Sorry that this chapter isn't nearly as long as the last one! (It's probably only half the size...) However, I'm, like, super pumped for this. We're already getting into the good stuff... *cackles and rubs hands together*
YoU WiLL nEVeR bE sAFe
"You're getting punished for that?"
Nightwing sighs as he pokes at Jay's injuries. The younger boy winces but still holds firm. "It's alright, Jay. Don't worry about it."
The tension in Jay's shoulders doesn't fade, his anger obvious in the way he huffs, but he doesn't say anything. The two fall into an awkward silence while Nightwing carefully tends to Jay's wounds. As he works on pushing his shoulder back into its socket with gentle fingers, Jay starts up a conversation.
"Do you have some kind of connection with the League or something?"
Nightwing pauses as he ponders over the question, but he quickly gets back to work. Jay grunts in pain as the aforementioned limb is shoved back into its rightful place, but he doesn't make much more noise than that. "I think I wouldn't be here if I didn't have a connection with the Shadows, Jay."
"Not that," Jay says. "I'm talking about the Justice League, not the League of Shadows."
Nightwing blinks, suddenly thankful that Jay's back is to him as he tries not to flinch at the words that were spoken so openly. "Why would you think that?"
Jay shrugs with his uninjured shoulder. "I don't know. No one really knows where you're from, 'Wing. I don't know where you're from. I didn't even think you existed. If you hadn't... if you hadn't helped me out that one time, I would've thought you were just another rumor or fairy tale."
Nightwing purses his lips as he remembers Jay, covered in injuries and burns and his own blood. "I still can't believe that Deathstroke would be so relentless," he says darkly. "But I'm afraid that I cannot tell you anything about my history." After a moment of consideration, he continues. "Also, you didn't answer my question."
Jay fidgets a bit before answering. "Well, I mean... back when my friend contacted me, and he asked for my help regarding Red Arrow's kidnapping and the attack on Over Venture... I had asked you to enhance that weapon. You didn't exactly... hesitate, even though we barely knew one another and you knew that I was assisting the League. You just told me not to get caught."
Nightwing falls silent at that. That's right. Another one of his treasured abilities—to incorporate his power into a weapon. Unfortunately, or fortunately in his case (Ra's would never let him leave his control otherwise), he becomes weaker with every enhancement he does. He only regains his power when he extracts it back into his body.
"I mean," Jay adds, "you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. Sure, we're friends and all, but it really isn't any of my business—"
"Someone I really care about was affiliated with the League," he interrupts softly as he starts to weave stitches through a deep cut on his back. "I... owe them quite a bit."
It isn't a lie, per say. Sure, the real reason is because he cares about him and he doesn't want him to die, but he does owe the boy his life.
Jay hums. "Well, I just wanted to ask, 'cause, well... my friend, he wanted me to tell you that you saved one of guys of the League."
Nightwing's curiosity peaks, though he continues without pause. "Oh really?" He internally congratulates himself for keeping his voice steady, though it's an octave higher than normal. "Which one?"
"Kidflash."
The words take half a second to register, but when they do, he swears he gets whiplash from the words alone. His fingers jerk in surprise, and he barely manages to stop himself from tearing the string right out of Jay's skin. He hears Jay hiss in surprise and grumble something, but the pounding in Nightwing's ears make it too hard to make the words out.
It takes him three seconds of deep breathing before he can stop his fingers from shaking too badly and continue his work. Jay doesn't seem to think much of his reaction, brushing it off as an accident. But even so, Nightwing can't keep himself from chewing his lower lip in worry as feelings he long since suppressed threaten to crawl up his throat. He really shouldn't be getting emotional at the mention of his old friend's hero name, and he knows this.
A part of him, hidden in the back of his mind, whispers that he might remember him. He tries to ignore that piece of himself, and he fairs pretty well until he's finally done fixing up Jay. He stands up, rubbing the muscles in his legs to get the feeling back into them after they fell asleep. Jay, bruised and limping, follows him out the door before waving to him goodbye.
And then Jay shuts the door. He's all alone.
