Chapter 8:

"Lovebirds Enemies"

That evening, Dick and Barbara went down to the cafe for dinner. Even though, Dick knew she had to go back home in Bludhaven for work, she refused to leave his side. She had called in and explained the situation—that her boyfriend had sustained a serious head injury and was transported to Gotham for treatment. They told her to take all the time she needed. Dick was beyond appreciative.

Barbara had bought him a housecoat from the gift shop and he wore it over his hospital clothes. She had also purchased him a pair of fuzzy dog slippers, but he opted to decline wearing them out in public. Of course, it was a joke, and he knew he wouldn't be allowed to wear them, but they were cute, and he'd safe them for later. Instead, he wore standard footwear. They sat down at a table next to a window overlooking the back garden area.

She had ordered a tuna sub with all the fixings, and he, albeit the second one of the day, had ordered a large green salad. But at least it had bread croutons. They both ordered bottled water.

Five minutes into their meal, Dick already had enough of his salad and pushed it aside, and leaned back in his chair. He glanced around the cafe at other patients and the assisting nurses and he was glad to have Barbara with him. She had just taken a small bite of her sub and put it down, then picked up her phone to read something on her phone, when he reached over and cupped her hand in his. She looked at him and smiled, squeezing his hand as well.

"Have I thanked you yet for everything you've done for me?"

"About one and half times," she said.

"One and half?"

"The first time was with Damian and the half was in the shower before Alfred caught us."

He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. "I can deliver the second half anytime," he smiled playfully. "Think of it like the Super Bowl, the second half is always the most thrilling and the scoring ratio is also higher."

She rolled her eyes. "You men and your sports metaphors. I suppose the next thing you'll say is you'll sack me if I run?"

"Only if you attempt to make a hundred yard dash."

Distracted by Barbara, he paid little attention to a young man with bandaged hands that entered the cafe with a female nurse, but he did notice a police officer follow. He was a supposed escort for the man, if seemed, possibly under custody. The man, dressed in patient garb, looked around, as if to see what he wanted from the vendors, but then suddenly stopped, and stared at Dick's table. "Hey, don't I know you?" the man said, pointing at Dick.

Both Dick and Barbara looked at the man as he approached. "I don't think so," Dick said. "You may me mistaken for someone else, I think? There are quite a few people in the hospital with head bandages, we all seem to look alike to a point. Like zombies, walking around aimlessly, wondering what happened to our nice hair."

Barbara lightly hit Dick in the shoulder. "Don't be so facetious," she said.

"No, I know you from somewhere—oh yeah—from Bludhaven, that's right! Your face is very familiar. You used to hang around that bar—crap, I forget the name of it—and act all tough, challenging people to pool matches, drinking what seems like kegs of beer, and flirting with all the ladies, especially with that hottie, what's her name, oh yeah, Pixie!"

"Pixie?" Barbara questioned.

Dick shrugged. "No clue," he said. He didn't remember much of his 'other life' when he had amnesia. It was like when he got his true memories back, his other self disappeared, along with the memories.

"Yes, I do remember you. You came across as a bit of a dick—arrogant and self-absorbing—and used to say some of the corniest pick up lines, like: They say Disneyland is the happiest place on earth, baby; well apparently, no one has been standing next to you" —Barbara rolled her eyes— "And: I seem to have lost my phone number, can I have yours?" —Barbara try to hide a smirk— "Or your best one, I think: Is your father a terrorist, because you're da bomb!"

Barbara laughed.

Dick's eyes widened and his face blushed. He wanted to cover his face in embarrassment, but then that would be like admitting he was the person this guy was referring to, but instead, he tried to deflect. "Frankly, sir, I think you really do have the wrong—oh, so wrong—person here. I wouldn't be caught dead saying those things."

"Oh, they'd be just like you, Dick. So, which bar was this? And what does this 'Pixie' look like?"

He gave Barbara a weird look, as if to tell her not to encourage this guy. He had been told he had hung out in bars and did some uncharacteristic things when he had amnesia, even calling himself Ric or Gray. He thanked his lucky stars that that was over.

"Oh, she was 'da bomb', alright, and she was smitten with you, man," he said to Dick. "Short skirt, big breasts, pink hair—the works. Like a Playboy model. And easy. She'd jump anyone."

"Really?" Barbara gave Dick a curious stare.

"I don't remember, seriously, and I have no idea who this person is, or Pixie." He turned back to the stranger. "Now, if you excuse us, sir, my lovely girlfriend and I, are enjoying dinner. You really do have the wrong person."

"Richard—if you call me Dick, I'll hit you—Grayson, that's your name! Now I remember. You told everyone to call you Ric or Gray." Dick stood on his feet, clenched fists at his side. Barbara also got to her feet. He grabbed the man's shirt and stared into the man's eyes.

