Chapter 3:

"Back in the Black and Blue"

Gray battled his opponent in an arena of sport. It was actually, simply, in a warehouse, whereas he was surrounded by spectators. It wasn't the smartest thing to do during his recovery after surgery, but he needed to let off some steam. His ever growing frustration with his injury was increasing and he needed something, someone to punch.

Suffice it to say, he's severely bloodied his opponent to the point that he had to relinquish the fight, in the end, Gray collected all the winnings, and it totalled to about fifteen-hundred bucks. It was well worth his time and effort and even the risk, in his opinion. He quickly counted it making sure he wasn't stiffed, and left.

The moment he left the warehouse, however, he had the immediate sensation of vertigo once again and he collapsed to the ground just outside the main doors. He had been experiencing it much more lately, but his doctor said he was because of his injury and it may go away in time.

As he fell, some of the spectators witnessed it and surrounded him. But instead of helping him, they begin to taunt him, and then kick and punch him. They were part and parcel of the same bunch in the warehouse that kept shouting: "Kill the SOB!"

He felt like a little baby, and he started, albeit weakly, began to defend himself, putting up his hands to his face, covering his head, to protect his skull, but exposing the rest of his body to trauma. His vision was so blurry that he couldn't fight back properly, and they stole his money. He attempted to get the money back, but they just pushed him to the ground again as if he was a mere babe. And abandoned him to lick his wounds.

The fighting was less intense, then out here. But he had been severely incapacitated by his vertigo, that he didn't have the strength to fight back. He was more injured now out here than he was while fighting.

He swore, and pounded the pavement with fists. When his strength slowly began to return, he popped some pills—at least they didn't steal those—to deal with the pain.

x x x

The four spectators laughed and equalized the money. $1,500 divided by four. They each got $375. An easy haul. Especially against an injured fool. One even remarked with Gray's injuries, he'll die soon if he did stop fighting.

But they didn't get far, and Nightwing Junior came to his rescue. He had overheard the four joking it up about beating up Grayson and then took it upon himself to deliver some well deserved justice. And the moment he jumped down from a near-by, two-story warehouse roof, he had the element of surprise. And he didn't hesitate to kick each one of their asses.

He didn't care about the money and he let his anger be his judgement using Grayson's escrima sticks to do most of the damage. He didn't break any bones, but he bloodied them up really good.

"What the f— Who the hell are you?" one of them said, as he lay on the ground.

"The name's Nightwing Junior," Damian said, while clutching the collar of the man's shirt. He sneered, gazing deep into the thief's eyes. "And you took something that doesn't belong to you. That man is under my protection now. If anything else happens to him, you'll answer to me!"

"What—you mean, Gray? Why? Does he mean to you?"

Superboy stood next to Nightwing Junior, his arms folded over his chest. He had let Damian do all the fighting and merely watched. "I'd take his words to heart, sir. That man you beat up is a friend of ours. And we'd appreciate it if you return the money."

"The money means nothing! It's the act that pisses me off. Tell your friends, Nightwing Junior is in town and I'm here to stay!" And with a final hard slap, he hit the man straight across the face.

The man threw his share of the stolen money at the two heroes. Damian released him and then the man ran away. The other three then followed suit.

Damian picked up the money, then handed it to Jon. Jon, using his quick speed, quickly counted the money. "It's ten dollars short," he said.

"I'll give Grayson the ten dollars," Damian said back. They quickly raced back to the warehouse and found Grayson still on the ground. He was leaning against the wall, his head tilted to one side, and he seemed to sleeping. Damian checked Grayson's pulse. "Grayson! Grayson! Wake up!"

Gray woke with a start. "Oh, god! Not you two again? I thought I just left you a couple of hours ago. Have you been following me?"

Jon smiled a little embarrassed. "Kinda, we were worried about you," he said. "We came to see how you were doing."

"What kind of stupid ass question is that? I was just robbed." Grayson's voice seemed a little slurred, his lip was swollen. He tried to get up, but then fell right back down like a drunkard. Was it the meds or something else?

