"You know," the Flash said, looking down at his husband sitting on the ground, "most people would stop fighting once they got stabbed in the leg."

Nightwing finished bandaging his thigh. "Once we've re-established contact with the League, I'll consider it." Something was jamming communications, probably Luthor trying to stop the League from organising. "Until then, pass me my escrima and help me up. There's a big guy with a knife out there who needs a punch in the face."

"I don't remember you being this violent as Batman." The Flash helped him up anyway. Nightwing elbowed him on the way out of the cleaning closet that had formed their hiding place. The Flash had run him to safety for long enough to treat his injuries, but the guard who caused them, and his friends, wouldn't be far away. He'd been hurt worse before, of course. He was just offended that some random goon of Lex Luthor's got the better of him, and it was time to rectify that.

"The hell kind of security guard carries around a knife anyway?" Nightwing muttered.

"The guy works for a super-criminal and you're trying to impose logic in him?"

The Flash followed Nightwing closely down the hallway, where they quickly ran into the man in question.

"Miss me?" Nightwing said, and punched him in the nose. The man went down in a burst of blood, and Nightwing stepped over his now unconscious form to fight the other guards. The Flash let him handle them; it was the easiest way to keep him happy until he could take pain medication and a nap.

Nightwing shook blood off his escrima when he was finished. His shoulders were looser, his breaths freer despite his injury and the fight. A loud crash in the distance seemed a fairly accurate indicator of where the hell the rest of the League had ended up, and so the pair headed towards it, dispatching more guards along the way.

Superman was getting shot by lasers from a collection of giant robots that barely fit under the roof. The rest of the League was taking advantage of their focus on him to get behind them and take them out. Nightwing watched Batman taser one to great effect, and pulled out his own.

"Get me on one of their shoulders," he said to the Flash. He undoubtedly could do it himself with a grappling hook under normal circumstances, but the knife wound complicated matters. The Flash scooped him up and ran up the side of the nearest robot. Nightwing discharged his taser in a vulnerable-looking plug on the back of its neck, and the Flash ran them back down as it started to fall.

They took down two more that way, and the League handled the rest. Superman floated to the floor, singed and smoking a little. He patted down his chest, and the smoke dissipated a bit.

"Good work," he said. "Where'd you two get to?"

"We tried to chase down some guards before they could sound the alarm," Nightwing replied.

"And then Nightwing got stabbed and punched a guy so hard his nose practically exploded, which was fun," the Flash added.

Batman drew level with Superman, holding a piece of circuit board he had been examining. "The mission is finished. Go home. Get patched up. We'll handle the cleanup."

Of course, in that moment another set of guards burst into the room, already shooting. Nightwing flinched as a bullet grazed his arm and threw a wing-ding at the man responsible. The League surged forward to take out the rest. The Flash barrelled through a full line of them, knocking them down like bowling pins. He paused to pull a bullet out of his shoulder—ouch—before heading over to check on Nightwing.

"I'm fine," Nightwing told him, pressing an adhesive bandage to the scrape left behind. "Just a flesh wound."

"Sorry. I should've gotten you out of the way."

"We were all taken by surprise," said Superman. "There's something interfering with my hearing. And Luthor hasn't shown himself."

"He left ten minutes ago," Batman replied, flicking through footage on his glove computer. "He'll be halfway to his jet by now."

"I'll take care of it." Superman pushed off the ground and zoomed out the gap left in the wall that he'd probably made in the first place. The rest of the fliers took off after him.

"I can stick around," Nightwing said to Batman. "Help you analyse everything."

"No. The rest of the League will stand guard while I get it done. You need stitches. The Flash will take you home." Batman headed back over to the nearest fallen robot.

"Do you feel twelve years old again, or is it just me?" Nightwing said quietly.

"Just you." The Flash helped him climb onto his back. "But, hey, look on the bright side. You get to go home and look at my glorious face while everyone else is stuck staring at Batman glare at things."

"I happen to like watching him glare at things, especially when those things aren't me."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go." The Flash ran them to the nearest zeta tube, which Nightwing programmed for the batcave. Despite his claims, Nightwing was getting a little unsteady on his feet. The Flash had to catch him when they materialised at the other end.

Damian was sitting at the computer. "Grayson. What have you done to yourself this time?"

"I missed you too, Damian." Dick pulled off his mask with a tired sigh. "I got stabbed in the leg and grazed by a bullet. Could you fetch Alfred for me, please?"

Damian levelled Wally with an icy this is your fault glare, and climbed upstairs. Wally helped Dick settle onto the bed in the infirmary.

"Are you sure the kid doesn't have superpowers?" Wally said. "Because I swear the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees when he looked at me."

"He doesn't like seeing people he cares about get hurt," Dick replied. "It's nothing personal. He probably just expected you to keep me out of harm's way, given you're my husband and you have superspeed and all."

"Oh, thanks, babe. I feel so much better. And here I was, thinking I'd actually made progress with the little..." Dick narrowed his eyes. "...boy. What'd you think I was going to say?"

Alfred chose that moment to come into the room, with Damian right on his heels. "I take it Master Bruce is still fawning over Luthor's toys?"

"With his special I still hate you but your stuff is pretty cool glare," Dick replied.

"Naturally. Now, let us see what injuries you managed to pick up this time."

"Nothing unusual. Knife and bullet, but the bullet was just a graze so it's probably better than normal, actually." Dick stared at a fixed point on the wall while Alfred tended to him, his eyes growing distant during the stitching. Damian watched the process closely, even going so far as to shoulder Wally out of the way so he could stand near them. Wally allowed it, because he knew Dick would tell him off for sinking down to the level of a clearly upset ten-year-old. But, by God, he wanted to push back.

Dick put his hand on Damian's head once Alfred had finished stitching. "Did that game you were waiting for come in yet?" Damian nodded. "All right. Why don't you go set up the TV? I'll be up there in a minute."

Damian dashed out of the room. Dick accepted some pills and a glass of water from Alfred. He swallowed them down.

"I'm gonna have to spend some time with Damian tonight," he said. "You okay with that?"

Wally shrugged. "You're his big brother. Gotta spend time with him at some point, right?"

Dick reached for his hand, squeezing it once he had a good grip. "I'll talk to him about treating you better again once he's calmed down a bit, but it's probably best if you don't stick around tonight."

"Are you staying here overnight?"

"I probably should. Damian'll want me within reach until he's stopped freaking out. I'm sure you'll be welcome for breakfast tomorrow."

"I'll be sure to prepare extra food," Alfred said, packing up his medical equipment.

"Okay. I can live with that." Wally swooped in for a quick kiss. "I guess I'll find out if Superman managed to catch up to Luthor after all."

"Text me when you know," Dick said as Wally let his hand drop and left the room for the zeta tube.