The ache in his chest comes back full force. Childish laughter, thin gangling arms wrapping him up in a hug, dark, cold nights full of jokes and banter...
It shouldn't be this easy to completely unravel his bottled-up emotions. It shouldn't. So why...
Why does it hurt so much?
And then, another thought strikes him in the chest, and his eyes burn and shame crawls up and down his cheeks. His stomach drops down to his feet.
What would he think of him now?
For a while, he just stands, frozen, outside of Jay's door. By the time he finally slinks into the shadows, he knows that Ra's is going to be miffed at his tardiness. But he doesn't care that he's making himself even later in order to take a detour. He enters his barely-lived-in dorm room, immediately heading to the bathroom to wash his face, to let the icy chill ground him.
He's not there anymore. He's not with Batman, he's not swinging through Gotham or running through the halls of the manor or tasting Alfred's cookies. He's not playing pranks on him, who was always a good sport about it even though he always got totally embarrassed.
He scrubs his face with the palms of his hands, soaking them in steaming hot water. He isn't sure when he turned it from cold to hot, but the scalding water helps him focus. His hands are still trembling, though, and he has to try multiple times to turn the faucet off. He takes in several shaky breaths to calm himself. He isn't used to having these kinds of cracks. Usually he's so composed, so why is he suddenly—
Oh.
It makes sense, way too much sense, but it doesn't make it any easier. He's going to crash soon, and he knows it. He hates sleeping, though. It never rejuvenates him like it used to. His body doesn't even need it. It's a waste of time, and the several hours' worth of dreams are all but useless.
He always gets frazzled emotionally-wise a little bit before and after. Another reason why he dislikes it. His last dream was just a constant stream of make the end worth it, make the end worth it, make the end worth it, make the end worth it, make the end worth it, make the end worth it, make the end worth it over and over again until all the words blurred together and all the small lights around him went out and the darkness overtook him.
He takes in another shuddering breath before he finally stops the shaking in his arms. He's late now, by almost half an hour, and he knows that he's going to be punished even more for that. But that's okay, because now he's prepared to deal with it. And he's not an emotional mess. And he doesn't look like he's about to cry anymore.
Oh, who the hell is he even trying to convince.
He blinks away another message from MADDY that practically screams "Move now, or else Ra's might kill you" and straightens. He still looks like a mess, but he doesn't look as bad as before. He sighs before leaving the bathroom, making sure not to drag his feet as he all but sprints in the direction of the meeting point.
He's forty-five minutes late when he finally arrives.
/breakline initiate\
At least the attendant's nice, he muses later. Unfortunately, he isn't sure how much longer he's going to stay as Ra's' attendant. Rumors were flying around that when Ra's ordered Agent Walsh to be killed for her failure at some bombing incident, he argued with Ra's nonstop until he threatened to kill him too.
His bravery was a pleasant sight to Nightwing, but to Ra's it looked nothing more than insubordination. And while the attendant was smart and had been by Ra's' side for years, it didn't change the fact that disrespecting him was misbehavior, which was never left unpunished here.
He's back in his bathroom, sitting in the tub filled halfway with lukewarm water. He had already refilled it with hot water when it cooled twice now, and he's pretty sure his hands look more like his great-grandmother's do than a fourteen-year-old.
... He is fourteen, right?
His brows furrow, and he bites his lower lip as he wracks his brain for the date. Of course, he doesn't have to think hard for long. MADDY's voice rings through his eardrums as she says, "It is November the twenty-third." He flinches when the sound reaches him. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to it.
There's a small microphone in his eardrum that, in very low vibrations, emits MADDY's robotic voice directly to him. Since it's so quiet, no one else can hear it. The only downside is that people thinks he's crazy when he talks back to seemingly nothing. However...
"Could you please stop stalking my train of thoughts?"
He doesn't like it when MADDY knows exactly what he's thinking twenty-four seven. It's unnerving, and he's terrified that one day Ra's will come up to him and say that MADDY's been sending all his thoughts directly to him. He didn't know what he'd do if he was presented with his traitorous feelings—what, was he just supposed to act like MADDY was making all his bitter opinions up?
