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A beautiful conver for this fic had been realized by Krow (They-reap-what-we-sow) ! Thank you so much !
March 20, 5:14 AM
Dick winces at the sound of the window closing behind him. A quick look at the clock tells him the time. Too late. Or, more accurately, too early to finish patrol. He lets himself fall to the ground.
“Happy birthday to me,” he murmurs to himself, letting his wet hair dampen the wall behind him. The first day of spring in Blüdhaven will be magical this year, apparently. With rain, and more rain and maybe even more rain planned.
He doesn’t mind. His birthday hasn’t meant much since the one he celebrated at eight, anyway. And this year, he knows it will mean even less. Some twisted part of him wonders if he will get birthday wishes. Damian - smart, kind, wonderful Damian - will probably remember. He knows Tim will remember, but whether or not this will lead to a message is anyone’s guess.
It’s okay. Tim has every right to be angry with him. They all do. He doesn’t know how he would react if he found out that someone he cared about had been pretending to be dead. In a way, it’s comforting. It means they care about him.
There is Damian left. Damian, who came back from the dead, from a death Dick couldn’t prevent, only to find out Dick was dead, only to find out he wasn’t, and was just pretending. Damian who is twelve and could get angry. Could get so, so angry at Dick and Dick would understand and forgive him. Damian who, inexplicably, isn’t.
He let out a long sigh. He has to be in the coffee shop he currently works in at 8AM. Maybe he can shower and take a power nap before it’s time to go. Yeah. He can do that.
March 20, 1:47 PM
He smiles. He’s exhausted, and the sound of the rain that had been pouring nonstop is almost painful in his ears, but he smiles. This is something he learned all too well. He smiles, and he lies to his coworkers when they ask him how his night was. It has become a habit now. He lied a lot before, he was pretty good at it, but since Spyral? He has learned to lie about every little thing. He’s also better at seeing lies. He sees it in his coworkers, in the customers. He could barely shut this instinct down before, but now it’s completely impossible.
He tells himself it will make him better at being Nightwing, now that he’s back on the field under that name.
It’s fine.
He was, despite everything, not a bad spy. But then Helena gave him the chance to regain his old life, and he hadn’t hesitated. It doesn’t matter if things aren’t like before. He will keep doing his job, as Nightwing. He can do this.
His job. Keep being Nightwing. Not dying. Bruce had been very clear on that. Not dying.
The number one prerogative.
You can’t expect me to excuse you for losing sight of the value of your life.
I’ve trained you to live, and I had to watch you die.
He can do this. He might even be able to fix his relationship with his family, in due time. He can do this.
March 20, 5:24 PM
He opens his phone to find some messages. The one from Damian, he’s been expecting. He smiles at the idea of the kid. Steph had sent him a flashy gif, with a short message saying it’s both from herself and Cass. He’s got a few messages from the Titans, but nothing like he would have gotten before. No offer to see each other, either. He tries not to take it by heart. He has to give them time. He can’t complain. He’s the one who fucked up, after all.
He smiles again when he sees Alfred’s message, reminding him to take care of himself; and Clark’s, with a selfie of him, Lois, and Jon, all smiling. His heart aches a little. He’s getting better, but he still has a hard time looking at Clark without seeing another man with his face. One who tortured him and strapped him to a bomb.
Duke had sent him an impersonal, standard message that doesn’t hurt as much as the impersonal, standard, cold message he gets from Tim and Barbara. Unsurprisingly, nothing from Jason.
Bruce had sent him an e-mail saying, “Here is the case file you requested. Happy Birthday. B.” Again, he tries not to take it badly. This is Bruce, after all.
He writes thank you, and while the others leave him on read, Damian replies immediately, asking him if he plans to go to the manor that night. Dick actually hesitates. But, he tells himself, the city needs him. Blüdhaven had been without her protector for too long. He can’t really afford to miss a patrol, and there is the case file Bruce had sent him, that could be helpful in the tracking of a drug ring he thinks might be involved with Black Mask. Those are the practical, logical reasons. Another thing might be that he’s not really comfortable around Bruce at the moment. That, too, should pass with time, he tells himself, and it wasn’t the man’s fault he lost his memories, but he left him, all alone in hostile territory, without a failsafe.
Batman, master of backup plans, didn’t have anything to help his own son in case he became compromised. Looks like him staying alive wasn’t a number one priority for everyone.
He chases away the thoughts and replies that he would love to, but he has too much work in Blüdhaven.
“Is one of your friends with you, at least?” Damian asks.
Dick doesn’t like lying to Damian, but in this case, lying costs nothing, and it will make the kid more at ease. Damian had been worried about him recently. Not that he can’t understand it, he himself had been worried about Damian a lot. He’s glad for his friendship with Jon, glad he made a friend his age. Soon, Damian will not need him anymore. But, for now, Damian tends to worry, so he says, “Yes, I’m seeing some friends tonight.”
Damian seems satisfied with this, and doesn’t press him for more information, probably planning to ask them the next time they see each other. Dick will have to make up something believable by then. Maybe tell him he had something planned with his coworkers, but it got canceled. Yes. He could do that.
But for now, he just takes the case file and gets to work.
March 20, 8:32 PM
It’s still too early to go on patrol. Rain is still pounding on the windows of his apartment. He knows what he will do tonight, he has plans. It’s just that his plans don’t start that early. He could probably take a nap, no, scratch that, he should take a nap, maybe order some food to have a nice dinner that isn’t made out of protein bars.
