Note: Thanks for commenting, guest! :) We have a common love for Nightwing in pain. ;-)
The pain was intense, and Nightwing almost passed out. But Batman was watching, and Nightwing needed to prove that he could handle this. He forced his eyes to remain open, even as his already pounding headache increased and black dots began dancing with bright fireworks in front of his eyes.
He could feel the blood, sliding down the top of his nose and filling the insides. The blood took the place of the air, and Nightwing began to panic. His mouth was not under his control, he couldn't shake the blood away, he was at the mercy of the annoying and now terrifying James.
Batman heard the crack and, in frustration, he roared, "NIGHTWING!"
James turned toward Batman and stepped away from the younger hero, showing off his handiwork.
Nightwing's nose matched the color of his eyes, and panic was emanating from those expressive eyes. Batman realized that James hadn't been bluffing – Nightwing couldn't even open his mouth to get air. His son was suffocating and there was nothing he could do about it!
"YOU WILL DIE FOR THIS!" Batman exploded, dragging his eyes away from Nightwing in order to glare at James.
His gaze immediately flicked back to Nightwing, whose eyes were still full of panic but disappointment was flashing around the edges. Batman knew why it was there, knew he shouldn't have threatened to break his first rule. But the now-villain was killing his son in one of the worst ways possible!
Nightwing was trying to keep his eyes open, but his vision was becoming blurry. Batman looked like a black wave in the ocean, and all the younger hero could hear was that ocean rushing around in his aching head. He saw Batman's mouth moving, and then his eyes slid closed.
James was laughing, his eyes glancing from Nightwing to Batman and back again. He saw Nightwing's eyes close, so he picked up the cube of foam and walked in front of him.
"Wake up, Nightwing, we're not done yet," he whispered.
Opening the young hero's mouth, James slipped the foam inside, propping his mouth open and allowing air to enter his body. Then he moved back and retrieved the gauze and medical tape. Placing a piece over the cut on the bridge of Nightwing's nose, he secured it with two strips of tape and used another piece to wipe away the excess blood.
Nightwing's eyes stayed closed, but he began drawing in ragged breaths. James stepped back again and turned to Batman.
"See? He's fine. That was just a demonstration, a preview of things to come."
Batman carefully studied his son. Nightwing's chest was moving erratically, and the Caped Crusader could hear the irregular breathing. The young hero's nose was already swelling up, and the blood from his nostrils was sliding down his chin. Some of it was dripping into his open mouth, and the resulting gurgles with each drawn breath were soft but not inaudible.
Realizing he had been holding his breath, Batman quietly released the air and started breathing again. Relief sprinted through his chest. His son was alive, he was hanging on, they could still make it out of here. And Batman decided that the first thing he was going to do, after finding a way to get rid of the younger man's headache, was apologize.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" James exclaimed, turning back to Nightwing. "I forgot to stop all the blood! We can't have him dying yet, can we?"
He tore the remaining gauze into smaller pieces and gently arranged them in Nightwing's nostrils, effectively slowing and then stopping the blood.
"Nightwing!" he said loudly. There was no response, so he stepped closer and yelled, "Nightwing, wake up!"
There was still no response, not even the fluttering of eyelids that meant he was returning to consciousness.
"Let. Him. Go."
Batman put all of his fury into those three words. They were dripping with menace, and James suddenly decided that maybe he had gone too far. But then he remembered that Nightwing couldn't move and it would take Batman a while to escape. He shrugged, picked the cane up again, and walked around so he was behind the younger hero.
"Nightwing, wake up!" he shouted, and slapped the cane down on the immobile head a few times. "Don't worry," he said as he peeked around the still body at Batman. "I didn't do it very hard. I'm sure his head has been hurting for a while, I don't want him to go into a coma and not be able to feel anything anymore."
