1      Watch all the torches go out one at a time

1.1     Hessian over eyes

Batman had a lot of rules.

It was something Dick had found mildly amusing in his youth. There was some show he watched as a teen, with a dramatic scene where someone said ‘such a good man with all his rules’ and the main hero said ‘good men don’t need rules; today is not the day to ask me why I have so many’ or something like that. And all Dick remembered was looking over at Bruce, on the opposite side of the lounge room, reading something, reclined in a chair with a mug of coffee at his fingertips.

Batman had rules, so very many. Dick had sworn, as long as he worked with Bruce, to work by those rules. He was nine, just starting as Robin, bright eyed and still so innocent even after watching his parent’s lives leech from their bodies before his very eyes. Bruce, when he’d started being Batman, had made his own oath, sworn it on the Tanakh by candlelight in the cave, nothing but the sounds of bats and running water to keep him company. Dick wasn’t Jewish or Christian, so when Bruce had offered him to make the oath himself Dick had frowned in confusion and asked Bruce what in the hell he would do it on.

He’d never touched a bible, or a Tanakh, or anything of the type. His parents hadn’t been a specific religion, regardless of their links to Roma culture. That fuelled Dick’s upbringing, but there was never mentions of god/s or specific teachings. The most he’d gotten was something he didn’t know the name of. When he was a kid, Dick’s mother had taught him morals and given him something akin to a bible. It was a piece of paper, framed in a thin wooden case that was loosely hung on the train compartment’s wall. It was old, had belonged to his mother’s, mother’s, father’s, mother’s, father.

Dick had described the paper to Bruce, what he remembered of the words. Bruce had come back to him with something called The Wiccan Rede and Three Fold Law, and Dick had recognised it immediately with a smile.

The thing was, Dick didn’t feel the need to create his own rules. He trusted himself well enough to avoid the lines he shouldn’t cross without too much forethought.

When he became Nightwing, pumped up on the anger of the crescendo of his latest fight with Bruce, he’d no longer had to follow Batman’s rules. Bruce had thrown him out, sixteen years old, and fired him from the Robin gig. Dick had snatched his training gear and his go-bag (something he’d had under his bed since the arguments had started picking up between him and his mentor) and run off into the city. He could have called any number of people that he knew, looking for a bed to crash on. But he was angry and upset and hurting and it felt like Bruce represented the entire hero community and that no one would help him if they knew who Batman was behind the mask.

So Dick had holed up in a motel and gotten shit faced drunk somewhere and he regretted it to this day, he really did, because that was the first time he really met Deathstroke.

But he tried not to think about that.

It was hard not to, now, because everything else in his life was a mess, why not think about the absolute tipping point of the shitfest that his life had become.

As he returned to his Bludhaven apartment, mind swimming with the ride down from the adrenaline rush of patrol and the thoughts that always whispered at the back of his mind these days, he forced himself once more to push everything down.

He’d made Nightwing for himself, after leaving Batman and Robin behind. Now that he’d taken a leave of absence from the team, Nightwing was the thing he had completely to himself. His duty and his job, and he got to make the rules.

He ran through a nightly routine on autopilot. Stripping from his gear and tucking it away into the secret compartment. He looked over himself for wounds- only bruises and scrapes- and showered for a little longer than he probably had to. He splayed out on his couch in sweatpants and a hoodie, nursing a mug of tea.

He didn’t bother turning the TV on, he wouldn’t be paying attention to it anyway.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, the date flashing up onto the screen underneath the time.

November eighth. It’d been about four months since he’d left the team, four and a half since Wally…

Dick took a deep breath and reached for the phone.

It was a text from Bruce, it just read Dick, call me when you get this.

Dick rolled his eyes. Bruce was well aware Dick would still be awake. He just wanted to make it seem like otherwise. Why? Dick couldn’t tell you. The only person who knew Bruce better than him was Alfred, but at that moment he couldn’t care less about Bruce’s inner monologue and had no intentions of rationalising it down until he understood Bruce’s actions.

He considered, briefly, putting the phone down and not picking it up till noon the next day, regardless that it technically already was the next day.

But something at the back of his mind pushed him to call. Maybe it was the piece of him that still wanted Bruce to be his dad, to hold him and talk to him and care. Maybe it was that tiny scrap that still believed Bruce thought of him as anything other than a loyal soldier.

Maybe it was the part that felt anxiety every now and then about the safety of his loved ones. Urged on by the fact that he had stood at the gravestone of his best friend mere months ago, he seemed more and more often to wander down the mental path of fearing for his family and friends.

As if Bruce would ever be in danger, as if Dick could ever save him from something Bruce couldn’t escape himself. The idea was laughable.

But nevertheless, he unlocked his phone and called Bruce, bracing himself against any possibilities.

After all, it was over a phone call Bruce had told him that Jason was dead. There were endless possibilities about what this conversation could be about.

The phone dialled and Bruce picked up after three rings.

“Dick?”

“what’s up, B?” Dick rubbed at his eyes.

“you should be in bed by now.”

“could say the same for you, now what d’you need?”

Bruce seemed to consider not telling him, likely figuring Dick would refuse to go to bed if Bruce gave him a mission or case. He was probably right, lately Dick had been going as long as possible without sleep. He tended to wake up more exhausted than when he went to bed anyway, and it wasn’t worth the nightmares.

Bruce gave in, though, he always put the mission before his own wellbeing, why shouldn’t Dick?

“this is a Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson thing, not Batman and Nightwing.”

… well colour Dick surprised. Who’da thunk, Batman acknowledging he has a secret identity that he has to live as well as his angsty furhero-sona. Dick supposed there was room for something surprising today, he hadn’t been shocked so far, he could take this.

“is that so? I thought Dick Grayson had fallen out of main media coverage since he got kicked out at sixteen?”

And… where did that come from? He usually kept the passive aggression under wraps, along with all his other anger issues. And he and Bruce had let bygones be bygones, putting the mission first. Batman and Nightwing couldn’t be fridgey and cold to each other, their line of work required them to work together.

But maybe Dick was just a little tired, it had been an exhausting four months, and before that an exhausting year. And an exhausting life before that and… when had he not been living an exhausting life?

Bruce fumbled for a bit and finally said, “it’s a PR stunt, support to a charity. WE is providing funding for an organisation that helps those in need pay for medical procedures, healthcare. We need a real appearance in the public supporting them, otherwise people start saying we’re just forking out without much care.”

“and you need… me?”

“my PR committee says that the organisations inclination towards supporting families means it would be best to make this a family spectacle, the Waynes supporting healthcare and the political movement that goes along with it,” Bruce explained.

Dick’s eyes narrowed. There was more to this, he could tell. He just couldn’t figure out what. Was it a mission? Was Bruce interested in the people in charge of the organisation? It was possible there could be someone corrupt in charge, using a philanthropist’s image to protect them while they abused whatever power or privilege they gained from their efforts.

“They’re running a fundraiser in the park next week, and part of it allows people in need to come in and get blood checks for free, or others to come in and donate blood. Do you think you could come by? Take a few photos, maybe say something in support.”

Dick sighed, “right, yeah, just strut around and flash the Dickie Wayne smile and make conversation with rich assholes who like to pretend they’re doing so much by throwing away some pocket change.”

“exactly.”

Dick laughed through his nose and took a sip of his tea.

“yeah, okay, just text me the details.”

Dick couldn’t believe how ridiculous this was.

He’d gone to the fundraiser, he’d even donated blood while he was there cause why not.

And then he’d gotten a call two days later from a doctor explaining that when his blood was routinely checked they discovered that there seemed to be something wrong with his blood glucose levels.

He had laughed after he’d hung up.

He was a superhero, had worked to stop an alien invasion, was an epitome of peak human condition, physically and mentally.

And he was about to talk to a doctor who would expect him to be worried about his blood glucose levels?

He’d been shot, tortured, concussed, water boarded, electrocuted, poisoned. He’d been exposed to hazardous chemicals, toxins that fuck with your mental state. Heck, he’d come in contact with extra terrestrial flora and fauna, this was nothing. He’d been given CPR and had his heart stop on the table before, and now he’d have to pretend to be genuinely concerned about the slim possibility of developing diabetes.

It was probably the stress that caused it.

Anyway.

He got dressed and headed to the doctor’s appointment that had been scheduled. He didn’t have a GP in Bludhaven yet (irresponsible, he knew, but his injuries and sicknesses tended to be caused with a mask on his face which lead to his doctor being in either The Watchtower or Leslie Thompkins’s office) so when the person who’d called about his results offered to just have him see their doctor he agreed.

He texted Bruce about it, explained it all. He was a Bat, no matter what, and so always was aware of possible dangers. A doctor’s office could be a dangerous place if you weren’t paying attention, and kidnappings had been on the up in Gotham.

He didn’t have to wait long until a nurse was leading him to a room and he was introducing himself to Doctor Francis.

“so, don’t be alarmed, it’s nothing too serious yet, we’ve discovered this early on,” the Doctor explained as Dick sat down.

“just spell it out for me doc,” Dick said, smiling kindly but keeping up the false façade of apprehension, “what am I looking at?”

“we’ll have to run a couple tests to be sure of anything,” Doctor Francis continued, “all we know at the moment is the numbers. I would suggest an A1C test.”

Dick nodded, “right.”

“seeing as it seems rather early days,” the Doctor explained, “the A1C includes taking blood tests over a two to three month period to analyse changes in your blood sugar levels.”

Dick nodded once more and leaned back in the chair a little.

“do you have a doctor in Bludhaven? That is your city of residence, correct?”

“yep,” Dick smiled sheepishly, “and no, I don’t have a doctor.”

Doctor Francis gave him an amused eyebrow raise that distantly reminded Dick of Alfred- which made a pang of sadness hit him in the chest, he’d have to call Alfred when he got home, to catch up- and turned to his computer to type a few things.

“alright, how about we do your first A1C blood test today. Then you can head home, do some research and get yourself a GP, once you’ve done that you can call us and we’ll send the data along to them so they can continue your tests. Sound good?”

“sounds perfect,” Dick smiled and nodded, “you’re sure I can do a test now? You’re not too busy?”

The doctor shook his head, “no. this is early days but there’s no need to push your luck.”

“understandable,” Dick nodded, “where do you need me?”

“uh…” The doctor continued typing then hit something that sent off a message, then turned back to him with a smile “just down the hall, take a left, the room at the end. I’ll meet you there in a moment, I just have to do some quick paperwork.”

Dick stood with a smile, opening the door for Doctor Francis and following him out. he went down the hall while the doctor headed back to the reception room.

