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The world is moving around him. Dick barely understands what’s happening; his head is spinning, spinning, spinning and not stopping. There’s a voice, too; someone is trying to shush him, lips against his temple and hair and ear.
“It’s okay,” says the voice, “stay quiet.” And then, after a beat of silence, “I got you.”
Dick still doesn’t understand, but he finally registers the arms around him. It’s why everything is moving - someone is carrying him. He has the vague feeling something is missing, like a whole context maybe, but unconsciousness swipes him away before he can ask any questions.
.
.
.
When he comes back to himself again, Dick is more aware of his surroundings, and when he raises his head, he meets his little brother’s eyes.
“Jase…?” he mumbles, brows furrowed.
“Shhh,” whispers his brother against his hair, “or they’ll find us.”
Dick wants to ask who “they” are, but his brother looks truly terrified, and Jason being terrified doesn’t mean good things. He’s holding Dick in his arms, and when Dick tries to move, none of his limbs react. His eyes widen in horror, and his breathing becomes terribly short.
Jason looks at him, his gaze as horrified as what Dick is feeling right now. He lets go of him rapidly and mouths a word at him - it takes too long for Dick to understand what his brother is saying. Paralytic.
He’s been drugged.
But Dick has no idea how or when or why - he doesn’t even know if they’re Nightwing and Red Hood, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd, or Wayne heirs. Were they taken? Or were they just at the wrong place at the wrong time?
Everything is possible, and Dick’s mind is in scrambles, and he just doesn’t have any idea of what’s going on.
It’s frightening.
Jason quietly takes him back against him, and Dick doesn’t protest. He doesn’t hear anything, but his brother seems to be waiting for something. That’s when he catches it - a quiet rolling sound, coming from a nearby corridor, going away from them. It fades away in the distance, and Jason raises on his feet and runs away, Dick in his arms, and Dick can’t even hang on to his brother. A wave of nausea suddenly hits him and pulls him under, and his world becomes dark once more.
.
.
.
There’s a hand on his mouth. The body behind him is shaking badly, and Dick can feel wet pearls crash into his hair and explode on impact. Tears, supplies his mind as his consciousness slowly comes back to him. Jason. Jason was - is - here. His little brother. He’s the one shaking and crying and holding him close, his hand on his mouth keeping him from emitting the slightest noise.
Dick raises his head, tries to move; nothing really answers to him - paralytic, right - and Jason’s grip tightens on him.
Dick can only hear the pounding of his heart, beating fast in his chest; nothing around him makes sense, he’s still missing memories and pieces of a puzzle too big for him to assemble.
He has no time to ask himself more - his eyes are too heavy to stay open, and it’s not long before he falls asleep again.
.
.
.
It’s a lack of human warmth that wakes up Dick, this time.
He’s on the floor, his body aching, his eyes so wet that the world is blurred around him. He moves one finger, then another, then his whole hand, and relishes in the simple feeling of having control over his body. It’s not fully here yet and it’s not like he can jump and walk and run and everything he’s normally able to do, but it’s still better than before.
He still can’t remember what happened, but he remembers clearly the other times he woke up - it’s progress, too.
And he realizes immediately that Jason is missing.
Or - not exactly missing. Fighting.
Dick is too out of it, his head spinning too much, for him to distinguish exactly who his brother is fighting, but it’s enough to realize that he won’t hold on long. His breathing is short and he’s trying to protect Dick too much, lowering his guard and getting hurt for it.
Dick puts his hands under himself, palms against the ground, and pushes. The process is slow, too slow, but he doesn’t have any other choice. His body barely answers to him but Dick is too stubborn and insists until his chest is in the air. His arms are shaking, and there’s sweat rolling from his forehead, but Dick doesn’t care. Right now, he has to help his brother how he can, and he’ll have a better view on their surroundings and assailants if he’s sitting than if he stays spread on the floor.
The wall is close enough that Dick manages to push himself against it, the hard material supporting his back and making him sigh in relief. He can see the fight better from here, and in the too-long time it takes him to get himself up and propped against the wall, Jason ends up on the floor, a hurt whine escaping from his throat.
Every protective bone in Dick’s body protests at the sight. He’s not sure he’ll be able to talk clearly, and he still can see who they are up against, but he snarls with everything he has, a long, loud growl coming out of his mouth and attracting attention to him. They’re coming toward him now.
Dick raises his head. He has to think fast of a way to defend both him and Jason.
The walls are painted in a dull color, and the… thing? in the middle of it only stands out more. Dick isn’t sure what it would do, but it’s his only bet right now. He reaches out his arms, extending them as much as he can, footsteps coming closer and closer. His whole body is aching and his joints are shrieking but finally, he gets a handle of the thing and activates it. Shrieks come from behind him but he doesn’t look, concentrated on what he’s doing.
It’s only when a hand is put on his shoulder and he recognizes his brother that he lets go. Everything hurts. Jason looks at him with wide eyes and takes him against him, this time more for a hug than for carrying him. Dick gathers his strength to put his arms around his brother’s neck, knotting his hands and fingers together, and returns the embrace.
Dick ends up passing out in an ocean of pain, warm once again.
.
.
.
Dick opens his eyes.
There’s wind on his skin, and he blinks at the sun above him. There’s a hand in his hair, carding through it quietly, slowly, softly.
Dick turns his head. Jason is here, sitting in the grass. He looks terrible - he has bruises and cuts all over his body, his cheeks are hollow, his hair oily, his clothes torn up. But when he looks at Dick, he smiles, relieved, exhausted, and doesn’t stop petting his hair.
“We’re safe,” says Jason, as bright as the sun, and Dick smiles at him.
His body hurts. He feels dirty. He still can’t remember anything. He still can barely move.
He reaches out his hand, and Jason meets him half-way to take it in his own. Dick squeezes it a little before closing his eyes.
He relaxes.