The not-so-gentle taps startled Nightwing into awareness. His eyes snapped open, and the first thing he noticed was that he could breathe. Then he saw Batman, whose eyes were still full of both anger and concern. Nightwing tasted blood, he smelled blood, he wanted to throw up blood, but he narrowed his eyes and calmed his senses. If they were going to escape, he needed to be strong.
"Welcome back!" James exclaimed gleefully as he walked in front of the young hero. "I was hoping that would help!"
Nightwing did the only thing he could do: he glared at the man.
"Okay, let me guess," James dropped the cane again, held up his hands, and began ticking things off on his fingers. "Your head hurts – it's probably been pounding since we first met a few days ago – you're dizzy, you're nauseous, your rib hurts, your shoulder is aching, your nose hurts, it's hard to breathe, you're terrified because you can't move, and you're probably seeing some colors dancing around you. Am I missing anything?"
Nightwing continued to glare, and James turned to Batman.
"He doesn't look like he's in much pain, does he? It's too bad he can't tell us if he's hurting. I would stop if he was in too much pain, but he's not telling me that, so…"
"He has nothing…"
"HE HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH THIS!" James thundered. "He is the one you care about, he is this! He is the one you were relieved about when my SISTER DIED! Did you even feel any remorse at the loss of an innocent life?!"
"Take. It. Out. On. Me," Batman commanded loudly, rage filling his tone. "You want revenge, you want me to pay for your loss, so take it out on me."
"I told you that would be too easy," James grumbled.
Jasmina unexpectedly walked into the room. She stopped short, stared at Nightwing, turned her gaze to James, and put her hands on her hips.
"Jacques Michel Moreau! Qu'avez-vous fait?! Idiot, j'ai dit qu'on avait fini!"
What have you done you idiot I said we were done.
Batman easily translated the words and knew Nightwing had been able to, as well, if he wasn't too out of it. Being fluent in common world languages was very useful. And momma was not happy with her 'delightful' son, which relieved Batman. James seemed very attached to his mother, so he would probably listen to her.
"Je dirai quand nous aurons fini!" James yelled. "Batman doit payer et Nightwing est le meilluer moyen de le faire!"
I will say when we are done. Batman must pay and Nightwing is the best way to do that. Of course he is.
Batman's last thought was sarcastic, and he was furious that Nightwing was in this predicament because James wanted revenge on Batman. Why couldn't villains and criminals just take things out on him, instead of harming the only person he loved besides Alfred?! Robin had gone through it, and now Nightwing was, too.
I never should have allowed it.
Batman had had that thought several times throughout the years, but this time the thought was louder than it had ever been. He and Nightwing had fought, neither Batman nor Bruce Wayne had ever even acknowledged guilt – much less apologized for it – and now Nightwing probably wouldn't even understand him if he did say those two words.
'I'm sorry'. Why were they so hard to say? Why couldn't he just tell his son that he regretted everything he had said, that he wanted Dick back in the Manor, that he wanted to work with Nightwing again? Why couldn't he…
"Fine," James suddenly said angrily, interrupting Batman's thoughts. "Momma wants this to end, so I'm done. Happy?"
The last word was snapped in the Jasmina's direction, and she nodded. Glancing at Batman, she said, "Welcome". As if he was supposed to be thankful for what she had just done for him. After everything she had done to Nightwing. Batman ignored the word with a Bat-glare, and Jasmina turned and left the room.
"Pour l'instant, Nightwing," James whispered, not knowing that both heroes could understand. "Pour l'instant. Maman finira par s'endormir."
Then he, too, left, and Batman turned his full attention to Nightwing. The younger hero's crimson eyes were glazed, and his lips and chin matched the color. Droplets of blood were dripping onto the floor at random times, some from the remaining liquid on his chin and some from the tiny pieces of gauze stuck in his nostrils. His mouth was still propped open with the cube of foam, and Batman could still hear the blood swirling in Nightwing's throat with every ragged breath. But his son was alive.
