Warning: This story is rated M for a reason! Graphic violence and character death; whumpage galore. Don't try this at home. Also: Canon, what canon?

Interference (term used in chess games) occurs when the line between an attacked piece and its defender is interrupted by sacrificially interposing a piece.

INTERFERENCE

-10:23 PM, Blüdhaven-

Dick needs five seconds to come to the conclusion that his days are numbered.

One second to tilt his head back to find the eyes of the considerably larger man in front of him. Another one to grasp that this is indeed motherfucking Bane at his front door, eyes hidden by the trademark wrestling mask. One second to notice the goons looming behind their ponderous leader, one to realize that he isn't wearing any armor, nothing but a flimsy t-shirt to protect him from Bane's superhuman strength; and the last one to arrive at the only logical conclusion possible: he's going to die.

Five seconds, in which Bane chuckles and Dick takes an intuitive step back, thus bringing movement into the scene and giving the signal for the goons to begin.

Four gun barrels are pointed at his face, laughable in comparison to what havoc the man in front of them could wreak with his bare hands, and Bane steps over the threshold.

"Richard Grayson?" he asks, voice sending shivers down Dick's spine. It hauls him out of the shock he hid in after opening the door with full certainty that it was his pizza delivery guy, and stirs up the panic.

Bane is standing in his hallway, pumped up with Venom, and asking for him.

No one ever told Dick what to do in such a situation. He's out of costume, out of reach of any communicator, out of Batman's reach by several miles.

There's really nothing else he can do, so he nods, letting go of the doorknob and stepping back further.

The tissue over Bane's mouth stretches into the sad parody of a smile while one of his hands clenches into a fist.

-10:27 PM, Gotham-

Bruce retreats from the cave and hurries upstairs, where Alfred is about to serve their pre- patrol snack. The plans for tonight's drug bust are drawn, and Oracle has received a thick file full of locations and plans of action she'll have to work through in the next half hour.

Tim crosses his path on the way to the dining room. "Hi, status report?"

Bruce frowns at him, confused.

"Well, any awkward situations between you and Damian after last night? You know, after the last time I really don't want to put my foot in my mouth again..."

Bruce chuckles lightly at the memory. "No, everything's fine. Dick chewed me out this morning, but I don't think Damian is sulking anymore."

"Okay, any awkward situations with Dick I can blow up?"

"Oh well, the usual. I tell him to keep out of my business, he says he'd love to, but my business keeps climbing through his window and swears too loudly. Then we huff around and cool down after hanging up. Nothing we can't fix later."

-10:32 PM, Blüdhaven-

The pain in his head retreats gradually, and at some point Dick is able to open his eyes without falling back into semi-consciousness again.

The goons are sitting on the couch, grinning wolfishly, and Bane is leaning against the opposite wall.

Dick groans and tries to sit up without hurling his last meal over the carpet. The living room lamp is damn bright; his vision is swimming, his stomach churning. He tastes blood in his mouth from where the impact split his lip.

All thanks to one half-heartened punch. He doesn't stand a chance against Bane...

"What's going on?" he manages to press out; the goons are laughing again.

Bane snaps his fingers, and the men are at Dick's side immediately, yanking him up to his knees and twisting his arms back painfully. A hand grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back, so that he can see Bane stepping closer.

"He's cute," the goon on his right says, and Dick really hopes it's just a trick of his concussed brain when he feels a hand travelling over his ass.

"Maybe we can have some fun with him if he won't talk," the one who pulls at his hair pipes up behind him. Nope, no trick of the mind. Dick's heart starts to beat faster. He could take them out in mere seconds, but Bane would crush his throat without so much as breaking a nail.

The man is fast, faster than his cumbersome built should allow, and tremendously clever. Not to mention his strength. When he steps closer again and leans over Dick, he is painfully reminded of the fact that he isn't wearing even one thin layer of Kevlar.

"Richard Grayson," Bane begins, "what is your connection to the Boy Wonder?"

Dick's insides freeze over. The Boy Wonder? This is about Damian? What does Bane know?

