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The first time Dick woke up he took a moment to take stock of himself, not yet wanting to alert those around him of his return to consciousness. He was in a lot of pain and definitely had a concussion, but his breathing seemed unhindered and his heart rate was only slightly high, which luckily meant he probably wasn’t in any immediate life threatening danger. He reached up to touch his face and found no mask. So he was a civilian right now, either that or someone had managed to remove his mask without triggering any of the failsafes, which while unlikely, was not impossible.
Dick subtly shifted his hand over his pants, grateful as he felt the soft brush of cotton instead of the thick material of his uniform. He slowly cracked his eyes open, carefully letting them adjust to the sunlight shining above him, and let out an involuntary groan. Distantly he heard people talking as several blurry faces swam in and out of his line of sight.
After a few seconds a loud crack echoed through the air, causing his hearing and vision to come suddenly and abruptly into focus. The sudden sensory input was sharp and overwhelming, causing him to groan again. He could hear several voices, but the closest and clearest one was saying, “Are you okay? Can you hear me?” He simply groaned in response, unable to form a sentence.
After a few moments he heard someone say something about a concussion and he barely managed to slur out, “No shit.” before he fell blissfully back into unconsciousness.
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The second time Dick woke up, it was sudden and painful. He was choking, there was something down his throat. He could hear people around him, someone was saying, “He should still be out, why’s he awake?”
Someone else quickly responded, “He must have built up a tolerance!” There was more yelling and movement before he slipped back into the dark.
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The third and final time Dick woke up was by far the most peaceful. He regained consciousness slowly and when he finally cracked open his eyes, he found himself lying in an empty hospital room. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. The room didn’t didn’t look like the ones at Bludhaven General, so he probably hadn’t been on a police shift when he got injured. He also hadn’t been out as Nightwing, because he was very clearly not in the Batcave and his family definitely wouldn’t let him go to a hospital if he was injured in the field.
Something must’ve happened while he was Richie Grayson, maybe a kidnapping? This wasn’t Gotham General either, so maybe he was at a gala in a different city when… something? Must have happened. He shook his head, wincing at the sudden pain it caused. It didn’t really matter anyways, because any minute now Bruce or one of his friends would barge in to explain everything and take him home so he could finish his recovery under Alfred’s expert care.
Much to Dick’s surprise, it wasn’t Bruce or one of the Titans who walked through his door several minutes later; rather, it was a concerned looking man and woman wearing suits. What? Dick wracked his brain yet again, trying to remember getting injured, but coming up with nothing. The man moved towards his bed cautiously, “Are you feeling ok?” He asked Dick gently, “The doctor said that you might feel woozy. You hit your head pretty hard.”
The woman smirked, “You also managed to wake up under huge amounts of anesthesia and they said that might mess you up even worse.” She huffed a laugh, “I have to say though, I can’t totally say I’m surprised that you’ve managed to build up a tolerance to apparently, the first four types of anesthesia they tried to use on you. I'm honestly more impressed than anything.”
Dick bit back a smile, before looking down at his heavily bandaged body, “Well... I’m not woozy, but there’s definitely some memory loss going on.” He looked back up at them, “I have no clue who either of you are.” He said with an awkward shrug.
The two suddenly looked concerned, clearly not expecting that, “Uh…” The man started awkwardly, clearly not sure what to say.
The woman eventually stepped in and saved him, “I’m Agent Diana Berrigan and he’s Agent Peter Burke, you work with us for the FBI.”
At Dick’s raised eyebrow Agent Burke added, “White Collar Crimes Division.”
Dick leaned back, blowing out a huff of air, “Huh.” He said blankly. He hadn’t expected that at all. Why'd he leave the police for the FBI? Maybe the force finally got cleaned up and he decided to switch over and tackle FBI corruption?
“I’m actually pretty surprised I ended up in the FBI.” He told the agents, causing Agent Berrigan to cough as she tried to cover a laugh.
Agent Burke bit back a small smile, “Yeah, I’m not surprised. It’s a pretty big change from what you did before.” He said and Dick nodded in agreement.
“The FBI…” He mused, wracking his brains and again trying to remember anything, but only coming up with the fact that Agent Burke’s name sounded vaguely familiar.
“So, what’s the last thing you remember?” Agent Berrigan asked.
Dick rubbed his temples, “I don’t know.” He said frustrated.
Agent Burke sat in a chair next to his bed, “Okay, how about you ask us some questions instead?” He offered.
Dick nodded, deciding where to start his questioning, “Um… did I ever tell you guys why I went from the police to the FBI? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, I don’t think I’d ever do that. I mean I like my job… At least from what I can remember?” He added with a questioning tone, rubbing his eyes and causing him to miss the two agents sending each other wide eyed looks.
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After a few moments of silence, Peter cleared his throat. He sent a look to Diana before speaking, “Um, you never told us. You never talk about your time as a police officer.” He said, voice strained.
Neal took his head out of his hands, “Really?” he asked, sounding surprised, “I’ve already been an officer almost five years and that’s a pretty big chunk of my life to not talk about. I mean, even if I quit tomorrow, it's still a huge thing. I wonder if something happened that made me quit?” As he spoke his voice got quieter until he was practically just muttering to himself, “Why wouldn’t I talk about it?”
