Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"What the hell is this?"

The voice was familiar. Unfortunately familiar. Should-be-locked-up-in-Arkham-right-now familiar. Whatever Nightwing had been dosed with was blurring his vision and making him too weak to pull out of the grip of the thugs who were holding him, but if he could have moved he'd have been up a wall and out a window before you could say "knock, knock," reputation be damned.

"You were supposed to fetch me Robin. I made it very easy for you. One might say laughably easy," the Joker said. The snikt-snikt of his switchblade put him at least a yard away from Nightwing. Good enough for now. If he could just… get his feet under him…

"This is the kid, boss. He was right where you said he'd be. Did just what you said he'd do," said one of the goons uncertainly. "You said, bring the bird that gets hisself caught in the net. This is him, boss. Got a bird right there on his chest, tripped the trap exactly how you said he'd do."

Snikt-snikt and then… silence. The guys holding Nightwing had gone very still. The third guy, the one who'd been doing the talking, was breathing heavily, definitely scared. He'd been standing right in front of Nightwing, and if the Joker was close enough to threaten him, that meant he was way too close to Nightwing, too. He struggled to raise his head, focus his eyes.

The Joker had the leader of his goons by the chin, blade resting against his cheek, gently turning the guy's face side-to-side as though checking the quality of his shave when he was really considering how quickly to cut his throat. They all knew it. Then that mad gaze flicked down to Nightwing where he hung by the arms between two other men.

"Hold this," the Joker told the leader, thrusting the switchblade into his chest. The man gave a grunt of pain and went down gurgling. "Put him down," the Joker ordered the two holding Nightwing. They complied hastily, throwing him to the ground at the Joker's feet and backing off.

Nightwing got an arm under himself, could maybe have begun to push himself up, when the Joker delivered a solid kick to his diaphragm that had him curling on his side with a grunt of pain he was too slow to stifle. The Joker let out a cackle.

"Oh ho, it is a Robin under all that black. I'd recognize that pretty chirp anywhere." He kicked him again as though to prove it, but this time Nightwing just curled around the kick silently. It still hurt – the Joker might be a beanpole but he was driven by about five hundred horsepower of sheer crazy – but Nightwing knew it was coming and didn't feel the need to give the clown anything more than he already had. The Joker looked down at him, lips pursed in a moue of disappointment. "Say, bird boy, what's this all about anyway? Are you molting or what? What am I even supposed to call you?" The Joker left his line of vision. He came back carrying a crowbar. "You and Bats aren't fighting, are you? I mean, I've gone to some trouble here and it'd be really disappointing if he just didn't show 'cuz you two are on the outs." He smacked the crowbar against his open palm experimentally. "Maybe I should go for a simple message. Leave the sonnet for another time. What do you think?"

Nightwing tried for a laugh, but his dry throat strangled it. "It's like you don't know Batman at all, clownface," he ground out. It wasn't his cleverest line, but it was the Joker's most obvious button. Nightwing definitely wanted the sonnet option, even though there was no way Batman was actually coming for him any time soon. Sonnets were long and elaborate. It would give him time to plan that he wouldn't find at the end of a crowbar.

Sure enough, the Joker's bloody smile transformed briefly into a flat red slash. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It doesn't matter what you do to me or whether me and Batman are fighting. This is just gonna end with you back in Arkham and him not giving you a second thought," Nightwing said, giving him a cocky smile for good measure.

The Joker's eyes narrowed. Then his face stretched back into its habitual grin and Nightwing braced himself. The Joker gave an almost lazy one-handed swing, connecting the crowbar solidly with Nightwing's shoulder. Good, Nightwing thought even as hot pain exploded down his arm. Nothing broken. He's not serious. Yet. The force of the stroke rolled him onto his back and Joker stepped over him, leaning down to leer into his face.

"Plan's back on, boys!" he called to his henchmen. "Get him to the warehouse. We've got a show to set up for daddy Bats. Here, wonder bird. Let me give you a hand." The Joker pressed his gloved hand over Nightwing's nose and mouth. Nightwing grabbed his wrist with his left hand – the right was still tingling from the hit he'd taken – and found the strength to stab a pressure point with his thumb, but it was too late. The Joker's gloves had been coated with something. Not Joker venom, please not Joker venom, Nightwing thought and was actually relieved when he began to lose consciousness. Joker venom didn't let you go that easily. He had a fleeting moment to hope he'd wake back up at some point, and then he was too far gone to even be worried about his head hitting the floor.

A few hours ago, all he'd been worried about was wrapping up some supervillain wannabe and getting back to team headquarters in time for breakfast. Batman was on an overseas mission with his new Robin. (Jason. The kid's name was Jason, but even though it'd been nearly a year Nightwing didn't think he'd stop thinking of him as the new Robin any time soon.) Batman hadn't said he'd wanted Nightwing to watch over Gotham while he was gone – actually, he'd sort of said Stick with the team while I'm gone – but Nightwing wasn't just going to leave the city defenseless for a week. And he definitely wasn't going to miss the chance to prove himself. And and, that was sort of the point of Nightwing: that he wasn't a kid anymore and didn't need Batman giving him orders.

The look on Bruce's face when Dick had first broached the subject of Nightwing had been hard to read, and Dick was pretty good at reading faces. Bruce had done his "I'm having an emotion and you don't need to know what it is while I'm processing it" face, but it could have been anything from anger to hurt to pride or possibly all of the above. It probably didn't help that Dick had already had the name picked out and the costume made and brought it up while wearing it in the Batcave. And now that he thought about it, the fact that he'd picked a Kryptonian myth to base his new persona on probably added another wrinkle to Bruce's reaction.

In the end, Bruce had simply grunted and said "Be careful," before stalking out. Dick couldn't even tell if he meant it as "Be careful, because you're going to get yourself killed with this foolish notion," or "Be careful, because you're on your own now," or "You have my blessing, but please be careful." Again, all of the above was a possibility.

Alfred said Bruce was proud of him, but Alfred always said that. It had never occurred to Dick that that might be because it was always true.

At any rate, the team all approved of Nightwing and he'd gone on plenty of missions with them, but this was the first time he had Gotham all to himself. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want to make an impression on the seamy side of the city who only knew him as a kid in a cape.

So when some new asshole showed up trying to act like the Joker while Batman was out of town, Nightwing thought it was the perfect opportunity. Whoever the guy was, he'd clearly done his homework, but no one could match the Joker's personal brand of insanity. Nightwing had been sure he was dealing with a copycat with fewer resources than the genuine article. He'd never dreamed that it was the Joker deliberately holding back in order to look like an imitation of himself. If asked, Nightwing would have said the Joker wasn't actually capable of that much restraint. But it was clear now the man would do anything for the sake of a good joke, and he clearly thought this one was one of his best.

He was cackling about it right now, as Nightwing came out of his chemically induced fog. "…just wish I could have seen the look on your face. Next time I'll send a camera," the Joker was saying. Feeling was slowly returning to Nightwing's limbs, but since what he could feel was a great deal of rope, some of which was around his neck, he wasn't sure whether to count this as a good thing. "You know, Batman would never have fallen for it. What do you think he'd say, if he were here now?"

"Probably be too busy punching you to talk," Nightwing tried to say. Except there was a gag pulled tight between his teeth. Nice going, Dick, way to detect things. He tuned out the Joker, focusing on his surroundings.

He was lying on a metal catwalk, the Joker sitting nearby with his legs dangling over the side, watching something far below. Based on the flickering light reflecting off the Joker's bone white face, Nightwing would guess whatever it was was both large and aggressively on fire. Nightwing's wrists were bound behind his back, with another thick coil of rope around his arms and chest. Neither was doing his shoulder any favors. Then there was the worrying length of rope around his neck. But… his legs were free. An odd oversight, but in about ten seconds he'd be ready to—

He didn't have ten seconds.

"Anyway, time to get this show on the road!" the Joker was saying. It was apparently a cue, because someone placed a boot in the middle of Nightwing's back and shoved him off the catwalk without further ado.

Nightwing plummeted, the rope around his neck – the noose – going taut, but luckily not quickly enough to snap his neck. Nightwing flailed as his airflow was blocked off, his unbound legs scrambling instinctively for purchase. And, to his shock, finding it. Just within reach, a tiny solid surface barely wide enough to find purchase on with a few toes if you happened to be an extraordinarily talented acrobat with a near-supernatural sense of balance. He was able to put just enough weight on his toes to take the pressure off his neck and suck in a breath. Then he tensed because surely the Joker would be knocking him from his perch in a moment.

But no. The Joker was applauding from above on the catwalk. "Bravo!" he called. "Perfect. I knew you wouldn't let me down, kiddo!"

Nightwing glanced around desperately, taking in the full set-up for the first time.

He was balanced at the very top of a tall metal pole sunk into the concrete floor of the warehouse at least fifty feet below. At that height and slenderness, the pole was not particularly stable. Also the entire floor of the warehouse seemed to be on fire. A longer look showed that it wasn't just random things burning, though. The smokeless fire had regularity to it. There was a maze down there, the walls of which were in flames, and Nightwing was at the center of it. He could see further traps tucked into dead ends and around corners down there, too. If it hadn't been for the noose around his neck, he'd slide down the pole and take his chances with the labyrinth of fire, but as it was… he couldn't let himself fall.

He tipped his head upward, trying to get a look at the catwalk and ceiling. If this was a trap for Batman, the Joker had to have covered an aerial approach. Doubtless the ceiling and roof were as heavily trapped as the maze, and probably more lethal for their subtlety.

"So!" the Joker said, clapping his hands. "Here's the game. You get to perch there as long as your little talons can keep it up. Bats can show up when he likes. But for every trap he trips, that pole's going to get a little shorter. I estimate you're tall enough to handle about two triggered traps before getting your neck wrung like a chicken."

Nightwing almost laughed. He didn't have to worry about that since Batman wasn't anywhere nearby, though he did wonder what kind of contingency plan the Joker had against a simple batarang taking out the rope he was hanging from. Something horrible, he was sure. He planned not to find out.

The Joker watched Nightwing for a few moments longer, but when it became evident he wasn't going to do or say anything interesting, he rolled his eyes. "Next time, I'll put a time limit on it," he muttered and sauntered off the catwalk. "I'll be around, birdbrain! Give Batsy my love," he said with a jaunty wave.

Probably off to watch from a safe distance, Nightwing thought. No way the Joker would go to this much trouble and not witness the anguish he brought to Batman as he tried to save Nightwing and only ended up hurting him more in the process. Joker would be in for a disappointment, though. Nightwing had activated the distress signal in his gauntlet as soon as he'd come to on the catwalk, the signal that now no longer went to the Batcave, but to his team. And as soon as Miss Martian linked up with him, they'd have a workable plan and who knew, he might even still make it back for breakfast.

The pole swayed and Nightwing tensed, flexing the leg he was balanced on just enough to give a little hop and switch feet. The noose pulled with the sudden bounce, but he stabilized himself quickly enough on the other foot, flexing the toes of the first one, feeling sweat trickle down around his mask from both the heat of the fire and the effort of staying perfectly balanced. He could handle this… but he did hope the team hurried.

Chapter Text

The bioship got to Gotham in twenty minutes, which was not nearly fast enough for anyone on board.

"I'm not picking him up," Miss Martian said, and Superboy and Aqualad knew she meant telepathically. They were on the outskirts of Gotham, flying in stealth mode.

"It's all right, beacon's pointing us— what?" Superboy stopped, flummoxed, as the bioship dropped Nightwing's signal. "It's gone!"

"We know where it was," Aqualad said, his calm voice not giving away any of the distress he felt. That could come later. "Miss Martian?"

"A minute out. Hang on, Nightwing," she murmured, even though his mental link wasn't in range.

With Wally and Artemis having left for California, Zatanna and Rocket having left for the Justice League, Aquagirl and Tempest on a mission with Aquaman, and Red Arrow still pursuing any hint of the original Roy Harper with manic single-mindedness, the three of them had been the only ones on hand when the distress beacon chimed. Mount Justice was states away from Gotham, but the bioship was fast, especially with Miss Martian piloting. The others would certainly have come running if they'd known, but there was no sense in delaying in order to contact them. Superboy, Aqualad, and Miss Martian were formidable enough to handle most things coming out of Gotham, and they'd prepared for the worst.

But what they found was nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. It was clear something had been here. There were the lightly smoking remains of what had once been a labyrinth fully on fire. There was a tall pole in the middle of the room. There was an incredibly ominous looking noose dangling at about Nightwing's height above it.

Miss Martian flew up to inspect it while Superboy and Aqualad poked around the remnants of the maze.

"I don't get it. He was here just a few minutes ago," Superboy said, pulling up a maze wall and tossing it aside.

"His beacon was," Aqualad corrected. "It's possible Nightwing himself was never here."

As Miss Martian approached the noose, a huge bladed pendulum swung out of the shadows of the ceiling above her. She gave it a contemptuous look, stopping it mid-flight with her telekinesis, then went back to checking the rope. "It's woven around metal cord," she reported. "It looks like… it could be rigged to electrocute whoever was, um." She glanced down at the empty loop. "Hanging from it."

"The rope would insulate against the electric current," Aqualad pointed out, watching Superboy's back. "Until it caught fire."

"Well, I don't think we need to worry about that," Miss Martian reported, floating back down to them. "There are no marks on the noose." As soon as she was out of range the pendulum blade continued its path through the air, whistling as it completed its arc. All three superheroes ignored it.

"I guess it could be… a trap for us?" Superboy ventured uncertainly. The three of them glanced around the warehouse, not feeling particularly trapped at all.

"Wait," Miss Martian said, eyes suddenly illuminating. "There's someone else here. I sense a mind."

Anthony Turner was having a bad day. That wasn't terribly uncommon in the henchman biz, but usually in Gotham you knew what you were up against if you were a bad guy: a variety of bat and bird-themed heroes that, while terrifying, were at least human (probably). Flying green girls with glowing eyes, guys with gills and magical tattoos, and anyone wearing that S on his chest weren't part of the deal. And yet here they were, in the security booth of the warehouse where Anthony had been attempting to shut down and get the fuck out.

Wipe it, the Joker had hissed, mad in both senses of the word. Get rid of the whole circus. Next time, I'm keeping it simple. And Anthony was just hired muscle, just a goon, but when it was the Joker asking you to do something outside your job description you tried your damndest to do it for as long as you could until you had a way out of Gotham and to some remote hideaway. Because the nice thing about the Joker was, unless you were wearing pointy ears and a black cape, you were pretty likely to be lost in the demented hurricane that was his brain. So Anthony had turned off the fire, destroyed the security footage, and was going to call that good enough when they showed up.

It occurred to Anthony that the Joker had wanted him found; had wanted the Bat to know that the Joker had gotten one of his own, even if only briefly. It wasn't worth the Joker putting himself out there for a confrontation with Batman, but Anthony… Anthony should have become a plumber, like his granddad.

He closed his eyes and prayed.

"I think we scared him," Miss Martian said, sounding a little sorry.

"Good," Superboy said. He cracked his knuckles. "Where the hell is Nightwing?"

"I don't know!" Anthony exclaimed. "Who's Nightwing?"

Superboy growled and took a threatening step forward, but Aqualad put a restraining hand on his arm.

"Miss Martian?" Aqualad asked.

"He's not lying. He doesn't know who Nightwing is." She was brushing the edges of his mind very carefully, just enough for lie detection.

"A black suit with a blue bird on the chest," Aqualad said. "Does that sound familiar?"

"Oh," said Anthony.

"That's a yes," Superboy said. "Let me at him."

Aqualad shrugged at Anthony as if to say, up to you.

"He escaped," Anthony said quickly. No one would blame him for spilling in the face of a kid who looked just like Superman but had none of his self-control. "No idea how. Had him one minute, gone the next. Completely messed up the Joker's plans."

"The Joker?" Aqualad asked, darting a glance at Miss Martian for confirmation.

She nodded. "All true. I guess… Nightwing's all right, then?"

"Perhaps. Let us remove our friend here to more secure accommodations, since he's been so helpful."

After Anthony had been left safely in prison, the three of them put the bioship into stealth mode and hovered in the Gotham cloud cover to discuss.

"If he escaped, why didn't he check in?" M'gann wondered. "Did he think no one had seen the distress signal?"

"That would be unlike him," Kaldur said. "And if the Joker was involved…"

"Nightwing could be injured somewhere," Conner finished for him. Kaldur nodded.

"We'll sweep the city. But if he made it back to the Batcave we might not find him." None of them knew the physical location of the cave and it was shielded even from the bioship's advanced scanning capabilities. "He was supposed to check in in a few hours anyway. If he misses that, we can start worrying."

"Worrying as in, call Batman back worrying?" M'gann asked.

"We'll see."

Dick couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. Could barely think. His head was caving in and turning inside out at the same time, his blood was boiling into sharp frozen points, he had misplaced the heart that was currently shoving needles through his veins and he was going to die.

Until he wasn't.

Floor manifested itself under Dick and he sprawled on it, heaving for breath, clutching at it even though it was stone and there was nothing to sink his fingers into.

"Hm. Humans. I forget," said an obnoxious, slightly nasal voice. Dick – Nightwing, he was Nightwing right now – rolled away from it and flowed to his feet, graceful as ever until his inner ear rebelled and sent him crashing down again.

Klarion the Witch Boy laughed, and Nightwing was getting really sick of the bad guys laughing at him. He glared up at him, mildly alarmed that the room they were in seemed to be wavering like it was underwater. It steadied itself after a second, and Nightwing wasn't sure if it had only seemed to waver because of the condition he was in or if it was some weird magic of Klarion's.

The room itself was an unimaginative cube. Dark, rough stone made up floor, walls, ceiling. No door. No nothing. Just him and Klarion and not even that freaky cat. That last bit was bad, though Nightwing couldn't think why at the moment.

"Don't worry, I put you in a pocket dimension that has, you know, rules and stuff," Klarion said. "Turns out human bodies can't handle the spaces between so well." He looked around at the walls and wrinkled his nose. "Blech. Have fun here."

"What do you want?" Nightwing asked, bringing one hand to his head to try and stop the dizziness.

"What?" Klarion blinked down at him, confused. "Nothing," he said, as though that should be obvious. He turned on his heel – and was gone. Nightwing stared at the spot where he'd been.

"Great," he said, and flopped onto his back, giving in to the gentle swaying of the cell.

Chapter Text

Klarion came back, eventually. Nightwing didn't know how long it had been. Long enough for him to pace out the borders of the cell about a hundred times, for the pain in his shoulder to settle to a dull throb, for him to hypothesize a million different reasons Klarion might have stolen him from the Joker.

He was still trying to figure out whether being held hostage by Klarion was better or worse than being held hostage by the Joker when Klarion appeared soundlessly in front of him. Nightwing leapt back, letting two batarangs fly on instinct. He didn't have his escrima sticks – the Joker had done away with those at some point – but he still had most of his other equipment tucked away about his person. Not that any of it would do much good against a lord of chaos, but it was the look of the thing.

Klarion waved a hand and the batarangs morphed into butterflies that fluttered around his head for a moment before careening into the nearest wall and exploding in a shower of turquoise glitter. Nightwing put his back to a wall and waited to see what the witch boy would do.