But it’s his birthday, his family and friends are mad at him, and he’s been working nonstop for the past few weeks. He’s not the drinking type, but he really, really needs a drink. Somewhere crowded and lively, if possible. Luckily, he knows a few places in Blüdhaven where he can have that.
March 20, 9:34 PM
The bar is busy, crowded with people, college students talking loudly next to middle-aged friends next to young adults on a date. It’s a nice place, probably a front, because it is Blüdhaven, after all, but a nice place, nonetheless. Dick sits at the bar and orders. He’s not even had half of his drink when a woman comes and sits next to him. She’s wearing a tight dress and heavy makeup. Her hair is blonde, partially dyed red.
“I couldn’t help noticing you from the other side of the bar,” she says. “I have to say, we might be in ‘heaven, but it’s rare to see an angel all alone.”
He let out a small laugh at that. She puts her hand in her hair with a smile. “Ok, my pickup lines are terrible. I’m usually the one getting hit on, not the other way around.”
He smiles back to her. This entire conversation is fake, but it’s not unpleasant. “And what made you change your mind?”
She leans on the bar. “I don’t know, I wanted to do something new. See…” she moves a little closer. “Today is my birthday.” It’s a lie. He doesn’t know why she would lie about something like this. He almost says it’s his, too, but he stops. It’s harmless, but he doesn't want her to know, for some reason. “And I’m all alone, so I was thinking, maybe a handsome man could buy me a drink? As a gift?”
Oh, so that was why she was lying. To get herself a free drink. Oh, and after all why not. “Excuse me,” he calls when the bartender is looking toward them, “could I get the same thing, and…” he looks at the woman with a questioning glance. “A Bloody Mary for me,” she asks with a smile. She exchanges a look with the bartender. Um. Weird. Maybe they have some sort of arrangement, where she makes gullible men pay for more drinks.
“What’s your name?” he asks, realizing he didn’t know.
“Ava,” she says, and he’s not sure if it’s the truth. It might be a name she’s been using a lot. Being a woman, alone in Blüdhaven, she might give a different name to each man, or rotate through a list. “And you?”
“I’m John,” he says, not really knowing why he’s lying. It just feels the right thing to do.
They talk a bit, after that. He invents himself a life, where he’s an aeronautical engineer, whose oldest sister just had a baby. He’s pretty sure she does the same. It feels familiar, to be someone else. He doesn’t know who Dick Grayson is anymore. He knows even less who Nightwing is, and he’s trying not to think about Agent 37. But he can be John, who has a perfect life, and is talking to Ava, who also has a perfect and totally fake life.
She pleads a little when he says he has to go, John has fake work tomorrow, but Dick Grayson does have real work tomorrow and, more importantly, Nightwing has a patrol to go to, so he pays her another drink for good measure and gives her one of his numbers. She gets out with him to say goodbye, but when he leaves, he doesn’t miss the way she approaches the bartender from before, apparently on a smoke break, and removes the cigarette from his lips to put hers in it instead. He shakes his head. So that was what they were hiding. Guy is using his girlfriend to get more tips. Well, he played into their game, so well done to them.
March 21, 4:57 AM
The night at the bar seems another life away, by now. But, hopefully, the operation he needed to take down had been taken down. He removes his uniform, half debating if he should just go to sleep like this. But, no, he thinks, getting his first aid kit out. He needs to look at the damage he’s taken. An overall view tells him it’s not too bad. His torso is blue and black with bruises, so he can’t rule out broken ribs, but there’s nothing much to do about that other than taking it easy. He patches the cut just above his shoulder, where a bullet grazed him, which doesn’t even require stitches, and puts a cold compress on his right knee for the night. The joint is hot and painful, but he can still move it properly, so he hopes it’s just a flare up of an old wound.
He falls face first into his bed, hoping he will feel better in the morning.
March 21, 7:15 AM
The good news is, his leg does feel better after two hours laying down. The bad news is, he’s pretty sure he has a migraine. He’s not usually particularly prone to migraines, but if the throbbing pain in his head and slight nausea is any indication, that’s what’s going on.
He’ll blame the sleepless nights. For now, he eats a protein bar, takes some ibuprofen, and gets himself ready for work. Maybe tonight, he will do a shorter patrol. Yes. He can do that.
He’ll be fine. Nothing he hasn’t been through before.
It would be nice, still, if he didn’t feel so deeply alone.
March 21, 3:23 PM
The cup of coffee shatters to the ground, spilling everywhere. His coworker lets out a small cry of surprise.
“Shit, sorry, are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, you’re lucky it’s quiet. I’ll get the mop,” she says, a bit annoyed.
He turns toward the customers. They’re two college girls who often come between classes. He’s glad it’s them and not one of the annoying customers. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’ll remake your order immediately.”
One of them nods. “No problem, are you okay? You’re usually so agile.” He did juggle with cups in front of them a few times.
He smiles at them. A fake smile, like he does so much. “I’m fine, I just need a bit of rest.”
She laughs. “Don’t we all?”
He says nothing to that, and goes back to her coffee. But she’s right. It’s unlike him to just drop something. Maybe he’s more tired than he thinks he is. That, and the headache that hadn’t let up, despite the meds.
He will definitely stick to a short patrol tonight.
March 22, 2:48 AM
He’s shaking, or shivering, maybe, when he makes his way into his apartment. He did help a few people, so he’s glad he went on patrol, despite the exhaustion.
