Chapter Text
A FEW HOURS AGO
Dick Grayson was pretty sure all of his fingers were broken. Worse than that, something inside his soul felt shattered too.
A low groan escaped his lips as he forced his eyes open, only to instantly regret it when a harsh, blinding light pierced through the fog of his mind. The room around him spun violently, and a wave of nausea rolled over him, adding a concussion to his growing list of injuries. There were already too many items on that list.
He didn’t need to move to feel the extent of the damage. Each breath sent searing pain through his chest—at least three broken ribs, he calculated. His left arm throbbed where the bone had snapped, his shoulder screamed in protest from where it had been yanked out of its socket, and his leg hung limply, probably fractured. Blood crusted over deep cuts and gashes, the sticky warmth of fresh wounds still oozing from places he couldn’t see. His face was a mess too; the sharp, throbbing pain in his nose and the swollen shut eye told him as much. Every part of his body was a testament to the brutality he had endured.
In the moments before he had lost consciousness, he must have pushed his captors too far. He had no memory of what he said, but whatever it was, it was enough to warrant the savage beating he received. Jason’s voice echoed in his head, a grim reminder from another time: “You don’t know when to shut your mouth, Dickhead, and that will eventually kill you.”
This was his life now. Broken, bloodied, and on the brink of death, chained to a chair in some forgotten corner of Gotham. Yet, through the haze of pain, he couldn’t stop thinking about Tim—his brilliant younger brother. What would Tim do in this situation? Probably something smart, like making sure none of his injuries were fatal before planning an escape.
Dick tried to open his eyes again, blinking rapidly to force his vision into focus. The bright lamp above him only worsened the nausea, threatening to make him lose whatever remained in his stomach. His gaze drifted around the room, but there wasn’t much to see—a sterile, concrete cell with a chair next to him and a wall full of windows. He could barely move, his wrists and legs bound tightly to the chair with bloody ropes that cut into his skin. Escape wasn’t an option—not yet. His body wasn’t ready, and neither was his mind.
His condition was dire. Worse than anything he’d faced before. But even with the overwhelming urge to give in, to let the pain drag him into oblivion, he knew he couldn’t. Damian would never forgive him if he died like this, if his Batman , went out without a fight. And Dick wasn’t ready to die. Not today.
He tried to gauge how much time had passed since his capture. Hours, at least, maybe a day. It was hard to tell with the constant blackouts and beatings. But as he glanced toward the windows, he could see the darkness outside. Midnight, perhaps? He must have been missing for nearly twenty-four hours by now. His family must have noticed by now, must have started looking for him. He just had to hold on until they found him.
But god, he was tired. More than that, he was scared. Terrified in a way he hadn’t been since he was a child, since the night his parents fell. He’d been kidnapped before, beaten to the brink of death, but this time felt different. This time, he felt like he was losing more than just blood—he was losing himself. His sanity was slipping, piece by piece, as his mind kept drifting to her. To Barbara. To all the things he hadn’t said, all the things he might never get to say.
He had to survive, if only for her.
“Wakey-wakey, Dickie!” The voice cut through his thoughts like a knife, and he groaned as his hair was yanked back, forcing his head up. Pain flared through his skull, and he tried to open his eyes, but his left one was swollen shut, and his right eye could only see blurred shapes. “We have to talk about some things before your family can go coffin hunting.”
“Fuck…” he muttered, his voice hoarse and barely recognizable.
“Ah, there he is,” came the mocking tone, accompanied by a face Dick could barely make out through the haze. “I was starting to think you’d given up on me.”
“Black Mask,” Dick spat, the name tasting like bile in his mouth.
“Oh, the bird can still sing! Not for long, though.” Roman Sionis — Black Mask —settled into the chair in front of him with a smirk that made Dick’s stomach churn. “We’ve been playing this little game of cat and mouse for months now, haven’t we? And all this time, you were right under my nose. I’ve got to hand it to you — you and your partner did a damn good job covering your tracks… until you didn’t.”
Your partner.
The mention of Barbara sent a jolt of panic through Dick’s battered body. His thoughts were a mess, tangled between the pain and the fear for her. He hoped to god she was safe, far away from here. But every time he felt his body giving in, every time he felt the darkness creeping closer, all he could think of was her and her beautiful freckles, her fierce green eyes, her fiery red hair. But with each memory came the pain of their last conversation, the way everything had fallen apart between them. What went wrong? Would he ever get the chance to make it right?
Something cold and wet splashed across his face, yanking him back to the present with a gasp.
“Earth to Dickie? I know you’re a better listener than that. Come on, I’ve been trying to talk to you for hours, but you keep passing out on me. That’s no fun. Don’t make me feel ignored, Dick. You wouldn’t like what happens if I feel ignored.”
Dick’s entire body was soaked, the icy water seeping into his wounds and making him shiver uncontrollably. But he wasn’t about to give Sionis the satisfaction of seeing him break. He leveled the man with a defiant glare, his expression cold and unbothered despite the hell he was enduring.
“I see, you’re trying to show me how brave you are,” Black Mask sneered, leaning in closer. “Don’t worry, I already know. You’ve been enduring this pain like you and it were made for each other. I can’t possibly intervene in that. You’re trying to survive like a hero would.”
Dick felt the blood pool in his mouth, realized he’d been biting his tongue so hard it had started to bleed.
“Every hero has a weakness, though,” Sionis continued, his voice low and taunting. “And I think I’ve found yours.”
Don’t let him in. Don’t let him get inside your head.
“That’s a story for another time,” Sionis mused, standing up and pacing around Dick’s chair. “But I promise you, your beautiful redhead will be delighted by it.”
“Fuck you, Roman,” Dick growled, his voice trembling with both fury and fear.
Sionis didn’t respond with words. The punch came faster than Dick could brace for it, snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack. He spat out a mouthful of blood and saw a tooth hit the floor—just another to add to his growing collection. The pain in his jaw was almost unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the rage burning inside him.
“You’re nobody here, Dick Grayson,” Black Mask hissed, circling him like a predator. “You’re not a saint, not a hero, not someone who’s going to be saved. Why do you think no one’s come looking for you yet? Do you really think anyone cares? That’s the problem with Gotham, Dick, when someone disappears, no one cares enough to find them. But don’t worry. I’ll keep you company. Just like old times.”
The next punch was even harder, and Dick’s vision exploded with stars. His body screamed for relief, for unconsciousness, but his mind refused to let go.
“After all, you, me, and your wife have history.”
And again.
“I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t reprimand you.”
And again.
“Lying to me after everything I’ve done for you?”
And again.
“I might even forgive you for being Bruce’s kid.”
And again.
“But I will never forgive you for betraying me.”