This all seemed legit, the computer and the files that were open looked real and they had made him fill out a form to begin with like a real Doctor’s visit. There were other patients waiting for appointments, and he heard other people talking inside the other couple offices.

He headed down the hall, took the left and sat in a chair outside the room the doctor had directed him towards.

Doctor Francis returned again after a few moments and Dick followed him into the small room. There was another door at the other end of the room, a medical cot against one wall and a desk against the other, the drawers and shelves were overflowing. Everything in the room was legitimate, he could see serial numbers and barcodes and all kinds of things. In the top right corner of the room was a long poster with the alphabet on it, each letter in capital and lower case form with small images, like an apple with A and a Deer with D.

The doctor readied the supplies to take his blood sample. He sat down on the desk chair and rolled it over to Dick, who had sat on the medical cot.

He busied about putting the tourniquet on Dick’s bicep, giving him an impressed look as he felt his muscles inconspicuously which just made Dick chuckle, then told him to flex his arm a few times before turning to retrieve the needle from the desk.

“just relax,” the doctor said, “shouldn’t hurt more than a mosquito bite. I trust I don’t have to make you read out the alphabet like a child?”

Dick grinned, “if I say yes will you give me a lollipop at the end?”

“everyone gets lollipops, that’s my policy.”

It didn’t hurt at all and Dick barely felt it as the doctor pushed the needle in. Dick watched the blood run into the tube, keeping his arm relaxed.

The doctor put away all the supplies when he was done, securing the blood sample and putting it away into a proper sealed container that seemed to have insulation and an ice block to keep the samples cool. Genuine practise, more things added to the legitimate column.

The doctor returned, wiping a cotton bud on the small bead of blood in his inner arm. He then placed a small band aid on the place the needle had once been, offering an arm to help Dick up. He didn’t need it, but he supposed it’d only help his cover to pretend to be woozy.

He stood, forcing a slight stumble as he balanced his weight out on his feet.

“easy,” the doctor said.

And he was too close, still too close to be helping him and-

Dick felt the pinprick in his neck a moment too late.

He inhaled sharply and pushed away from the doctor, stumbling further into the room as he took in his new enemy.

Doctor Francis looked mildly annoyed as he looked at the needle in his hand, still with a mL or two of whatever was inside.

“what did you-“ Dick frowned, stumbling back and leaning against the door behind him.

“rather fast reflexes, impressive,” Doctor Francis huffed, “no matter, I still got enough in you to drop a seven foot body builder.”

Dick kept his breathing slow, training kicking in as he analysed everything.

Doctor Francis was five foot seven, lean, unarmed, Dick was quite sure he could beat him in a fight. there were things Dick could use to disarm or minorly wound him if he wanted, but he was quite sure he could get him down with his bare hands and a thwack into the wall.

Whatever drug he’d given him was slowing his thoughts and straying his attention. Distantly he wondered what his mother would think of the thought processes he’d been trained to follow. His mother believed what you did came back three fold, and Dick was considering ramming a man’s head into a wall.

Well, the man did just drug him, so that was just karma.

Doctor Francis locked the door to the rest of the building, he reached for a phone on the desk.

Dick was not having that.

He launched forward, not bothering with any graceful moves he’d usually pull. His vision was fogging and he felt entirely off balance, he had a minute tops, if he was lucky, he needed to drop Francis and call Bruce now.

Francis hit the wall and Dick followed him, holding him down as best he could.

“why?”

Francis squirmed, trying to break free, Dick refused to let it happen, but his fingers were starting to feel kind of numb and he was having more trouble than he’d like.

Dick shook the doctor slightly to get his attention, instead deciding on a different question, “what was in the syringe?”

Francis- if that was his name- grunted in annoyance and rolled his eyes, continuing to fight for purchase, “in your state? The words would go straight over your head kid.”

Dick hated the tone of voice Francis said that in. In his current state of altered consciousness the drawl and the words and the term of endearment reminded him far too much of Deathstroke and that was not a place he wanted his head going right now.

The door that didn’t open to the rest of the building erupted in knocking.

Francis’ eyes went bright, “Get in here!” he shouted, and Dick’s blood ran cold.

The door swung open as soon as the order was out of his mouth and before Dick’s drugged mind could register the threat behind him there were arms around his biceps pulling Dick from Francis.

Dick thrashed, legs flying wildly as he tried to wrench himself free, but whoever was holding him must have been huge because he was able to hold Dick’s writhing form high enough to stop his feet from hitting the ground and his hands were bruising his arms as they gripped him tight.

Dick’s movements were turning sluggish fast and his erratic breathing was no help.

“get him restrained and get him in the damn truck,” Francis hissed, “now.”

“yes boss.”

Dick was hauled backwards, through the door out into a small parking lot behind the building. It was enclosed by three other buildings and a tall fence with barbed wire on top, a lock on the gate and a gravel driveway that lead out to the street.

There was a truck in the corner of his eyes and Dick heard someone unlocking and swinging open the door.

Dick felt the hands around his biceps disappear and then he was spun around so fast his feet became numb and he stumbled and would’ve fallen on his face if the hulk of a man who’d been holding him didn’t sink his fist into his gut.

Dick’s breath ran out of him and his vision spotted and his head roared with noise. He took all his focus and put it into the effort it took to not throw up, his legs shook and he landed on his knees.

His vision became completely dark as a bag was shoved over his head. someone grabbed his numb hands and zip-tied them, then his legs.

By the time they tossed him into the back of the truck he was unconscious.

Dick was quite sure these people didn’t know he was Nightwing.

Which made this hard.

Because he could get out of these zip-ties. He could twist out of the grip of the man dragging him along the floor, free himself, rip the bag from his head and have the brute of a man carrying him hit the floor in seconds.

But Dick Grayson couldn’t do that. Dick Grayson had to continue to lie limp in this man’s grip because it made no sense for him to have such a high tolerance to drugs. Dick Grayson had to let this man drag him along. Dick Grayson had to follow rule number two: never reveal your identity (see paragraphs five, six and seven for in depth explanations of the few exceptions to this rule).

Which gave him another option: an opportunity to collect information.

Whoever was behind this had no idea that any information was too much information to give to Dick, was unaware of the lion they’d just let into their chicken pen. Dick could use this as an impromptu undercover mission. If the fact that this was a kidnapping was any sign, Dick guessed there must be something behind all this. Even if it was just an ass looking to use Dickie Wayne as leverage against Brucie Wayne, most people willing to pull shit like this had other nasty stuff on their roster.

So Dick kept his breathing slow, remained limp and let himself be dragged along.

A cement floor, the long stretches of distance suggested hallways, as did the echo to the man’s footsteps. He had no idea how long he’d been in the back of the truck, he had no idea if he’d even been in the same truck when he’d woken up. All he knew was that the fuzziness and the come-down of the drug suggested it was some serious shit, this was not a basic cleaning-equipment whipped-up-in-the-basement kind of sedative.

Which meant these people had connections, contacts.

Dick made sure his shoulders were still relaxed as he breathed out, head lolling as he kept his neck slack. He was gonna have one hell of a cramp in his neck after this.

After a few more turns he decided he’d probably kept up the ruse long enough and inhaled sharply, moving his neck slightly. he did not have to fake the groan of discomfort that escaped his throat once his neck twitched.

The man dragging him gave no notion of noticing he was awake, other than tightening the grip on the collar of his jacket. There was a slip of skin that had been pulled bare to the air by his hand, the bag over his head caught on the man’s wrist. His neck was scraped with rough calluses and he held in a scowl at the skin-to-skin contact, skin hyper-sensitive as he still grappled with the feeling of the drug leaving his system, even if barely.

He resumed twitching his hands and flexing muscles as he continued to be dragged. He lifted his head, wincing as his neck screamed, scowling at the rough hessian fibres of the bag scratching at his brow.

He heard a door open, and then he was dragged across the threshold into a room.

People were talking, voices low and sounding like they were from the other side of the room, but Dick caught the odd word. Something about a ‘pod’, about ‘tests’, a ‘chip’ and ‘tar’. And, finally he caught a word more than one syllable and it was-

‘meta-gene’.

His gut turned cold as he twitched. The man dragging him dropped him so suddenly Dick barely caught himself, rolling onto his right side with a groan.

“where do you want him?”

“strip him and get him in that one.”

Dick’s eyes blew wide as he tried to push himself to his knees, to get his feet under him. his hands were secured behind his back and his ankles were tightly kept together.

There were hands on him, rough hands that were grabbing and tugging and-

Dick’s breath hitched as he fought to release himself from the man’s grasp, but his limbs were stuck together and his muscles were sore and cramping and blood was rushing through his ears as his mind was tossed back to a night when he was sixteen years old and just flung onto the streets and oh god no he didn’t want that to happen again-

All he got for his trouble was another hit to the stomach that set him gasping for air as his clothes were tugged from him, stripped to his underwear.

“untie him and get the bag off his head before you put him in there.”

A grunt in response and then the bag was wrenched off and his eyes stung as they were assaulted with light. He winced and only half-faked it.

He was in a room, three glass cases against the wall to his left, tables with computers and desk chairs and files and abandoned coffee mugs. Two scientists were staring down at him with a complete lack of care.

“can’t we chip him?’ one asked the other as they watched him continue to struggle against the man now attempting to drag him towards the glass cases that were beginning to remind him far too much of CADMUS pods.

“doesn’t work well with the process, better to put it on him once he’s adjusted to the meta-gene.”

They were talking like he wasn’t there, like he couldn’t hear them, like he wasn’t another human being who was grunting and gritting his teeth in frustration as a brute of a man tugged him along, slamming him into the glass door of the case, his head thwacked against the surface unceremoniously and his vision momentarily doubled and turned fuzzy.

The man cut the zip-ties as Dick blinked away the spots in his vision, the door opened and Dick was shoved in.

He threw himself against the glass, punching and kicking a few times before he started looking at the inside of the pod around him.

This was bad, this was bad, this was bad, this was bad, Thiswasbad thiswasbadthiswasbadthiswasbadthiswasbadthiswasbadthiswasbad.

He couldn’t hear what the scientists outside the pod were saying. Half because the pod was sealed and half because Dick couldn’t hear anything over the panic thrumming in his brain.

His breath was coming short, in and out in bursts of hysteria. The pod hummed and beeped a few times, then turned silent once more.

And something was cold against his ankles.

He looked down, black liquid was rising up his legs. it looked like molasses almost.

This must have been what the scientists had called tar.

It was rising quick.