Because that’s what it is, right? Exhaustion, maybe a bit of hypothermia. It had been raining nonstop after all. Nothing a hot shower and a good night’s sleep won’t fix. He’s sure of that.
March 22, 5:17 AM
He’s woken up by the near constant headache becoming absolutely unbearable. He barely has time to throw himself out of the bed and into the toilet before he’s letting go of everything he managed to stomach the day before.
And he’s still shaking. He’s cold, and he can’t seem to stop shaking.
He groans when he pushes himself off the toilet. Okay. It’s time for him to stop being in denial. Something is wrong. He reaches blindly for his first aid kit and checks that the wound on his neck isn’t infected. It isn’t. His torso is still a nice shade of blue, turning toward yellowish, but it’s not worse than it was before, and he hadn’t been throwing up blood. Plus, the bruises are on his torso, not stomach. He hopes that rules out any internal bleeding. He hadn’t been exposed to anything on patrol. That leaves plain old regular illness. Just his luck to catch the flu when the season is almost over, he guesses.
He takes the thermometer in his kit, already expecting to find himself feverish. Except the numbers on the device aren’t at all what he expected.
He blinks. Is it possible to have the flu without any fever?
That’s probably a question he will have to ask himself later. For now, he stays cramped in his bathroom, too tired to even make the way back to the bed.
March 22, 8:05 AM
“You look like shit.”
Dick turns toward his coworker. He kinda feels like shit, too, if he’s being honest. His hands are shaking as he is putting the coffee maker in place.
“Thanks. I have the flu, I think,” he says behind the surgical mask he put on his face.
She takes a step back. “Um. Yeah, no, you’re out of here. I can handle today on my own, go home.”
He blinks. “Are you sure?”
“I am. I don’t want you to throw coffee on me again.”
“That was… it won’t happen again, I swear.” Also, it wasn’t technically on her, just very close.
She doesn’t look impressed. “And, I have an important thing in two days, so I’m not letting you get me sick.”
She’s only half-sincere. He knows her. Her cold exterior is a wall she had created to hide the fact that she actually cares about everything and everyone.
“Thanks,” he says before taking his stuff and going. He feels bad, leaving her to deal with the shop, but she’s right. He will be a hindrance like this.
March 22, 9:15 PM
Going on patrol is a joke. He managed to get some more sleep throughout the day, but he feels like he’s only getting worse. He can barely walk more than a few feet. He knows, for a fact, that if he goes out like this, he will get himself killed. And that’s not in his plans. Been there, done that, and all.
He should probably sleep some more; let whatever disease it is run its course. He should probably eat, too, but that seems impossible at the moment.
Some part of his mind wishes he could call Barbara. She’s never been judgmental when it came to listening to him whine, and talking to her whenever he’s sick or injured always made him feel better. But he can’t call her right now. It’s not the first time he needs her and she’s not ready to talk to him. Not the first time it’s his fault.
How many times can someone fuck up and still be forgiven?
He tries not to think about this. Not right now. Not when he can’t go fly off of rooftops to let go of his feelings.
For now, he will just sleep.
March 23, 10:52 AM
He wakes up unable to breathe, something caught in his throat, a hand, a pill, and he can’t breathe, he will die, he will die in front of Batman, and he can’t do that, he can’t do that, he can’t-
He barely has time to take the trash can he had thoughtfully put next to the bed and dry heave into it, his stomach having been empty for a while.
His hands can barely hold the can. The sheets are drenched with sweat, but his thermometer stubbornly still shows the same result. It hurts to think. He knows today will be spent doing nothing. He thinks maybe he should have felt better, by now, at least a little. Instead, he only feels himself getting worse.
March 23, 4:21 PM
There is something really wrong, he thinks as his thermometer still displays the same number. An infection this bad wouldn’t come without fever. He knows his body. And this is not normal.
Besides, his symptoms don’t really look like a typical virus. So, that leaves the possibility of poisoning. He doesn’t remember any moment when he was out as Nightwing where he could have been poisoned, but with this kind of job… there is no way to tell, really.
He stands to get his testing kit, only to immediately fall down.
Um.
Great.
Slowly, he gets up to his hands and knees to get his testing kit. It’s only a basic one, for the poisons and toxins they are the most accustomed to, but it might do the trick. If not… he’ll see what he’ll do then.
Despite his shaking hand, he manages to draw blood. He does nick his arm several times, and needs a bigger band aid than he normally would have, but he manages to get some of his blood.
And then he waits. And hopes it’s nothing he can’t deal with himself.
Black spots are dancing in front of his eyes when he finally sees the result. And it almost makes him cry with frustration.
Because it’s clean.
His blood is clean.
He’s dehydrated, a bit hypoglycemic, but there are none of the toxins recorded in his database in his system.
Which means two things: it’s not something he knows, or it’s undetectable.
He closes his eyes to think for a second or two. He needs to go somewhere with a better analyzer, or a better database. Possibly both.
He has several choices:
The Justice League Watchtower. He’s not sure if he still has clearance, and not sure how he will get there in the first place.
Titan Tower. Tempting, he’s not going to lie. But the idea of traveling to San Francisco now, in the state he’s in, seems like a bad idea. He could have maybe done the trip two days ago when he first realized something was wrong. He’s stupid. The Titans might be cold now, they might need some time to forgive him, but they wouldn’t deny him help. At least, he hopes.
Spyral headquarters. Yeah. That would be a huge no.
