Jason watched Dick's chest slowly rise and fall. They'd been back and trying to settle in for almost a whole day now and the cave had adopted a strange atmosphere; a combination of obsessive and forcefully relaxed. Alfred was constantly checking on someone and refilling drinks and snack platters around the cave, fretting about as the only person capable of multitasking. Tim and Bruce were back on their strict coffee and blue-screen diets, and Damian spent half his time accidentally asleep somewhere in the manor and fretting over Dick or his mother's absence. Alfred had wrangled Jason into a boot for his leg, the old man had threatened to take him to Dr. Leslie's clinic and get a factual diagnosis if Jason didn't accept the splint and bed rest.
He'd taken to helping Bruce and Tim research the mounds of paperwork they'd stolen from Lydia Ryand's office and looking after Dick. There were so many loose ends that everyone seemed content to ignore for now. William Cobb and Lydia Ryland were still MIA, The Court of Owls' base hadn't been raided or purged yet, Talia had never returned like she promised she would, and Dick had yet to awaken. He was currently dressed in an old pair of sweats and a hoodie, along with colorful socks per Damian's demand. Alfred and Damian had given him a sponge bath and laid him out on the more secure med. gurney while everyone finally got a chance to take a shower, eat real food, and relax.
That lasted all but an hour before the Bat's parenting techniques kicked in and everyone found themselves overworking or being peer pressured to recover from injuries.
Jason didn't like the haircut the Court had left on Dick. When they first found him squatting in his old place in Bludhaven he had a similar haircut, albeit slightly more grown out. Cobb had quickly had his hair shaved back again to reveal his godawful tattoo. Dick's hair was always strangely dark, contrasting with his vibrant blue eyes. It was the kind of complexion you would see in someone Middle Eastern or South American, but then his eyes threw off anyone's guess as to his ethnicity. Jason wondered if the fetal experimentations that were done on Dick and his mother were responsible for his strange eye color. The pictures he'd seen of John and Mary Grayson didn't strictly reflect Dick's features. John had lighter hair with greenish blue eyes and Mary had Dick's starkly dark hair with soft brown eyes.
He fell out of his stupor and examined his big brother's still form again. The haircut was too sharp for Jason's liking, it brought out his cheekbones and jawline too severely. Everyone in their family had very little body fat due to their lifestyles but Dick's haircut added a certain level of sharpness that demanded others be wary of him. It didn't scream hello or happy, it was almost an antonym of what Dick Grayson was.
Behind where Jason was perched, Bruce and Tim sat side by side, their faces illuminated with high-quality HDR monitors. Bruce was both pleased and aggravated over what they were able to take from the office. Some of Talia's men assisted as well before disappearing into the night. Bruce had wanted to track them back to Talia but they'd had very few members who weren't injured enough to go after them.
More than half was paperwork consisting of Ryland Transactions's business accounts and contracts between other equity firms, contracting companies, and manufacturers like Wayne Ent. and LexCorp. Bruce was having Tim categorize and scan everything into the system before separating it based on relation. Bruce was hoping to find a clear legal connection between Willian Cobb and Lydia Ryland so he could find a connection between Luthor and Lydia and publicize it. This would force Luthor to either stop his plans or move them forward sooner, letting the vigilante community act on them faster.
No one was eager to be the first to comment on what to do about Dick. It was clear he was mentally unstable as he'd attacked Roy and Bruce but listened to Damian. Jason knew it was fucked up but he hoped they would just have to rehabilitate him away from his conditioned Talon behavior like they did a year ago. He wasn't sure what the Court did to Dick in the few months they had him but he looked too much like he did when he robbed Star Labs. He was overly defined for the gymnast that Dick truly was, he didn't react to any of them in a familiar way, and even called Cobb Grandmaster; and titles of respect. The best case scenario would see Leslie and Canary back for therapy but Jason was worried over Dick's lack of consciousness. Bruce, like always, was all too eager to ignore Dick's internal needs for now and hadn't broached the possibilities of what they might face when Dick woke up.
Jason knew he had to give his leg and body a little more time to recuperate so that when he went back out he wasn't burning the candle at both ends, but he was itching to get out there and start tying up all their loose ends. Jason wanted to find out what happened to Talia and he wanted to go back to the Court's base to make sure they were gone or buried beneath Gotham's sewer rubble. Tension inflated his neck and shoulders as he imagined the Court gathering their faculties and resources, already planning ways to kill them and take Dick back.
Jason scowled at Dick as his thoughts spiraled darker and darker. He hated feeling so useless, especially when he couldn't help someone like Dick. He hated that Mr. Sunshine was always the center of attention, just like the fucking sun. Everyone thought of him, and remembered his birthdays, and asked him for help and advice. Everything was always about him, even crazy assassin cults wanted him. Talia had barely bothered to stick around Jason's training with the League of Shadows past a few months; Bruce's obvious disappointment was a whole other story.
Jason came back to himself with a startle as Damian suddenly spoke next to him, "Alfred has refilled drinks" he announced. Jason glanced over his shoulder where more coffee, water, energy drinks, and snacks sat on the main desk closer to the monitors.
Damian didn't look at Jason when he spoke, "Don't look at him like that"
Jason blinked at Damian, "Like what?" He demanded harshly.
Damian crossed his arms and watched Dick just as intently as Jason had, "LIke this is his fault"
Jason opened his mouth to retort but stopped when the kid's words really registered, "I know it's not his fault" Jason replied glumly.
"Do you?"
Jason glared, "What's that supposed to mean, brat? We were all there, Dick didn't shoot us and drag us to the Court himself"
"It's Richard's family connection that led to us being kidnapped and held captive, it's Richard's family that turned him into a talon, it's Richard's family that wants to take him from us"
"And?" Jason huffed, "You think I'm dumb enough to blame that all on Dick?"