"Rude," Klarion complained. "Aren't you going to thank me for rescuing you?"

"You mean abducting me? Thanks so much. Can you start gloating about your master plan and get it over with? I've got places to be."

"This is what I get for coming to make sure the dimension hasn't folded in on you? Maybe next time I won't bother," Klarion said with a nasty grin. "It's not easy keeping this place running, but totally worth it to hear Chuckles howl."

"You snatched me… to piss off the Joker?" Nightwing asked.

"Yes, and it worked splendidly!" Klarion exclaimed, pressing his hands together and giving a little twirl. "He spent forever setting up that little show, and then not only do you retire from being Robin but he can't even hold on to you for more than an hour! He was so out of sorts. He'll be ranting for days. That'll teach him to insult my Teekl."

All this for insulting his cat?

"Aren't you guys supposed to be working together?" Nightwing hazarded. Last he'd known, the Joker hadn't been a true member of the Light, but they'd been laying low for over a year, and he still didn't know how the Joker had broken out of Arkham this time. If something had changed, the League and the team would need to know.

Klarion crossed his arms and turned away in a huff. "As if we'd keep that clown around when we've got me. How many agents of chaos does one team really need anyway? Say," he said, turning back toward Nightwing with a wicked smile that would have made Nightwing take a further step back if there had been anywhere left to go. "You know him better than I do. What else can I do to seriously tweak his nose?"

"Oh gosh, that's a toughie," Nightwing said, pretending to think it over. "But you know, it'd probably be really annoying if I turned up back in Gotham completely unharmed and tossed him in Arkham."

Klarion's grin got wider. And then wider still. Wider than should be physically possible, and filled with teeth. His arms elongated and reached for Nightwing, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him against the wall. "That was pathetic," Klarion said in a voice that was hitting at least three pitches at once and made Nightwing's brain try to climb the sides of his skull. Then Klarion's arms retracted quickly, still holding on to Nightwing, pulling him right into his face. "Do better next time, or I might lose interest and forget I left you here."

And then he was gone again. Without the spindly hands holding him up, Nightwing dropped to the floor, blinking rapidly. Hold it together. He's just a chaos being. Nothing you haven't seen before. Nothing they hadn't defeated before, though usually it was the whole team facing him down with an assist from Doctor Fate. None of whom were here or probably even aware Nightwing was in trouble because, while his distress signal was still beaming, he doubted it was going anywhere. That was twice now Klarion had shown up without Teekl, and that meant he didn't need the dimensional anchor. Which meant they weren't truly on a physical plane, and certainly not on Earth, and while Nightwing was good, he wasn't program-a-distress-beacon-to-reach-across-dimensions good. As an added bonus, the lack of cat also meant that Klarion currently had no physical vulnerabilities. Nightwing got to his feet and paced the cell again. This… was going to be a tricky one.

Nightwing wasn't hungry, and he didn't need to shave, but he was certain he'd been here long enough that both those things should be happening. It was hard to tell, though. He tried counting heartbeats for a while, but he'd never been particularly good at sitting still with nothing to challenge his mind. He got far enough to realize that yes, something wonky was happening with time, before he started trying to climb the walls.

Literally. They were stone, but it was rough, irregular stone, and he wondered if maybe he could cling in a corner of the ceiling for long enough to get the drop on Klarion next time he visited (assuming Klarion ever came back). It was probably an unrealistic move, but hey, what else did he have to do?

He was running his hands along a promising-looking ridge when he noticed that the room was getting…darker? It wasn't until then that Nightwing realized there was no source of light in the cell, anyway, and maybe he should have questioned Klarion about exactly what "rules" this place had. For now, he just hoped the shadows gathering in the corners weren't a sign of – how had the witch boy put it? – oh yes, the dimension folding in on itself.

When the shadows started to spill out of the corners and down the wall, Nightwing backed away to the center of the room, turning slowly to see if it was happening on all sides. Of course it was.

"Well this is new and terrifying," he muttered, mentally running through his supplies. Bat-shadow-repellant wasn't a thing and he sort of doubted that a simple flashlight would drive these particular shadows back.

That thought was proven accurate when one of them peeled away from the wall behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, proving that it had mass. Nightwing spun away, but the motion was arrested when another lash of darkness wrapped around his wrist and dragged him backward to a wall. And then up the wall. Nightwing braced his feet on the stone behind him and tried to pull forward, but there was no give to the shadow around his wrist. Another one was curling over his shoulder and across his chest, pinning him further and starting to spill down his other arm, pulling it away from his utility belt where he'd been reaching for – he wasn't sure what. Something. Anything.

A delicate tendril had just circled his ankle and begun curling up his calf when Klarion stepped out of the shadows across the room. He cast an approving look at Nightwing's situation. "Much better," he commented. "Far less tedious than you attacking me every time I pop in to check on you."

The shadow around Nightwing's leg was making a slow spiral upward, not tightening, but firm enough to hold the leg quite still in a disturbing approximation of a caress. It had passed his knee and was now creeping up his thigh, showing no signs of stopping. Part of Nightwing's mind looked at this fact and had an immediate, quiet freak-out. The part that controlled his mouth was less quiet.

"Oh God, is this a sex thing? 'Cuz I'd like to register an emphatic no at this time." He was relieved to hear himself sound both disgusted and disdainful without a hint of fear, because he knew what Klarion could do with that fear if he got the notion it might be amusing.

Klarion cocked his head at Nightwing, eyebrows drawing together. Then he burst out laughing so hard he fell over, literally holding his stomach and rolling back and forth on the ground, taking great gasping breaths between guffaws. Nightwing stared down at him, nonplussed. At least the shadows had stopped moving.

"A sex thing!" Klarion hooted. "You are amusing!" He stopped laughing and lay flat on the floor, arms splayed, before finally leaping to his feet and brushing an imaginary tear from his eye. "Do you know what a being like me would have to do to equip itself to do…" He made a vague, fluttery gesture with both hands. "…that with a being like you?" He paused and looked up at Nightwing expectantly.

"Uh… no?" Nightwing hazarded, since an answer seemed to be required.

"Of course you don't. For all your petty mischief, you're still a creature of order, while I," Klarion placed a hand on his own chest, drawing himself up haughtily. "I am a being of chaos. Cementing myself into a concrete shape subject to the rules of your plane of existence and your biology long enough to mess with you like that would just be a hassle. And tiring. Not to mention kind of predictable; you should hear the way some of these supervillains talk about you heroes."

"Wait, what—"

"Not an original thought in their heads. Ew. No, thank you." Klarion went on, ignoring Nightwing's distressed interruption. "Anyway, thanks for the laugh. I knew you'd make this pocket dimension worthwhile for at least a little longer!" Klarion hovered up to Nightwing's level, gave him a pat on the head, and vanished with a pop. The shadows slithered hastily back to their corners and vanished, dropping Nightwing back to the floor where he landed in an easy crouch.

He checked himself for injuries, the catalog of his physical faculties automatic and comforting. The shadows had pulled him up the wall by his right wrist, aggravating the deep bruise on his shoulder from the Joker's crowbar, but he'd had worse. He rolled the shoulder a few times while he thought.

Klarion might be keeping him around because it was more amusing than killing him at the moment, but that wouldn't last forever. Either he'd forget about Nightwing and the pocket dimension he was trapped in, or he'd simply decide neither was worth the trouble anymore. Or the Light would step in and do something worse. Klarion notwithstanding, they were far too organized not to find a use for a captive hero, particularly one as well-connected as Nightwing.

So he couldn't fight or sneak his way out. That was okay. His brain was trained just as thoroughly as the rest of him, and Klarion had been chatty. The fact that Klarion and the Joker were feuding could only be a good thing. Maybe Nightwing could come up with a Joker-baiting plan for Klarion that also involved getting Nightwing back onto the same plane as his friends. It'd have to be irresistible for the witch boy, though. He wasn't stupid.

He ran over everything else Klarion had said to him since tucking him away in this cell, but his brain kept turning back to Klarion's comment about predictability and the particular reason Nightwing's virtue was safe – from him, at least. Intensely disturbing suggestions of supervillain locker-room talk aside, Klarion had as much as said that he'd be vulnerable if he forced himself into a form equipped for sex. Klarion's invulnerability on this plane where he didn't need a physical anchor was definitely a hurdle Nightwing was interested in overcoming. So all he had to do was—

Nightwing stopped mid-pace. Seduce Klarion? That's what you come up with, brain? You're fired. He leaned against the wall and slid down it, rubbing at his forehead with the heels of his hands. He badly wanted to rub his eyes, too, but there was no way he was taking off the mask, even if he had been wearing it much longer than usual. Probably. Maybe the complete lack of any indication of time passing was actually driving him crazy, because this was a terrible plan.

But that and trying to play on Klarion's annoyance with the Joker were all he could come up with, and his training insisted on having a Plan B at all times. Well, he knew which of these was the backup. Hopefully he wouldn't need it.

Chapter Text

"Klarion."

Klarion frowned. Vandal Savage was saying his name in the tone of voice that meant I am about to ask you to do something very boring. He sighed, loudly and dramatically.

"Whaaaaat?"

"This… extracurricular activity. Abducting Batman's sidekick, whatever he's calling himself these days."

That was fast, Klarion thought, surprised. Normally Savage left him to his own devices, well aware that Klarion needed space to go out and be at least a little chaotic. As long as he didn't disrupt the Master Plan, they left each other alone.

"What about it?" Klarion asked warily. Teekl glared at Savage from her place on Klarion's shoulder.

"Whatever you've done with him, it's splitting your focus and I do not need any… chaotic accidents at this stage. If you need him for something – something useful to the Light – fine. But if you're not going to make use of him then give him back to the Joker."

"What? What?!" Klarion shrieked while Teekl hissed. Savage was unmoved.

"I see no reason to burn that particular bridge. The Joker escaped Arkham himself, and all signs indicate that he will remain free for at least a while longer. He could prove useful, as a distraction if nothing else, but he will be difficult to direct if you antagonize him. This is a petty matter. Let it go."

"Petty?" Klarion hissed, his shadow stretching and retracting rapidly, boiling across the floor. Then his face cleared. "Fine. I'll kill the kid myself. As a peace offering," he said brightly.

Savage passed a hand over his eyes. "No, Klarion. You know as well as I do that when it comes to Gotham's heroes, the Joker prefers a hands-on approach. He wouldn't thank you for taking that from him. Quite the opposite. As you are aware," he said with a hard look at Klarion. "Either make the distraction worth our while, or get rid of it."

Nightwing had given up trying to wedge himself into a corner of the ceiling. With his luck, Klarion would just turn it into the floor when he turned up again anyway. Instead, he was practicing kicking off the walls, seeing if he could get more than one flip in and still land on his feet. He was incredibly surprised when one of those flips ended abruptly with his nose pointed toward the floor and a strip of shadow wrapped around his ankle, suspending him upside down from the ceiling. The shadow quickly slithered out another extremity to grab his other ankle. Nightwing sighed and cast an inverted glare at the witch boy who had just appeared in front of him.

"This is really more of a bat thing," he quipped.

Klarion cracked a smile – though, really, he was always wearing one, more or less, so that wasn't saying much. Then he held up a mason jar and a dagger. "Are you a virgin?"

Nightwing crossed his arms, refusing to so much as twitch. "Given that virginity is a man-made concept that has no practical ramifications, medical or otherwise, I'm not really sure how to answer that," he said.

"Yyyyeah," Klarion said, giving the upside-down Nightwing an unimpressed look. "Just for that I think I'll bleed you anyway and take my chances. Give me your arm."

"Um, no?" Nightwing said, crossing his arms tighter across his chest.

Klarion sighed and looked generally put-upon. "Look, you need to earn your keep and I've got a ritual that needs virgin blood." He stepped closer to Nightwing, hovering slightly to put their eyes on level. "So either give me your arm or I'll take what I need from your eyes. And keep in mind that I'll have to take off that precious mask to do it." The tip of the dagger traced the edges of the mask delicately. Nightwing did his best to match Klarion's grin.

"Try it."

Klarion snarled and dug the point of the dagger under the edge of the mask. There was a flash and a startled yelp, and the dagger hit the floor, sparking lightly. Nightwing cackled.

"Oh man, I've been wanting to test that since I made this thing!"

Klarion stared at his own hand, making sure it was uninjured, then looked up at Nightwing. "What kind of idiot are you? That wouldn't have affected me at all if I'd used my hands."

"But you didn't."

"And there's nothing stopping me from using them now."

Nightwing shrugged. "Oh please. Like you care about my identity. You can barely tell humans apart as it is; what are you gonna do, look me up on Facebook?" Klarion recoiled, appalled, and Nightwing laughed again. "Oh, go on. The taser only has one charge anyway," he said. His smirk said that that was probably a lie.

"There's no point if you don't care," Klarion muttered, snatching up the dagger again. Slightly electrocuted it might be, but it was still plenty sharp. He gripped Nightwing's arm and pulled it down with inhuman strength, slicing up the forearm with one smooth stroke.

"Hey!" Nightwing protested, trying to pull back more on instinct than because he thought he'd actually be able to manage it. The dagger must have been made of something mystical because there hadn't been the slightest resistance when it sliced through the suit. And the distress beacon. And his skin. The cut wasn't deep, probably wouldn't be life threatening, but it was definitely disconcerting to see all that red flowing down his arm and into a jar that was floating in mid-air. "Use your own blood, witch kid, I need mine," he said through teeth gritted against the sudden, bright pain.

Klarion looked up at him pleasantly, his iron grip on Nightwing's wrist not faltering in the least. "Oh, did you want to see me bleed, hero?" His smile began to curl at the edges. "All you had to do was ask." Klarion lifted the dagger once more and pulled it smoothly across his own throat. His head tipped back as he laughed, and then kept tipping back as black bled out of his throat and into the air. Nightwing stared, his arm forgotten. Klarion's wound stretched far beyond the initial stroke, kept stretching to encompass all of Nightwing's vision, a tear in reality. And things began to erupt from it, pulling themselves up and out of the gash; things with too many legs, too many voices, things that sought to scatter his sanity out across the sky like stars, launching themselves through the air, swimming through Klarion's laughter to swirl around Dick's ears and drip inside, echoing hollowly in him so that he thrashed, clawed at his ears, and finally screamed.

He woke up some time later – whatever that meant in this place – huddled in a corner, curled around his injured arm. He couldn't tell if the lightheadedness was because his arm was still bleeding or because of… of whatever the fuck Klarion had let loose. His throat hurt. He was pretty sure he knew why that was the case. There was a headache, too, and he was fairly certain that was a result of the mask's self-defense mechanism triggering. Goading Klarion like that had been kind of stupid, now he thought about it, but he was getting restless and reckless the longer he was kept here. It would only get worse. Klarion would only get worse. He needed to get out of here.

Nightwing took a deep breath, ran his fingers along his utility belt until he came to the first aid compartment, and fished out a little tube of liquid bandage. In addition to the cut on his arm, he knew there was a gash above his eyebrow from where Klarion had used the dagger to tamper with the mask. That one didn't seem to be bleeding much, though, and it wasn't impeding his vision, so he focused on the arm.

He pushed the edges of the cut together as best he could using the wall and his body while applying the bandage with his other hand. It wasn't a particularly neat job, exacerbated by the slight shake his hand seemed to have developed. Being exposed to cthonic horrors from another plane of existence could do that to a person, yes, but aside from that how long had it been since he'd slept?

The bandage dried and Nightwing stood, stretching carefully. He still hadn't come up with anything that might make Klarion take him back to Earth for the sake of messing with the Joker. He tried to think of what Batman would do, but he kept getting stuck on the fact that Batman would never have gotten into this situation in the first place. Not very helpful. Sleep would help him think more clearly, but the thought of sleeping here…

He would manage without.

Chapter Text

Klarion announced his arrival with the shattering of a glass jar and a splattering of the blood it had held. It hit the wall right next to Nightwing's head where he sat with his legs sprawled out in front of him, finally too tired to keep pacing.

"Your blood's useless, by the way," Klarion said by way of greeting. "Which means you're useless, which means… I need to do something about you."

Nightwing frowned. That was the kind of menace he'd expect from a villain, but Klarion didn't sound particularly gleeful about it, standing in the middle of the cell with his hand on his chin, staring at Nightwing unblinkingly. Nightwing considered.

"Hey K," he hazarded from the floor, opting not to move. "How's your cat?"

Klarion perked up. "Well fine, thank you for asking," he said with a pleased smile. Then he paused. "Wait. Why are you asking?"

"Just, you know, if it was me and I had done something to piss the Joker off, I'd be keeping an eye on my loved ones," Nightwing said with a shrug. Even if the cat wasn't here, maybe it could still be a pressure point. Maybe he could poke Klarion into making a mistake with his one weakness.

Or maybe he could make things even worse.

Klarion's pale face clouded over with all the speed of a summer storm. "He would attack my Teekl," Klarion seethed. "That monster."

"You know, I've been thinking about that," Nightwing said quickly, before Klarion could fly off into a rage. "We should be working together."

Klarion rolled his eyes impatiently. "Yes, please, regale me with your clever plan to trick me into taking you back to your silly little plane of existence."

"I'm just saying, I know the Joker pretty well. You know what gets to him like nothing else? Batman," Nightwing pressed on.

"Are you seriously proposing that we cook up a showdown between Batman and the Joker? That's like, every Tuesday night in Gotham," Klarion said, throwing his hands in the air. "Did I break your brain or something?"

"Please, give me some credit," Nightwing scoffed. "A showdown with Batman is what the Joker wants. It what he always wants. What would seriously grate his cheese would be if Batman ignored him. I'm thinking—"

"No," Klarion interrupted. "No, no, no. You can't trick a trickster, Robin. Whatever comes out of your mouth next is just going to be some way for you to escape back to Earth, where the Joker will inevitably get his hands on you again, which means all my hard work will be for nothing. So, no." Klarion crossed his arms and glared hard at Nightwing, drawing his shadow around him. Nightwing stood hastily, all appearance of lazy nonchalance vanishing. "I'm not giving you back to the Joker. And maintaining this pocket dimension is too 'distracting.' So… we'll just put you… somewhere more convenient."

Nightwing's eyes widened, trying to hoard light as the shadows closed around him. The last thing he saw was Klarion's sharp, sharp smile.

"Klarion."

Klarion and Teekl turned identical wide-eyed gazes on Vandal Savage, who was beginning to rethink this whole teamwork thing.

"What have you done with Nightwing?"

"Well wouldn't you know it, he seems to have escaped. You know how that bat brat is. So slippery."

"Klarion…"

"But hey, that means no more extradimensional upkeep," Klarion said brightly. "And the Joker is free to scoop him up wherever he can find him." His grin was incandescent. It was only centuries of experience that kept Savage's face impassive.

"…fine. Your game with the Joker ends with this."

"Oh, definitely." He scooped up Teekl in his arms and nuzzled one white-blue cheek against her fur. "I'm done if he's done."

It would have to be good enough. Savage nodded and left Klarion to his own devices.

