A/N: I'm now into my second semester of college! Don't worry - I haven't given up on this story. And for the sake of the story, the only one who will be affected by the toxin in this story is Dick!

Warning: um graphic, but not really, but KINNNND of graphic dream sequence, courtesy of Damian. Also, injury and whatnot idk. It's kind of told in Damian's perspective, but mostly just third person. Also, warning: dream suicide.

"I don't suppose you know what happened, do you, Titus?" He jokingly asked his baby brother's dog as he began unwrapping the bandages to see the damage.

Titus only titled his head in response, then trotted over to his person still asleep on the couch.

His dreams were never exactly…pleasant. Being the son of an assassin and a vigilante will do that to one's subconscious. Sometimes his dreams were invaded by the scum of Gotham's streets - fighting along side Father, or his brothers, to cleanse the city of their insanity. Other nights they were tainted with the blood of those he has murdered in the time he spent with Mother and Grandfather with the Shadows.

But tonight, it was different.

The dream began pleasantly. He stood tall on the edge of Wayne Tower. His cape rustled softly in the light wind, the signature "R" proudly displayed on his chest. Beside him was Grayson with that dopey smile clearly displayed on his face, looking down at the city below - their city. The fourth Robin looked downward in admiration of the tall buildings, and the heavy traffic down below, despite it being well past midnight. The police sirens in the distance sounded louder than the honking of the irritable late-night taxi drivers. This was Gotham. He looked beside him at Grayson once more. This time, his brother was looking straight at him, as if waiting for his signal. With a curt nod, Nightwing's smile broadened and he spread his arms wide and allowed himself to free fall off of the building. Damian allowed a small smile to grace his lips as well as he fell into the cold Gotham night.

That was when the dream began to change.

The city began to disappear beneath him as he fell, only to be surrounded by blackness. In the distance, he could see Nightwing continue to fall as well as the lights of the city disappeared around them. They were falling, falling, falling into nothing!

"Nigthwing!" The youngest called out to him in desperation. Grayson did not seem to have heard him.

Desperately, Damian reached for his grappling hook, but there was nothing to shoot it at!

Think, Damian! Think!

"Grayson!" He called out to him again.

The darkness was never ending as they continued to fall. Damian kept his eyes on Grayson, when he kept distancing further and further away until Damian couldn't see him anymore.

The eleven year old closed his eyes and willed the darkness to stop pursuing him - willed himself to stop falling.

Suddenly, the sensation of falling ceased.

Reluctantly opening his eyes, Damian found himself lying flat on his face on a cold concrete floor, his arms spread wide. Slowly, he moved his arms closer to him and pushed himself up to gather his surroundings.

Light shined from above him like a spotlight that spread about ten feet all the way around. Outside of the spotlight, it was total darkness.

Comms could still be online, Damian thought.

Robin pressed his hand to his ear. "Robin to Nightwing. Report. I have landed unscathed. What is your location?" Releasing his hand, the only noise on the other end was static.

With a exasperated sigh, the Son of the Bat tried again. "Robin to Batman. Nightwing and I have been separated. Requesting immediate assistance."

Nothing.

Once more. "Robin to the Reds. Red Robin. Hood. Requesting assistance." Static met his ears once again.

Robin cupped his hands over his mouth to amplify his call. "Nightwing!" His own voice reverberated in an echo.

Taking a step forward, Robin found that the light above him followed him where he moved. His brows creased in confusion and contemplation. Something was bubbling in the pit of his stomach - an unpleasant feeling. He could not decipher whether it was instinctual paranoia, or fear.

Damian did not know how long he remained walking, nor did he know whether or not he was traveling in circles. He continued to call out for Grayson. For anyone. What seemed like forever, he came to a stop as he heard a noise echoing in the distance.

Closing his eyes, Robin focused on the noise. Was that…crying?

"Grayson?" He asked hesitantly. He took a step forward. "Grayson!" He said more loudly. The sobbing continued, sounding distinctly like his old mentor. He quickened his pace and started running towards the quiet sobbing.

Damian's running came to a stop ten feet shy of a figure on his knees, hunched over with his face in his hands, his back facing Damian. The figure's shoulder shook, his body wracked with silent sobs. The dark kevlar, the weapons hoisted at his hip was unmistakably his eldest brother.

"Nightwing. Report," he stated curtly. "Are you hurt?" He approached him slowly, the uneasy feeling in his stomach slowly growing.

"Enough!" Damian yelled closing the distance between them. He placed a firm hand on the Bludhaven vigilante's shoulder and forced him to turn.

Damian's masked eyes were met with unmasked blue one's wide with fear. Nightwing fell backwards on his bottom, his hands firmly on the ground as he dragged himself backwards a few feet in shock.

