Chapter 7

The first thing Damian did when the door closed was crouch down over the unmoving form of Richard Grayson. He reached down and quickly pushed back the tight collar around his throat, pressing two fingers against Dick's neck. Immediately he felt a strong beat pulsing against him, and Damian let out a small half-sigh.

He carefully dragged Dick's arms down alongside his body to get them away from his head, moving them gently in the case of broken bones. Preliminary scans didn't indicate any, but he wasn't sure what he was up against.

He took Dick's face in his hands next, gingerly straightening it so that he could remove the mask. It was made of cloth and leather, with metal shielding the more precious parts like the eyes, nose, temples. He remembered Dick saying at one point that he didn't like wearing the cowl because he felt as though it impeded his senses. He couldn't imagine Dick enjoying heavy bronze goggles any better.

Damian had to admit, it did a hell of a better job of protecting the head than his own mask- or Nightwing's.

Peeling back the cloth, Damian found it sticky and damp along the lower half- so maybe it did a fat lot of good, after all. He had to pause to find all the buckles and snaps, but soon enough he threw the whole mask away. Damian tried to observe the exposed face clinically: a busted lip appeared to be the main source of the blood. He reached forward and gently nudged Dick's mouth open, to make sure no blood was pooling inside.

Finding it clear, he moved on. His nose appeared in tact. There was some definite bruising along his jaw, possibly extending back beyond his ear. Old bruises scattered elsewhere across his skin.

And his hair looked positively dank. Apparently there were no showers in old smuggling tunnels.

"Grayson," Damian muttered, leaning in to check his eyes. He pulled back the left lid and the pupil reacted a little sluggishly to the light. He pulled back the right lid and Damian's own eyes narrowed as his brows became pinched. It was completely bloodshot, the pupil already a pinpoint and non reactive. The bruise around the eye as a whole was yellowed, old.

"Grayson," Damian repeated, as more of a hiss, and there was still no response. He examined the rest of Dick's body, carefully loosening his uniform. The unsurprising wounds consisted mostly of bruising, and what was at the very least a fractured rib. Damian did what he could with the first aid kit, which wasn't much, and then dragged the blanket down from the cot and laid it gently over the man. He tucked the thin pillow under his head, and then sat back on his knees.

A wave of exhaustion rolled over him and he looked, actually looked; without the guise of playing medic, without vision clouded by anger.

Without his mask, and with his costume covered, it was even easier to forget about everything that had happened since he had left the Demon's Tower. Easier to remember why, exactly, he had.

He'd come to save his brother, Damian thought, and that mission wasn't over.

"Please, Grayson. Wake up," he murmured. His eyes came to rest lazily on Dick's chest, and he watched it go up, down. Up, down. The breaths were even, and deep, and Damian laid down in the dirt beside him, cradling one arm under his head.

He awoke to a whisper, although he'd deny having fallen asleep at all- despite the fabric imprints now denting into his cheek.

"Damian?" The dry voice whispered again, and the boy sat up. He looked down at Dick, watched him blink slowly. When their gazes met a small smile spread across the older man's lips. They pulled until the split in his lip broke and it leaked a drop of red, though he didn't seem to notice. He lifted his hand, reaching towards Damian.

Damian drew back instantly, and crouched on his feet just out of reach. Something fluttered over Dick's face, and the hand drifted towards the ground. A moment later he was struggling to get onto his elbows.

Damian sneered. "Talon. You should not attempt to move. You're concussed with potentially fractured ribs, a sprained wrist, and any number of other injuries I am unable to properly detect due to lack of supplies in this dirt room you left me in. Also, something is wrong with your eye."

Dick looked at him, the tip of his tongue cleaning his lip. "You're alive."

Damian's brows creased. "Yes. You were aware of that, we've met since my return," he said, concern creeping into his voice as he leaned forward, his eyes roaming over Dick's body swiftly. Maybe the concussion was worse than he thought. "Do you know where you are?"

"Yes. The dirt room I left you in," came the reply, and Damian, who had been preparing to check Dick's head for an unseen lump or other wound, snapped his eyes back to the man's face. There was a small, oh-so-familiar grin peppering the corner of his lips.

He felt a hand circle his wrist, and yanked it away. He regretted it (somewhat) as a wince of pain flashed across Dick's face.

"This isn't funny! This isn't a game," Damian spat, holding his wrist in his own hand now. "Look at you! Look at where you are! Standing by that impostor's side. Keeping Pennyworth here. Where is he? What did you do with him?"

"He's safe. I gave him to Hood," Dick sighed, closing his eyes again.

"Why did you fight with Owlman?" Damian proceeded, after a short pause.

