Making Waves

Chapter 19

It was so blue.

Everywhere he looked, the color was all he could see. The deep cobalt of the open sea and the paleness of the horizon shifting up into a soft azure. Dick sat at the center of it all, silent, listening to the stillness of the water, gently folding over itself in the distance.

The aircraft body below him bobbed back and forth, rocking on its heels. A few feet away, the pilot clutched his own arms, occasionally glancing over but keeping to himself. Not once had he tried to fight back or escape. Out here, where the blue stretched out for miles and miles and miles in every imaginable direction, there was nowhere to go.

It was beautiful.

Dick understood why Perseus liked the ocean so much.

Had liked.

His hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, squeezing it like a lifeline.

He had paused to scoop it up before hauling himself and the pilot out of the emergency hatch to wait on top for extraction. There wasn't much of her left. The steel and bronze blade rested at his side, but the ocean had taken everything else.

Dick's body slumped, every thread of adrenaline leaving his veins. There was no one left to fight, nothing out here that could hurt him anymore. He let go of his limbs, except for the hand that still held tight to the sword, and bored his eyes down into the water, feeling completely and utterly numb.

He didn't know how long he sat there like that, letting the waves gently push him along, but when his ears picked up on the sound of a familiar jet lowering itself down, his jaw clenched. It hadn't been enough time.

With a soft hiss, the glass shell of the new aircraft peeled open. The pilot beside him stood, scrambling backward at the sight of the Batman stalking forward, but after one hardly noticeable movement of a gloved arm, the man collapsed. Red Robin stepped out from the Bat's shadow, hoisting the unconscious body up and returning to the jet to secure him.

"Nightwing, report."

Dick picked up head up to look at Batman. The older man instantly tensed, gaze searching his posture, his injuries, his bruises, his complete lack of energy. Dick hadn't really been forthcoming with the details when radioing in for pickup, just giving his coordinates and ensuring that his life wasn't in immediate danger.

"What happened?" he pressed, tone more insistent this time.

Red Robin returned, eyeing him with the same calculating gaze. Dick reached up with his one free arm, pressing against the mechanisms of his mask, bypassing the locks. It was easier with both hands, but he still could not let go of the sword. When the domino finally peeled off, he let it fall uselessly to his side.

Tim inhaled sharply.

Dick wasn't crying anymore, the cold ocean wind having whipped his tears dry, but the damage remained. He could feel it when he blinked, all the swollen edges and red rims.

"We were losing," he said, hardly above a whisper, speaking for the first time in an hour, maybe two, "Against Blockbuster, and she—pushed him out."

He watched Batman's face shift, in a way that meant nothing to anyone outside of their family, but meant the world to his kids. He came closer, keeping away from the sword, though Dick knew he saw it, and the lack of its owner, and had pieced together what Dick didn't want to say out loud.

He knelt before Dick, tugging off his cowl.

"Come on, chum," Bruce said gently, clear blue eyes softening. There was that color again. "Let's get you back to the manor."