A Punch in the Face (Literally and Figuratively)
Entering the subconscious mind of an infamous vigilante should've been a lot more terrifying, but M'gann felt only guilt.
Guilt over betraying this individual's trust; guilt over how she was now rifling through what few memories weren't locked behind those nearly impenetrable mental shields of his.
Time was passing much slower outside their minds, Nightwing's mouth still in the process of opening as he made ready to say…whatever it was he was going to say.
M'gann was telepathic, not psychic. She couldn't predict his next words.
Hopefully they wouldn't have anything to do with her taking a trip to the emergency room. Although, she supposed rather morbidly, since they were already standing on a hospital roof, at least the trip would be a short one.
Pictures, thoughts, and feelings flew by her in a blur. Some of them made sense while others were foreign. Incomprehensible without context.
A confusing mental picture of some kind of jail cell stuck out to her, the scene deeply connected with pain. Kids crowded the walls and bare beds. Was Nightwing a criminal? Was he dodging a sentence?
But then why had all the inmates been children? Perhaps a juvenile detention centre?
…Just how old was he? Surely, he hadn't gone to prison when he was still acting as Robin. M'gann highly doubted the authorities would let someone that high profile simply walk away.
M'gann shook it off, letting the jail scene and all her questions fade. She'd have to bring it up with the team later. Maybe Artemis would have some insight into Robin's early days? Out of all of them, she seemed to know the most about Gotham and its dark history.
She managed to go a little deeper, moving further and further, until—
There was another flash of images all entangled complexly with the word home—an old manor house; a ring of brightly coloured tents; a smoggy city scape; the arms of an old, greying man—before M'gann collided headfirst into one of the hardest mental barriers she'd encountered since Psimon.
It was so hard that the Martian was ejected back into her own mind, her legs wobbling as she blinked mulishly, the glowing green of her eyes slowly fading.
Hopefully, Nightwing hadn't seen their luminescence through the cowl covering her upper face. There hadn't been anything about that strange Red-something-something code in the thoughts she'd scanned; nothing about an identity or non-vigilante persona.
Wherever those thoughts lay, they were deeply secured behind his mental shields.
When she finally felt settled in her own mind again, she rasped out another weak, "Robin?"
One look at Nightwing's expression, however, and she knew the jig was up.
His mouth snapped into a thin line as he studied her. What she wouldn't give to see inside his head right now. "You're not Batman."
The man said it like he almost didn't want to believe it. The lenses of his mask narrowed, as if he was going over their conversation up till that point and running some mental damage control.
"What'd we miss?" The sudden question sent eddies of pain throughout her skull and she couldn't resist pressing a hand to her temple.
Whoever had trained Nightwing in shielding really, really knew what they were was going to have a headache for days. That is, if she survived these next few minutes.
Nightwing took in her pained expression and snapped his fingers to get her attention. "I told you not to root around in my mind, Martian." His voice was hoarse, but firm. Like he was still in the process of pushing down unspoken panic.
Artemis—for it'd been her voice phrasing the earlier question—tried again. "M'gann, what'd we miss?"
M'gann squinted through the pressure pounding her head and saw that Artemis and Aqualad had joined their fellow teammates. Both of them looked immensely confused, like the last thing they'd been expecting to see was a Nightwing v Batman faceoff.
Which, M'gann thought, was fair. The last thing she'd been expecting was to participate in a Nightwing v Batman face off.
The Martian's distraction turned out to be her undoing.
Nightwing followed her stare to the four heroes standing at the edge of the landing pad, their suits easily distinguishable despite the lack of light. Something unidentifiably dark passed over the vigilante's face, dark enough to match the tumultuous thoughts she'd glimpsed in his head.
Again, she wasn't psychic, but she was good enough at reading faces to know when she was in danger.
And, going by his lethal expression, she was definitely in danger.
M'gann, not seeing any sense in keeping Batman's form, was on the verge of shifting back when there was a blur of motion—a whisper of black fabric, and a fist abruptly flying at her face.
