Note: Thanks for the reviews, guest and Desiree J! :)

If the French sentence or phrase is mostly translated internally or vocally by Batman, it doesn't appear in the translations section at the end. I hope that clarifies some things for those of you who were wondering.

There is a large paragraph in French. I will put that translation right underneath, because it's an important piece of information. The rest of the French translations will be at the end, as they have been before. The translation will break the flow of the story, so I'm sorry in advance.

This chapter is dedicated to the person who has my heart, although that person will probably never read this. Green dots are much more beautiful than gray ones.


The bright-red beam shot out across the room, hit the manacles surrounding Nightwing's wrists, and bounced back to hit those on the wrists of Batman. Two pairs of manacles burst apart, and both heroes dropped to the ground.

Batman landed on his feet, jarring his dislocated shoulders and causing circles of black nothingness to flash around the edges of his brain. Nightwing, however, was paralyzed and couldn't stop himself. He crashed hard onto the floor, landing on his left side. A loud 'crack' echoed around the room. Growling in frustration, Batman ignored the pain in his shoulders and raced to his son's side. He pried open the slack jaw and Nightwing pulled in several panicked breaths before starting to calm down.

"How…?!"

James, having heard the loud noise of manacles being shattered, ran into the room. Batman jumped to his feet and flew at the man, easily knocking him out and letting him hit the floor. Jasmina walked in, stared at the scene, then quickly went to her son and knelt down.

"Mort," she whispered despairing. "Non, mon amour, ne sois pas mort."

"He's not dead…Il n'est pas mort," Batman growled.

From behind him came a quiet snort, and Batman turned back toward Nightwing. The latter was panicking again. Batman hadn't propped his mouth open, and he was suffocating for the third time in less than ten minutes.

"Night…" Batman began but shut his mouth and raced back to his former partner, snatching up the foam cube on the way.

He dropped to his knees, opened Nightwing's mouth, and placed the cube between his son's lips. Then he rolled him onto his back and gently began pulling out the tiny pieces of gauze that were stuffed in the young hero's nostrils. The bleeding had stopped, and Nightwing could breathe through both airways now.

The blue eyes – now with only flecks of red dancing around inside them – filled with disgust, and Nightwing's body involuntarily shuddered. Batman had no idea why, but he suddenly understood when a small wave of blood rushed out around the foam cube. Rolling Nightwing onto his back had been both a bad idea and a good one. Bad because he had just thrown up all the fluid that had settled in his throat, but good because that airway was now completely clear.

Batman clenched his teeth, grabbed his right arm, and shoved the shoulder back into place. The black circles that were still dancing on the edges of his vision grew, but he repeated the action with his left arm and refused to give in to the pain. Nightwing was in worse condition, and resetting two dislocated shoulders wasn't going to keep Batman from helping his son.

"You should have told me about the headache," the older hero said quietly, a tinge of frustration outlining the words. He pulled out a Bat-towel and carefully began soaking up and wiping away all the blood. "Or told Alfred, or stayed in the Batcave, or…"

Batman trailed off as a thought flashed through his mind. Nightwing was independent and stubborn and Batman had pushed him away after firing Robin. Like Alfred had told him, why would Nightwing tell him anything when he thought Batman was furious with him? And neither Batman nor Bruce Wayne had said or done anything to refute those thoughts. Sounding irritated now, after watching his son nearly die, probably hadn't helped.

Nightwing blinked slowly, refocusing Batman's train of thought. He tried to narrow his eyes in disbelief – and a little bit of anger – but he was exhausted, and in pain, and still slightly terrified, so he just stared up at his former partner.

"Let's get you home…" Batman paused, realizing that 'home' to Nightwing was a tiny apartment almost half an hour away from Wayne Manor, "…to the Batcave," he amended. "Agent A can fix you up, and we'll find a way to get rid of that headache, and…"

"Ssssssssss," Nightwing slurred, and Batman understood.

His son wanted him to shut up and get them out of there. But Batman had to do one more thing. Standing up, he returned to the prone body of James and the kneeling Jasmina.

"Policier," she mumbled.

"Un policier viendra pour vous et votre fils. Reste ici," Batman commanded, his voice firm and leaving no room for doubt.

For Nightwing's benefit, he repeated the command in English.

"The police will be coming for you and your son, so stay here."

Nightwing snorted and, when Batman looked back at him, rolled his eyes.

I'm tired and injured, not completely out of it.

Apparently Batman hadn't had to say it in English, but how was he supposed to know that?! He was just trying to help…

And then Batman realized that he was becoming angry because of an eyeroll. No wonder they continued to have arguments. It was as much his fault as it was Nightwing's, and he should have acknowledged that before.