Dick’s head snapped around, looking for anything he could leverage himself against to get more force against the glass. He spotted a bar in the top of the pod, he jumped and grabbed hold of it, the black liquid dripping down his skin. He kicked against the glass, the scientists looked at him unamused. He was grunting as he kept at it, the liquid rising, rising, rising-

The bar he was holding onto buzzed with electricity and he yelped as he let go, splashing back into the liquid that was now sitting at his hips, his waist, his sternum.

It rose up, up, up, cold against his neck and he shuddered as he rose slightly with the liquid, his weight held up, the cold seeped over and Dick inhaled deep as the black liquid hit the top of the pod.

And he held his breath as long as he could, god damnit, and that was a long time considering his training but eventually-

His instincts kicked in and his lungs forced him to inhale.

It was like needles, it was like fire, it was like ice. It seeped into his skin and his chest shrieked, every cell in his body turned incendiary. It felt like he’d been turned into a screen of static, prickles of sand-like texture and fizzing sounds. His blood must have turned the same consistency as the tar because he swore he could feel it running through his veins, sluggish and hot. His heart was beating in his chest like a diesel engine stuttering as you attempted to get it running. His stomach twisted, his brain was cold in his head and ached with a splitting pain so intense Dick could’ve sworn someone must have taken an axe to his head.

He wanted to throw up, his eyes had blown wide and were stinging, gazing into an empty black void.

A horrible, sickening, snap resounded through his body and he shivered and curled on himself as his skin thrummed. A moan fought it’s way out of his throat, limbs like dead weight. He swallowed, head spinning and entire being shivering with a horrible, cold feeling of dread.

He was distantly aware of the tar disappearing, of the pod emptying out, the door opening. He fell into the grip of the man who’d tossed him in the pod to begin with, he coughed and spluttered, nowhere near enough air making it into his lungs.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered one of the scientists ordering, “get a bucket.”

It appeared below him right on time as he vomited up his entire stomach, tainted black with dark tar. He coughed and spluttered some more, his throat felt filled with sticky grossness (and his memories were banging on the door to his awareness, pulling at his tired limbs towards another lapse into his trauma).

He needed to get to his feet, he needed to figure out what the hell they’d just done to him, he needed to figure out what the strange feeling in his head and skin was.

“get a collar on him and get him with the others.”

He felt something against the skin of the back of his neck, cold and wrapping around and metal.

An inhibitor collar.

As soon as he recognised it his ears filled with crackling and his muscles spasmed, electricity sparking through him.

He collapsed, vision blurring and swimming, sounds washing over him. he focused on his breathing, on not choking on his own spit. He didn’t have the energy to fight as he was lifted up and hefted out of the room, down a few more halls and into a cell about the size of a wardrobe, just big enough to fit the bunk beds pushed against the left side of the room.

There was someone else already in the cell, Dick didn’t focus too much on them. They grabbed him from the ground when the brute threw him to the floor, then lifted him- with a grunt and hiss of surprise at Dick’s weight- and flopped him onto the bottom bunk.

Dick groaned, trying to focus back on the real world.

“get some sleep,” the guy he was now sharing a cell with muttered, “it saps your energy, just rest.”

And, even though Dick knew he shouldn’t, even though his training and instincts were screaming at him to get up, even though he was scared and collared and in a cell-

You didn’t have to tell him twice, he went boneless on the bunk and fell straight into sleep.

1.2     A deadly game

Someone was tapping.

It was a metallic sound, like nails or plastic on steel. repetitive. A rhythm. One, two, three, four-and-one-and, two-and, three-and-four.

Dick let his breaths come steadily, following the beat of the song. He tried to recognise a new thing about the environment with each inhale, tried to remember what had happened and sort his head out before he opened his eyes.

There was a bunk under him, solid and stiff. His head was pounding, and his entire body felt… weird. Tingly. Cold but also like there was something slithering around between the layers of his skin. His eyes were stinging, and his mouth felt beyond dry, he peeled his tongue from the roof, winced, opened his eyes the tiniest bit.

He could see, in the corner of his eyes without moving his head, someone’s foot hanging off the side of the bunk above him. The room was dark, shadowed, and he found some kind of comfort in that distantly.

He’d been kidnapped and tossed in… a pod? With a weird tar drowning him. And scientists talking about a meta-gene.

Anxiety rose up and his sides tingled, and his breath hitched as his eyes snapped open. Nausea bubbled for a moment until he pushed it down because no way, there had to be something else going on here he didn’t- he wasn’t- he-

Batman had a lot of rules. Right now, Dick was thinking of rule number eighteen, no metas in Gotham. There were no paragraphs to refer to for exceptions, no fine print. No metas in Gotham.

Dick was going to be sick.

“hey, you up?”

He almost jumped at the voice, and he berated himself for being distracted.

“Yeah,” he croaked, throat dry as he pulled himself to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed.

The person above him stopped tapping on the steel bedframe and swung down. He shot Dick a grin and stuck out his hand.

“My name’s Jack,” he announced. His hair was frizzy but short, he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and no shoes.

Dick blinked at the boy and shook his hand. The skin was calloused and red as if inflamed with a skin condition. There was a long cut on the back of his right hand and another visible on his left bicep peeking out from his t-shirt.

“Dick,” he introduced, “Grayson.”

“cool, what’d you get, Dick?”

“what?”

“from the pod? The meta-gene activation? What’d you get?”

Dick’s breath stuck in his throat and he stared at Jack’s outstretched hand.

“Ah, I see,” Jack gave him a sympathetic look, “didn’t get a chance to interrogate the scientists about the whole situation before being thrown in. that’s fair. Yeah, the weird pod things? The tar? It activates some kind of weird superpower DNA, so we have superpowers now, it’s awesome.”

Dick just watched Jack talk, taking in his freckles and dimples and bright blue eyes.

“You know,” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck, “Aside from the, uh, fighting and… everything else. The food sucks, too.””

“how old are you?” Dick asked.

“hm? Oh, I’m twelve. I think? I was thirteen when I got here,” Jack said with a shrug, “but I think I’ve been here long enough to hit my Twelfth?”

Dick felt something painful at that thought.

“Okay, Jack, I need you to tell me everything about what in the hell is going on.”

“Oh, okay,” Jack beamed, seemingly glad to be helpful, “uh, so you’ve done the whole pod thing. We get meals twice a day and they escort us to a bathroom somewhere between each of them.”

“Yes, but what the hell is going on here?”

“uh, I’m not sure,” Jack rubbed at the back of his neck, “every now and then they take us all and put these… things on us? They call them chips. They’re… weird, I can’t explain it. And they make us fight each other.”

“how many people are here?”

“anywhere between fifteen and thirty,” Jack frowned, then continued quietly, “I don’t know where they take people, they just take them randomly in small groups and we never see them again.”

Dick swallowed and gave Jack a heavy look, “you seem to be holding up well for someone who’s been kidnapped for a while now.”

Jack pursed his lips, “I prefer to stay optimistic, no point being mopey, it won’t help anyone.”

Dick nodded, “that’s very mature of you.”

Jack shot him a smile, and this time Dick could see the forced nature of it from miles off, “thanks.”

“you said they… make us fight each other?”

God it had been a while since Dick had had to investigate as himself, usually when undercover he was someone who’s cover wasn’t ‘ward of a rich airhead, who was good at maths and gymnastics in school’. How was he supposed to ask the right questions and investigate without drawing suspicion?

“yeah, like a fighting ring? I don’t know why, but it means we can figure out our cool superpowers so that’s something,” Jack said, fidgeting with his hands. He rubbed the sweat from the palms of his hands on his pants while looking at the empty space next to Dick on the bed. Dick followed his gaze, shot him the smallest of smiles and shuffled slightly to the side to allow him more room.

Jack smiled slightly and sat next to him. It was such a childish movement, the small need of a teen wanting to impress an adult, look like a mature and smart individual for their age. Aside from the clear differences of appearance, Jack was beginning to remind him of Jason and it was a very painful thought he didn’t want to face.

“Do you have any family, Jack?” Dick asked.

“my mother and step-dad,” he said, “and my aunt, she’s sick so she was living with us, and my cousin was with us too. But I don’t know, I…” his hands were hanging between his legs, elbows propped on his knees, he rubbed at the callouses on his skin. He swallowed and bounced his knee a few times to the same rhythm he’d been tapping on the bed frame then forced himself to stop. “I’ve been here so long, my aunt might’ve passed, or…” he frowned and swallowed, shook his head and sighed, “what about you?”

Dick opened his mouth to answer but found himself faltering.

“complicated family life?” Jack asked.

“you could say that,” Dick sighed, then ran a hand through his hair, “I… my parents died when I was young. I’ve got a foster dad and adoptive brother.”

He still found it weird to move his mouth around the words ‘foster dad’. It wasn’t accurate, but it was the easiest way to say it. Dick was Bruce’s Ward, but Bruce was Dick’s…

Bruce was Dick’s Robin’s Batman, and Nightwing’s partner when necessary. Other than that, Dick couldn’t put his finger one what Bruce was to him other than ‘the man he’d once considered like a father right up until the day he’d kicked him out’.

A ward was not a son, and Dick was made keenly aware of that at sixteen and reminded plenty when Jason had been taken in.

And he needed to get his head away from those thoughts because now was far from the time. These days it seemed so much easier to fall into his shit thanks to more shit being piled on and this whole experience was not helping. But he needed to keep it together.

“hang on a minute,” Jack frowned, “Grayson? Isn’t that like-“

Dick sighed, “I’m Bruce Wayne’s ward yes…”

Jack didn’t listen, didn’t stop talking just continued over him, “that guy who broke the record for youngest officer in the Bludhaven police?”

Dick blinked.

And he stared.

“what?”

Jack lit up like a Christmas tree, “you are! I recognise you from the photo my cousin took with you.”

Dick blinked again and stared in confusion, “I… yes?”

Jack’s eyes could’ve been glowing with excitement as he bounced on the bed a few times and then announced, “you saved my cousin from a mugging when she was coming home from school!”

Dick’s memory was a little fuzzy, but he was quite sure he could remember what Jack was talking about. A teen girl, sixteen. He’d been walking back from a break to have something to eat, dinner time crawling closer and he was well aware he wouldn’t get to eat something when he was finished working late before he went off for his nocturnal career. He’d heard sounds distantly and thought he’d recognised the words ‘no’ and ‘please’ which was enough to make him detour even if he was late back from his break. He’d saved the girl from an attempted mugging that Dick didn’t doubt would go somewhere further.