She hadn't even seen him move. Maybe, if he didn't tear her apart with his bare hands, M'gann could ask for some hand-to-hand combat practice.
Apparently she was a little rusty.
It was an expertly administered punch. At least, that's what M'gann's cracked nose seemed to tell her as bone and cartilage folded under the overwhelming pressure.
If she'd had a headache before, now it felt like someone was banging a mallet against the very epicentre of her brain, shooting blinding pain at the edges of her skull.
Everything blurred together as her head throbbed, eyes watering from the pressure against her nasal cavity.
She thought she heard Conner's enraged bellowing and Artemis' foul curses, but everything was moving too fast for her aching mind to make sense of.
A shadow fell over the Martian and there was a slow movement, like someone was squatting beside her. Cool fabric on her nose, fingers aligning themselves with the contours of her face, forming a triangle—then a searing wrench, followed by the sound of bone easing back into its rightful place.
Had he just…set…her nose? After breaking it?
That sent so many conflicting messages she wasn't sure what to think.
Everything was spinning too quickly for her to focus, but the stinging in her nose definitely told her he'd just wrested the bone back into its place.
Odd. Really odd. And also really painful.
"Well, Miss Batman, you certainly took me by surprise." That arrogant-angry-sad voice said against the shell of her ear. Then there was another shift of fabric as the presence leaned away. "Though I gotta say, punching you in the face when you looked like that? Concerningly satisfying. Got any therapists you'd recommend?"
She laughed incredulously—hysterically.
How had they not figured out it was Robin before? From the few grainy videos of him up on the web, she could tell their voices were nearly identical.
He sounded a little older now, yes, a little more tired and world-weary; but there was no mistaking it. She'd recognize that legendary, skin-peeling sarcasm anywhere.
Heavy footsteps approached rapidly and M'gann figured they were Conner's. He was probably on his way to beat Nightwing into a bloody pulp.
The dark shape looming over her vanished, the voices of her team approaching, then there was the whine of a grappling hook to her left and a whoosh of wind.
Or maybe it'd been to her right? M'gann was currently having a hard time telling the two directions apart.
Heavy footsteps quickly approached and she tried smiling, only to feel more blood spill out from between her lips. She must've bit the inside of her cheek when he punched her.
M'gann recognized the strong arms encircling her and automatically slumped against them. The unmistakable smell of Conner had her body relaxing immediately in response.
Conner meant safety, forever and always.
"Oh, M'gann," Artemis' voice cracked—when had Artemis gotten here again?—asConner scooped up the Martian into his giant embrace.
M'gann really did like Conner's arms. Almost as much as she liked his dic—
"He broke her nose," Artemis ground out, distracting M'gann from her appreciation for her boyfriend's various…attributes. "The bastard."
But I think I like his eyes the most, she determined as Conner stared down at her, his usually smooth countenance an odd combination of concern and murderous intent. No doubt he was already imagining returning Nightwing's violence.
"Don't be mad," She murmured around the blood in her mouth. The world shuddered around her again, but M'gann determinedly hung on to the fading strings of her consciousness. "I think I kind of deserved that. I saw things…I don't think he wanted anyone to see."
"I disagree," Kaldur spoke from the darkness encroaching on her right. Again, maybe it was her left?
Artemis hummed her agreement. Wally was uncharacteristically silent at the archer's side, his cowl scrunched like it often did when the speedster was thinking hard.
M'gann swivelled her aching neck in his direction. Not too many movies showed it, but a person's neck usually suffered most after a direct punch like that. And the Martian's was most definitely suffering.
Wally was looking at the blood on her face contemplatively, lips pulled into a tight grimace as if he were imagining her pain. "I don't know what to think," He said when she looked at him. "That was. A lot to process."
M'gann nodded, then shuddered when the simple action sent her head reeling.
"Maybe he had a good reason, maybe he didn't," Conner acquiesced. "But I do know that I'm returning the favour next time he comes within punching distance."
"Amen," Artemis muttered darkly, her gaze pinned on their suspiciously quiet speedster. M'gann didn't need their mental link to see the concern in the archer's green gaze.