Jasmina said, "Zorry," as she pulled her unconscious son into her arms. "Here," she continued, and Batman understood that to mean she would stay here with her son.

"Je peux l'endormir et l'aider avec la douleur."

"Don't put him to sleep," Batman commanded.

Jasmina shook her head and pointed. Batman looked back; Nightwing was already asleep. Head trauma, too much in the last few days. Nightwing was on the cusp of a coma and Batman had allowed him to just fall asleep!

"Hez fine," Jasmina whispered when she heard the nearly-inaudible intake of breath from the man beside her. "Juste endormi, pas mort. Iz fine," she finished, then turned her full attention to her son.

Batman returned to Nightwing and knelt down. Not dead, he agreed with the woman when he saw his son's chest erratically rising and falling. But she had said nothing about a coma, she probably didn't even know about that sort of thing.

"Nightwing," he said loudly, "I need you to wake up."

There was no movement, other than the continual irregular breathing, so Batman began a loud conversation – albeit with a silent listener – as he made a mental list of the younger hero's injuries.

"Don't be lazy, chum," a broken nose and broken rib. "I know you like to sleep in," dislocated shoulder, "but now is not the time." A broken wrist from the crash to the ground. "It's time to wake up," two major head wounds he had been forced to inflict upon himself by barreling into a wall. "You don't want a certain person to get mad at you."

The collar that had kept his son's head completely immobile was still around the boy's neck. Pulling his own Bat-laser out of his utility belt, Batman clicked it on and steadily held the beam on one side of the collar. It was thick, solid steel, and it took almost two minutes before the thing split in half and fell off Nightwing's neck.

The skin was red and chafed, tiny dots of blood appearing through four thin slices on his neck. Not enough to be worried about; they would congeal on their own within a minute. Nightwing's breathing was beginning to steady – removing the collar had eased the stress on his lungs. But there was still the chance of a coma, so Batman grabbed the dislocated shoulder, whispered a quick apology, and shoved it back into place.

Nightwing's eyes flew open, the painful reset awakening his senses. Batman was relieved to see only faint outlines of red dots sliding around in the light-blue circles. That reminded him that he should get the vial of drops from Jasmina.

"I will be right back," Batman said calmly as he stood up. "Do not fall asleep," he commanded, and Nightwing blinked once.

The older hero returned to Jasmina, held out his hand, and said, "Donne moi la fiole de gouttes." When she hesitated, he changed both his tone and language. "Give. Me. The. Drops. Unless you want James…" he trailed off, the threat hanging in the air.

She didn't understand the words, but the sound of Batman's voice was enough to convince her. The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out the vial.

"Iz no good," Jasmina said quietly. "Iz…"

The woman trailed off, struggling to find the right word.

"C'est parti," she finished, giving up on attempting to say it in English.

"It's gone?" Batman exclaimed. "How much did you give…combine as-tu donne a Nightwing?"

The vial was about three inches long. She had used all of it in only three or four days?!

"How much did you give him?!" Batman nearly yelled when she didn't answer.

"Iz nuff…le paralyser."

"Obviously it was enough to paralyze him," Batman snapped sarcastically.

From the other side of the room came a quiet grumble of impatience.

"We'll continue this conversation later," the Caped Crusader said darkly. "Nous continuerons cette conversation plus tard."

Jasmina nodded then looked down at the unconscious young man in her arms. Batman strode back to Nightwing and crouched down beside him.

"Can you move anything, at all?" he asked.

"Eow,"Nightwing replied.

"I'm going to assume that means 'no'. You're getting a little big to be carried around, Nightwing," Batman said, a tiny smirk manifesting itself on his face.

Nightwing narrowed his eyes. The smirk disappeared and Batman slid his arms under his son's body. He picked him up and almost dropped him. Nightwing had no control over his muscles, so his limbs flopped out in opposite directions. That resulted in an off-balance Batman, which led to an alarmed grunt from the younger hero.

Batman steadied himself and glanced at Nightwing, who was grimacing in pain.

"Nightwing can hear and feel everything, he just can't move or do anything about it."

The taunting words from James echoed in Batman's ears and he sighed softly.

"You can feel the nose, and the rib, and the wrist, and the headache, and everything else," he commented, knowing he was correct.

Nightwing stayed silent. Squeezing his eyes shut, he began trying to take deeper breaths. Batman felt the trembling of his son's useless body – Nightwing was exhausted, in pain, and still slightly panicked.

"It's okay, chum," Batman whispered. "I will fix this, all of it. We're going to the Batcave, and we're going to find a way to get rid of your headache, and we're going to get you all patched up."

"Ache."