"I see the way everyone has looked at him" Damian muttered crossly, "Like it's his fault but Richard is too nice to acknowledge this"
"Listen kid, Goldenboy isn't perfect but-"
"He is though!" Damian snapped, "He never held a grudge against you when you stole his mother's name and hero title, he never got mad that father allows you double standards when attacking criminals, he's never spiteful towards father's leniency with Drake-"
"Geesh, I get it kid. What about your little demon stint and trying to kill all of us huh? You sure were a little shit" Jason snorted, "Well, an even worse shit"
Damian glared down at Dick but Jason knew it was directed at him, "Richard could be mean. Very, very mean- and none of us acknowledge this"
Jason furrowed his brow, "Wh-?"
"Mother told me that Richard will never be the same and that if he seems the same, not to trust him"
Jason wasn't sure how to respond, "She told you this before? Back at the warehouse in east?"
Damian nodded. His chin wobbled but his eyes stayed dry.
Jason ran a calloused hand through his hair and heaved a heavy sigh, "Listen, kid. Dick will never be the same in the way that you and I will never be the same. Trauma and growing up and all that crap. This isn't gonna break Dick, He survived 5 years with them. This is really gonna suck and he might be depressed n' shit but there is no way he's gonna be totally different after like 4 months"
Damian gnawed on his lip and Jason could see that Damian was unconvinced. The kid was unfortunately right to be doubtful but Jason did not want to delve deeper into that. Dickcouldbe a lot more mean, to say the least. He could be spiteful and frustrated and despise all his brothers. Dick laid the groundwork with Bruce but Tim benefitted from a more social and understanding Bruce, Dick never held any of Damian's aggressive and lethal behavior and words against him, and Dick never held Robin against Jason. He could have hated the younger boy for stealing his adoptive father and title but he just took a deep breath and shook Jason's hand, insisting on training him with Bruce. Hell, the guy even went after his murderer when no one else would. Jason knew he owed Dick a lot, which was another reason on Jason's 'I hate Dick' list. Jason opened his mouth and try something slightly more sentimental when Dick shifted, snapping their attention to him in an instant.
"Father!" Damian cried. Within a few moments, all brothers and Bruce had surrounded Dick.
Dick grunted and huffed a weak breath as he shifted, his hand, which had been laid over his chest, fell limply to the side. Bruce observed him for a few moments before typing something onto the digital screen pad beside the gurney. Jason watched as Bruce reviewed Dick's biometrics scan and heart rate, "He's not up yet. False alarm" Bruce intoned before taking a seat before the computer again.
Damian grumbled and glared at Dick like he was holding Dick accountable for the false alarm, but nothing else.
"You just haaaaad to freak out" Jason snarked.
Damian gaped unfairly up at Jason, "I-he, it looked like he was waking up!"
Jason smirked and heaved himself up off his chair, stretching exaggeratedly, "Give him time, demon spawn" he replied before walking over to the assorted snacks and drinks. The moment his back was turned, Jason felt his smirk drop from his face like the expression actually weighed something. He resisted the urge to sigh like he wanted to, but he knew the demon brat was watching him and didn't want to expose how much strain he was actually feeling.
He had already fretted over Damian's concerns 10 times over. He was worried about what they'd find when Dick woke up and what thoughts the Court had put into his brother's head.
Had the Court brainwashed Dick or had they really turned him against his family with sharp, sweet words?
Bruce wasn't acknowledging what their next steps for Dick should be and wasn't planning how to raid the Court's old base yet. It was like Bruce was fearful and stalling, hiding behind his lame research on Lydia Ryland. They might be free but they weren't in the clear yet. Jason's heart felt heavy and his head felt cloudy with uncertainty and anxiety.
Tim wasn't taking the opportunity to heal and rest, throwing himself into Bruce's research in an effort to prove he could keep up with the Bat, and Damian was crumbling apart 5 feet from everyone.
He picked up a slice of pepperoni from a meat and cheese board, reflecting on how weird it was for filthy vigilantes to be eating high-quality charcuterie boards and 20-dollar smoothies in a cave, under a 2.3-million-dollar house.
Bruce knew his fingers were typing and he knew he was staring at the bright 1440p hertz screen, but he also knew that he wasn't decimating anything of value. Tim sat beside him, diligently helping him to categorize and digitize everything they'd taken from Lydia Ryland's office.
Bruce's thoughts were dark and only getting darker. He couldn't stop replaying what had happened in his mind. The way Dick had spoken to Damian and attacked Roy and Jason. Dick's eyes had been bright and fluorescent, shining as if a flashlight was shining through his irises, but the most startling thing was the dedicated wrath that had been splayed across his son's face. Even when the 4 of them had confronted an amnesiac Dick more than a year ago he hadn't ever attacked them like his life depended on it. Dick had been skilled and avoidant but never wholly intent with deadly motivation. The only time he'd ever even come close to hurting his brothers was when Jason and Tim had triggered a protective behavior from him when he was still struggling to relearn himself from his conditioned behavior.
Looking back, Bruce now worried that Dick had been given too much leeway too early on. He loved his son dearly but even he could admit that a year of recovery was too little time to adjust back into life after 5 years of torture, conditioning, and captivity, especially for the double life of a playboy and vigilante like they led.
Dick was still pronounced dead but 10, even 20 years down the line they would have to either create a new identity for him or announce that he was alive after all? Could Dick ever fit back into the mold of Dickie Grayson?