"I feel terrible," M'gann announced into the ensuing silence, blinking against the wave of black threatening to cloud her vision. "He set my nose, though. And made me laugh." Something else occurred to her, something the others wouldn't have been close enough to hear. "Oh. He also used to be Robin."
Then the Martian was unconscious, feeling the black weight of sleep seize her mind in its smothering grip. The last sensation she felt was that of her boyfriend's arms tightening around her.
She dreamed of wingless birds, falling acrobats, and Conner's eyes.
Dick had been feeling incredibly angry (note that extremely unsubtle past tense).
The moment he'd spoken Bruce's stupid code and saw his supposed partner's blank reaction, his pre-existing suspicions had been confirmed; that was not the Batman he knew.
He was pretty sure some part of him had realized it from the start.
After the initial shock of seeing Bruce in costume had hit him like an ice-bucket challenge, Dick's mind slowly began to thaw. And the facts hadn't lined up.
There was no way Bruce could've known where he was, especially since Dick had already removed both trackers from his arms—he still had the lumpy scar tissue to prove it. There was no way Bruce would've found him on that specific rooftop on this specific night at that specific time.
Batman was good, but not that good.
The logical part of his mind had known it, but the irrational, thick-headedly passionate side of him hadn't.
Dick landed on another building; the lights of the hospital having disappeared entirely behind him. His movements were automatic as he got lost in his head, thinking through every word that'd left his mouth.
He hadn't said anything too compromising, had he? Nothing extreme?
Bruce was always saying that his way of feeling everything at once would someday land him in trouble, and it seemed like today was that day. He'd been so caught up in a whirlwind of confusion he hadn't been able to properly analyze the situation.
And yet, despite Bruce's warnings, he'd never been able to shut everything down. To just…not feel.
Maybe it was a weakness, like Bruce said. Maybe it was a strength. Dick honestly didn't know anymore.
A colourful flurry of motion in his peripheral vision startled him, nearly causing his grip to loosen mid-grapple swing in what could've been a fatal mistake.
By the time Dick managed to swivel around, he realized it was just a pigeon eating a particularly grungy looking bagel. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
The pigeon narrowed its eyes when Dick lifted his grappling gun again, like it was daring him to just try and take its food.
Dick flipped his middle-finger at the pigeon before taking off again, ignoring the bird's indignant squawks.
Another sound on the next rooftop over had him reaching for a birdarang, but it was just a newspaper crinkling in the wind.
Jeez. He was jumpy.
Though, he supposed getting one's mind cracked open like an egg would do that to a person.
The Martian obviously hadn't seen any of his important memories, the ones Bruce had taught him to protect no matter the situation. No matter what was happening to his mind or body.
But the ones she had seen, his time in Gotham's juvenile detention centre, the Wayne Manor. Haly's circus…
Shaking the memories out of his head, he landed on the edge of another rooftop and stopped to stare into the empty darkness of an alley below.
Most of all, though, he'd known for sure when Batman apologized. Bruce would never.
Sure, he might give Dick a hard-earned compliment once in awhile, or reach across the limo seat after a particularly gruelling gala and pat Dick's knee: but he'd never, ever apologize.
Ever.
Not even after everything with Jason had Bruce been able to ask forgiveness. Instead, the man had gotten angry and sharp and volatile. That's when, with a stinging mark on his cheek, Dick had decided it was time to go.
And therein lay the problem. What was slowly eating Dick from the inside.
Today, Dick had done all those same things. He'd been angry with Miss Martian, he'd been hurt; and he'd done exactly what Bruce had done. Lashed out and hurt her.
As soon as Dick did it, he'd felt terrible. Gross. Worse than gross.
It didn't matter if solving his problems with violence was some learned, conditioned response he'd picked up from Bruce. It didn't matter if the Martian had been the first one to invade his privacy and totally had it coming.
It'd still felt wrong.
And now here he sat. On some random Bludhaven roof, mooting around and feeling sorry for himself.
Self-awareness sucked.