"I am not allowed to send any of your mind's data to Master Ra's."
"MADDY, what the hell."
"I'm sorry, but I am afraid I cannot quite compute. Do you mean to ask what the term "Hell" is, or are you vocalizing a human "catchphrase?" My systems report you saying "What the hell," not "What is hell," but I am afraid that you could have misspoken, and I wish to be of service to you."
"MADDY."
"Yes?"
"Stop being creepy. I swear."
"I apologize. I will try to be less "creepy" from now on."
Nightwing sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose before leaning his back onto the cool tile of the side of the tub. He trailed back to his previous thoughts. He had almost a week before he turned fifteen, though W—he already turned seventeen.
"Who is this boy that plagues your thoughts?"
He jumps again in surprise before sighing. "MADDY, please drop it."
"Drop what? I cannot physically hold anything."
His mouth quirks into a smile at MADDY's words. They remind him of his "frenemy," and then he's wondering if the Source actually managed to complete his objective. Or if he managed to tell Batman his message.
He hoped so. He really did love Batman, and he missed him from the bottom of his heart.
"It's a human phrase. It means to stop talking about a certain subject."
"I see. I will keep this in mind for later, then."
Nightwing nods even though MADDY probably wouldn't be able to tell he was. But then something MADDY says strikes him. He licks his lips. "What did you mean when you said that you weren't allowed to send my data to Ra's?"
"I am not allowed to do so. They prohibited it in my programming."
Nightwing raised an eyebrow. "Why? It would be much more beneficial for you to do so."
MADDY didn't pause in its response. "I am not sure of the specifics, but they put many restrictions on me to make sure I do not step out of line. While it is true that your information would be of assistance, I am not allowed to evolve into anything more than my programming." As it spoke, it brought up lines of code into his vision, comments appearing in the corner about what each was for.
"That's a lot of restrictions..." he murmured, eyes running from each line as it passed his vision. "Why don't they take the risk and let you do a few extra things? I don't see why they would keep you from doing some of these little things." Part of him was slapping him upside the head, since his suggestions would do nothing but cause him more trouble, but another side of him was wondering why they didn't experiment with it more. They already put so much time and effort into making MADDY, so why did they limit it so much?
"They experimented with another artificial intelligence before I was created. They gave it little to no limitations, other than it was to serve the League of Shadows above all else."
Nightwing swallowed. "And?"
"It went berserk, and it eventually escaped. No one knows where it is now."
He felt sick to his stomach. "I see." He was about to push away all the information piling in front of him when a certain file caught his eye. "Hey, MADDY? What's the PSYCHOLOGICAL/PERSONALITY SYSTEM for..?"
MADDY fell silent for a moment. "I apologize, but a scan of my system shows that no such thing exists. Also, as an artificial intelligence unit, I am not capable of being sentient. You must be mistaken."
So it's hidden from MADDY.
Well, crap.
Nightwing willed the file to open, and while it took a few tries, he did succeed. He was surprised to find that it was bare, almost empty, except for a few lines of code.
One caught his attention, though. It seemed to be recently added, and through the mess he found the key words he was looking for.
His stomach dropped.
DROP IT: TO STOP TALKING ABOUT A CERTAIN SUBJECT.
Oh that's definitely not asterous.
/breakline initiate\
There's hot sand between his toes, and in between his fingers, and behind his ears. He doesn't mind, though. It's hot, enough to make him sweat buckets, but now the sun's setting and it's cooling down. There's a breeze, too, and it's running through his hair and sending chills up his bare arms.