Assuming Nightwing was too out of it to understand what had just been said, and wanting him to be prepared for what was coming, Batman translated.
"For now, chum. James will come back when his mother goes to sleep. I will get you out of here before that happens. Do not give up."
The last sentence was a command, and Nightwing's eyes cleared slightly. He tried to answer, but all that came out of his mouth was a spatter of blood that rolled over his bottom lip and dribbled down his chin.
"Rest, kiddo," Batman said, still not caring that the nicknames were flying out of his mouth whenever they wanted. "I will find a way out."
Nightwing couldn't do anything to rest except close his eyes. But he knew if he closed his eyes, he might not wake back up. And he needed to be awake for the escape. So, he kept his tired eyes open through the pounding in his head and the pain radiating from his face.
Batman knew Nightwing was struggling to keep his eyes open, but he also knew why Nightwing was doing it. He was probably on the cusp of a coma if he fell asleep, and the young hero was smart enough to know that. He had enough experience to know that. And Batman wished, again, that Dick Grayson didn't have that knowledge or experience. This was why he had 'fired' Robin. But Robin had turned into Nightwing, and Batman couldn't even try to protect him without arguing with him. Which is why things like this happened.
Batman was stubborn, and Nightwing had inherited that trait. The boy had been stubborn from the beginning, but Batman knew he had increased that characteristic in his son. It was a good quality at times, but a dangerous and idiotic quality at other times. Firing Robin fell into the latter category, because if he had never fired Robin there would be no Nightwing. And Batman could have kept a better eye on him, because they would still be partners instead of his son flitting about the city solo. Maybe this never would have happened.
"Gggg."
The sound came from Nightwing, and Batman realized he had been lost in thought when he was supposed to be trying to find a way to escape. He looked into Nightwing's eyes, and was both surprised and relieved to see some light-blue attempting to burst through the red that wasn't quite as dark as it had been previously.
Nightwing was glancing to his right and then back to Batman. The latter glanced to his left and knew what his son was trying to communicate. The knife he had used to free Batman's hands had been haphazardly kicked out of the way when James had prepared to break Nightwing's nose. And it was only two feet away from Batman. But there was a problem.
"Everything is steel, Nightwing, there's no way it would cut through steel."
Nightwing narrowed his eyes and glared.
Pay attention.
That meant Nightwing was going to try to tell him something, but it would be something he had never communicated before. Batman was going to have to try to catch onto the clue, so he stared at his former partner and focused only on his eyes.
Nightwing opened his eyes as wide as he could and stared, his eyes so focused that they began to water. The salty liquid jumped from his left eye, but he ignored it. Then he rapidly blinked four, no five, times and rolled his eyes in a complete circle. Narrowing his eyes again, he waited for Batman to work it out.
Straight stare, something that would stay still. But there were many, many things in the universe that could stay still. Suddenly Nightwing began blinking rapidly again, then widened his eyes and somehow made them glaze over slightly before returning them to normal.
Batman was lost. Why would Nighwing do that? It was like he was trying to stare right through Batman…the color! Red, something that would stay still. But what did that have to do with the younger hero's knife?
Nightwing began rolling his eyes around and around. Batman was afraid he was going to make himself throw up from dizziness, so he began thinking out loud. Maybe Nightwing could let him know when he was close if he was throwing ideas out.
"Red, something that stays still, but then something that rolls around?"
Nightwing stopped rolling his eyes and pride rushed through them. Batman had a piece of the puzzle, but still didn't know what it had to do with the knife.
"Your knife can't cut through steel, Nightwing."
The younger hero rolled his eyes again then began flicking them from side to side.
"What does side to side have to do with rolling? Okay, something red that can stay still but rolls? Or switches from one side to the other? Or…"
Nightwing's eyes lit up, almost like he was grinning. Batman had no idea what had caused that, so he decided to go word by word.
"Red."
A single, long blink that confirmed the word.
"Still."
Yes.
"Roll."
Two blinks – negative.