"Who?" He stutters, only half acting. The man in front of him crouches down to his level, the mask-covered face coming closer.

"Do you know who I am, Richard Grayson?" he asks, one hand wrapping around Dick's chin, pulling him closer. Dick's breathing is erratic when he tries to nod, too aware of the gravity of the situation. One flick of the wrist and he is dead, neck broken. Or paralyzed from the neck down. Dick tries to swallow; it doesn't quite work.

"You're Bane," he whispers. He doesn't dare to glance at the hidden surveillance cam that's connected to Oracle's clock tower. It's too early for her shift to begin, but maybe he's lucky and she sees him.

Bane seems elated to be recognized. The hand falls away from Dick's chin, but his relief is short-lived when it touches his chest, cups the lower part of his right costal arch.

"And what do you know about Robin?"

"Robin?" he croaks when the pressure on his ribs doubles. "Batman's Robin?"

"Yes."

"I don't know anythi-"

Crack.

The pain arrives a few seconds later, only after his mind catches up with what happened: one of his ribs broke. Sniffling back a moan, Dick shudders while the goons laugh.

"Wrong answer."

"But I really don't know -"

Crack.

"You have twenty-four ribs, Richard," Bane reminds him while his hand never lessens the pressure on the two already broken ones, "do we really have to go through all of them?"

Dick is pretty sure that Bane would go through with that threat, but would gladly pull through it for Damian's sake. But he needs to find out what the hell is going on here before breathing gets so painful he won't be able to speak anymore. So he shakes his head, which still hurts pretty badly.

"Very well. Then tell me why the Boy Wonder climbed through your window yesterday night."

With shocking clarity, everything falls into place. Damian had had an argument with Bruce after yesterday night's patrol and ran away to his usual resort, Dick's flat. Dick remembers being woken up by a grumpy Robin climbing through his window more noisily than necessary, immediately launching into a rant about his father and the 'idiot Drake', about how badly Gotham sucked and that all the drug dealers could very well eat shit and die.

A new drug ring had appeared in Gotham; Bruce had mentioned it a few times. Bane is the leader, apparently Robin pissed him off sufficiently enough to send his goons after him.

Crack.

Ouch.

"Answer."

Dick thanks the heavens that Bane's goons didn't see Damian leaving this morning. After scolding him again for using such an obvious entrance, the boy had left through a more furtive exit. Bane wouldn't be here otherwise.

"He informs me about crime that spills over to Blüdhaven." Dick manages to press out between clenched teeth, and the pressure on his damaged ribcage decreases. It's not exactly a relief since the broken ends of the rib bones poke and slice through other tissues now, but at least he can breathe again somewhat.

"Why would he do that?" Bane wants to know, curious now.

"Batman needs a contact into the BPD. They chose me."

An enormous hand runs over Dick's cheek, almost caressing it. He shudders away from the touch, but the goons hold him in place firmly. "That's bullshit, Richard," Bane says slowly, hand gliding down to Dick's left collarbone. "Batman works together with your local hero." He pushes.

Crack!

Dick's collarbone snaps with a sickening crunch and Dick can't suppress a scream this time. Now that nothing holds back his shoulder anymore but muscle and skin, the arm one of the goons is holding yanks back even further. Dick feels his eyes water but is pulled out of his misery when he realizes that Bane is stroking a thumb over the collarbone on the other side.

"Nightwing isn't working with Blüdhaven's cops! Batman wants the law on his side!" It's true, Nightwing doesn't work much with the BPD, though only because he knows about everything that's going on there.

Bane considers what he just said. "You're a cop?" Dick nods, and Bane turns his attention to the man on Dick's left. "Check that. So you're something like Blüdhaven's Commissioner Gordon?"

The goon lets go of his arm and Dick heaves a sigh when his shoulder snaps into a less painful position. Bane notices, of course, but doesn't do anything until his man comes back with Dick's bag. The police badge glints, and the tissue around Bane's mouth stretches into a broad grin.

"Call him."

