Chapter 14

Dick Grayson looked to Batwoman as she settled onto her motorcycle, his fists slowly lowering from the punching bag. Their discussion echoed in his mind. A part of him longed to be going with her, but in the long run, he knew that it just wasn't safe. Bruce let him out two days ago, but he couldn't help but fear that there was lingering effects. Not that he had been affected by any, but in this case, one couldn't be too careful. When she looked over at him, Dick averted his eyes and turned back to the punching bag. As he heard the engine purr to life, he landed a hard punch to the punching back and listened as the roar of the motorcycle faded away.

As his hand with the wrapped wrist struck the bag hard, Dick gritted his teeth. Slowly, he stepped back, clutching his wrist. Each punch he gave with that hand made pain burst from the wrist Jasmine had injured. At first, it hadn't been too bad, so Dick just continued punching with it. However, after each punch the pain got worse and worse, along with his knuckles bruising from the harsh impact and numerous punches. Not only was his wrist screaming at him, but both of his hands were throbbing dully from the beating they took. The pain was a hell of a lot better than the alternative. Whenever he didn't occupy his mind, all he did was see flashbacks of what he did to Jasmine.

Dick looked down at his wrist noticing the small specks of blood on the white bandages. He sighed then winced as he gently unwrapped the bandages to inspect the wound. It was much better than it was before considering it was stitched up. He did pull out a stitch though. Alfred was going to be pissed. Sighing, Dick rewrapped the wound before grabbing the water bottle he brought down and walked to the bench. He sat on it, sipping the water before setting it on the ground and placing his head in his hands.

Dick hated himself. Every little thought of what he did to Jasmine…it was torture. The worst part was that it kept replaying in his head like a broken tape. Small things would trigger parts of the night, and if they weren't triggered and he wasn't occupying his mind, the whole thing would start from the beginning and play out until she kissed him and bashed the damn gun against his head to knock him out. Her screams and pleads echoed in his ears, and her blood and almost desperate eyes haunted him. Seeing her when she came down to speak with him before leaving into Gotham…he could hardly look at her. Then there she was, telling him that what he did wasn't his fault, just like Bruce has been telling him. That the bruises covering her neck, the bruise on her cheek, and the ones that were probably covering her stomach wasn't on him. Dick didn't understand. How could she forgive him for what he did?

A part of Dick wished that Jasmine would just hate him like anyone else would. The other part was relieved she didn't. He loved her. The thought that she would truly hate him, even more than before, made him feel even more broken than he already felt. It was selfish of him, he knew, to feel this way, not to mention contradicting. The two sides were completely opposite, and clashed, but it wasn't like he could just…whisk it away. The only person he has really talked to about this is Bruce, but even then, he hardly took any of what Bruce told him to heart.

Like Jasmine, Bruce told him that the whole epidemic wasn't his fault. The drug had been forced into his system, and Red Hood put him under his control. It also altered his dependency and so on, making it near impossible to break out from the drug's influence. The very fact that he had been able to fight against it when the gun was against Jasmine's head was a miracle in itself, according to Bruce. Despite this, Dick was still uncertain and rested the blame all on his shoulders. He shouldn't have been so careless when versing Red Hood back in Penguin's nightclub. The drug never should have been injected into him in the first place. Every single way Dick looked at it, all of it was his complete fault. There was no way around that.

Seeing the hope that had been Jasmine's eyes when she asked him to go out into Gotham with her…Dick's chest had constricted at the sight. All he had seen when she took his hand and looked into his eyes was being crouched over her, her good hand pinned above her head, the gun pressed against her forehead, and her beautiful blue-green eyes gazing up at him sorrowfully and hopelessly before squeezing shut. Being around her was much too dangerous for him to be doing. If he ended up hurting her again, or worse, killing her, he could never forgive himself. Bruce advised him to talk through everything with her a few days ago, but he could never bring himself to. He needed to accept everything that happened first before he spoke with her. Hopefully then, he would be more accepting of what she was telling him. As of now, Dick's mind was set on the blame being his.

Sucking in a deep breath, Dick slowly lowered his hands from his face, though he kept his head ducked. He considered returning to Bludhaven multiple times. If he left, Jasmine would be safe from him, and he would have the time to be alone and go through everything that happened. When he asked Bruce about it, the man that was like a father to him was instantly against it, saying that the best thing for him was to stay in Gotham until he was stable. At first, Dick didn't see how he was being anything but stable, but as he gazed down at his bruised and throbbing hands, he figured that Bruce had a small point. He just pulled out a stitch and beat up his hands just so he could stop reliving that night. So he could stop seeing himself beating the woman he loved and hearing her gasps and cries of pain.

