Bright lights. Scratchy blanket. Hard cot. Did I make it back, somehow?

Slowly I opened my eyes. I was not, in fact, in the bunker. Memories floated out of reach and I took stock of my new home - a 6x6 metal and concrete cell, with a garish orange door made of thick steel and a sliver of double paned glass. I fought against the panic as I recognized my surroundings.

Blackgate Penitentiary. The Solitary Housing Unit, if I remembered right.

On the floor by the door sat a styrofoam tray. With a sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly? A bottle of milk. A bag of potato chips. An apple.

Food. Real fucking food.

It was probably poisoned. Or drugged. Was this how they got their Enforcers hooked? Ply them with soft bread laced with god knows what until they were compliant? There was no way in hell I was going to eat.

My stomach growled traitorously.

The apple might be safe, I reasoned. I plucked it off the tray and examined it closely.

They could have covered the skin with something and you'd never know.

Damn. That was a good point. I set it back down and took to pacing instead. Oddly enough, I felt a little less sick. I rotated my shoulder a bit, testing it, surprised at the reasonable range of motion. I pulled up the sleeve of the grey prison scrubs I had been changed into.

Clean gauze. Fresh tape. Stitches underneath the bandage?

Now I was really confused. Since Lex's takeover, there's been a 'kill on sight' order for any 'heroes'. By rights I shouldn't be alive. I shouldn't be here.

I peered out the minuscule window. Was there a guard? Other inmates?

The prison was curiously well maintained. And that was pretty much the only thing I could see. I sat back down on the cot, stewing in my own unanswered questions.

I bounced my leg. More waiting. More boredom. No answers. No way to mark the passing of time.

The milk is in a closed bottle. You could at least have that. Right?

I was so hungry. It was the only thing I could focus on. I grabbed the milk, inspected the lid for tampering, then cracked it open.

It was room temperature, thick, and a little too sweet, but it was the best thing I'd ever had. Greedily, I gulped it down, tapping the bottom to free the last cloying drops.

With the pain in my stomach subsiding, I laid back down, curled my knees to my chest, and drifted off to sleep.

— — — — — — —

Before

I was at my apartment in Gotham when the first bomb hit. A surface strike to D.C. that had somehow managed to evade detection by early warning systems. Almost a million dead in an instant.

The target? JLA headquarters.

Horrified, I stared at the television broadcast detailing which areas were under 'shelter in place' restrictions, and I almost missed the furious banging at my door. Dazed, I opened it, surprised to find a terrified Jason on the other side. He pulled me into a tight hug.

"We need to get inside," I managed to sputter, "Shelter in place. We're in range of fallout."

I tugged him over the threshold and shut the door. Unasked, my brain listed off the steps to keep us safe.

Turn off the A/C.

Get to an interior room.

Put wet towels around the door.

Jason stood, mouth agape, transfixed by the television as I set to work.

I jostled Jason's shoulder. "Bathroom's the only place without windows. We should go there for a while."

He nodded absently. I pulled him off the couch and we went together. He sank down onto the hard tile floor as I pressed damp cloths along the cracks at the door jamb.

"We are so fucked, aren't we?" I wouldn't have recognized Jason's voice, trembling and cracking.

"We'll… we'll be ok. It's probably about 10, maybe 25 rads per hour outside. In here, it'll be less than one rad per hour. As long as we stay put for the next day or so, it'll be ok, Jay."

I tried to sound sure. Clinical. Scientific. Tried not to echo the terror on Jason's face. But my heart ached with its relentless pounding.

We both pulled out our phones, scouring for news. D.C. was far enough away that EMPs weren't a concern, and Wayne Satellites kept our signal strong.

"Dickie?"

"Yeah?"

"They just hit San Francisco, too. And New York. New York's close…" Jason stopped, but I could see the question lingering on his lips.

"It's ok. New York is upwind from us. We should… we should still be ok. Might have to stay in here a little longer, is all." I was desperately trying to keep my shit together. For him. "I texted Bruce, they're ok - him, Alfred, Tim, Cass, and Dami. Cave is shielded. No word on Duke or Babs, yet. They're both smart - they'll be alright."

I sat down on the floor next to him. For a long time, there was only the sound of our breathing, and my heartbeat raging in my ears.

"Dickie?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Jay."

He shook his head, "No. No, it's the end of the fucking world, I have to say this. I love you. Like, love you. Have for years. If we're going to die shoulder to shoulder in your awful, green bathroom, I need you to know."

"I…" my reply was crushed under his lips as he pulled me over to him, moving me on to his lap. Fervently, I kissed back, fear and desperation driving me to cling as close as I could. After all, Jay was probably right. It was the end of the world.

Neither of us banked on surviving.

— — — — — — —

After

"Grayson!"

The slide of metal and a sharp voice pulled me back to Blackgate.

"Put your back against the door, wrists through the opening. Don't make me say it twice." The commands were terse, practiced.

Briefly, I thought about fighting against the faceless voice outside the cell. But I wasn't that stupid or desperate yet. Wordlessly, I did as I was told. Frigid metal cuffs tightened against my wrists, and I hissed as my shoulder was pulled and twisted in the position.

"One big step away from the door, then turn around." This was not the guards first rodeo. Again I complied, and the door swung open.

"Step forward into the hallway." The guard was huge, towering. He swung a baton in his hands as an unspoken threat. A smaller man (kid maybe? couldn't be more than 18) attached gang chains and manacles.

Ultra max protocols. They know you're a threat.

"Where are we going?" I tried to sound bright, unassuming. Genuinely interested.

Big and Beefy tipped my chin up with his billy club and addressed the other guard. "He looks like a biter to me, don't you think, Terrance? Hand me the muzzle, why don't you?" He laughed to himself as he tightened a leather mask over my jaw and mouth. He leaned against my ear and growled, "In my prison, you speak when spoken to, understand? Let's go. Don't want to keep the inspector waiting."