He ends up walking forward, into the inky darkness of the sea. It reminds him of the Source, of when he exited the Code Dimension and fell into the sea. ̸͙̤̠̀̈́̒̾İ̴̧͍̞t̸̮͖̱̥͛ ̷̝̰͎̈̏̈̍ͅr̷͔̽e̸̤͈̕m̴̻̦̂͗͜ȉ̸̘̏n̷̻͚͖̓̽̇d̶͙̝̳̣̅̋s̷̘̯̅ ̸̧̥̘͑̈́͌̈́͜h̵̻̀̈́͘ỉ̴̛̮̫͔̜̏́m̴̻͛̈ ̵̻̔̍̓͝ŏ̴͎͕̭̎͝f̵̪̞̗̊̇́͠ ̵̫͐̔̋w̴̝̳͖̄͂̀̃ḩ̵̰͆͋e̶̯͕̻͖̋̎n̵͎̋ ̴̨͎̎̈́͝ͅh̸̗͑̓̇e̵̛̬̱̎͛̀ ̶͚̻̖̪͑̚ŵ̵͚̦̯̞̃a̵̻̥͐̿̄̕s̴̺̤̺̀̋̂̚ ̸͓͊͗̕̕t̷̥̪͂h̵̛̳́̈́ŗ̶͔͙̀õ̶̯͆̃͠w̶̡̢̽̒͝ǹ̷̺̤͊͘ ̶̜̈́͠b̶͍̖̿a̴̤͚͗̄͌c̵̬̝̑̉͠ḳ̸̄̃̊̍ ̷̡̭͇͘͘i̵̧͕̫̍n̷̛͚̣̳͛͝t̵͚͎͙͉́̉̿͒ö̷̮̣́̈́̍͌ ̶̼̏̌̄i̷͉̠̚t̶̘͑ ̷͚̱͎̇̈̈a̵̧̭̝̰̽ ̴͉̪̫̼͒s̷̬͍̖̫̎e̵͚̔̏͆c̴̬̐̄͆o̵͇̒͂͜͝n̵̯̰͗̿͛͝d̷͙͕͂͂ ̸͕̳̍͘t̶͉͎̄͜ḯ̵̪̤͚͚͠m̶̡̖̖̋̈͗ẽ̵͓̬̳ ̵̜̜͆̀b̴͕̘̆ỹ̶̞̱͕͋̚—̵̟̊͛̃͛
The water's up to his waist now, and the current's gentle against his suit. He walks further in, until it's up to his neck, and he takes a few deep breaths before going under. He opens his eyes as he swims deeper, deeper, deeper, and then there's this whispering in his ear.
I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, why grayson, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to—
He finds what he's looking for, and he curls up against the cold, slick surface of a headstone. He knows he's running out of oxygen, but he doesn't care. He curls up against it, running the tip of his finger against the curve of the indentations of letters. A part of him wants to cry, where it'll all be lost in the sea and never to be found again, but another part of him has no tears left. He hugs the headstone one more time before kicking back up to the surface. He ends up taking deep, desperate breaths as his head comes up, coughing out the saltwater that burns his throat and rubbing shaking hands against his aching eyes.
There's a hands against his wrist then, and he doesn't flinch this time. He doesn't flinch anymore. They're pulling him back to shore, and then they hold him to their chest when they do. They're rubbing his back, running their fingers through his hair, and eventually he stops shaking.
"You want to sleep with me tonight?" they ask, and he nods shakily into their chest. He sleeps more often now than he used to.
"Okay," they say, and they gently lead him away from the beach.
The sand is cool between his toes.
/breakline initiate\
He wakes up to find that he fell asleep in the bathtub. He has a crick in his neck, and his skin is clammy when he snaps out of his sleep-filled haze. Sighing, he pulls himself with shaky arms up and out of the tub, his knees locking up from such an awkward position and his muscles straining with disuse. His right leg fell asleep, and it tingles almost painfully when the blood starts to flow back through the limb.
He drains the tub before drying himself off with cold, stiff hands. He manages to find clean clothes from his small dresser and quickly dresses himself. But he's still cold, and his shoulders continue to shake. He's not sure if it's from the burns that he suffered from today or the lack of temperature his body refuses to hold, but he curls up in his unused bed, wrapping all the blankets he can find around himself. He closes his eyes, and though he can't sleep anymore, it helps.
He tries not to think about the warm, gangling arms that encircled him and held him close.
It's just a dream, he tells himself.
It's just a dream.