Bruce wasn't blind to the life Dick led beforehand. He wasn't as crude as Jason could be for the Paparazzi but he played the role of a playboy's son quite well for a boy who grew up 200% below the poverty line in a circus. Bruce had found it difficult raising Dick as he was his first experience for almost everything, but also incredibly rewarding. He'd almost stormed down to Gotham Gazzet's corporate office when he saw the scandalous and sexualized magazines that were being printed about his ward and his clothing choice for the week. The salacious excerpts and images that the paparazzi or his classmates would post of him started at just 14, coupled with a lack of respect for his privacy when out at school or with friends led Bruce to embrace his overprotective mentality and behavior towards his oldest boy.
Dick embraced the persona well and flashed smile after smile at the public, brushing off any rude blunt questions about his dating life or work out routine, or even his virginity.
Bruce could remember the last print about Dick like it was yesterday. It came out 2 weeks before his death and insinuated that Dick and Bruce were seeing the same woman. Too old for Dick and too young for Bruce Wayne.
He took a breath and tried to refocus on the task at hand.
He had to make progress somewhere and since he could attack the Court's base without Clark or help Dick heal until he work up, he was left to scrutinize every legal and contractual document with Lex Luthor's name on it. Bruce was certain that Luthor, the Light, and Lydia Ryland were all connected thanks to William Cobb. Bruce did not like to imagine what this would mean if Dick and his fetal genetic experiments truly put him in the middle of all these large players. Dick's life would not be easy moving forward, his new abilities aside.
Bruce flexed his stiff fingers and tried to type more smoothly, noting that his 3rd oldest son was ultra-focused on the task at hand. Bruce couldn't contain his building worry, the desire to fret over how Dick should be treated moving forward trying to take president. Part of Bruce couldn't help but acknowledge how much of a weapon Dick is and was born to be, the side of him that would always belong to the Dark Knight had trouble looking at Nightwing the same way because of his potential to be dangerous. That small .00001% chance that Dick would snap or not be able to control himself at some point.
Bruce knew he'd never hurt or act against Dick, he loved his son more than anything but his internal consciousness was at war on how to proceed. His son was hurting, but his son was a potential danger to almost everything now. Bruce knew that he'd have no luck locking Dick inside the manor until he felt safe enough to let Dick roam free at this point. Alfred and the boys would never allow it again but Bruce was still amazed that there were so few mishaps with how much freedom Dick had in the last year. Dick had respected Bruce's demands and limiting boundaries, but every few weeks he'd begun to push and ask for more, reassuring Bruce that all was fine and that he could be trusted. Bruce had given in to almost every single demand for more freedom because how could he look his traumatized son in the face and tell him that Batman didn't trust his first Robin?
Because it was true, Bruce Wayne did but Batman was hesitant…and Batman would always be his voice of reason.
The notion that his son wasn't who he thought he was rocked Bruce to his core. Dick wasn't at fault for what was coming to light more and more about his past. No could could rightfully blame a baby for the actions of those around them. But the image and future that Bruce had imagined for Dick was crumbling quicker and quicker. Every time Bruce imagined who Dick might've grown to be without him, he found himself bothered and queasy. He could picture it too well. Dick's eyes smoothed of smile lines and his lips set in a permanent sneer. His eyes were more gold than blue and his voice rough from disuse. If Bruce had never raised Dick he could've had more kills under his hand than Jason did by now.
Maybe Bruce was overreacting and Dick had recovered an appropriate amount. Maybe everything would be fine and his son would heal and never have to face such a travesty again-never be reminded that his parents were involved in dangerous risky biomedical operations and never have to face a crazed grandfather again. Maybe. _
"So…" Tim said unexpectedly. They were seated around the island kitchen inside the manor, eating dinner. After 2 whole days of nothing but electronics and finger foods, Alfred had overridden Bruce, forcing them all upstairs for hot showers and a real dinner.
"I will shut off power to the entire property, Master Bruce"
Everyone was still antsy and couldn't just sit down to eat calmly so they found themselves all standing around the kitchen island, nibbling on alfredo pasta and lobster bisk. Barbara had joined back up with them at the Manor as well, after helping Walley, Artemis, Roy, and Zatanna back to Happy Harbor. No one looked at Tim but some did pause in their eating, "We can't do anything about Dick until he wakes up… obviously, but what are we doing about the Court of Owls' base?"
Bruce placed down his fork to look at Tim, "Nothing yet-"
Damian objected loudly right away, but Bruce held up his hand, "Nothing yet," he continued, "But I am waiting for Clark to return before we attack and raid the base" Bruce pushed his plate away as he continued, "Diana is back and the Young Justice team is no longer overwhelmed as additional field support but I want Clark to assist in the raid. He can hold his breath longest and fly anyone out if something goes wrong with our breathing equipment"
"You're having Lucious make more?" Jason asked, his gaze elsewhere.
Bruce nodded, "He's producing more for me right now; they should be done in 3 days. As far as we know the Court has abandoned their base, and I want to make sure it is dismantled at the bare minimum. The best case scenario will end with us recovering resources or evidence against the Court as well"
"We don't know if it's actually abandoned though" Barbara clarified uncertainly.
Bruce nodded, "Which is why we are going in with meta support and I'm allowing non-human League members into Gotham. Cobb alluded that he and his talons were leaving and gathering elsewhere but I haven't been able to find tracks so it's not confirmed, and I will not have us charging back in less than a week after we've escaped"
"Shouldn't we be helping Superman and the others wrap up their issues to speed things along?" Barbara asked.
Bruce shook his head, "Martian Manhunter and Superman are already on their way back to Earth"
The conflicts the Justice League was facing seemed to end or resolve just as we departed from the Court"
"Like I said," Tim said to Baraba, "Too convenient"
Baraba nodded; understanding the supposed setup. They all nodded numbly and fell into silence as Alfred tidied up around them, "What about my mother?" Damian asked.
