Note: Thanks for the reviews, Debbie and Guest! :)
I didn't know it could happen, but somehow life got worse. Family stuff, and friend stuff, and pretty much everything. But we all have problems to get through, right? And we can all make it through, and come out stronger on the other side. So if things are going wrong in your life, just keep on keeping on. Someday that sun will shine through whatever clouds are in the way. :)
One hour later:
Nightwing opened his eyes and groaned softly. It was completely dark. The moon, with excellent timing, slid out from behind a cloud and the sight of rain through an open window greeted him. He instantly knew where he was – the same room he had swung into however many hours before. Were the man and his momma still here, or had they left? In order to find that out, Nightwing would have to get up.
He was lying on his stomach, arms and legs splayed out like a starfish. It was unusual, getting knocked out but not being restrained in some way when he woke up. His head was pounding and the hero felt like throwing up and then going back to sleep.
"Great," he mumbled, "a concussion."
"Probably a severe one," a familiar voice answered evenly, although Nightwing could hear a hint of hesitation.
This time Nightwing's groan was internal. Batman was here, had probably seen the entire thing, and was undoubtedly extremely disappointed. Then again, what else was new? Batman was always disappointed in Nightwing now.
Nightwing planted his palms on the ground and pushed himself up to his hands and knees. Wanting to appear strong in front of the man he still hated to disappoint, the young hero went from kneeling to standing in one smooth motion. The world spun dangerously around him, but Nightwing refused to give in to the black spots dancing across his eyes.
Batman was right in front of him, leaning against that rectangular outline Nightwing had failed to observe before. Again showing off its excellent timing, the moon briefly landed directly on the older hero's body. His arms were folded across his chest and his expression was stony. One arm reached out and hit the wall on his right. The same bright light as before filled the room, and Nightwing shut his eyes against the pain. Immediately the light was gone. Slowly, the younger hero re-opened his eyes to the sight of the smaller beam of a Bat-flashlight lighting up the ceiling.
"Don't be an idiot," Batman growled. "Sit down."
"I'm fine," Nightwing nearly growled back. "Why are you here?"
"I heard a rumor. Why are you here?"
"Followed a tip."
Nightwing swayed dizzily but quickly righted himself.
"Sit down," Batman commanded, "before you fall and hurt yourself more. You have a lump the size of Gotham City on the back of your head. Sit down before you faint."
"I'm. Fine."
"What happened?"
The question was more of a demand. Nightwing wanted to just walk away, but Batman was blocking the door and the younger hero didn't feel like jumping out the window right now. So he gave in.
"Talked to a guy. Some lady came in. I changed direction and she probably got me with something."
Nightwing was ashamed of himself. He had let the thought of a grown criminal being out with his momma distract him. And now here he was, being interrogated by his da…Batman, who probably still thought he couldn't handle himself.
"This," Batman said simply, holding up a fat plank of wood. "You were bleeding a lot, it's a good thing I arrived when I did. Bat-gauze is very useful for stopping blood."
Nightwing stared at the weapon. Streaks of blood, his blood, lined the side of the board. Glancing down, he immediately noticed the dark puddle on the floor where he had just been lying. Lifting his right hand, the young hero gently probed the back of his head. The familiar texture of Bat-gauze was taped over the rather large bump. He winced and suddenly a wave of dizziness assaulted him again.
"Nightwing, you lost a lot of blood. You're pale and undoubtedly dizzy. Sit down."
He didn't want to agree, but another wave nearly swept him off his feet so Nightwing obeyed the command.
"You need blood."
Nightwing had heard that tone before. Batman was offering Alfred's services without actually inviting the younger hero to the Batcave.
"I'll take care of it," Nightwing mumbled.
"Don't be stubborn."
In other words, Alfred could take care of it better and faster than Nightwing could. It was the truth, but he and Batman were…not on the best of terms, to say the least.
"Nightwing, you're in no shape to ride your bike or even walk to wherever you think you can 'take care of it'."
A tinge of concern dangled at the end of the sentence, concern that Nightwing didn't want to hear because it would break his resolve.
"I'm fine, Batman."
"Now you're whispering," Batman commented. "Nightwing only whispers for two reasons: he's on a stakeout and has to be quiet, or he's hurt. And the latter is not used for regular injuries or normal pain. You're coming with me, and you don't have a choice."
Nightwing shook his head, but immediately regretted the action. The black spots that were still dancing around the edges of his eyes grew larger. Black boots began striding toward him, and the last thing the young hero saw was the Bat symbol stretched across the chest of his former partner.