"You didn't go with her?"

Dick lifted his head up, seeing Bruce dressed in his gear standing a few feet away, "No."

"Why not?" He asked, walking over and sat beside him, pushing the cowl from his head. Dick looked away from him, his eyes fixed on the ground in a harsh glare.

"You know why, Bruce. I can't look at her without remembering what I did. Each bruise on her neck makes me relive strangling her. The bruise on her cheek makes me remember each strike I landed on her. Meeting her eyes makes me see her looking at me with hopelessness as I pressed a gun to her forehead…" Dick trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut, "I hate that she forgives me so easily."

"Would you prefer that she didn't forgive you? Look, Dick, I understand that this is hard for you to come to terms with. The thing is, you need to recognize that you were drugged, and had no control over your actions," Bruce said to him matter-of-factly, and Dick shook his head, looking away almost angrily.

"Yeah. Until the end," He said coldly, and heard Bruce sighed lightly, "How can you even look at me like some victim, Bruce? I'm practically a killer after this," He breathed.

There was a small moment of silence before Dick felt Bruce rest his hand on his shoulder. Dick glanced over at him miserably, "You are many things, Dick. A killer is not one of them. You have a pure character. Don't let this ruin you."

Dick was silent as Bruce then stood up, pulling his cowl back on and becoming the Dark Knight once again. His cape swept behind him as he began to walk off, "Isn't Tim going with you?"

"No. He's staying in tonight," Batman responded without looking back at him. Dick watched as he went onto the batcycle and took off, shaking his head a little. He probably set it up, hoping that Dick would take the opportunity to become Nightwing and take Tim out as Robin with him. That, or he was keeping Tim here to keep an eye on him. Dick was just grateful that he hadn't said anything about his hands.

Running a hand through is hair, Dick got to his feet, grabbing the towel and his water bottle before heading up to the manor. He didn't have any plans on going out tonight, so he might as well tell Alfred about the pulled stitch and take the heat now rather than later. He slung the towel over his right shoulder and headed to the kitchen, hoping to find Alfred. Instead, he found Tim sipping a mug of what he assumed to be coffee, and had a notebook and book open in front of him. Hesitantly, Dick walked over and paused beside him.

"Coffee at this hour?"

Tim glanced up and offered a light smile, "Yeah. Alfred thought it was weird too. I think I've got an addiction to the stuff," He chuckled.

A small, weak smile came over Dick for a moment, "An addiction, huh? If Alfred runs out of coffee beans, none of us are going to be happy. Bruce without coffee when he wakes up early sounds terrible."

"I won't drink that much!" Tim exclaimed with a small laugh, scribbling something down then pushing the book and notebook away. He then took the mug in his hands and sipped it, turning towards Dick.

"That's what they all say," Dick teased lightly, relaxing for a moment.

"So…Dick. I was thinking that maybe we could go out together," Tim spoke up a little tentatively. Dick's light smile fell and he glanced away.

"Can't. I pulled my stitches," He mumbled.

"Okay. You could always get the wound re-stitched and then join me," Tim responded calmly. Dick sighed and shook his head, walking away.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Tim," Dick said quietly, though paused at the door.

"Where's Alfred?"

"I'm not sure. Around," Tim said, the disappointment evident in his voice. Dick winced a little and was about to leave when Alfred just walked up to the doorway.

"Speak of the devil," Dick stated, stepping back a little, "Hey Alfred, I was looking for you."

"What do you need, Master Dick?" Alfred sighed, telling Dick he was probably busy with something else. He hated to disturb his work with the wound that he reopened.

"The stitches in my wrist came loose," He said, extending his hand. More blood had soaked up into the bandages. Alfred sighed heavily and pulled a needle, thread and scissors out of his pocket.

"Master Dick! I told you to be careful when using your wrist for this exact reason!" He scolded, sharply taking his wrist. Dick winced a little and watched as the butler unwrapped the injury.

"I know, I know. I think the most remarkable thing is the fact that you have stitching supplies in your pocket," Dick spoke, trying to act lighthearted. It earned a light glare from Alfred, who then cut loose the rest of the stitches and pulled them out of the wound, which definitely didn't feel great. He then took the needle and thread and began to stitch up his wound once again, making Dick wince lightly, but he remained silent.

"That would be because everyone in this house either gets hurt or won't listen to my bloody instructions," Alfred said chillingly, and Dick chuckled lightly.

"Yeah, sorry Alfred."

