Chapter Text
There was a single moment of panic when Dick first woke up as his analog alarm clock flashed the numbers 06:20 at him. Shooting upright in bed, he scrambled to turn the nearby lamp on. Shit, he needed to be at the station in ten minutes, he was never going to hear the end of this, he'd probably be put on paperwork all day - as Dick moved, his elbow knocked into his alarm clock. The analog numbers flickered, flashing through different combinations before landing on 05:00am. Dick was left, sat there in the amber glow of his lamp, frowning down at the little black box. He reached out and smacked it lightly on the top with his fist, watching the numbers flicker again before settling on 05:01.
Letting out a long groan, Dick rubbed his hand over his face, palm grating along the scruff on his jaw. Fourth time this month his alarm clock had randomly spouted 06:20. One of these days it was actually going to give him a premature heart attack.
Still blinking to adjust to the changing light, Dick patted around blindly under his pillows to find his phone. When he finally felt his hand close around it, he rolled out of bed and dragged himself into the bathroom across the hall. His little bachelor pad in Bludhaven wasn't all that big, but it was cozy – and it had running water that didn't smell like sewage, which for Bludhaven, was a bonus.
Setting his phone down on the edge of the sink, he scrolled through his activity feed as he washed his face. Nothing too exciting, apparently. Barbara and Tim were working on a case together, got a few leads after patrol last night. Damian had shattered a crook's femur unprovoked and was benched for the week, though that was hardly surprising. Nothing from Jason, even less surprising. The only other missed message was from Kaldur'ahm about a dosier for the Team's next mission. Dick paused in his reading to shave, dragging the razor with practiced ease along his skin, before washing the shaving cream away and patting his face dry. Reaching over to his phone, he picked it up and unlocked it with the intention of responding to Kaldur.
The moment he unlocked the device it froze, the screen shorting out before going black and rebooting. Dick frowned, smacking it against his palm a few times as if that would solve anything. “You've gotta be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath. The damn thing was brand new, too.
Frustrated as he was, he knew a lost cause when he saw one. Returning to his bedroom, Dick pulled on his Police Uniform, slipping on the belts, and buttons, and badge with memorized ease. By the time he returned to the bathroom, the phone had rebooted. Dick stuffed it in his pocket as he headed out into the kitchen. Pulling a bowl down from the cupboard, Dick poured himself a bowl of Cheerios. With chocolate milk. Because he was an adult.
And sometimes adults made mistakes, like pouring chocolate milk in Cheerios.
Making a face at the bad combination, Dick muscled through and continued eating. Cradling his bowl in one hand, he leaned against the counter top and flicked on the nearby radio. Might as well listen to something while he was eating (though he had to remind himself to take care not to spill the chocolate milk on his uniform – really not the best idea he'd had).
It was already set to the station he usually listened to in the morning, a usually tolerable news station with music breaks, just to tune back into the waking world. Dick shoveled a mouthful of cheerios into his mouth as the newsroom music transitioned into the broadcast.
“Temperatures will cool down along the north east coast this week, with scattered thunderstorms expected in New York City, Gotham, Metropolis, Boston, and Washington DC. But, don't break out those fall coats just yet, because we still have a few days left of warm weather before that cold front sweeps in and brings Autumn along with it.”
Dick listened idly as he ate, drinking the milk out of the bowl in lieu of his broken coffee machine (shorted out a few days ago, sparks flying and everything). A little bit dribbled down his chin, even as he quickly pulled it away and wiped as his face with a dish towel.
“Yesterday evening the Mayor of Gotham City held a ne- …. huh....ference with Police Commissioner James Gordon on pre-....eh.... el.... measures against gang re- ….puh..... violence and recruitment fro- ….k......city schools. New initia- ….ah.....lude a increa- ….enh....tuh......ter school activities and funding in extra curri-”
Frowning down at the radio, Dick tapped against the top to try to get the signal to clear up. Some kind of interference was messing with the station, so far as he could tell. That, or he just needed a new radio. When static overtook the broadcast completely, Dick resorted to just switching the channel. Settling on a pop music station, he tossed his dish towel to the side and continued eating.
“We'll be right back with more of today's Top 20 hits after a short commercial break,” A burst of upbeat music cut through the apartment. “This weekend only, come down to Sal's Hardware Dep- ...fuh.....best deals on all your ho-.... ruh.....ation needs. Up to 25% off store wide, with buy one ge- …..eeh.... cordless hammer drills!”
Dick huffed and shut it off. Needed a new radio then. He wouldn't have bothered, after all no one listened to the radio anymore, but Bruce had always hammered it into him that battery powered radios were essential for getting information during power outages and disasters. But they were so expensive. He'd think about it.
Downing the last of his breakfast, Dick grabbed his phone and wallet, stuffing them into his carrier bag. As he reached across the counter for his keys, his hand briefly passed by an old framed photo of Wally, who grinned as a seventeen year old Dick jumped on his back, sitting against the tile back splash. He smiled to himself for a fraction of a moment before grabbing his keys and heading out the door. Dick locked up his apartment, tossed the keys into his bag, and began fishing through his wallet for his bus pass as he headed down the stairwell down the hall.