"I didn't retrieve A2," Dick replied, opening his eyes and flicking them towards Damian. "His Alfred."

Damian nodded, sinking slowly down to sit with his ankles crossed. Dick's eyes followed him down, and Damian finally looked back at him.

After a moment, Dick's hand slid over until it was resting gently on his foot. When Damian didn't pull away, a small sigh escaped his lips and he kept it there. He opened his mouth to speak, and Damian cut him off.

"What's wrong with your eye? The bruises look old. Your pupil isn't reacting normally. Can you even see out of it?"

"It is old," Dick confirmed.

"Owlman?"

"Superwoman. It could have been worse. Owlman…. removed me from the situation," Dick said.

"How noble of him," Damian sneered, and he shifted, though not far enough for Dick's hand to lose contact.

"I'm still alive because of him, D." His voice was gentle. "We don't have to like him. But that's what it is."

"So because he saved you, you trust him? You're working with him?"

Dick shifted then, turning his head towards the door. Damian glanced up at it as well, before looking back down as Dick turned to him.

"I'm working with him, Damian, because he wants to get rid of the Syndicate, and because he can help stop what's coming."

"That sounds rehearsed. Do you have a mirror in your dirt-floored room?"

"My room has stone floors."

"Tt. And what is it 'that's coming,' Grayson?"

"So I'm Grayson again?" Dick asked a feeble grin on his lips. Damian pursed his lips, looking down at the man. He was looking pale again, and Damian could see weariness seeping into his face.

"Stop avoiding all my questions."

Dick closed his eyes, swallowing stiffly. Damian pulled away, and Dick's hand dropped back to the floor in his absence.

"Damian," Dick protested, opening his eyes, watching the boy move away across the room. "Is this really what you want to talk about right now?"

Damian was quiet for a moment, but returned to Dick's side not long later. He presented the man with a cup of water.

"Drink," he said, reaching down to help support the man's shoulder as he sat up a little. His brows creased slightly, though only for a moment, in what Damian recognized as pain. He suspected the ribs.

"Thanks," Dick sighed a moment later, sinking down against Damian's chest and closing his eyes. He was quiet for a moment, his hands curled around the plastic cup. "'Mister Mind'. That's what they call it, the thing that's coming. The thing that destroyed their world. It's tracking the Syndicate. It's only a matter of time before it shows up," Dick said, his eyes still closed.

"So what. Owlman thinks that by destroying his own teammates, it will not arrive here?" Damian asked, looking down at the dark mop of hair on the top of Dick's head.

"That's the plan."

"And what does he get out of this?"

"He gets to have a planet that's still inhabitable. He gets to live."

"So he's a saint then," Damian said, rolling his eyes. He was about to shift and get up, when Dick rolled his tongue over his lips and then tightened them.

"He's a murderer. He's a manipulator. He gets to have me work by his side." His voice was low and came with a growl as an aftertaste. His fingers clenched the plastic cup, and it crinkled slightly in his grasp. Damian reached down to take it from him. He set it aside and let his hand rest on Dick's chest, silently urging the man to calm.

"He told me that Bruce isn't dead," Dick whispered, after what felt like a long time. "That the league isn't dead."

"Of course not. They would have paraded around the dead bodies if that were the case, judging by their treatment of you," Damian said, and Dick tilted his head back slightly to look up at him.

"They're in an inter-dimensional pocket in space. They'd have no access to the bodies even if they were dead," Dick said, and Damian let out a rather withering sigh.

"I'm tired of this cross-dimension multi-earth scenario. It's unnatural!"

Dick chuckled. "And Lazarus Pits aren't?"

"Lazarus Pits have existed for a millenia! This is- it's an absolute madhouse!"

"Mm. But it's our madhouse to save," Dick responded, the gentle smile falling off his lips. "Damian. In my left gauntlet, there's a key to this room. I want you to use it."

"You mean this key?" Damian asked, slipping it into his hand and holding it out for Dick to see. "I found it when I was examining you."

"Damian! Take it and go," Dick said, beginning to twist to look at him. Damian put his hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.

"What. And leave you here to be beaten? No offense, Grayson, but you're hardly in the condition to either fight or crawl your way out of here right now."

Dick studied him for a long moment, and then settled back against the cool ground. He kept his blue gaze on the younger boy. "When we go, we'll go together, then."

With those words, Damian felt a blossoming of comfort spread over him. It started in the pit of his gut, loosening the black knot that had formed there before traveling up and spreading warmth to his limbs. It touched his mouth with a small smile, and for the moment he had no more questions to ask.

He said "Okay."

Sorry for the short chapter!