batmanschmatman | 074 [voice]

Entry tags:

074 [voice]

[Private to Tim]

[Dick sounds upset, or angry, but really mostly just a lot like Bruce, actually, mostly because he's panicking but trying to hide it. The fight's over, and he knows the threats were just Flagg trying to throw them off, but he just needs to be sure.]

Check in. Now.

[Warden Filter + anyone who's said publicly that they're helping Group 3.]

[You guys aren't getting a video post because too many people knowing what the interior of the Barge looks like doesn't sit well with Dick, but you can probably hear Capa and John being sciencey hackers in the background if you listen really hard. After god knows how long, they've made it to the bridge and are mostly in one piece, although they're pretty battered, exhausted and out of supplies, so they're all pretty ready for this to be over.]

We made it. Flagg's off the bridge, but the systems are a mess. Capa and John are working on it now, but we need the Admiral back. Has anyone found anything yet? [Mumbled:] I'm not even sure how long we've been gone for.

I'd appreciate a sound off on who's alright, too.

[ooc: Everything won't go back to normal until the Admiral is found and reinstalled on the Bridge, so feel free to continue freaking out as usual until that plot wraps up/the mods say everything's back to normal. Anyone who wants to check in with Capa or John specifically can use this post to do it, just remember they're in somewhat close quarters, so your conversation might be overheard.

Anddddd if John and Capa want to spam in, go for it guys. c:]

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"Wait," he said softly, waving him away as he fiddled with a control panel. When would he ever get the chance to do this again?! He wasn't going to worry about a bump on the head when there was science to be done! He stared at a screen and then paused as suddenly..he had four hands instead of two. It passed quickly, but it wasn't the first time it had happened.

Maybe it was a good idea.

He tried to memorize where he was in his work and walked over to Dick, brushing his hands on his already bloody shirt. He had been pretty beat up. Bruises and cuts were everywhere on his body, including a very nasty one on his arm that he had already wrapped up after ripping a sleeve off his shirt. But he'd survive, though that didn't seem to be the main concern at the moment.

"It's a concussion, I think," he confessed.

"Probably," he said, mouth quirking in a small, tired smile for a moment, already thinking he should probably try patching up some of his other injuries. And John's too. He was pretty sure he was alright for now, especially since doing anything for his scrapes and bruises would mean taking off most of the uniform, and that would just be weird.

He gently put a gloved hand on Capa's shoulder, starting to guide him over to one of the walls. "Come on, sit down against the wall. How's your vision?"

Capa leaned against the wall and then finally sat down, his eyes closing somewhat. "I can see double sometimes. I don't suppose that's a new superpower." It was his very, very lame attempt at a joke and he only smirked slightly as he looked up to Dick.

"If it is, there's really nothing you can do about it. I think the bleeding stopped a while ago." He reached up, wincing as he ran his fingers through his long hair, stained with blood, to reveal a gash that was no longer bleeding but was a likely cause of the concussion.

"You'd be the first person I've ever heard of with it, so, maybe," he tried to joke, crouching down next to him and reaching into one of the compartments of his gauntlets for a penlight, carefully moving in front of him and shining it in his eyes to check his pupil's reactions to the light.

"I just want to see how bad it is. I have a funny feeling a couple concerned doctors might want to swarm us once we get back topside." Assuming they were still alive. "Feel nauseous at all? Any bad taste in your mouth?"

It was a bad enough concussion to make him dizzy and sick, but he had been running around so much that it didn't seem to matter. Now that he was sitting and still and not fiddling with equipment, it was different. He truly felt his injuries at that moment.

"Let them swarm. I'd like to be hooked up to a few IVs right now. A morphine cocktail would be perfect, don't you think?" And Capa didn't even like infirmaries. But the idea of a dreamless sleep, free of pain, was exactly what he wanted.

And a shower. A shower would be good.

"And yes. But it comes and goes. The nausea, I mean."

"If he's got a concussion, all we can do without a freezer to stick his head in is sit still," John says, not looking up from his work.

For a second, a handful of screens flicker to life, and - immediately go dark again with a sad little 'power down' noise. "Fucking Christ shithead thing-" he trails off, grumbling irritatedly to himself, and continues to try and put shit back together. John Connor can hack anything, yes, but if it's not functioning to get into, then, well. Fuck.

Dick glanced up at John as he started swearing, but decided it would probably best not to ask. He wasn't as natural as computers as the other two were, but he definitely knew his way around one, and as soon as he'd seen the damage, he'd known he was more or less useless, except maybe as someone to monitor the network and keep in touch with the outside world. And apparently play medic.

"Let me at least clean it up a little, then you can get back to work. It doesn't look like a bad one, and I don't think it's going to be an issue anyway all things considered, but you still probably should try to stay awake until we get out of here."

"Thanks, John," Capa said in what might have been a bitter and sarcastic tone if they hadn't just gone through what they had. Instead, it came out as something like an exasperated sigh of a comment. He couldn't really be upset with him for that kind of statement, especially when they were all stressed. He rolled his eyes a bit and looked up when the lights came on, but naturally it doesn't stick.

"Stop fucking with it for a minute." He glanced to Dick. "Go ahead and clean what you can. I don't think we can break much more than what's already been broken here anyway."

It wasn't meant as irritable, since: "Over-treatment can hurt too," he remarks, half-idle, but he sits back anyway, carefully. (He's considered mentioning the statement of his injuries, but... well, it's not like either of them are going to be able to help with that.)