Which leaves… the Batcave. It’s not far, he can make the trip. He has clearance, and with a little luck he can be in and out without meeting anyone. That sounds doable. Not safe - not by a long shot - but doable.
Batcave it is, he decides, hoping he won’t regret the decision.
March 23, 6:41 PM
He’s made safer rides. Faster ones, too. But he’s finally in the cave. Now he just has to find out what is wrong with him, so he can fix it. And if the Batcomputer doesn’t give him anything, he’ll go to the free clinic. He hasn’t seen Leslie much since he came back, but he knows she’s a professional. If she has things to say to him, she will do so after he’s better. And she might even be on his side if he tries to hide whatever this is from Bruce.
But maybe it won’t come to that. Maybe the Batcomputer will have a match, and maybe even an antidote ready. It’s still early. With luck, he might not run into anybody.
“Dick?”
He clenches his hand on the computer desk. When has he ever been lucky?
“What are you doing here, chum?”
He hates that Bruce talks to him like this. Like everything is fine. Like he hadn’t beaten him up in this very cave.
Bruce makes a step toward him. “Should I ask Alfred to make you a plate for dinner? Tim should be arriving soon, I’m sure he will be happy to see you.”
Dick almost laughs, because, yeah, are you sure about that? But he doesn’t have the energy to fight, and if Tim is coming, that means he’s on a timer.
He stands, hoping Bruce doesn’t notice the way he pushes his still trembling arm on the desk to do so, intending to tell Bruce he doesn’t have time, that he was on his way out, but no sound comes out of his mouth.
He knows the words. He knows what he wants to say. And he knows his vocal cords work. He just can’t get the words out for some reason.
“Chum? What’s wrong?”
What isn’t wrong? he wants to ask. Why are you acting like everything is fine when it isn’t? Does what happened mean so little to you? Do I mean so little to you?
But his mouth opens, and no sound gets out.
“Why don’t you sit back down?” Bruce asks, and maybe he should, because the world is spinning and the edge of his vision is receding, and there is a noise, somewhere, of a bike, but it seems so close and so far away at the same time, and it’s Tim and Tim doesn’t want to see him, and he should go, and-
March 23, 6:58 PM
“Dick? Can you hear me?”
He’s on the floor in the cave. There is something beneath his head. He groans, or at least he thinks he does. Bruce is here, and Tim, too. He should probably go, but he can’t move.
“You had a seizure,” Bruce says, and that explains why he’s on the ground. “Leslie is on her way, but can you tell me anything you remember that might have caused this?”
He knows what might have caused this. He’s been sick, or poisoned, or something, except he doesn’t know with what, and that was why he was here. He doesn’t even know when-
Wait. That night at the bar. The woman. Ava. She exchanged a look with the bartender, and he thought it was because they had a deal to make him pay a bit more than his share. What if it was another kind of deal? What if they were actually trying to poison him?
He doesn’t want to know what Bruce will say when he finds out.
Nonetheless, now that he’s in that situation, unable to move on the cave floor, he should probably tell Bruce.
But again, when he opens his mouth, he can’t speak. He can’t speak and he can’t move, and suddenly he can’t breathe, and once again, there is a hand on his face, and he’s going to die, again, in front of Bruce.
And he can’t. He can’t fail again.
He wants to say he’s sorry, but he can’t. He hopes his eyes transmit the message.
He hopes Bruce sees anything but fear.
March 23, 7:35 PM
“-injured, but nothing that could-”
“-analyzing something on the Batcomputer, maybe-”
“-didn’t he ask for help earlier?”
“Why do you think, Drake?”
Damian snapping takes Dick back to reality. He’s still in the cave in the medical area. And he can’t move. He’s not restrained, merely lightly strapped to the cot so that he won’t fall, but he can’t move a finger. He can’t go to Damian, can’t help the kid calm down.
There is a heart monitor beeping somewhere, and an uncomfortable, if not outright painful thing down his throat. It’s not a pill, he tries to remember. It doesn’t feel like a pill. It’s a respirator.
He’s awake, but he can’t breathe on his own. He tries not to panic, because that would only make things worse. He can’t move. Even his eyes are static, giving him a small curtain of the area of the cave he’s in. His body, the thing he trusts the most, has betrayed him. But panicking will only make everything worse. So, he tries not to panic. Instead, he focuses on the voices.
“Enough,” someone, Batman, his mind supplies, says. “Now is not the time for that.” And Dick wants to laugh, because it’s never the time for that. There is always something more urgent, that means they will bury everything and keep going. And he’s always been so good at this. Except for the few times when he wasn’t.
Well, right now, the more urgent thing seems to be saving his life, so he doesn’t really have a right to complain.
“Oracle,” he says, “can you access his cowl footage?”
Again, Dick doesn’t know if he should cry or laugh. He agreed for Barbara to have access to his cowl footage for cases like this, but he knows she won’t find anything on it. Not if his suspicions are true.
“Hood?”
“I’m on my way to his place,” comes Jason’s modulated voice. “I still have a spare key, if he didn’t change the lock.”
That’s right. Jason’s spare key. He had given him when he had just started warming up to the family “in case you ever need a place to crash.” A way to make up for a phone number that was once given but never useful. A way to mend a broken relationship.
And didn’t that go well.
“Take his suit, and anything you deem useful, but remember not to touch anything, we don’t know how he’s been poisoned.”
“Or if he’s been poisoned,” Tim points out. “It might be something completely natural.”
He can hear Bruce letting out a long sigh. “I’ll have the CT scan and MRI ready. His blood is clean, but we might do a spinal tap depending on the results.”
