Dick Grayson

Breathe. Breathe. You can do it. Inhale. Exhale. You know the drill…

I wasn't sure if the voice was in my head, or if someone was actually talking to me. Regardless, I tried. Tried to drag air in through my scorched throat, only to cough and choke as my body fought against the agony that was simply breathing. I felt like I was freezing and sweltering in turns, and beyond the ringing in my ears I could hear someone yelling.

"Move! Get the fuck out of the way!"

Jay…

"It's ok. Relax, Dickie. I've got you, we're gonna get help."

Unsettling fear crept around the edges of his voice, and I could feel his arms trembling under me as he cradled me against his chest, jostling as he picked up speed into a jog. I bit my lip and tried not to scream as his hands pressed on my still-healing ribs and seared-off skin, but failed. I cried out feebly before my voice devolved into excruciating, labored hacking.

"I know. I know. It's gonna be ok. You're gonna be ok. Just a little longer."

I was very familiar with the sound of Jay's voice when he was lying. Even through his panic, even through my muddled and waning consciousness, I could hear it clearly. A lie of mercy, because he knew as well as I did that I was dying. I forced myself to open my eyes, reach up and touch his face. He was alive, he was ok. LeGrande didn't hurt him. I did what I had to do to keep him safe.

It was worth it.

He looked so scared. I wanted to tell him it would be alright. That he was strong. That he deserved better than me, anyway. Better than my fickle devotion and skittish love. But he was entirely focused on the futile attempt to fix me and bring me back from the brink. How could I tell him that I knew I was doomed weeks ago, when a poorly planned explosion and errant shrapnel sealed my fate?

He pulled me tight and tucked close around me as the sound of automatic gunfire cut through the din. Blearily, I looked out through the crook of Jay's arm, horrified to see what was happening.

Reinforcements. A new team of Enforcers. Fully outfitted and armed to the teeth. The bodies of once-enraged, fed-up Gothamites lay in the streets as the soldiers pushed forward, mowing down anyone in their path. Panting heavily, Jay hurtled us into an alley and leaned against the moldering brick wall.

Cautiously, he peeked around the jagged corner, and I felt the rise and fall of his chest even out, slow, relax. Just a bit. Just enough. I struggled to keep my eyes open, if only to see the worried attempt at a reassuring smile as he noticed my half-dazed staring. "Hospital's two blocks away. Two blocks, Dickie. We're going to make it. You'll be ok. Promise."

"The others are working their way to Gotham General, and plan to regroup there. What's his condition?" Another voice, the speaker out of sight, joined us in the alley. Damian. His controlled, tight words did nothing to camouflage the fact that he felt every bit the terrified seventeen year-old he really was.

Jay glanced at me, his face blurring in and out of my rapidly narrowing vision. "He's ok. He's going to be ok. Once the Enforcers move a little more, I'm ducking out behind them and running for it. We're going to make it." Another lie, one he was desperate to believe.

Hell, I wanted to believe it, too.

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours. I had no way of marking the passage of time as my consciousness compressed down to focus on the barest needs - breathing. I was lucky. My chest ached, but my lungs didn't feel singed. My throat was another story. Tiny gulps of air felt like they were filled with razor wire, raking over my battered and burned airway. Each inhale got incrementally harder, like a vise clamping down. And as I felt Jay take off in a sprint, I weakly dug my fingers into his soot-covered leather jacket. My eyes slid shut, blotting out the blur of people, and I wished, more than anything, that I could get my voice to croak out one last "I love you." Because even if we did make it, past Enforcers and into the hospital, nobody in their right mind would risk their life to treat a 'terrorist'. So I held on tight, relished the feeling of being close to Jay again, and slipped into darkness.

The jarring cacophony surrounding the hospital brought me back to the surface again. Sirens blared, voices screamed, and Jason slowed his pace, weaving through the dense crowd of wounded citizens. The ambulance access doors whooshed open, and a blast of warm air rushed out as Jay carried me over the threshold and into the Emergency Department. Guards at the entrance eyed us with suspicion, glaring as they leaned into their shoulder-mounted radios. It wouldn't be long before they figured out who we were and why we were here. Jason, Damian, and me. We were practically delivering ourselves to the slaughterhouse. With Dami leading the way, we rounded corners, ducked through hallways, and finally, finally I felt a cool, padded surface under my bruised, burned body as Jay laid me down on an unoccupied gurney in the packed corridor.

"I should intercept the others," Damian said at last, "they will want a status update, and it would be prudent to keep them away from the hospital for now. The fewer of us that are here, the less conspicuous we'll be." Hesitating, he squeezed my hand, "I trust Todd will ensure you receive adequate care in my absence. I will return. See that you don't die, Richard." Without any real 'goodbye', he slipped into the crowd of people, injured and dying, shoulder to shoulder in the hallway.

And then it was just Jay and me.

"You should go, too," I managed to rasp. "They're going to kill you."

He shook his head, shushing me gently as he combed his fingers through my hair. "They're going to help us. I'm going to make them help us." With a furtive glance behind him, he pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Trust me."