"I'm sure you are, Master Dick," Alfred spoke, finishing off the last stitch, "There you are. Please do try to not pull them out again."

"Of course," Dick stated, bundling the white bandages into his hand as Alfred walked past him to clean the needle and scissors, along with his hands.

Dick quietly left and went to the infirmary area, tossing away the bandages and taking out clean ones from a drawer. He then carefully rewrapped his wrist. It was a wound that he took without complaint. Sure, it hurt here and there, but he could handle that. After everything, he figured that it was justified for him to have a wound from Jasmine. From the way she had seemed to glance at the bandages on him, which was also on his bicep and leg, she felt guilty about it. In all truth, she shouldn't feel guilty at all. She only did what she had to.

It was then that Dick's thought shifted. However, for the first time in a week, it didn't go to thoughts of that night. It went to Tim and what he had asked only a few minutes ago, and what Bruce had said to him as well. Dick wanted to be alone to figure everything out, but at the same time…maybe it would be better if he wasn't alone. Besides, he told himself that he would be there for Tim, unlike the two years he had left Jason without hardly any contact. What he was doing was pushing the younger boy away. Perhaps it would be better if he did go out with Tim. If Jasmine saw them, and she probably would, the fact that he went with Tim and not her might make her upset. That was what cause him to hesitate for a moment before pushing it out of his mind. He had to do everything he could do get better for her. If figuring this all out with other people was better than him dealing with it alone…then he would do it.

Dick jogged to his room, pulling his clothes off as he entered it and pulling his Nightwing suit on. He strapped the escrima sticks to his back, then caught his reflection for a moment. Instantly, his mind shifted back to Jasmine running up to him, only to pause when he didn't answer her. Then Red Hood appeared behind her, and he grabbed her arm and threw her to the ground. Dick sucked in a deep breath and pushed himself away from the lingering memory before returning back down to the kitchen. Tim glanced up as he arrived, a wide smile coming over him and he jumped off the chair.

"Did you change your mind?"

"Yup. Go get everything on. I'll wait for you down in the Batcave," Nightwing said, ruffling his hair lightly before walking past him and back towards the Batcave. Behind him, he heard the quick thudding of Tim's shoes as he ran off.

As Nightwing rode the elevator down, he desperately hoped that this was the right choice, and that he wasn't making some huge mistake by going out. If they caught a break, he would be able to ask Tim what he thought about everything. Not only that, but this would be a nice distraction from his thoughts…unless it would trigger everything. It was a risk, but he might as well try it. Being with Tim didn't put him or Jasmine in danger. Nightwing then stepped out of the elevator as the doors opened, and he walked to the center platform, which had the batcomputer resting on the far side. They were lucky tonight. They would get to use the batmobile.

It was only a few minutes of him waiting that a beeping from the batcomputer caught Nightwing's attention. The sound of it made his stiffen, and he ran over, quickly pulling up the notification. Batwoman had activated her distress signal. Nightwing's heart began to pound loudly in his chest as he immediately traced the signal of her tracker. The map of Gotham came up and blurred past the buildings and streets before resting on one point with a large pulsing red bat on the spot. It was the building where he had first met her. That meant…

"Harely," Nightwing breathed out in horror, immediately grabbing the batmobile keys and sprinted to the vehicle. The top of the batmobile opened as he activated it using the key, and he jumped in, landing in the driver's seat, and instantly started it. The hood closed, and the devices within the car all came to life. Then he took off, knowing Tim would be pissed, but at the moment, the only thing on his mind was getting to Jasmine.

Nightwing sped through the streets as fast as he dared. He wanted to get to Jasmine quickly, and crashing the batmobile would slow him down considerably. How had she been taken by Harley? A better question: What did Harley do to Jasmine, or what is she doing to her? Everyone knew that Harley went way off the deep end after Joker died, which was the opposite of what everyone had hoped would happen. He knew that Jasmine had almost killed Harley many months ago, and figured that the crazy woman was sent to Arkham to recover and then continue with her treatment. However, there had been no word of her escape. Perhaps it was recent, or she had been able to trick the entire staff at Arkham. It wouldn't be the first time the latter had happened if that was the case.

Nightwing slammed on the brakes as the house loomed just ahead, and he pressed the button to open the hood. The batmobile skidded just in front of the building and he jumped out. He sprinted to the building, noting that the door was ajar. At this point, his heart was racing and pounding. He pushed the door open harshly, making the door slam back against the wall as he just burst in. His swept his eyes over the area and he stayed still, trying to hear anything. When he heard nothing, Nightwing swallowed hard. He had no idea if Harley was still here or not, but he had to find Jasmine.