Damian's own eyes widened behind his mask. "Nightwing? What…What is going on?" He asked attempting to approach him again, only for Nightwing to back up even further.

It surprised Robin to see Grayson in such a state. A look of fear and desperation that one would find in a child who just lost their parents.

Damian removed his mask and knelt down to be at eye level with his brother. "Dick," he spoke as if talking to a broken child, just as Grayson did on many occasions during their endeavors as the Dynamic Duo. "What's wrong?"

Dick's face almost instantly crumpled. "I'm so sorry." The older man brought his knees to his chest as he rocked steadily and continued to sob.

"I couldn't save them. I couldn't protect them," he repeated like a mantra through his tears.

What the hell is he on about? Damian himself looked at Grayson in shock.

Robin stood up again, disregarding his mask on the floor a few feet away from Nightwing. Still staring at Nightwing, Damian took a few steps back trying to decide his next course of action. He needed to find a way out. He needed to somehow contact Batman. They needed to get out of here. Wherever here was.

He stopped moving backwards as his boot met with something wet and think. Thicker than water. Thinner than mud.

The uneasiness invaded his entire body now, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Slowly, he looked down at his feet and found the green of his boots were now stained in deep, red blood. His eyes slowly followed the origins of the puddle.

"No.." escaped his lips.

A large, growing puddle of blood surrounded a new figure on the ground. A wing-like cape covered it's body, a mess of black hair peeking from underneath.

Drake.

The youngest protege was on his knees in an instant slowly turning over the older boy.

Damian fought back tears as he looked into the face of his brother. His once vibrant blue eyes were a dull gray, staring widely up at the ceiling. A small stream of blood was pouring out of his nose and down his face. He was unmoving, his chest still. The blood continued to pool around him, from where, Damian couldn't tell, only that it was starting pool around him as well.

Ripping his green glove off of his right arm, Robin hurriedly checked for a pulse, knowing he would be only met with stillness beneath his fingers.

A quiet sob escaped his throat.

"Grayson! What has happened?" Damian asked almost angrily, his eyes never leaving the stillness of Drake's face.

All the while, Grayson's sobs continued in the background.

Robin could feel the blood in him boiling. "I said, 'enough!'"

Still on his knees, he turned to the direction of Nightwing.

Grayson was no longer sobbing in a ball, but he was standing, his hands gripping the side of his head looking down in front of him.

Following his eyes, Damian eyes were met with the wide eyes of Jason Todd. A bullet hole clear as day in the center of his forehead. One arm was stretched out towards Damian palm up, the other lay atop his stomach. His front completely saturated in red, making the insignia on his chest look like a deformed bird.

Wide eyed, Robin slowly got back on his feet, now staring down at Todd.

All confidence, all anger, left Damian's voice. "Dick…W-What..Please."

Grayson's eyes met Damian's. "You can't die because of me too…I…I can't let that happen. I can't."

"Grayson, what are you talking about - NO!"

Before Damian could blink, Grayson had a wingding tightly gripped in his hand and was bringing it up to his throat.

Robin reached out with his gloveless hand, running towards his older brother, but it was too late.

The metal of the wingding echoed in the darkness as it fell to the ground, now stained red.

The youngest Wayne dropped to his knees a few feet short of Nightwing, his old mentor, just as he too fell to the ground in a heap.

A sick, wet choking sound permeated the air as Grayson's hands gripped tightly at his throat. A fountain of red began to stream down his neck and through his fingers. Damian closed the distance between them and placed his hands on the blue of his mentor's chest.

"What have you done?!" The youngest Robin repeated like a mantra, as the choking sounds subsided after a few minutes. The only noise now coming from Damian as he cried at the loss of his brothers.

After a few minutes, a deep, monotonous voice penetrated the stillness of the air. "Where were you, Damian?"

Damian ceased his crying, his eyes widened and his turned to the direction of the voice.

Batman, standing in the middle of the light stared Damian straight on.

"Father," said Robin, his voice full with a newfound hope.

"Where. Were. You?" Batman asked again, his voice unchanging.

Damian felt his breath quicken as anger filled him once more. He stood up and approached Batman until he was only two feet away.

"Where was I? Where the hell were you?" Damian looked up at his father as he angrily jabbed his bloodied hand at Batman's chest, marking the gray of his suit.

"You failed. Your brothers are dead because you failed them."

Damian's eyes widened in shock. The figure of Batman was beginning to blur even more through his tears. He shook his head repeatedly as he took steps back. "No, no, no. You failed, Batman. You failed. Not I." The squish of the blood beneath his feet echoed as his made steps backward.

The puddle of blood was spreading. The once gray concrete floor was now fully covered in the blood of his brothers.

