Blue Chapter 30, a batman fanfic

"Gray Son"

Dick tried to take a deep breath and exhale in a controlled manner but knew he was slowly faltering and failing to stay calm. At some point, he'd started to hear a recording and it had never stopped since. He couldn't find any speakers or wiretapping or anything. It drove him a little insane because he was either losing his edge or going crazy after only a few days...At least it felt like a few days. He didn't know how long he'd been in here but it was enough for him to start to get antsy.

"Gray Son"

Cobb nor Lincoln answered his calls this time, and the lack of time paired with the strange ultra-white aspect of the room was confusing and disorienting.

"Gray Son"

Dick studied the ground and clenched a hand over his stomach. He was positive he'd been in here long enough to be hungry...So why wasn't he?

His mind raced as morbid theories of pumping his stomach while he was unconscious crossed his mind. Was he eating and just forgetting? How? Was he being drugged?

His stomach flipped as he considered the state his brothers originally saw him in; taking low-quality drugs to numb his migraines. He swore as he realized they might be experimenting on him. He abhored the idea of his brothers seeing him so desperately dependant on something so dirty again. /p

"Gray Son"

"STOP! I GET IT!"

"Gray Son"

It wouldn't stop. The voice. The light. It was battering snd compounding and he was desperate for a respite of some kind. He felt the corners of his eyes prickle and he roughly swiped the back of his hand to rid himself of ang evidence of moisture.

"Just stop" Dick pleadingly whispered to the ground.

"Gray Son"

He was starting to find it difficult not to fall into a rhythmic pattern every time the words were repeated. He was currently tapping his fingers to the cadence of the voice. Sometimes he would start a little drumming rhythm with his fingertips. A small part of him relished in the sound of another voice at this rate. Even the tonality of his own voice was starting to sound strange and distorted to his ears. Was his voice always this deep and gravaly? Was dehydration changing how he spoke?

Why couldn't he just remember the last time he spoke loudly? It was on a rooftop? Yeah, and during the day. No-at night, definitely at night.

His stomach felt hollow and his body seemed to be holding a competition. Who could drain faster? His spirit? Or his physical energy?

"Gray Son"

'Grayson' Dick mumbled along numbly. His eyes were closed but he was never able to escape the white light.

Jason was standing in front of him. He wouldn't stop looking at him with such disgust. Like he knew how pathetic he actually was. This was probably how he felt when he saw Dick putting his family in jeopardy and decided to side with Bruce over Dick.
Dick still couldn't believe how crazy it was that Jason Todd-Wayne would side with Bruce over Dick but it happened. He was too weak-willed to hold a firm grudge against his brother but that didn't mean the angst and irritation faded as quickly as his resolve did. Dick sighed at the realization that Jason was just as disappointed in him as Bruce secretly was. For one reason or another, he never lived up to those around him.

He always tried to be the most flexible person; physically and emotionally but it was never enough. They wanted Mr. Fantastic's stretchy power's, not Dick's human adaptability.

There was another boy too….Tom-no Tim. Tim kept awkwardly looking away like Dick was the one that was trying too hard, and making a fool of himself. Tim refused to look at him but Damian, Damian didn't care. He observed Dick with an air of disappointment that let Dick know how much he failed.

Dick knew he was right. they were always right no matter how much Dick felt differently.

He rolled away to stare at the white white wall.
_

How was he always the minority in a household filled with a range of skills and personalities?

Jack-Jason came from below the poverty line and Tim came from above the poverty line. Danie-Damian was the most emotionally stunted child to ever step foot in Wayne Manor and yet Dick was the one always compensating and adapting for the sake of other's emotions and shortcomings. Even Slade criticized his versatility; saying that Dick was too malleable and one day he'd twist himself up over something he couldn't un-knott.

"Gray Son"

He was an awful brother.

He was an awful older brother.

"Gray Son"

He didn't deserve to be protective over people who weren't even his blood relatives.

None of his blood relatives cared enough to live and stick around for him.

Except for William Cobb.

The grandfather that could only offer him pain and suffering.