“Wait, doesn’t he have, like, nanotech in his brain? Is an MRI safe?” Steph asks, and for the first time he realizes she’s here.
Already, he feels himself straying away from awareness, and the voices become distant.
“… don’t think Spyral… such an obvious weakness.”
“We will have to risk it.”
Steph replies something, but Dick never quite finds out what it is.
March 24, 2:47 AM
Dick wakes up, so he imagines the MRI didn’t fry his brain. Or didn’t fry it more than it is. Because waking up is a big word for what happens. He still can’t move. At all. But he can feel, and someone is holding his hand.
It takes him more time that he’s proud to admit to realize this is Damian, and, despite everything, despite the situation he’s in, his first thought is that Damian should be asleep. He has school tomorrow. Or does he? Dick hadn’t been really good with tracking days, lately.
“You will be fine,” Damian says, voice like steel. There is no possible alternative. He’s not unlike his father, in that regard. Dick will be okay. If not, it’s a failure on his part. But he knows Damian, surprisingly, isn’t as harsh with failure as Bruce is. “Father will find what happened to you, and save you. And you will push through. He is Batman,” Damian leans on the bed, to whisper like a secret, “and so are you.”
And, there it is. Unwavering faith. Damian’s strategy against fear. He wants to squeeze his hand back, to tell him everything is going to be fine, that it’s probably nothing, some kind of poison, nothing he hadn’t seen before. That it would take more than that to take him out, to take him away from Damian.
But he’s not so sure about that, now. It had been very easy, easier than he feels comfortable to admit, for the universe to split Damian and him. The heretic swinging a giant sword at Damian’s heart, when Dick had been there, unable to stop it. It was all it took.
It had been so easy. Just like whatever happened to him had been so easy to inflict. Just one moment of inattention. Just one miserable moment of inattention, and now he’s completely paralyzed. Dependent on others to save him. He can’t even hold Damian’s hand back.
But his thoughts are interrupted by a noise from the Batcomputer. Damian jumps a little, perhaps he was starting to fall asleep, and turns toward the computer. The warmth in Dick’s hand disappears, and he’s not proud of it, but he would probably have whined if he could. He feels like this was the first gentle touch he’s had in weeks, and maybe it is, and now Damian is just gone to see whatever is happening.
“Father,” he hears a moment later and he assumes he’s on comm. “Yes, there is an unfamiliar substance in his spinal fluid.”
That grabs Dick’s attention. So, they had done a spinal tap after all. And if there is something… there is progress. They will find what’s wrong, and he will be able to get out of here.
Although, he knows it won’t be as simple. He’s probably looking at a long recovery, and Bruce might not let him go so soon.
Unless he does. Unless he sends him away again.
Maybe Dick shouldn’t have come to the cave. Maybe he should have tried to make the trip to the Watchtower or Titan Tower instead.
“Not something that should be there, that’s for sure,” Damian’s voice says, having him refocus on the child. “But it’s not in any databases.”
Bruce must reply something, because Damian makes a sound of acknowledgement.
He half-expects Damian to come back, half-hopes he will come back, but the warmth of Daman’s hand is definitely lost.
Without it, without anything to focus on but the limited view he has of the cave, Dick feels himself drifting back into unconsciousness.
March 24, 8:22 AM
“Superman has been made aware and is looking into this compound.” Bruce’s voice is the first thing Dick hears when he emerges from slumber.
He hears Steph sigh. “Developing an anti-poison from scratch could take ages.”
“And we don’t know how much time Dick has,” Tim finishes for her, sounding defeated.
“I could look over the mask footage again,” Barbara offers, her Oracle voice familiar and comforting despite everything. “But there was nothing of importance the first two times I saw it, Steph and Duke saw nothing, either. And Cass has seen nothing usual in Blüdhaven tonight.”
He hears Jason curse, and something breaks in a corner of the cave. “His apartment gave us nothing. The mask footage gave us nothing. We’ve tested this compound in all our databases, and-”
“Not all of them.”
This is Damian’s voice. So small, like he’s thinking, or ready to admit something he’s not proud of.
“Excuse me?” Jason asks.
“Not all our databases. Grandfather has an extensive library of poisons and the knowledge to go with it. Probably more than the JLA databases or the Batcomputer.”
“Oh, well, yes sure,” Tim says. “Let’s just call Ra’s and ask him for help. What could go wrong?”
He hears Damian take a breath, ready to reply something, but Steph takes the situation into her hands. “Damian… Tim is right. Even if he was willing to help, which I doubt, we don’t exactly have a direct line to Ra’s, do we?”
There is a silence after that, and he doesn’t know what is on Damian’s face, but the next sound he hears is Steph asking in a loud voice, “You have a direct line to Ra’s?!”
“Well,” Damian sounds embarrassed, “not to him, per se.”
Bruce sighs. “You have a way to contact Talia.” It’s not a question.
Damian doesn’t say anything to that, which is confirmation enough. Somewhere on the other side of Dick, Jason curses again.
“Last time I checked,” Damian says, “there were no rules against having contact with my mother.”
“Will you tell me how to contact her?” Bruce asks. “Or at least, let me talk to her?”
And because it’s Damian, and he’s nothing if not loyal, he says, “No. I will contact her on my own and get the information we want.”
Dick would have laughed if he could. He can perfectly imagine the situation. Wayne stubbornness hitting Wayne stubbornness. There is a short silence where even he can feel the tension in the cave, before Bruce gives in. “Phone only,” he still orders.