Shit. "What?"

"Call him, like the Commissioner does."

"I can't."

Dick is awaiting pain, but nothing happens. He forces his eyes to open and sees a very thoughtful Bane who crossed his arms, annoyed. "Don't be stupid Richard, we were getting along so well."

"I can't call him. The brat appears in my apartment sometimes and that's all the contact there is!"

Bane sighs. "You're lying." Apparently he's freaking good at detecting lies, since Dick obviously has every possibility of calling Damian.

Bane moves his hand and Dick flinches away unintentionally, but the bigger man only waves at his goons. They let go of the death grip they had on Dick and he slumps down immediately, the hand of his uninjured shoulder pressing against the broken ribs. A huge hand grabs the front of his shirt and lifts him up.

"Call him, now."

"I can't."

"Very well."

...Okay Bruce, save me now...

-10:45 PM, Gotham-

"What are you staring at, you imbecile?"

Tim snaps out of his thought and turns his attention to Damian, who is poking his fork into the meat and has been triying to pick a fight all evening long.

"Nothing, Damian. I've been imagining a world without you. It was very beautiful..."

Damian tosses his fork at Tim, who deflects it easily.

"That's enough," a low voice from the end of the table growls. Both boys avert their eyes and sink back into their chairs. "Damian, eat your dinner. You need to be fit for patrol."

"Is the idiot joining us again?"

"Red Robin will be with us, yes. And you will get along, I don't need another call from Dick telling me how to treat both of you."

"Aww, don't you wanna hug us and teach us how to walk on a tightrope?" Tim chirps, trying to lighten the mood. It works; Bruce is smiling fondly and even Damian's expression softens a little bit.

"More like walking hand in hand to the end of the rainbow."

"Don't mock your brother," Bruce warns, but the corners of his mouth are twitching, "It's not easy to get along with the two of you."

"Yeah, thanks to a certain someone."

"What are you getting at now, Drake?!"

This time, Tim throws the fork back after deflecting Damian's knife.

-11:12 PM, Blüdhaven-

Dick lands on the floor with a sickening, wet thud and an agonized moan. He tries to curl up into a ball, but a heavy boot on his back immobilizes him.

So that's it.

Dick lets go of a shuddering breath and starts to cough up blood immediately. He doesn't know where it comes from, having lost track of his injuries. He heavily suspects that the broken ribs did some serious damage to his lung; the right side of his chest burns like fire – but then again, so does the rest of his body. Bane's punches feel like being hit by a brick wall. They are painful and dangerous in armor, but deadly without. Bane knows it, too, and delivers each punch, each kick, with clinical precision.

No other punch to the head except for that glorious opener, the danger of actually killing him or knocking him unconscious is too high. No punch to his liver or spleen, which could rupture and make him bleed to death in seconds. That doesn't mean Bane doesn't hit him there – he's just careful to inflict pain, not too much damage. Most punches, therefore, are delivered to his chest, because the frail organs that keep Dick alive are,or were, protected by his ribcage.

"So what now, Richard?" Bane asked pensively, the boot on Dick's back shifting a bit to the right side, where it pushes down on broken bones again. Dick gasps, there is not enough air in his lungs to produce a voice. "I can break your spine, or dislodge your skull..."

He did break Batman's back, Bruce's back, after all. And Dick has never been as strong as Bruce, never good enough to beat him. He doesn't have the slightest chance against Bane, but he still tried to fight back a couple of minutes ago. No fancy stuff of course, just basic maneuvers that had no other effect than him being slammed into a wall so hard that he had heard his skull crack. The world hasn't stopped spinning since.

But nothings happens, only Dick's erratic breathing breaks the silence. Then the boot disappears, Dick finally curls into a tight ball, and Bane kneels down beside him.

"Maybe you are telling the truth..."

Inside his cocoon of pain and fear, Dick sighs, relieved. He's not going to survive this, that much is sure, but at least Damian is safe for now. The temptation to give in and call Oracle has been growing with every punch. Because then Batman would come, Robin, Red Robin, maybe even the Red Hood and Superman. They could save him, but only if they'd risk their lives.

