Dick Grayson
I've done a lot of hard things in my life. I mastered an aerial quad. I buried my parents. I've sustained abuse, torture, and destruction. But all of that paled in comparison to how difficult it was to say goodbye to Jason. How gut wrenching it was to watch his horror as I shoved his boat away, setting him adrift without me. How hellish it was to disappear into the fog while he screamed at Damian to turn back.
How heart-breaking it was to kiss him, confident in the knowledge that it would most likely be the last time.
Because, odds were, I wasn't going to make it out of this alive. But as long as there were innocent people trapped here, I had to go back. For them.
I pressed my body flat against the limestone wall that surrounded Blackgate, allowing myself to catch my breath and my bearings. Fighting hard against the sobs crushing my lungs. All I'd ever wanted was to love him, to be loved by him. And I threw it away. Again.
I couldn't rest long, wallowing in self-indulgent fantasies of making it to shore, back to Jason and safety. As always, lives hung in the balance. Terrance and I had cleared out one wing of solitary cells, and we were on the way out together with the first batch when he turned back, ready to run interference on the guards hot on our tail. Stupid, brave kid. If I hadn't been practically carrying Duke, I would've turned back, too.
Poor Duke. I don't know how or why he lived, but whatever they'd done to him had broken him. He'd dug his fingers into my arm as we shambled out of the prison together, his incoherent whispers warm in my ear. Maybe they didn't do anything to him, and that was the problem. Months of endless solitary could grind the strongest heroes into dust.
At least he had made it to safety. With family. People who might stand a chance at gluing the pieces of his shattered mind together. That alone made whatever sacrifices came next worth it.
I groped against the wall in the thick smog, letting the cool, rough surface serve as ballast for my battered equilibrium. Step by careful step, I worked my way back to the open gates of the penitentiary.
Mercifully, deserted. Whatever distraction Terrance cooked up, it must've been good.
There was considerably less cover in the open yard between the gate and the intake entrance where I had slipped out. I had to make do with creeping along the edges of the fences and buildings, relying on long shadows and thick fog to keep me hidden. Feeling along the farthest wall, I found the handle on the door and pulled.
Still deserted. Something was very wrong. I should have heard shouts, commotion. The thud of boots on concrete. But there was nothing.
Cautiously, silently, I prowled deeper into the complex, doing my best to listen for anyone, anything, over the incessant ringing in my ears. But the more I walked the louder it got, until I was nearly deafened by the pounding, screeching noise that only I could hear.
With a furtive glance over my shoulder, and confirmation that I was still alone, I leaned back against the painted concrete block of the hallway, clenching my eyes shut. My concussed brain was strongly protesting against the prolonged exertion of simply being upright, not to mention walking and fighting. I wouldn't be able to keep it up for long. I only needed to hold on long enough. Once everyone made it to safety, I could let whatever fate was coming for me just come.
With far too much effort, I opened my eyes again and continued my stumbling pace toward the central 'bubble'. From there it was just a left turn, then about a hundred paces back to the north wing. Hopefully Terrance was already there, with a gaggle of prisoners, just waiting for me to bust them out.
Of course, what was it Bruce always said?
"Hope is a terrible thing. If it's the only thing keeping you alive, you'll be dead by dawn."
A quote that seemed apropos as I reached the center of the prison, and turned to face the occupied wing, only to find a smirking LeGrande, a handful of armed Enforcers, and Terrance dead on the ground.
No. No, no… he was just a kid, just trying to help me…
I steeled my jaw, took the best fighting stance I could manage, and never heard the guard behind me as he lifted his assault rifle and brought it down swiftly across the back of my head.
I hit the floor hard, barely hanging on to the last vestiges of light in my quickly obscuring vision. The last thing I saw as I slowly but surely lost my quiet, personal battle, was LeGrande's superior smirk as she cocked her head to the side. Like I was a curiosity.
Her light, crisp voice cut through the damn ringing in my ears.
"That was a very unwise course of action, Mr. Grayson. I'm afraid the punishment will be quite… severe."
I tried everything I could to stay awake, alert, ready to fight back. But I was betrayed by my own bruised brain. My eyes closed on their own accord, and once again I unwillingly surrendered to the blackness.
— — — — — —
Before
Sometimes I liked to lie in bed and pretend everything was ok. Before The Resolution. Just feel the weight of Jason's warm arm slung across my shoulder. Usually my fantasies involved tropical, remote places that might've been untouched by the chaos and destruction. The Galapagos, maybe. Or São Tomé. A place where we could shrink into anonymity and away from the constant, incessant terror that lay just beyond our blackout curtains.
One late afternoon, the pull of that particular daydream was especially strong. My birthday. The first one since the War started. But, as Batman was a little too fond of saying in the early days of our partnership, "crime never sleeps". I figured that included birthdays, too, so I needed to stop the self-indulgence and get out of bed.