"Mow?" said Teekl.

"No," said Klarion. "You may not go play with the toy. I don't think you would get along."

Teekl sneezed on him.

Elsewhere, Nightwing woke to the sound of a seashore and a truly impressive heat. He cracked open his eyes and then immediately covered them with a hand. It was bright. He eased his hand down slowly, letting his eyes adjust.

He was sitting on what looked like a beach, with flat, placid water stretched out in front of him as far as he could see. The sound of the waves was coming from the shore as the sandline gently ebbed into the water and then receded. The sand under Nightwing was rippling, too, scooting him closer to the waterline and then away. He stood, disconcerted, wobbling slightly on the unsteady ground as he peered around through squinted eyes.

The sky was white, white, white and painful to look at. It contained three suns. Nightwing knew that fact probably required some consideration, but he opted instead to turn his attention back to the ground while some subconscious part of his brain handled it without him.

The rippling beach stretched out to either side. He could just barely make out the curve of it and wondered if this was an island. Behind him, the sand continued for a few yards before scrubby grass began to poke through it. The land rose and the plants grew taller before giving into a forest. The trees had wide, rubbery-looking leaves casting dark shadows on the ground. Nightwing made for them.

Being largely nocturnal, Nightwing tended toward the pale, though just a bit of sun brought his natural olive skintone back to life. A bit more browned it nicely. He wondered if these were the sorts of suns that might give him a tanline. It'd be just a touch awkward explaining a mask-shaped patch of pale skin the next time he was out in public. If he was ever out in public again.

The ground stabilized a little closer to the trees, though it still swayed slightly, wide currents rolling through regularly. The plants and the trees rode these steadily, the tops of the trees barely rippling. Nightwing picked out the tallest tree he could see and was up it in a flash. It had rough bark that provided plenty of hand-and-foot-holds until he got to the generously wide and vaguely springy branches. These trees sort of flattened out instead of narrowing as they went up so Nightwing was able to climb the full length of one. When he poked his head through the last of the foliage he saw a canopy regular enough that it looked like someone could simply stroll across the top of the forest. More importantly, he could see for quite a distance.

He was, in fact, on an island, though it was rather a large one. From where he'd woken on the beach, the land continued to rise until it thrust up out of the forest on the far side of the island in a steep hill that sheared off abruptly to plummet back down to the strangely still sea. Having got his bearings, Nightwing pulled himself back down into the cool shadows of the forest, though he remained in the tree. The island was large enough that it was possible he wasn't alone on it, but for now, hidden in a deep shadow in the crook of a wide limb, he felt safer than he had in… days? He wasn't sure. Regardless, he made himself a safety line and settled against the trunk of the tree and finally slept.

Nightwing wasn't alone on the island. He discovered this over the course of the next day. He also discovered that there was no such thing as night. At least one of the three suns occupied the sky at all times, turning it different colors as time passed, which Nightwing appreciated more than he might have before his stint in the timeless pocket dimension. Different inhabitants of the island came out at different times: birds with elaborate plumes streaming from their heads soared past in the purple hours, lizards with gauzy membranes between their legs glided on heat currents in the sea green hours, and many-eyed eel-like things emerged from the sandy soil in humping coils during the orange hours. Nothing came out in the white-hot hours when all three suns were in the sky.

Whatever all these creatures were, Nightwing didn't seem to be part of their natural food chain. They left each other alone. There were other things living on the island, though – or more appropriately, in it. The jut of a hill bursting from the far end had a few crumbly cave entrances at its base. Nightwing could hear something dry rumbling around in there. He let it rumble and stuck to the forest.

In theory, he was planning. Nightwing was always planning; if you were going to survive being Batman's sidekick from the age of nine, it was a good habit to get into. But he had been stuck in a cell for an unspecified number of days, he had no idea what dimension he was currently in or which direction Earth was, and there were three suns in the sky sometimes. So in reality, Nightwing was stretching. He flung himself through the humid air between the trees, barely touching a branch before launching himself from it again, startling lizard things and lazily flapping manta rays that didn't seem to realize there was an ocean right there and chose to swim through the air instead.

Nightwing couldn't blame them. After waking up that first day he flew through the trees from orange hour right through to yellow, just because no one could stop him. Once he'd explored the island a little more thoroughly he even let himself laugh out loud while he did it.

He reined in his euphoria after one full cycle of the suns. He might have more space now, but he was still trapped. Wherever he was, time was clearly moving again. He was hungry and thirsty and had no idea what was safe for consumption and what wasn't. He also didn't have the first hint of how to get home. If Klarion planned to just leave him here, this could very well be it for his illustrious career as Nightwing.

He glanced at the long rent down the forearm of his suit. The cut Klarion had inflicted on him was still an angry red but the liquid bandage he'd applied had held even through his ill-advised acrobatic romp through the forest. His shoulder was not so forgiving, but it only felt deeply bruised so he wasn't concerned.

What really bothered him was the fact that the distress beacon in his suit had been thoroughly disabled by Klarion's knife. The beacon's trigger was housed in the palm of the gauntlet for easy access: he could activate it even if his hands were tied. It was powered by a kinetic battery that charged with motion, but the power circuit wound around the wrist of the gauntlet and had been neatly severed. Nightwing was definitely including redundancies in his next iteration of the costume. He wasn't sure the beacon would be any sort of useful right now, but for all he knew he was on a planet in his home dimension and there were any number of intergalactic peacekeepers who might pick up a distress beacon even if they didn't know specifically whose it was. He would have been thrilled to see a Lantern of any color right about now. Heck, Klarion himself showing up would be something, though after what he'd said last time Nightwing had seen him, he seriously doubted that anything he could say now would make Klarion take him back to Earth.

"Man, why'd the Joker have to go and piss him off that badly," Nightwing muttered and dropped to straddle a branch deep in a shadowy tree. The third sun was rising in the sky, bleaching it white and baking the air. Nightwing felt lassitude overtake him and shook his head at the energy he'd wasted already; he needed to conserve strength until he had a workable plan. He leaned back on the branch and settled himself in to nap.

When he woke, he felt eyes on him.

Chapter Text

"TEEKL!"

Vandal Savage's eye twitched minutely. "My apologies," he said to his contact on the video call, whose form was obscured with a tasteful static. "We'll pick this up later." He switched off the monitor.

"TEEEEKLLLLL!"

Klarion's voice echoed through the Light's current base. How he expected his cat to come to him when his voice was magically emanating from every direction, Savage didn't know and didn't want to know.

"TEEEEEE—"

"Klarion!" Savage snapped.

Klarion popped into being next to him. "Have you seen my cat?"

"No," Savage ground out. "Perhaps you should look for her elsewhere."

"I am," Klarion pouted. "I've got my head on three different planes right now. I can't find her."

Savage sighed and massaged his forehead. "Where did you see her last?"

"That is a really complicated question when you're a lord of chaos with dimension hopping powers," Klarion pointed out.

"Let me put it this way," Savage said. "Go. Away."

Klarion huffed. "Well no wonder she ran off, if you're this grumpy," he said and vanished just as quickly as he'd come.

Klarion hadn't been joking about searching different dimensions for Teekl, though he was fairly certain she was still on the same plane of existence as Vandal Savage's Earth. Otherwise Klarion himself would be much less stable, what with her being his anchor and all. At least that narrowed it down. He checked all her favorite hiding spots, including the catnip patch in southern France and that one planet with the backward air.

"She was probably just bored," murmured Queen Bee when Klarion dropped in on her. She was lounging on her throne, surrounded by adoring, brainless masses as usual. "A girl likes to stretch her legs every so often."

"She can stretch! We stretch all the time!" Klarion exclaimed, pacing back and forth.

"Oh? You haven't been otherwise occupied? I know how your attention wanders, witch boy."

"Not from her," Klarion insisted. Then he stopped. Actually… he had deliberately kept her away from the bat brat. He and his team had a nasty habit of targeting her when she was around. And when you told a cat she couldn't do something… Klarion scowled, snapped his fingers, and vanished. Queen Bee just shook her head.

The planet where Klarion had stowed Nightwing was, true to his word to Vandal Savage, on the appropriate plane of existence. It was just incredibly out of the way for anyone who wasn't  a lord of chaos. For Klarion, though, it was just a skip and a jog sideways and there he was, stepping out of the creases between molecules – and practically into Nightwing's lap.

"Shh," Nightwing hissed, clapping a hand over Klarion's mouth immediately and pulling him down to crouch beside him on the wide tree branch where he perched, surrounded by dense bunches of rubbery leaves. He was apparently not surprised to see a small blue witch boy appear there, but Klarion was surprised enough for the both of them. He licked the hand covering his mouth. If Nightwing's reaction to his appearance had been less unexpected he would have had the presence of mind to use teeth.

"I'm wearing gloves," Nightwing pointed out, not looking at him and not removing his hand. He was peering through the leaves, as though he could see out through them, though Klarion had no idea how.

Klarion licked his hand again, but this time allowed his tongue to elongate, giving it a slight fork at the end and wrapping it around one of Nightwing's fingers.

"What the— ew!" Nightwing exclaimed, jerking his hand back. Klarion unwrapped his tongue before it could get a painful tug and returned it to a form that would allow him to speak, because he definitely had some things to say.

"What the hell have you done with my cat?" he demanded.

"Shh, shh!" Nightwing hushed him again, flapping his hands at him but not actually going so far as to touch him this time. "We're hiding," he whispered.

"Hiding," Klarion echoed. Then, "Wait. From what?" His voice rose sharply. "Is there something deadly on this island? Did you let it eat Teekl?!" He jumped to his feet and Nightwing followed, though more slowly, careful not to rustle any of the surrounding branches.

"You think I could survive something that managed to eat your demon cat? I'm flattered."

Klarion shoved Nightwing hard. Anyone else would have fallen from the branch, but being who he was, Nightwing simply fetched up against the trunk of the tree with a grunt. "As if you wouldn't sacrifice an innocent kitty to save your own skin," Klarion growled, advancing on Nightwing. Nightwing narrowed his eyes, mentally running through his dwindling inventory for anything that would keep him alive.

He needn't have worried. The leaves overhead thrashed and a yellow blur plummeted from them with a yowl. Nightwing put his arms out automatically and then they were full of cat. Teekl butted her head against his chest with a purr, then cut a scathing look at Klarion, who was staring.

"Unhand my cat, you brute!" he howled, darkness curling around his fingers.

Nightwing rolled his eyes and held Teekl out to him. "Will you relax? I'm not gonna hurt her."

Klarion blinked and reached out to take her, but Teekl writhed in a way that shouldn't have been possible, twisted herself up Nightwing's arm, and curled onto his shoulder. Nightwing had the grace to look embarrassed behind his mask when she started attempting to groom his hair. Klarion's face went thunderous.

"Steal my cat, will you?" he muttered and snapped his fingers. The darkness that had been twining around them scattered with a crack and Nightwing glanced around hurriedly, wondering where the attack would come from. But nothing had changed.

"What did you— achoo!" The sneeze was sudden and unstoppable. Nightwing blinked rapidly, his eyes suddenly itchy and damp. "What— choo!" He desperately wanted to rub at his eyes but masks and gloves made that sort of thing difficult, which was why he'd always been glad he didn't have… "Did you just give me allergies?"

Klarion's smug look said it all. Nightwing groaned. "Seriously, dude, take your cat, I didn't steal her. Teekl, go achoo! Ugh." Teekl didn't seem at all disturbed by Nightwing's suddenly altered physiology and rubbed her cheek happily against his. Nightwing tried to lift her away from his face, but in the way of all cats she had no problem suddenly becoming a liquid whenever he tried to get a hold on her.

"That's what you get for catnapping."

"One, catnapping is already a word and it doesn't mean stealing a cat," Nightwing said, pressing his back to the trunk and sliding down it to sit astride the branch. He was hoping Teekl would lose interest in his shoulder if he was no longer tall. He sneezed twice on the way down. "And two, I didn't nap your cat. She came to me."

"And why would she do a thing like that?"

"Maybe she got tired of y—" Nightwing sneezed three times in rapid succession before he could finish that sentence. The third sneeze was violent enough that Teekl was finally dislodged. She scampered to the branch and sat primly between Nightwing and Klarion, tail thrashing. Nightwing took a deep breath. "She saved my life, incidentally," he said. "I would have starved to death or accidentally poisoned myself by now if she hadn't brought me food that was safe to eat."

Klarion's eyes narrowed. "That's absurd—"

"Mrrr," Teekl interrupted.

"What? You did? Why?" Klarion demanded.

"Mow."

"Seriously? Wait, so… hiding. You two were… were playing?" Klarion looked flummoxed. Then he looked hurt.

Nightwing forced his brain to ignore his immune system's exciting new hobby of slowly killing him with antibodies. This was an opportunity, dammit. He stood back up, slowly, trying not to sound too congested when he spoke. "It's not her fault you weren't around. No reason you couldn't join in," Nightwing suggested.

Klarion's eyebrows went up. "You think you could keep up with me?" he asked skeptically.

Nightwing grinned the grin that he saved specifically for flustering Barbara. "I think I can try. I think you could show me a thing or two." The squint of Klarion's eyes and the cross of his arms said he was trying to see the angle, so Nightwing turned up the grin a notch, adding a little of the sharpness he'd last seen from Klarion himself. "Come on, witch boy. You know I can't hurt you. There's no reason we can't have some fun." He tipped his head a bit to the side. "Don't you ever just get… so bored?"

That was the right button. Klarion finally matched his grin, Teekl arched her back and yowled happily, and Nightwing wondered exactly what he was getting himself into. "You asked for it, batbird. Let's see what you can do."

Nightwing had, when Teekl first appeared, thought of hurting the cat to get Klarion to cooperate but when it came down to it, she had saved his life. He couldn't bring himself to do it. And besides, he had no idea where she was getting the things she brought him to eat and if all he succeeded in doing was scaring her off or making her mad enough to take on her saber-toothed form, he'd be in a worse predicament than he'd started in.

So they'd played. It was Teekl's price for saving his life. The game, chosen by Teekl, had been a chase game, the two of them running all over the island in mock pursuit of each other. Because there was no way he could outrun a demon cat, Nightwing's strategy had generally been to hide cleverly and see how long it took Teekl to find him. Klarion, however, had no patience for such things and Nightwing soon found himself pursued through the trees by darting shadows, only becoming certain it was truly a game when Teekl sided with him. She showed him paths he would never have seen on his own, but that advantage was counterbalanced by the fact that he couldn't stop sneezing when she got too close.

Nightwing did manage a few clever traps and tripwires that seemed to catch Klarion off guard and slow him down slightly, but that only proved that Klarion was just playing. Even if Nightwing had been in advantageous territory with a full team and utility belt he was fairly certain there wasn't anything he could do to seriously compete with Klarion other than the usual strategy of attacking the cat. Assuming Nightwing did suddenly misplace his heart and decide he could attack her, though, going after Teekl only ever made Klarion run away, and that wouldn't get Nightwing off this planet, would it?

Klarion actually broke down laughing when he accidentally stepped in a loop trap that would have closed around the ankle of a human and hauled them high above the ground upside down. Nightwing had been kind of hoping Klarion would be caught by that one, unlikely as it was, because turnabout was fair play after all, but Klarion just made his ankle insubstantial at the last second and the rope phased right through it.

"All right, this is pathetic," Klarion said, wiping mirthful tears from his eyes. Nightwing crossed his arms and dropped out of the tree where he'd been hiding. He was getting pretty good at sticking his landings on the wavy ground.

"It's not my fault you're a chaos lord. If you want a more even match, put some restrictions on yourself," Nightwing said. He didn't really expect that to work and so wasn't particularly disappointed when it didn't.

"That sounds boring. Much more entertaining for you to learn some new tricks." He gave Nightwing a sly look. "How are you with magic?"

"Uh. I'm not?" Kaldur had explained Atlantean sorcery to him, and Nightwing may or may not have tried to get Zatanna to teach him a few spells, but he'd eventually had to conclude that he didn't have a magical bone in his body. "Pretty much just computers and acrobatics over here."

Klarion snorted. "I bet you've tried lawful magic. Boring stuff. Lots of rules about who can use it and how. Teekl doesn't make friends with just anyone, you know," he said, seemingly switching subjects. The cat in question prowled out from wherever she'd been hiding, curious as to why the game had stopped. "Your body may be law-bound, but you've got chaos in your soul. I bet I could squeeze some magic out of you." Klarion flexed his long fingers.

Nightwing took an involuntary step back. "That's… that's okay. I get along fine without it."

Klarion gave him a flat look. "You were abducted by not one but two supervillains in the space of a day and now you're stranded on a deserted planet in the middle of an uninhabited galaxy."

"It's not deserted. You're here," Nightwing said with a winning smile. Klarion was not impressed.

"New game. When I catch you, you learn chaos magic. If you by some miracle manage to avoid me until the sky goes all white again, though, I'll make you, you know." He waved a hand carelessly. "Unallergic to my cat."

Nightwing considered briefly. He'd rather still be allergic to Teekl and get passage off the planet instead, but… the odds of him winning this game were extremely low. Better to let Klarion think he was content just to have fun for now. He grinned at Klarion. "Deal." Then he dropped a smoke pellet and was gone.

"Ha. You'll have to do better than— ack! Curse it, Teekl!" Klarion shouted as his feet became tangled in cat when he tried to go after Nightwing. He was left on the undulating forest floor with Nightwing's laughter echoing in his ears.

Nightwing did not win their bargain, of course, and thus began several days (or cycles of the suns or whatever) of running, chasing, trap-setting, catching, and trying and failing to perform chaos magic. Klarion would drag him up a tree, or to the shoreline, or wherever he took a fancy to, sit Nightwing down, and try to get him to do things like change the shape of his shadow or understand Teekl's cat noises.

Klarion was a terrible teacher. His instructions were usually nonsensical and sometimes contradictory. Nightwing kept his patience as best he could, trying not to antagonize Klarion but also not trying particularly hard to "commune with the dark places beyond the universe." It was all he could do not to dive away when Klarion decided to take a more hands-on approach, grabbing one of Nightwing's hands in both of his to show him how to "properly" move his fingers to braid shadow. Nightwing reminded himself that he was trying to get closer to Klarion, and physical touch was a step in the right direction. But when Klarion twisted two of his fingers back close to the breaking point, Nightwing jerked his hand out of his grip. To his surprise, Klarion let him go.

"Ow," Nightwing said pointedly.

Klarion pouted at him. "Maybe we need a demon," he mused.

"We do not. No one ever needs a demon," Nightwing countered, massaging his hand.

"Your stupid human brain isn't bending right, just like your stupid human fingers. But if we made you a chaos lord…"

"What. No. No, we're not doing that."

"You're so boring."

Nightwing felt an actual chill shiver down his spine at that, despite the heat. If Klarion got bored, he'd leave, and that would be the end of Nightwing's hopes. He smiled, hoping it looked sincere. "Hey, no need for name-calling," he said easily. Then, feeling sick, he put his hand out toward Klarion. "Why don't you try showing me again."