He’d helped her, given her his coat and asked if she wanted to file a report. The man who’d attacked her had run off, but she’d gotten a good look at his face and apparently knew him from somewhere. She’d had a determined look in her eyes and announced she wanted to file a report and expected Dick to track him down and put him in jail because she knew he had gang affiliations. Dick had been happy to help and taken her back to the station and then escorted her back home, comforting her when the adrenaline finally caught up and she broke down in tremors. Nothing had happened but both of them were well aware it was a close encounter and Dick had never been able to say no to comforting an abuse or sexual assault victim.

Jack poked him, still smiling, “my cousin said she’d have been dead by morning if that man had gotten her. She pointed you out in the news a couple weeks later.”

Dick felt a warm feeling at the fact that for once someone had recognised him for his own achievement and not because he was Bruce’s forgotten charity case.

“hey, it’s my job,” Dick said with a small smile, “no need to thank me.”

Jack continued to watch him like he hung the stars in the sky. It made something ache in Dick’s heart to see such an innocent face in a place like this, under circumstances like this.

“listen, Jack,” Dick said, swinging an arm around the kids shoulders to hug him close, “I’m gonna get us out of this, you hear me? It’s my job, I’ll find a way. You’re not turning thirteen in here.”

Jack’s bottom lip trembled, and he latched onto Dick’s torso in a tight hug, burying his face in his side, “you promise?”

“I promise.”

The only way to make him break this promise was to kill him, he would not let this kid stay captured any longer, he was going to fix this.

He was Nightwing, that was his job.

Footsteps sounded in the distance, heavy and scraping along the concrete. Dick clenched his jaw and stood, Jack stayed on the bed and sighed.

“they’re here to take us to fight,” Jack said, “I… while we’re here, I’ll warn you, I’m, uh…” Jack visibly put his confident façade back on, grinning slyly at Dick, “I’m the reigning champion. I won’t go easy on you cause you’re new.”

Dick rose an eyebrow, “that so?”

“yeah,” Jack stood as well, bouncing on his toes, “I have cool earth powers. I’m like Toph Beifong!”

Dick nodded, trying not to think about how Jack was trying so hard to look on the bright side. He tried not to wonder if Jason had done something similar when he was captured and waiting for Bruce to come save him.

His mother would have reacted the same way. Would have looked on the bright side. His father would’ve encouraged Dick to do the same.

But they would have hated every second being forced to fight other innocent people. His mother hated violence and his father was much the same.

And Dick needed to stop thinking about that before he ended up in a dark place.

Several thugs walked by, tugging along a few people while another handful followed obediently. They continued on while two other thugs brought up the rear, pausing to open Dick and Jack’s cell.

Jack walked over and followed the thugs without any arguing, Dick levelled a glare on them. He took a hesitant step forward, the men lurched forward and grabbed him, seemingly having decided not to take the chance of him putting up a fight.

Dick scowled, fighting to wrench his arms free from the grip as he walked on. He kept the glare up as the thugs let go and he followed their parade through the halls. They passed by a few more cells, the thugs forcing the people inside to join them.

Dick made sure Jack stayed close to him. He took in everything he could. There were six men herding them along, guards of some description, all armed with a gun and a knife, and he spied a trigger for the inhibitor collars on one of their belts. There were 23 of them, including Jack and Dick, collared and unarmed. Dick liked his chances. But the rest of them? Not so much.

He seemed to be the oldest, he spied a girl who looked about seventeen, a woman about his age and a teen boy who looked no younger than sixteen. The rest all seemed younger than fourteen.

Dick felt a little nauseous. He took a deep breath and kept his eyes forward.

His skin still felt weird, tingly almost. His shoulders were tense, and he felt ready to bolt, almost like he was fuelled with adrenaline, but there was a degree of calm to it, not quite as frantic, and his heart was still beating steady.

He took a deep breath, hands in fists.

He was Nightwing, he could do this.

The guards lead them down a few hallways, till they opened a door to a large room. Dick found it semi-reminiscent of a locker room. There were benches along the walls and in the middle of the room and strewn across them was protective equipment for boxing matches. Just the bare essentials, tape for the hands, knee pads, head braces. They all looked a little small for adults and older teens, but they’d fit the younger ones easily.

A guard grabbed him and the three other older people he’d noticed, wrenching them away from the younger ones and to a corner of the room. They were pushed down onto the benches and left there, one guard idling nearby.

“newbie?” the oldest girl asked, turning to him. She was wearing a hijab over plain black clothing, bright green accents akin to workout clothing on the shirt.

“Dick Grayson,” he introduced, shaking hands with her and shooting her a small smile.

She nodded, “welcome to where good men go to die.”

Dick clenched his jaw and looked away. He wanted to give the same promise he had to Jack, but this woman was far too old to take that at face value and believe it.

“Fran,” she introduced herself, then pointed to the other two, “that’s Michael and Sam.”

Dick nodded in turn at the two, “how long have you guys been here?”

“best guess?” Sam asked, “eight months.”

“nine,” said Michael.

“a year,” said Fran.

Dick took a deep breath.

One of the guards came back over, the rest of their group organising the younger kids to sit down and ordering them to strap on the gear. The guard that approached threw the four of them the tape to wrap their hands with and turned away once more, barely even looking at them.

Dick wrapped his fists habitually, quickly and without even having to watch. The other three fumbled, and Dick could tell they’d never learned how to do it properly.

“here,” he said, unwrapping his own hands, “watch, like this,” he stepped them through it slowly, “if you do it incorrectly, you’ll do more harm than help.”

Michael and Sam followed eagerly; Fran’s eyes turned interrogative as she appraised him.

“you fight?” she asked.

Dick swallowed and tried to think of the best way to answer the question.

“I’m a cop,” he said, voice low and quiet, that wasn’t something the guards needed to know, “I learned hand-to-hand at the academy and I was keen on martial arts in my youth.”

“you’ll be out of here quick then,” Fran said drily, Michael and Sam physically withdrew from him as if not wanting to get attached, “the good ones always get bought quick.”

“bought? Do they auction you off?”

Fran shook her head and looked away.

“They make us fight so they know what we can do, what powers we have,” Michael said, “then one day,” he moved his hands in a ‘poof’ kind of gesture, “the good ones are just gone.”

“what about Jack?” Dick asked, “kid with the earth powers? He said he’s reigning champ.”

“they want someone to compare to,” Fran said, “Jack is their soundboard, they’ll never let him go till they get someone better than him they can use to measure everyone up.”

“he’s a kid, he’s twelve,” Dick said, “he can’t be that good.”

“you try punching rocks, it doesn’t exactly go well,” Sam grumbled.

Dick pursed his lips.

“they make us fight? With chips is what Jack said.”

Fran nodded, “small circles, they put them on your neck.”

“but how do they make you fight, surely they can’t- “

“one moment you are yourself,” Sam said, “the next… it’s like being drunk, but everything’s working properly.”

“or like the piece of your mind that thinks, that’s you,” Michael elaborated, “it’s just gone. There’s nothing that says what you’re doing is wrong, but the ability to plan? To think ahead? To understand? It’s all there.”

Dick swallowed, “that’s horrible.”

“just wait till you experience it,” Sam said, sadly, “it gets worse.”

“you remember it all,” Michael hugged himself, “every second.”

Fran rubbed at his shoulder blade, watching him sympathetically.

The guards walked among the rows for a few minutes, making sure no one acted up, until the female scientist from the lab with the tubes appeared. She held a box that she placed on the end of the column of benches closest to the door, then flipped the lid open.

If Dick was chipped…

If it worked the way they said it did, Dick would be in full control with no ability to hold back. He’d compromise himself, go too far, hurt someone and he’d blow whatever cover he had.

He couldn’t let them get one of those things on him.

The scientist walked between the rows, the kids bent forwards and let her place the chip on the back of their necks without a fight.

As she approached him Dick eyed the guard’s gun.

But what could he do? If he fought back now he’d stand no chance, he had no idea where they were, what the layout of the building was, how many guards were there. He had no plan; he needed more information.

So what did he do?

What would Bruce do?

Dick swallowed as nausea bubbled up.

Rule number three: the mission comes first.

(are you sure he isn’t playing you? You don’t leave a guy a lot of options. Nightwing’s our leader. You should have told me! Are you kidding? It just gets more dangerous from here. So Manta’ll just kill her, and Artemis and Aqualad too if they try to save her, and then we’ll have lost all three of them because you thought it was a bad idea to share. I don’t wanna be the Batman anymore.)

Dick took a deep breath, eyeing the scientist as she approached. He gripped the edge of the bench and clenched his jaw. If he let go of the old wood he was sitting on he’d bolt.

He and the scientist shared a look, she rose an eyebrow and waited expectantly. Dick glanced at Sam, Fran and Michael. They watched him pleadingly, the looks in their eyes begging him not to make a scene, not to run the risk of anyone getting hurt, of them firing up the shocks in their collars.

Dick took a deep breath and leaned his head forward to let the scientist place the chip.

“I swear some of them don’t even get better.”

“they certainly get better at taking a punch.”

Graham snorted, “the shadows don’t want punching bags.”

“so we give them to someone else, no biggie,” Corrigan answered.

Graham sighed through his nose, writing a few things down as the guards dragged the two kids away, “we’ll have the green bean next,” he announced, looking over to their head of security, “pit him against the one with the fire powers.”

The guard nodded and headed back into the room where the metas were kept.

“that’s a bit of a heavy hitter for a green bean.”

“kid can throw a punch, gave ‘em some trouble when they took him in according to the report.”

“beside the point if you ask me.”

Graham shrugged, “we’ll see.”

He leaned forward on the desk, watching as the newbie was ordered out onto the mats. The one-way mirror was a sufficient barrier, they’d never had any issue before, but watching this new meta…

Graham felt a shiver. There was something in his eyes that made him think he was different. Now the inhibitor collar was off he could use whatever powers he’d gotten, and they still didn’t know what they were.

The other meta was ordered out. the two stood about five metres apart, posture relaxed, waiting for orders.

Corrigan leaned into the microphone that played on the speaker inside the room.

“incapacitate, do not kill. A tap out or a hold constitutes a win. Go.”

And Graham was proven justified in his anxiety over their new meta.

The newbie’s file said his name was Richard Grayson, a cop, a gymnast, a good shot and a looker.

It failed to mention he was a bad ass.

Richard didn’t wait for his opponent to move, he shot forward and begun a barrage of hand-to-hand assaults. His opponent was small, about fourteen, lanky, they relied on their powers. Their file labelled them as Thomson.