Bruce nodded, already expecting the topic, "Since Mickel and his surviving men left at the tower, it is safe to assume that Talia either gave them orders ahead of time that we weren't privy to or she called them back to her privately"
"She said she would return for her men" Damian reminded his father.
Bruce nodded, "I know but Talia is one of our last priorities right now"
"Richard should be our first," Damian said to the tabletop.
Bruce looked at his youngest, "Dick is the main priority but until he wakes up, he is not our first-"
"How can you say that?!" Damian exclaimed.
Bruce frowned, "I'm not trying to be insensitive, Damian, just truthful. What can we do for Dick until he wakes up? We don't know anything at the moment and he needs the rest, we don't know what he went through"
"Exactly! We don't. So we need to call Dr. Leslie and have her come help or examine Richard"
"What can she do, Damian? I've informed her of what's happening and she and Canary are currently swamped with the injuries that Kidflash, Zantanna, Artemis, and RedArrow returned with. Besides, we've seen how quickly Dick's injuries have begun to close up"
"She can help!"
Barbara placed a soft hand on Damian's clenched fist, "Damian, besides reading the bio scans and reviewing DIck's chart, what can Leslie actually do besides sit here with us? There isn't any surgery he needs or blood to be staunched"
Her gaze was too soft for Damian, he wanted to fight and argue until his chest didn't feel like it was going to squeeze his heart to death, "She will be here the moment Dick wakes up and will be able to see what hurts and how he's doing….mentally"
Damian pulled his arm away but nodded after a moment of hesitation. Bruce watched his children around the table. He wanted to be able to let them sleep in until 1 pm every day but even after escaping, there was so much to be done. His oldest son wasn't completely safe yet either.
He clenched his fists at how obvious the bags under Tim and Damian's eyes were; Jason still walked with a slight limp despite the endurability the pit gave him. The Court would pay, his sons should never have to suffer like this, he vowed.
He wasn't quite sure of most things as he floated in the simple peacefulness of his barely-there-consciousness. His mind felt foggy and filled with cotton, and every now and then he would become aware of how thick and heavy his tongue felt when he tried to swallow. He felt like the world was right but every time he tried to lift his eyelids he would get the sense that the world was titling like when given like a twirling rollercoaster.
He….wasn't sure how he knew that analogy so well.
His eyelids wouldn't cooperate and he found himself scrunching his face to force them open, to force anything. He managed a sound of protestation from within but it sounded more like a very grumpy vibration in his throat than anything. His throat was sore and dry but nothing happened. He tried again, hoping someone would hear him and offer help. The more he couldn't see or feel anything, the more he started to wonder if he was in peril and should be panicking. The thought snowballed and he found his chest beating harder and faster. He moaned again, louder this time but it trailed off into a keening sound as panic started to take hold and he felt like he had less breath stored in his lungs. Suddenly a voice shushed him, causing him to startle, "Now now, none of that. Panic attacks were trained out of you before I even found you" A rich timber voice purred.
Something in the voice drew him closer and seemed to motivate his body to move when it wouldn't even obey him. With more gruntling and struggling, he finally managed to crack his eyes open; cringing at the feel of gunk and sleep around his lids. There was bright light all around him but in the center, shielding him from the harshest beam was a tall hulking figure of mass and muscle. The figure was dark, shadowing himself in front of a bright overhead light but there wasn't a flat plane of skin to his shoulders and sides. It looked like he had short, slicked-back hair and strong sharp facial features. His shoulders were broad and the outline of his clothes bulged with the prowess that was clothed beneath them. The distortion of light made his eyes hurt, and water, keeping him from focusing on the actual features of the bulky shadow hovering over him. A whine crawled from his throat at his inability to see or communicate any of his racing thoughts. The man responded in kind, running a warm hand through his hair and down to the sides of his nape, "It's all right kid, I know you feel like shit" The voice huffed humorously at something he couldn't see, "You sure have been put through the ringer, eh?"
Curiosity climbed its way to the forefront of his mind and he found himself shoving his arms under him. His triceps trembled with the effort to fight whatever fogginess was weighing down every inch of him. The figure above him immediately tsked and halted his sit-up, pressing minimally down onto his shoulders until he was flat on his back again.
"You need your rest, pretty bird"
Something about that name triggered something inside. As if he was reminded of something horribly important that he'd forgotten but couldn't actually remember. He pursed his lips but couldn't find the right words to ask who the man was or what was going on. He squinted again and lamely rubbed his eyes, almost poking his own eye out with lethargic and inaccurate fingers. The voice above him chuckled in a deep baritone voice but didn't say anything for a was so funny?He almost drifted off to sleep again when the man spoke softly, "They won't accept you now, can't understand what you are"
He gave up trying to see clearly but his face must have portrayed his confusion and frustration because the man explained in the most unhelpful way ever, "They're not here for you, you're here for them. You need to wake up kid, before you're 20 years down the line and realize you've done nothing with your life"
There was a rustling of fabric all around him before the deep voice continued, "I'll always be here for you, kid. Especially when you don't want it"
Something about the absolute assurance made him relax, his back muscles melting like warm jello. This person would always be here for him. This person wanted to support him. A larger hand reached for his and turned it palm up, "Remember kid, you don't belong here. Never have. A genuine support system isn't inconsistent" A folded, rumpled piece of paper was placed into his palm and he struggled to grip it with his slack muscles.
