Dick Grayson

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Somewhere over the course of the day, the faucet at the tiny metal sink in the corner of the cell had started leaking. The slow, hollow sound of each drop striking the stainless steel by the drain only made the pounding in my head worse.

Or maybe it was the fact that I had spent most of the day huddled by the toilet, swinging back and forth between whatever passed for sleep in my foggy brain and vomiting violently.

If I hadn't felt so sick I might've been concerned that the trays of food had stopped slipping in through the slot in the door. Alarmed that there weren't sounds of any kind coming from the hallway. But the churning, persistent nausea and blinding headache drowned out any other thoughts. And the room just wouldn't stop spinning.

I couldn't keep track of how long I sat there, wedged between the cot and the toilet, braced against the wall in a feeble attempt to stop the vertigo, but by the time I felt well enough to lay back down, my legs were heavy and numb.

And of course, it was at that precise moment that I heard the sound of a baton banging against metal - someone harshly knocking at my door.

I suppressed a shudder of fear when the voice called out, "Shower time, Princess!"

Davis was back. Fuck.

I tried to stand, but the floor beneath my feet swayed, and I felt like I was back on one of Bruce's yachts, from before. Of course, I always ended up puking expensive party food off the stern. So yeah, exactly like that.

"You gonna keep me waiting all day? Or do I have to come in there and 'persuade' you?" Davis was banging again, louder this time. The clanging sound was like an ice pick in my temple. Wincing, I managed to back up to the door and slip my hands through the slot.

"Took you long enough," he muttered as he locked cuffs into place.

I stumbled forward and out of the way as the cell door swung open. Tentatively, I stepped into the hall, and Davis went about the familiar business of completing my restraints. Terrance stood nearby, eyes fixed on the floor, conspicuously nervous.

Great. This 'jail break' is happening now. Of course it is, when I can barely walk straight.

For once, I was actually grateful for Davis' sharp grip on my shoulder as he marched me down the corridor. I was able to close my eyes and make the floor stay put. The reprieve was brief. He shoved me into the mildewy tile shower room and I fell to the floor as the world tilted on its axis again.

With an unnecessary kick to my thigh, he unshackled me and barked the order, "Strip. You've only got 5 minutes. Make 'em count."

Behind him, Terrance gave a wide-eyed nod. An unmissable, if amateur gesture that said, "Now."

"No." I got to my feet, leaned into my training, counting on it to keep me level even if the room wasn't. It was go time, whether I liked it or not.

"What the fuck d'you say?" A red, angry blush creeped up Davis' neck and he pulled his baton from its loop on his belt, smacking it against his hand in an attempt to seem menacing.

I grabbed for his weapon, a feint that left him wide open. Before he could wrench his baton away, I drove the heel of my palm up, just under his chin. His head snapped back and he dropped to the floor with a satisfying thud.

I leaned against the wall, fighting against the dizziness that threatened to pull me down with Davis. Trembling, Terrance grabbed my shoulders and shook me. The jarring only made matters worse, and I managed to just turn my head enough to avoid puking down the front of his uniform.

He made a face - not disgusted, but somewhere between sympathetic and terrified. "Oh man. Are you sick? Maybe we shouldn't do this today."

A breathless laugh bubbled up from my chest, and I tapped Davis limp arm with my foot. "I think it might be a little too late for a do-over."

"Right. Right. What do we do now? Shit, what do we do? " He was spiraling, panicking.

Fantastic. We're about six seconds into his 'rescue plan' and he's already looking to me to get us out of this mess.

"Hey," I crouched a little to make eye contact, get his attention, "look at me. You're ok. We've got options. If you want to scrap the whole thing, you can radio LeGrande and tell her I attacked Davis. You technically haven't done anything wrong yet."

He shook his head rapidly, "No. No I won't do that. I won't let them kill you."

"Ok." I had to admire the kid. He was braver than some of the capes I knew. "Then we're going to have to drag Davis out of sight and cuff him to the pipes. And find something to keep him from yelling for help when he comes to."