Richard landed enough hits to daze before Thomson got himself into gear and lit his fists aflame, launching forward in an attempt to tackle Richard to the ground. Richard jumped back, then sent himself into a series of somersaults, jumps and twists as Thomson sent balls of fire at him. No matter how many or how fast Thomson fired Richard ducked and jumped out of the way, moving too fast and with no predictable pattern.

Thomson yelled, furious, as Richard continued to dodge, he tensed up and his skin glowed warm and molten red before a column of flame burst out of him in Richard’s direction.

Richard jumped out of the way, but the column was too large, and the flames caught his left side, curling over skin and latching onto his jacket.

Richard flung the jacket off and rolled; the flames winked out, but the damage was done. Thomson’s fire burned hot and it had left Richard’s sleeve singed black and raw red skin over his arm.

Richard didn’t visibly seem to care.

Thomson paused, catching his breath, the flames on his skin winked out as he tried to regather himself. Richard took the opportunity.

He launched forward, landing a solid hit to Thomson’s torso, as the kid failed to protect himself he lost ground until Richard swept his legs from under him and gripped him in a tight hold.

Graham’s mouth had dropped.

“match over,” Corrigan announced into the speaker, and the two detached. Thomson stayed on the ground, curled on himself and gasping for breath. Grayson stood, seemingly unaffected, he wasn’t even winded.

Graham watched as the red skin faded and his arm returned to normal, skin unaltered and healthy.

“he has advanced healing,” Corrigan announced, taking notes.

A guard returned and took hold of Thomson’s arm, dragging him back to the others.

“bring in the one with super strength,” Corrigan ordered, “I wanna see his strategy, and we’ll find out if his healing handles broken bones.”

Graham looked at his fellow scientist, aghast and face ashen, “you’re kidding?”

“no.”

“he’s no superman but Morn will pound that kid to pieces, look at him,” Graham gestured to Grayson, standing patiently on the mats in parade rest, “he’s got some muscle and some brains and that’s it- “

“he didn’t even bat an eye at that one,” Corrigan said rolling her eyes, “he can handle it. and stop learning their names, it’s just gonna make things difficult for you.”

Graham gritted his teeth and kept his eyes on the man standing on the mats.

“he’s gotta have more than healing, but he didn’t even use it. he barely did anything, just a few hits and some cardio.” Corrigan said, leaning forward with her palms pressed into the top of the desk, “I’m gonna crack this nut.”

Graham swallowed down his anxiety and sat down at the desk, taking a pen and getting ready to write his own notes.

“this isn’t a game, Corrigan,” Graham said.

“that’s exactly what it is Graham,” Corrigan said, smirking at him like she was amused by his small amounts of morality, “they’re metas, and from now on they’ll be no more than pawns on a board.”

Dick watched the next person walk out onto the mats. He didn’t know who they were or what they could do, just that he had to beat them.

Why?

He felt a tingle, an uncomfortable pulse in the back of his neck that tickled a little too far on the side of painful, and the question peeled itself from his mind.

The opponent was about five foot three, approximately thirteen years old, pale, shaved head, well built. He settled into a ready stance that Dick recognised as some form of Karate. They were experienced then, not like the last one who didn’t know what they were doing.

The same voice from before ordered them to begin.

Dick settled into his own ready stance, shoulder and fists loose, feet squared. And he waited.

His opponent tensed, took a deep breath, twitched, and frowned. He took a step to his right, beginning to circle. Dick moved with him, circling at the same pace, stopping when he did, picking up the pace when he did.

Karate was based largely in the legs; it was all kicks and manoeuvres. His upper body was still toned, but his legs were definitely stronger. Dick could beat most people, he had the training, the skill, the experience. When it came to fighting people like Bruce he had difficulty because they were strong, if they grabbed him, got him in a hold he was done for. He had to be able to keep moving, to confound them with his quick moves and evasions. He could wear them out.

Against Bruce it didn’t always work, his mentor had plenty of stamina. Against this child? He liked his chances.

His opponent huffed, frustrated, and launched forward, ready to begin the fight.

Dick dodged the first punch and batted away the second, moving to avoid the kick, then grabbing his ankle as it was in the air and twisting.

The opponent wrenched the limb from his hand, twisting with the movement and losing balance. He made to grab Dick as he attempted to correct his stance. Dick could try to take advantage of his misbalance now, but he’d go down with him. He twisted out of the grab and took a few steps away, settling back into the ready stance and waiting.

The way he escaped Dick’s tight grip suggested superstrength, nothing too crazy but more than human. But he was off balance and couldn’t think ahead enough to plan how to approach an enemy who was more experienced than him.

Dick waited, taking notice of how his opponent leant his weight back onto his right side, below the cuff of his pants Dick could see his ankle was bright red, a cut with crusting rusted dried blood flaking off of it.

He was injured, Dick could exploit that. His main strength lay in using his legs and one of them was a weakness.

The kid launched back into the fight, sending hit after hit and Dick dodged with ease. He could predict each move a mile away, the kid’s body language was practically vocalising his thoughts and none of his moves were flowing. They were choppy, replicas of diagrams and perfected moves from martial arts. There was no personal style, no ability to change the moves, to adapt to fight someone else.

Dick dodged, over and over and over. Bobbing and weaving between kicks and punches, diverting his opponent’s moves.

The kid yelled and launched at him, Dick rolled back and kicked the kid over him, flipped back onto his feet and stood once more in his ready stance.

The kid huffed, panting and frustrated, he jumped back up to his feet and didn’t even bother to try proper strategy, he ran at Dick, arms out and attempting to grab Dick around the middle.

Dick sidestepped, grabbed the kid’s shoulder and kneed him in the gut. The kid’s arms shot up and grabbed for his arm, trying to pull him off balance. Dick kicked his knee and then wrapped his arms around the kid’s head and neck in a headlock. The kid squirmed, kicking wildly, and then elbowed Dick in the side.

Dick jerked and the kid got free, twisting and trying to land a punch. Dick caught it, his palm stinging and bones jarring under the kid’s strength, but he managed to hold it, and he didn’t have time to be surprised by that before the kid tried to hit him with his other fist. Dick batted it away, landed a solid punch of his own and then moved in to throw him with a basic Judo flip. He followed the kid down, wrapping his limbs around him in a hold that kept the kid’s entire body down.

He squirmed for a few moments until the scientist once more called the match to an end and Dick let go.

He was heavily breathing this time; the match had lasted longer. The ache in his arm was disappearing quickly, too quickly to be normal and he couldn’t get his focus to unstick from the fact that he shouldn’t have been able to block and hold that punch. the kid had some form of superstrength and even though Dick had wavered under the hit and almost had to give ground, he should have been taken out by it.

He swallowed, he had to focus on this. He didn’t know what would happen if he lost but he felt like it would be bad. No matter what he had to keep fighting at his best.

Why?

The strange buzz tingled once more, and he forgot the question entirely.

His skin felt strange, there was an energy humming through him and no matter how much he moved in these fights he wasn’t hitting it. his nerves and reflexes were a tangled mess, and everything seemed so loud so bright so strange.

The next opponent was dragged in. and the next match began. And the next match was won.

Dick didn’t understand what was happening, what was wrong with him. Everything was healing too quickly; everything was moving so fast. He flashed back to those moments in the tube surrounded by tar, panicking, feeling something in his body build and build and build until it snapped like a violin string. Everything was wound so tight, and no matter how fast he moved, how hard he hit, how hard he got hit, the tension wasn’t disappearing.

It made him want to scream.

The next person they pitted him against was dragged back with a bleeding nose and a limp courtesy of how tight Dick was wound.

“Jesus Christ,” Graham hissed, head resting on one hand as he added a few more notes to his file on Grayson, “who the fuck is this guy?”

“someone who’s just been given a wide board of enhancements,” Corrigan said, “nothing special in particular, he just seems to have heightened senses, reaction times, healing.”

“yeah, that’s great and all Nancy,” Graham huffed, “but I wasn’t talking about his meta gene I was talking about the fact that he fights like a fucking vigilante.”

“maybe he is,” Corrigan grinned, “maybe we just caught Batman.”

Graham sighed in frustration and dropped his head to his desk, “we need to take him out, go through the rest. Then we can collar him and tie him down and get some answers out of him.”

“not until we know the full extent of his meta gene,” Corrigan scowled, leaning forward once more to watch Grayson like he was a puzzle, “there’s more, I can tell, look at him.”

Graham didn’t want to, but he glanced up and watched Grayson closely.

“he’s agitated, twitchy,” Corrigan said, “has been since the collar was taken off. There’s something building in him that he doesn’t know how to use, and he hasn’t been pushed so far yet to let the power come out naturally by instinct.”

Graham nodded, “yeah, I get what you’re saying, but Corrigan there’s something more here and we need to find out what.”

“later,” Corrigan snapped, “we can interrogate the bitch later, right now I want to what he can do.” She turned to the guard waiting for orders, “grab the one that’s enhanced, and the one with the knives.”

“two?” Graham looked between the guard who was leaving and Corrigan, “two?. Nancy he’ll be-”

“he’ll win, or he’ll lose, and if he loses he’ll get desperate and be forced to use whatever’s hiding under his skin.” Corrigan turned back to the mirror, grinning sadistically towards Grayson.

Graham didn’t like how it almost felt like Grayson was looking back at her.

Dick watched the next opponent walk onto the mats.

There were two of them.

One was tall, well built, about fifteen, with a mop of hair over a stony face that sported several scars, she stood and walked with confidence and twitched at the slightest sound. and the other was a small little thing, black greasy hair tied back in a mess of curls, hands dainty, eyes wide, he was bouncing on the balls of his feet and glancing at everything in the room.

The small boy looked about twelve. He swallowed and focused on Dick. He then held his arms out, gritted his teeth, and his skin peeled away on its own.

The flesh turned dark, separated from his arm and dropped. The boy caught it with a flinch, his arms bright red, and held the two strips of hardening, steel black material. The two… things, shifted further until they lengthened to a point and became knives.

Dick watched with raised eyebrows. Interesting.

The girl stepped forward with a square stance, looking between Dick and the small boy.

The voice played into the room once more.

“two versus one,” it ordered, “usual rules, begin.”

Two versus one.

Alright.

The boy rushed him immediately, coming at him with his weird skin-knives. He made huge sweeping attacks with absolutely no control, balance or forethought, but he seemed to have some idea as to how to fight. Dick could handle him easily, as long as he kept his eyes on the weapons and didn’t get distracted, that would be an easy step towards impalement.

As long as he didn’t get distracted.

His distraction made itself apparent in the form of the girl coming at him from his other side.