Dick scrunched his eyes until his retinas pounded with pain, behind his eyes, in an effort to keep the tears back. He would give almost anything to see his brothers right now. He longed to hear Tim's laugh and to see Jason's once-in-a-blue-moon smile. His arms physically ached to hold and squeeze Damian. His little bird was so considerate on his birthdays. There was one year, for Dick's birthday, when Damian wasn't sure how to purchase a present but felt comfortable enough to know he wanted to give some sort of gesture to the oldest ward.

He'd sullenly knocked on Dick's door and presented him with hug coupons; one for every year Dick was turning. Dick was beyond thrilled and used them all up before lunch.

He held his breath and did his best to stifle the sob building in his throat. He felt so miserable. Everything about the Court brought painful memories and flashes of feelings; half of which he couldn't even clearly decipher because of his failing memory. He felt like such a failure for not being able to get back to his family sooner and for not being able to determine what a threat his recent captors would be to his brothers and Bruce. Dick should have foreseen it. He had all the clues and instead, he'd galavanted across Bludhaven's ghetto until his brothers found him. He'd always taken a small amount of pride in being dissimilar to Bruce, as if being his polar opposite in some ways helped balance the fearsome duo of Batman and Robin. Kind versus stern. Intimidating versus inspiring. Brave versus scary. Dick now knew he couldn't be more wrong. If he'd been even an inch more like Bruce he could have had the sense to foresee this mess. If he had been as suspicious or as paranoid as Bruce, none of this would have happened. But he insisted everything was fine and hid half of his dreams from everyone. Bruce was most likely right about Slade after all.

He wasn't even sure if Bruce was fine, his brothers had been pulled into danger because of him and his useless memory and now the Batman might be in danger too.

"Gray Son"

To top off the ice cream sandwich of things he'd love to be in denial about, his parents might not have been as pure and loving as he always believed either. Dick wanted to believe his gut so bad. He wanted to trust his feelings that his parents could never support the Court of Owls, but doubt's sinister voice always crept in. Always whispered just enough for him to truly doubt his own memories and feelings.

He had to admit it was hard to explain his side, when thought out logically. Who should he believe? His 7 year old memory or his father's father?

His headache came roaring back as his squinting and stifled weeping became too much for his was a young man standing in his piss corner, watching him. Jeremy.
No, that can't be right. John? Ja-Jason.

The man watched him before sneering and turning away. He left him here.

Jason? Why would Jason leave him here?

"Gray Son"

It must be because Dick didn't rescue him, Damian and Tim first. He failed them and they'd come to see that he wasn't dead or in danger, just stuck in a big white hole of despair.

Everywhere. White. Light. Blearing. Painful. Harsh.

What was the point of his eyelids if the white penetrated every cell membrane in his head and heart?

'Grayson' Dick mumbled again in time with the loud booming voices around him.

"Gray Son"

He mumbled along to the voices. He wasn't sure if they were actually there or if he was hearing them in perfect timing in his head. Had the recording stopped? He'd never even found proof of speakers so he couldn't say he wasn't losing it. How weak of him...

Every now and then a dark figure with pointed ears would be standing in the corner…watching him. Sometimes he had nice blue eyes but every now and then he'd have sharp white eyes that tapered off as if he was stuck in a permanent sneer or scowl.

Sometimes he said things. Mean things.

He knew it was supposed to hurt; inside.

He was too numb. Too bright. No the room was bright, not him. He felt like a shadow trying to preserve itself under a leafless tree in summer.

Sometimes there was a taller man with short white hair and a beard. Sometimes he had an eyepatch. He didn't respond when he called him a pirate.

He said confusing things. Always calling him a bird but never an owl. Corn on the Cobb called him an Owl. Didn't that make him one? The pirate couldn't decide on a name for him. Sometimes he'd curse and call him a dick, sometimes he was little bird, or blue bird, or pretty bird. Sometimes he was just kid or brat.

The people he hated the most were the boys.

Sometimes there would be 3 dark-haired boys of different ages. In his mind, he couldn't help but compare them to the 3 bears-big, medium, and small. One had blue eyes and 2 boys had green eyes.