With every step back, Batman moved forward towards Damian. "No. No. Stay away from me. Stay away!"

"You need to wake up, Dami."

"Don't you dare call me by that name! You have no right!"

Batman was getting closer now.

"Do not touch me!" With all of the strength left in him, Damian pushed Batman away from him.

Dick finished unwrapping the bandage of his hand and let out a low whistle. "Phew - that is one nasty cut." He brought his injured hand closer to his face as he tried to count aloud the stitches.

He had just gotten to nine when he heard Titus begin to whine from across the room. Looking up, he saw Damian still asleep on the couch, his eyebrows furrowed, his breath quickening, and Titus nuzzling his face to Damian in an attempt to wake him. The poor kid was having a nightmare.

"Hey, hey, Dami wake up," he called out to him as he moved to get out of bed.

Lifting his injured hand above his head, Dick shifted both legs off the edge, ignoring the growing pain in his chest.

Titus seemed to know what he was planning to do, so he made room as Dick knelt by the couch near Damian's face.

"Hey, kiddo. It's just a nightmare," he said softly as he stroked his hair.

His face didn't seem to relax at all, his head making short movements left and right. From his experience, Dick knows not to wake someone up from a nightmare. You have to ease your way into it and pull them out of their terror that way. That's how Bruce had always done it when he was a kid. He did the same thing whenever Jason or Tim had nightmares too, because lord knows they get them more often then they'd like.

Dick continued to stroke his little brothers hair. "You need to wake up, Dami." Damian's eyebrows only furrowed deeper.

Dick grew even more concerned. "Hey, kiddo," he said as he placed a hand on Damian's cheek. "I'm right here you're sa-" Pain suddenly exploded in his chest as he was pushed backwards into the edge of the hospital bed, hitting the gunshot injury on his arm.

The sudden pain caused him to scream out-loud and his vision became blurry from the tears he tried to blink back. The wind was knocked out of him and he couldn't breathe.

"Gah, ow, ow, fuck," Dick repeatedly quietly, or in his head - he couldn't tell, as he wrapped his arms tightly around his chest. He was gasping for air, trying to regain his breath.

Someone was trying to talk to him. Trying to tell him to breathe. He wanted so badly to tell them that he was working on it and to give him a minute.

Every gasp was painful, and he felt like he wasn't getting enough air.

Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Breathe, Grayson! Come on! He kept telling himself. Shit! I forgot how to breathe! Now, he couldn't tell if he couldn't breathe because of the pain, or the panic of not being able to breathe. Probably both, he decided.

More people were talking to him now, but he couldn't make out their voices.

The breath was stopping short in his chest with every attempt to fill his lungs again. His eyes are clenched tightly shut and he's trying so hard to, but it hurts.

Suddenly, strong hands gently pull his arms away from his chest and his uninjured hand is being spread across something warm and solid, another hand laid atop his own.

His hand rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

Follow that rhythm, Grayson. Come on! He kept telling himself. His eyes remained tightly shut as he focused on breathing. On following the rhythm.

He tried to inhale as his hand rose. He pushed the air out of his lungs as it fell.

A voice became more distinct as the fog cleared.

That voice belonged to Bruce.

"That's it, chum. You got it. In." His hand rose. "Out." His hand fell.

After a few minutes, Dick was able to finally control his breathing. Lightheaded, Dick remained with his eyes shut until he was sure he wasn't going to pass out.

With one more deep inhale, Dick opened his eyes. His head was heavy, and everything was still kind of out of focus. His eyes followed his hand to Bruce's chest. Looking up at his face, Dick could see they were full of concern.

"You with us, chum?" He asked moving Dick's hand off of his chest so he can lightly pat the side of his face.

Dick mustered up the strength to give Bruce a lopsided smile and a thumbs up.

Bruce allowed a small smile himself, briefly before he got serious again. "Jason."

With just one word, Jason was on Dick's other side grabbing under his arm as Bruce did the same on the opposite, hoisting him gently up back onto the bed.

Why did Dick feel so tired? He continued to blink wearily to regain focus, but doing so was doing the opposite.

The voices were getting far away again. He closed his eyes again because it was getting so hard to keep them open.

"Bruce," Jason said, his voice full of concern. "I think the stitches on his arm reopened." A pause, and his arm was being moved around. "Shit, Bruce. It's bleeding really bad." More pressure on his arm.

"Damian, go get Alfred." Another pause. "Now."

"Jason, keep pressure - "

Dick didn't really hear what happened after that. He didn't really care. He was pretty tired, and the pain was getting duller and duller.

Maybe he'll just… close his eyes… a little longer.

A/N: I'm baaaaaaack. I went on here to just look at the reviews and I was inspired to write again. Thanks you to all who kept up with this story!