She moved like him, in a way. She was observant, picking up on his twitches and managing to predict a few of his moves. She was strong, too, about as strong as him, and she seemed to be picking up on even the smallest of sounds.

Enhanced then. Like him.

He took a hit from the boy as the girl distracted him with a high kick. The knife hurt like a normal steel blade and left a cut down the outside of his thigh. He felt the sting but kept moving. But he needed to give it a chance to heal a bit, he liked his chances but he didn’t want to risk further injuries that would just lessen his skill and ability.

He managed to pull a few defensive moves to get some space between him and his two attackers. They watched him appraisingly, trying to get a read on him. The cut was healing over slowly. They circled each other.

He kept it up until his leg stopped hurting so much, becoming a dull pain in the back of his head and less distracting. He took a half step closer as he continued to circle, and the girl took the bait, stepping closer slowly. Dick matched her and she sped up, pulling back her arm for a hit.

Dick pretended to go to meet her, but then dodged wide as she followed through for the hit. She overcorrected, stumbled and spun around to face him once more. Meanwhile, the boy with the knives came in, with one hit aimed for him that he dodged, the next he caught with a hand on his inner elbow, kicked back at the girl who was coming for him once more, then caught the boy’s other hand as he tried to hit him with his free knife.

He used the purchase on his arms to push him and his opponent followed the momentum and tried to stab him as he turned, Dick kneed him and shoved him back as the girl came back once more, going for a heel kick downwards at him, that Dick jumped backwards to dodge. He roundhouse kicked at her and she used the momentum of her heel kick to duck and swing up with a backhand that Dick dodged and then moved into a kick that she wasn’t fortunate enough to escape. She went stumbling back, and the boy was back once more.

He went high with the first hit and Dick caught it on his forearm, he then attempted to stab him in the sides where Dick had left an opening, he flinched back and grabbed his other arm as well, just as before. He heard the girl coming up behind him with a kick and ducked, pulling the boy down with him, then letting go and stepping back to dodge another punch from the girl. Instead of attacking once more he went around her arm, grabbing from behind, kicking the boy down as he attempted to get up, then kicked the girl in the back of the knee.

She went down but was up and twisting, trying for a punch. Dick caught it by wrapping his arm around and grabbing her from the back of her shirt, then elbowed her in the face, used the momentum to then throw her with all his strength across the mats.

And the boy with the knives was back. Brilliant.

He went down onto his knees as he swept his blades in spinning motions, going for Dick’s legs. Dick dodged, letting himself give ground. The boy then followed through with the momentum and came up, still spinning his knives. Dick ducked, then jumped back as he continued to sweep his knives through the air. Dick caught the next hit with his forearm. The boy spun back and went for the same hit on the other side and Dick caught it on his arm again. The boy went to stab him and Dick caught it.

This kid really was inexperienced. He was leaving all kinds of openings and losing all his strength with his hits, he had literally let his arms get crossed over themselves.

Dick pushed then kicked the boy just below the knee. He noticed the girl getting up behind him.

He needed this boy out of the fight. Now.

He was down on his knees, and Dick had his knives under control thanks to holding his arms. Dick kicked him in the gut, twisted his arm till he dropped the knife, then used his hold on his other arm to pull him down to the ground and stomp onto it. then he kicked him in the head.

By the time Dick turned around the girl was back.

They faced each other down for a moment. Waiting for someone to start. Trying to determine how to move.

Dick shot her a grin, and kicked high, letting her dodge backwards. She kicked high in response, Dick dodged backwards just a little then ducked under her punch and landed his own in her gut, his other hand sweeping to hit her across the jaw.

She dodged backwards as Dick roundhouse kicked. Then he followed through in a helix kick that she dodged once more. He punched and she caught it on her forearm, then she attempted to kick down on his leg that Dick didn’t quite dodge on time.

Dick came back immediately, though, with a punch that his opponent caught once more, returning with an attempted backhand that Dick batted away, dodged the next hit and then kicked at her ankle in a sweep. He kept the momentum and kicked backwards before the girl could attack again. She stumbled backwards, holding her gut.

Dick gave her a moment, just because he was having fun watching her struggle. She had obviously found herself winning most of her fights and was now surprised to come up against someone with similar abilities with better skill.

Dick grinned and jerked forwards a bit as if he were to attack, the girl flinched at the feint. Then switched stance. Dick kicked forwards, then punched in a quick one-two that the girl dodged. She then followed by swinging a hard punch that Dick dodged around sideways and landed a solid right hook across her jaw. He then swept a helix kick that the girl dodged under. He launched forward, grabbing her on the shoulders and landed a knee in her gut. And then another. She attempted to elbow him but Dick stepped back, then punched again, and again, then kicked, then dodged the girl’s attempt at a helix kick.

Dick blocked her kick with his own foot, then punched her in the nose, then spun and dropped, sweeping her legs. Dick popped up and kicked down with his heel. She rolled out of the way at the last second, coming up to her knees, and barely caught the hit Dick aimed square at her gut. He kicked again, she grabbed his leg and swung down, throwing Dick to the ground.

As she tried to kick at him again Dick landed a hit to her crotch- not as painful to a girl but still enough to have her stumbling back, curled on herself.

Dick got to his feet, eyeing her once more.

He launched forward into a double helix that the girl dodged at the last second, then flew a hit into her shoulder, then blocked her kicks with his forearms, landed a punch in her gut, then across her jaw, then he roundhouse kicked her, caught her punch by wrapping his arm around her and grabbing her behind the head by the shirt, kneed her twice, then jumped up over her crouched form, wrapped his led around her neck and rolled, catching the girl on the ground in a hold with his legs around her torso. He leaned back and her arm dislocated. She screamed, he backhanded her across the mouth as best he could from his position and held on as she attempted to fight out.

She was panting and clearly couldn’t get out.

A hold constitutes a win.

“match over,” the voice played over the speakers once more.

Corrigan swept everything off the desk with a yell of rage.

“Jesus Christ,” Graham muttered, then pinched the bridge of his nose, “fucking hell.”

Corrigan slammed her hands down on the bench, “who the fuck is this guy?”

Graham sucked a breath through his teeth, “as I said before, get a collar on him, strap him to a chair and let’s interrogate him and find out what we’re dealing with before-“

Corrigan turned on Graham with a snarl, “shut the fuck up.”

Graham’s jaw snapped closed with an audible click.

Corrigan took in a deep breath, fixed the collar of her jacket, and turned to the guard by the door.

“the boy? With the knives? Who went down faster than a teen being touched for the first time?” Corrigan said with dangerous smile, “tell your man to shoot him. We’ll clean the mats later.”

Graham snapped up, “what.”

“that kid,” Corrigan hissed, “is fucking useless. He can barely fight. He’s been here for a year, he’s gotten no better and he can barely use his powers without dropping. We don’t need him, no one will want him, fucking shoot him.”

“wow, wow, wow, wait, Corrigan-“

She whipped on him and stabbed a finger in his face, “Graham, do as you’re told and shut the fuck up.”

Dick watched as a guard lead the girl back to the room.

And he watched as another guard stalked over to the boy, still lying on the ground from dizziness. Dick had likely given him a concussion.

The guard didn’t help him up, didn’t lead him back.

No.

The guard took out his gun, flicked the safety off, then aimed it downwards at the child’s head.

Dick’s blood turned cold.

He needed to get over there and stop the guard and save the kid and-

The chip spasmed, his skin thrummed with electricity and the thoughts emptied from his head but-

When he focused back the gun was still there and the finger was pulling the trigger and-

He launched forward just as the bullet fired. He landed a punch on the guard, slapped the gun from his hand, kicked him in the gut and then-

The chip gave out a high-pitched whine as it crackled to life with electricity.

Dick’s eyes rolled back into his head, his shoulders seized up, his legs shook, and he crumpled to his knees.

The guard picked the gun up and whacked him across the face with it. then froze, likely receiving orders through an earpiece. The guard grabbed the now-dead body by the back of his shirt and began dragging it to the exit.

Dick watched, still on his knees, as the kid’s head lolled, a red streak of blood following him out of the room.

The dead eyes looked like Jason’s.

“fuck it.”

Graham looked up at Corrigan, who was still seething and staring at Grayson through the glass.

“send in the kid.”

Dick remained kneeling, staring at the spot on the ground where the boy had been. There was more than blood, chunks of brain and flecks of skull bone lay there, a hole in the mat where the bullet lay buried. Dick stared at it, trying to come to terms with those few seconds, trying to process them.

One moment the kid was alive, and Dick was thinking of how he had likely given him a concussion.

The next he was dead, and now Dick was thinking of how that had to be his fault.

The kid lost. He lost. Dick hadn’t known what a loss meant before, just that he had to win. It seemed strange for the boy to be the first for them to kill on the mats in front of him, but Dick wasn’t thinking about the lack of pattern here. All he was thinking about was the chances that his other match buddies, his other momentary enemies, sparring partners, could now be dead.

Because of him.

Rule number-

The chip flickered and his neck twinged and Dick stood, looking to the door where the guard was leading in his next opponent. The next lamb for the slaughter.

And he recognised him.

Jack looked very different now. His eyes weren’t distant, but they lacked the energy and emotion from when Dick had spoken to him in their cell. Now that the collar wasn’t on him, his skin had turned slightly green-tinted, and where freckles once were, it now looked as if blooms of green dots were spreading across him, a few accompanied by flecks of pale white. Like small white weed flowers in an otherwise well-kept lawn.

His steps seemed heavier, like he was fighting to detach himself from the ground, and every movement of his feet seemed to scrape along the mats.

A guard held a walkie-talkie to Jack’s ear. Dick could hear what was being said but it filtered out as unimportant. He didn’t know why. He blamed the chip, it was vibrating against his skin. The guard then put his walkie-talkie back on his belt, then the room emptied out. A low beep sounded and the mats were slid outwards towards the edges. Dick frowned and stepped off of them to the bare dirt left behind.

Jack settled into a stance, feet planted and weight balanced. Dick settled into his own. The speaker announced that the match would begin.

And Dick’s adrenaline skyrocketed.

The earth rose up without warning, reaching for the ceiling. Dick’s stomach dropped as he momentarily lost balance, then threw himself off the column of earth, only to be hit to the side by another piece of rock.

He smashed into the wall, hit the ground, and rolled. He heard more rock moving and saw shadows approaching, he managed to dodge the barrage of rocks that Jack sent for him by pure luck, instinct and adrenaline and reflexes kicking in.

He shot a glance towards Jack, trying to see if he was moving with what he was doing and if keeping track would help Dick some.

He wasn’t.

