Damian's frustration grew as he slipped his picks past pin after pin only to find another one waiting. How deep is this tumbler?! he wanted to scream. Grayson was just beyond, so close and yet so far. He shivered as he recalled the tone in his father's order to shut off the lights. The pain and fear in those few words had caused him to throw himself futilely against this stubborn portal and pound his fists against it. He just wanted inside; if he could get inside, maybe he could help...

"What's taking so long?!" Red Robin asked from his seat at the computers.

"I'm going as fast as I can!" he snapped back. "This is a complicated lock!"

"I meant – oh, screw it." Robin watched in his peripherals as Tim stood up and moved past him. "Is there a key for that door?" he heard him demand of their still-conscious hostage.

"Probably? I don't know. I don't actually work here."

He nearly dropped his picks. "What?!"

"What do you mean you don't work here?!" A thump suggested that the man had been pushed back against the wall none too gently. "You said you were taking blood, running tests!"

"Well yeah, but we were brought in special for that! I mean...I'm a medical technician. I just answered an online ad that Dr. Madden posted, that's all. None...none of us know why he puts people in the crazy room, and the only guy who actually works here, like for Northfield, is...well…over there on the floor."

"'People'?" Tim repeated. "Who else has he put in there?"

"J-just the Joker, at least that I'm aware of. But...we had to do the same blood tests and stuff on him. I almost quit when I found out he was the patient, but..."

"But what?"

"The money's really, really good," the technician said, a shrug evident in his voice. "I mean, medical techs don't make bad money to start with, but Dr. Madden's paying me almost double the normal salary. That...that made dealing with the Joker's blood worth it, you know?"

Click. "Got it!" Robin called over his shoulder as he retracted the bolt. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah-"

"Whoa!" Damian leaped back as the door opened of its own accord and Batman strode through it with a black-shrouded body cradled in his arms. ...Why is his face covered? he panicked, his limbs suddenly feeling as if they'd been filled with lead. What did they do to you, Grayson?

"Let's go," Batman ordered before his train of thought could continue. "We're done here. Leave him," he jerked his chin towards the man Red Robin had been talking to, "awake."

"...Wait, really?" Tim frowned.

"Yes. Leave him awake, and turn off the lights on your way out."

"Hey!" the technician protested. "Why-"

Batman froze and turned an imperious glare on him. "Be grateful that I'm leaving you in the dark out here," he growled. "Continue complaining and I'll have them lock you in the room instead. My guess is that you'll be in there for hours before anyone comes along to let you out." He paused. "...Is that what you want?"

"N-no..."

"Then shut up and be grateful that I'm not a cruel man." With that, he exited.

Damian yanked his picks from where they still bristled out of the lock and scurried after him. Tim stuck close to his heels as he bolted into the hallway, stopping only long enough to sweep a hand down over the light switches and shut the door. "Did you lock it?" the teen tossed back over his shoulder.

"Absolutely. Fuck that guy, he can sweat an extra two minutes while they get a key. Batman-"

"He's alive," came the answer to their unasked question. "He's just extremely light sensitive, so I covered his face. I didn't want to take any chances after...well. I'll explain in the plane."

"Light sensitive?" Glancing over, he saw Tim frown. "Wait...you don't think they had the lights off in there the whole time, do you?"

"...That's exactly what I think they did," Batman breathed, pulling the bundle in his arms reflexively closer.

Four days, Damian mused in horror, with neither light nor sound. Four whole days...

Nothing else was said as they ascended back through the building and stepped out onto the roof. The faint breeze that always blew on this side of the river had picked up precipitously, and whistled now and again as it passed between nearby buildings. Taking off would be more difficult than normal in such conditions, he knew, but they didn't dare wait for the car to make the trek from the cave. They wouldn't make it home for hours at that rate, and he didn't want Grayson to have to go that long before he could be put safely to bed in his not-too-dark and not-too-quiet room.

That being the case, he didn't complain when he was told to stay in the medical bay with his insensate brother. Once the other two had left to go up front – Tim hadn't looked happy about leaving Dick's side, but he had far more flight experience than Damian did and the weather was getting bad enough to require hands on both the pilot's and the co-pilot's yokes – he approached the bed. Batman had uncovered the face of the unresponsive figure he'd carried up from the basement, and had draped a blanket over him as well, but he was entirely too still. For all that Damian trusted his father's word, he wanted verification of life for himself.

