And now, the moment you've all been waiting for... what's going on with Dick?
So this begins about the same time as Bruce is meeting with Clark, ish. Just so you know. And, as I say so much, yes, I know this is short-ish. Next chappy, though, is close to... 1450 words? Not including any other edits that I might add or the AN. So get ready for that one.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Well, except this 'verse. Sorta.
Blue eyes flickered open, hidden behind sunglasses. The young man sat up, groaning. "What hit me?" He muttered. He paused as the previous events came flooding back to him. "Oh. Right. Slade did."
He blinked a few times, then looked around the room. It was kind of plain- a desk, chair, and the bed. Oh, and a lamp. Not the most luxurious surroundings, but it suited him fine. He looked down at the bed. Well, at least it's not orange, he thought, half sarcastic and half sour.
He swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood up, bracing himself against the inevitable dizzy moment as he did. Other than the headache, he seemed to be fine.
He changed into the sweats that had been left by the bed and slung the belt across his shoulder. Whether he trusted Slade or not, the instinct to have his belt with him at all times prevailed. His communicators were gone, of course, but everything else was intact. He hesitated for a moment, then reached into a hidden compartment and brought out a black communicator. Slade didn't know of his associations with the Bats, and so didn't bother looking for a Batcommunicator. He looked at it for a moment before switching off the tracking capabilities and returning it to his belt. He wouldn't destroy it, or give it to Slade, but he would make sure that it did not affect the playing field. His father would not be able to track him through it. He himself could, however, use it to keep up with the search and events at home.
Finished preparing, he padded over to the door and let himself out into the hallway. One of the things that he had noticed about Slade's hideouts was that they were all organized much the same way- second door on the right should be a bathroom, first on the left a training room, and the third door on the left should be the kitchen. That was the first door he tried.
What? He was hungry.
He pushed open the door and entered the room. Sure enough, it was the kitchen. It was also currently occupied. "Hey, Wintergreen." He greeted. Wintergreen turned and smiled at him. "Hello, Nightwing. Hungry?" "Famished." Nightwing grinned. "How long was I out?" "A few hours. Slade didn't hit you that hard." "Oh, I know. No concussion, which is good."
"How can you tell?" Both of them turned around to see Slade entering the kitchen. "By the way, it's good to know I didn't give you one. I didn't mean to hit you too hard."
"Why did you hit me at all?" Slade shrugged. "Well, I couldn't let you see where we are, could I?" Nightwing raised an eyebrow. "Where are we?" "Metropolis." Slade answered. Nightwing threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "So why couldn't you let me see, if you were just going to tell me?!"
Slade ignored the question, a smirk the only hint of his amusement. "You didn't answer my question. How do you know you don't have a concussion?"
"I'm speaking english, for one thing." Nightwing rolled his eyes. "And I wasn't dizzy enough. I've had enough concussions to know how it feels."
Slade blinked. "What do you mean, you can speak english?" Nightwing sighed. "When I get a bad enough concussion, I can't speak english. Or most other languages, actually."
"Oh."
Nightwing nodded absentmindedly. "I'm not telling you which language I can speak, by the way. What happened after you knocked me out?"
"I took you and left. Wayne was helpless."
"That sounds really creepy if you think about it. Is he alright?"
"Wayne? He's fine." Slade obviously didn't care about the billionaire. Nightwing, however, cared more than he was letting on. It was his father, after all. Not that Slade knew that.
Slade pushed away from the counter that he was leaning against. "Ready for the tour?"
"Can I eat first?" Nightwing almost whined. "I just woke up."
Slade rolled his eyes. "Fine, we can eat first."
"Asterous." Nightwing smirked. Slade looked at him like he was insane. "What the hell does 'asterous' mean?"
"Opposite of disaster. You know, minus the prefix. It can be used as a noun, as in 'feeling the aster', or an adjective, as in 'asterous'."
By this point, both Slade and Wintergreen were looking at him like he belonged in a mental asylum. Nightwing shrugged. "I used to be obsessed with things like that, before I left and became Nightwing and got all bitter. I've started using them again though. Aster, whelmed, chalant, traught…"
Slade shook his head, obviously deciding not to get into that right then, and possibly planning to arrange some sort of brain scan to make sure Nightwing hadn't gone insane or been replaced by a clone. Because that was totally feasible. "'Before you became Nightwing and got all bitter'?"
"Mmmhhm." He obviously wasn't going to elaborate on that. "Drove everyone insane. I think Artemis wanted to punch me a few times before we converted her to the dark side." He continued cheerfully.
Slade and Wintergreen stared at him. It was almost like he was a different person. "What happened to you since you left?" Wintergreen asked with an awed sort of horror.
Nightwing's smirk faded into a small, genuine smile. "I reunited with my friends and family from before the Titans." He said quietly. "I became happy again.
Oh, poor baby. Just reunited and then you're violently ripped away. Who would do that to you?
... oh, right. Me. ;)
And if 'Wing seems like he's giving a bit too much away, he's really not. It's all superficial stuff, nothing really important. And he trusts Slade now. And he got hit on the head.
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