it goes

Themyscira is like something out of a dream, and Mitya can't exactly believe that he's there. It shouldn't be real, it shouldn't exist — and yet. He'd resisted the invitation to go before, if only because it would be another step towards the inevitable, that his life had changed irreversibly and there was nothing to be done about it. The past month has been proof enough of that. He's never been in so much pain before — both the physical and the mental — and it's worse since Rotworld, since all of that, since he risked it too many times to count and came out with broken rib after broken rib.

Now it's worse, and coming here has become an inevitability, if only because Mitya's not sure he'll recover entirely without the soaking, healing pools the Amazons have to offer. He feels guilty for feeling wary — it's an honor, isn't it, to go, to be welcomed as one of their own, even if he's not. Not really.

But it's better than being at home, where his nights are disturbed by bad dreams, and his days are taken up with aches and pains and the deep and intense desire to be free of all of this. Except — he'd tried that wish, and what had happened? His body had been given over to someone else, someone worse, someone the exact and terrible opposite of Dick Grayson, and Mitya found himself feeling resentful that he should've been thankful he was sharing his brain and body with Dick and not anyone else. Except it's just, unfortunately, sparked a small, quiet fear in the back of his mind — that at any second, he could get his wish again. Dick would be gone, and — who knew who'd take his place. Someone worse than Tad, maybe. Someone worse than anything Mitya could even imagine. And Tad was just a moron, really, but a scary sociopathic one, and Mitya can still hear him in his head, when he'd been fighting back and kicking as Dick's family — and Dick himself — tried to regain control. That's funny, he'd said, But this is mine now, dumbass.

It all feels like a bit of a sick joke. He never asked for this — and he certainly never asked to be a hero, even if he'd (somewhat embarrassingly, definitely stupidly) played at it more than a few times now, sacrificing his own safety in the effort to protect his nearest and dearest. Stupid. Being skilled on the high-bar wasn't the equivalent of actually, truly, being able to protect anyone — least of all himself.

Mitya hates being self-pitying. It's not a good look, for starters, and he's much better at ignoring his mounting problems instead of dealing with them head-on. It's the only thing he knows how to do — the only thing he's comfortable doing. He knows there are people he can talk to, people who will listen — but he'd rather be that for them, and simply pretend that everything rolls off of him like water off a duck's back.

He's soaking in the healing pool, nearly totally submerged in water when he decides on it. If his life is spiralling out of control, he's going to take command over whatever he can. It's the only cure he can think of to the nightmares about giant, salivating decaying worms, and insidious, cocky, sociopathic laughter in his head.

Mitya's not sure what to call her, if Penny is right anymore or if it should be — your highness? But — anyway. He finds her on the cliffs, overlooking the ocean, and that's where he says, "I need your help, Pen," and asks, finally, a little speck of acceptance sinking into him — as frustrating as that is —, "Will you train me?"