Frantically, he nodded, and tried to tug on Davis' bulk by himself. Of course, he didn't budge. I grabbed under an arm and told Terrance to take the other. It took some doing, but we got Davis behind a partition, and I slid to the floor while the kid finished up.

"Seriously, man, are you going to be ok? You look… bad. Real bad." It took Terrance three attempts to fight against the shaking in his hands and lock the cuffs around Davis' wrists.

"Thanks," I managed to quip, hoping to get the kid to bring his blind terror back down to a mild panic, "Just a concussion. Not my first. If I'm lucky, it won't be my last, either."

My humor did not have its intended effect, and Terrance's eyes brimmed over with tears, "I did that to you. It's my fault. Oh God, what did I do, it's my fault…"

"Terrance," I said, going for stern this time, "You have to keep it together, yeah? It's the only way we make it through this. I need you. Ok?"

He did his best to take in a full breath. "Ok. Ok. You're right. Sorry…"

"You're alright. We've got this. Our first stop has to be the security hub. We need to disable cameras and perimeter monitors or we won't make it past the front door." I could already tell this plan was a bust, as the kids eyes bulged in fear. He clearly wasn't absorbing a thing.

Make it simpler, Grayson, because Davis is going to wake up any minute now. Then all the plausible deniability Terrance has will be gone, and he's going to need that if, no when this goes South.

"All I need you to do is pretend like you have orders to transport me somewhere and follow my lead. I'm pretty sure I remember where everything is. I did a stint undercover here years ago." I paused, letting the information wash over him, waiting for him to meet my gaze. "Sound good?"

"Yeah." He swallowed hard and bobbed his head, then helped pull me to my feet.

"You're going to have to cuff me. It'll look suspicious if you don't. Just leave them a little loose and we'll be ready to roll."

I turned around and rested my forehead on the tile wall with my hands behind my back, pawing through memories of training to find something, anything that might steady me, get me ready for the fight that was bound to come. But all I could find were reminders of exactly how cruel this new government could be when people got caught.

— — — — — —

Before

Our family had been hunkered down for twelve hours after 'The Resolution' when something became painfully clear.

Steph and Duke weren't coming. They didn't make it.

The reality settled over all of us like a pall. Tim had to be sedated again to keep him from pulling tenuously held stitches in his anguish. Before he slipped into unconsciousness a second time, he begged for someone, anyone, to try and find her.

I promised him I would, even as Bruce scowled at me.

"It isn't safe to go searching, Dick," he reasoned, "we can't afford more casualties. If Steph and Duke aren't here, it's likely that they are dead. A fact that will not be changed by you, jeopardizing yourself and our position. Right now, you're thinking with your heart, not your head. And you're going to get us all killed"

I clenched my fists, dug my nails into my palms. Now was not the time to lose my temper, but Bruce was unequivocally wrong. I sucked a breath through my teeth, preparing to argue, but before I could even start my rant, Jason stepped to my side, arms over his chest, scowling.

"We are going out to look for Steph and Duke. Right. Now. I'd like to see you try and stop us, Old Man."

I could see Bruce calculating, considering behind his ice cold expression. He relented. "Fine. Be quick. No unnecessary risks."

Without another word, Jason grabbed my by my sleeve and tugged me out of the door of our bunker and into the echoey tunnels.

"Hey, thanks for that." Maybe it wasn't the best time for a heartfelt conversation, but I couldn't let the moment pass without letting him know I appreciated it. Appreciated him.

"Don't sweat it. I just get tired of him picking on you and everybody else standing around saying jack shit. Nine times out of ten, he's the asshole. Somebody's gotta have the balls to tell him." He pulled me into an awkward, abrupt hug, then stepped away, looking guilty as he threw a glance over his shoulder. "So what's the plan, Dickiebird."

I sighed and shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, focus on the task at hand. "We should check on Steph first. Her apartment's only a few blocks away, and it'll give us a chance to get our bearings up there. You have to figure they'll have patrols looking for us by now. Duke's all the way out by Gotham State, it'll take some doing to get over there, but once we get Steph we'll have numbers on our side."