"You stupid idiot!" Damian said angrily. "You want to kill yourself? I saw you fight. You still have the instinct, but your moves are sloppy! The man I knew didn't throw his punches. He kept it tight."

"Hey, I won. And that's all that matters. Well, maybe not. I lost all the winnings."

Jon gave him back the money. "It's missing ten dollars, sorry."

Gray looked grateful, then he tried to stand again. And fell back down. He sighed. He went to pop some more pills, but then Damian snatched the bottle away from him. "Get off the drugs, Grayson! Heal yourself. Use your mind. These only fill your body with toxins."

Gray seemed to get a boost of strength and quickly grabbed the bottle back with a determination that fit the old Grayson, but then swore, and said he needed them to help control the pain. Jon clamped his ears with his hands. "Language, such bad language," he said.

"Has he always sweared like that?"

"I'm not Dick Grayson, you little shit! Now get out of my way. I'm going to my car."

Damian stepped forward. "Sorry about this, Grayson, but you're not going anywhere but where I tell you." And with a hard-right, he knocked Grayson unconscious.

x x x

When Gray awoke, he found himself in a nice soft bed in a room he didn't recognize. He looked around and thought for a moment that he had met a woman whom had taken him home with her. He looked under the sheets and saw that he wore his shorts. That told him he didn't have sex. No respected man would leave his shorts on during or after sex. Shifting out of bed, he planted his feet on the floor. The minute he did, the door opened and some kid entered. He wore black pants and a turtleneck shirt.

"Who are you?" Gray demanded.

"Damian," the boy said, "and you're in my condo apartment. You were acting like an ass, so I had to bring you back here."

Gray looked at him intently. "You look familiar, just like that other boy…Yes! Damian Wayne—that's it!"

Damian's eyes lit up. "So, you remember me?"

"You were in the news recently. I saw a segment about Wayne Enterprises on the news while I was at the bar. Bruce Wayne is rebuilding Bludhaven. You're the son of that billionaire. I wish I had his money."

Damian thought for a split second. His brain is reforming itself, he's able to retain recent memories. That's good. "You do. All this was, in part, paid for by you, and my father. This condo belongs to you, Grayson."

Gray blinked shocked. "Me? How?"

Damian didn't mince words, and he told Grayson everything in quick succession, about his hidden bank accounts and about Grayson's past, and that he was Nightwing, and that now Damian was dressing up as him out of respect.

"So, you're the mysterious Nightwing Junior everyone is talking about?" Gray laughed. "I can see it now, minus the mask."

"It's dangerous for you to be out alone in your condition, Grayson. And that's you're real name: not Ric or Gray, but Richard John Grayson. You've only forgotten it because of your brain injury."

"I don't remember much of my past, kid, but that's neither here nor there anymore. It's frustrating, but the doctor said I may never get my old memories back. The bullet to my skull did a lot of damage."

"Then, you're stay here, where I can keep an eye on you."

Grayson laughed. "Not likely, kid. I'm my own man. I don't need to be babysat, especially from a kid whose balls haven't dropped low enough yet to tell me what to do."

"Crass, very crass, Grayson," Damian said. "And not the kind of joke you'd usually make."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not feeling funny right now. Where are my clothes?"

"Tossed. There's an entire wardrobe you can choose from in the closet," and Damian pointed to it.

Gray looked at Damian seriously. "You're not kidding around, are you kid? You really want me to stay?"

"This is your home now, Grayson. And I'm calling you Grayson for now on."

"I'm not a dog, you can't just change my name on a whim. But, if my name is Richard Grayson, then just call me Ric."

"No," Damian said. "I've always called you Grayson, just like I'm always called everyone else by their surname, and that's how things are going to be. Whatever cockroach, rat-infested apartment you were living at before, say good-bye to it. For now on, you live here. End of discussion."

"You won't take no for an answer?"

"No; now get dressed. The others are waiting out in the sitting room."

Damian then left, leaving Grayson alone.

x x x

When Grayson emerged from the bedroom, the first face he saw was that of Barbara Gordon, the woman whom had tried to help trigger memories by having sex with him. Apparently, they had been a thing at one point. (See my story: "Nightwing: Memory Man").

