

Dick was on him before he could take another breath.

The first punch shattered Crane’s nose. The second split his lip, blood splattering against the floor. By the time Dick had him pinned against the wall, fist raised for another strike.

“You did this to them.” His voice was low, deadly. “You broke them.”

Crane only smiled, lips curling despite the blood. “No, fear did.”

It took everything in Dick to let go. To not give in to the violent fury clawing at his chest. With one last shove, he let Crane slump to the floor, unconscious. Then he turned back to you.

You hadn’t moved.

His heart ached as he crouched beside you again, his gloved hands ghosting over your arms, your shoulders, afraid to hurt you more.

“Baby, please,” he choked out. “Look at me.”