Klarion stopped short of breaking his fingers, though it wasn't the last time he brought up becoming a chaos lord in these white-hour sessions. Nightwing cautiously expressed interest, trying to learn more about what that entailed and hold Klarion's attention. He was relieved to learn that consent was absolutely necessary to the process. One less thing to worry about.

They took breaks from their chasing and lessons whenever Nightwing literally collapsed from exhaustion, he being the only one of them who actually needed to sleep and eat regularly. When that happened, Teekl curled up on him where he fell and Klarion vanished and Nightwing got an hour or so of sleep before not being able to breathe due to Teekl woke him again.

He wished he knew how long he'd been away. All this "playing" would probably come in handy the next time he and the team faced off against Klarion. He was getting to know how the witch boy's mind worked a little, or at least as far as one could know the mind of a chaotic being. With the proper resources…

But no opportunity to convince Klarion to take him home had yet presented itself. Nightwing forced himself to sit close to Klarion during the white hours, touched him whenever possible, blatantly lied about looking forward to their lessons, and dropped plenty of innuendo about leaving himself in Klarion's hands. Klarion seemed immune to it all. He was starting to think he would have to actually take Klarion up on the whole summoning a demon thing and take his chances with chaos lordship when his luck finally changed, for both better and worse.

Chapter Text

It was a chartreuse sort of hour, the yellow and blue suns high in the sky and the red inching up. Nightwing sighed. He was looking at another hour of Klarion growing more and more impatient with his lack of magical ability soon. Even Teekl seemed bored with him. He hadn't seen her in hours. At least he knew where Klarion was.

Klarion was directly beneath him, apparently unaware of Nightwing ghosting through the trees above. He didn't plan to attack him; getting through the white hour in a stalemate would be a major victory for him, and he knew exactly what would happen if he revealed himself before then. No matter what kind of advantage he thought he had, Klarion would win. Again.

It wasn't a particularly fun game for Nightwing, but he'd keep playing. Klarion would warm up to him eventually. Everyone did. And then maybe he'd be more open to taking Nightwing home… or else Nightwing would get him into a position where he had no choice. Nightwing was almost certain they were on his home plane, but even if they weren't, if Klarion settled himself into one form, reigned in the chaos enough to – how had he put it? – equip himself, then it wouldn't matter.

He really hoped he could avoid giving Batman a detailed debriefing when this was all over.

With that thought, he misstepped, rustled a leaf, and cursed extensively, if silently. Klarion heard the rustle, of course, and looked up immediately, eyes finding Nightwing's location unerringly. A pretty amateur mistake, but Nightwing had been grabbing an hour's sleep here and there and living off of extremely foreign roots and fruit for who knew how long, and he was not at his best. He skipped forward a few branches and abruptly realized he'd run out of forest.

Klarion appeared beside him, cackled, and nudged Nightwing out of the tree. Nightwing windmilled his arms for a second before letting the fall take him, catching another branch on the way down to slow himself and tucking into a roll when he reached the ground. The roll took him right out of the trees. They were near the rise on the opposite side of the island from where Nightwing had woken up the first time, and the ground grated more than undulated here. He hadn't spent much time in this area, generally avoiding the caves and the heat of the sun.

Klarion sauntered out of the forest. "Ever wondered where you'd be without tall buildings – or trees in this case? Guess there's a reason they don't grow heroes on farms."

Nightwing snorted. That's what you think. A glance at the sky showed it turning paler and paler and Nightwing braced himself for Klarion's inevitable claiming of victory.

It didn't come, though. Klarion was looking around, confused. "Wait," he said. "Where's Teekl?"

Nightwing's eyebrows went up. "I thought she was with you."

"She hasn't been with me since you lured her away."

"For the last time, I didn't lure her anywhere, she came to the deserted planet you trapped me on. If you don't want your cat falling for heroes, maybe kidnap one who's a little less awesome next time," Nightwing said humbly.

"Apparently not that awesome since she's abandoned you," Klarion snapped back. Nightwing wasn't sure what he was going to say in response to that, but was saved from answering when the island gave a particularly violent throb – and next thing either of them knew, Teekl was streaking from the mouth of one of the caves, looking for all the world like she was running for her life.

Klarion stared, but instinct was already moving Nightwing toward Teekl. He'd never know what it was – maybe some combination of the pattern of land waves, the sounds he'd been hearing, and too many Dune movies – but something in him knew that Teekl was in serious danger if she stayed on the ground. And the forest was yards away.

He dove the remaining distance, curling around Teekl just as something erupted from the ground underneath them. Nightwing used his momentum to roll to his feet, cradling the cat, and even made it one step before a massive force ramming into his back sent him sprawling. The pain came a second later, three stripes of sudden agony burning across his back. It was all he could do to glance over his shoulder to see what had attacked.

If Clayface, Killer Croc, and a sloth had had a drunken night of debauchery and a little black magic, this creature looked like a likely nine-months-later sort of result. It was lumpy and lizard-like and huge, and it had three horrible looking claws on the ends of each of its six visible legs. The back half of it was still underground, though it was looking like Nightwing might become acquainted with that part the long way around, since it was unhinging its jaw and he could not move.

Then Klarion was between them giving a furious wave of his arm and the whole island shuddered and the thing turned to stone. And then exploded. Nightwing winced away from the flying lizard-worm-thing bits and got painfully to his feet, Teekl still in his arms. Her fur was fluffed out in a way he'd never seen before, a strip of it standing rigid down her back.

"Teekl," Klarion said, holding out his arms for her. Nightwing handed her over before she could make him sneeze. If he'd been clawed across the back as badly as he thought he'd been, a sneeze would be most unwelcome at this juncture. "You saved her," Klarion said, looking at him a little oddly.

Nightwing shrugged and instantly regretted it. "Well," he said with a wince. "We're friends, aren't we? I couldn't let her get hurt. And we're still in my dimension." He was almost sure they were, anyway. "If something happened to her, you'd vanish. I…" He trailed off deliberately, looking down at his feet. "I'd rather you stayed," he concluded softly before sinking to his knees and falling forward slightly to support himself with his hands. That last part was less art and more a faint feeling coming from pain and blood loss. What he really wanted to say was something along the lines of Hey, does chaos magic come with healing spells? Because ow. But a chance was a chance. Batman had trained him to think through pain and… and Klarion was being unusually quiet. Nightwing looked up.

Klarion had turned a delicate shade of lilac that confused Nightwing for a moment before he realized that the lord of chaos was blushing. Nightwing let one side of his mouth kick up in a little smile and reached up, painful though it was. Looking stunned, Klarion grasped his wrist and pulled him to his feet. Nightwing stumbled forward, gripping Klarion's shoulders to steady himself, and incidentally bringing their faces close together.

"Thanks," he murmured, raising one hand to slide a thumb across Klarion's cheek and brush away a smudge of sand. The gesture ended with his fingers under Klarion's jaw and the witch boy's face tilted up toward his. Nightwing's other hand stayed on Klarion's shoulder, which remained reassuringly solid – right up until Klarion blinked and took a sudden step back.

"Hey, wait a second," Klarion said. "Are you… seducing me?"

"Er," said Nightwing.

"Oh my gods, you are. Making friends with my cat, being all enticingly unpredictable, getting all wounded and bloody – you just want me vulnerable so you can get home! Wow, dick move, hero," Klarion said with a glare.

Nightwing nearly bit his tongue to avoid making a joke about Klarion's particular phrasing there. It was a near thing but he did manage to avoid compromising his identity for the sake of a punchline. "You kidnapped me," he pointed out instead. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stay on his feet. "If you wanna talk inappropriate behavior, maybe start there!"

"Yeah, there's villainy and then there's general assholery and this is the second thing," Klarion spat. Teekl, sensing his mood, leapt to Klarion's shoulder and added her glare to his. "Using my sweet little kitty cat to get to my heart so you can attack me. You… you utter ass!" Klarion gave Nightwing a two-handed shove that he normally would have dodged, but, tired and in pain, all he could do was stumble backward as the land flexed out from under his feet and brace himself for when his back inevitably hit sandy soil.

It never happened.

He still landed flat on his back, yes, and it still hurt like hell, but it was not on sand. It was not on the island. It was on asphalt in a narrow alley between two brick buildings and, oh God, Nightwing recognized that smell. No other city in the universe had alleys that smelled like Gotham's alleys. Nightwing rolled onto his side, half laughing and half choking (it wasn't a good smell) as he used the edge of a dumpster to pull himself to his feet.

He almost fell right back down again when Klarion's voice echoed out from the brick on both sides. "You want to be home so badly, fine. You have one minute before I tell the Joker exactly where you are. You two deserve each other."

Nightwing's eyes widened as he hastily took his bearings. He wasn't sure how long he'd been gone, but it had to be at least a week, likely more. He had no doubt that Batman had caught up with the Joker and put him away once he'd discovered Nightwing was missing, but he also didn't doubt that Klarion would simply magic the Joker right back out of Arkham for spite. So, zeta tube or Batcave? From the scrap of overcast sky he could see, the height of the buildings, the condition of the fire escapes, the quality of the asphalt… zeta tube was closer. He made it two steps in the appropriate direction before dropping to his knees, head swimming.

Blood loss, he thought distantly. Just need to… He gave his legs the order to stand, to move, but all that happened was that he fell forward, tiny dots swarming over his vision like static before blacking it out completely.

Chapter Text

He came to on a hard surface, still face-down. Someone was tampering with his suit. His mind cleared instantly, firing adrenaline through his body to prepare him to leap up and escape.

You're safe! M'gann's voice echoed in his mind. You're at Mount Justice and you're safe. Please don't move.

"No," Nightwing groaned, turning his head to the side to try to look around. "No, Klarion's out there. He's going to break the Joker out. We have to stop them."

"How much did you give him?" wondered Conner from somewhere in front of him. Nightwing became aware of an IV stuck in the back of his hand, tugging uncomfortably since he was lying on his stomach with his arms at his sides. But at least his back no longer felt like someone was pouring molten lead down it. Now it only felt slightly on fire.

"Later," Kaldur said sternly, and then he was standing in Nightwing's line of vision. Nightwing's cheek was resting on the exam table and he couldn't quite bring himself to raise or turn his head, so his field of vision was limited to a small slice of Mount Justice's medical bay. "You are severely injured. M'gann is going to cut away what is left of your suit and we will clean the wound so that we can assess it properly. Then you can report."

"How— How long?" Nightwing asked as M'gann wielded a pair of diamond-edged scissors with her mind, her thoughts more precise than her hands would have been as she cut through the costume to expose his back fully. He winced as the fabric stuck slightly in the blood and tugged the edges of the wounds when she pulled it back. "How long was I gone?"

Kaldur left his line of sight to examine the wounds and Nightwing tried not to let the fact that several people were standing around in his blind spots bother him. He swallowed hard. Then Conner casually came around the table to lean against a counter right where Nightwing could see. "'Bout six hours, I think?" Conner offered with a glance to Kaldur and M'gann for confirmation, which had the added benefit of telling Nightwing exactly where the others were standing. He was too preoccupied to be grateful, though.

"Six hours? That's— ah!" Nightwing cut himself off with a gasp as Kaldur directed a gentle wave of water over his back.

"My apologies," Kaldur said, sounding distressed. "I thought this would be preferable to cleaning them with anything astringent. I will sense any toxins in the water when I lift it."

"No, it feels amazing," Nightwing said. The water was cool and soft and his brain was pathetically delighted to be receiving any kind of signal other than ow ow ow ow. He was even distracted from the impossible thing Conner had said, though M'gann had noted his disbelief.

"We got your distress signal this morning, a little after three o'clock," she said, looking at Nightwing curiously, though he couldn't see it. "But before we could get to you, the signal vanished. There was a witness, and he said you'd escaped, so we hoped you'd gone back to the Batcave. But when you didn't check in and didn't respond to calls we went out looking for you," she continued. "We were canvassing Gotham and were about to call Batman when I sensed your mind in that alley."

"Klarion," Nightwing seethed. "Fucking… witch boy. I've been gone less than a day." He was having a hard time wrapping his mind around that, especially as Kaldur was lifting the water from his back and the dull fire-ache was returning despite the painkillers. "Then… the Joker?"

"Please try to relax," M'gann said. "We can debrief in a minute, but we have to take care of these gashes."

Nightwing subsided with a force of will while M'gann and Kaldur worked. Conner very deliberately stayed where Nightwing could see him, which Nightwing appreciated.

Kaldur informed him that the cuts didn't look as bad now that they were cleaned. The reinforced material of his costume had slowed the claws marginally and he only ended up needing a few stitches on the worst of them. For the others, the edges of the cuts were razor-straight and less deep, so they pressed the edges together and covered them with strips of gauze and medical tape. Finally, he was permitted to sit on the edge of the table, legs dangling. The first thing he did was remove the IV.

"There will still be pain—" Kaldur started, but Nightwing interrupted him.

"I need to be able to think. I'll be fine until we're done." He began freeing his arms from what was left of the top half of the costume, saw the others react to the dull, fading bruise spread across his shoulder, their eyes move from the scabbed cut above his eye to the one on his arm.

"These injuries look days old. The cuts on your back are fresh. How—"

"Like I said: Klarion," Nightwing said, not without some bitterness. He hated not knowing what Klarion had done to compress their time together to six hours. He especially hated not knowing why he might do such a thing. He began his report with a sigh as he examined himself for any injuries he might have missed, telling the team about the Joker's trap and what had followed. The cut on his arm finally received a proper cleaning and bandage, even though it was mostly just a sore, angry welt at this point. He'd need antibiotics just in case it had gotten infected before starting to close.

Nightwing raised a hand to the cut over his eye, then let it drop, barely pausing as he told them what he'd gleaned about Light politics while he'd been held prisoner. He'd have to remove the mask to give that cut a better examination, and he couldn't do that in front of the team.

He wrapped up his account quickly – though he left a few things out, claiming that he'd simply annoyed Klarion so much that Klarion had decided giving him to the Joker would be an excellent punishment for them both. It beat telling his team that he'd attempted to seduce Klarion the Witch Boy.

"So he dropped me in that alley and said he was going to tell the Joker where to find me. I blacked out. When I woke up I thought— well, never mind. I assume no one's managed to put the Joker back in Arkham yet?"

A general shaking of heads.

"If it helps," M'gann said. "We didn't see any sign of him while we were searching for you."

It really didn't help. So he wasn't setting Gotham on fire. What was he doing, then? And if Nightwing set foot outside Mount Justice, would Klarion immediately deliver an encore of his promise in the alley, or did he consider them even now?

Suddenly Nightwing was unbearably tired. He could feel the pain starting to edge its way forward.

"You understand that you should see an actual doctor, correct?" Kaldur was saying. "The League has—"

"I know, I know," Nightwing said. He balled up the destroyed, stained material of the top half of his costume and raised his arm to chuck it at the hazardous waste bin, but M'gann wrested it from his hand telekinetically and did it herself.

"You're injured," she reminded him. He gave her a tired shadow of his usual grin while Conner rolled his eyes and shoved off from the counter.

"Let's find breakfast," he said. "We sorta skipped it looking for you. Come on." He left, fully confident that they'd be following. Kaldur did, with a soft smile, but M'gann hesitated when Nightwing didn't immediately stand.

"Go on," Nightwing said. "I need to grab a spare costume." He slowly slid off the exam table and collected his gauntlets from where they'd been hastily set aside while the team tended to him. He'd salvage what he could from them while modifying the design for their next incarnation.

"And call Batman, right?" M'gann said pointedly. "I know he's out of town on a mission, but he'd want to—"

"He'll be back in a week at the most," Nightwing said. "I'll talk to him then. But really, this was just a fluke. It's not big-picture Light stuff. I'm more concerned with figuring out where the Joker scuttled off to. Getting Klarion would be nice, too."

M'gann crossed her arms and frowned at him. "Injured."

Nightwing raised his hands slightly in surrender. "Investigative work only. I'll call in backup if there's anything we need to act on. Promise."

M'gann looked mollified and nodded before leaving to join the others. Nightwing sighed and let himself wince at the pain he'd been shoving aside, turning the other way upon leaving the med bay to trudge to his quarters.

When he'd been Robin he'd had a room here that he'd barely used, spending most of his time at the manor with Bruce. Over the last few months, though, he'd made Mount Justice his home more and more and his room was starting to take on his personality. He had spare supplies in there and a spare costume, but also his own books, computer, civilian clothes, even a few photographs.

Not everything, though. His faded, creased picture of his parents couldn't be on display here, nor could his old Flying Graysons poster that had hung in his family's trailer at Haly's and was still hanging in his old room at the manor. This room could be Nightwing's, but it couldn't be Dick Grayson's. Not without also giving away Bruce's identity, and now Jason's as well.

The door slid closed behind him and Dick sighed, finally dropping the last of the tension he'd been carrying in his shoulders. He gave a longing look at the bed before stumbling into the bathroom and leaning heavily on the sink, staring at his face in the mirror. He needed to shave. And shower. And eat. And sleep. And then get right back out there and finish off this case. But first—

He was about to finally pull his mask off for the first time in an unknown number of days when there was a knock on his door. Nightwing dropped his hand and groaned, already mustering the last of his strength to stand straighter for whoever was checking on him.

"Dude, it's me!"

"Wally," Dick breathed, his relief a tangible thing. The one person he absolutely did not have to wear a mask for. "Come in!" he called and heard the door slide open. He did poke his head around the bathroom door to check before actually removing the mask, though. Bat-paranoia and all that. But it was definitely Wally, dressed in jeans and a Stanford hoodie and shaking his head at him as the door closed again.

"Wow, you look like hell," Wally said, throwing himself on Dick's bed carelessly while Dick ducked back into the bathroom to pry the mask off and wash his face. As he'd suspected, the cut above his eye was practically healed.

"And you look like a college student. What are you doing here?" Dick asked, looking for his razor. Managing to eat with the team or staying upright long enough to shower both seemed insurmountable tasks but shaving he thought he could handle.

"What do you think? Checking on you, dummy," came Wally's exasperated voice from behind him. "Would have been here sooner but everything's in boxes because winter break and family visits and all that stuff and I didn't pick up your beacon."

"You're not supposed to pick up my beacon, Wally. You're retired," Dick pointed out. Wally snorted. "Besides, it was only broadcasting for a few minutes."

"What? That's weird," Wally said. He was flipping through Dick's books at the speed of thought while they talked, even though he'd already read all of them. "Did you break my beacon, Grayson? After I went through all the trouble of inventing teeny tiny super durable kinetic circuits for you?"

"No. Well, yes, actually, it's pretty broken, but that's not why it stopped broadcasting," Dick said. Feeling slightly more alive for having shaved and scrubbed the adhesive remnants from his face, he grabbed the sliced up gauntlet from where he'd dropped it and tossed it at Wally. "Had a run-in with a knife."

"Bullshit, what knife cuts through high density aramid flex fiber?" Wally scoffed, catching the glove easily.

"It may or may not have been an enchanted knife." Wally snorted, so Dick elaborated with one word. "Klarion."

"Dude. Dude."