He runs one hand over his head and checks his comm device, taking a minute to breathe.

"I just wish someone would actually fill us in on what's going on with the Admiral," he said, sounding a little distracted as he went back into his gauntlets for the medical kit. He carefully slipped a pair of latex gloves over his already gloved hands and took out some disinfectant and a clean cotton swab, carefully getting to work on cleaning up the gash.

"How are you doing, John?"

Capa took out his own comm and flipped through it while Dick worked, trying to find something relevant to comment on. Or at least get some sense of direction and time. It felt like months since they had left, but it didn't seem like time had passed that way there.

He tried not to flinch away but wrinkled his nose at the smell of the disinfectant. It was...strange after everything else they had been through. Almost normal.

"That's good," he insisted after a few moments. "Really. I can't just sit here." It was too tempting to try and sleep and he wasn't going to let that happen.

"Not great," he admits, because there's no point in trying to fake being fine; he's obviously not. He's only hanging onto consciousness by sheer willpower - normally he'd be able to go through worse than this for longer and be fine, but being post-op means he wasn't at his best when they started. He's going to sleep for a week and be back in recovery for longer after this. Assuming he doesn't just pass out right here.

"Okay. Just let us know if you start feeling any worse. Collapsing on the floor isn't dignified or fun." He carefully pushed himself up, grimacing a little as he did so. He was pretty sure when he did take off his suit, he'd find the kevlar plates in suit had stamped bruises onto his back, ribs, side and chest, not to mention any other number of irritating injuries. He was beat.

He offered a hand to Capa to help the other warden up before glancing back at John briefly.

"Anything I can do?"

Capa accepted the hand and stumbled back over to the control panel he had been at before. It wasn't going to do him much good, but he had to try. It just blinked at him, mockingly, as if saying that he wasn't going to ever understand it. Capa wasn't good with different computer systems. He knew the ones he used. But this was not at all what he expected.

"You might as well let him do something," he told John gently. "The stinging of that disinfectant will give you a bit of a jolt." It woke him up for a while, as he could still feel it in his head.

It's almost funny, so the look he gives Capa is one with a shallow flicker of a smile. Yep.

John starts to pull off his flack jacket so that Dick can get a look at where he'd gotten a chunk of his arm gored hours prior; it's stopped bleeding, but he'd lost a lot before it did. He gets stuck halfway, the muscles in his torso protesting enough for him to stop. He glances at Dick.

Honestly, making the post and doing this was what was keeping Dick alert and focused right now. He could probably cling to the thought of getting out of here and getting to Tim, and figuring out what the hell had happened to Jim and Arthur and everyone else if he had to, but this was easier.

Dick just frowned and walked over to John, carefully easing the jacket off and wincing in sympathy when he got a look at the injury. "Damn. Couldn't have said anything earlier?" It's a weak joke. They'd barely had time to eat or drink, let alone stop to properly tend to injuries.

"It didn't fall off," what, his arm? "Figured I was okay."

He grimaces as they get the jacket off, and his shirt underneath is at least more or less intact, though the left arm is more or less soaked through with blood, the upper part lacerated and exposing congealed damage. "Tissue damage, could be worse."

"Martha or McCoy can fix it," he agrees, getting out more disinfectant and carefully starting to clean the injury. He was careful not to reopen it, just trying to clean it up before carefully bandaging it. "Anything else?" He knew John was worn out, but he wasn't sure if that was just because they'd been through hell or if he was actually hurting pretty badly and trying to hide it.

"Probably." He gives Dick a wry look. Yeah, he's seriously banged up, but he knows there's nothing in any medkit that'll do fuckall for his heart, so it's best to just sit quietly and deal with it versus stress out or risk someone poking at him and doing more damage. "You don't look newly minted either, by the way."

Two can play this game, Grayson.

The vigilante just smiled wanly. "I'm alright." Best he could figure, at worst he'd bruised a couple ribs pretty badly. There wasn't much a medkit could do for that, either. The biggest issue was exhaustion, really. He could feel it nagging at the edges of his consciousness, and he knew as soon as he was sure Tim was alright, he was finding somewhere to just pass the fuck out for a few hours.

"I don't want to fuss, but I'm not sure how long we're gonna be stuck here, and I'll be pretty upset if one of you keels over on me after we got this far."

"Well I'm not sharing any anecdotes unless this thing gets any ideas."

John's still feeling anxious underneath; he wants to know that Sarah is okay. But prioritizing her would waste time, and he needs to get back to trying to see if they can sort any of this shit out. He looks over at Capa. "Still with us?"

It wasn't until he was addressed that Capa realized he hadn't actually moved since Dick had gone to treat John. He jerked slightly, as if he had been dozing, though he was wide awake, and his hands slipped off the control panel. He almost fell forward, but caught himself, shaking his head.

"Hmm, yeah. I am. Why...what..." He trailed off slightly. "I'm alright."

"Uh-huh," Dick said lightly, trying to sound like he wasn't concerned, like nothing that had happened here was bothering him at all, like he wasn't sore all over and about ready to curl up on the floor and fall asleep. Being team cheerleader was something he was used to, and a role he fell into easily.

"We should... I don't know. Play a game or something, give us something to focus on that isn't running for our lives or thinking about putting a fist through one of the computer banks."

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074 [voice]

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