A week. It had been a week since Nightwing had been taken.
Bruce was going out of his mind with worry. Every minute he was filled with the all consuming desire to find his son.
If it had been your standard run of the mill kidnapping Bruce wouldn't have been as worried. He knew Dick could handle himself in those kinds of situations... but this time Dick had been taken by the Joker.
Bruce had lost Jason only a few months before, and the thought that Dick might be in a similar dire condition made him feel nauseous.
Each day for the past week Joker had laid out some sort of clue as to where he was keeping Bruce's son, and every day Bruce had painstakingly followed each clue, because Joker was definitely insane enough to give out his actual location if it played into his sick version of fun.
At the end of each clue there'd been a bag with something in it, a lock of Dick's hair or a piece of his suit, to taunt Bruce even further.
On the 7th day Joker seemed to have gotten bored of whatever cat and mouse game he was trying to play, because when Bruce followed the clues from his poorly written riddle, he found the Joker himself.
"Oh goody!" Joker exclaimed, clapping and hopping from foot to foot. "Batman's finally come to play with us bird boy!" He ran off into the abandoned building.
Bruce, of course, ran after him, skidding to a halt when he spotted Joker by a box...
Joker laughed maniacally, prying the box open with a blood stained crowbar.
Dick's body spilled out of the box and onto the ground. His skin was pale, littered with gashes and bruises, and from the look of it, at least one shoulder was dislocated.
Bruce stared in silence, seemingly frozen in place as he watched Joker crouch down by his son's head.
"Batsy, this is my happy birthday present for you," the clown said with a laugh. "I thought you'd like him more if he was a bit quieter... so I fixed him."
Joker yanked Dick's head off the floor, turning it and squeezing it with one hand to make it look like Dick was talking, while saying in a high pitched voice, "I have much better manners now. Maybe I'll finally be good enough for you."
Bruce stiffened. That wasn't what Dick really thought right? That he wasn't good enough?
Joker cackled and let go of Dick's head, watching as it bounced on the concrete. "Pity you forgot a present for my birthday," he mumbled, going silent for a moment. "But I always was more for giving gifts anyway."
"Joker," Bruce growled, stepping forward. "Step away from Nightwing. Now."
Joker cracked a smile. "Take him Batsy," he said, flapping a hand dismissively. "I've finished with my fun."
Bruce clenched his hands and lunged at the Joker, one good hard punch to the face enough to knock the clown to the ground, the next few hits leaving his face bloody and bruised.
Dick lay still on the ground, the only sign of life being the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
Bruce knelt at his side, gently lifting him and hurrying out of the building. He'd let the police take care of Joker.
—
Dick's eyes shot open, breathing heavy as he woke from the nightmare that seemed to be 1/2 dream and 1/2 sad reality. His foggy mind was confused when he saw the all too familiar features of the Batcave's med bay.
Bruce himself was standing over Dick's bed, watching him worriedly.
'Bruce,' Dick tried to call out, finding that no noise made it past his lips. His brows furrowed, tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes. 'Bruce, what happened to me?' He tried, tears spilling over when there was still no sound.
There was a sharp intake of breath, and Bruce fell into his chair as he realized what had just happened. "Dickie?" He asked hesitantly.
Dick just squeezed his eyes closed, shaking his head as his chest rose and fell shakily with his silent sobs.
—
Days and days later
Dick was the king of being petty, but Jason was sure this had to be some sort of world record. The thing is, he didn't even remember what he'd done to make Dick mad enough at him to give him the silent treatment ever since he'd came back from the dead.
It seemed the little weasel even learned ASL so he wouldn't have to talk to anyone while Jason was around.
Not that Jason minded... that much. He could understand... maybe Dick was mad about his murder spree. Bruce definitely had been.
None of this was helpful, however, because Dick and Jason were now locked in some sort of a closet together, and the elder seemed to still refuse to talk to him.
It was dark in the closet, so Jason closed his eyes, trying to keep himself from thinking about when he'd woken up in a similar feeling small dark place... and subsequently had to dig himself out of his own grave.
Jason's mind snapped back to the present when he heard Dick scooting closer to him. He nearly flinched when he felt the elder tapping out a pattern on his leg.
Dick stiffened when Jason slapped his hand away, pausing for a moment before continuing to tap on his brother's leg.
"Can you just stop?" Jason shouted, swatting Dick's hand away for the second time. "I can deal with the fact that you refuse to talk to me, but poking me incessantly is crossing the line."
Dick shrunk away from Jason, sitting in the dark for a moment before he started tapping on the closet wall.
Jason groaned in annoyance, resting his head in his hands for a moment. "They couldn't have locked me up with someone less annoying?" He asked.
Dick continued tapping, hoping Jason would recognize the patterns as Morse code sooner than later and be able to help him before he passed out from blood loss.
Jason listened to the tapping, considering reaching over and punching his brother in the face.
Suddenly it seemed to click in Jason's mind as he recognized the patterns of short and long taps.
'Help me please,' Dick had been tapping over and over.
"Wing?" Jason asked, voice wary. "What's wrong?"
Dick let out an inaudible sigh. 'Hurt,' he tapped out.
Jason sucked in a breath. "What's hurt?" He asked.
'Stabbed. Pressure isn't working to stop the bleeding,' Dick tapped back, his head falling to rest on the wall.
"Where were you stabbed?" Jason demanded.