The larger hands must have understood his struggle because the larger hand folded his fingers over the paper and turned his hand back down so he was cupping the paper to the bed. The sheets beneath him shifted and he felt the figure's body heat grow warmer and closer as the man leaned over him, "I'll be back, pretty bird"
Warm air ruffled the short strands of his hair and bare scalp before he found himself drifting once again, "Slllldd…"
Fogginess and a slurry of nauseousness overwhelmed his senses. He tried blinking away the feeling by rubbing his eyes and face aggressively but that only cleared his vision, making him aware of the bright white light above him. For a few seconds, his heart seemed to stutter and the pounding of blood and panic filled his ears. He shoved himself into a sitting position and took notice of the stark darkness to his right. He forced a painful breath into his uncooperative lungs and tried to take in his surroundings. Little by little his pulse calmed and the heartbeat in his ears rescinded to just his chest as he realized that there was only 1 light above him and that he was not in the all-white room. There was no padding surrounding him and there was an obvious exit before him.
With a trembling hand, he raked a hand through his hair, wiping away his cold sweat of panic as best he could.
He was on a metal bench with a surprisingly thick twin mattress. All around him, save for one side, were strange dark white walls and a clear ceiling above his head. Before him was a clear wall that looked like plexiglass. Beyond that seemed endless darkness.
He pushed himself to his feet and made his way to the clear glass. The balls of his feet felt unsteady but his thighs seemed to solidify with each step. He leaned heavily on the clear plastic wall and felt around the edges. His brow furrowed at the connectivity between the walls. There were no screws or locks or hinges, nothing to imply that he was in a room that could be opened. It was almost as if someone had welded the walls together after placing him inside. He wrapped his knuckles against the door, determining that it wasn't flimsy enough to easily break with one hit. He spanned his palms against the door and pressed his forehead against it, peering at as best he could. His eyes quickly adjusted and he saw dim monitors across the way from him. They looked like they were on but had gone into sleep mode from inactive use, and before them, 3 chairs sat empty.
All the lights in this area were dimmed or off except his cell and it made making out other darker shapes harder as the contrast made him squint harder than he was used to. He wasn't sure where he was and didn't want to call out or speak out of turn. Was this a test? He looked up, mildly considering if he could break the roof. He turned around to where he'd woken up and spotted a rumpled piece of paper beneath the sturdy cot.
His eyes widened as he recalled recent events with startling clarity.
He whirled around to the darkness before him as his breath began to pick up. He'd been captured by the Batman. He reactively clenched the sides of his head in panic. His thoughts spiraled as he realized how horribly Grandmaster would punish him.
The voice…. Someone had been here? In his cell?
Was it Lincoln? Someone else? They had reassured him he wasn't alone but reminded him that he couldn't stay and still be free. Lincoln was the only option he could propose to himself but he knew the deep voice didn't belong to his brother. He remembered someone much more hulking than Linbcoln's lean stature. He stumbled over to the cot and fell to his knees, ignoring the sharp pang as he collapsed suddenly. He unfurled the paper, keeping in mind not to rip it.
'5878'
He stared at the numbers dumbly and then tried turning it over. Nothing.
His forehead scrunched as he tried to understand the meaning behind 4 numbers
'They won't accept you'
The voice rang in his head over and over again. He gritted his teeth and slapped his palm on the clear wall, watching in satisfaction as it shook slightly from the force. He wanted to see it vibrate, to see it tremble and crumble from the force of just his fist.
He could see the clear wall falling apart and shattering in his head and before he could restrain himself he pulled his fist back and launched himself at the clear wall. It shook and quaked, but never broke. Disbelief speared him as he realized that he'd been defeated, trapped, and was now on display in a clear cage. He clenched his fists and tried again and again, falling into the familiar haze of pent-up aggression and determination that the Court expected of him in training. Grandmaster never liked when he went too far but that bar was very very high and difficult to pass. Most days, he could snap necks and bust arteries all day without so much as an admonishment. The last time he was reprimanded for not restraining himself was when he tore out a younger warrior's throat in combat practice.
Grandmaster sighed and had him shoved underwater for the next 2 hours because fixing the younger talon wasn't certain and would take time and money. He wasn't too sure what this meant as all talons could always come back but he refrained from asking as that always guaranteed an additional punishment. How could a talon not be fixed? They were indestructible, sure they might be out for a few weeks but they always rose-always came back. That's what made it so easy to let loose in combat and sparring practice, the knowledge that he wasn't actually harming anyone. He was merely pushing his limits.
Lincoln told him one time that the only thing keeping someone from becoming god-like was their own self-imposed limitations. He took that to mean it's something that everyone should be working towards every day; lessening and identifying these limitations. He was just lucky he had Grandmaster and Lincoln to help point out his.A shout and footsteps broke him from the building haze creeping over his mind and actions. His punches faltered and he realized that the clear wall before him had a smear of pink splatters. He looked at his fist and realized he'd cracked the skin of his knuckles in 2 separate places, he furrowed his brow,when did that happen?
The voices to his left got louder and louder, and suddenly the lights all around him brightened significantly. He hissed and slammed his eyes shut at the sudden change in brightness. He started to back away from the clear partition before something innate told him that would be a sign of weakness and forced his legs to stop moving.
"Stop!" The cries became louder and younger.
"Fuckin' stop!"
There had to be at least 3 or 4 people now. He tried opening his eyes and squinted as he blinked the tears away furiously. The lights were bright but not as bad as he assumed they would be. Now that he could see the entire area he had a nauseating sense of deja vu sweep through him. It was an enormous cavern, resembling a bat cave. It looked like he was in the back against the far wall. Across from him, on the other side of the cave were monitors and computing equipment, now blinking back to life. Closer to him were sparring mats and shelves of equipment. To his right looked like an enormous garage door and opposite of that were stairs leading to somewhere he couldn't see.
The people in front of him made him frown deeply. A group of young adult and teen boys-brothers had made an appearance. Alongside a man who looked like their father. There was a red-headed girl with them too, but no one was dressed in their uniforms or costumes; instead, they were clothed in jackets and sweats and socks.
He scowled at the implication that he was so easy to capture and contain that they had taken the liberty of changing and relaxing elsewhere.