Then he saw the others in the open-concept kitchen area across the rather large condo apartment. It was huge, with two floors, with a spiral staircase leading up to the second floor, sitting area, and a multitude of rooms. He even saw an office area.

Barbara stood up and went to him, then hugged him. He accepted the hugged but didn't reciprocate. He knew Barbara, but he didn't feel anything for her. "How do you feel?" Barbara asked, when she pulled back.

"Confused. First question: How did I get here?"

"That would be me," Jon Kent said, coming out from the kitchen with a sandwich in hand. "By the way, you could lose a few pounds. You're kind of heavy. You're also getting fat."

Grayson patted his stomach. "I'm still good, I'm…aging well, let's just say that. I'm not as thin as I once was, but no one stays the same."

"That never stopped you working off the pounds before, and you never drank like an idiot either," Damian said, leaning up against a wall. Gray noticed him. "You always took care of your body."

"Damian, enough," Barbara said. "Don't pressure him."

Tt— Damian voiced in protest, and then took out his phone and began to text.

"We're all here for you, Dick," Barbara said. "And we'll do everything we can to help you."

"This all seems like a dream. My head is foggy."

"Todd just text me, he's coming over," Damian said out of the blue.

Within moments, there was a knock on the door. "That was fast," Jon said.

"He was out in the hall."

Damian opened the door and Jason Todd stood on the other side. He stepped inside and immediately looked at Grayson. "You look like shit, man," were his first words. "Your hair was most endearing feature. That doctor did a number on you. Hell!"

"And who the hell are you?" Grayson said with a narrowed look of distain.

"For real?" Jason looked to Barbara and she nodded to confirm it. "You really have lost your memories, eh? Funny, with everything you've been through, it was a bullet that finished you off."

"Hey!" Barbara shouted in protest.

Jason put up his hands. "Sorry, my bad," he said. "Damian, I just got word from Tim. Scarecrow's lurking around Gotham trying out his new 'fear germ' on people. He makes his victims believe in a reality that isn't there and it has lingering properties, he's still analyzing things. He's sorry he can't come."

"Who is Scarecrow? Obviously not someone from the Wizard of Oz?" Grayson queried.

Todd explained. Then said, "You were subjected to his whims at one point, but you fought off his fear drug. He made you believe you were worthless and you almost killed yourself because of it. But with the help of us, you came out of it, because we all know you're one mean SOB mentally. You have—had—a sharp mind and wit to go with it. Which seems to beg the question, why were you targeted with that shot? It couldn't have been the Freeze affair. Something else is going on here."

"Did the doctor check out?" Damian asked.

"Clean as a whistle," Todd said. "I even got copies of the MRI and CT scans of Dick's brain. I'm no expert, but they look odd."

"How so?"

"Unsure, I sent them to Tim to analyse. He says he knows someone you'll take a more thorough look at them." He then looked back at Grayson. "By the way, your instincts are still good, Dick. You marked me almost as soon as I started following you on the streets. Bruce asked me to watch over you. He was worried, man, and he was getting reports you were being stupid."

"Like you," Damian remarked.

Jason cleared his throat. "For once, I agree, you little…hobgoblin," he said.

"Grayson's decided to move in here with me," Damian then said.

Barbara gasped surprised. But Grayson said: "Woah, I never said that. You offered, but I never accepted."

Jason glanced around. "I think you should take Damian up on his offer, it's a nice place. Better than that shithole you're living in now. And I just happen to know, your building is being considered for resale, so all the tenants will be kicked out when the new mini-mall be built."

Grayson blinked. "Oh," was all he could say. "Thanks for the heads-up."

"So, where's the new costume, squirt? Nightwing Junior..." Jason breathed out a laugh.

Damian gave Jason a nasty stare. "I like this name. So, screw you, Todd."

"One big happy family, eh?" Jon said, then ate the last bit of his sandwich. "You're always fighting."