"Nightwing?" he ventured. Nothing happened. "Grayson?" Not so much as a twitch. "...Dick?" Wake up. Please wake up. I just want to know that you're not insane, or dead, or...or something... He shuffled his feet unhappily. Show me you're still you, he pleaded. I need you. Don't wake up as someone else, okay?

There was a lurch as the plane lifted off of the building and was immediately hit by the wind. Catching himself before he could fall, Damian grabbed hold of Dick with one hand and held onto the table with the other. The shuddering turbulence continued as they struggled to climb to flight altitude. Between that and the relative darkness of the room – one light had been turned on, but it was in the corner and served only to cast everything in shadows – it took him several seconds to realize that the abused man had awakened and was gripping his wrist tightly. "Nightwing," he began, a relieved smile crawling across his mouth. "It's okay. You're in the plane, we're just taking off and it's win-"

His assurances were cut off by the collision of a fist with his nose. Seeing stars, he stumbled backwards and fell onto the bench bolted down along one wall. It was an accident, he told himself as he fingered his bloodied and swelling nose. It had just been the way everything was bouncing around, surely. Dick had probably been reaching out to ruffle his hair or do something equally sappy and cutesy, and his hand had gotten thrown. That was all it was. His beloved big brother would never purposefully hit him, not like that...

Looking up from his shock, he started. "Nightwing, sit down!" he barked. "You're going to get hurt!" He watched helplessly as he backed into the corner opposite the lit lamp and stood there with his lips pulled back from his teeth. Ungloved hands rose to cover his ears, and in the faint glow Damian could see the damage that had been done to the uncovered areas of his arms. "Jesus, Dick," he murmured. He had expected to see bruises and needle marks based on what the medical technician had said about drawing blood every six hours; the dozens of angry red scratches whose origins he could only make a stomach-curdling guess at, however, were a surprise. "...What did you do to yourself?"

The only answer he got was a hoarse, pathetic moan as Dick sank down to the floor and buried his face against his knees. Damian wasn't sure how to feel about this new development. On the one hand, he was a hell of a lot safer down low and tucked into the corner, at least so long as the plane continued to buck and yaw in the wind. On the other, he was clearly in pain, and that was unacceptable. I'm going to have to get up, he grimaced. I can't let him sit over there like that by himself. He'd been by himself for four terrible days, after all, and wasn't that long enough to suffer?

"Okay," he said as he shambled and staggered closer. "I know it's loud. It's just the plane. It's a good noise, it's taking us home. And we have to have a little light, even though you're sensitive to it. We'd be blind otherwise. So just..." He fell to his knees a few feet short of his goal as the aircraft gave a truly terrific leap. "...Just calm down, all right?"

"No more."

His eyes narrowed behind his mask. The two garbled but intelligible words he'd just heard hadn't come out in a whine, but in a snarl. "...Grayson?" he ventured cautiously. "It's me. Calm down. It's over."

"No. More. No more. No more!"

The harsh, rasping nature of that simple mantra made something pinch in his chest. How long did you scream in that room? he wondered with a gulp. How many times did you call out for us, only for no one to show up? Stretching out a hand, he squeezed the closer knee. "Nightwing-"

His Robin training was the only reason he jerked away in time to keep Dick's boot from burying itself in his stomach. It glanced off of his side instead, the sole scraping his skin without causing any real damage. The irony of using his instruction in avoidance of close-range blows to deflect a kick aimed by the very person who had been his teacher wasn't lost on him, but he couldn't manage a smirk. It hurt too much. "Dick," he gasped once he'd scrambled out of the way. "Stop..."

An apology, a huge hug, whispered assurances; those were the gestures that he expected his brother to respond to his childish plea for normalcy with. Instead the man just buried his face back against his bent legs, keeping his scratch-scarred forearms pressed over his ears. "No moooore..."

Damian wasn't sure how long he stayed crouched in that spot and stared at Dick with tears and blood mingling on his face. Who are you? I want my brother back. Tell me how to get you back, damn it! This isn't you!

"Robin!"

He turned to find Tim rushing into the room. "Get Batman," he choked out.

"What..." Red Robin stared back and forth between him and Nightwing. "...Was the turbulence that bad back here? You're bleeding."

"I...yeah." He couldn't say it, couldn't make his lips form the words. 'Dick hit me'… It was impossible. It would be a lie. Dick would never hit him, never. "It got pretty rough for a while."

"Did he fall off the bed, or-"

"Don't touch him!" he warned as Tim reached out towards the cowering figure. "...He's really sensitive right now. To...to everything. Noise, light...touch...just...everything."

"Wait a minute...did he hit-"

"What's going on in here?" Batman demanded from the doorway.