The oldest had green eyes that seemed to glow when he got angry with him….. His eyes were always glowing.

He was tall. His shoulders were broad and his fingers were lean like he was biologically built for strangling annoyances.

If Dick had synesthesia, he'd match the tall furious boy to red. Bright, bright blood red. Maybe shiny red, like it was freshly waxed and ready to speed somehow.

He wished he could speed away. The urge to feel the wind whipping at his face and to have adrenaline clogging his pores until his stomach did a 360 made him ache with unknown urges.

The boys didn't always say much, sometimes just looked at him for the pathetic thing he was. They looked at him like his soul felt.

Shriveled. Pained. Hurt. Numb. Confused.

"Gray Son"

They never touched him, just watched him with disgusted, downtrodden gazes. The little one scoffed a lot and looked at him like he was worse than a cockroach.

It made his nonexistent soul shrivel even further. It made him want to apologize for things he couldn't remember or fathom. It made him furious and angry but feeling contempt took too much energy so the fire inside him never stayed lit for long.
_

He hated the light. He knew the outdoor sun was different from this blazing fluorescent light in the room but he hated it either way. He wanted darkness.

Cool, calm, soothing blacks and browns.

He wanted to be rid of reds and greens and vibrant blues, and yellows..

His head always hurt and the light in this room was all-consuming to the point where he had trouble maintaining simple thoughts.

He knew he had been pondering something but suddenly realized he was just staring at a wall. Then the headache and pounding throbbing pain would rush back and the cycle of forever misery would re-initiate.

"Gray Son"

Where were those boys?

They made him feel dejected and sorrowful but at least despondent was better than nothing. He truly felt nothing which was a strange ironic thought to have. How could you feel 'nothing' if you can't feel anything?

He felt the corner of his lip twitch up; barely. He furrowed his brow and stared at his hands…..Why was he laughing?

Was it those boys? Did they tell a joke and then leave?

The bigger boy was always cracking jokes….mean jokes.

The shorter one was always the most attentive, giving him and the other boys his blatant attention that felt much more penetrating than the lightbulb above him.

The youngest boy wouldn't leave him alone. He'd tried yelling and telling him to scram, to go away, but the thought of lashing out at those dark green eyes made tears well up in his eyes.

He settled for covering his face and curling up in his corner until the boys left again.

They always left, which meant no one ever stayed.

No one ever wanted him enough to stay.

"Gray Son"

His eyes were closed when he heard something on the other side of the room. That couldn't be right though, he thought and quickly dismissed the notion of anyone being here.

'Must be the boys, back with more disparaging jibes'.

Footsteps softly padded near him and he struggled to pull his eyes open. There was no tall man with pointy ears. There was no pirate.

He didn't even see the 3 boys that hated him dearly.

He dragged his gaze away from the far wall to see a pair of feet approaching him. The figure crouched down and he found himself looking into bland brown eyes, gold goggles around the base of his throat.

At the door there was an older man in a grey suit. He had white hair too, but he wasn't his pirate.

He looked back to the man before him. He was in a padded black body suit for combat. He had an empty sword holster strapped to his back. He liked his clothing more than the man near the door, this man's clothing seemed to help his eyes relax. The black gave his irises something to focus on that wasn't blearing.

His eyelids fluttered as he struggled to keep his eyes open. He wasn't used to keeping his eyes open for long. The world was too bright and harsh. He liked to keep his eyes closed and have his verbal abusers come to him. The tall dark man and the boys did a good job of that. They'd come to remind him of what a failure he was before vanishing.

"Been through the wringer haven't you, Gray Son?"

"Gray Son?" he thought blearily. That was his word. That was the name the voices had repeated over and over and over... That was all that had floated through his mind recently. The only thought he seemed capable of grasping onto.

Wait a minute, the voices. Where were the voices? The voices had stopped and he didn't know when. He wasn't sure why panic coursed up his spine and tingled his fingers at the thought of his ghost companion disppearing.

