Chapter 4

Faith





Dick had no comprehension of time. There was the coolness of the rocks beneath him and the forces of Hell beating against his back. He couldn't focus his eyes his head hurt so much; his arm felt as if someone tried to rip it off, and he could feel his ribs move out of rhythm with the movement of those on the other side…but he knew he had to move and move fast because the tide was coming in. He was aware of the excruciating pain that was being enhanced by the salt waters that were being sloshed into his long crusted wounds. The world kept spinning awkwardly as he fumbled to gain footing against the rocky shoreline of his refuge. He only made it about three steps before the world began to spin violently again. At first his stomach revolted, then his legs, and then his mind.

A great shadow fell over him, dark and frightening. It blocked the sun.

***GET UP! Get up!*** it yelled.

"I can't!" he cried back at it. "Oh god, I hurt so much."

***You have a choice. GET UP NOW!*** it growled. ***Or Die.***

"HELP ME, damn it! Please. Help me," Dick pleaded in response.

***I AM…*** the shadow barked, then some how in a calmer, more soothing voice he whispered, ***The only way I know how.***

Dick looked up, but the shadow was gone.

With every ounce of energy left in him, he managed to crawl to the tree line of what appeared to be a small forest. His broken arm hung uselessly. He pulled himself shakily over a fallen tree, then lay quietly, trying desperately to force air in and out of his shattered body. He would rest here. That's what he wanted to do most. Just sleep. But as soon as he closed his eyes the shadow returned.

**"Wake up,*** it called to him his eyes fluttered open but felt no fear of the great winged beast that stood before him.

"Just let me rest a minute."

***You don't have a minute. You could be alone on this island a long time. If you are to survive, you will have to look for water and shelter and tend to your wounds. But first you must set your arm and dress it quickly.***

Dick looked down at his arm. The bone had ripped through the skin and was exposed and filthy with dirt and dried blood. He thought he might throw up, but again the shadow distracted him. Although he now realized the voice was just his imagination, an apparition caused by obvious head injury, he couldn't understand why it appeared to look and sound so dark. More importantly why he seemed to want to obey its every wish. The only thing he knew for sure was that he trusted the voice. Besides, it seemed to make sense, what it wanted him to do, as if it was only trying to help him.

***Carefully remove the gauntlets,*** it said. ***You will need your first aid kit and your knife or Batarang from them.***

 He laid his wounded arm on the fallen tree and carefully pulled the items from the small pockets. "I wonder which one of these has the strings and ceiling wax in them. He giggled, not sure why a forgotten childhood song flashed in his head and quickly abated, but he found some comfort in the memory no matter how quickly it disappeared. That's when he found it, a small blade shaped like a bird. He gently glided the blade down his arm then peeled the material back as if it where the skin of an onion. He didn't even notice the areas where he had cut into his own skin till he began to bleed.

He found the small bottle of liquid. It was not going to be enough to clean the wounds thoroughly. He had to go back to the water's edge and wash the crusted wound open

***Let the blood flow freely,*** the voice said.

Tears began to flow as he looked back at the water line. He remembered the pain as the wave washed over the dried wounds, but he stumbled blindly back and knelt in the water. Not too far out, just far enough to submerge the wound. Then using the material from the glove, he scraped and scrubbed the dirt and scab from the wound. The water around him went from blue to red in a matter of moments. Cradling the newly open wound in his other hand, he shakily made his way back to the tree then dumped the bottle of liquid selfishly over the muscle and bone. He heard the hiss of air as it escaped his clinched teeth. But that was all until the voice returned.

***Sit on the stump. Place the arm between the trunk and the branch as tightly as you can get it. There is no room for error.***

Dick did as he was told, wedging the useless limb in the crook of the downed tree. Then he stood up. He felt the bone submerge within his muscle, then as the voice told him, he snapped the upper arm into place over the two separated pieces. The shadow's voice was echoing in his head over his own screams to remain awake. "Don't give up. Don't give up." Then he took the other glove he had cut the hand out of, removed all of the equipment from it, and pulled it in place tightly over his wound. That was the last coherent moment he would remember for many hours.



Tim felt groggy and confused when his eyes opened. He became more confused when he realized he had no clue where he was or how he got there. It looked to him like a forest, and the last place he remembered being wasn't a forest, it was Dick's bedroom. Well, he thought, maybe this is a dream.

He wandered aimlessly within this dream. He never realized how worn out you could get dreaming until now. In the distant he could hear the sounds of waves crashing against the rocky shore. It wasn't long before he could smell the ocean spray, its steady rhythm lulling him towards it, making him more tired than he was before. But he wasn't paying attention and he stumbled over something in brush. As he looked down at his feet he saw the blue material of Nightwing's costume. He scrambled to his feet and turned him gently over. He was covered from head to foot in blood.

"Hel...lp me, I can't think…don't know what to do…help me..." The frightened young hero grabbed for the specter of his dream, but his body began to fade. Still Dick begged to him. "I can't think. Please help me."

In a last ditch effort he screamed to his friend to listen. "Dick, please hang on. I know you're alive. I'll find you, I promise! Hang on!"

Slowly the illusion faded to the gentle words of Donna Troy as she gently shook him awake. At first he wanted to strike out at her, but the tears in her eyes reminded him that it was just a dream.

Dick awoke to the patter of a gentle rain that caressed his hot skin. He revelled in the taste of it as it slowly moistened his parched mouth. He lay there with his mouth open for many minutes. Then the voice returned, ***You must find water and shelter.***

"I had a dream," Dick whispered. "…a boy…He said he would find me."

***It was a dream, not important. You must find water and shelter***

"…he knew me…I thought I knew him."

***NOT IMPORTANT! It was a dream.***

"It was important to me."

***If you are to survive, you must find shelter.*** it growled.

"And what if I don't want to survive," Dick growled back, trying to sit up. "I have nothing. No memory of anything, at least anything that makes sense. The only things I have are dreams I don't understand and YOU, some deeply demented nightmare that seems to find pleasure in my pain. What do I have to live for but the pain of surviving alone? You keep pushing as though I should give a damn. Give me a reason to survive!"

***Survive because you can.**** It growled, ****The reasons will come soon enough.***



He picked up the remains of the glove from his injured arm and tossed it at the vision. It of course only hooked itself to a tree and clung there. That was when he noticed for the first time something hung from one of the pockets. It was a photograph of a beautiful woman dressed in a cowl and cape with long, flowing red hair and heavenly eyes of green. It was as if God had sent him a reason to survive. He didn't know who she was, but she was beautiful and made him feel stronger. Maybe she was an angel. His angel.