His skin’s green tinge had darkened in some places, but in others it had been replaced with swirling dark brown, moving across his skin in a mirror of the rocks reigning down on Dick. The flecks of white in the green were blossoming in small flowers as the brown clouds approached before disappearing. It was like watching a strange, animated tattoo move across him. His eyes were closed and his feet were still in the same stance, dirt had come up over them to keep him stable.

Dick dodged, rolled, jumped, but even with his reflexes and the way he moved and the stamina that seemed to have become enhanced as well he couldn’t avoid every attack and he soon found himself being hit time and time again. He felt bones crack, snap, grind. They healed quickly but the more injured he got the slower the healing was.

Dick dodged another rock and jumped over the next and as his heel hit the ground-

The earth swallowed him up.

He clawed at the dirt, kicking his legs wildly and trying to move through it like it was an avalanche of snow but there was very little give and rocks were pushing in from the sides. His breath caught in his lungs and stayed there, his chest ached and his ribcage moaned with the pressure. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

And he felt that strange feeling rise up inside him like a wave, the tension from before, the feel of a string pulling, pulling, pulling, and not quite snapping, the cold washing over him just as it had in the tar and with it that feeling that wasn’t electricity but was definitely some kind of energy running up his legs and torso and spine and arms, his head pulsed and vibrated with it. he didn’t know what it was but he wanted it to stop, but he also didn’t want to know, was afraid of what it could be and overall terrified that whatever it was it would be worse than the tension eating him up and corroding at him from the inside.

An instinct, a gut feeling, whispered at the back of his head to let go, to let it snap, to let it happen, that not only would it help but it would also save him-

He couldn’t breathe-

His vision was black already from the dark but it was spotting with colours and swirls and patterns. The darkness was nice, he could stay down here, down here where he couldn’t get anyone else killed, down here with the shadows. the darkness. The emptiness. The void. Where he belonged.

It’s not like anyone would miss him.

He’d been strangled before, had blacked out from lack of oxygen, he knew he was nearing the end of his rope. He could feel the earth moving around him and soon he was pulled out from the earth.

He blinked, taking in a breath and spluttering-

There was a shadow around him, he looked up to find a rock about to land on him, falling, falling, falling-

He let the tension snap.

Graham watched as Corrigan gave the order for the fight to begin. He watched as she told the kid- Jack- not to go easy, to push Grayson to the edge, to almost kill the guy. She then handed the guard’s walkie-talkie back to him and settled against the desk again, staring with a sadistic gleam in her eyes.

He watched as Grayson dodged, weaved, jumped, ran, trying to get an idea as to how to battle the kid.

And he watched as Grayson hit the ground, only to be swallowed whole.

“call it off-“

“sit down.”

“Nancy he’s gonna-“

“Graham if you don’t shut up I’ll shove you in a tube,” Corrigan hissed.

Graham’s breath shook, but he clenched his hands together and watched the fight continue. Watched as Grayson failed to escape the prison of the earth.

After a while Jack pulled him back out and Grayson spluttered for breath, dirt flaking off him. Graham watched as he looked up at the rock coming down on him and he watched as it landed on him and he watched as it was lifted and-

And Grayson was gone.

Just… gone.

Gone?

Graham shot from his chair and stared, leaning closer to the glass as if getting closer would reveal what the hell had happened.

Grayson had disappeared. Had simply blinked out of existence.

Jack frowned, shoulders and fingers twitching. The rocks floating in the air fell back to the ground. Dust and small flickering movements floated across the surface of the dirt, as if Jack were extending roots through the ground, looking for where Grayson had gone.

He found nothing, and the roots of moving dirt became branches, searching the open air.

Jack’s frown deepened as he continued to fail at finding Grayson. The branches of dirt grew in number till there was a writhing web of dirt tentacles in the air, a net that settled shadows in strange patterns along the mats, Jack stood in the middle of it all.

Something in the shadows shifted, the branches shuddered, and Graham thought it was a trick of the eye until the darkness shifted and Grayson dropped into the branches, running along them, and jumping between them.

The branches flinched, dropped, disappearing into the ground and Grayson landed on the dirt with a thud, before running at Jack.

A rock rose from the earth to squash him, Dick rolled under it and-

And disappeared.

Again.

The rock rose away from the ground once more, the shadow cast over Jack and-

And Grayson emerged from it, dropping from the sky, and slammed into Jack.

He rammed a punch into his face, and just like that the kid’s concentration disappeared.

The dirt settled, looking so dead without him controlling it and his skin shifted back to the normal off-white green. His eyes flew open, staring at Grayson pleadingly as his fist landed in his face once more.

Corrigan watched, eyes sparking with electric energy and excitement.

“got him.” she grinned, watching as Grayson continued to hit Jack until the kid slumped in his grip.

Graham just stared.

1.3     You promised

Dick felt a little sick.

Okay, a little was an understatement, he felt a lot sick, and in many different ways.

His memories were clear, everything was sitting right in his head, he knew exactly what had happened-

That didn’t mean he wanted to acknowledge it.

In a way he was thankful that, as soon as the match was over, they stuck the collar back on him and let the electricity knock him out. He dropped into unconsciousness like a rock in a pool, folding into the water and the depths.

When he woke up it was to a bucket of freezing water and a bag over his head being ripped off.

His wrists were cuffed to a chair, and his ankles. The cold metal pressed against his back, unforgiving.

He blinked, staring at the person in front of him. They were lanky, on the shorter side, with dark messy hair and glasses on the bridge of their nose. Their eyes were a little glassy, a little distant, like he wasn’t quite all there.

“good morning, Mister Grayson,” he said, “I’m doctor Graham.”

“pleasure,” Dick drawled. His mouth tasted stale and his throat was dry.

“I’m sure you recall the events prior to you being knocked out?” Graham asked.

Dick grit his teeth.

Graham nodded, seeing everything he wanted to in Dick’s expression, “very good.”

He turned to a desk at the side of the room, picking up a small bottle of liquid and a needle. He turned back so Dick could see him as he carefully filled the needle with the liquid, eyes focused on the small millilitre lines.

“I will give you one, and only one, chance to tell me what I wish to know in a way that will not cause you physical discomfort,” Graham said, holding the needle up to the light so he could check the level. he then placed the bottle back on the counter, satisfied.

“that’s nice of you,” Dick said, wanting to roll his eyes.

Graham rose an eyebrow but did not otherwise comment, instead deciding to begin the questions.

“where did you learn to fight?”

Dick snorted, “self defence classes as a kid, required classes during police training.”

“that’s not what I saw,” Graham said, “that looked like a hell of a lot more than self defence classes and martial arts. Who trained you?”

Dick shrugged, “look, I can answer your questions, but if you decide not to take them there’s not much I can do.”

“who do you work for?”

“the Bludhaven Police Department.”

Graham let out a long breath through his nose, “so be it, Mister Grayson.”

He strode forwards, needle at the ready, and Dick pressed back into the chair, tugging on the restraints on his wrists.

Graham didn’t seem overjoyed about the prospect of fighting him, and produced a small device from the pocket of his coat. One click and Dick froze up, gritting his teeth against a scream as electricity ripped through him.

When it stopped he could only gasp, collapsing against the chair and trying to catch his breath. Graham slid the needle in without issue.

Dick huffed a breath through his nose and suppressed a pained groan. He shuddered, feeling cold slice through him, and run rampant through his veins.

“now,” Graham said, “shall we try again? Who trained you?”

Dick grunted, clasping onto the arms of the chair, and taking a very deep breath. His tongue felt heavy and his lips felt like ants were crawling on them. His gut churned and he felt the need to throw up but held it down, biting his tongue and keeping his mouth shut.

He could withstand truth serums. Bruce had taught him that a long time ago.

But how long was another question. If he couldn’t hold up until it was out if his system…

Bruce had always worked under the assumption that, if Dick was being held under interrogation, someone would be on their way to help him. That’s how heroes work. But there was no way in hell anyone was on their way now and Dick would have to ride this out until the serum disappeared or he died choking on his own blood (from either the cut he was leaving in his tongue or the aftereffects of fighting the serum, whichever won out first).

Graham watched him struggle with a raised eyebrow.

“trained to withstand interrogation and truth serum, that’s interesting,” he mused, “and annoying.” He cocked his head, watching as Dick swallowed and focused solely on staying silent, “does Wayne know his ward is not what he seems? I’d thought the tabloids would be interesting enough if he found out his eldest was a meta- but clearly apart of some form of organisation? I can only imagine the Shakespearean betrayals we’ll find in the Gotham Gazette.”

“go to hell,” Dick hissed.

Graham snorted, “you’re already there.”

Dick could withstand truth serum, but this doctor seemed to actually know what he was doing. Most people who used the stuff didn’t understand its intricacies, just stuck it in a victim and railed them with questions and assumed that’d be the end of it.

This doctor seemed to be the type who’d made the stuff, who’d studied it. they were always more dangerous in these situations because they knew how to worm into your head and weasel the words out of you.

“where’d you learn to fight?” Dick bit down harder, felt blood well and tasted it, felt it in the back of his throat, “why?”

“I…” Dick grit his teeth and grunted, folding over himself as he felt the air rushing from him like he’d been delivered a gut punch. everything hurt, fire searing through him and acid eating at his skin and a building pressure in his head.

“who do you work for?”

He needed to say something. He couldn’t keep fighting it he needed to let something past his teeth but once he did it would be a slippery slope but if he didn’t it would just get worse and-

“CIA? FBI?” Graham asked, completely unaffected as he watched Dick squirm, “or maybe something deeper? AIM? Do you work for the likes of Amanda Waller?”

Dick lurched at the name, words piling up behind his lips and slamming to be let out. Memories and experiences and Amanda Waller’s face- no he did not work for that piece of absolute-

“oh?” Graham rose an eyebrow and took a step closer, “so you work on that side of the law, in that world. Well,” he scoffed, “I suppose all this isn’t too strange for you then. I doubt I even have to explain what a meta gene is to you.”

“no.” Dick snapped his mouth shut with an audible click as the word escaped. He felt more bubbling up, alongside it the contents of his stomach, but he pushed everything down, down, down.

Graham chuckled, “someone acquainted with this business, hm? Did you work on a taskforce? Or a team, equipped with investigating meta humans?”

Dick shook his head, screwed his eyes shut but- “yes.”

“ah, now we’re getting somewhere.”

Dick felt something warm and thick trickle down from his nose.

“and what team was it? who managed you?” Graham tried again to fix his wording, “who lead you?”

Dick grunted, leaning back against the chair, and trying to just keep it down- “me.”