"Richard! Stop, you will only hurt yourself. This cell can contain metas, remember?"
He gave the boy a strange look at that statement. Why would he know anything about the Bat's safety precautions and prisoner containment policies?
"Dick?" The girl stepped forward. Her dark red hair was piled high in a messy bun atop her head and she was clothed in loose jeans and a hoodie.
"Dick?" She tried again hesitantly.
Grey didn't like that they kept calling him that but now understand it was a title and not an insult.
"He's not going to respond to that" The tallest boy intoned while keeping his bright green gaze on Grey.
Grey looked him over, noting how intimidating he appeared compared to the others. The girl, the lanky teen, and the youngest boy looked to be the most obvious weak points. The male and the older one behind him were the ones that concerned him. He spotted the guy's hair, noting that it was brushed and looking much cleaner. The stark skunk tail that introduced the front of his locks confirmed that this was the Batman and his brood.
"Dick," The Batman said sternly, "Are you awake enough to talk? How are you feeling?"
The lean teenager turned to the redhead, "We need to call Le-"
"I already did" She replied just as quietly.
"Dick" Batman tried again.
Grey scowled, "Let me free" He hissed.
"Oh yeah, ok. Lemme get right on that" The gunman repliedly cooly. Grey glared.
"Dick, just tell us how you are feeling" The Batman ordered calmly.
He did his best to send his most scathing look through the clear container wall.
"Richard, if you relay a status report for yourself, I will ensure you are given a sugary bowl of cereal. We have chocolate"
Grey blinked at the absurd bribe. He thought to reject the strange trade or whip out a crass remark but all that came out was, "Chocolate?"
The boys smiled and the gunman smirked. The boy nodded readily, "Yes! I know you enjoy ridiculously sugary cereals because they are a quick meal and because you have a sweet tooth from your childhood in the circus"
Grey felt his knees go weak at what he was hearing but the boy continued, ignorant, "-And so I ensured that Alfred kept it stocked"
"I-I have not had anything sweet"
"Recently?"
"Ever" Grey didn't mention how much he treasured the 2 candybars Lincoln brought him back after a mission long ago.
"That's impossible" The youngest scoffed.
Grey scowled, affronted, "Are you calling me a liar?" A choked laugh sounded behind them and Grey glared at the gunman as well.
"No, but I've seen you eat far too many sweets, I know it"
"You know nothing" Grey hissed. The younger boy's eyes widened before he scowled back, "Lincoln warned me that others would attempt to corrupt my thoughts"
Again the gunman stifled a laugh. The lean boy elbowed him, "Jason" he hissed.
"Lincoln lied to you, Dick" Batman said, "We tried to explain it before, at Lydia Ryland's office but you are my son and these are your brothers. The Court took you when you were 17 years old and finished changing you into a talon"
"Liar" Grey spat.
Batman continued like he wasn't interrupted, "We found you in Bludhaven and brought you home to recover but the Court took you again just a few months ago"
"You. Are. Lying" Grey insisted angrily.
"I'm not lying," Batman said.
"That's what a liar would say" Again the gunman sniggered and Grey found that he despised the sound just a tad less.
"We aren't getting anywhere with this, we need to jog his memory," The lean boy said.
"How?" The youngest asked, turning away from him.
Grey made a face as they spoke away from him, he did not like losing the youngest boy's attention.
"Last time it was weird little things, remember? Like Jason's helmet and hair or Damian at random times" The boy snapped his fingers, "Maybe old videos! Of all of us together and stuff"
"That shit caused him to fucking seize half the time, replacement" the gunman snarked, "Can we even do anything until Leslie gets here?"
"We can try small things," Batman said lowly, "She is still at least an hour out but on her way. I've alerted Canary as well but she and Arrow won't be able to come until tomorrow"
"Do you know our names?" The youngest boy asked hesitantly.
Something inside his chest lifted at seeing those dark olive eyes on him again, "Yes"
"What are they?" The boy challenged. Grey glared when the boy turned back to the taller boy, "I don't think he knows our names"
The taller boy leaned heavily on one hip, a similar smile playing across his lips, "I don't think he does" he taunted.
A flush speared Grey's cheeks, "I do! You are Redhood and you are Robin" He was feeling slightly overwhelmed with having to prove himself to an audience that also presented a high threat level to him.
"You forgot the replacement" The leaner boy scowled and opened his mouth to snap at the taller boy when Grey turned on Redhood.
"Don't call him that J-"
He cut himself off with a choked inhale, but his audience caught his slip, "What were you going to say, Dickie?"
Grey swallowed heavily, feeling another headache approach, "I- meant jackass" he stammered. He truly wasn't sure what he was going to say, but the slip of his tongue made him look incriminating for a reason he couldn't even comprehend.
"I thought Cobb didn't allow bad manners, that's not a nice word, Dickie"
Grey could only shake his head in agreement that manners were strictly expected from Grandmaster.
"Richard, please" The youngest boy approached again, "Can I show you pictures? Of us?"
Grey crossed his arms and tried to reel in his breathing, "It will change nothing. I am aware of how easy it is to alter images"
"We have videos too, and pictures from when Bruce adopted you"
Grey looked to the Batman, Bruce Wayne. "I was never adopted"
Batman's face contorted for a split second before relaxing, "He means when I took you in as my ward after your parents were killed"
Grey found that he couldn't respond. The Court raised him, didn't they? But what Batman said was true. His parents were murdered. He could easily remember flashes of their faces and smiles in front of a circus backdrop, or was the backdrop a sandy floor with bright reds? He knew he was an acrobat from birth and enjoyed flying and flipping. Lincoln commented on his flexibility all the time. He furrowed his brow and momentarily forgot the others in the room as he tried to reconfirm his own timeline. Maybe Grandmaster took him in after his parents died. That must be how he came to be with his grandfather. Batman was lying and attempting to take credit for something he did not do.
