Dick Grayson

"Annnnd we're clear, Inspector."

LeGrande nodded to the shadows behind the cameras in the room, dismissing them. She smiled, almost motherly, at Terrance. He was shaking badly, breathing erratically, covered in my blood spatter. Poor kid.

My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. I tried to take stock of my injuries as LeGrande congratulated a bewildered Terrance over the ringing in my ears.

Definitely a concussion. Mouth's full of blood so that's probably not great news for my teeth. Nose is for sure busted. Maybe a zygomatic arch fracture, but it feels stable. Gonna hurt like hell tomorrow, though. You didn't come out of this half-bad, Grayson.

My saving grace was the kid. He followed his orders, but he didn't want to. There's a big difference between taking a beating from someone who's in it to kill you and someone who's just got an obligation. I'm sure if it had been Davis on the other end of the baton I'd be as close to dead as LeGrande would allow.

I felt the gag on my face cut loose as Terrance clumsily unfastened it. Leaning forward, I spat the blood on the ground, not surprised to feel a tooth go with it. I groped around the inside of my mouth with my tongue.

Molar, maybe? Yep. Top one. Hopefully that broken face isn't worse than I thought.

LeGrande tutted in disgust. "Clean that up, Officer Bradley. Then take him back to his cell. He can stay there until the Tribunal. I don't see any reason for recreational time." Her heels clipped sharply as she left the room.

"Oh God. Oh man. I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry…" now that we were alone, Terrance was falling apart.

"Hey. Look at me." I forced a smile, hoping it would be more congenial than terrifying, even with the blood. Terrance met my eyes with a wide stare, horrified. I did my best to sound reassuring - he was just a kid, after all. "You're ok. You did what you had to, and we're both alive. It's going to be fine."

"They're going to kill you." He seemed so small when he spoke, drowning in the truth of his words.

"Yeah. They are." What else could I say? It wouldn't help anyone to lie.

"Then it's not going to be fine." He clenched his fists, voice taking on a hard edge.

"No. I guess not."

"Is it true? What Inspector LeGrande said about you?" He crouched down and started to cut the plastic ties that kept me held in place.

"It's an… exaggeration. It wasn't medicine, it was drugs used to control the Enforcers. And we didn't mean for anyone to get hurt…" I tried to explain without rambling, but my brain felt like mush, and the room seemed to sway slightly.

"Not that part. They always make stuff like that up. I meant… is it true you were Nightwing?" He finished his work and stood, eyeing me critically.

"Yeah," I replied, somber and unsure of where this was heading. "That part's true."

He nodded, and the silence stretched on. I gripped the back of the chair with my cuffed hands, doing my best not to fall on the floor as the swaying I felt became an honest-to-God spin. I closed my eyes.

"Th… Thank you," he stammered. "I mean, you probably don't remember, but you saved my mom, before the War. She OD'd in an alley. You gave her narcan, CPR, stayed with her 'til the paramedics came. Then she got some grant for rehab. That was you, too. Wasn't it?"

I strained the limits of my memory, but even if I hadn't been beaten half-senseless, it was almost six years ago. Maybe longer.

He must've noticed my knitted brow, my deep concentration as I grabbed for a past that just kept slipping through my fingers. "It's ok. Nightwing was... I mean, you were a hero. You probably saved a lot of people. All in a day's work, right?"

He helped me to my feet, steadying me as much as he could against his small frame. I took a deep breath, fighting back the nausea so I could thank him for the help. Then it hit me.

"Fae, or Faith? The alley off of Erdman Avenue?"

His face lit up and he beamed up at me. "Yeah! You remember! She was a good mom. The best mom, after she got back from rehab." His face fell with an all-too-familiar grief. "I loved her a lot."

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Not your fault. She went for a job interview in New York. Then the bombings… she didn't come back." He sniffled a bit, then motioned to the door, clearly done talking about it.

We trudged back to my cell quietly, not wanting our conversation to be overheard and punished. I carried my own weight as much as I could, but most of my efforts went into not puking on his shoes.

Finally, we made it back, and he helped me flop down on my bare cot, then unlocked the cuffs. Absently, I rubbed my wrists, and he turned to leave.

"It's not right, you know?" He spoke with his back to me, but I could hear that he was on the verge of tears. "What they're gonna do to you. The lies they're telling about you. It's not right. Do you think your family is gonna try and get you out? Before they… you know?"

Wincing, I laid down and answered, "I don't know."

I hope not. I hope they keep themselves as far away as they can. Keep themselves safe.

He didn't respond, just nodded slowly and shut the door. I couldn't fight anymore, and I slipped beneath the waves of fatigue and sleep.

— — — — —

Before

"What the hell happened?"

After "The Resolution" was announced, Jason and I made it to our 'new home' without any trouble. It was immediately clear the others weren't so lucky. Cass and Alfred were holding onto Tim, who was thrashing wildly on a cot, screaming.