Graham looked genuinely shocked.

“I led the team,” Dick hissed, and then coughed as blood trickled down the back of his throat.

“and who did you work for?” Graham tried again, voice low and dangerous.

Dick took several deep breaths, chest heaving with each one.

“come on, this’ll all end if you just answer that question for me,” Graham said, “not so difficult. Just a name, an organisation.”

Dick screwed his eyes shut once more, shaking his head, and trying to fight it, feeling the pressure build in his head, behind his eyes, in his throat.

Building, building, building, so much noise in his brain. Words and names and memories flickering around inside his skull and blood trickling down his throat and-

The last thing he heard was Graham sighing in disappointment, before he blacked out.

He woke up not long before the guards dropped him, his eyes snapping open just in time to watch the ground rise up to meet his face.

He groaned, pushed himself up onto his elbows and shook the cobwebs out of his brain. It didn’t quite work. He heard someone shuffling on the top bunk and the sound of the metal creaking. He coughed up the last of the blood, spit and phloem sitting at the back of his throat and spat it out, reaching a hand towards the bottom bunk to use it to help him up to his knees.

A pair of feet and legs appeared in his vision as Jack swung down from the top bunk, and Dick finished hauling himself up too his feet, swaying slightly and leaning heavily on the metal frame but otherwise everything seemed to be working properly.

He looked at Jack and was met with a heavily bruised side of his face, and eyes that were looking him up and down like an enemy.

Dick swallowed, wincing, gut churning as the memories brought themselves to the forefront. With them came thoughts and feelings he’d rather drown out and the sight of a child with a bullet in his brain.

“I’m so sorry,” Dick croaked, throat a little sore and raw but otherwise okay. He cleared his throat once more and swallowed down the metal-tasting shit that came up instead of spitting it out.

Jack clenched his jaw, looking him up and down, then said, “you should probably sit down. You look like shit.” Before sitting on the edge of the bottom bunk, hands clasped between his knees, “the first time after they put the chip on is always the worst.”

Dick snorted, vaguely wondering how much of the crappy feeling he was in was from the chip and how much was from coming down from the truth serum, “I’ve looked worse. Felt worse, too.” The words slid off his tongue easily, a little of the serum still present. He sat down next to Jack, trying not to be too thankful that his bruised up face was helping him stop seeing Jason in every inch of him.

Jack seemed determined not to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” Dick repeated, “really, I…”

“it’s okay,” Jack said, “heck, I almost killed you, suffocated you-“

“it’s okay-“

“then it’s okay,” Jack said, “both sides. No guilt?” he gave Dick a small smile and held his hand out to shake, “deal?”

Dick pursed his lips, knowing he couldn’t make that promise. Guilt was kind of his thing. But he shook hands anyway and said, “I’ll do my best. But you’re just a kid, and I hurt you.”

“I can take it,” he said, “I have taken it before. Just… not as badly, I guess.” He forced himself to sit straight and grinned, “like I said, I’m reigning champ. Well, I was, till you pulled whatever the hell that was.”

Dick blinked, staring off into the wall, “I have no idea, I just…”

“teleportation, that’s what you got,” Jack said, “which is super cool, by the way.”

Dick frowned. It didn’t… feel like teleportation. At least, not how he expected teleportation to feel. He’d chatted to Ed, the teen runaway that Jaime had met via his own friend Ty, who had a teleportation ability that worked only via sightlines. Dick had talked with all those kids, actually, past the ‘therapy-interrogation’ Canary had done. He’d tried to help them as best he could but the whole situation of the invasion…

God he wished he could go back and change some things.

But whatever. The past was the past. And Ed did not describe what Dick had felt when talking about his own powers.

Dick had just kind of… let it happen. Everything in him had been screaming ever since they’d taken the collar off and he’d held it down till he’d been sure he was about to be crushed, hoping that maybe it was something that would help. The next thing he’d known he’d felt a rush of cold and a blanketing pressure, like a weighted blanket, and he’d been dropping, falling, and when he forced his eyes to open there was only darkness. He’d panicked, of course, and immediately wanted to go back to the real world, worrying about what the hell had happened, if perhaps he’d been killed and this was what came after-

And then felt this strange awareness. He’d thought it was a hallucination or something but in his minds eye he could… see? No… feel? Like… echolocation maybe, like he could feel shapes, all in vague outlines. Jack in the centre of a twisting net and shadows dancing across the surface and-

Then he’d jumped out of one of the shadows.

“I have no idea what I did,” Dick said, “I just…”

“let it happen,” Jack nodded, “that’s how this stuff works. Half the time, your head and instincts know what to do before you do, know how things work. You just kinda gotta… let them.”

Dick did not like that one bit. He’d learned very quickly after joining Bruce that you couldn’t just let things happen. Trust your gut, sure, listen to your reflexes and instincts, definitely. But every move had to be calculated, thought through, measured. The closest Dick got to letting his body figure it out for itself was when he sparred with someone in a blindfolded exercise, and even then every motion he made was dictated by information handed to him by practise, skill, and dedicated attention to detail and his surroundings.

“not the type for that, huh?” Jack asked, watching his sour expression with a smile, “you’re like my sister- gotta have control of the situation.”

“it’s the only way to be prepared.”

“have you ever tried not being prepared?”

Dick gave Jack a raised eyebrow, “not something you can afford in adulthood, kid.”

“that’s not what I mean,” Jack rolled his eyes, “but like, my sister has her whole life planned out for herself. She’s sorted every miniature thing. She knows when she can move out, how much it’ll cost her, when she can get a mortgage, when she needs to be finished her degree, when she needs to do everything, plus all the backups for medical emergencies, failures in a class, getting fired, the works.”

“smart girl,” Dick snorted.

“no,” Jack said, crossing his arms, “a stressed girl. Life is unpredictable and uncontrollable and pretending otherwise is how you get yourself into bad situations.”

Dick watched Jack closely, “for a kid you’re real mature.” He smiled and poked him in the temple, “got quite the head on your shoulders.”

Jack grinned, “experience breeds wisdom.”

Dick snorted, “right.”

Jack’s smile bled out and Dick raised an eyebrow. Not a moment after he heard it to.

Guards. Someone was walking down the cell’s hallway.

Dick stood, frowning as he watched the cell door, listening to the guards approach. He wanted the collar off, even though he hated the feeling under his skin the meta gene had brought out, because at least then he’d have that enhanced hearing he’d found himself sporting on the mats.

Jack swallowed, staring in the same direction in fear, but stayed sitting.

Dick watched the guards come along, two stood against the wall while the other approached with a key for the cell door.

“what’s going on?” Dick asked.

The guard gave him a look and didn’t deign to answer. one of the others, leaning against the wall, drawled, “come on, Snyder, the kids can know, not like they can do anything.”

Dick eyed them, not stepping forward as the first guard opened the door and waited.

“the two of you are in the next lot to go,” the chatty guard said, “no more cells for you-“

“what?” Jack hissed as he stood, “no, but-“

“you’re not reigning champ anymore kid,” the guard snickered, “had to happen eventually. They’ll get good money out of selling you off.”

Jack froze, eyes wide. Dick looked between him and the door.

“move it,” the first guard said, “or we can chip you if you’d prefer.”

Dick grit his teeth, stepping back to hold an arm around Jack’s shoulders and guide him out.

They stepped out, and Dick noticed several others were doing the same. He recognised Fran, she gave him a look, then glanced at Jack hiding, tucked into his side. As they were all herded together into a progression, guided by the guards, Dick managed to move to stand beside her.

They were silent, just like everyone else. The guard’s flashing guns and knives and armour enough of a silent deterrent for misbehaviour. For now.

He felt skin touch his hand and glanced down to see Fran’s hand curling to grip his. He squeezed, knitting their fingers together.

“do you know what they’re going to do?” Fran asked, and for the first time Dick thought he heard an edge of worry in her voice.

Dick shook his head ever so slightly, “no.”

Fran screwed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and began mumbling a prayer under her breath.

Jack heard her, then looked up at Dick, “should I do that to?”

Dick hesitated, “if it’ll make you feel better.”

Jack nodded, “I’ll do it in my head.”

Dick squeezed his shoulders, keeping him close and hoping it helped. He wished he could speak at a decent volume without drawing the guard’s attention. He wished he could sing one of the old Romanian lullaby’s his mother used to sing to him. He wished he remembered one of her prayers, the ones she’d said over a candle. Hell, he wished he could at least remember anything she’d taught him about faith other than an if it harm none, do what ye wilt, because the first part of that sentence had been rattling around in his brain since he’d socked his first crook across the face and it had never been louder than it was today.

He settled for remembering his mother’s face, and imaging the movement of his father’s hands as he’d lit a match and the feel of being hugged close by the two of them, rosemary and sage smoke still clinging to their skin.

They separated them all eventually, once they got to a large room. Dick was put with Fran and Sam, Michael nowhere to be seen.

“what do you think they’ll do with us?” Sam asked, keeping her voice low.

Dick clenched his jaw, watching as Jack was herded with other kids his age. The poor kid was still startled, trying to readjust to the knowledge of what was happening to him. He’d hated being held captive and forced to fight, but Dick could tell he found this alternative worse. About to be handed out to bad people and forced to do who knows what.

Dick memorised his face, every word he’d spoken to him. He committed Fran and Sam’s faces to memory, the sounds of their voices, every piece of information. Once he was out of there he would be able to get bearings, find a way to get a message to his team, do something. His options were limited here.

But they might chip him immediately and…

Dick’s stomach churned as he thought on the possibility that they might never take the chip off, that he’d be stuck waiting and hoping his team caught a trail.

He took a deep breath. They could do it. he trusted his team, he trusted the league. But in a situation like this…

Human trafficking was always tricky to track and follow. So often they were faced with the fact that, once the people were moved, finding them again would be impossible.

Well, at least Dick was on the inside. He could keep track, to a degree.

He could do this.

He just had to breathe through it.

The guards came along and forced them to their knees, cuffed them, slipped bags over their heads, and then herded them into… Dick hypothesised the back of a truck, his theory proving true once he heard the engine start.

He hadn’t felt true unadulterated fear in a long time, but as it all sunk in he found himself holding back tremors. He had no control, he couldn’t even see, an inhibitor collar was tight around his neck and he had no idea where they were being taken.

He focused on his breathing and he focused on keeping down the memories of when the chip had been placed on his neck and he focused on not freaking out.

And he tried not to focus on how real the possibility was that maybe not even Batman would be able to get him out of this one. Not until it was too late.

Maybe he was alone on this one.

Wouldn’t be the first time.