"Batwoman!" He called out, running to her old room. As he entered it, he caught his breath. The whole place was wrecked. It was like someone took a baseball bat to it. Considering her parents, it wasn't unlikely it had been one of them. There was no answer from Jasmine.

Nightwing then studied the room quickly, spotting something out of place. A floorboard was poking up from the ground. He ran over to it and pulled the floorboard up and tossed it to the side, not caring what it hit or where it landed. Beneath it was a lever. Nightwing figured that it could be a trap, but he couldn't waste any time. This could also lead him to her. So, he gripped the lever and pulled it to the right. Almost immediately, a part of the wall slid back, creating a doorway that lead down. Bingo.

Getting to his feet, Nightwing ran down the steps. The area was dimly lit by cheap lightbulbs. It didn't go too far when he came into a square room. He paused for a moment in horror as he took in the scene around him. In the center was Jasmine. She was lying still on the ground, her head turned away from him. Her body was enveloped by a pool of blood. Above her was a small hook with a slashed rope dangling from it pathetically. Her Batwoman mask was resting in a corner, a large crack going through it.

One of those damn memories threatened to come up, but Nightwing forced it away before running over, falling to his knees at her side. He ignored the fact that he was kneeling in her blood. Her face was as white as snow. Small specks of red on her cheeks stood out drastically against the paleness. Despite the circumstances, she looked peaceful, and the demented surrounding and situation did nothing to take away from her beauty. She looked like a killed angel. The only thing that told Nightwing that life resided within her was the small, uneven rise and fall of her chest and the faint sound of her breath coming through her lips. Swallowing hard, Nightwing gently turned her onto her stomach, gasping at what he saw, his hands shaking.

"Jesus…" He breathed, gazing upon the dozens of cuts that had been carved into her back. Most, if not all, were still gushing blood. At this rate, she was going to die within a matter of a few minutes if he didn't stop the blood. The thing was, he didn't have any supplies that could stop the blood flow from so many cuts, let alone save her. His heart felt like it was going to be crushed at the very thought. There had to be a way. Nightwing looked around feverishly, only for his eyes to land on her cape. That would have to do.

Nightwing got up and quickly moved over to the fabric, picking it up then returning to Jasmine. He set her cape over her back, and then gently wrapped the cape around her as he pulled her into his arms. He secured the cape tightly around her back and tied it at her chest, hoping that it would be enough to contain the blood for the time being. He moved his arm beneath her knees and the other he carefully moved around her upper back before rising to his feet with her secure in his arms. Her hand hung limply down and he swallowed hard as he saw the blood dripping from her fingertips. He quickly chook his head then began to walk out of the room. Dick could feel memories of what he did wanting to overtake him, but he managed to hold him back. Right now wasn't the time for them to rise up.

"D…Dick…." The soft, hoarse voice, as quiet and faint as it was, seemed almost loud in Nightwing's ears. He gazed down at Jasmine as he exited the room, heading back towards the batmobile. Her blue-green eyes were open, turned up towards him. The light that was usually contained in them had dulled.

"Don't talk, Jasmine," He spoke, his voice steadier than he had expected it to be considering the epidemic.

"You…you came," Jasmine said hoarsely. If Nightwing had to guess, her voice had become hoarse from screaming. There was no way that anyone, even Jasmine, could have taken the abuse to her back like she had without a word.

"Of course I did," Nightwing said in a hushed tone, glancing down at her for a moment, feeling his heart skip a beat at the love shimmering in her eyes as she gazed up at him.

"You know that…I love you…right?" Jasmine murmured, but her voice was growing faint and her eyes were beginning to close. Nightwing could feel his heart beginning to race as he finally made it to the batmobile, and the hood slid back.

"I know, Jasmine. I love you too." He breathed out to her shakily, and a small smile curved on the edges of her lips as her eyes closed.

"Good…I thought that maybe you…you…" Her voice trailed off slowly until she became entirely limp. Nightwing's eyes widened and his hands shook as he gently set her in the batmobile, quickly climbing into the driver's seat.

Hang on just a little longer, Jasmine. I'm going to get you help. Nightwing thought to himself, slamming his foot on the gas and taking off as fast as he could back to the manor. Jasmine remained unresponsive as he drove. He kept glancing over at her for a few quick seconds, but nothing every changed. If it wasn't for the sound of her shallow breathes, he would have thought that she was dead. Quickly, he called Alfred as he drove rather recklessly.