"I know," Dick groaned. He kicked off his boots and shed the depleted utility belt, letting each fall where it would. Down to just the black Kevlar-blended leggings of his costume, he fell forward onto his bed, knowing Wally would flash out of the way at the last second. He did, zooming into Dick's desk chair and making it swivel crazily with his momentum. As soon as it stopped he spun it in the other direction, still poking at the frayed wiring straggling from the gauntlet. Dick grabbed his pillow and buried his face in it. He hated sleeping on his stomach but at least it wasn't a tree.

"Hey, don't you dare fall asleep, man. If you make me hear this story from Kaldur, I will kill you. He talks so slow."

"Mph. All right." So Dick told him what had happened, to Wally's ever-increasing horror. He told him everything, because Wally wasn't on the team anymore and wasn't asking because the fate of the world might be at stake. He was just his best friend, and if you couldn't tell your best friend that you'd tried (and failed) to seduce a lord of chaos, who could you tell? But it wasn't just that. It was also the passing comment Klarion had made about the way certain villains talked about his team. It was how he had thought he was going to die completely alone and helpless on that island, and that there was nothing he could do about it. It was how he owed his life to a demon cat who really hadn't been all that bad, and how he wasn't actually sure how far he would have gone with the seduce-Klarion scheme to win his freedom. It was how, despite being back here in more-or-less one piece, it still wasn't over, though it might as well have been for how defeated he felt.

Wally listened to all of it and the first thing he said when Dick was done was "Here, eat this," which was followed by him chucking a protein bar onto the bed next to Dick.

"I knew there was a reason we were friends," Dick said, sitting up and wolfing it down. Of course Wally was carrying food. "Wait, did you run here? Wearing that?"

"You just tried to seduce Klarion, you do not get to talk to me about bad decisions. And it's fine, who was gonna see me?"

"Just, be careful." Wally threw another protein bar at him. Dick caught it and made short work of that one, too. "And stock up on snacks before you leave."

"Duh." Wally gave his chair another spin and ran his thumb down the tear in the glove he was still holding. "You gonna need help making a new one of these?"

"Give me some credit," Dick said with a roll of his eyes.

"I'm sorry, it's hard to take you seriously when you have a mask-shaped tanline going across your eyes."

"What?!" Dick leapt to his feet to check – or, he tried to. His back gave a painful twinge and he subsided back to the bed. "Ow. Never mind. I don't care."

"And how long do you think the others will let you hide in here? You should be recovering in Gotham."

"When did you turn into a voice of reason?" Dick grumbled. "And, I will. Next stop is the nearest zeta to Leslie's."

"Good." Wally was quiet for a few moments. Then he tossed the gauntlet onto the desk and leaned back in the chair, casting an appraising look over Dick. "Look, man, are you all right?"

Dick laughed. "Do I look all right?"

"Nah, I'm not talking about all that – though Leslie's going to flip her lid, you know. I mean you seem off. You know Bats'll smell it on you so if you're planning on editing your story before you tell him you gotta get your head on straight."

"And what exactly do you think I'd be keeping from Batman?" Dick asked flatly.

"Maybe the details of your escape plan? Not because you think he'd judge you for it – you know Bats, he's a big fan of using whatever tools you have on hand – but because you feel guilty about it."

"Did you change your major to psych without telling me?"

"Ah, classic deflection."

Dick threw a pillow at Wally who didn't even bother zipping out of the way, it was such a weak throw.

"Look Dick, Klarion messes with your head. He's the bad guy. It's his job."

"Then why do I feel like the asshole? I think even the cat is pissed at me," Dick said.

"Generally when the bad guys are mad at you it means you're doing something right," Wally pointed out.

"Good guys can do the wrong thing too," Dick said quietly. "What if I had actually tried to connect with him instead of faking? To, I don't know, be his friend for real? Maybe I made the wrong call."

"Only you would think you could defeat an enemy with the power of friendship, Dick Grayson," Wally said with a shake of his head. "Look, you're sleep deprived and probably dehydrated and half starved. Don't beat yourself up too much until you've taken care of those things, all right? Things always seem worse when you're hurting."

"Does that mean you're going to let me sleep now?"

"Yeah, yeah. But at least change into pants that don't have blood on them," Wally said. "Have you got makeup for the tan problem? Sunglasses?"

"I haven't suddenly forgotten how to superhero since you've been gone, Walls."

"Kidnapped twice in under 24 hours, Dick," Wally said brightly. He stood. "All right, I'm out. I'll tell the team you're cool. Call me if you need anything – seriously, anything."

Dick mumbled a response, already stretched out on the bed and halfway to sleep. Wally looked him over one more time, assuring himself that all was well (or would be) before slipping out to have a word with the others on how quickly it was appropriate to notify a former superhero when his best friend was in trouble.

Chapter Text

Nightwing was true to his word to M'gann for five days. In that time he went to see Leslie and checked in with Alfred (the Day of Scolding he would call it later), repaired and updated his costume, and spent a lot of time sitting backward in chairs in front of computers trying to find any trace of the Joker, who had been suspiciously quiet since Nightwing's abduction. Every time Nightwing thought he had a lead, he was intercepted before he could even finish thinking about dealing with it himself. One team member or another was always there to offer to follow up on it and the fact that Nightwing couldn't even dodge around them to get to the zeta tubes himself proved it necessary. That was fine, really. Logically. They were all of them competent. But it was galling. Gotham was his city. He should be able to protect it.

Mostly, while he waited to heal, he tried to get his brain to settle. It seemed to be having difficulty with the fact that he hadn't escaped or been rescued. He'd been let go, abruptly and without fanfare, and he was having trouble processing the idea that he was safe now. He needed closure, and he thought wrapping up the Joker would be a good way to get it, but the Light, it seemed, had other plans. Nightwing's investigation eventually led him to the conclusion that the Joker's apparent disappearance was due to interference from the Light, most probably Ra's al Ghul. What the Demon's Head and the Joker meant to accomplish together, Nightwing hadn't discovered yet. He logged his findings to the Batcave, knowing Batman would be interested.

On December 21, Robin returned to Gotham. Batman had sent him back and Jason was not happy about it. Alfred kept Dick apprised of these things and Dick, knowing exactly what he would have done when he was Robin and thought Batman was benching him, strapped on his escrima sticks and headed out to Gotham to keep an eye on the kid, finally overruling his team's concern. His back was stiff, but he'd been stretching every day, testing how far he could go, and was fairly certain the wounds wouldn't reopen if he was careful.

Nightwing went out early that night and scraped the streets of the worst of the scum. It wasn't too bad. It was cold in Gotham, which had a polarizing effect on crime. It tended to leave only the truly desperate small-timers and the truly manic supervillains. Most of the latter were safely locked up in Arkham, with the exception of the Joker, and whatever the Light was doing with the Joker, evidence suggested he wasn't currently in the city.

He'd been wrong before, though. So when Robin slipped past Alfred and headed out looking for trouble, Nightwing tracked him. The kid bee-lined for the Crime Alley neighborhood, which was usually a good bet for gang activity. But between Nightwing's earlier intervention and the dampening effect of the weather, Robin found nothing to occupy himself. So he turned his attention to the Narrows and suddenly Nightwing was wondering whether he'd overestimated Jason Todd's instinct for self-preservation.

Robin found a drug deal in the Narrows. You could always find a drug deal in the Narrows. Junkies didn't care about the weather, or the proximity to Arkham. This one was small time, one-to-one, the kind of thing Nightwing or Batman would have just put a quick stop to by trussing up the seller and leaving them with evidence on the steps of the nearest police station. Nightwing was frankly relieved to be dealing with something so straightforward after the complicated tangle of the Joker-Klarion-Light case that had been occupying his mind entirely for nearly a week.

He watched Robin watching the exchange of money. He saw the kid's jaw clench, saw his shoulders bunch, saw the exact moment he let his rage take over and was moving at the same time he was. Not to interfere. Not yet. He hoped Batman's training would let Robin use that anger effectively without losing control. But he wanted to be closer, just in case this nice, simple crime turned into something else.

The seller was a guy in a heavy, nondescript coat and hat, collar turned up both to hide him from street cameras and against the cold. The buyer was a blonde woman in a wool coat and… sensible pumps? Nightwing looked closer. Expensive driving gloves, understated gold studs, not a hair out of place. Definitely not your typical Narrows buyer, so who—

He didn't have time to follow the thought to its conclusion because at that moment Robin dropped onto the seller from above, driving him to the slushy pavement. He went down with a grunt and a clink of glass as the vial he'd been in the process of handing to the woman hit the ground and rolled to her feet. She picked it up, eyeing the furious blur of red and yellow pummeling her supplier.

"How many families, dirtbag? How many lives have you ruined?" Robin demanded, punctuating each question with a punch. The woman began backing away – right into Nightwing.

"I'm going to need that for evidence, ma'am," he said with a smile, holding out his hand for the bottle when she spun around. Her eyes narrowed as she darted a glance behind her to where Robin had definitely crossed the line into excessive force. Nightwing followed her gaze and was about to forget the woman and step in when she threw the bottle at the ground, hard, right where Robin and the dealer were grappling. Nightwing's eyes widened as red vapor unfurled into the air.

Nightwing shoved past her and tackled Robin off of the dealer. Robin landed on his back with a startled yelp, Nightwing sprawled over him and tugging at the clasp on Robin's cape. It was a little more difficult when you weren't the one actually wearing the cape, but he got the rebreather free in a moment and shoved it into Robin's mouth, stifling the kid's protests and pressing his hand over his nose. He took another moment to be sure Robin got the idea and wasn't going to spit it out or take a deep breath through his nose or something before applying his own rebreather. Based on the familiar sour tang on the back of his tongue, he'd been just a hair too slow but hopefully he'd only breathed in a tiny bit. He rolled off of Robin and looked for the dealer and his buyer.

The woman was long gone, but the man had taken a face full of fear toxin and was curled on his side in a gibbering mess. Depending on the potency of this particular batch, his heart could be in danger. Nightwing pulled the dose of anti-toxin he always carried from his belt and jabbed him in the thigh with it.

Fear gas wasn't some ordinary drug deal. He'd need to deliver this guy to Gordon with an explanation, then figure out the concentration in the air and whether it posed a lingering threat, then track down the source… and of course, deal with Robin. The kid had gathered up his cape from where it had fallen and was staring at Nightwing with a wide-eyed expression that was trying desperately not to be wide-eyed. It was equal parts defiance and hero-worship and if he hadn't had a rebreather in his mouth Nightwing was pretty sure Robin would be swearing at him.

Nightwing gave a mental sigh and tried to slow his heart rate and racing thoughts. That was the toxin trying to work on him and he needed to hold it together at least until he got this guy put away somewhere.

Are you okay? he asked Robin, assuming Batman would have taught him ASL just as he'd taught Dick.  

Fine. Robin's signs were curt, abrupt, his face unhelpfully flat.

Nightwing pointed at the roof where Robin had been observing the deal and signed Stay. Robin looked mutinous for a second before shooting a line and taking off for the roof. Nightwing watched and, when it seemed he was going to actually listen, cuffed the now-calm criminal to take care of step one.

Nightwing knew what to expect from fear toxin. It was always the same. The team, Bruce, his parents, all in various states of distress and disappointment in him. So when he was swinging his way back to Robin and the giant lumpy lizard-thing from Klarion's island erupted from a roof he was about to land on, he was a little surprised. It was too late to adjust his landing so he curled, hoping he wouldn't hit any of the teeth on his way into the thing's mouth. Monsters electrocuted just as well from the inside, after all.

He hit the roof hard instead, the hallucination vanishing as abruptly as it had appeared. Nightwing rolled to his feet and took a deep breath (he'd put the rebreather away as soon as he was half a block from the exposure site, observing civilians carrying on with their evenings with no ill effects). Great. He'd been hoping he'd inhaled such a small amount that increased heart rate and restlessness would be the only things he had to worry about, but apparently not. Well, vanishing hallucinations were manageable. Far preferable to the fully immersive, inescapable nightmares that were the usual end product of fear toxin.

He continued on his way, encountering another lizard-thing, a circus tent on fire, and a billboard featuring a lady with impossible, grotesque proportions that actually turned out to be a real advertisement for cologne as he discovered when he ran smack into it after assuming it was just another insubstantial horror his subconscious had produced.

Needless to say, he was a little edgy when he made it back to Robin, who was staring down at the street, cape back in place.

"You sure the air's not still contaminated?" he asked, landing next to Robin, who jumped but recovered quickly.

"You're not wearing your rebreather either," Robin said.

"No, but I have experience with how long it takes different concentrations of airborne toxin to disperse. How did you know it was safe?"

Robin rolled his eyes. "I've been watching people. It's fine." Nightwing nodded. He'd done the same, after all. Robin crossed his arms. "What is it with you and Bruce and tests," he grumbled.

"That wasn't a test. And no names in uniform," Nightwing reminded him, a little more sharply than he would have normally. He was sweating from the toxin and his back was a solid ache. "We should head back to the cave."

"It's early," Robin protested. "And you're not my babysitter."

"No. But this deal we just broke up is probably part of something bigger. We need to look into it."

"So you head back to the cave and I'll hit the streets!" Robin said. "I'm ready. I can handle one night of patrol on my own."

"It's not that—" Nightwing said, putting a hand on Robin's shoulder. Robin slapped it away. It wasn't forceful, just a gesture to show his annoyance and anger, but in the second his hand connected with Nightwing's arm, Nightwing saw Klarion's shadows stretching out for him, the walls of Klarion's extra-dimensional cell rising around him. He stumbled back, eyes wide and darting to find an escape.

Then the walls fell and the shadows faded and it was just Robin staring at him, stunned, as Nightwing dropped to a knee and ran a hand over his face.

"You got hit," Robin breathed. "Jesus, D— Nightwing, you gave your antidote to that asshole. What the hell is wrong with you."

"It's not bad. I only got a little. It'll be out of my system in a few hours."

"No wonder Batman likes you so much," Robin said with a roll of his eyes. "You're both the same kind of moron. All right, let's go back to the cave." He helped Nightwing to his feet and tried to drag his arm across his shoulders to support him, but was just a little too short for that to be effective. Nightwing laughed.

"It's all right, my bike's close. Assuming some urchin hasn't stolen the tires off of it," he said with a smirk.

"That was one time. And Batman developed theft-proof hubcaps because of it, didn't he? You should be thanking me," Robin said, returning the smile.

They descended to street level where Nightwing had left his bike, but when they approached it he tossed the keys to Robin. "Hallucinations and driving are a bad mix. You can handle it, right?"

He didn't miss the instant of sheer delight Robin immediately tried to disguise behind nonchalance. "Of course I can," he scoffed.

Nightwing rode behind him, grateful that Robin was considerably sturdier than Nightwing had been when he'd had the job, because Nightwing was in enough of a state now that he actually did need to hang on to Robin. This wasn't lost on Robin, who got them back to the Batcave via the most efficient route without Nightwing even having to direct him.

Alfred was waiting for them when they arrived. Robin parked the bike and dismounted with an audible gulp.

"Master Richard. Thank you for returning Master Jason. I'm sure he simply forgot that he is not meant to be patrolling alone," Alfred said with an arch look at Robin.

"It's more like he returned me, Alfred," Nightwing said. He headed straight for the first aid cabinet and measured himself a small dose of anti-toxin, just enough to banish the specter of the Joker hovering behind Robin. It faded away almost immediately and Nightwing breathed a sigh of relief. Alfred was looking at him critically.

"Unless I am very much mistaken, Master Richard, you have pulled open at least one of your wounds. Kindly disrobe. I will see to them."

"Wounds?" Jason echoed, in the process of hanging up his cape and mask. "Holy shit," he commented when Dick got the top half of his costume off.

"Language, young man," Alfred admonished.

"Sorry," Jason replied automatically. "What did that?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," Dick said, hopping onto the exam table while Alfred came after him with cotton swabs and gauze. "Focus on our case. You can start with, let's see, incarceration records at Arkham, then any industrial development applications for the Narrows, maybe… or scanning police records for our buyer from tonight."

"Er, gosh, as exciting as that sounds I am suddenly very exhausted," Jason said, not at all convincingly. Dick winced as Alfred prodded him with an alcohol-soaked swab. So he had torn one of his scabs. Great.

"Come on," Dick said, peeling his mask off to distract from his back. "Imagine being able to wrap this whole thing up and hand it to Bruce for Christmas."

"I shall fetch research snacks as soon as I am finished sticking Master Richard back together," Alfred added.

"Oh. Well. In that case, what are we waiting for?" Jason said. Dick wasn't sure whether Jason was more excited at the thought of homemade cookies or the idea of proving himself to Bruce but either way, it worked. He went straight to the main computer console and brought up each of the resources Dick had suggested.

"Well done," Alfred murmured behind him. Dick grinned.

"So," Dick said a few hours later, when their investigation had hit a lull and he was thinking they probably ought to catch some sleep. "That drug dealer earlier tonight. You really went to town on him." He kept his tone light, tried to keep the judgment out of it, but Jason stiffened all the same. They were surrounded by the detritus of their efforts: empty milkshake glasses, water bottles, mugs of cocoa, plates of cookie crumbs and pizza crusts, and an untouched container of carrot sticks.

"Are you gonna tell Bruce?" Jason asked, not taking his eyes off the screen. His face was stony. Dick considered. He probably should tell Batman, but he didn't have to. If the kid had anger issues, Batman was surely aware of them. He had left instructions that Jason wasn't to patrol alone, which meant he knew he wasn’t ready.

"Like you said, I'm not your babysitter," Dick said, scooting his chair away from the screens and massaging his eyes. "I just thought… seemed personal. You wanna talk about it?"

Jason was quiet for a few moments before answering. "I don't like drug dealers. They take advantage of people." That was all Dick got.

"Yeah. That's true. But it's not really our job to punish the bad guys. Just to catch them."

"So they can serve their time and be right back out on the streets, doing the same thing again?" Jason turned from the computer and fixed Dick with a determined stare. "If the law did what it was supposed to, we wouldn't be here."

"Mm. Then I guess it's a good thing we are," Dick said gently. He didn't really want to get into an ethical debate with the kid. This was the most time they'd spent together since Jason had taken on Robin's cape and Dick wasn't exactly sure if he was supposed to be an older brother, a mentor, a friend, or even, yes, a babysitter.

"Sure," Jason said, his tone skeptical. "Hey, what'd you see? With the fear gas, I mean."

It was a transparent subject change, and while Dick didn't mind that, he also had no intention of getting into the dark bits of his psyche or his recent misadventures with Klarion with this kid. "Have you ever experienced fear gas?" he asked, hoping he knew the answer to that. Jason shook his head. "Good. I was eleven the first time I got dosed with it. We were still perfecting the antidote back then. Tonight was nothing. Under a full dose you don't even know you've been hit. It just takes over, becomes your reality. Now we carry the anti-toxin – not that you could administer it to yourself in the middle of a bad trip, but it's in the same compartment on all of our utility belts."

"Oh, I could have – tonight, you could have used my antidote." Jason looked dismayed that he hadn't thought to check his own first aid compartments for something to help Nightwing out in the field.