His attention was brought back to the man crouched before him. He raked a slow hand through his scalp and lightly scratched the back of his head. He couldn't control the urge to sigh as his eyes fluttered with bliss. A sob struggled up his throat but he clenched his jaw to keep it contained. The feeling of soft padded fingers running across his never-been-touched skin was euphoric.

"How are you feeling, Gray Son? Feel like taking a break from this room?"

He blinked up at the man. Leave? How? When?

His confusion must have shown to the man hovering over him because mirth sparkled in his dull eyes.

"Don't worry. It'll be fine" he reassured calmly.

The man looked over his shoulder to the older man, "He's ready" he called. He cringed at the sudden increase in volume, this man was loud. His ears seemed to hum and the short call echoed in his eardrums.

The older man's gaze jumped to either of them before nodding and leaving the doorway.

The man peered back down at him, "Come on Gray, let's you back on your feet, yea?

He struggled to nod as the shorter man hefted him up by his underarms. He grunted as he felt his feet plant firmly on the ground and tried to flatten his feet to keep stable. Flat feet felt wrong somehow, like he was used to arched or pointed toes. His thighs quivered like a newborn fowl as he found himself leaning heavily on the other man.

This man was nice. He…Gray Son?
He liked this person. He didn't stand in the corner and make him feel bad. He pet his hair and brought an end to the neverending white room.

Another similarly dressed man from the doorway came to assist and grabbed his other shoulder. Between the 2 of them. He was dragged seamlessly out of the whiteness. The moment they entered the hall, he found himself straining to see around him. It was like when you entered a dark classroom after playing out in the hot summer sun all day. Every time he blinked he saw strange distorted shades and shapes of what was really in front of him. As if the utter blankness and whiteness of the room had seared shapes into his eyelids. He blinked rapidly to adjust his eyes but his vision was taking its time adjusting to the new environment. His headache also began to fade slightly and he couldn't but sigh as the pounding pressure in the back of his head eased with the absence of that awful blinding light.

He let his head drop and closed his eyes softly, relishing in the utter darkness behind his eyelids for the first time in forever. He found that he couldn't care where they were going. He found himself falling limp in the grips of the 2 men as he was dragged further and further along, just relieved to be in a darker place. One man grunted as he hefted him higher in his arms before continuing on down the hall. The tops of his bare feet scraped against the rough stone floors but the feeling was welcome after that thick padded feeling that had surrounded his soul and suffocated him. The cement burns and rough gravel felt like he was scratching a year-long itch.

Eventually he felt them slow to a stop and he felt himself being lowered onto something scratchy and uncomfortable. It looked like paper but it poked and rubbed him in every possible way. He let out a throaty moan but no one seemed to care. "We should have had some sort of monitoring system in there for his levels. He basically went comatose after the second month", A voice reported above him.

He tried to open his eyes but found another white light shining down on him. He jerked back and hissed sharply but realized he couldn't go anywhere. He tried rolling off his scratchy bed but 2 hands held him down firmly. All he could see and feel was that blurred outline of a blue and black bulb behind his eyes for a few moments.

"Don't worry Gray the light is gone", the friendly voice said.

He trusted the voice and chanced opening his eyes again. He was in a simple room with white stone walls and medical equipment against the far wall. The nice voice stood over him with a firm grip on his arm by his side. He was staring past him so he tilted his head back to peer beyond. The older man was here too. He was talking to a short young man in scrubs and a face mask. The old man was nodding at something he was looking at on a clipboard, he looked pleased. The man next to him cleared his throat and drew their attention to him. The older man turned back to the doctor one last time, "We've got eyes on them so you'll have more to work with soon. Keep me posted"

He didn't wait for a response before he was striding towards the 2. He stopped and looked down at him with a calm serene smile.

"How are you feeling Gray Son?"

So that was his name after all.

That must be why he thought he heard it playing in the white room. The nice man squeezed his forearm and he realized he was just staring at the older man. He blinked up, coming back to the present. The older man smiled and he seemed satisfied about something.

"Are you glad to be out?"

He nodded

"How are you feeling?"