I closed my eyes, and whispered into the frantic chaos around us, "Always."

— — — — — —

Before

It should have come as no surprise to me that Jason and I had very different ideas on how to actually help the people of Gotham, after the bombings. On one hand, we complemented each other perfectly; I protected the innocent, and he punished the guilty. But in the dark, ashy world after nuclear devastation, I think I was the only one who saw everything in shades of grey.

Jason, on the other hand…

"Move, Nightwing."

The growled command was weighted with a seriousness I honestly hadn't heard since we started our 'relationship'. I stood between an armed Jay and a cowering, terrified man, shaking and clutching his knees. Caught in the act of selling God knows what drugs to anyone who would buy them. Of course, the buyers he pushed them on were teens - kids really - and that's always been a bit of a hot-button issue for The Red Hood.

He aimed a gun, loaded with what I hoped were rubber bullets, directly at my chest. But he wasn't threatening me. I knew that he would never put me in any real danger. His rage was intimidating all the same.

"You're really going to protect this scum?" Jason's arms tensed, the only indication I had that he was struggling. His metered control, a mastery of walking the line between necessary violence and cruelty, was slipping. Apparently the stress of the 'end of the world' was playing up his Lazarus-induced anger-management issues.

I took a step, then another, closer to Jason, tucking my shoulders back and leveling my chin. "Put the gun down, Hood. Everyone is desperate right now. People aren't thinking straight. And neither are you. Look what you're doing." I flattened my palm on my chest. "Look who you're pointing at." I was close enough now to implore in a hush, "Put it down, Jay. Hurting him won't help anyone."

He was trembling, his hand uncharacteristically unsteady on the grip of his weapon. I pressed closer, squeezing his arms tight to steady him. Then I shot a look over my shoulder at the man still groveling for his life on the pavement. "No repeat performances, got it?" I warned him. "I can't promise I'll be your human shield next time."

That, of course, was a lie. Obviously I would stand between a civilian and a bullet, no matter who was shooting. But I needed him gone, so I jerked my chin down the street behind us and muttered, "scram." The guy didn't respond. Eyes still flitting between me and Jason. Terrified. Not registering anything I was saying. Fully in the grips of an unhoned adrenaline burst.

Damnit. Don't have time for this.

I let go of Jay and crouched down in front of the would-be drug dealer, holding a hand out. "It's ok. You're ok. Just go on home. And as long as you don't do this again, we won't have any problems." I would have celebrated the victory of the guy nodding and taking the offer of help up, except I heard Jay turn on his heel behind me and take off.

Fantastic.

Excruciating minutes passed as I helped the guy get his feet under him, then let him go with another warning to never deal again. On any other day, I might've helped him home, made sure he had provisions and a warm place to sleep. But I wanted to find Jay, make sure he was ok. Try and find a middle ground between our philosophies before an argument broke out. Again.

After an hour of searching nearby bolt holes and safe houses, I gave up and headed home, planning to wait him out. It wasn't the first time he'd stalked off for brooding time alone, and he'd always stumble in around dawn, exhausted.

This night was different.

I slid through the window of my - our - apartment and heard him grumbling angrily in the bedroom. I walked closer to the threshold, the sounds of slamming drawers and rustling cloth growing louder, and pushed open the door. I felt my chest tighten in sorrow and confusion when I saw what he was doing - packing a bag.

"Jay...?"

He looked up abruptly, and only for a moment, before he returned to his task. In those few seconds I could see so much fear and anger. "Jase, talk to me. What's going on?" I put my hand on his arm, but he pulled it away violently. Zipping the duffle with finality, he slung it over his shoulder and pushed past me, heading for the door.

"Look, I'm sorry if you're angry at me. I had a lot of options in that situation tonight, and I should have found a solution that didn't pit us against one another. But running isn't going to solve anything. We need to talk about this." I quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his path to the front entrance. He scowled, then turned for the fire escape instead.

"Please, Jason." I stood, rooted in place, as he tugged up on the window. "Please stay."

He paused, half out of the apartment, and finally looked up at me, tears in his eyes. "Why?"

I wanted, more than anything, to make this ok. To tell him what he meant to me, make amends for my screw ups. Instead I fumbled, and only found the words, "Why not?"

He grimaced, anger flashing to the surface as he pulled himself back inside. "I pointed a loaded gun at your fucking chest, Dick! Even with rubber bullets, I could've killed you at that range! Just so I could get at some… idiot dealer! I have done horrible things to you. I keep doing horrible things to you. And you seem to think I can change because, what? Because we thought, for one day, the world was ending, and I decided to use you to comfort me? Christ, Dick!" He raked his hand through his hair and looked at me, his rage draining away, leaving a desperate sadness in its place. "I am screwed up, Dickie. I will always be screwed up. And I love you enough to walk away before I screw you up, too."

"Oh, Jay…" I crossed the room and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him close and resting my forehead on his. "You are not screwed up. And you know what? I wasn't afraid you'd hurt me today. Not for one second. Because I trust you. More than I've trusted anyone in my entire life. You are amazing, and you are good and I…"

Just say it. Just tell him you love him. Tell him you don't want to spend another minute without him. That you need him.