Dick gave him a smug smile. "Maybe I just wanted an excuse to get you back to the cave." Jason gaped at him and Dick relented. "I'm kidding. I didn't need a full dose. It'd just make me sick with how little gas I inhaled. It's never a good idea to overdo it with these antidotes. They're safe, but still not exactly FDA approved in most cases. We don't know if it's possible to build up an immunity, either, and that would really suck."

Jason nodded slowly, processing. Then, "Hey, you didn't answer my question. I didn't ask for a lesson on fear gas, I asked what you saw."

"I know, Jay. It was nothing you need to worry about," Dick said, standing up and ruffling Jason's hair, much to Jason's annoyance. And if Dick was unaware he was repeating his own phrase from a few hours earlier, Jason didn't miss it. "Let's call it a night." Dick led the way upstairs, Jason's eyes fixed curiously on his back.

Chapter Text

Batman returned in the wee hours between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning and Jason and Dick did indeed have a solved fear toxin case to hand to him. Well, Jason handed it to him. Dick was with the team. Christmas Eve with them, Christmas with Bruce and Jason and Alfred. That was what he'd decided and Alfred had assured him that would be fine.

He arrived at the manor what he thought was a respectable time after sunrise, only to find Bruce and Jason still asleep.

"They were up late last night," Alfred explained apologetically. "Later than usual, even. Master Jason insisted on walking Master Bruce through the entire fear toxin case step by step." He looked around surreptitiously. "It was adorable."

Dick smiled at that, then dodged Alfred as he tried to take the presents he'd brought out of his hands. He went to the family room to put them under the tree himself, then found Alfred in the kitchen and helped him with breakfast. This mostly consisted of Alfred trying to shoo Dick out of the kitchen, insisting he didn't need help, and then ordering Dick to measure out ingredients for him in the next breath. By the time the scent of bacon lured Jason downstairs, Dick's hair was dusted with flour and he had pancake batter on his nose due to some overzealous whisking. Alfred, of course, was pristine.

"Dick! Why didn't you wake me up?" Jason asked. He looked… well, for all that he was a teenager, he looked like a kid on Christmas morning, all pajamas and cowlicks and bright eyes. Dick had a moment of dissonance reconciling that with the kid who'd pulped a drug dealer's face a few nights ago but supposed Jason was a work in progress. Like all of them.

"Figured you needed your beauty sleep."

Jason stuck his tongue out at him and Alfred nudged Dick to pay attention to the pancakes he was supposed to be flipping and all in all it seemed like a minor miracle to everyone except Alfred that breakfast ended up on the table all at once and intact and somehow timed perfectly to Bruce's appearance.

Christmas morning was different with Jason here and with Dick not really living in the manor anymore, but it wasn't bad. It was… nice. It was relaxed. Dick was dying to ask what Batman had been doing the past week and why he'd felt the need to send Robin home early, but he was reluctant to break the spell of the morning with shop talk. Plus that line of conversation would inevitably lead to Dick having to mention what had happened to him and, well, he deserved a Christmas. They all did. Batman would find out soon enough; the only reason he hadn't yet, Dick was sure, was because he hadn't had a chance to check the cave logs and see that Nightwing's distress beacon had been triggered the morning of the sixteenth.

You're putting it off because you feel guilty, Wally's voice told him. He ignored it and tossed Jason the present he'd brought him. Jason looked surprised to be receiving one, so Dick shrugged to show it wasn't a big deal.

"Don't get too excited. It's for work," he said, which of course only made Jason tear off the paper more quickly. Inside an old shoe box was a pair of brand new gauntlets, heavier than Robin's current model, designed more for his up-close fighting style with a built-in taser function. Dick had seriously debated making these for him. When he'd been Robin, his entire fighting style had relied on avoiding, dodging, attacking from a distance. But he'd been a tiny scrap of a thing. Though Jason was still growing, it was already obvious he was built more along Bruce's lines; sturdier, more solid, bulky with muscle rather than lithe. Dick's old equipment wouldn't cut it forever.

So, the gloves.

"I built the holo-computer into these too, of course," Dick said as Jason pulled them on to test the fit. "Complete with a customized map of Gotham."

Jason gave him a look. "Dick. I can find my way around the city. Or did you forget that I carted your drugged ass back here in record time?"

Bruce's eyebrows went up at that, but Dick just smiled. "Oh, so you've already discovered for yourself which gas stations give free slushies to Robin if you turn up in the dead of night? Because those are marked on there."

"What? Wait, what?" Jason asked, delighted.

Bruce was looking vaguely betrayed. "I have never in my life been offered a free slushy."

Dick bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Please. Please, please, please walk into a gas station next time you're on patrol and ask for a slushy."

"Unlikely," Bruce said, using his Batman voice despite the subtle smile, and Dick lost it, sliding to the floor as he laughed.

"Here, open this while I remember how to breathe," he said, shoving his present into Bruce's hands.

Dick had gotten him a bottle of the ink Atlantean sorcerers used for their tattoos. Its makeup was a closely guarded secret, but Dick had convinced Kaldur to bring him some "for science" and with a promise that it would never, ever fall into the wrong hands or be used irresponsibly. Batman had been trying to wrest a sample from Aquaman for years, but putting a potential weapon like that in Batman's hands was one thing. Handing it over to a curious Dick Grayson was quite another.

Dick could see from the gleam in Bruce's eyes that he wanted to dash down to the cave and play with his new toy immediately but a pointed look from Alfred kept him on the couch. Dick flicked his gift to Alfred through the air like a throwing star since it was just a small card. Alfred caught it easily between two fingers and slipped the envelope open with his thumb. When he saw the card inside, he blinked at Dick with a puzzled expression.

"I know you already have Mrs. Kent's peach pie recipe," Dick said. "But you know how you're always saying yours never tastes quite the same?" He nodded to the card in Alfred's hand. "That recipe includes the secret ingredient she left out of the version she gave you."

"I say," Alfred said, scanning the card more closely. "That clever minx. However did you wrest it from her?"

"M'gann did, actually. I guess Mrs. Kent had pity on her and wanted to give her every advantage she could. I was on smoke detector standby when M'gann tried to replicate it at base."

This time it was Bruce's look that had to keep Alfred from running off to test out his gift (because if anyone could find fresh peaches in Gotham on Christmas morning, it was Alfred). They all lazed around by the fire, pleasantly full and whiling away the morning idly flipping through new books or tuning new gadgets for a few hours before Jason finally flopped back and exclaimed, "Come on!"

Bruce and Dick looked at each other, then back at the youngest of them, amused.

"Come on, what?" Dick asked innocently.

"We're just sitting around. You know what we'd all rather be doing," he said. "Are you telling me you didn't bring a change of clothes, Dick?"

Dick couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face. Bruce shook his head with every appearance of resigned amusement, but he was the first on his feet. "Would you mind terribly, Alfred?"

"It's broad daylight, sir."

"It's overcast."

"Indeed," Alfred said with a sigh. "Shall I expect you for dinner?"

"Do."

They were among the rooftops of Gotham within the hour, weaving through the air and around each other, two dark figures and one bright red one making an elegant pattern against the iron sky. Not that there was anyone to see it. Crime was low on Christmas, and they all knew it. It was a good opportunity for Robin, though, and it wasn't long before Batman was setting them challenges, like seeing who could touch all four gargoyles on the train station edifice first and make it back without being caught by the security cameras, or who could find the quickest route from the cathedral to the courthouse ("With points deducted for showing off, Nightwing, was that third flip really necessary?")

By the time they trooped back to the cave, Nightwing and Robin were exhausted but happy. Batman probably was too, though it was, of course, impossible to tell. Alfred met them in the cave with a variety of hot beverages, which Robin homed in on instantly. Nightwing went to get changed first, listening with half an ear to Jason chattering at Alfred across the cave.

"When were you going to tell me?" Batman said, suddenly at Nightwing's elbow, and the only reason Nightwing didn't jump was because Batman had been doing that since Nightwing was nine.

"Tell you what?" Nightwing asked as he peeled off the mask.

"About that, for starters," Batman said, gesturing at Dick's face. "You did a good job with the concealer, but you had to know it wouldn't survive the spirit gum."

Dick's hand went to his face where the tell-tale tanline had yet to even out. He'd gone through all the trouble of hiding it before coming over only to forget when he put on the mask. He sighed.

"Not to mention, I've been watching you move all morning. What did you do to your back?" Batman went on.

"Is this an interrogation?"

Batman sighed and shoved off his cowl. "No, Dick. I'm worried, that's all. I've been waiting for you to say something and the fact that you haven't worries me more. What happened while I was gone?"

"I'll tell you later," Dick said brightly. "It's no big deal."

"Does it have something to do with the Joker being missing?" Dick hesitated and that was all the answer Bruce needed. "Tell me everything."

"Look, Bruce, can't we just take one day—"

"I'm leaving again tomorrow."

"Oh." Dick waited for Bruce to explain what was taking him out of the city so urgently again, but he was met with stony silence. "Well, all right then," Dick said. "I'll take care of Gotham while you're gone."

"No, you should stick with your team," Bruce said. "I—"

"Seriously?" Dick interrupted, his voice rising. "How many times have I saved the world now?"

"That's not—"

"I think I can take care of one city for a few weeks or however long you plan on vanishing."

"Damn it, Robin—"

Dick's eyebrows shot up and Bruce's mouth clamped shut. Across the cave, Jason was staring at them, expression unreadable next to a statue-still Alfred.

Dick sighed. "Never mind. You're right. I'll stick with the team." He grabbed his clothes, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the main cave.

Dick knew every possible way to get out of the house without being seen, though he suspected he only ever managed it when Bruce was avoiding him, too. With his back still occasionally twinging (that third flip had not been necessary, in fact, and he was regretting it a little now), he picked an easy route. He dropped from a gable, rolled off an awning, caught himself on a rail, and was in the garage in moments, throwing a leg over his bike.

"He still thinks of you as Robin," Jason said from where he'd been leaning against a wall in shadows.

"Geez. You're almost as good at that as he is," Dick muttered.

"'Almost' being the operative word, here."

"Hey, don't read too much into it, all right? Believe me, I've been there, you're just going to tie yourself in knots."

"Really, Dick? Because you were first. Whose shoes did you have to fill?" Jason spat.

Dick laughed, actually laughed, which seemed to confuse Jason. "His, Jay. I thought I had to be him."

Jason scoffed. "Well that was stupid."

"I'm glad you can see that, because it took me nine years to figure it out."

Jason was looking at him with that strange mix of anger and respect again and Dick understood it now. Jason saw him as a template, as a goal, something to aspire to that he wasn't sure he'd ever achieve. God, I'm only eighteen, Dick thought. Lighten up. But what he said was, "Hey, what were you and Bruce off doing this last mission, anyway?"

"He didn't tell you?" Jason asked, and there was a tiny hint of satisfaction there. "We were chasing a lead on the missing sixteen hours. But I don't know if it came to anything because he sent me back. We were headed for the Middle East, though. Saudi Arabia, maybe? Or Bialya."

"Hm. Plenty out there he might not want you tangling with." Including Ra's al Ghul.

"He sent you into Bialya alone when you were thirteen." Jason crossed his arms, glaring stubbornly.

"I wasn't alone, I had an entire team with me, and why do you know that?"

"You're on the lesson plan."

"Oh, God. That's— perfect, really, not at all weird." Dick took a deep breath. "Never mind."

"He sent me out here to grill you, you know," Jason offered unexpectedly. Dick groaned and slumped forward, thumping his head on a handlebar.

"Whyyyyy," he moaned.

Jason shrugged with one shoulder. "I think we might be going after the Joker."

"He could just ask." Dick groused, straightening up. He thought for a moment, prioritizing his information. "I think the Joker's tangled up with the Light. My investigation notes are all on the central server. Look, though, while you guys were gone, I had a run-in with him. He'd just escaped Arkham. He didn't know about you, but he was hunting Robin. He caught me. If he is with the Light, he'll know about you by now. He'll be gunning for you."

"Is that… what happened to your back?"

"Heh. No." Dick hesitated for only a moment. Easier telling Jason than Bruce, and maybe it would help the kid see that Nightwing wasn't perfect. He settled his arms across the handlebars. "All right, here's what happened. So, the Joker had caught me, and I was basically just waiting to be rescued out of the middle of this extremely elaborate trap. I'd activated my distress beacon – you know about the—"

"Yes, Dick, I know how to activate the distress beacon," Jason said with an eye roll.

"Just making sure! Anyway, I wasn't really seeing a way out, but I knew someone from the team would be along before too long… but before anyone got there, Klarion stole me right out of the trap."

"Klarion? The witch boy?" Jason asked. "Holy shit, Dick."

"Language," Dick said in his best Alfred imitation. Instead of apologizing like he had to the butler, though, Jason just punched his arm.

"Shut up. What happened?"

"How can I tell you what happened if I'm shutting up?" Dick asked, all innocence.

"I will murder you in your sleep, Dick Grayson."

"Fine, fine. Klarion stuck me in a pocket dimension. The Joker had insulted his cat, I guess, so he took me just to piss him off."

"You are making this up."

"I swear on the giant penny," Dick said, putting one hand over his heart. "Anyway, there were Light politics involved somehow and Klarion ended up moving me to a tropical island where there was this enormous sandworm lizard thing with ridiculous claws and, long story short, I saved his cat's life and here I am." He hadn't lied. All of those things were true. It would get Batman the relevant information, relayed conveniently through Jason to avoid Bruce's built-in bat-partial-truth-detector, and Dick could just put the whole thing behind him. Or he could once that last Joker-shaped loose end was tied up. "Key points here are that Klarion and the Joker are pissed at each other, but both seem to be involved with the Light at the moment so that's a useful lever."

"I'll tell Batman," Jason said.

Dick nodded and picked up his helmet, though he paused before putting it on. "Hey," he said. "If you need backup— I mean, I know I'm annoyed with Bruce right now but seriously, you can call whenever. If you guys are about to go up against the Light…"

"I think if he was actually planning that we'd suddenly develop a large, primary-colored, indestructible shadow," Jason said, though he didn't sound completely sure. This was Batman, after all.

Dick shoved the helmet on. "Right. Well, you know where to find me. Be careful out there, Jay."

"Maybe you should have changed your name to Mother Hen."

Dick huffed at him, then spun the bike in a sharp circle, deliberately spraying gravel as he roared out. A glance in the mirror showed him Jason had already leapt into the rafters before the gravel had come anywhere near him. Really good reflexes on that kid. If he could just get the angry impulsiveness thing under control he'd have nothing to worry about.

Chapter Text

"Thanks for being my backup today, Zatanna." Mount Justice was quiet in the days between Christmas and New Year's. The team members who weren't off doing things with their families or civilian friends were on missions. Nightwing had no problem being the one to stay behind and hold down the fort, but it was never a good idea to do so alone. Plus, well, it could still be a lonely time of year for people who'd lost their parents. "We should really think about doing some more recruiting."

"Hm," Zatanna said, scuffing the training floor with one heel. Not for the first time, Nightwing wondered if it was magic or sheer skill that enabled her to never so much as wobble in those shoes. "Anyone in mind?"

"Kaldur, Tula, and Garth said they'd ask around while they're back in Atlantis. And I may have a candidate from Gotham."

Zatanna brightened. "Oh, the new Robin? Batman's brought him around the League a few times. I like him. He's… honest."

Nightwing blinked. "That's not a bad idea." Jason had been on a few missions with the team, when team business intersected with League business or Batman's business, but he wasn't officially a member. Batman didn't seem quite ready for that step, for all that Jason was older than Dick had been when he'd helped found the team.

"Uh oh," Zatanna said.

"What?"

"You have your trickster face on."

"I don't – my what face? Never mind, I was just thinking I could swing us a Robin if I play my cards right. But I actually had someone else in mind, too. Getting her would be even trickier, though. She's a civilian." Nightwing was 95% sure Barbara had figured out who he was at this point. He was 100% sure that the self-defense classes she'd told her father she was taking were considerably more involved than the Commissioner thought, and equally sure that if he waited much longer she'd be picking out a cape and cowl for herself and ambushing Batman one night.

"Oh, she," Zatanna said with an eyebrow in his direction. "Maybe I'll steal her for the League. Rocket and I have been talking about getting them to recruit more equally."

"Poaching my talent isn't recruiting, Z— achoo!" Nightwing looked at Zatanna sharply. "Have you been fighting Klarion?"

"What? No, why— Nightwing, move!"

Nightwing was already in motion by the time she said it, reading the widening of her eyes and pivoting to find Klarion suddenly standing behind him. A quick backflip put him solidly behind Zatanna as she flung out a hand.

"Dnib mih!" she yelled. Glowing magical restraints zipped through the air.

Klarion rolled his eyes. "Kcuf ffo," he said casually, flicking a wrist. The bindings flew back at Zatanna. She dodged one, but the other lashed across her face and stuck, covering her mouth. Nightwing raised his escrima sticks and stepped in front of her while she wrestled with it, looking automatically for Teekl. But the cat was nowhere to be seen.

"Don't tell me I'm allergic to you now. As if you weren't annoying enough," Nightwing drawled, playing for time. With Zatanna here, he might have a chance against Klarion, but not if she couldn't speak.

"You're an impressive liar, hero, but I know you have her here somewhere," Klarion snarled, advancing on him slowly. Magic was starting to gather around his hands

"I— huh?" Nightwing stood his ground, though it was a near thing. Behind him, Zatanna bent forward, still tugging at the magical gag but turning away from them slightly so that her hair fell forward, hiding her face.

"Oh, I do hope she's not having trouble breathing," Klarion remarked casually. Nightwing stepped into his line of vision.

"Forget her, I'm thinking you came here for me."

Klarion's eyes flared red as they snapped back to Nightwing. "You're right about that," he said, then thrust one clawed hand out to grab Nightwing by the throat.

Nightwing snapped up one of his sticks to knock Klarion's hand aside. To his surprise, it connected with Klarion's forearm and there was an audible crunch as Klarion's arm broke – and then instantly healed, leaving him to continue his grab unimpeded. Nightwing automatically dropped one of the batons to grab the hand that was choking him, fingers seeking out pressure points on instinct even though he knew none of that applied to Klarion.

"Where's my cat, you bully?" Klarion demanded. Behind him, Klarion's shadow was dancing crazily and he looked a little vague around the edges.

"Kh," was all Nightwing managed. He brought up the other escrima stick, activating the taser, and drove it into Klarion's chest. Klarion flickered, though whether it was as a result of the electric charge or a result of his avoiding it, Nightwing didn't know – and didn't have much time to think about as the hand around his throat also flickered and phased through his throat momentarily. Nightwing dropped on instinct as soon as he felt the pressure lift, but he'd still had a hand phase through his throat and instead of the graceful dodge away from Klarion he'd planned, he just sort of fell over choking while his body tried to figure out what had just happened.

Klarion stared down at him, looking distinctly unimpressed as, on top of everything else, Nightwing sneezed again. Off to the side, Zatanna still wasn't looking at them, but both hands seemed to be working furiously at the binding over her mouth.

"K… hr…" Nightwing choked out.

Klarion rolled his eyes and crouched. "What was that?"