He nodded

"Come now I need a verbal answer my boy"

"Bettr" he rasped out. He tried to clear his throat as he realized his words were slurred and gurgly but sharp pains shot up his dry throat.

"Thrsy" he said more quietly.

The older man nodded like that was what he was expecting, "You can't handle anything solid so we will do an IV dripping for now, alright? It will rehydrate you and make you feel better"

He nodded absently. Better sounded like a grave improvement from how he currently felt.

"Did you learn anything from that little stint of yours? Hmmmm? Isn't it better to obey?"

He scrunched his forehead in confusion. What? What was he talking about? Had something happened before the white room? It sounded like he had disobeyed…disobeyed what? Was he implying that Gray Son had deserved to be in that awful blinding room?

For a second, he tried to focus on the white room and anything that came before it.

"Gray do you remember what you did to end up inside that cell?" the nice man asked.

Gray shook his head hesitantly after a few moments. Had he done something bad? It would make sense because no one good deserved to be in that room. The man looked to the older man but the older man was watching Gray Son with a thoughtful expression.

"He's de-compartmentalizing," a voice said from behind.

They looked to the young man who was cleaning up some papers and hand tools. He looked up to see he had everyone's attention and repeated himself.

"He did this last time as well. We think this go-to method his brain seems to prefer is why he had memory issues after his escape-ah I mean escapade" Gray Son looked back to the nice man near him but his expression seemed to smooth out.

The older man frowned, "why wasn't I informed of this?"

"You were sir" the man in scrubs replied. "Dr. Hask put this in last week's behavioral report"

The older man sighed, "I've been backed up for so long now I haven't gotten to those for 3 weeks" he said to himself.

"He's doing this to himself?" the older man clarified after a moment, "Don't tell me this a repeat of his pathetic breakdown over killing"

"No, although the panic attack he had years ago did bring him awfully close to a seizure and possible coma, sir. It's not to be taken lightly. But otherwise, the answer is yes, but not on purpose", the man in scrubs replied, "When people are under extreme stress they tend to compartmentalize and store the memories and behaviors they think will help them endure whatever is instigating the stress and this can lead to short term memory issues later on. Think of it like flight or fl-" "Do not think me daft, boy. I know what you are referring to"

The man in scrubs nodded, "My apologies sir. While the normative would be compartmentalizing, his mind is overreacting and causing him to do the opposite. Instead of storing memories in groups per their significance, he is smothering it all, save for his baser instincts. This is what most likely led to his long-term memory issues and recall abilities while with the Batman. I can ask Dr. Hask to include a more detailed explanation but we aren't sure why he is not responding normatively"

The Batman? He cocked his head. Why did that sound so familiar?

The nice man seemed to see some spark of curiosity cross his face because he called the man's attention back by clearing his throat, "Grandmaster" he said and motioned down.

The man looked back and frowned at something he saw in Gray Son's eyes.

"I want all reports read to me first thing each week" he barked sharply to the man in scrubs, "I don't want any more surprises to stall his progression"

Without waiting for confirmation he turned to the other man, "Lincoln see to it that he is contained with a drip and asleep before he is left alone. Lock the door as well" he ordered in a calmer tone.

With one last look at Gray Son, the older man exited the room. .

Once it was just the 2 of them, he looked back to the other man, "You're so much nicer"

The man started before his features relaxed and he huffed out a quiet chuckle, "I won't disagree with you there. Unfortunately, nice doesn't get you most places in life"

He frowned up at him as he felt his arm being repositioned out. Without warning there was a small pinch and he hissed. The man tapped his inner arm lightly, "All done" he said casually.

"I don't like him," he said again as he gazed around the grey room. He didn't catch the surprised look the man sent his way.

"You always were a softer heart that Grandmaster had been hoping for" he responded, "Aggressive but not violent enough. Dark but not vengeful" he murmured too low for anyone else to hear, "He underestimated your adaptability and endurability though"

Gray Son hummed back as he continued to look around the room more now that his eyes were bothering him less.

"Grandmaster once told you that if he could, he would go back in time and bestow your fate onto the other boy….Todd"

He felt a sliver of interest pique at that and turned back to the man leaning over him.