"Okay, who the hell are you? And why are you here?"

Dick saw the police officer begin to react, he had been standing near the entrance door, hovering. He began to approach.

The man momentarily reached up and gave Dick's left hand a squeeze, but then held back with both hands up in surrender. "Hey, I just thought I recognized you, that's all. Maybe I am mistaken? I'm here at the hospital for an overdose—weed—the cop over there is my chaperone. The hospital in Bludhaven didn't have the facilities to treat my condition, so I was brought here."

The police officer arrived. "Is there a problem, sir?" he asked.

"Take it easy, fella. Sorry, I bothered you," the man said. Dick released him.

"No, officer, no problem," Barbara said. "This man thought he knew my boyfriend, but he was mistaken."

"Oh," the officer said, and then escorted the patient and nurse away, removing him from the cafe.

Dick sat down, putting a hand to his face, and Barbara put a hand on his shoulder. "Every time I think of that other me, I get upset. The things I was told I did, it wasn't me. Hell! Whoever put those implants in my head was diabolical. They wanted to destroy me."
"But they didn't, and now you're here with me, safe and sound."

"But for how long? There's already been one attack on my life in the hospital. Whether it was known I had my memories back or not, whoever orchestrated it, whoever the assassin worked for, knew I was here. Did they want to finish me off?"

Barbara didn't know the answer to that. "Dick, take it easy. I think you need to talk to someone about what you're going through, someone who understands PTSD."

"I'm not suffering from post traumatic stress disorder."

"Those dreams say otherwise. As did the night terrors before."

Barbara held him and Dick put his head on her shoulder and he closed his eyes, the rest of world be damned if they stared. Maybe he was finally feeling the pressure and needed reassurance. Barbara was always there when he needed her. "Maybe everything's that happened has changed me in some way? I know things are different now. But at least I have you…"

"It's natural to feel afraid, Dick, you're only human. Don't shortchange yourself. You've been through a lot over the years." He looked up and his face was pale, his eyes appeared glassy but not with tears, and sweat began to drip down the side of his face. He shivered. "I feel so cold. Hold me, Barb."

She did, but then suddenly felt his forehead. "Oh my god, Dick! You have a high fever. You're burning up!"

x x x

The weather in Bludhaven lately hadn't been hospitable. There had been a continued threat of thunderstorms and heavy rainfall, the temperature was chilly. Grayson had thermo-tights, so whenever he went out for patrol in the winter, he was warm. Except for his face. Damian wore a light dark jacket as he prowled the roof tops. He was not-so-warm.

His first stop was the same place he had encountered the freak in the grim reaper getup, but he was nowhere to be found. And he found himself wondering if he had actually imagined it. He hadn't gotten a lot of sleep as of late. With all the tension lately, Grayson's attempted assassination and then recovery; Bruce Wayne, his father's break up with Selina Kyle, Cat Woman, bride-to-be leaving him at the altar; and a slew of other things, even Drake's entanglements with his psychotic future self, whom Drake thought was dead, and for which his future self wanted to eliminate his past self from every existing.

Something Wally West—Flash—did when battling one of his enemies, had changed history, and brought him back, and now Drake's older self was after his younger self every chance he got.

The thing about Drake's future self was, his other was bigger and stronger, and he blamed Drake for all the woes he'd experienced in the future. His future self had built his own Batcomputer and, however it went down, he fused with it—merged with it—to gain an intelligence and an understanding of the universe far greater than even the being known as Darksied, a being of such immense power. Thanks to Wally West—future events had changed for those who lived and remembered them.

Darksied had been killed by the Flash during a tremendous battle, but, like the Butterfly Effect theory, something happened to undo much of what had transpired. But the multiverse was filled with contradictions, even Grayson was confused by it all. Damian didn't understand it all, in fact, he didn't really care. All he cared about is that Dick Grayson made a full recovery.

Fork lightning coursed through the sky, illuminating clouds and the surrounding area, and as Damian stood on a rooftop, gazing around the ever reconstructed urban landscape of Bludhaven with its cranes practically on every building—and perfect for swinging with his tether rope—he suddenly saw a dark figure standing on the edge of a four story building across his immediate proximity.

The man had a long lightly coloured coat that blew haphazardly in the wind with dark clothing underneath. He also seemed to be wearing a mask, but Damian couldn't see for sure. He could only see glimpses of the man after lighting flashed, but the man did look sinister in nature. But he knew this was not the same freak in the grim reaper costume.