"Is he coming over tonight?" Bane asks. Dick would like to shrug with his shoulders, but they hurt too much, and moving in general isn't really working anymore. So he licks his split lips and tries to remember how to produce a voice.

"I do-..don't know," it rasps. "He... doesn't... announce himself."

"I see..." Bane is tapping a finger against his chin in thoughts. "He is quite a brat after all... Guys." Dick has almost forgotten the goons that are lingering around in his flat, roaming through his fridge and looking for money, "Leave us alone. Get in the car."

Dick hears footsteps scurrying away and a small bud of hope grows in his chest, but is crushed right away.

"I think we're gonna leave him a little present for when he comes back." The perverse joy in Bane's voice echoes in Dick's ears. A little present. Oh, Damian.

Bane grabs his shirt again and hauls him up, and Dick builds up the courage to try to escape for the last time. As soon as his feet touch the ground, he spits a bloody clot into Bane's masked face. Even though the saliva doesn't touch his skin, Bane reacts out of instinct and lets go of the fabric to wipe away the disgusting spit as fast as possible.

Dick doesn't make it far. He's limping badly and his breath would fail him after a few steps through the front door anyway, but Bane catches him before he can try. Slamming him into a wall with one simple flick of the wrist, Bane is pissed.

"You just lost your ticket to a painless neck fracture."

The impact with the wall knocks the breath out of Dick lungs, but before he can crumble to the floor, Bane stands right in front of him and holds him up with his bulk. A massive thigh pins Dick's against the wall, and one hand holds him up by the hair. Dick tries to suck in air that smells of blood and sweat, but then Bane plants his open hand against Dick's chest, right over his heart.

It's not a punch, he doesn't draw back. Instead, the open palm applies gradually increasing pressure. Dick gasps for air, but the compressed wing of his lung can't stretch enough to suck in a sufficient amount.

The pressure intensifies. It hurts. Dick quickens his breathing to make up for the too small amounts of oxygen. He can hear his heart beat in ears, feels his pulse throbbing.

The pressure intensifies, and Bane starts to hum the opening melody of some freaking movie. Dick's hands push against the strong arm to no avail, soon clawing into the fabric of Bane's sleeve without conscious thought. It fucking hurts, he can't breathe, and suddenly he chokes.

Bane doesn't lessen the pressure on his chest, of course, but watches with amusement how Dick painfully chokes up pearls of blood. He can hear his lung grate under the constant pressure, and then his sternum caves in and oh God, it hurts.

The pressure intensifies, Dick's gasps become shorter and raspier. He feels his heart constricting painfully and a dull, throbbing pain expands from his chest into his left arm. He can't contain a pained moan, somewhere between the gasps.

Bane leans down and whispers in his ear, tender like a lover. "Do you feel that? That's a heart attack. The pressure on your heart impairs the blood circulation, and the muscles of your heart don't get enough oxygen anymore and die."

Dick can feel it indeed, and would probably scream bloody murder if he were able to gather enough air in his lungs. His gasps turn into something that sounds like sobs, and when he tries to look up at Bane, whose mouth is still next to his ear, the world tilts to the side, swings back, loses shape.

The pressure intensifies. "Your lung is filling with blood, too, you know? That's why you keep spluttering up blood. It inhibits the gas exchange in your alveoli and seeps into your bronchioles. I wonder if you will suffocate or if your heart will stop first..." He starts humming that damn song again.

Dick's body convulses in protest, but he doesn't notice. He's too busy willing away the black dots that are spreading across his vision. The need for air becomes unbearable.

It's a fucking lie that your life flashes before your eyes before you die. It doesn't, all Dick can see or think of is that he needs to breathe, that it hurts, and that they are standing right next to the hidden surveillance camera. They will see everything afterwards, hear everything. Dick hopes Bruce won't let Damian watch the tape.

The pressure intensifies, the pain explodes, and the world spins out of vision.

-fin-