The word came from the direction of Jasmina. Batman slowly turned around, careful to make sure that Nightwing's body wouldn't roll out of his arms. Before he could say anything, the woman opened her mouth and the first note either hero had heard – the one that had caused Nightwing to melt to the ground in the alley – flowed into the air. Nightwing's eyes slipped close again, and Batman glared at Jasmina in disbelief. He had just woken the younger hero up, and she had put him back to sleep! Did she want him to go into a coma?!

"Hez fine, no…" Jasmina trailed off, fruitlessly attempting to find the English words she needed to explain the situation. Giving up again, she continued, "Il va dormir aujourd'hui mais il n'y a pas lieu de s'inquieter. Ses yeux s'ouvriront demain. La douleur restera. Ce sera pire demain mais s'estompera dans environ trois jours. Gardez-le au lit au moins quatre jours, sinon I pourrait ne jamais partir et il deveiendra fou de douleur. Ses muscles seront mieux dans une douzaine d'heures. James s'ennuie de sa soeur, pardonne-lui. Il ne survivra pas en prison. Ne l'envoyez pas, je vous en prie."


He will sleep today but there is no cause for concern. His eyes will open tomorrow. The ache will remain. It will be worse tomorrow but will fade in about three days time. Keep him in bed at least four days, or it might not ever leave and he will go mad with the pain. His muscles will be better in about twelve hours. James misses his sister, forgive him. He will not survive in jail. Don't send him, I beg you.


"C'est un criminal et il va en prison," Batman replied roughly.

"Il ne pensait pas…" Jasmina began.

"He wasn't thinking?!" Batman interrupted incredulously. "He should have thought about the fact that he would become a criminal if he avenged his sister by trying to kill Nightwing!" the hero continued angrily, not caring that she probably hadn't understood him. "He is going to prison. Il va en prison."

"Non," Jasmina cried softly. "Non, Batman, s'il te plait non!"

"Reste ici, ou je te traque," Batman threatened. "Je ne me reposerai pas tant que votra fils ne sera pas en prison. If you leave, I will find you."

"Hez fine," she pleaded softly. "Nightwing, hez fine."

"Right," Batman snapped sarcastically, "because being paralyzed for almost an entire day is fine. Receiving several major injuries is completely fine. The fact that Nightwing nearly suffocated on his own blood is fine. Your son misses his sister, so he did nothing wrong. Your voice forced Nightwing to knock himself out, but you did nothing wrong because you love your son and he did nothing wrong. You are almost as much of an idiot as him."

The last word was snarled and Jasmina pulled James closer to her body. The short speech, full of contempt, had shot out of Batman's mouth so quickly that she had understood nothing except the words 'son' and 'fine' and 'idiot'.

"Better," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Trois jours, hez better."

"Three days is too long," Batman countered. "Nightwing shouldn't be in this condition at all. We're done, the police will be here soon. Rester," he commanded, and the woman nodded.

Readjusting his grip on the sleeping hero in his arms, Batman turned away and slowly left the room. The door led to a smaller room, where two closed doors forced him to make a choice. Batman went straight, had to struggle to open the door without dropping his son, and found that the door led outside into pitch-black darkness.

With a grumble of displeasure, Batman turned around and re-entered the room. There was a small couch to his left, so he gently laid Nightwing down and pulled out his Bat-flashlight. Leaving the room again, he swung the light around. He had no idea where they were, nothing looked familiar.

Suddenly, something bright lit up the night sky. The Bat-signal was shining through the darkness, and Batman sighed. He no longer needed the flashlight, so he put it away and pulled out his Bat-communicator.

"Sir? Where have you been? Is Master Nightwing with you? The Bat-signal is on, sir. Commissioner Gordon has called several times!"

Alfred's voice was full of concern and Batman was not looking forward to giving an explanation. The fact that the commissioner was repeatedly calling and the Bat-signal was on meant very bad news. But, to Batman, not as bad as Nightwing's condition, and that was his first priority.

"Nightwing is with me," he replied gruffly. "Tell the commissioner I'm unavailable, you and I have something more important to take care of."

"How bad is he, sir?" Alfred asked with a quiet sigh.

"Too much to explain right now. I'm turning on my tracker, send the Batmobile to my location. Batman out."

Batman returned to where Nightwing was uncomfortably situated on the small couch and crouched down next to him. Jasmina had said he would sleep today and wake up tomorrow, but Batman didn't want to take that chance. His son's face was pale but peaceful, a result of the loss of blood and the musical note that had sent him into a painless slumber.

"Nightwing, I need you to wake up," he said loudly, regretting having to rouse his former partner out of an obviously blissful nap.

"You can't go into a coma, chum."

Why was he using nicknames without a second thought? That was a question for later.

"Stop being lazy, I need you to wake up."

There was no movement other than the steady rise and fall of the younger hero's chest. Batman sighed and thought about slapping the kid awake.