He smirked down at him, "You broke your cell door, killed 18 men, and broke Grandmaster's arm. He never said anything else about your lesser nature again"

Somethin akin to pride shown in the eyes staring back at him but he found it difficult to connect the pleased emotion with the description of crude violence.

He stared back curiously before a sudden thought came to him and blurted it out before he could control his mouth, "logs"

The man seemed floored before he smothered the expression. There was still a twinkle of something in his brown eyes. Fondness?

"I can't say what you're going through is easy Gray but it's nice to have you coming back…at least a little" He leaned on the bed that he was strapped down to, "You called me Lincoln Logs, like that game. It pisses Grandmaster off."

Gray? Yes, Gray that must be his nickname, smiled back slightly at Lincoln Logs.

"Let's leave Lincoln Logs"

A small smile graced Lincoln's face but it was overshadowed by something. "Once you complete your training, we can go anywhere you like outside of missions. Before you esc-left, we had plans to go to the Empire State Building at night. You said it had to be a clear day so that the top wasn't covered in clouds that night"

"Ok, then let's go!" Gray started to push himself up onto his elbows.

"Ha! Woah, woah. Slow down. We aren't going anywhere until you're done with your training"

"I wanna leave, Lincoln. I'm not happy" Gray whined as flopped back down.

Lincoln stared down at him for a minute..., "I know"

He looked at the door for a second before reaching behind Gray to grab something off a metal tray.

"Listen," Lincoln said. Gray looked up into his eyes. They were calmer now, more sure of something that Gray wasn't clued into. "We aren't always dealt enjoyable cards in life but you've been put down a path that will be easiest to stay on than to leave. Once things have settled and you are doing better here, we can see about field trips and better rooms, okay?"

Gray was about to respond when he hissed and jerked down to look at his extended arm. Above his inserted IV drip, Lincoln was retracting a small syringe. Almost instantly, a wave of fatigue washed over Gray and his eyelids felt like they weighed 40 pounds. He moaned as the restless helpless feelings returned right before the world started to shift and tilt around him again.

He tried to focus on the ceiling as he heard Lincoln Logs doing something with clinking metal, "I'll be back after your nap and we can talk more"

"Mmmmmmmmnooooo" His eyes fluttered helplessly before he lost the fight. It felt like invisible hands were pulling his eyelids shut and using his eyelashes for leverage.

"It's alright" a warm hand brushed through his hair. Behind his closed eyes, he imagined a tall dark-haired man running his hand through his hair, 'It's alright, Chum'. He smelled like freshly waxed leather and cold coffee.

"Mmmmmmmmmmbrrrc"

"Adjust your shoulder and try again" Grandmas-Cobb ordered.

Gray lowered his gun slightly as he let Lincoln adjust his shoulder down and out of his hunch. He glanced back at his target. The National Rifle Association of America had deemed competitive shooting to take place from 25-50 yards away; so Cobb had placed his target 51 yards away.

They'd been going at this for a while now. The first day, Gray had resisted. Something about guns, much less firing them threw his stomach into the floor. He felt nauseous and light-headed; like he had just broken a sacred law or a best friend's trust.

Gran-Cobb hadn't been pleased but Gray had acquiesced halfway back to his punishment. He had cried out that he would pick up the gun the moment he had seen that familiar steel door. He knew the white room was most likely behind that door and Gray dreaded that room. The utter aloneness that absorbed his soul and filled his head with vacancy and despair. It was too easy to get riled up and feel all sorts of consuming emotions like terror and rage, only to end up on the floor feeling more empty than he thought possible. In books where the fantasy character gets their soul sucked out or consumed by a demon, Gray assumed this feeling is what the author was trying to get at.

They spent the first few days learning to hold the gun, to pick it up so seamlessly it was second nature to picking up a pencil and flipping it into his palm for the proper positioning; sharp and clinical. After that, there was gun education. Gray hadn't been allowed to sleep or eat until he was able to take apart the gun and put it back together in under 4 minutes. The same practice was used for cleaning and gun care as well. It had been going somewhat smoothly until Cobb had ordered Lincoln to bring out the targets. He had no idea what happened or why, but he'd lost it. No way was he going to shoot people-shaped targets though. That defiance had barely lasted a day.

