I don't own Nightwing or Batman or the Titans. That's all DC and I'd really like if they let me just play with the brilliant characters they have. So, thank you in advance.
And to the readers, THANK YOU a million times for reading. I love you all.
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Things had been bad, more than bad, in the past few weeks. One thing after another; bank robbery, kidnapping, drugs, murder, gangs, kids and bystanders hurt, killed. There was no light, not in those weeks.
Bruce Wayne hadn't moved in a few hours. Aside from blinking, breathing and the clenching of his jaw, he was still. He waited and watched, but it changed nothing. The room around him had taken the vague appearance of a hospital room; an I.V. stand in place of a lamp, an oxygen tank nearby just in case, medications lined up on the bedside table.
Alfred came into the room. "No change, Master Bruce?"
"No." The word was quiet and heavy in the room.
"Perhaps some tea, then." He poured a mug of tea and pressed it into Bruce's hands. "Master Richard has always shown surprising strength against the greatest of odds."
Bruce didn't answer other than peering into the murky depths of the tea before returning his attention to Dick's still form.
7 YEARS BEFORE
Robin slipped form shadow to shadow on patrol for the Titans rather than Batman. He had been thinking of the future lately. The future of Robin, of the Titans, of Dick Grayson now that high school was over. Now that he was eighteen.
Ryan Jones's only future was making sure his younger brother and sister had something to eat in the morning. Things would be easier now that he was done with high school, he could get a second job. During school he worked evenings down at the docks. It was back-breaking work, but it put food on the table and paid rent.
The one thing that Ryan had always been good at was reading people and by the age of seven he had learned to use that ability to win games of poker. That was how he got the money to keep the gas and electric on and to make sure that his siblings had jackets and shoes. It was easier too, now that Jake was twelve and able to watch Emily, who had just turned eight. Not that Mrs. Kazparizk down the hall wasn't great, but she was old and sometimes forgot to make lunch.
Thing is, when Ryan wins six games in a row, whether or not he has the cards to back it up, the shady people he usually plays with don't like losing to a smart ass eighteen year old kid.
He kept one had around the stack of cash in his pocket as he ran from the four very large and very angry lower rung mobsters. Ryan ended up in scrapes like that every few weeks, but it didn't make it any less dangerous though. He ducked through a doorway and an out onto the street. Ryan had been running the streets of lower Gotham since he was four, usually from his dad's latest drunken tirade.
He wasn't all that sad when his dad died five years previous and made him man of the house at thirteen. Their mother left a year ago, that was harder. She hadn't wanted to, but the doctors insisted and Ryan had to agree that it was getting harder to take care of her now that the medication wasn't as effective. He visited on weekends, sometimes she recognized him. He had gotten used to taking care of himself and his siblings. Usually he did just fine.
The bullet tore through his shoulder, but he kept running. Things could only get worse if he stopped. He thought about Jake and Emily, wondered if he'd seem them again, wondered what would happen to them if he didn't.
Dick stopped thinking of the future when eh saw the lone figure run down the ally below. He had a decent head start against the men behind him. Until Dick heard the gunshot and the young stumbled a little and knew he had to step in. Dick swung down and silently took out one of the mobsters. One down, three to do.
Ryan knew he couldn't run forever and the shoulder wound was starting to slow him down. They usually didn't shoot him, it crossed his mind that he may have pissed off the wrong mobsters. He turned down an ally, lost in a city he thought he knew every shady corner of. He found himself at a dead end and didn't miss the irony of the situation. He stopped, straightened his shoulders despite the pain and turned.
Instead of the fight he was preparing for, a lean figured dropped down from the roof. Ryan tensed, ready to fight.
"Where'd they shoot you?" The figure stepped forward and light hit the 'R' on his chest.
Ryan relaxed a little. "Shoulder." He paused. "Thanks."
"I'll take you to the hospital."
"Can't. Have to get home." He'd already been away twelve hours, he didn't like being gone that long. Besides, they didn't have money for hospitals.
Dick knew better than to argue. "I'll take you home then and see what I can do there."
Ryan intended to aruge that as well, but the adrenaline faded and he staggered back. "Guess I might need some help after all."
Ryan gave directions as Dick drove through the darkened streets. He hoped his siblings were asleep so they didn't have to see him come home bloody and shot.
Dick pulled up in front of a low rent apartment building. It was the type of place where people were one paycheck from a shelter or the street. A place where the streets during the day weren't much safer than the streets at night. A place where someone could hear ten different fights in an hour and the police wouldn't come no matter who was hit.
"It's not much." Ryan muttered.
"But it's home, yeah?"
Ryan nodded.
He was a little unsteady on his feet as Dick helped him up the three flights of stairs. The only difference of Ryan's door from any of the others was the two extra deadbolts. Dick wondered about the importance of the items inside.
The apartment was four small rooms; living room, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. Ryan slept on a mattress in the living room so Jake and Emily could have the bedroom. A used couch, small television, battered table and shelves of books filled the room.
"Kitchen table would be the best." Dick dampened a towel in the sink.
"There's a pretty good first-aid kit above the sink." Ryan sighed.
Dick found it and figured he'd have what he needed. Even in the apartment, he was still on alert. He heard the nearly silent footsteps behind him and he turned.
Jake stood in almost too small pajamas. "Ryan?"
"I'm okay." He held the towel to his bloody shoulder.
"What happened?" He whispered, his eyes locked to Dick. "You're Robin."
Dick smiled. "Yeah. What's your name?"
"Jake. What happened to Ryan?" He gripped the edge of the counter.
Ryan straightened. "I'm all right, go back to bed."
The boy didn't move.
Dick looked at each of the brothers. "Jake, why don't you help me. Can you sit across from your brother and make sure he's okay while I fix him up?"
Jake nodded and sat down. Dick wiped away the blood and looked at the bullet wound by Ryan' left shoulder blade.
"You've done this before?" Ryan tried to joke.
"Yeah." Dick looked up and winked at Jake.
Dick quickly removed the bullet and stitched up the wound. Ryan was quiet and focused. He was no stranger to pain, but he also tried to avoid it if at all possible. Dick taped gauze down and wiped blood away. Ryan relaxed slightly and took the pills he was handed.
"Jake, go to bed now. I'm fine."
The boy stood and slowly left the room.
Dick sat down across from Ryan. "You're doing all right?"
Ryan nodded. "Thanks, for everything." He paused. "We wouldn't have had the money for the hospital."
"Just you and your brother?"
"And a sister."
Dick hated when he came across families like that, the ones where people too young to be raising kids are raising kids. It was the result of a broken society, the innocent victims.
"Why were they after you?" Dick couldn't see any signs of anything illegal, and after all the years behind the mask, he was a good judge of character.
Ryan smiled. "I've been winning poker since I was a kid, some people aren't too happy after I clean them out." He met Dick's eyes. "I don't cheat, never have. I can just read people."
He nodded. 'Just be careful next time." He stood. "I have to go."
"Thanks."
Dick nodded and then was gone. Ryan sat alone at the table for a few minutes.