One hour later:
Nightwing slowly opened his eyes to a dimly-lit room. The first thing he saw was a stony ceiling high above him, and he instantly recognized the Batcave. But why was he here, and how did he get here? He remembered swinging into a room, but after that everything was a little fuzzy. Clouds covered the memories, and Nightwing's head hurt too much to try to figure it all out.
"Good evening, or rather good early morning, Master Dick."
Alfred's familiar voice was warm and comforting. Dick carefully turned his head toward the sound. The butler was walking toward him, a bag of crushed ice in his hand.
"What…" he croaked.
Alfred smiled and held up the ice.
"Perhaps some liquid before you try to talk, young sir."
The butler helped him sit up, and Dick squeezed his eyes shut. The pain slowly receded and he re-opened them. There was a familiar tug on his left arm, and he wondered why Alfred had him on an IV. What had happened?
"Master Bruce brought you here in the Batmobile. You were unconscious, Master Dick."
Alfred placed some ice in a cup and gave it to Dick, who immediately tossed most of it in his mouth and began crunching.
"Somebody took you out with a hard hit to the head," Bruce remarked as he walked past them. "You lost a lot of blood, I brought you here to put it back in."
Dick assumed that meant: now you can leave. So he stood up and pulled the needle out of his arm. A slight feeling of dizziness accompanied the movement, but not enough to cause him to pass out, or even worry him.
"Master Dick," Alfred began.
"Thanks for your help, Alfred," Dick replied. "I have to go, have a new mystery to solve."
The butler sighed and placed some gauze on the small hole where the needle had been.
"You don't have to go, young sir. You can stay here, you know."
Dick glanced at Bruce, who was typing on the Batcomputer. The man's back stiffened and his typing slowed for several seconds. The moment passed and Dick's shoulders slumped.
"No, I can't," Dick said softly. "I…"
He trailed off, not knowing what to say. He wanted to stay, but it was obvious that Bruce disagreed with that idea.
"Master Bruce wants you to stay, Master Dick," Alfred replied quietly. "He is worried about you."
"Well, 'Master Bruce' should tell me that himself then," Dick nearly snapped. "If he's so worried and wants to keep an eye on me…just forget it. I'm out of here."
Dick walked toward the Batmobile but stopped short when Bruce appeared in front of him. The older man searched Dick's light-blue eyes carefully, then gave a short nod and stepped away.
Does that mean stay or I'm well enough to ride off into the sunset?
The thought bounced through his brain but Dick brushed it away. Bruce didn't want him to stay, the man was probably regretting even bringing him to the Batcave.
"Where's my bike?" he asked as he looked for his Nightwing suit and domino mask.
You can stay, chum.
Bruce wanted to say the words out loud. He missed his son, so much, but couldn't bring himself to even acknowledge the possible fact that he was also at fault for their fight. And it was obvious that Dick wanted to leave anyway.
"I'll drive you in the Batmobile after you change," Bruce said shortly. "Your bike is at Wayne Enterprises."
Dick nodded, regretted the movement, and grabbed his Nightwing suit off the table in front of him. Turning away, he strode to the changing area, mumbling something about being able to handle everything on his own.
Bruce was concerned. It was true, both Dick Grayson and Nightwing could take care of themselves, but a severe concussion and the loss of a significant amount of blood had obviously taken their toll on the younger hero. Dick was still pale, and Bruce hadn't failed to notice the slight wobble when his son had turned around.
"Forgive my bluntness, sir, but you are being somewhat of an idiot right now," Alfred admonished quietly, interrupting the millionaire's worried thoughts.
"He obviously wants to get out of here," Bruce said, his tone laced with disappointment and outlined with anger.
"No, he thinks you want him to get out of here. Master Bruce, why can't you just talk to him? Let him talk to you? You need to figure this out, sir, or you will lose him forever. Is that something you are willing to risk, Master Bruce?"
Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but Nightwing strode around the corner. He walked to the Batmobile and climbed in without saying a word.
Quickly putting on his cowl, Batman joined his former partner in the vehicle. The Batmobile roared to life and sped out of the tunnel. Fifteen silent minutes later, they arrived at Wayne Enterprises.
"Thanks for the ride," Nightwing stated, his voice completely devoid of emotion.
"Nightwing," Batman began, but his son was already gone.
Idiot.
The thought was directed at both himself and his son, but Batman pushed it away. Turning the Batmobile around, he headed for home. Nightwing's bike grumbled to life behind him, and Batman fervently hoped that the young hero's concussion would allow him to get home without incident. He hadn't received all of the blood that he should have, and he was obviously still at least a little bit dizzy.
"Be careful, chum," he whispered to the wind.
The distinctive sounds of both vehicles faded as Batman and Nightwing went in opposite directions, just like Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson were in real life.