Gray couldn't shake the shame from his shoulders. He felt like he was disappointing everyone by giving in so easily. Was he mad at himself for not holding out longer? Why did he need to hold out longer? He was pretty sure he hated guns….Maybe he just hated being ordered around.

After the first day of shooting, Lincoln had begun to correct his aim. He made remarks that made Gray think he used to be good with a gun, but Gray couldn't remember well enough. He trusted Lincoln though. When Gray angered Grandmaster, he ordered Lincoln to put tomato cans in front of the targets. That had been a rough day.

Gray did his best to smother his irritation and let Lincoln reposition his dominant arm. He had been practicing with each arm as his primary every other day but he still preferred his right. When Lincoln was done he took a step to the side and nodded in his periphery. Gray refocused on the target before him. His last couple of shots had hit the sternum and heart almost dead on, and Grandmaster was getting frustrated over his lack of headshots.

Something told him that training was still due to get harder. When he slept he saw flashes of dreams or memories of men with black and white hair. Sometimes those mean boys came back but they were mean to each other and nice to him. Once they started target practice, he'd had a dream where he remembered a time when Lincoln had practiced instinctive firing with him. It was one of the hardest methods to nail down but if done correctly, was the most effective and efficient way to fire. It ensured that every shot and aim was as clinical and precise as possible. The following day he had found it easier to take a deep breath and relax his shoulders and neck. He lifted his aim and let his blurred memories and instincts take over. "There we go!" Lincoln slapped him across the back.

It was while he was dreaming that he remembered Grandmaster's name was actually William Cobb. He'd rather just call him Cobb. He hated using titles, like Talon. He wasn't sure if it was the way his grandfather spoke and ordered him around but he despised the standard protocol that dictated he call him Grandmaster. He hated it but also hated why he couldn't justify his despise for the term of respect. Lincoln did it without an issue. Cobb called him Talon but Lincoln called him Gray. Most days were long and tiring but worth it because work, training, and being beat up and yelled at kept his mind focused on the task at hand. It was the moments before he was allowed to sleep that made him stressed and antsy. He remembered names and faces before sleep, and they usually followed him into his dreams where he couldn't escape his own mind. A small boy with skunk hair and a raging attitude. A skinny boy who struggled to speak up.

Gray knew he'd met the Batman. He knew Cobb hated the Batman. He just wasn't sure how he knew these things. Why he had vague recollections of moments and meetings and feelings. His life was here, his destiny and his future; all here with the Court. Lincoln had reassured him things would get better. The more he spoke with him, the more he remembered before. All the training and pain. All the very few good times. Most of them were with Lincoln, sneaking candy back from assignments or going head to head with the only other person who could take his full brute strength on and stand back up 5 minutes later.

"Don't play games, Gray Son. Aim for vitals. Now" Grandmaster ordered behind him.

He tried to hide the way he stiffened at that tone. He raised the handgun again for the figure's heel and calf, "A vital spot you haven't hit yet" Cobb drawled before he could pull the trigger.

Gray clenched his teeth as he glared at the targets in front of him. He felt Lincoln's eyes on his from his right side and raised his arms into position. He released a breath, pulled the trigger all within the same 2 seconds, and watched as his bullet hit dead in the groin.

Lincoln sighed before his hand flashed out and scruffed him by the back of his neck. Gray jerked and tried to move away but Lincoln made sure to grab a fistful of the hair at his nape and jerked his head up. He frog marched Gray over to stand before Grandmaster near the door. The older man had his arms crossed sternly as he glowered down his nose.

Gray glared before anyone could say anything, "I haven't hit that spot yet!" he snapped.

"That is not a vital region, Talon. I'd wager you knew what area I expected you to aim for" Cobb replied.

"As a guy, I'd argue that's definitely vital"

Cobb sighed and rolled his eyes as if Gray was a petulant child. He looked past Gray to Lincoln behind his shoulder.