"Look everyone, I appreciate everything you're doing for me, but I need to sort things out by myself, and I'll find another place," Grayson said, "I'm not the kind of person that likes to be coddled. I like to make his my own way through life."

"Damian is right," Barbara said. "You've suffered a traumatic injury, the last thing you need to feel is alone. No one should have deal with something like this by themselves. And besides, I think an investigation is in order."

"For what?"

"Dick. Think about it. You got shot in the skull. And you're out of the hospital in three weeks? Most people would be in a coma for months, sometimes years, and would need severe therapy, even be force fed. Something doesn't seem right, and I think Scarecrow's 'fear germ' has something to do with it. He's tried this crap before, as Jason said. He targeted you specifically. When my spine was crushed by the Joker, and I was in a wheelchair for a long time, it took me months to even go out in public. But you were there for me, always by my side. The Lazarus Pit then healed me get back on my feet."

"Yeah, well, Ra's al Ghul is missing and presumed dead, and I think I'm to blame for that." He shrugged his shoulders. "And the pit waters have dried up. I have the Outsiders looking for another pool, if there is one? But it'll take time, or there may not be another pool? Without Ra's, and his infinite magic, it might be gone for good."

"So, let me—us—be here for you, Dick. Let me show you something."

Grayson smiled. "You already did," he said winking.

Barbara's face flushed with embarrassment. "Not that, but maybe later," she smiled. "Let me show you our memories together." She took out her cell phone and showed him videos and photos of both of them that had been taken over the years, and she tried to explain to him that they had a wonderful life together in an off and on relationship—friends with benefits thing—and at one point they thought they were going to get married and that she was pregnant with his child. But it turned out in another reality, but she was told about it.
She said she would explain about the multiverse later.

But she did tell him that he did have a daughter with Starfire—a Tamaran alien being—who was a former member of the Teen Titans, for which Dick was former and founding member of.

But Dick didn't remember her or his daughter, or even the Teen Titans.

He wished he could remember the things that they were telling him, but he felt so indifferent to everything that the empathy he should have felt was just not there. His brain was telling him "I don't care".

Damian seemed frustrated. He knew he didn't have his father's patience, so he decided it was time to try something extreme to help Grayson. He went into an adjacent room, went into his special walk-in closest, and pulled out a box. He brought it back to the others and then gave it to Grayson.

"Here, put it on. Maybe it'll trigger a memory or two?"

Grayson opened the box and inside were a pair of black and blue tights, and his size. "Oh, no, no way! I'm not putting on tights. I'm that kind of guy."

"Yes, you are, Grayson. Now, put them on!"

"I'm really starting not to like you, Damian," Grayson said annoyed. "You're so pushy."

"Don't worry, he grows on you," Jason jokingly said. "Unfortunately, he doesn't. He hasn't had a growth spurt for a while." "I can take you down a peg, Todd."

"Try it, you little munchkin. But no biting below the belt, I have a date later and she's willing."

"Willing for what? To throw up?"

As the pair fought, Barbara watched Dick leave the "battlefield" and enter the guest bedroom from whence he'd originally come. Less than a minute later, he came out, and everyone stopped and looked. Except for the waving, free-flowing black hair, Nightwing (Dick Grayson)—the original—stood in all his glory before them.

Well, all except for the small beer gut he was forming.

"These tights feel too tight," he grabbed his crotch and tried to put the fabric loose. "They show off everything, too much. I had to take off my shorts to get into them."

"That's the whole point of tights, Grayson. They're more flexible than regular clothes especially when fighting." "So nimble, so quick, Dick jumps over the candle stick," Jason snickered. "And speaking about candle sticks…"

Grayson put his hands low to cover his crotch. "See what I mean?"

Barbara put a hand to her mouth to hide a chuckle. "That can be dealt with," she said, and then kissed him. When she broke the kiss, she smiled, said: "Glad to have you back, big boy. We'll work on getting your memories back. There has to be something…"

Just then, Jason's cell rang. It was Tim.

"Tim, what's up?" After a few moments, Jason had the look of fright on his face. Then he ended the call. "We have a problem. Your brain scan results were faked."

To be continued…