Jason smiled. "You lead the way, I'll watch your six."

We wound our way out of the tunnels and slunk through the long shadows creeping out of the coming dusk. I'd been right, there were patrols and tactical vans everywhere, and we did our best to keep our heads down and blend into the background as we walked, slowly and deliberately, to Steph's building.

I stopped short on the sidewalk outside of the converted row home, and Jason ran into my back, muttering, "What the hell?!"

I was frozen. Couldn't speak. Shaking my head in abject horror. It wasn't long before Jason saw it too, and breathed out a sickened, "Oh fuck."

Steph's bloodied body dangled from a rope out of the third floor window. She was half-dressed in her Spoiler suit, with a sign tacked to her chest that read "Terrorist".

We were both rooted to the spot with rage and anguish. We almost missed the sound of a tactical van pulling up behind us.

"Fuck! We've gotta move!" Jason hissed.

It took me less than a second to register what he had said, but Enforcers were already loading out of the back, armed to the teeth and pissed.

The lead tactical officer spoke first. "It's after curfew, boys. Let's see some ID."

"Fuck off, bootlicker." Jason brandished his middle fingers and we both took off at a sprint, ducking into an alley and scrambling up the fire escape to the roof.

Already breathless, system flooded with adrenaline, Jason panted, "We can lose them in Robinson Park, double back home."

"No," I protested, "what about Duke?

Jason shook his head, "You saw what they did. No way Duke's alive. We have to save our own hides, now."

I wasn't sure if I agreed or not, or if I even answered Jason before we set off again into a blind run, leaping across rooftops before climbing down and cutting through the park. I just remember thinking, over and over again, like a macabre mantra:

"I'm so sorry, Duke. I'm so sorry"

— — — — — —

After

I almost couldn't believe how few guards there were in a detention center this large. That's not to say I wasn't grateful, but it was almost suspiciously easy to get to the security hub at the center of the prison. Terrance played his part well, dragging me along and scowling. I just had to hope nobody saw how badly his hands were shaking, how his body posture screamed our intentions.

"The Bubble". That's what they called the reinforced glass room where the CCTV images of each cell were lined up on a block of tiny screens. Inside, two guards chatted jovially - an animated conversation that looked like the recounting of a very one-sided fight.

I nodded to Terrance and slipped off the loose cuffs. It was now or never time.

I wrenched the door open, and without a quip I grabbed the collar of the closest guards shirt, whipping his face into my forehead and feeling his nose crunch against it. I tossed his limp body to the side and went for Bad Guy No. 2.

There was no finesse to this fight - my broken equilibrium wouldn't allow it. So I did my best to channel Jason's brawler style and make every hit count. I ducked below a hastily thrown punch and landed a hook of my own under his ear. He staggered back, dazed.

Damn. That should've been a knockout. I'm off my game.

I swung again, connecting with his jaw, then his temple. Finally, he collapsed to the floor. I shut my eyes tight and grabbed the back of a chair. It was not a good time to black out, but the exertion was wreaking havoc on my concussed brain, and there was an unsettling, swirling darkness creeping into my periphery.

"You alright, man? What do we do now?" The kids voice cracked and trembled. He was holding it together, but barely.

I opened my eyes and glanced at the screens. I don't know why I didn't expect it, but I was horrified nonetheless. The video footage flitted between feeds from all of the cells, most of them occupied. Breathless, not looking away, I asked Terrance, "How many prisoners are there?"

"Dunno. Couple dozen, I guess," he replied. "Why?"

I would have answered, something heroic sounding like 'we can't leave them here' or 'I won't retreat while innocents suffer', but my attention faltered as the image of one detainee in particular popped onto the screen. A disbelieving laugh burbled out of my throat as I studied the boy in cell number 28.

He was looking worse for wear, thinner than I remembered, and was mumbling to himself, but it was unmistakably him. Duke. I swallowed hard and turned to face Terrance.

"Sorry, buddy. Change of plans."