Once his bus pass was found and easily accessible in his back pocket, Dick took out his phone and a pair of head phones. He opened up his music and hit play just as he made it to the street level and headed out toward the bus stop. To be honest, he wasn't really listening to the song itself, just wanted some background music. Leaning against the outside of the shelter, Dick watched as the bus he was waiting for came around the corner, heading toward him through the steam of a manhole cover like some phantom. It was a pretty gloomy morning, the sky turning grey as day approached, the no sight of the sun behind a thick cloud cover.
“....I'm addicted to being broken. Take my breath aw-... fuh.....ou know I'm bou-.... ruh.....oke. When I close m- ...eeh....still see your ghost.”
Dick froze. Looking down at his phone, his frowned morphed into confusion and dread as he watched his phone screen go fuzzy, the song dissolving into static. He yanked the earphone jack out. The glitching stopped. This wasn't a radio, no interfering signals...
He'd been looking down at his phone for so long, he didn't realize that the bus had stopped in front of him until the doors nearly closed. Shaking himself out of his stupor, Dick lurched forward to wave to the driver. With a muttered apology, he tapped his pass on the payment terminal and moved to find a seat at the back of the bus.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
If there was one thing Dick had learned during his short time with the police so far, it was that there was nothing they dealt with that was as dangerous and terrifying as two middle aged women in a domestic disagreement.
“So, as you can see, Officer, the tree is clearly on my side of the property line-”
“It's planted on my side of the fence, Helen!”
“And the branches I took the pears from are leaning over my side. They were on my property.”
“I've had this tree for ten years before you moved in, the couple that lived in your house before you never once-”
Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay,” he sighed as he closed his notepad. He'd been pretending to take down statements for the past twenty minutes. “Mrs. O'Conner, Mrs. Santiago, I'm afraid there isn't much for the police to get involved in here. No laws are being broken so far as I can see. Unless you want to cut the tree down, I suggest you talk it out between yourselves.”
With a few apologies responding to their chorus of disbelief and rage, Dick retreated back to his squad car, waving to the husbands of the feuding women, who were currently sitting in lawn chairs in one the their garages, sharing a case of beer. He just barely heard one of the women shouting “Marvin!” in total betrayal as he slid into the passenger seat.
“Sounds like you had fun,” his partner commented.
Dick groaned as he settled into his seat, pulling on his seat belt as the car pulled away. “Remind me to never play rock-paper-scissors with you again.”
The older woman grinned back at him, sun-aged skin crinkling at the corners of her eyes. “I'm the undefeated precinct champion,” she said with an elbow nudge to his shoulder. “Besides, I've done my time. You need the experience.”
“This isn't exactly experience I had in mind,” Dick admitted.
“Hey, you want to make Detective, right?” she jibbed. “You've gotta start at the bottom, Grayson. Even if that means working the beat.”
Dick shrugged. His partner, Officer Lewis, had been a beat cop for twenty years, as long as she'd been on the force. “I don't think there's nothing wrong with being a beat cop. Just wish it involved less PTA moms about to smack down.”
Lewis snickered. “Sometimes I wish they actually did.”
“Maybe that's why their husbands took the lawn chairs.”
The two of them laughed as the car pulled out of the suburbs. Dick supposed it could be worse – he could be on traffic duty, and that was always a damn nightmare. Nothing but ruining peoples' days, and standing quietly as they screamed at you over parking meters. Dick hadn't thought being a cop would be all epic chases and drug busts. No, his nightly hobby had enough of that. But he had hoped it would be a bit less tedious. Can't have it all, he supposed. It wasn't all bad, though. He always got his coffee for free.
Dick leaned his head against the window as the car rolled over the bridge from Bludhaven and into Gotham South. As soon as they landed, the familiar streets he'd grown up in swallowed him whole. They didn't often cross from Bludhaven into the city center, but he and Lewis were picking up some case files from a precinct across the rover. They passed the walls of Gotham Academy, and then down a few blocks past Galaxy Palace Arcade, and Saltwater Shake Co. He thought he might try to convince Lewis to stop there on their way back to Bludhaven. Passing by a brief view of the bay, they finally stopped at the police station. Lewis shut the car off and slipped out. Dick followed.
“You comin' in?” Lewis asked as she rounded the car.
Dick shrugged and leaned against the car. “I'm good. Need the fresh air.”
“Fresh air?” Lewis raised her brow. “In Gotham?”
“Fresh-ish.”
“Suit yourself, Grayson,” Lewis shrugged. With a brief wave over her shoulder, she headed across the pavement and up the steps to the precinct doors.
With his hands in his pockets, Dick let his head fall back as he leaned against the passenger door of the car. The clouds lazily drifted overhead, still giving no chance for the sun to pierce through. As he dropped his head, Dick's gaze swept over the city block. There was a lot of history in these streets – a thought he remembered having when he visited Central City in June. When he'd met Rudolph West for lunch. That meeting still left a strong impression on him.