As another lighting strike coursed, something grabbed him like a tether wire, and it wrapped itself around Damian's waist. Then he felt a strong, sharp yank, launching him across the distance towards the dark figure. Damian flew through the air unwarranted, but he could still defend himself, and tried to, grabbing the escrima sticks in mid flight from their holsters on the back of his costume. But the moment he reached the figure, he was halted, when his weapons were grabbed, and yanked from his grip, with him tossed aside on the same roof as his assailant, like a rag doll.

Damian rolled, but he rolled in such a way that he could make a quick recovery, and got to his feet. Lightning struck again, followed by thunder, the winds began to pick up as a wicked storm brewed. The man stood holding the escrima sticks in gloved hands. Then with a strength unseen, he crushed the stick held in his right hand as if were a plastic toy, the power cells sparked and shortened out. Then he threw the other one over the roof top into the darkness, lost.

"You haven't been drinking your milk, young one, and you're too short for your appropriated namesake," the dark masked figure said with a chuckle. "Your predecessor would have seen that attack a mile away. You need a lot more training to fill his shoes."

"Just who the hell are you?" Damian demanded. "And take off that ridiculous Phantom of the Opera mask. As I said to that fool in the grim reaper costume earlier, Halloween's over."

"Ah, yes, the grim reaper: a beta test of a photo-kinetic construct," the man said. "Non-living beings; but as solid as any creature; and technology that's still in development in mainstream science. But I have perfected it."

Damian had a somewhat working knowledge of photo-kinetics from science journals he had read, he even did a paper on it for school. Photo-kinetic energy, in theory, could be controlled and solidified from atom-sized light particles and compressed together into solid objects, that could, also theoretically, be designed to be make anything such as a weapons or even constructs of people.
So, the grim reaper wasn't real. But this guy was.

Damian supplicated his previous demand, and asked again: "So, who the hell are you? Or, do I need to ask a third time? But I shalt ask a fourth, I'll just beat it out of you!"

"You lack even his grace and patience, tsk tsk. I know he survived the attack on his life, and he has his memories back. I know you gathered the clues I left. So, give him a message: I'm waiting for a rematch, and this time, I'll take his life! You may call me Annex."

Anger swelled up inside Damian. "How about I just call you Asshole! Did you try to kill Nightwing? Why did you target him? Answer me, you damned, bloody coward!"

Annex wiggled a finger from side to side. "You haven't earned those answers yet. But I will say one thing: things are not over. There are sinister plots at play. But I feel you're itching for a fight, young one. Come at me then, if you dare?"

"Gladly!" Damian reached for a retractable staff on his belt and extended it to its full length. Drake had made it compact, so it could be put away without it being cumbersome. He normally carried a sword, as Robin, but he wasn't as Nightwing Junior. He knew Grayson was going to be pissed when he found out his escrima sticks were now destroyed or lost. He'd have to search for the one this freak had thrown over the edge of the building later.

Damian attacked Annex with his staff: swinging, twirling, and striking, with thrusts and jabs, but Annex easily avoided each attack. Damian observed the man had been trained, militarily, and knew how to maneuver. Even with a series of quick attacks, Annex weaved and dodged like a pro. The man had experience.

Damian came in close, but then Annex reached out and grabbed Damian's staff, and kicked him back. Damian recovered, attacked again, but the man reacted the same, and every time Damian got in close, the man used a series of military defensive tactics that proved he knew how to defend himself with forthright and instinct.

"You're pretty good, lad, but you're nothing like him. You're a carbon copy at best, and your moves are less elegant, less fluent, and without an element of panache. You are no Richard Grayson."

Damian gasped. Annex knew Grayson was Nightwing?

Infuriated either by anger or by poor comparison, Damian attacked again. But this time, the man didn't hold back as if done with playing around. He held out a hand, and suddenly, electricity coursed from one glove—and Damian screamed when it hit. Strings of electricity snaked around Damian's body, numbing is muscles, and electrifying his body.

He dropped to his knees, his teeth aching from the hit. But he was still conscious. Yet, he couldn't move.

"Damn…it!" he said breathlessly, through clenched teeth. He looked at Annex and tried to get to his feet, but his legs wouldn't let him. He felt paralyzed and every muscle in his body felt like it was on fire.

Annex came to stand over him, his operatic mask in full view now. It only covered half his face, the exposed half was singed by fire. Normally, someone would want to cover the horrific half, but perhaps his whole face was the same, and he merely wore half a mask for dramatic effect, Damian thought.

"You're pathetic, Nightwing Junior." Annex laughed at the name. "You haven't the right to the lineage or the name. When I fought Richard Grayson, he was a formidable enemy and I respected him. Your performance here would garner countless bad reviews."

And with one jolt from a finger to his forehead from one of Annex's gloves, Damian dropped to the rooftop unconscious.

To be continued…