But I couldn't. Even though my heart ached. So I finished with the closest words I could grasp, "I have never felt this safe with anyone else. Ever. As long as we have each other, we'll be ok. So please… please don't go. I want you to stay."

Carefully, he leaned in, and a trembling breath warmed my cheek. "Ok. I'll stay. For you, Dick. If you're sure" He pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. "I'll do anything for you. I love you."

— — — — — —

After

"I'm sorry. We're under very strict orders to deny services to any insurgents. You'll have to try your luck at another hospital. Our resources are dedicated to wounded Enforcers only. My hands are tied." In spite of the dismissal, the harried doctor, locked under Jay's grip on her arm, leaned into my limited view. "Oh. It's you! From the Tribunal!" Genuine surprise overrode her exhausted expression, and she glanced around before leaning in and examining me closer. "What happened?"

"Your illustrious government officials left him to burn alive," Jay answered with contempt, "and when that didn't take, they shot him in the chest."

She prodded my side, ignoring Jay's commentary, and I rasped out a pained cry. My body tensed, then was wracked with choking, hacking gasps. The doctor narrowed her eyes. "His ribs are broken, too. He might have internal injuries." Gently, this time, she tutted as she pulled at the open, coagulating hole just under my right collarbone. Her gloved fingers then found their way under my shoulder, and she seemed to sigh in relief. "You're a lucky SOB," she remarked, "this is a through-and-through, and it's not bleeding nearly enough to be too serious. But your airway sounds badly burned. Lots of burns on your chest and legs, too. If you don't get some breathing support soon…" she trailed off, suspiciously threw a glance behind her back again, then abruptly stepped away from the gurney.

"I can't help you. I'm sorry. I wish I could… but it's not just my life on the line here." She turned and addressed Jason before he could argue, "Anyone who treats him could face execution for aiding and abetting a so-called 'terrorist'." She reached into the pocket of her scrubs and pulled out a few glass vials of medicine and a large syringe. "This is the best I can do," she said sympathetically, pressing the containers into Jason's hands. She hushed her voice and leaned toward him, but I could still make out her instructions. "It's morphine. Take him home. Make him comfortable. When his breathing gets worse, and it will, give him all of this. There's no need for him to suffer."

"You want me to euthanize him?! Are you insane?!" Jason was furious, barely keeping his voice low, though he still drew the stares of a few nurses in the chaotic hallway.

"Do you want him to drown in his own fluids? Suffocate when his throat closes from the swelling? Die of an infection from his third degree burns?" Furiously, the doctor shot back. "Because that's what's going to happen. And it's a slow, excruciating way to go."

"I want you to save him. Or at least fucking try!" Jason's chest heaved, and even though I was barely hanging on to consciousness, I could tell he was fighting against tears more than rage. "Please. You have to save him. He's… he's all I have. He's everything."

The pain was getting to be too much. I clutched the rail of the gurney tight. My fingers bit down on the cold metal as each inhale felt like it tore a path to my lungs. I didn't want Jay to see how much it hurt, didn't want him to have to make the impossible choice the doctor had given him - let me languish in agony until I died, or finish it with his own hands.

Tears slid down my cheeks, and I felt Jason's face near mine, kissing them away. "It's ok. It'll be ok. I'm here. Just hang on… if they won't help you here we'll try somewhere else. Just stay with me…" He was pleading, begging me to keep trying. So I did, even as he began to lift me back up, and the pressure on my seeping, open burns was once again unbearable.

The doctor sighed. "Shit. Fine. Put him down. Closest hospital is halfway across town. You'll never make it. Let me get you a room out of the way. Stay put."

Barely nodding in acknowledgement, Jay carefully laid me on the gurney again, and took my face in his cool palms, rubbing soothing circles on my cheeks with his thumbs. "See, Dickiebird? I told you they'd help us. You're going to be just fine."

I had never seen that look on Jason's face before. An anguished, pleading, childlike heartbreak. One that spoke of the betrayal of loss and abandonment that Jay had lived through far too often. A look that said, "please don't leave me," when it was all but inevitable.

He straightened up, and pulled the vials of morphine out of his pocket. Closed his eyes and fought back tears. Then whispered, "if it gets too bad. If you want me to… if you need me to…" He crushed the growing sob in his throat.

God, he looked so small. So afraid. So lost.

I forced an approximation of a reassuring smile past the agony, then shook my head and gasped out, "not that bad… I'm ok." He looked unconvinced, but offered a beleaguered smile in return.

Hurriedly, he jammed the morphine back into his pocket as the doctor rounded the corner, looking over her shoulder. She threw a bundle of cloth at Jay. "It's a uniform. Put it on. And get him in a gown. If I can pass you off as Enforcers I can help you." As Jason pulled the bloodied regimentals over his own clothes, the doctor started an IV, then leaned down to whisper, "Every doctor and nurse in this hospital is rooting for you. We've got your back. So you are not allowed to die. Is that understood?"

My eyes fluttered shut and my world went black before I was able to answer.