"You're kind of stuck here anyway, why don't I have Alfred bring down some photo albums? We have multiple copies of everything so you can't destroy them" Batman informed him.
"Alfred?" He asked.
Batman nodded and smiled slightly, "Yes, do you remember Alfred? He's professionally a Wayne household buttler but he raised all you boys and me"
Grey hesitated and shook his head, "No"
"No to remembering him? Or no to him raising us?" The leaner boy asked.
"No!" Grey barked out roughly, forcing everyone to tense.
"Alright" Batman placated, "I will have him bring down some food and water nonetheless and you can take a look at some pictures and videos we have, alright?"
Grey scowled and didn't reply. He did like where this was going. Every aggressive reaction on his part was met with soft questions and appeasement. He needed his aggression returned. There was a natural familiarity they all spoke to him with and it was unnerving.
"Damian go pick out what you want to show Dick, Tim can you help Alfred?"
The boys nodded and slowly made their way off towards the stairs on the left. Batman looked to Redhood, "I want you down here when Leslie begins" he said. The other nodded expectantly.
"You think Alfred is going to be able to keep Tim and Damian from getting down here?"
Batman hummed angrily and looked towards the stairs, "We will figure it out"
"Why the secrecy? You don't want them down here for Leslie's mind fuck session?"
Bruce shook his head, "It's not that" he trailed off distractedly.
"OK, so then wha-no"
Grey cocked his head at Redhood's sharp tone.
"No, Bruce. You can't interrogate him. Not while he's like this"
"It's not an interrogation. Jason. This is the only time for us to confirm any inner workings of the court or their base that is crucial to getting back there or tracking them down"
"It's a fucking interrogation all right Redhood seethed. We're supposed to convince him we aren't the enemy! Remember when he ran off because we ganged up on him over Deathstroke"
"Which was right to do after all. He played a large hand in Dick's disappearance Jason"
"I know that but-gah! Bruce you're going to fuck this up with him again"
"Jason-" Batman breathed a heavy exhale and then gripped the younger man's arm and steered him further from Grey and closer to the mats. Grey watched them as adeptly as he could but was frustrated when he couldn't make out individual words. He caught a few curse words and yells but whatever he was shot with must have still been in his system and affecting his senses.
After a handful of arm waving and hand motions The gunman gave up with a disgruntled shove at the Batman's arm. He stalked back to Grey's cell with a determination that made Grey falter and consider backing up again.
"Soooooo Dickie boy? You ready for some family bonding?"
"Come on Dick, just humor us and look at it" Tim stressed through the clear partition.
Grey narrowed his eyes from where he sat on his small bed against the furthest wall.
"No" he said petulantly. He woke with a passionate fiery readiness to fight with all his might but after being stuck in a strange clear unbreakable box, he came to the realization that all he could do was argue with his captors. It was so frustrating he almost needed a new word to describe it.
The boys had returned and slid some chicken sandwiches and a photo album through a slim-fitting slot box against the gave the chicken sandwich a longing stare as he refused it and the pictures. He pushed himself away and onto the bed in defiance.
"You don't want to see embarrassing incriminating evidence?" The gunman replied.
Grey cocked his head curiously, earning a mischievous grin from the taller boy.
"I've got soooo many pictures of Timbo here asleep, right before and after he gains a Sharpie mustache"
The lean boy whirled around in shock, "You what?"
Grey saw the reaction and his own interest was piqued. It seemed like a strange ployWould it give him an advantage? It was just a mustache, right?
"You're not old enough to grow facial hair" Grey stated.
The skinny boy flushed scarlet, "Neither are you!" He said.
Grey narrowed his eyes at the boy in challenge, "I could if I tried"
The youngest boy blinked, "You need to try to grow facial hair? I thought that happened naturally. He turned to the taller boy. Bruce shaves every week"
The taller boy grinned at the turn the conversation was taking, "That's right he said with a sidelong glance at Grey, it should come naturally"
Grey bared his teeth "I can!"
The skinny boy snickered and Grey turned on him with a withering look. He pushed himself off the bench and snatched up the photo album before escaping back against the far wall. If the bot built like a stick wanted to humiliate him in enemy territory, he would ensure he viewed this awful mustache.
Grey flipped through the album studiously, biting his lip and scanning for valuable evidence against the skinny boy for challenging his genetic abilities. The boys never left and placed themselves in rolling chairs around the see-through wall but after 40 minutes they looked up at the sound of the album snapping shut.
Grey stood and dropped the book behind him, "There was no incriminating evidence" he snapped, "The only mustache is on an older man"
"Alfred" the gunman confirmed.
"Well, you were wrong" Grey informed him with a raised brow, "Your evidence cataloging is sloppy"
Damian sniggered and Tim smiled in relief at something causing Grey to frown uncertainly.
"Oh, embarrassing pics of Timbo aren't there. They're here" He held up a smartphone.
The middle-aged boy gaped as his relief vanished, "Jason!" He exclaimed angrily.
Grey held out his hand expectedly, "Give it to me. I will destroy the ego of your companion"
The oldest boy tisked, "First I want you to tell me my name. I know you remember us Dickie. You did some weird shit to yourself to keep us safe and probably did the same thing this second time around"
Grey frowned, "Jason" he answered; holding out his hand.
"Ah ah ah" he admonished, "Timmy just said that. I know you can do better"
Grey cocked his head noting that the older boy frowned whenever he did that.
"You're lucky I'm not demanding real shit from you on the court or Cobb" the boy reminded cooly.
Grey froze and lowered his hand. He backed up and sat himself against the wall with an icy glare.
"Nice going Todd" the youngest boy spat.