Gingerly, I slid out from Jason's grip, padded out of the bedroom and into the kitchen for coffee. More cream and sugar than actual coffee, if I were being honest. A fact that never failed to make Jason chuckle.
I sat at the table for a little while, nursing the mug and trying not to doze off. Though it was a futile effort, and I was startled out of my propped palms by Jason as he pulled the carafe off the burner and poured a mug of his own.
"What're you doing up so early, Dickiebird? You realize it's basically law that you get to sleep in on your birthday, right?" He yawned and stretched for dramatic effect, then took a seat across from me.
"It's 4 p.m. Jason. That's nobody's definition of 'early'. And anyway, I wanted to get report from the morning crew before we headed out tonight. Duke and Tim usually punch out around five."
Jason made a sour face and turned away, clearly upset.
"What's wrong," I said with a sigh. As if I didn't already know. The argument that I knew was coming was a familiar one.
"How long are we going to keep this up, Dick? This fucking game you insist on playing. Pretending that we're actually making any difference? Not sure if you noticed, but the looting and rioting is as bad as it was when this all started. We're not making a dent." He was shaking his head, frustrated, but he wouldn't look at me.
"It's not about the 'big picture' Jay." I reached for his hand, but he pulled away. Of course, I didn't take my cue to shut up. "It's about helping individuals, especially now. That's something you keep losing sight of."
His eyes snapped to mine, suddenly furious. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? That because I don't do things your way, Bruce's way, I don't care about people? We can't all have a bleeding heart, Dick."
"I didn't say that," I backpedaled, "I know you care…"
"You're damn right I care," he interrupted. "And you want to talk about 'individuals'? Look at yourself. You're running yourself into the ground, and for what? A city and a world on its last legs. You've lost sight of the value of your own life, Dick. Again."
His rage was subsiding, and he looked away, his breath hitching as he stifled tears, "I can't lose you. I can't. You're the only good thing I have left. But if you keep going at this pace, keep heading out there night after night…"
Tense silence settled over us as we both cradled our wounded pride.
At last, Jason stood and walked around the table, looming over me with a critical eye. He tilted my head up and stole a kiss. "You matter more than this endless, thankless crusade. And I don't plan on letting you forget that any time soon."
He pulled me to my feet and took another kiss, harder this time, and overflowing with unspoken fear. I reassured him the only way I really knew how, and I leaned back to tug my shirt off before crashing into him again for more breathless touch. He needed this. I needed this. Needed him.
Maybe, just this once, we can spend the day forgetting.
After all, it is my birthday.
— — — — — —
After
Drowning. I was drowning. That was the only explanation. Every time I tried to take a breath my mouth was filled with water. I started to panic, tried to move my arms to swim to the surface, but they wouldn't listen.
This is it. I'm dying. It's over...
I coughed and sputtered, suddenly finding damp air in the darkness. Then a voice, familiar and terrifying.
"Good of you to join us at last, Mr. Grayson."
LeGrande. That's right. I got caught. Again.
Just as the memories started to float close enough to grasp, the drowning started once more.
No. Not drowning. Waterboarding. You've been trained for this, you know how to deal with this. Limit your breathing. Calm. Down.
Of course, no training in the world can really stand up against two concussions in as many days, followed promptly by a session of punitive torture. I retched and writhed against metal restraints cutting into my skin.
Finally, the water stopped pouring and the dark cloth was pulled from my face. I did my best to turn my head, clear my airway, but the pain from the earlier blow was sudden and vicious, so I ended up just coughing uselessly.
LeGrande crouched down beside me, a gesture that might have been comforting coming from anyone else. "Now, Mr. Grayson. I trust there will be no more escape attempts? Though perhaps we'll keep you shackled in your cell, just to be sure. I would hate for you to miss your chance to defend yourself at the Tribunal."
Weakly, I shot back, "You haven't been a big fan of letting me 'defend' myself so far. Why break the streak?"
She scowled, then jammed her taser into my side, shocking me. Mercifully briefly. Enough to get my attention. Make a point.
"If you think witticisms are going to save you, you are sadly very mistaken." She stood, tugging down on her skirt. "The reality, Mr. Grayson, is that there are six days until your Tribunal, and you are clearly beyond rehabilitation. After all, you coerced and manipulated one of our own guards into assisting you. Perhaps it's time you made peace with the inevitable truth. In less than a week you will be dead. And I will be very glad of it."
For once I held my tongue. There was nothing that I could say that would improve the situation, and I was far too weak and disoriented to put up anything even resembling a fight.
"Take him back to his cell, Officer Davis. Shackles, as discussed." LeGrande walked away a few paces, then turned back to face him. "You know, with the Tribunal so close, I don't see a need to waste any more meals on him. Understood?"
Davis smiled, wide and sinister. His uniform shirt was speckled with blood - he probably shot Terrance himself.
"Yes, Ma'am. Happy to oblige."