Peter tried to school his face into as blank an expression as he could manage, “I don’t know, you just don’t talk about it.” He tried for a casual shrug, but it came off more as a flinch.
Neal’s eyebrows furrowed, “I need to figure out what’s going on. Things aren’t lining up.” He glanced around quickly, “Where’s my phone?” He asked urgently, “I need to make a call.”
Suddenly Diana spoke up, “Don’t worry Neal, we already called Mozzie.” Neal looked confused before, but at Diana’s statement he managed to bring it up a few notches.
Peter could see Neal processing, then all of a sudden his face went blank. “Shit.” Neal said, “I’m pretty sure I just majorly fucked up.” He looked darkly at the agents, “I really need my phone.”
Peter blinked, once, twice, “Why do you need your phone?” He asked.
“Like I said, I really need to call someone.” Neal said urgently.
“Uh… I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Peter responded.
Neal just huffed out a breath, “Okay, okay, okay, fine.” He raised a hand to rub his temple, “Will you at least tell me what year it is?”
Peter glanced at Diana, she shrugged and he turned back to Neal, “2024.” He answered.
Neal’s mouth opened slightly in shock, “What?”
“What year do you think it is?” Diana asked.
Neal took a breath, “2015.” He leaned back, “I really need to make a call.” He practically muttered, clearly not expecting them to comply.
Peter pinched his nose, “If I give you your phone, who are you going to call?” He asked, hating that he was considering letting Neal make a call to who knows who, while suffering from amnesia.
Neal perked up slightly, “Really?” He asked.
“Just tell me who you're going to call.” Peter responded.
Neal nodded, “Probably my pseudo-father and if he doesn't answer,” He shrugged, “Then one of my friends.”
Peter’s eyebrows raised, “You have a father? Pseudo-father?” He asked.
Neal sighed, “He doesn't even know about B, great. I don't know what I’m gonna do if B’s not still kicking around.” He muttered under his breath. Before Peter could move to get Neal’s phone, there was a knock at the door. He opened it, assuming a doctor was coming to check on Neal and instead was nearly barreled over by a man wearing a brown leather jacket. He had a single white streak in his hair and he was definitely not a doctor in fact, Peter had absolutely no idea who he was.
Before Peter could make any other observations, the man was speaking, “Dickface, you’re alright.” He said relieved, “When the hospital told B you were here I was the only one who was close by.” He moved towards Neal’s bed, but stopped when he noticed Neal was frozen in what appeared to be shock.
“Jason?” Neal asked faintly, “How?” He was starting to cry, tears slowly running down his face, “Are you real?” He choked on a sob, “You’re alive?”
Rather than answering, Jason froze before spinning to face the agents, “What. Happened. To. Him.” He growled, face lined with anger and worry.
Peter, who was watching everything unfold, stumbled over his words trying to answer, “Um… It’s his memory. He thinks it's 2015. Who are you?”
Jason’s face paled and he let out a small gasp, “I’m- I’m his brother.” He spun back to face Neal, who was clearly in the beginnings of a panic attack and still crying uncontrollably. Peter watched as Jason’s face softened and he reached out and grabbed Neal’s hand, “Hey, Dick. Dick, it’s really me, I promise. It’s me. I’m really Jason. I’m alive.” Jason continued murmuring reassurances for several minutes as the two agents awkwardly stood in the corner watching.
Neal was squeezing Jaason’s hand so hard it was turning white, but Jason didn’t let go. After a while he’d finally calmed down enough to start asking questions again, “How-” he choked out.
Jason spoke quietly, “It was the pit, Big Bird.” At Neal’s stricken expression, he added, “It was years ago, Dickie. I’m okay now, it’s all out of my system. I’m okay.” Peter suddenly realised Jason had tears running down his face, matching Neal’s.
There was suddenly a hand on his arm and he turned to see Diana, also with tears in her eyes, “We should go.” She said quietly, “We can figure this out later, Peter.” He nodded sharply and the two of them left the room. It wasn't until he was absentmindedly eating a bag of chips from a nearby vending machine five minutes later that Peter realised, he too had drying tear tracks on his face. He may not know what happened, who Neal actually was, or why he seemed to think his brother Jason was dead, but at this moment it didn’t matter. They could always talk later, but right now, all he knew was that he just saw his friend realize that someone he loved, his brother, was alive and well after thinking he was gone and dead.
As he sat there slowly working his way through the chips, questions began piling up in a rush. Neal was a police officer for at least five years, so how and why did he become a criminal? Jason called him Dick repeatedly, maybe it was a nickname. Richard maybe? Neal had a dad? Pseudo-dad? Peter thought all of the conman’s family was long dead and who was Jason? Why did Neal think he was dead?
After a few minutes, a frazzled looking teen came skidding down the hallway. When he spotted Peter he glared and asked, “Do you know where Neal Caffrey is?”
Peter sighed, pointing towards Neal’s room. The young boy ran to the door, throwing it open and loudly exclaiming, “Richard!” Peter snorted. It turned out he was right about the name thing it seemed, but his mood quickly darkened when he heard Neal ask the boy, “Who are you?” Before the door abruptly slammed shut. He sighed again, he may have no clue what was going on, but he had a feeling when he finally figured it out, it was going to be one hell of a story.