What's Up With Nightwing

Chapter 9

I rushed into his room, Dick was sprawled out on the edge of his bed, his legs off the edge and his arms laid out by his face. His eyes were unmoving as they stared at the ceiling, void of all expression. His neck covered with bruises of strangulation but his breathing was steady by now,

"Dick, what happened?" I shouted running to his side, he didn't reply though tears escaped the corners of his glazed over eyes. My head darted everywhere to examine the scene. Nothing had happened, only the strangulation. My eyes narrowed on the open window. I rushed to see if someone was running across the lawn but nothing. When I turned back Tim slid into the doorway in his white tee and pajama pants,

"I'm here. What happened?" He asked frantically whilst holding a lamp like a baseball bat,

"I don't know." I said rounding back over to Dick who was motionless still. Damian was next to jump into the door frame in his pajamas, with a katana,

"Someone broke in, tried to kill Dick." I pointed to the window. There was no moment of hesitation as Damian threw himself out the second story window and climbed down the trellises,

"Damian!" I yelled after him, unable to get up from Dick's side. I turned my attention to Tim who didn't know what to do, "Go find Damian, make sure he doesn't get himself killed." I commanded. 

Tim left just as fast. I turned to Dick, I began slowly bringing my hand to his face, he showed no resistance to me as I gently moved his head by his jaw, assessing his neck. Red and bruised but not horrible, not lethal either, just enough to subdue,

"Dick, you've got to start talking to me, man." I said loudly before grabbing behind his arms to lift him onto me. I pulled him into my embrace as his weight shifted and forced me down into the floor in a seated position with him clinging onto me, his head now resting on my shoulder and his chest against mine, his legs on either side of my hips. My hand felt a new texture on his back, I lifted my hand to look at it over his shoulder, blood,

"Crap." I said to myself. As I attempted to stand with him. He winced and groaned while I turned him around to look upon his back with horror. Written across his upper back were the words, "Property of Deathstroke'' with big, deep letters. Blood oozed from the wound and fire burned on my face,

"Jase-" Dick wearily uttered holding around my neck as I wrapped his legs around my hips and carried him downstairs. His breathing was short and hitched, I felt his chest move on my chest, he sobbed softly and it was agony to see him like this. With deep, and I mean deep, cuts drug through his back in big letters. I took him down to the cave where Bruce was at the bat computer. He quickly turned to us while I sat Dick down on one of the medical tables. Dick held his knees with his head hung,

"Slade- Deathstroke, he was in Dick's room." I explained frantically while getting medical supplies to clean and patch up Dick's cuts,

"No way, He's dead!" Bruce argued. I showed Dick's bloody back to Bruce who let out a gasp when I saw something. Dick, he turned his head away, ashamed, he was ashamed. My heart kept chipping, and chipping, it seemed so broken I could feel it in my chest, "Dick killed him." Bruce sounded like he was trying to convince himself as he dramatically brought his hands down to the bat computer desk,

"I tried to tell you." I heard a whisper of a voice proceed from Dicks lips though his eyes remained on the ground,

"Excuse me?" Bruce turned back,

"I tried to tell you, Seth is Slade Wilson." He spoke just a little louder, "you called me crazy...paranoid..."

"Well, Dick you didn't exactly sound...sane...at the time." Bruce shrugged. Gosh, I hated him. If my look could kill, Bruce would be long gone,