"Switch."
Yes.
"Red and still and switch. Red…still…switch. Red…still…a Bat-laser?!" Batman exclaimed quietly.
A long blink with eyes full of pride.
"So a Bat-laser and switch. Switch. Switch, dang it!"
Batman was frustrated, and the disappointment in Nightwing's eyes didn't help his mood. What did a Bat-laser, a knife, and the word switch have to do with…
"Idiot," Batman muttered, hoping Nightwing hadn't heard. The latter's eyes grinned again, of course he had.
"You have a Bat-laser on your knife."
The long blink in pride-filled eyes came back. Batman nearly burst out laughing, but Nightwing narrowed his eyes again. It was his job to be the funny one, and Batman tried to calm the laughter so he wouldn't 'offend' his son. But then the mix of light-blue and light-red eyes grinned again, and Batman gave him a smirk.
Both of his shoulders were dislocated, but Batman forced the pain away and stretched his body out as far as he could. He touched the tip of the handle with his foot, but couldn't pull it toward him. A gurgle came from Nightwing, and Batman glanced up. Nightwing's eyes were full of mirth this time. Batman glared slightly – the younger hero had the audacity to laugh at him.
"Not all crime-fighters are blessed with flexibility," he grumbled before preparing to stretch his body out again.
This time he added a swing before the stretch, and it worked. His foot landed in the middle of the handle, and his backswing forced the knife to slide across the floor. He stopped it right under his body and waited for the chain to stop moving.
James poked his head in just after the knife disappeared.
"Momma's getting tired!" he announced with a grin. Then he left.
Nightwing's eyes widened and his breathing became wheezing. Batman wanted to talk to him, try to calm him down, but the best way to help him right now was to find a way to get to the Bat-laser. This is something Nightwing could have easily done, but Batman didn't have the grip or athletic muscles. He was built for power, not speed and flexibility.
He stared down at the knife, trying to think of a way to get it up to his hands. Batman pictured Nightwing slipping off his boot, grabbing the knife with his toes, and folding his body into a piked position so his toes could put it in his hands. There was absolutely no way Batman could do that.
Nightwing gurgled again, and Batman looked up. In the slowest motion Batman had ever seen, the younger hero moved his eyes all the way down to his bottom lids then brought them back up. Batman shook his head and frowned. How was he supposed to know what that meant.
The mixed-colored eyes filled with fear again. Batman looked around, but there was no sign of James.
"What are you thinking about, Nightwing? Why do you look terrified? I won't let him do anything to you again, okay? I will get us out of here."
The young man blinked twice in a negative response. Batman shook his head in annoyance.
"I will get us out, Nightwing! Just give me a minute to think!" he nearly shouted.
Pay attention.
Batman growled; he should be finding out a way to get the knife, not staring at his former partner and trying to figure out some new code.
Nightwing slowly pushed his tongue against his left cheek.
"You can move your tongue!" Batman exclaimed quietly.
The younger hero gurgled, and Batman could practically hear the irritation.
Pay. Attention.
Nightwing closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed the foam cube out of his mouth with his tongue. His lips closed with a smack and he reopened his eyes, which now had panic dancing in them.
"Nightwing!" Batman exclaimed again.
His son was now unable to breathe. The foam had been the only thing keeping his mouth open, and gauze was stuffed up his nostrils. What was the idiot thinking, what was he trying to tell Batman by pushing his only way of staying alive out of his mouth?!
"Push?!" Batman asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
Yes.
Without hesitating, without even thinking, the Caped Crusader pushed on the knife with his foot. A laser beam shot across the room, barely missing Nightwing's left side.
"Hold on, chum," Batman whispered.
He was more patient this time, even though he could hear the panicked snorts of a person trying to breathe. Carefully, he aimed the knife in the direction he knew it needed to go. It had to be precise, or he could laser some skin right off his son. Batman calculated the angles, then pushed down hard.