“Phone only,” Damian agrees.
March 24, 9:36 AM
A hand touching him is what wakes Dick up. This is unsettling, even more so because he doesn’t remember actually falling asleep.
From his limited vision, he can see that it’s Alfred, moving his articulations. He knows this is necessary, otherwise he’s exposing himself to all sorts of complications, and the movements are both gentle and professional, but it’s still uncomfortable.
“My dear boy, what have you gotten yourself into?” Alfred says, and there is something reassuring in hearing him talk. And that way, Dick knows perfectly where he is.
He moves, and Dick realizes he has apparently finished with his limbs, and starts to put drops in his eyes. The feeling is heavenly. With everything, he hadn’t realized how dry his eyes were.
“Sometimes, I feel like all of you are trying to send me to an early grave.”
He moves, and Dick can feel a washcloth on his face. But it’s clear this is not as much a medical act as an emotional one. “I see you coming back to us, only for the world to try to take you again.”
I’m sorry, Dick wants to say. He wants to apologize over and over for everything. For Spyral. For his mistake at the bar. But he can’t.
“When you’re better,” Alfred promises, “I’ll make sure to feed you and heal these bruises. No matter what happens between us, it’s my duty, since you first set foot in this manor.”
“Pennyworth.”
Damian’s voice seems to distract Alfred, and the hand on Dick’s face disappears.
“How is he?” Damian asks, unsure.
“No change so far, I’m afraid.”
There is a short silence before he adds, “But that also means he’s not getting worse.”
“Is he in pain?” Damian asks again.
“Hard to tell. But I made sure he’s as comfortable as possible, if he’s conscious, that is.”
Damian makes a noise of approval. It is true that Dick isn’t in pain. He doesn’t know what is in the IV he can feel in his arm, but he has the certainty that Alfred did everything in his power to spare him as much as possible.
“Have you managed to contact your mother?” Alfred asks.
“Yes,” is Damian’s immediate answer. “That’s what I came to tell you. Gather everyone.”
March 24, 10:27 AM
“What do you mean it’s not dangerous? Clearly something is wrong with him.”
Tim seems annoyed, and to be honest, Dick is a little annoyed too. He hoped this mysterious compound would be the solution to his immobility.
“What I mean is that this is not something that is used as a poison for humans in the League, and such small quantities should be harmless to a standard human brain. It is used to poison computer systems and robots.”
There is a heavy silence in the cave, and Dick can guess everyone is thinking the same thing he is.
“So, Hypnos? Hypnos is killing him?” Tim finally says. “And given the rarity of this molecule, it’s unlikely he swallowed it by accident. Someone had been targeting him.”
Dick takes a second to let that sink in. Someone had been targeting Agent 37. Not Nightwing, not even Dick Grayson, but specifically Agent 37.
“This is an assassination attempt, targeting Spyral agents in particular,” Bruce says, mirroring his thoughts. “I’ll need to make some calls.”
“Anything to look out for while I’m on patrol today?” he hears Duke say.
“You’re going on patrol?” Steph asks.
There are a few seconds of silence when Dick can imagine all eyes are turned toward Duke.
“I mean, yeah,” he finally says. “I thought-”
“When was the last time you slept?” Tim asks and Dick would probably have laughed if he could.
“Look, I was just thinking-”
Bruce sighs loudly, cutting Duke off. “All of you, get some rest. There is no point in exhausting ourselves until we have a lead.”
Dick’s body seems to be listening to the orders as well, because he barely hears the protestations.
March 24, 2:42 PM
“I’m still mad at you, you know.”
Dick wakes up to Tim’s voice. Shouldn’t he be resting?
“And I know I shouldn’t be in the cave, especially since I’m the one who told Duke to rest, but I couldn’t sleep, and I’m sure Bruce is working somewhere,” he says, as if reading Dick’s mind. But it’s true. Bruce is probably working somewhere. Dick would be, too, if their roles were reversed.
“But you? You go away, you make us all think you-” he stops, takes a sharp breath. “And then you come back, and you won’t see us, and when you come to the cave this happens? That’s just…”
Another breath.
You were the ones who didn’t want to see me, Dick wants to say. You were the ones who couldn’t stand to be near me.
But is that true? Sure, Tim was mad, furious, even, when he came back. He felt understandably betrayed. But he never said he couldn’t stand being with Dick. He never said fixing their relationship was impossible.
Bruce’s words from what seems like an eternity ago cross his mind.
“Tim should be arriving soon, I’m sure he will be happy to see you.”
Maybe there was some truth to the statement. Maybe, just maybe, with time and effort, they could fix things up.
Maybe there is still hope for them.
(And isn’t that what Robin is about, after all? Hope?)
“You know, when I was a kid, you were unbreakable, infallible. B was, as well, but not in the same way you were. You were strong, charismatic, undefeated, and most of all, you trusted me. You treated me as an equal. And then… and then I grew up. And I realized you weren’t as foolproof as I thought you were. And I realized you didn’t trust me as much as I thought you did.”
He sounds tired. Dick is tired, too, even if he’s been sleeping a lot lately. He’s tired of everything falling on them, one thing after another. But he did trust Tim. He did treat him as equal.
“Because that’s what it falls down to, right? Trust. You trusted me enough to stop me from being Robin, but not enough to let me know you weren’t dead?”
“What are you doing down here?”
That is Steph’s voice, and Dick can hear her walking down the stairs. Tim moves, and soon their voices calm down to whispers.