"They got to him before I could make the call. He was in a meeting at Wayne Tower. A team of Enforcers stormed the board room, Tim took shrapnel. Managed to make it here before the adrenaline wore off." Bruce appeared calm, but I could see from the way his eyes were fixed on Tim, shining a bit too much, that nothing could be farther from the truth.

He was terrified.

"What can I do?" I put my hand on his shoulder. He was blaming himself, like he always did. Probably thinking he should have called Tim first, or maybe gone to get him personally.

"Help him calm down. Alfred has his work cut out for him. I need to check the others' status."

I nodded, then leaned into Jason, whispering, "Keep an eye on Bruce. He's not ok."

Jason rolled his eyes and shrugged, but followed Bruce anyway. I'm sure he was pissed about having to babysit a fully grown man, but I didn't care. I had work to do.

I swallowed hard on my rising nausea as I gingerly approached the cot, not wanting to startle anyone. The scene was gruesome. Half of Tim's face was covered in blood, and Alfred was doing his best to keep pressure on the wound to stem the tide.

The 'wound'… it seemed an inadequate word. A massive laceration stretched from his cheek up into the remains of his eye. Shards of glass poked out at random. I took a steadying breath. I would only make things worse for Tim if he saw how horrified I was.

I nodded to Cass, and she moved aside, taking over for Alfred and giving me space to crouch near Tim's head. I ran my fingers through his hair gently, combing out more bits of glass. Panicked, he looked up at me.

"Hey Timmy. You're ok. You're doing great. Alfred's working on patching you up. All you have to do is just be still, yeah?"

He shuddered, but settled and grabbed for my other hand, squeezing hard. "Hurts."

Nodding, I did my best to give him a reassuring smile. "Won't be much longer, now. I can see Alfred getting some of the 'good stuff' ready for you. When you wake up, you'll be all set. Back to kicking ass and taking names."

"No," he tried to shake his head, but Cass held fast, "its bad. I can tell it's bad."

I felt his grip on my hand relax as Alfred found a vein and pushed in a hefty dose of sedative. He looked up at me once Tim was out, his face grim, "I won't be able to salvage the eye. And the damage to his face is extensive…"

"I know." I sighed. It had only been a few hours since Lex's proclamation and we were already taking casualties. Tim needed a hospital, a facial surgeon, an opthamologist. Not an (admittedly skilled) army medic and the barest of supplies. "What do you need me to do?"

"At present? Nothing. I believe Miss Cassandra and I can manage. Thank you." Alfred started setting out his supplies, and I stepped back, suddenly woozy. Eye injuries were not my forte.

"I'm going to make a perimeter check. Make sure we weren't followed, see if any of the others are in the area," I announced to no one in particular.

Jason grabbed my wrist before I could make it to the door. "Want company?"

"No. Stay with Bruce." I shook my arm free and didn't look back at his worried and angry expression as I slipped out of the heavy door and into the tunnel.

Air. I needed air. My chest burned like I couldn't breathe. I made it as far as the concourse before I felt like I was going to puke. So I diverted to the derelict bathrooms and clutched the only sink that wasn't broken, gasping and gulping. I dug my fingers into the porcelain, fighting back against the panic attack threatening to climb out of my throat.

Keep it together. Keep it together…

Suddenly, I heard heavy boots outside the bathroom, and the defensive, trained part of my brain took over, crushing my mounting anxiety. I tucked myself away behind a stall door, ready to strike out…

"You in here, Goldie?"

The familiar voice washed over me, and I sagged against the wall in relief. "Shit, Jason. You scared the hell out of me." I peeked out from behind my cover, only to be greeted by a very pissed off expression.

"Says the guy who ran off into enemy territory without telling anyone where he was going." He stepped over to me and placed his hand on the side of my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb. "You ok?"

I leaned into the contact, letting it ground me. "I'm sorry. It's just… Tim's bad off. We haven't heard from Dami, Babs, Duke, or Steph. And this is just the beginning. It's only going to get worse…"

To my surprise he chuckled, "I didn't know you were even capable of pessimism." He leaned in and claimed a surprisingly tender kiss. "We've got each other. We can take whatever the fuck comes next."

— — — — —

After

I tried to open my eyes, but only one of them complied. The other was swollen shut. In spite of the absolutely excruciating headache, I sat up, surprised to see three meal trays lined up on the floor.

Guess I was out a while

Slowly, I picked up the first one, planning on parsing out whatever was still edible and trying to work my way through it. Tucked under the sandwich was a small, folded piece of paper. I opened it and read the messy scrawl.

"I can't let them kill you. You're one of the good guys. I'm going to get you out. Just be ready. -T"

Fuck. The kid's going to get himself killed. Get us both killed.

I knew from experience that Blackgate was a fortress. Escape attempts were suicide missions. And that was before it turned into a nightmarish gulag.

Whatever the kid had planned… we were screwed. Best I could do was try and protect him from the hell that came next. I crumpled the note in my fist, then flushed it. The last thing I needed was for someone to be tipped off to Terrance's half-baked plan.

Here's hoping he chickens out. Because if not, execution will be the least of my worries.