'Upper left leg,' Dick tapped weakly.
Jason turned towards his brother, taking off his jacket and blindly feeling for the wound.
Dick was still trying to apply pressure with one hand, which Jason easily pushed to the side.
"This is going to hurt," Jason said, getting into position before applying pressure to the wound.
Dick's body jerked, his silent cry going unnoticed.
—
It couldn't have been more than 10 minutes later that a scuffle started on the other side of the door
Jason was inwardly relieved. Dick was getting weaker and weaker by the second, blood still flowing from his wounded leg despite the pressure he was putting on it.
A crash shook the closet they were in, and Dick started feebly knocking on the wall.
"Help!" Jason shouted once things quieted down a bit outside. "Help us!!"
The closet shook again, crashing coming from the other side of the door.
"Hood?" Someone yelled from the other side of the door.
"I'm here!" Jason shouted back, relief washing over him as he recognized the voice as Bruce's. "I have Nightwing in here with me. He's been stabbed in the leg and it's still bleeding."
"Hold on," Bruce replied. "We'll get you two out."
Dick reached up, tapping Bruce's name onto Jason's arm with a shaky hand.
"It's him Wing, he's gonna get us out. You're going to be okay," Jason reassured.
Dick relaxed slightly, allowing his eyes to slip closed.
The doors to the closet were flung open a moment later, Tim ready with a tourniquet to apply to Dick's leg.
As Jason's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he finally noticed just how pale Dick was. His skin now closer to white than his normal bronzed tone, a bruise on his cheek standing out like it had been painted on.
"Wing, open your eyes for me," Bruce said, gently tapping Dick's face with one hand.
Dick's dull eyes fluttered open. He stared at Bruce for a moment before recognizing who he was. 'Bruce,' he tried to say, seemingly confused by the lack of sound."
"It's alright bud, I'm here," Bruce said, running his fingers through Dick's hair.
"I'm applying the tourniquet," Tim said, watching for Bruce's nod before he started tightening it around Dick's thigh.
Dick jerked, his mouth opening once again in a silent scream.
Once the tourniquet was securely tied, Jason stopped the pressure he'd been applying, tired from having to push down for so long.
Bruce ripped a piece from his cape and tied it over the wound before lifting Dick up in his arms.
Tim slung Jason's arm over his shoulder and started leading him away from the closet he could now see was filled with a puddle of blood.
—
A few days later
Jason cornered Damian in the manor's library. "What's wrong with Dick?" He demanded.
"Uhhhh, he's recovering from being stabbed?" The boy replied, giving his brother a strange look.
"Not that," Jason said. "Why doesn't he talk anymore?"
"Oh, that," Damian said. "Joker ripped out his vocal cords from what I remember."
Jason felt like he'd been smacked in the face with a bus. "What?" Was the only thing he could manage.
"He was taken by the Joker for a week I believe it was..." Damian trailed off.
Jason paced the room, his face one of shock and disbelief. "When did this happen?" He asked.
"I believe father told me more specifics, but if I recall correctly it would've been about a month after your death."
"Why didn't Dick tell me?" Jason mumbled.
"Grayson tried to tell you. I witnessed it myself multiple times. At the time you were too busy with your murder rampage to pay much attention," Damian said, folding his arms over his chest. "I'm surprised you even care now."
Jason felt the words like a punch to the gut. Sure he was the black sheep of the family, but he still cared about them. "Of course I care..." he mumbled.
Damian raised an eyebrow before turning and walking away.
Jason stood there for a long moment before he found himself making his way up to his brother's room.
Dick was laying on his bed, a book resting on his lap held open by one hand. The other hand tapped restlessly on the bed, something that brought a smile to Jason's face. Dick never could stay still for long.
Jason knocked on the door frame. "How are you feeling?" He asked.
Dick smiled over at his brother, setting his book down. 'Annoyed,' he signed, rolling his eyes. 'Hate staying still.'
Jason chuckled.
Dick's smile brightened. 'Understand?' He signed.
Jason nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I started brushing up my ASL skills when I came back and... and I thought you were giving me the silent treatment." A blush colored his cheeks as Dick laughed silently.
"Hey!" Jason called, a small smile on his own face. "It was a valid thought. I didn't know what... what he'd done to you."
The smile slipped from Dick's face, his eyes seeming to stare past Jason for a moment before he shook his head slightly. 'He said he fixed me... that he knew Bruce would prefer me this way.'
Jason ventured further into the room. "It's not true," he said, no doubt whatsoever in his voice. "Don't let thoughts like that stay in your head. They don't do anything helpful for you."
Dick's head dropped, his gaze falling on his blanket covered legs. 'But what if it is true? Bruce doesn't have to deal with all my incessant chatter... all he has to do if he doesn't want to deal with me is look away,' he signed.
Jason sat down in a chair someone had left at the side of Dick's bed. "I miss your voice bluebird," he said softly.
A tear trailed down Dick's cheek. 'Me too,' he signed.
Jason pulled his big brother into a hug. Heaven knows he needed one.
Dick relaxed into the hug, resting his head on Jason's shoulder.
"You're worth it ok?" Jason said. "Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise. You are loved, and talented, and needed... voice or no voice."
Dick nodded, his breaths becoming slightly shaky as he cried.
Jason rubbed his brother's back, trying to supply some comfort. "I'm here Dickie, I'll always be here."