Damian held Red Robin's gaze for a second, then sniffled painfully and averted his face. "...The shaking was worse back here than we thought," he heard the older male respond finally, "and it looks like the engine noise isn't helping our cause any."

"That's not a surprise. At least he's awake now. After what happened before, I thought...mm. Well." Tight-mouthed, Batman moved forward. "We're leveled out. We should be home in fifteen, twenty minutes. Let's get him back into bed until then." As he drew even with Damian, he paused. "...What happened to your face?"

The heinous truth still wouldn't form on his tongue. "...Bad turbulence," he mumbled, swiping at the trails spilling down from his nostrils. A tissue appeared out of nowhere, and he took it from Red Robin's fingers without looking at him. "That's...that's all. You need to take care of his arms," he changed the subject by pointing at Nightwing. "It...it looks like he was scratching himself. Some of them are deep, I think."

A beat passed. "...Right," Batman said. "Both of you move to the other side of the room and stay there unless I tell you otherwise. We don't want him to feel crowded."

Neither of them argued. When they were flanking the single spot of light in the room, Robin felt a nudge. "What?" he half-hiccuped, still trying to wrangle his tears.

Tim's hand hovered a half an inch above his shoulder, as if it wanted to fall comfortingly but wasn't sure that it would be safe. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

"I'm..." He hit me, he wanted to sob. Why did he do that? That's not him. Bring him back. Make him come back! But Tim had no more control over that than he did. Besides, he still refused to introduce his traitorous accusation of violence to the open air. "I'm okay," he waved away instead. "You should be worried about him, not me."

"Believe it or not, Robin, I've been both tonight."

He closed his eyes. "Just shut up for a minute, okay, Drake?" he whispered as an odd mixture of gratitude and annoyance sank through his midsection.

"...Okay."

Well aware that his request might have been taken the wrong way and not wanting to alienate the only brother he seemed to have left at the moment, he tried to backpedal. "I didn't mean-"

"I know. It's okay."

"...Oh. Um...good."

"Stand down!"

Both of their heads whipped around at Batman's low cry. Nightwing stood on his feet, his entire body rigid. His hands, stained in all but a few small areas with his own blood, had curled into fists. They were still pressed against his ears, but his posture left no doubt that he would strike out if given an excuse. For a moment they all stayed frozen in their tableau. Then, without warning, Dick bolted for the open door.

"Get him!" Tim exclaimed, and made to give chase.

"Stay back!" Batman counter-ordered, vaulting a bed. Another bounding leap gave him just enough reach to snag his son's elbow and haul him back into the room. "Calm down," he directed as he pulled him close. Apparently impervious to the hard punches being directed into his back and ribs, he kept speaking in a low, gentle voice – Bruce's voice, Damian realized belatedly. "Calm down. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you, I promise-"

Three sharp breaths were drawn as Dick pulled a clever contortionist's trick and slipped out of his father's grasp. "Shit!" Tim swore beside him, taking half a step forward. Before he could go further, there was an awful pop-crack from the direction of the combatants. An arid wail sounded, and Nightwing slumped to the floor. Batman followed him down, still holding the distorted limb that had given way with such a nauseating sound.

"I didn't mean to do that," the elder vigilante moaned. "Dick...I'm so sorry, kiddo. I didn't mean to hurt you, you just turned so fast..." Dick bucked under him, trying to continue the fight despite the dislocated shoulder he had just been given. "Hush, hush...you'll make it worse...Tim," he sighed when the words did no good. "Get me a sedative."

"On it." Red Robin wasted no time, and in a minute or so he and Batman were lifting the once again unconscious Nightwing into bed. "...Batman-"

"I know. I...I know." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "...I need you to go land the plane. We should be about there."

"I...okay." As he headed out, Damian noticed a trace of wetness on his cheeks. "Goddamn it," he heard him muttering as he exited the room. "This is wrong…"

"Robin."

Pulled away from the sight of Drake leaving in tears, he turned. "...Yes?"

Batman didn't look up at him until he'd finished tucking the blanket back in around Dick. When he did, Damian could feel the pain in his gaze despite the two sets of lenses between them. "...Turbulence?" a quiet, knowing question was broached.

He had to close his eyes again. "Yeah," he swore, feeling hot liquid squeeze out from under his squinched-shut lids. "...Turbulence. The worst...worst turbulence of my life."

A warm, heavy arm came down across his shoulders. He hesitated for only the space of a heartbeat, then dug in against his father's bulk and let his hurt pour out in the form of wordless sobs. Come back, Dick. Come back...