March 24, 3:57 PM
“-but I should have known, so, really, it’s on me here, Bruce, isn’t it?”
Um. Barbara seems upset. He should probably do something about it. Find out what’s going on, how he can help. Bring a blanket and ice cream. Except he can’t move, and Barbara is still mad at him.
“I can’t believe all this time you said nothing. Or, yeah, actually, I can believe it. I just can’t believe I’ve been so naïve I didn’t see it. And to say I spent so long restoring the footage, thinking it was something that might be related to Dick’s condition, and it was this? You could have at least told me you deleted it. Why did you even protect it so much?”
“It was confidential information-”
“As opposed to everything else that is happening in this cave? No, I don’t think you hid it from outside hackers. I think you tried to hide it from us, from me. Well, newsflash, Bruce, when it comes to computers, I’m better than-”
“Damn it, Barbara!” There is the sound of something heavy falling and Dick feels a twist in his guts despite himself. He always had this reaction to hearing Bruce yell, a mix between fear, shame, and anger, but this had become worse since… Since. “Do you want to know why I deleted the footage? You were right, I wasn’t worried about someone hacking in. I wasn’t trying to hide it from you either. I was hiding it from myself.”
“That is-”
“I spent hours, looking at that footage, over and over again, wondering if I did the right thing, until I decided to delete it in a way I couldn’t reverse. You’re right. You’re better than me when it comes to computers. Because I wouldn’t have been able to restore this footage. I made sure of it.”
There is some silence before Barbara says, her voice like icy steel. “Well, you can stop asking yourself that. I have the answer. You didn’t do the right thing.”
Bruce seems ready to answer, but a ping in the computer distracts him.
“Am I interrupting something?” says a voice Dick would recognize anywhere. He would probably also be choking with surprise if he could. Because of all people, Bruce called Midnighter?
“You’re not,” Bruce says. “We need your help. We think someone is targeting Spyral’s agents.”
“Then you should probably talk to Spyral, not to me. Because I don’t really see why I would help.”
“We know you’re not on friendly terms with Spyral-”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“But,” Bruce moves his chair, and Dick guesses Midnighter can now see him. “We also know you carry affection for my son.”
There is a silence, Midnighter assessing the situation, before he simply says, “That’s also one way to put it.”
“Someone poisoned him, using the hypnos as a tool-” Dick can distinctly hear Midnigher muttering, “Of fucking course.” “-And an enemy of Spyral might know more than Spyral themselves.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint, I haven’t heard anything. But I do carry affection for him, as you put it. Both on a personal and strategic level, I wouldn’t want for him to die. I’ll look into it.”
“That would be appreciated.”
“And you, what are you going to do?”
Bruce seems to think for a moment, gauging what is safe to say and what isn’t. “I will meet with someone who might know more about this poison than I do.”
“And who would that be?” Midnighter asks, not one to leave information.
“My ex-lover.” Bruce says, in a tone that makes it clear it’s all the information he’s willing to tell.
“Oooh, juicy,” says Midnighter, apparently understanding he’s not going to get much more. “Well, tell him not to die before I kill him and all that. I’ll contact you if I find anything.”
The feed cuts, and it’s just Bruce and Dick.
There are a few minutes of silence, where Dick thinks maybe Bruce is working on something, or maybe he left stealthily, but then he hears something break. Bruce paces around in the cave to the training area, and it almost baffles Dick how similar his anger and frustration is to Jason’s.
There are some more noises, after that, that Dick just leaves into the background of his mind, until Bruce comes back, his breathing heavy. He stops in front of the cot.
“I really made a mess, didn’t I?” he asks.
Dick doesn’t reply. He can’t, but he probably wouldn’t if he wanted to. It’s true, and he doesn’t know if he can forgive Bruce and keep going. But he wants to.
“I don’t know how to fix this.” He’s not just talking about the paralysis and they both know it. “I just… it seemed the best decision at the moment.”
It wasn’t, as Barbara pointed out. Dick spent dozens of nights thinking how things could have gone differently. He would bet Bruce did, too.
He doesn’t know how to fix things. With Bruce, with Tim, Jason, and Barbara.
He’s just so, so, so tired.
March 25, 0:12 AM
“-vitals have been tanking since a few hours ago. We don’t have time to-”
“-Mother, but-”
“-can’t make things any worse.”
“We have to try. Give me the syringe.”
March 25, 8:43 AM
Something is down his throat. He felt the respirator for the last day, but now it’s even more present he needs it out. Now.
“He’s fighting it,” someone - Alfred? - says from above him.
And then he’s gone again.
March 25, 1:04 PM
Dick blinks.
It takes him a few minutes to realize what just happened. The respirator is gone, replaced by a simple mask, and, while focusing on his limbs gives him nothing, he can blink.
That is progress, even if now that he can breathe and blink, he feels the urge to run and fly away. The need for movement, that left him strangely alone the last day, is back, and he can feel how bad the recovery will be.
“Grayson?” says a voice from somewhere, and Damian appears in front of him.
“Are you awake? Blink once for yes.”
Dick slowly blinks.
“Are you… do you know who I am, once for yes, twice for no.”
Of course, he knows who Damian is. How could he forget? He blinks and the smile on Damian’s face almost makes everything that happened in the last few days’ worth it.
“I’m going to get Pennyworth.” Damian says and with that he’s gone.
Alfred comes in a few minutes later to ask him some standard neurological questions, as well as assessing his pain level.