"You have cat hair all over your clothes. When's the last time you did laundry?" Nightwing said with a wrinkled nose. Then he curled into a backward somersault, turning it into a handspring as soon as his hands hit the floor and finally giving himself some distance from Klarion.

Klarion shot upright and lifted a hand, summoning shadows from the corners of the cavern, twisting them to a point and hurling them at Nightwing javelin-style.

"Sdleihs pu!" Zatanna shouted from behind him. The shadows shattered against an invisible barrier that rose between their half of the cavern and Klarion's. Zatanna grinned and raised a small knife. "Pre-enchanted to cut through magic. Did you know that every single villain I've faced in the last year has tried silencing me as their opening move?" she asked, casually cleaning a fingernail with the knife's tip.

Klarion grimaced and walked up to the invisible barrier, jabbing a finger at it. "Don't think this will stop me from turning this whole place into a giant Jell-o mold. Give Teekl back and I'll make sure it's temporary."

"I still don't have your cat," Nightwing said, exasperated.

"Why would we take her?" Zatanna asked, entirely too reasonably for a conversation with a chaos lord.

"Oh, I don't know," Klarion said. He dragged a fingernail down the shield and Zatanna and Nightwing winced. "Maybe because some of you like seducing poor, helpless chaos creatures."

Zatanna turned slowly to Nightwing, her eyebrows asking a clear question. Nightwing ignored it for the moment and crossed his arms. "Why would I want to spend any more time with something I'm horribly allergic to? Or did you forget you did that to me?"

"You obviously wanted to get back at me for spurning your advances," Klarion said with a haughty sniff.

"Um?" said Zatanna.

"Oh for— Look, Klarion, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, I really am. I was just trying to get home. Wouldn't you do anything you could if you were in that situation?" Nightwing asked. Zatanna had stepped back to watch the exchange with ever-ascending eyebrows.

"Teekl is home for me, and yes, I would do anything, up to and including wiping this mountain off the map to get past your shield and stab her location out of you." Black sparks snapped around Klarion's fingers.

"For the last time, witch kid, I don't have her," Nightwing growled, gripping his escrima sticks.

"Whoa, whoa. Hang on," Zatanna said, raising her hands. "What if we just… located the cat?"

"I knew it! You know where she is!" Klarion screeched.

"I mean using magic," Zatanna said with a roll of her eyes. "I can't believe I'm offering this, but if it'll get you out of my sight sooner I have a locator spell that will work if she's on Earth."

Nightwing smirked at Klarion. "Why didn't you think of that?"

Klarion sneered back. "Because chaos magic doesn't work like that. It's like you didn't absorb a single thing I taught you." Zatanna's eyebrows were now informing Nightwing that they would be having a discussion later. "And anyway," Klarion continued. "How would I know it wasn't just some trick?"

"You're right," Zatanna said. "Why don’t I just go get Doctor Fate instead?"

"Because the zeta tubes are on my side of the shield." Klarion stuck his tongue out at her, then kicked the shield again for good measure. It shimmered. Nightwing grabbed Zatanna's shoulder and turned her away from Klarion.

"How long will that shield last?" he asked in an undertone while Klarion yelled at them for ignoring him.

"It'll vanish instantly if I teleport away. We can't leave him alone in here anyway. So… Ten minutes? It would be good to get rid of him sooner though," she said, and Nightwing noticed that she was starting to sweat. "The League should be aware there's an intruder in here by now, shouldn't they?"

"Maybe. It depends on how he got in. Which is something we need to figure out, along with how he knew where to find us."

Zatanna nodded. "You have a plan?" Because Nightwing always had a plan, if not two. Or at least, he was very good at faking it.

"Sure," he said, mind whirring. "We'll trade him the cat for the info."

"Uh huh. And what's to stop him killing us both once we find the cat for him?"

"Fair point. Okay, we locate the cat, but don't tell him where she is until he agrees to let us go back to the Watchtower. We call down the location and drop Doctor Fate on his head if he tries to double cross us."

Zatanna's mouth made a complicated expression. She hated involving Doctor Fate, but when dealing with Klarion that was really the only option. "Fine."

They turned back toward Klarion only to find that he'd blacked out his side of the shield. They couldn't see anything through the shadows.

"Oh, come on. Klarion!" Nightwing shouted. "Stop sulking. We'll help you find your cat."

There was a thud that made both of them jump as Klarion pressed his face and hands to the shield like a kid looking in a shop window, shadows still thick behind him. "I don't believe you," he said.

"Zatanna will do the locator spell. But in return, we want to know how you got in here."

"What a bargain," Klarion said, dispelling the shadows on his side of the shield. "If you wanted more magic lessons, batbird, you didn't have to resort to stealing Teekl."

"For the last time— oh, forget it. Where's a lasso of truth when you need it?" Nightwing grumbled.

"Klarion," Zatanna said. "Surely you can sense Teekl to some extent? You must know she's not here."

Klarion frowned and closed his eyes. His outline wavered and then his whole form jumped, scattered, and resolved, leaving a deck of after images fading in the air around him. Nightwing and Zatanna exchanged worried glances.

"All right, fine. She's not nearby. Wherever she is, there's some other magic diffusing my sense of her." He eyed Nightwing and Zatanna suspiciously. "That doesn't mean you didn't plan this. But I accept your terms. Do your magic trick.""

"Not so fast," Zatanna said. "You're going to let us zeta to the Watchtower. When we get there, we'll relay the location to you through a communicator spell, and you'll tell us how you got here. If you don't hold up your end of the bargain, or if you do anything to damage or compromise this place, we send Doctor Fate down to deal with you."

Klarion's lip curled. "Why'd you have to bring that guy into it? No, I don't like this plan at all. You can't trust heroes." This last statement was clearly directed at Nightwing.

Nightwing flung up his arms. "Okay, fine, what if I go with you?"

"Nightwing…" Zatanna started.

"No, it's okay. You get the location, I'll guide him to wherever the cat is so he can't kill me on the way and you can scry with Fate from the Watchtower to make sure he doesn't try to pull something once he has the cat."

"I like this plan much better," Klarion said, nodding along.

"Which is a really good reason not to do it!" Zatanna hissed. The shield flickered and Klarion looked at it appraisingly. He hadn't touched it. Then he grinned and made a rapid clawing gesture, drilling shadows into the shield. Zatanna winced.

"It's this or wait 'til that shield gives out and one of us distracts him while the other makes it to the zeta. Maybe," Nightwing whispered.

Zatanna let out a frustrated growl. "Okay, fine, but why don't I go with him? I stand more of a chance against him if things go wrong."

"No thank you!" Klarion called out. "If I'm gonna potentially have the chance to kill a hostage, I'd much rather it be him." He hammered on the shield again.

"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this," Zatanna said.

"It'll be fine," Nightwing said with a grin. Zatanna didn't return it.

"All right, let me do the locator spell. You keep our guest entertained. And Nightwing, you had better not die because you owe me several explanations about this."

Nightwing's grin faltered just a fraction. "Of course."

Chapter Text

Zatanna's locator spell, performed out of sight of Klarion, marked Teekl as being in Gotham, which made Zatanna's eyebrows ask more questions and Nightwing's shoulders protest that he didn't have the answers. Gotham was good because it wasn't too far and it was home court advantage for Nightwing. It was bad because it would look kind of suspicious to Klarion, and because Nightwing didn't want a demon cat or anything that could abduct a demon cat in his city.

Zatanna lowered her shield and edged toward the zeta tubes warily. Klarion simply stood with his arms crossed, occasionally examining a fingernail until she vanished.

"Come on," Nightwing said, hoping that Zatanna and Doctor Fate were already watching. "We're taking my bike."

"Just tell me where we're going and I'll teleport us," Klarion whined, following Nightwing to the hangar.

"Hell no. I need answers from you. I'm not having you run off, find your cat, and leave me hanging." When they reached the hangar, though, Nightwing stopped short. Klarion looked around him to see what had made him pause and started laughing.

"Don't usually have passengers, do you?" he asked, circling Nightwing's obviously one-rider, sidecar-less bike. "We could always ride double. Or was that your plan all along? Zipping down a moonlit highway with your arms wrapped around me – or would you prefer to be the little spoon? You should probably talk to someone about this infatuation—"

"Klarion," Nightwing said, massaging his forehead. "Shut up." Klarion, of course, did not shut up and kept up a running commentary as Nightwing stalked over to where Sphere was resting and asked her to take super-cycle form. She did, readily, and Nightwing glared Klarion into the passenger seat, where he promptly put his feet up and his hands behind his head as they flew out through the bay doors.

Once they cleared the mountain, though, Nightwing noticed Klarion looking over the side with interest. He'd figure out where they were headed soon enough.

"Hey, now's the part where you tell me how you got into the cave," Nightwing said.

"Oh, that," Klarion said, waving a hand. "It was nothing. A little blood magic."

"Gonna need some details on that." He wasn't sure if Zatanna's scrying spell had audio, but whether she heard it now or got the info from Nightwing later, he knew enough about magic to know what she'd ask.

"I just used your blood to open a fold from where I was to where you were," Klarion explained as though he was talking to a toddler. "It was incredibly basic. You might even be able to manage it with a few years of practice."

Nightwing reminded himself that throwing Klarion out of the cycle was not allowed, especially since he had even more questions now. "Wait, you kept some of my blood?" That could be a problem. And their security certainly wasn't equipped to trigger based on someone walking through a dimensional fold and into the cave, bypassing all scans. It was definitely a good thing Zatanna had carried word back to the Watchtower. They could start working on magical wards for this kind of thing. 

Klarion gave him a pitying look. "I kept all of your blood. Superhero blood can be hard to come by, I wouldn't just waste it!"

"But… whose blood did you throw at the wall, then?" Nightwing demanded.

"Who says I threw anything at all?" Klarion asked, his smile stretching at the corners. The upward curls of his hair lengthened a little, the dark of his suit bled outward. "For that matter, who says any of what you're seeing right now is actually real?"

"Hey!" Nightwing took one hand off the controls to snap at Klarion. "No chaos magic in the cycle."

Klarion's edges came sharply into focus as he sprang back to his customary appearance, looking pleased with himself. "Humans are so easy to mess with."

Nightwing rolled his eyes. "Oh please. If this was really all some elaborate reality construct, why would you need my help finding Teekl?"

"I am obviously leading you into a dastardly trap."

"Right. So then, if I were to signal Zatanna to send down Doctor Fate now that I have my answers, that wouldn't be a problem for you at all?"

Klarion opened his mouth, then closed it again when he realized he didn't have a clever retort. "Shut up."

They flew in blessed silence for a few minutes before Klarion spoke again. "Why don't you?"

"What? Signal for Fate? We are the good guys, Klarion. I said I'd take you to your cat and I meant it."

Klarion studied him with narrowed eyes and a searching expression for a few moments. "Oh!" he said at last. "You feel guilty. Because of that little show you put on on the island! Excellent, you should, you're a horrible person. How long can I cash in on this? Any chance you'll show me the Batcave? Steal Nabu's helmet for me?"

"Klarion," Nightwing said warningly.

"Retire from hero-ing altogether? Cat-sit when I'm out of town?"

Nightwing directed the super-cycle down precipitously so that she landed on the roof of a building in Gotham's warehouse district with a thump that almost made Klarion bite his tongue.

"We're here."

Klarion looked around suspiciously. "I can't help but notice we're in Gotham."

"Yeah. And your cat's in this warehouse. Have fun!"

"In this suspicious-looking warehouse in the middle of your territory. I don't think so." Before Nightwing could insist once again that he'd had nothing to do with Teekl's disappearance, Klarion grabbed his arm, turned them both insubstantial, and phased through the roof of the warehouse and all the way down to the open floor. He let Nightwing go and they both resolidified abruptly.

"What the hell, Klarion?" Nightwing complained, dancing a few steps away from him for good measure. Dematerializing was not an experience he'd been prepared for. And neither was—

"Oooh, the witch boy and the bat brat. It must be my lucky day," sang a voice from the shadows near the wall. The warehouse was cavernous and empty, lit only by moonlight from an enormous skylight above. Into this patch of gray light stepped the Joker.

"Of course," Nightwing sighed. He pulled out his escrima sticks wearily, settling into a crouch to be ready for whatever was coming next. The Joker was holding a switchblade in one hand and a box with slatted sides in the other. It dangled from his fingers by a rusty iron ring set into the top and the sides seemed to have once had a pattern to them, though it was too faded to make out now. Through the gaps in the slats, Nightwing could just make out a bit of yellow.

"Teekl! Let her go!" Klarion demanded, drawing shadows around one of his hands.

"Ah, ah!" the Joker cautioned, waving the switchblade. "This is plenty sharp, and fits through the slats so nicely."

Klarion halted, though he was still clearly considering trying his speed against the Joker's. "What do you think Savage will have to say about this? I told him he shouldn't work with you!" he shouted.

Nightwing began edging backward slowly. He was eyeing the walls, looking for stairs, a ladder, anything to get him some height and maybe roof access. He'd let these two duke it out and hang around to pick up the pieces – which would hopefully include hauling the Joker back to Arkham, take that Batman and your lengthy missions abroad.

"Savage knew exactly where my loyalties lived when he sprung me. Right here in dear old Gotham City," the Joker replied. "When I found this darling box in one of Ra's' fusty old ruins I knew it would be just perfect for your kitty cat. After all, one bad turn deserves another, wouldn't you say?" He ran the knife down the slats with a clatter.

"This isn't the same at all!" Klarion stamped his foot. Nightwing was a good yard behind him now, eyeing the catwalk that ran around the walls up near the windows. He could reach it with a line, but he'd have to be quick after that. Better if they were already fighting before he tried it. "I stole your toy, so you steal a part of me? How is that anything like even?"

"Oh witch boy, don't you know all the little bats are like family to me?" the Joker said sweetly and Nightwing realized suddenly that the Joker's attention had never once been anywhere but on him.

"Gag me with a spoon," Nightwing sneered. "Give him the cat back and I'll make sure you get your favorite cell at Arkham this time."

The Joker licked his lips. "You know, witchy kiddie," he said, though his gaze remained on Nightwing. "Batman's been working so hard chasing me all over the Middle East, I wanted to leave him a nice surprise for when he comes home. If our former Boy Wonder here is just a toy to you, why not trade up? Wrap him up nice and pretty for me and I'll happily hand over the cat."

Nightwing scoffed. "You have got to be—"

"Sure," Klarion said with an easy shrug. He snapped his fingers and shadows lunged for Nightwing.

Nightwing was already moving. He sheathed the escrima sticks and shot a line to the catwalk, flying out of the way of the shadows. They came crashing together like an inky ocean in his wake. He landed on the rail of the catwalk and began sprinting its length, flinging batarangs to the warehouse floor as he went, all aimed at the Joker. If he could shatter that box and free Teekl, Klarion would leave and Nightwing would be left with just the Joker – much more manageable in a direct conflict. Of course, Doctor Fate would hopefully be showing up even before then. Any minute now, in fact. Surely.

As the Joker spun and ducked out of the way of the batarangs below, cackling madly, a wall of darkness loomed in front of Nightwing. He flipped backward on the rail to avoid it, then dodged out of the way of another shadow by leaping to one of the catwalk's suspension poles and swinging out and around it. The dodge would have been effective, if not for the detonator the Joker now held in lieu of the switchblade.

Nightwing's section of catwalk exploded in a cacophony of orange and red and Nightwing was in stunned freefall for several seconds before instinct had him firing a line at a stable section – which then exploded as well with a gleeful whoop from the Joker. Nightwing's line went slack and he twisted in the air desperately, looking for a hold or anything to slow his descent.

He didn't find one. One of Klarion's shadows caught him by the ankle, yanking him away from the crumpling ruin of the catwalk and snapping him toward the ground. Nightwing curled, protecting his head, and struck the ground on his side. Maybe Klarion expected him to be dazed after that, because the shadow let go, but Nightwing's body knew what to do. He was already rolling to his feet, pulling an escrima stick, and launching it precisely where he knew the Joker would be. Before the baton hit its mark, Klarion's shadows curled around Nightwing's wrists and ankles, hauling the former behind his back and binding the latter together so that he over-balanced. The shadows transfigured into ropes instantly, leaving Nightwing struggling on the ground, but the escrima stick had flown true. There was a crack, an audible gasp from Klarion, and one pissed-off yowl from Teekl. Craning his neck, Nightwing saw Klarion swoop in and gather Teekl to his chest. He stuck his tongue out at the Joker and vanished abruptly.

Unfortunately, the ropes tying Nightwing did not vanish and he found himself on the dusty floor of a warehouse with his hands tied behind his back and his ankles bound, staring up at the Joker.

"Well, I guess the trade worked out after all!" the Joker said. If he was a little surprised to have gotten exactly what he wanted, it didn't slow him down. He flicked out the switchblade while Nightwing struggled into a sitting position, legs out in front of him. "I'm so glad I get to leave Batsy a present." He leaned over and grabbed Nightwing by the hair, tipping his face up and bringing the switchblade close to his cheek. "I think he'd like it if you were smiling, don't you?"

Nightwing braced his bound hands on the floor behind him then drew his knees up and thrust out with both feet, catching the Joker in the chest. The Joker fell back with a grunt (and with several hairs in his fist), but bounced back to his feet with a laugh.

"That's right! Wouldn't want dear old batdad to think you went down without a fight. Don't worry, I'll make it look good," he said. In those few seconds, though, Nightwing had already contorted himself to bring his hands around to the front. The Joker didn't seem to care. He drew his hand back to slash at Nightwing's face. Nightwing caught the Joker's hand in his tied ones, rocking back with the force of the Joker's swing.

The Joker pulled back, then spun into a kick that Nightwing had no hope of dodging in his current position. It caught him in the ribs and he fell to his side as the air violently left his lungs. Around him, bits of fire and hot metal were falling from the damaged catwalks. The Joker kicked him again, knocking him onto his stomach. Nightwing stretched out his hands, reaching for a piece of catwalk that looked sharp enough. But then the Joker jumped onto his back and the bruising around the still-healing claw wounds exploded in agony. All thought of grabbing a weapon was obliterated as Nightwing cried out in pain.

"Oh, did I strike a nerve? Or old wounds, perhaps?" the Joker wondered, crouching on Nightwing's back like a gargoyle and concentrating all his weight into the two points of his feet. He shifted his weight from foot to foot like a cat and Nightwing, arms still outstretched, ground his forehead into the floor and clenched his teeth hard enough he thought they might break.

"Well, it's been fun," the Joker said, and suddenly the weight on Nightwing's back was gone as the Joker straddled him instead. He got a fist in Nightwing's hair again and pulled back, curving Nightwing's back like a bow and exposing his throat. "You know," the Joker whispered, leaning close to Nightwing's ear. "Maybe you should have stayed Robin. Then Batman would be here with you right now instead of out running around with your replacement." The blade touched the side of Nightwing's throat – and then vanished with the thud of an armored fist striking a face.

The Joker went flying off to the side as a silhouette Nightwing knew very well loomed in the light from the fire above. Nightwing fell forward on his elbows, weak with relief.

"Batman! You're early," the Joker said, getting slowly to his feet and edging back as Batman took a protective step between him and Nightwing.