The older boy glared at Dick and then the younger boy, "It's true! We're asking him to look at pictures and say names not write down Cobb's kill list for us"
"Dick," the skinny boy said, drawing attention away, "What is his name?" he asked again.
"I'll throw in that chocolate cereal we mentioned" the older boy teased.
At the mention of the sugary food, something on the tip of his tongue tingled and wetted. Grey realized he was craving this food and swallowed down the feeling food sounded dry and flaky and so, so good.
The boys were at an impasse in their staring contest before the youngest boy reappeared with a brown box. Grey blinked not realizing the boy had left. He shook it a few times to show it was full before he properly closed the top and slid it through the food slit on the floor.
Grey watched the box enter his strange cell before he looked at the oldest boy. The gunman held up his smartphone and waved it narrowed his eyes and curled his knees to his chest to wrap his arms around himself protectively. He didn't like that he knew the answer but played into it after all. The boy was right, he was lucky they were playing with him instead of beginning with the serious interrogation he knew Batman wanted to initiate.
"Jaybird"
Something akin to surprise and pride flashed in Jason's eyes and he slowly unlocked his phone and slid it through the answer was pleasing but it still surprised him.
No one mentioned how Grey plucked the phone and chocolate cereal off the floor before making his way back to his cot.
_
It took a while to sort through the many pictures as there were selfies and pictures of cars and guns that didn't garner his attention. When he came to a folder of pictures and videos, Grey paused looking over them each carefully before he swiped onto the next one.
"So? Are you satisfied?" Jason asked from where he had kicked up his feet.
"You're very mean to Tim" Grey murmured in a distracted way as he looked at the soundless Snapchat video of Jason and the red-headed archer spraying spray can cheese on an unconscious Tim's face.
Unbeknownst to him. Tim sat straighter and his eyes brightened a little bit.
"He is, isn't he Dick?" Tim agreed heartedly.
Jason rolled his eyes, "It's just some fun. Nothing permanent"
"Permanent marker is permanent Jason" Jason turned over his wrist as if to check a fake watch.
"Permanent doesn't make sense" The boys looked to Dick who was still looking at the phone but no longer looking at the pictures on it. "If 'anent' is the portion that means forever and 'perm' means to stay why do they call the hairstyle a perm?" Grey's brow was furrowed as he seriously considered the words and their Latin derivative Jason quirked an eyebrow at Tim who shrugged with a smile.
"Where did you learn the Latin derivative for that Dickie bird?"
Grey gave Jason a strange look, "In Latin class?"
"And where was that?"
"G-" Dick fell quiet and gave Jason a flat look before ignoring him once again.
"You know, Dick" Tim began, "You don't really speak like the other talons"
Grey didn't look up from his scrolling but Tim knew he had his attention, "I mean, we didn't encounter tons of talons from the Court besides when we were attacked and given meals but the ones we did seemed to have limited or broken English"
Grey's form was absolutely still when he responded, "Grandmaster informed me I speak too much. Li-Lincoln was working with me on holding my tongue"
He looked up to find disgust scrawled across Damian's face. He quickly looked down in shame but Jason spoke quickly, "It's a good thing that you talk too much, Dickhead. Let's us know how you're doin'"
Grey shook his head in disagreement, "There's no need for that, Grandmaster made it clear that worries like that are beyond my purpose"
Jason scoffed, "Yeah, that's what he'd say"
Grey looked up curiously so Jason continued, "To keep you weak and clueless, dumbass"
Grey frowned but Tim interjected, "He's right, Dick. Keeping you from asking questions and knowing more is the first step to keeping someone reliant and weak"
Grey shook his head adamantly, "Grandmaster only wants me stronger and more capable"
"Yeah," Jason agreed. Grey smiled in confirmation but Jason continued and that smile dripped off his lips within seconds, "He wants you physically stronger so he can send you out to do his bidding. He doesn't want you mentally stronger through"
"I learn all the time!"
Jason raised a single unbelieving eyebrow, "Reaaaaly? Like what?"
"New mixed martial arts holds and submission techniques, and new ammunition casing updates, and-"
Grey trailed off as he saw that he seemed to be proving his audience right in his statements. He hadn't learned anything cultural or socially significant recently. He was given as much as he wanted to read as long as it furthered his field and combat readiness and embarrassment welled in his chest suddenly, "Leave" He hissed spitefully. The younger boys looked stunned while Jason smirked like he was proving him right again. Grey knew he was right and they were wrong but he wasn't in the mindset for a verbal spar and was only digging himself a deeper hole at the moment. He hated the Bats-especially Redhood. They made him feel discombobulated and stressed for reasons he could never confirm.
"Come on," Jason said to Tim and Damian. He dropped his large legs and got to his feet, wincing for a second before he sauntered over to the stairs, waiting for the others to follow, "Let's let him stew. He knows he's wrong and just wants to throw a tantrum"
"Wait," Damian said hurriedly, "He reached into the large pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a bundle of material. Damian unrolled them to reveal overly long orange and black socks with glittery pumpkins and witches with cartoon-sized noses. His cheeks seemed flushed red as everyone watched Dmian crouch and shove the socks through the food slot before getting to his feet and following Jason and Tim up the stairs.
"We'll be back after he's had some alone time with that shitty cereal" Grey heard Jason say as they rounded the stairs out of view. Grey looked down at the socks and ran his finger over them. They felt cheap and thing and rough, not something any sensible person would wear for any occasion. With that in mind, Grey wasn't sure why he had to fight the urge to put the socks on; to force himself to stop touching them. He rolled them back up and placed them gently on the cot. He sat down, disliking the sudden silence, and unfurled the paper he had stored under his pillow.
'5878'.
I'll be back,a deep voice resonated in his head.