With a Bang (Dick's Return to the village, tag those who know him)
Dick Grayson was no stranger to being shot, but with the gun this close to his skull, the new Batman knew ... it was going to be loud.
Dr. Hurt, the latest crazy to take up terrorizing Gotham in Bruce's absence was something else. Not only had he managed to endanger the Wayne name by pretending to be Bruce's father, returned from some mysterious and murky past, but he'd rolled out a plan to spread a viral addiction through the fragile city, creating desperate slaves out of the unwitting citizens. That, and he'd just had his men carry Robin in and throw his bound body down on the floor.
It was the first time Dick ever heard Damian apologize.
"Don't worry about it." The young Batman reassured Robin as he sprang to his feet and charged Hurt himself, "We'll improvise." Sure, Robin. My hands are tied behind my back, you're tied up. We're in a room full of crazies, and Gotham is minutes from destruction, but ... we'll improvise! In another life, Dick might have made a fine Blue Lantern, a symbol of never-dying hope ... but really, he enjoyed swinging around Gotham too much as a run-of-the-mill guy in tights to give it up for anything like that.
He ran for Hurt, but a well-aimed blow between his shoulderblades brought the bound Batman down to his knees with a grunt. Unable to put his arms out, Batman went down, winded and felt the cowl yanked off of his head with rough hands.
Dick heard Hurt pull the hammer back on the gun, and his eyes shifted to the side, looking back in his direction.
"You don't get it do you?" Dick asked the man who wore a perversion of Bruce's mask. He knew something Hurt didn't, and it was going to make Hurt sorry when the calvary came.
"Brief bloom." The doctor replied, taking aim. Not even Dick could move fast enough for this.
Instead, he warned Hurt one last time, for his own sake, "You're finished." Bruce was coming, Dick was sure of it, and if Bruce found him shot on the ground? Hurt and everyone he ever did business with were going to suffer.
BLAM.
"NGGGGHHHHHHH..." Dick gritted his teeth as pain blossomed through his skull, gripping his body, and he fell forward with the crack of the bullet, his cheek hitting soft, fresh smelling grass. The skin on the back of his head split open, spilling warm blood down his neck and the black cloak as he tried to catch his breath through the pain, fists clenching hard behind his back.
Something shifted to his right, too fast to be Hurt, or his men, and Dick gulped down a few breaths, not sure why he couldn't hear anything else.
"Robin?"
When he opened his eyes, however, he was outside. There was no sign of the room he was just in, or Damian, or Hurt and a ... thing was staring down at him. It looked like a zombie made of beef jerky and too many limbs to have ever been human.
"Oh ... shit ..." Dick backed up on his knees, his head spinning as two more of the disturbing beings collected in front of him. The place seemed deeply familiar, but there was no time for figuring it out, as the things started to advance, hungrily.
With a grunt, he forced himself up onto his feet, and leaned back against a tree to steady himself, still bleeding from the skull fracture and bullet wound. Whatever they were, they definitely weren't here to patch him up.
"Alright ..." he panted, almost to himself as he forced his body into a fighting stance, "you definitely picked on the wrong head injury patient."
[[Come find a pissed off, bleeding Batman! He'll definitely need the clinic, no matter what he tells you.]]
Dr. Hurt, the latest crazy to take up terrorizing Gotham in Bruce's absence was something else. Not only had he managed to endanger the Wayne name by pretending to be Bruce's father, returned from some mysterious and murky past, but he'd rolled out a plan to spread a viral addiction through the fragile city, creating desperate slaves out of the unwitting citizens. That, and he'd just had his men carry Robin in and throw his bound body down on the floor.
It was the first time Dick ever heard Damian apologize.
"Don't worry about it." The young Batman reassured Robin as he sprang to his feet and charged Hurt himself, "We'll improvise." Sure, Robin. My hands are tied behind my back, you're tied up. We're in a room full of crazies, and Gotham is minutes from destruction, but ... we'll improvise! In another life, Dick might have made a fine Blue Lantern, a symbol of never-dying hope ... but really, he enjoyed swinging around Gotham too much as a run-of-the-mill guy in tights to give it up for anything like that.
He ran for Hurt, but a well-aimed blow between his shoulderblades brought the bound Batman down to his knees with a grunt. Unable to put his arms out, Batman went down, winded and felt the cowl yanked off of his head with rough hands.
Dick heard Hurt pull the hammer back on the gun, and his eyes shifted to the side, looking back in his direction.
"You don't get it do you?" Dick asked the man who wore a perversion of Bruce's mask. He knew something Hurt didn't, and it was going to make Hurt sorry when the calvary came.
"Brief bloom." The doctor replied, taking aim. Not even Dick could move fast enough for this.
Instead, he warned Hurt one last time, for his own sake, "You're finished." Bruce was coming, Dick was sure of it, and if Bruce found him shot on the ground? Hurt and everyone he ever did business with were going to suffer.
BLAM.
"NGGGGHHHHHHH..." Dick gritted his teeth as pain blossomed through his skull, gripping his body, and he fell forward with the crack of the bullet, his cheek hitting soft, fresh smelling grass. The skin on the back of his head split open, spilling warm blood down his neck and the black cloak as he tried to catch his breath through the pain, fists clenching hard behind his back.
Something shifted to his right, too fast to be Hurt, or his men, and Dick gulped down a few breaths, not sure why he couldn't hear anything else.
"Robin?"
When he opened his eyes, however, he was outside. There was no sign of the room he was just in, or Damian, or Hurt and a ... thing was staring down at him. It looked like a zombie made of beef jerky and too many limbs to have ever been human.
"Oh ... shit ..." Dick backed up on his knees, his head spinning as two more of the disturbing beings collected in front of him. The place seemed deeply familiar, but there was no time for figuring it out, as the things started to advance, hungrily.
With a grunt, he forced himself up onto his feet, and leaned back against a tree to steady himself, still bleeding from the skull fracture and bullet wound. Whatever they were, they definitely weren't here to patch him up.
"Alright ..." he panted, almost to himself as he forced his body into a fighting stance, "you definitely picked on the wrong head injury patient."
[[Come find a pissed off, bleeding Batman! He'll definitely need the clinic, no matter what he tells you.]]