But their face-off was short-lived. Above them, the catwalk gave a hideous groan, shuddered, and abruptly plummeted with a scream of metal. Nightwing barely had time to think about trying move out of the way when Batman grabbed him around the torso and swung him away from the collapse, crouching over him and shielding them both in the familiar, heavy folds of his cape.

The catwalk didn't take long to fall, and the worst was over before Nightwing had managed to saw through even one loop of rope with the batarang he'd quietly borrowed from Batman's utility belt, his own batarangs having been mostly expended in the fight (and he did not want to try to saw his way through these ropes using the remaining exploding/electrified/smoke bomb ones). When it was clear, Batman thrust the cape behind himself and plucked the batarang from Nightwing's hand to slice through the ropes himself.

"I've got this, get the Joker," Nightwing protested even as the ropes fell away from his hands. The ankles went even quicker.

"He's already gone."

"What? We have to—"

"No, we don't."

Nightwing was fluent in Batman, and that particular tone meant I have a plan. I am not going to be telling you this plan where I think there's the slightest chance we might be overheard. He sighed. Batman rose, scanning the warehouse in his habitual manner. Nightwing got to his feet more slowly beside him.

"I'm gone for a few days and you throw a party," Batman commented drily as the last bits of fire and metal fell to the ground. Nightwing laughed, then winced and even the barest trace of humor erased itself from what was visible of Batman's face. "Back to the cave."

"I've got the super-cycle on the roof."

"I noticed. Can you manage it?"

"It is an extraterrestrial shapeshifting AI. She can manage me," Nightwing pointed out.

"In that case, you're riding with me." Batman held up a hand against Nightwing's inevitable protest. "You know the rules. No alien tech in the Batcave unless I've vetted it. Tell her to go back to Mount Justice."

"Maybe I'll go with her. You don't have to take care of me anymore, you know."

Batman considered him for a long moment. "I know."

"I need to find out what happened to Zatanna and Doctor Fate anyway. They were supposed to be my backup tonight."

Batman's mouth turned into a hard line. "Were they."

Nightwing suddenly found himself wondering what Batman's contingency plan was for Doctor Fate. He shook his head and pulled out a grappling gun, hoping he hadn't just started any League drama. "Speaking of backup," he said, scanning for a structurally secure place to fire. This was going to hurt a bit, but it beat having to climb a fire escape or something. "Where's Robin?"

"Home," Batman said. While Nightwing was scanning for grappling points, Batman was scanning him with narrowed eyes. Which was why Batman missed the yellow flicker of fabric flashing across the corner of the skylight.

"Really," Nightwing said mildly. He found his mark and fired, the grapple shattering a large pane of glass and catching on the edge. He braced himself and retracted the line, shooting upward, curling, and passing neatly through the hole he'd made. His back complained, but it was nothing compared to having the Joker jump on it. Batman was close behind him, though his bulk ended up bursting through an additional pane next to the one Nightwing had broken. Glass shards tinkled off his cape unnoticed, along with splinters of wood.

"Really. He's not ready for Joker," Batman said, continuing the conversation as though they'd merely stepped outside.

Nightwing winced. He was fairly sure that Robin had hidden himself behind the warehouse's electrical access box on the other side of the skylight and had therefore definitely heard that. He was about to point out that if Robin was good enough to follow Batman here unnoticed – and he definitely hadn't noticed, or he'd never have said that – then he was probably good enough to hold his own in any fight that also included Batman.

But before he could say anything, Zatanna popped into existence next to him.

"Nightwing! I'm so sorry!"

"Z, what happened? Where's Doctor Fate?" Nightwing asked, forgetting Robin for the moment. "Are you all right?" He could feel Batman looming behind him, disapproval rolling off of him in waves. From the look on Zatanna's face, she could too.

"Yes, we're both fine. We were on our way as soon as Klarion touched you, but when he dragged you through the ceiling he also immediately warded the whole building. We came, but we couldn't get in. We couldn't even see the building at that point. Then a little while later Klarion burst out of there with Teekl and the wards dropped, but Doctor Fate said Batman was close by and we should go after Klarion—"

"And did you apprehend him?" Batman asked. He asked it the way he asked all questions: like he already knew the answer and was waiting to be lied to.

"Well, no," Zatanna said. "He did leave this plane, though. So I came back to check on you. Fate went back to the Watchtower."

Seeing the expression on her face, Batman's own softened just an iota. "Given the information he had, I would have made the same call," he said.

"No," Zatanna said, crossing her arms. "You would have made sure Nightwing was all right first. Because even Batman has more empathy than Doctor Fate."

"Z, it's fine," Nightwing said. "Let's go back to Mount Justice and—"

"Nightwing, we need to debrief. At the Batcave," Batman interrupted. Nightwing sighed. Batman did have more empathy than Doctor Fate but that wasn't saying much.

"Right. Zatanna can you and Sphere head back, then? I'll be there as soon as I can."

Zatanna smiled thinly at him. "Sure. Have him home by sunrise, Bats," she said with a tip of her hat. Then she sauntered over to Sphere, hopped in, and flew off.

"Is the debrief really so important it couldn't wait a few hours?" Nightwing asked.

"Yes," said Batman, sweeping across the roof to where the Batplane was cloaked.

"Fine. You coming, Robin?" he called. Seeing Batman look surprised for about one sixteenth of a second when Robin slid out from his hiding spot with a scowl almost made the whole night worth it.

Chapter Text

The ride back to the cave was tense, the silence brittle. When they landed, Robin hopped out first and vanished up the stairs. Nightwing hoped he had saved a little of his demonstrated stealthiness because he risked incurring Alfred's wrath if he was caught upstairs in costume.

"Are you injured?" Batman asked. He pulled off his cowl and headed for the main computer to start a new log.

"Just sore," Nightwing answered, rotating a shoulder. "I don't think anything opened up."

A quick glance satisfied Batman that he was telling the truth. Nightwing pulled off his mask and started running suit diagnostics while Batman sat in front of the computer, watching him from the corners of his eyes. "So," Batman said finally. "What happened tonight?"

Dick cast about for a beginning and realized that it had been weeks ago. "You read my notes on the Joker?"

"Yes. Your conclusions were accurate. The Joker has been working with Ra's. We don't know Ra's current plan or why it requires the Joker, but I intend to find out."

It finally clicked. "Oh. That's why you let the Joker go so easily tonight. You got a tracker on him."

Batman nodded. "It'll help us figure out how he got back to Gotham so quickly and hopefully give us a clue about Ra's next move. I suspect there's more alien tech involved. It would help," he said with a pointed look at Dick, "to know what happened here."

"All right, all right. I'm assuming you saw the team debrief about what happened with Klarion earlier this month."

"I saw it." And I know you left some things out of it, the spaces between his words practically screamed. Dick ignored them and quickly explained the evening's events that had led to him fighting Klarion and the Joker in an exploding warehouse. Batman leaned back in the chair, bringing steepled fingers to his lips.

"We'll have to see about warding Mount Justice," Batman said.

"I'll take care of it."

"It won't be a simple spell. If Klarion has your blood—"

"I know, Bruce."

"If you saved Teekl, why would Klarion assume you'd stolen her?" Batman asked abruptly. Dick stared at him. "On the island," Batman clarified. "You told Jason that Klarion let you go after you saved her. Why would Klarion think you'd then turned around and endangered her?"

Dick sighed. He had been naïve to think he wouldn't have to talk about this with Batman eventually. "He did let me go after I saved her, but not because I saved her. He had no intention of letting me go even then. Or ever, as far as I could tell. But the whole time he had me on that island, I had been trying… well, there was something he said in the pocket dimension... okay I'm just gonna say it. I made a pass at him and it pissed him off so much he threw me back to Gotham."

Dick had the dubious satisfaction of seeing Batman surprised a second time that night, a pleasure which lasted all of two seconds before the questions started. These weren't Batman's usual I'm-only-asking-to-confirm-what-I-already-know questions. These were his information mining questions, drilling for every detail, from exact wording to recollections of facial expressions and everything in between. Oddly, Batman's logic-driven, impersonal questioning actually made it easier to talk about. He was fact gathering, putting together a profile, business as usual.

Then Batman abruptly switched off and Bruce was looking at Dick like he was a Rubik's cube whose colors had just spontaneously aligned.

"Dick. You need to talk to someone about this."

"…as opposed to what I just did?" Dick said, leaning against a console with crossed arms.

"I mean it. You were held hostage for an unknown period of time, completely dependent on Teekl for survival. You bonded with them both to escape and now you're experiencing guilt – passive guilt, by the way – about your actions during a traumatic experience."

"Pretended to bond with them, Bruce."

Bruce raised his eyebrows at him. "I know you, Dick. You don't do things with half your heart. Klarion hurt you, then gave you hope, acted alternately friendly and threatening while making sure you stayed sleep-deprived and dependent, then abruptly shut you out and told you it was your fault. You lied to your team and to Jason about how you escaped when you had no need to – two different lies, no less, when I know you're better than that. Then Klarion comes back and easily manipulates you into helping him?" Bruce cocked his head. "It's possible his eventual plan actually is to make you a lord of chaos like him."

Dick stared at Bruce, sitting there like he hadn't just completely deconstructed Dick, like what Dick had experienced in these past few weeks was so simple, so obvious.

"Trauma-associated guilt, Dick. Talk to Canary. You wouldn't be the only one. Several League members—"

"But not you," Dick interrupted. "Who does Batman talk to? Because clearly you're having some kind of problem with Jason." He was aware that he was being defensive, deflecting to protect himself, but he needed desperately to be out from under scrutiny at that moment, needed breathing room. Dick was good at levers and buttons. He lashed out at Bruce's most obvious one. "The kid is capable – more than capable, impressive. Is it the anger issues? Something I'm missing? What the hell has you so afraid of making full use of him?"

Batman was back now, staring stonily at Dick from the chair. The silence thickened. Dick broke first, as he always did, shoving away from the counter and planning to zeta away immediately.

"It's not Jason I doubt," Bruce said when his back was turned, making Dick look back so quickly he thought he might have pulled something. "It's myself. I'm worried I'm going to get him hurt. When we're in the field, it's… jarring. He's as skilled as you were, yet he uses those skills so differently. Sometimes I completely misread him. I wonder if he might be better off on his own." Like you.

Dick's mind flailed wildly for a moment, trying to find its figurative footing in the face of Batman – Bruce – hell, both – actually talking to him. Confessing. Seeking help.

"That's— You know where he'd be on his own? In juvie, or on the streets in God knows what kind of trouble. This is normal, Bruce." A corner of Bruce's mouth twitched up and Dick had to smile too. "Okay, not normal-normal. I meant it's normal to have to adjust. How many missions did it take me before I figured out how to work with the team instead of just running off on my own and expecting them to follow?" Dick rubbed the back of his head, trying to remember what Bruce had told him when he'd been having that problem with the team all those years ago. Oh, right. He hadn't told Bruce about it or come to him for advice, not wanting to disappoint him with his inability to lead. So, he just said what he felt. "It'll come, but you have to trust yourself. And Jason. And maybe, you know, verbalize some of this because Jason doesn't speak five different dialects of silence and he probably thinks you're pissed at him all the time or something." Was he seriously standing here lecturing Bruce on teamwork and interpersonal communication skills? Had he hit his head?

But Bruce was nodding. "That's sound advice."

"Yeah. Well. So was yours," Dick admitted. "Maybe I'll talk to Canary. It's just… I don't know." Dick hopped up onto the console and put his elbows on his knees. He remembered back when he'd been a kid and done this, and Batman would watch him like a hawk in case he kicked a switch or sat on something fragile, but he never once had. Batman had stopped caring years ago and now it was just a fact of the Batcave: everything except actual chairs counted as chairs to Dick. Just another habit, another piece of the life they'd built in this cave, history and context both comforting and confining. "I'm an adult now, right? Shouldn't I be able to deal with things on my own?"

"No." Bruce's response was swift and firm, enough so that Dick looked at him in surprise. "Your problems only get more complex as you get older. That's especially true for people like us," he elaborated. "So, it makes sense that the solutions should be more complex, as well. You, Dick, have spent your entire childhood building yourself an elaborate network of colleagues and friends with different skill sets. You wouldn't hesitate to call on them for a mission; this is no different."

"Okay. That's… I mean, does that include you?"

"What?"

"I mean, what if I wanted to talk to you? About stuff like this. Post-mission stuff, not just debriefs. I know I'm not really your responsibility anymore—"

"Dick," Bruce said. He stood and put his hands on Dick's shoulders, looking him in the eyes. "I will always feel responsible for you. A new costume and a new name can't change that. And you can always come to me, no matter what. I just assumed that you would prefer someone… more removed."

"Maybe I would have, before. But it's nice to be able to talk to someone who really knows me, you know?"

Bruce nodded. "I know the feeling." He clasped Dick's shoulder before backing away to lean against another part of the console.

"Which, I've gotta say, does bring up the question again of who does Batman talk to," Dick said, though his tone was light this time. "Because I find it hard to believe you're sitting down for heart-to-hearts with Black Canary."

"If you must know, I talk to Alfred."

"Oh, duh. Of course."

"…and Clark."

Dick about fell off the console. "What? With your whole if-Superman-goes-evil-we're-doomed hang-up, you're… you're willingly giving him information about the innermost workings of your mind?"

"It's not a hang-up, it's a contingency plan, and it will work whether or not Clark knows that worrying about my kids sometimes keeps me up at night."

"You're Batman, you're always up at night."

Bruce gave him a flat look. "It will also work whether or not Clark knows how often I consider strangling said children." Dick's laugh echoed, tripping out as brightly and easily as ever and Bruce's expression thawed immediately. "I don't think I've told you how much of a relief it was when you decided to become Nightwing."

Dick's laughter changed to a mild frown. "A relief?"

"Yes. You could have been Robin as long as you wanted, of course, and I can think of no one I'd rather see take on the mantle of Batman should it become necessary. But I am so proud that you've grown into someone who neither wants nor needs it."

 Dick took a deep breath. "Wow." His eyes felt suspiciously hot. "So. Um. That's good." Part of him wondered if Bruce was just using his absurd insight and observation skills to say exactly what Dick needed to hear, but a bigger part knew that was just the skepticism Batman himself had trained into him. Bruce wouldn't do that. "I guess we're okay, then."

Bruce smiled. "We're okay."

Dick hopped off the console. "Good. As long as you're being all weirdly emotive, then, get changed and go upstairs," he said, giving Bruce a nudge in the proper direction. "Jason could probably stand to hear some touchy-feely stuff."

"You worry about him," Bruce observed, letting Dick herd him away from the computer.

"Yeah, well, he got adopted by a crazy person and I can relate."

"And will you be spending the night in this crazy person's house?"

Dick's glance at the cave's zeta tube was all the answer Bruce needed.

"Right. Go check on Zatanna. I suppose it was selfish of me to insist on bringing you back here, but… I worry."

"No. I think we both needed it. Bruce – thanks." And before he could escape, Dick wrapped his arms around Bruce in a tight hug that he definitely should have seen coming. Dick had always been prone to physical displays of affection. Bruce stood stiffly for a few seconds before caving and hugging Dick back, albeit briefly. Dick released him with a grin and a wave as he turned to the zeta tube.

"I'll stop in more often now. I have a feeling 2015 is going to be a good year."

Chapter Text

Klarion was hovering reclined in mid-air, arms behind his head and one knee propped up on nothing with the other leg angled across it. Teekl was circling on his chest, pin-prick claws plucking at the construction of clothing that was his habitual outfit on this plane. She'd settle in a curl, then get back up again a moment later to re-tenderize him. She was restless, just as he was.

They were in Klarion's quarters in Vandal Savage's current lair. There wasn't much to his room, because if Klarion needed creature comforts he just skipped over to a dimension that had them. Here on Savage's plane, he had just a few accoutrements of his craft: thick tomes whose edges were soft with age, assorted mystical weapons for rituals, Nightwing's blood magically suspended in a jar to prevent coagulation, and a scattering of crystals and focus stones.

Klarion rolled over onto his stomach, leaving Teekl to scramble to his back instead, and considered the jar of blood. Being a chaotic creature, he didn't typically plan things, and would have been amused to hear Batman's assessment of his intentions regarding Nightwing. His analysis of Klarion's actions had been accurate, yes, but if he thought Klarion had planned to shove Nightwing into chaos lordship at any time before the words had actually left his mouth on the island, then he was overestimating Klarion by a considerable margin.

Teekl, on the other hand…

"You see something in him, don't you?" Klarion mused, dropping out of the air to land on his feet. He caught Teekl and placed her on his shoulder so he could pick up the jar of blood with both hands and peer at it. "What do you think? Should we drop in on our friend and push him a little further? I always wanted— ACK!"

The jar exploded in Klarion's hands, spraying a fine mist of blood over both him and Teekl, who arched her back and hissed. Klarion stared at his hands for a moment, completely nonplussed. Then the splatter of blood began to hiss too, blending with Teekl's complaint as it superheated and then evaporated entirely, leaving no hint that it had ever been there save for some purple irritation mark's on Klarion's skin and a few faintly smoking patches of fur on Teekl.

"Or… perhaps not," Klarion decided with a shrug.

At Mount Justice

"Okay, you can step out now," Zatanna said.

"Can I blow out the candle?" Nightwing asked.

"No. You must keep it burning for the rest of eternity," Zatanna said with a roll of her eyes. She'd explained it twice already.

"Well excuse me for wanting to double check so my blood doesn't boil," Nightwing said. He stepped out of the protective circle Zatanna had chalked on the ground for the ritual. Kaldur was standing by in case something went wrong as they worked to eliminate the threat that was Nightwing's blood in Klarion's hands.

"That should take care of any traces of blood outside of your own body," Kaldur confirmed. "And I believe Doctor Fate has completed the wards in case Klarion or any other magic-user tries something else to get in."

"He'll bounce off them like a bird hitting a window," Zatanna said with vicious satisfaction. Nightwing put his hand to the emblem on his chest and gave her a scandalized look, to which she responded by blowing out the fat white candle he still held in his other hand. Wax spattered onto his chest and he sighed. Zatanna smirked at him, then looped one arm through his and the other through Kaldur's, steering them toward the kitchen and lounge.

"So, plans for New Year's?" she asked.

"There will be celebrations in Atlantis. I plan to spend it with Garth and Tula. You are welcome to join us," Kaldur offered.

"Thanks, but I'm going to be out in California with Artemis looking for trouble. Nightwing?"

"I'll be with Batman and Robin."

"He's got you working on New Year's Eve?" Zatanna asked. "Don't tell me you volunteered."

"I volunteered," Nightwing said with a grin as Zatanna groaned.

"Workaholic."

"I don't mind," Nightwing said. "Fireworks are better from a gargoyle's point of view."

"Just as long as you do not overwork yourself, my friend. This quiet from the Light cannot last much longer," said Kaldur.

Nightwing thought of flying between Gotham's high rises, swooping to its streets and back up again, showing Jason the best spots to watch the city's fireworks display, saving lives, and almost laughed to hear it called work. "No worries about that. I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be."

And it was true.