"Take him to room H"

"Are you sure? I thought-"

"I told him the first day here, things would be different. I will not be soft on him, that will do no one any favors"

Lincoln nodded after a moment and shifted his grip to Gray's upper arm and shouldered him out of the room and down the hall

"What's room H?" Gray asked as they passed the monotonous-looking doors. Every hallway still looked the same.

"You'll see" Lincoln sighed.

"What's in there? Helium?" Gray snarked.

He wasn't too far off as H stood for H2o.

Gray gasped as his head was yanked up by his tender scalp. His eyes and throat were burning and he gasped and gulped for air furiously. He started to cough up water when his head was shoved back down. He'd been given a mild shot of that freezing formula again so he couldn't even strain against the grip holding him down by the back of his neck. he felt weakened but buzzed from the rush of fear and adrenaline. His skin burned in a prickly fashion and he wasn't sure if it was from that injection or the frigid water that was drowning him little by little. He tried to hold his breath and shove up against the gloved hand on his neck. His hair was sopping and his shirt was plastered to his body. Chills wracked him and he swore that the water had been iced beforehand because no water was just this frigid on its own.

He clenched his eyes but that only intensified the burning of his retinas and nasal passageways. Suddenly he was yanked back and the absence of the bitingly cold water made his skin feel like his face was overheating. He gasped as wide as he could but that threw him into another coughing fit. He gripped the edges of the metal tub in a white-knuckled hold and did his best to take fast breaths so that he wasn't gulping down air when he was shoved down again. His head hung low, past his shoulders and he sputtered in fresh air.

"How are you feeling, Gray Son?" Grandmaster cooed above him. Lincoln held him down and there were 2 other servants of the Court stationed in the room in case Gray Son managed to escape his initial hold.

They'd chained down his ankles to minimize escape attempts after that first mishap. Gray couldn't speak around his hacking and spitting. He frantically shook his head, spraying water from his soused dark locks. His head hurt and his nose and eyes burned. His lungs felt like they'd been crushed in a meta's grip and weren't able to expand properly. If he were anyone else, he'd panic over not being able to take in enough air each breath, but he knew to focus on other parts of his body to avoid hyper-focusing on something that might cause him to spiral. That must have been his previous training with the Court because he was certain a normal civilian could not prioritize calming techniques during a semi-panic attack. After a while, he managed to get his breathing under control and now the only sounds were from sloshing water and his ragged panting.

"Have we learned our lesson, my boy? Nothing has to hurt anymore. This is all because you refuse to listen to your betters. You are not a simpleton and I refusw to break you past the point of your mental faculties failing you. The Court does not need a mindless minion, we require a strong capable individual who can uphold the Court's goals and values" Grandmaster had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, baring his thick strong forearms, "Lincoln can, and as his successor, and my grandson, I know you have the potential to do so as well"

Halfway through his speech, Gray began nodding rapidly. He hated the flutter of pleasant bashfulness that swelled at hearing of how much faith Grandmaster had in his potential. It was still slightly hard to focus on his surroundings outside of the pounding in his head but it was even harder to ignore Grandmaster's commanding voice. When he spoke every room they were in seemed to echo with severity.

"Words, my boy. You are not a child"

"Yes. Yes, mmhm" Dick said quickly. His voice was raw and it hurt to speak but as long as he wasn't underwater, anything was manageable. The terror at not being able to see or know when he would be let up was agonizing and tumultuous. It not only made his punishment hurt, but it frightened him.

No one spoke for a few minutes and Gray couldn't see anything past his stinging blurry eyes. He didn't dare try to turn around to see Grandmaster either.

After a few minutes, Gray felt himself start to relax and his shoulders and abdomen muscles trembled from the sudden release after so long in a tensed position. His form was still trembling with aftershocks and from the cold but it had been long enough to where maybe his punishment for his sass was over.

"Again" broke the calm.

Gray's heart jumped into his throat as he choked on wet air, and he made the mistake of inhaling in surprise. Just before he was shoved back down into the freezing tub.