He's not a kid anymore.

Shoving the thought aside again, Batman decided that injuring Nightwing more was not a good idea. If, however, it would prevent him from going into a coma…

There was a soft sound behind him. Batman jumped up and whirled around. A groggy James staggered into the room, Jasmina walking behind him to catch him if he fell.

"He won't go into a coma," the man stated softly.

"As if I can trust you to tell me the truth," Batman scoffed angrily.

"I swear on my momma's life," James continued. "He'll wake up in maybe fifteen hours. His head will hurt for a few more days…"

"Il sait," Jasmina stated from behind her son. "I explain."

"I doubt you could explain that much in English," James mumbled, so low that only Batman heard it.

"I both speak and understand French," the Caped Crusader stated. "She explained."

"I'm…sorry," James said, both regret and fear slicing through the words. "I should not have…my sister's death…Nightwing…"

"Stop," Batman commanded. "If you ever think about saying his name again, I will come to your prison cell and we will chat about it."

His voice was casual, but the implied threat filled the room with tension.

"I…went too far."

"You went way more than 'too far'," the hero retorted loudly. "Nightwing could have died, you wanted him to die! You sealed your fate the first night you met him. Enjoy prison, James, because you'll be there for a long time."

"You still have no proof," James stated with a glare. "I don't care what my momma explained, I don't care what I said before, it will always be my word against yours. I have no criminal background, I…"

"I," Batman immediately countered, "have been recording everything. Your confession, your mother's explanation, this very conversation. I have more than enough proof, and Nightwing will gladly back everything up."

"Maybe I'll make it so he can't back it up," James snarled, anger filling the words. "Maybe I'll make it so he doesn't even wake up!"

"Your mother…"

"My momma won't be able to reverse this," the man stated, pulling out the recorder he had used to trick Nightwing into investigating a 'gunshot'.

"Jacques," Jasmina sighed softly. "Iz over."

Suddenly, her arm flew from behind him, knocking the tape recorder out of his hand. It landed on the floor and burst into pieces. James growled and turned on her. Batman caught the raised hand before it could strike the woman's face and threw James to the ground. He whipped his Bat-cuffs out of his utility belt and snapped them around the man's wrists.

Two sounds unexpectedly cut through the tension still filling the room. The first was the distinctive rumble of the Batmobile. The second was louder than the first, the blaring sound of the siren from a police car.

"Enjoy prison," Batman stated again.

Turning to Nightwing, the Caped Crusader carefully picked him up again and strode out the door. The Batmobile was idling five yards away, and the bright lights from the police car were rounding a corner fifty yards away from the little house. Quickly, Batman secured Nightwing in the passenger seat and roared off into the night. Officer whoever-had-come could take care of the prisoners.

He allowed the Batmobile to drive itself, since he still had no idea of their location. It took them nearly three hours to get to the Batcave. The sun was beginning to peek over the eastern horizon when they finally slid through the secret entrance.

Alfred was sitting on a chair, surrounded by medical supplies with worry etched on his face. Batman gathered Nightwing into his arms and put him on a medical table, then recited the list of injuries and how their boy had received them. As he was doing that, they worked on removing the faux costume made by James. Soon, a bruised and battered Dick Grayson was lying on the table between them, still peacefully fast asleep.

The butler listened as he evaluated Dick's injuries, seemingly unaffected by what he was hearing. He had been treating wounds on heroic bodies for a long time – rarely was he surprised. But the fact that Nightwing had been forced to knock himself out by hearing a single note was an exception.

"How can a musical note have that effect on a strong young man such as Nightwing, sir?" Alfred exclaimed.

"I have no idea," Batman replied as he took off his cowl, "and right now I don't care. Let's just get him taken care of before he wakes up. The woman, Jasmina, said he needs to rest for at least four days in order for his head to heal, and you know how hard it will be to keep him down for even one day. I want him in his own, um, the bed in his own…old…room."

Bruce stumbled through the last sentence. Dick didn't live here anymore, so the bedroom that was only two doors away from Bruce's own, was now an 'old' room.

"Of course, Master Bruce," Alfred replied, and set to work.


Translations:

Je peux l'endormir et l'aider avec la douleur: I can put him to sleep and help with the pain.

Juste endormi, pas mort: Just asleep, not dead.

C'est un criminal et il va en prison: He is a criminal and is going to prison.

Il ne pensait pas: He wasn't thinking.

Il va en prison: He is going to prison.

Non. Non, Batman, s'il te plait non: No. No, please Batman, no.

Reste ici, ou je te traque. Je ne me reposerai pas tant que votra fils ne sera pas en prison: Stay here, or I will hunt you down. I will not rest until your son is in prison.

Trois jours: Three days

Rester: Stay

Il sait: He knows