jla_watchtower | Alcatraz breakout, cont.

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Alcatraz breakout, cont.

Robin's figured out who was behind the Alcatraz breakout and gave assistance to the most dangerous metahuman prisoners. Mammoth and Shimmer.

Where there's one, there's the other, and both are tied to Dr. Light. The question is if they're still here gloating, or if they're long gone. Nightwing glances down at the small device in his hand that shows his daughter's condition.

It's worsening.

Fingers close over it once more, a new and cold determination taking hold.

"Nightwing to all Titans. Mammoth and Shimmer are behind this breakout, and we've got reason to believe they're still here. We find them, it's a short hop to find Light. Omen - do your thing. Flush these pieces of filth out."

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Not that she's trying to be stubborn...it's just that Jesse doesn't much care for fussing, and really, other than the glassy look in her eyes and the huge bruising lump on her jawline, she looks fine. Really. "Don' lehimgo wi'out check...shoulder," she instructs Bette as she grasps at Grant.

"Damage. If anyone else needs help bring them back here and then come back yourself. I need to make sure you didn't do anything else to your shoulder." Flamebird looks down at Jesse and smiles at her softly.

"Shush and lemme look at you." She quickly begins to look her over for anything she can fix other than administering painkillers.

He was just about to leave when he felt Jesse's fingers graze across his arm, trying to keep him from leaving. She mumbles something incoherent, something about his shoulder, prompting Grant to look over at Bette. She'd seen his arm in a sling when they were aboard the Watchtower, so she knows he's nursing an injury, one that'll probably take longer to heal thanks to all the punching and throwing and being thrown.

He turns his hand, catching Jesse's hand in his, then looks down at her. "I'll come back, alright? Bette'll check me out then," Damage says quietly, showing the speedster a tired smile. He glances over at Bette, then looks back at Jesse. "You'll be fine. You're in good hands."

Releasing Jesse's hand, Damage nods once to Bette and then makes his way out of the jet. It's going to take more than an ice pack and some pain killes to ease the hurts of this long day.

No new injuries are truly evidenced: the concussion and cheek contusion from the Superman fight remain, and in her system are traces of the toxic gas she inhaled so deeply before becoming aware of a need to dissipate it. So she peers up at Flamebird for a moment and reaches for the other blonde's hand. "'s 'kay. Get Ni'wing."

Flamebird takes a moment to slip and oxygen mask around Jesse's face, before kissing her on the forehead. "If he lets me. I think Donna's bringing him in." She squeezes her hand and for a few moments, Jesse might be able to detect a faint tremor in her arm.

It's been a hell of a day. A few days.

Oxygen. Ahhhhhhhh, what a good idea. Nothing will help more, other than more aspirin and about ten hours of sleep. Jesse's eyes close, but after a few deep gulps of clean air she murmurs, "Y'okay?"

"No."

She squeezes Jesse's hand again. "I will be, though."

Jesse's fingers lightly grip Bette's hand, a comfortable and hopefully comforting gesture. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Yes, but not now."

She smiles down at Jesse, using her free hand to slide hair out of her face. "There will be time for it after you've rested and I've tried to get Nightwing to sit down and let me look at him."

"Don't forget to take care of yourself." She's exhausted. And hungry. And she sounds it. "Titans Together...'member?"

"I know." Bette looks down at her and smiles, "You should sleep."

"Go find Nightwing," she repeats softly, more lucidly, before following Bette's direction.

In truth, he hadn't had the strength left to object to the younger Titan. He watches them head back to the jet, feeling resoundingly numb, before he turns and reaches for the melted remainder of his mask in the dirt. He turns it over in his fingers before discarding it once more. It's useless now; his skin too raw and damaged to take it back even if it were still useable.

He's never felt so torn between his duty and his family before. He knows he can't leave the Titans now; but if his daughter is to die, he'll never forgive himself for not being with her in her final moments.

He rocks forward, and sets his feet under him. He's on autopilot as he heads back to the jet, eyes cast downward.

Flamebird is waiting for him there and there is, to her at least, a weird sense of irony about that. She doesn't think she'd ever be able to explain ti to anyone else. She's not even sure she gets it entirely.

Reaching out as he reaches the jet, she takes his arm and guides him toward a place to sit down so she can work on his injuries.

He doesn't bother to protest and sits down heavily, leaning his head back against the cold bulkhead of the ship, closing his eyes against the harsh interior light.

Carefully, silently, Flamebird begins to work, treating his face to begin with. It seems the worst of the damage.

After a moment, she grabs a blanket and lays it across his lap, before she continues to work.

He doesn't say a word; though the occasional tension in his facial expression tells her how much pain he's in. Eventually, he pulls his gloves from his hands, revealing the bloodied mess underneath.

Starfire enters the jet. "Alcatraz," she starts to say, then hisses at the sight of Nightwing. "Will he be all right?" she asks Flamebird.

Flamebird doesn't even take the time to look over at Starfire. "I don't know yet. I'm going to need more water." She doesn't mention that this might need plastic surgery. Hell, it probably will. She's good but she's not that good.

"Lay down." She needs to irrigate the wound for at least five minutes.

To him she says softly, "This is going to hurt." Once he's laid down, she starts the irrigation.

He complies in silence, bringing his feet up on the bunk as he does so. His thoughts are elsewhere.

The pain brings him abruptly back from the moon, and he recoils suddenly with a strangulated noise, an arm coming up as a reflex action.

God damn, that hurts.

"Stop it. I have to get rid of it all or it might keep going down to the bone. Can you hold yourself or do you need some help?" Bette holds the wayer back, not having enough as it is.

He wants to explode at someone, but he doesn't have the strength, and he knows it's not fair to the others. He has to settle for dropping his hand and a resigned, abbreviated nod as he settles back down.

Starfire takes up a position to the side, stretching out one of her long legs so that her foot is touching Nightwing's. It's the only contact she can really make with him while Flamebird continues the treatment.

"You can yell at me later."

Flamebird continues to irrigate the wound, doing what she's doing and trying to keep everything out of his eyes. Because that would make everything worse.

Eyes screwed shut against the scouring sting of the remaining acid, he can't answer coherently. Not while he's got a fistful of bulkhead, body rigid with the strain. He manages a hoarse grunt instead.

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