"Alfred! Jasmine is fatally hurt. There were dozens of cuts all over her back, and she's lost a lot of blood-"

"I'll get the operating room prepared immediately, sir!" Alfred responded, then cut out of the comms. Really, the whole thing was like déjà vu from when Jasmine had been poisoned. Except this time, she had a much bigger chance of dying.

Nightwing burst into the batcave, slamming on the brakes as he came in. Immediately, he jumped out of the batmobile, only to then gently pick Jasmine up, wrapped in her cape. Her head limply rested against his chest. He ran towards the operating room, holding her securely to him as he did. He could feel her blood staining his hands through her cape. She had bled a hell of a lot. As soon as he burst through the door, Alfred was standing to the side of the bed that he had prepared for her. Nightwing strode over and rested Jasmine against the bed.

"Her wrists had wounds on them," He began, reaching down and untying the knot he made to hold the cape in place. He then move the two ends to the sides and turned her as gently as possible to her stomach, "Here's the real problem," With that said, Nightwing drew the blood-soaked cape from her back, revealing the deep, blood-gushing cuts.

"Bloody hell," Alfred spoke, looking shocked and horrified at the sight. However, he shook himself out of it began operating immediately, glancing at Nightwing, "I need you to leave the room, Master Dick."

Nightwing swallowed hard at the order, gazing at Jasmine one more time. She hardly looked alive. Just the thought of her dying felt like someone landed a punch in his gut and took his breath away. She had to live. She couldn't die. Not now. Obediently, Nightwing left the operating room and shut the door behind him before pressing his back against it and slid to the ground. He pressed his hands to his face, slowly moving his fingers into his hair and pulling at his black strands. Once again, he failed her. If she died, it was his entire fault. I should have taken her offer. I should have just gone with her tonight! If I had, this never would have happened. She would be smiling and making light jokes about something. Instead, she's fighting for her life because her crazy mother tortured her.

Nightwing sat like that for a moment before he snatched the mask off of his face and threw it to the wall across from him with an angered and pained shout at his own idiocy. How could he have messed up in such little time? Everything concluded with the woman he loved being hurt, and almost killed. Hell, he had no idea if she was even going to survive now. He had to wait. It was the sound of approaching footsteps that caught his attention however.

"You ditched me," Tim spoke quietly, and Dick shifted his eyes up to him. However, he saw the young boy's eyes widen as he took in Dick's fill appearance and noted the blood.

"Jasmine's distress signal went off. When I got there, she was lying in a pool of her own blood with at least 40 deep cuts carved into her back. We don't know if she is going to make it yet," Dick said, his voice quivering as he spoke. Tim was speechless for a moment, and kept opening and closing his mouth as if the words couldn't quite catch on his tongue.

"Does…does Bruce know?"

"I haven't really thought of calling him since finding her."

"I'll do it then," Tim responded after a small moment of silence. Dick nodded quietly then stared dully at the ground, squeezing his eyes shut. My fault, my fault, my fault.

Dick was barely there. He heard Tim call Bruce, but his words were fuzzy in his ears. He just kept his eyes fixated on the ground, barely blinking. Never had he felt so entirely crushed and broken in his life. First he beat the shit out of her, and then his decision led to this. Now she may die, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Time was hardly a factor to Dick at the moment, and when Bruce arrived, Dick didn't even look up. He became aware of his old mentor speaking to him, but he didn't pay attention to the words directed at him. At least, until his shoulders were shook. His eyes then shot up to Bruce, who had this cold, angry and almost fearful look in his eyes.

"How did this happen?" He asked lowly. His voice was a lot calmer than Dick had expected it to be.

"I refused to go with her, and Harley took her then made her back a cutting board," Dick spoke quietly.

"How much blood did she lose?"

"A lot."

"Will she make it?"

"We don't know yet."

Bruce fell silent for a moment before sighing deeply, running his hand through his hair. First it was Barbara getting shot in the spine. Now he may lose Jasmine as well. Dick shifted away from the door, just in case Alfred came out, and leaned back against the wall next to it. He desperately wished that he could do something, and not feel so useless. However, there was simply nothing he could do but wait for the news. If Jasmine would live, or if she would die. Dick, Bruce and Tim all waited outside the room. Minutes turned to hours, and hardly a single word was exchanged. The air was tense as they hoped that Jasmine wasn't dead.

It wasn't until around two in the morning did the door finally open, revealing an exhausted looking Alfred with blood-covered hands. Immediately, Dick got to his feet and walked over to him. Tim ad Bruce also looked up and came over. Each one of them looked to the butler in expectance, waiting to hear the new that had been waiting for.

"Madam Jasmine has stabilized. She will live."