Somehow, worst of all, when his fist had connected with her face (again, he still felt horrible for it) Dick had abruptly realized he actually liked her.
He didn't hate the green-skinned hero anymore. Didn't hate any of the Young Justice team members.
They were resourceful, frustratingly funny, and bitingly sarcastic. They weren't at all like Bruce said they would be: full of themselves and fighting each other for the spotlight.
Still utterly useless when it came to reconnaissance, definitely, but stealth missions weren't for everyone. And they were trustworthy. They kept each others' secrets, they kept League secrets.
They fought together and they lost together and maybe, just maybe, Dick could fight with them too?
He'd just arrived at some sort of conclusion, a sort of half-baked plan forming in the back of his mind, when there was another blur in corner of his vision and a light thump.
Assuming it was just another dirty street pigeon losing its pea-sized mind over some gutter bagel, he didn't bother looking; too caught in his spinning thoughts.
Yes, he thought. It just might work. From what he'd seen of the Team, they were forgiving. They were trustworthy. Maybe they'd—
Suddenly there was a strong pair of hands on his back, pressing between his shoulder blades, a push, and Dick's stomach turned inside out.
Then, he was falling.
One minute he was sitting on the edge of a Bludhaven roof, having a lovely little introspection session, the next he was plummeting towards a reeking, overfilled Bludhaven dumpster.
Dick barely had time to wrap his arms around his head before he was slamming into the trash below, his ankle thwacking against the metal rim of the dumpster with an ominous crunch.
He was tempted, for a moment, to just lie among the soiled clothes, discarded electronics, and moldy food.
He could contemplate what crimes he'd committed in a past life that justified him ending up here—maybe it was karma for flipping off that pigeon. Maybe he was just an extremely unlucky individual. Maybe the universe hated him—but, whatever the reason, a shadow above had him quickly springing to his feet.
His ankle bore his weight but throbbed with every step. Twisted, perhaps, but at least it wasn't broken.
The garbage had softened the fall, but his torso still ached with what would surely be bruises later.
Crouching into a defensive stance, he snapped his escrima sticks into his hand and tried to clear his mind.
It didn't work. He could still feel the remnants of Miss Martina's power in his head, combing through his thoughts. It made him feel sick.
A figure dropped from the roof above, plummeting like a stone and landing so hard they broke pavement. Cracks spiralled away from their feet and Dick realized that, whatever he was fighting, likely wasn't human.
For a second, he thought it might be Conner come to hunt Dick down Terminator-style for punching his girlfriend. But then the figure straightened, and Dick felt all the air in his lungs escape in a whoosh.
They were muscled and huge, borderline hulking, but looked thin. Like their skin-to-muscle ratio was off: too much mass for not enough flesh. There were rips in the seams of the figure's arms and neck.
They looked like a walking corpse.
However, that wasn't what caused Dick to stumble back, his ankle wobbling.
No. It was because he recognized the man, who'd hardly been a man last Dick saw him.
"Bollocks?" Dick breathed out, feeling like he'd just gotten punched in the chest. Which he technically had. By a dumpster, no less.
(Did he mention that the universe hated him? Because, at this point, he was fairly certain the universe hated him).
The man grinned, his teeth catching what little light there was in the dim alleyway. Cold, calculating. Not at all like the rookie cop he'd been mere weeks ago. "Hello, Detective Grayson. Did you miss me?"
(A/N): I am so sorry about the cliffhanger. Like in my little plot-plan I literally have a note that says 'Don't leave them at a cliffhanger here you little [redacted curse words]'. (Also, fun fact, when Dick sets M'gann's nose, that's actually how you do it. like it's really that easy :O)
I'm right in the middle of finals right now and just have zero time and/or energy to write extra. like I don't even know if this chapter's in english that's how tired i am. or waht day it is
if you catch any mistakes, lemme know and i'll try and fix em. i think my blood is pure caffeine at this point
Thanks for reading and reviewing last chapter, it means a lot. i srsly appreciate you all 3 but gosh i am also a very tired creature goodnight
~ASL