Dick is already exhausted when Bruce comes in. He feels his throat tighten up. He doesn’t feel like he can deal with Bruce, right now.
But the man sits next to him, and asks in a professional, Batman voice. “Do you know what happened to you?”
Dick blinks once.
“You were poisoned,” Bruce explains anyway. “We think the assassin was targeting you for your involvement with Spyral. Do you have an idea of when it could have happened or who could have poisoned you?”
Dick blinks once.
“Did it happen as Nightwing?”
Dick blinks twice.
“As Dick Grayson specifically?”
Again, Dick blinks two times. Dick Grayson wasn’t the target. He was in the bar alone, and he didn’t give his real name.
“I’m going to run you through a series of dates. Blinks twice if it’s not the one you have suspicion on, once if it is.”
Dick blinks twice for all the dates, until the 20th.
“He told me he was with friends that night,” Damian interjects, and Dick curses the small lie. He blinks two times.
“You weren’t with friends, then?” Bruce asks. Dick blinks. Damian makes a small sound of disapproval. Dick will have to apologize later.
“Then where were you?” Bruce asks, knowing fully Dick can’t answer that kind of question.
“We can ask Miss Barbara to track his movement on that day with the street cameras,” Alfred offers. “Do you think that would work?” he asks Dick.
Dick blinks. He didn’t specifically avoid the cameras, so she will probably find him.
“Have you had symptoms since the 20th?” Bruce asks.
Shamefully, Dick blinks once.
“Then why didn’t you come to the cave immediately?” he asks, again, knowing Dick can’t answer. From the corner of his vision, he can see Damian sending daggers with his eyes.
“I’m sure Master Dick had a good reason to do so,” Alfred says. “Now, if you would excuse me, I would like to tend to him, in private.”
This is a way to end the conversation, Bruce and Damian aren’t fooled, but they still leave him to Alfred.
“I’m glad to see you responding,” Alfred says, and he’s the first person to actually say it, which warms Dick’s heart a little. “I have to say, I would have preferred not having to rely on a solution offered by Miss Al Ghul, but it looks like she saved your life.”
Dick blinks once. He’s glad, too, even if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Being in debt to Talia isn’t something he wanted to be. And then there is also the fact that Bruce involved Midnighter. The man helped him on more than one occasion, and vice versa, but to think they’re unconditional allies would be a dangerous misconception.
He’s exhausted again by the time Alfred has finished taking care of him, his eyes closing by themselves.
There is a remnant of fear, something in the back of his mind telling him that if he sleeps, he might wake up unable to even move his eyes again. Alfred, smart as usual, seems to notice it, and he bends down to say, “Sleep, dear boy, we will still be here when you wake up.”
So, Dick sleeps.
March 25, 5:39 PM
“Hey. You’re awake?”
Dick blinks once. Jason’s face appears in front of him, soon followed by two pieces of paper with pictures of Ava and the bartender on them.
“Recognize them?”
Dick blinks.
“You think they’re the people who poisoned you?”
He blinks again.
“Yeah, that’s what we think, too. Babs retraced your steps and Tim and Cass went to interrogate people - in broad daylight, mind you - to get their description. Our new friend Midnighter – who’s great, you’ve met great people while you were out there being a lying asshole - found something corresponding to the description. Turns out they are assassins who call themselves Hades and Persephone, which is about as lame as it gets. They tried to give the poison to everyone corresponding to your vague description for months, knowing it would only react with someone who has hypnos. They flew the second they realized we were on to them, and we will have to catch them if we want some info on the contractor. Which is really what’s important here.”
He smirks. “So, how does it feel to be almost killed by people who call themselves the most overused mythological names of the last decade?”
Dick sends him an unimpressed look and Jason laughs some more. It feels nice, hearing Jason’s laugh, being teased, even if he doesn’t forget the comment he made earlier. He didn’t think it would happen again.
“I won’t forgive you, or Bruce,” Jason says, now out of his field of view and he knows whatever they had before is over. “But all in all, I’m glad you’re not dead.”
March 25, 7:12 PM
His next visitor is Barbara. She moves to his cot just as he’s practicing visualizing his fingers and trying to move them.
“Hey,” she says in a low voice. He blinks her a greeting.
“We need to talk.” Now might not be the best time, but he blinks again. If she wants to talk now, it’s important.
“I wasn’t looking for it, but I saw the feed of the cave from the day the crime syndicate captured you.”
He closes his eyes and takes a breath as deep as he can. He had expected it from the conversation he overheard between Bruce and her. But still. She knows. He knew the secret wouldn’t be kept forever, not with a family of detectives. He’s glad it’s Barbara and not Jason, or Tim or worse, Damian who found the video.
“Do you want me to tell Tim and Jason?” she asks.
He blinks two times. This is not her story to tell.
“Ok,” she says, in a soft voice. “I’m still… I don’t know how to feel yet. But, you know you don’t have to forgive him, right?”
He blinks once. He knows.
“But you will anyway,” she finishes for him. “That’s who you are.”
She let out an annoyed and tired breath.
“Do you… if staying here is difficult, I could arrange for you to stay at the clinic while you recover, now that we have an antidote.”
He thinks about it. Blinks one time.
He thinks about Bruce, so distressed about the mess of his own making. He thinks about Tim, who was willing to try, and he thinks about Jason.
All in all, I’m glad you’re not dead. As far as he will go with affection.
He thinks of Damian’s smile, of Alfred’s care.
He blinks a second time.