Down the street, Dick watched as a group of students clad in the familiar uniform of Gotham Academy flooded around the corner. They shook their hair out, loosened their ties, undid their shirt buttons, tied their blazers around their waists. All the while, they laughed and rough housed with one another, shushing each other when they realized a cop was watching. Dick only laughed and nodded his head, silently telling them they were good. The rough housing continued again as soon as they passed him.
As they rounded the next corner, Dick's eyes trailed from them and to the opening to one of the city's parks on the other side of the street. A monument to the Reach Invasion had been erected at the mouth of the trail leading into the park. A few wreaths and bundles of flowers had been laid at the bottom of the obelisk shaped monolith, underneath a simple brass plaque giving details of the global disaster. A man and woman in their early forties stood in front of it, the man's draped around her shoulders.
Checking the street for traffic, Dick made his way across the road and down the sidewalk toward the park. He came up a few feet back from the base of the monument, just staring at it and the assortment of flowers (some fresh, most wilting) scattered around it.
“Hard to believe it's been two years, huh?”
Dick glanced over at the couple. The man had spoken, giving what Dick could only assume was his wife's shoulder a squeeze. He wasn't exactly a licensed Detective yet, but the matching rings were a good give away. Dick nodded, offering a smile. “Yeah,” he replied. “Seems like a lifetime ago at the same time.”
“I know what you mean,” the man chuckled. “The city, even most of the world has completely rebuilt and recovered at this point. You can barely tell it ever happened.”
Dick nodded. He was right – in a sense. At the outset, you could go pretty much anywhere in the world and not find a trace of the Reach. That is, until you looked closely. If you knew a place well enough, you started to notice buildings missing, remembering their rubble lying in smoke after the disaster had passed. Monuments like these were the only physical things left to remind them.
“It's nice to see that everyone is moving on,” the woman commented with a glance up at the towering skyline. “Everyone lost someone,” she gestured to the monument. “Our niece. What about you?”
“My boyfriend,” Dick replied with no difficulty. It was always a bit of a gamble saying anything incriminating like that in public, but he rarely got any grief -especially not when he was wearing the badge.
The woman only smiled, reaching out to touch his elbow. “Well, you're a handsome young man. You'll find someone nice again.”
Why these complete strangers were getting into such deep conversation with him was a complete mystery. He supposed it might be because of the uniform, knowing that they could trust and confide in a policeman. However, it could also just be because they were looking for solidarity in their mourning. Everyone had moved on, like the woman had said, but that didn't mean they'd forgotten.
“Grayson!”
Dick looked back over his shoulder to find Officer Lewis waving to him, a stack of manila envelopes tucked under her other arm. “Sorry,” he apologized to the couple. “I've got to head out. You folks take care.” With that, he made his quick departure, heading across the street and back into the squad car. Sliding back into the passenger seat, Dick sank down against the cushions.
“Someone was in a hurry,” Lewis commented as she started the car. “Checking out the monument?”
“Yeah,” Dick nodded.
“Understood,” she said. “It has been two years, though. Not to overstep or nothin', but have you tried dating again?”
“Once,” Dick replied. “A couple months ago. It didn't really go anywhere.”
“Good for you,” Lewis nudged his shoulder. “Alright, let's see what bake sale rivalry we need to settle today,” she chuckled as she reached over to the transistor radio on the center console. They'd typically wait in the car until they heard something come up over the radio, before responding that they were taking the call and heading to the given location. As Lewis flicked the radio on, a call was already being put out.
“...purse snatching at gunpoint on Jackson and 85th.”
“Squad 193, Precinct 42 is on foot in the area. Responding.”
“Caller says the thief was headed North,
white male, brown eyes, unshaved, wearing a rust coloured
sweatshirt and grey runners.”
“Chances of catching up at this point are slim, dispatch.
Sending Officers Lernoux and Montoya ahead to scout.
Thoms will take the statement.”
“Copy that, 193. Squad 174 broke up a fight at a
Bludhaven West basketball game. Requesting
backup to track down suspected gang members
that fled the scene.”
Lewis glanced over at Dick for a nod before reaching over to pull the wire receiver off its holster. She brought the device up to her face, holding down the call button. “This is Squad Car 083. We're headed back into the burrow from Gotham South, will sweep the harbour for anyone trying to get over the bridge into the city and work our way in.”
“Copy that, 083. Sending photos and descriptions to your monitor now.”
At that, Dick reached down under his seat, picking up a black carrier bag. It was a little difficult in the limited space, but he managed to pull out the bulky laptop inside and toss the back into the back seat. Setting it on his lap, he opened it and waited a minute for it to connect to their mobile hotspot. As soon as it did, the information from dispatch began popping up on the screen. He gave Lewis a thumbs up.
“Info received,” Lewis reported into the mic.
“In the file we've sent you is a video taken
from social media of the brawl. It was posted
about ten minutes ago, five after the fight broke out.”
Dick opened up the file as he listened. However, the moment his finger touched the mouse pad, the screen froze. Dick frowned, dragging his finger in circles to find that the cursor wasn't moving. The images on the screen began to glitch, going fuzzy for moments and flashing on and off. Smacking the side of the laptop as if that would help anything, Dick looked to his partner with an apologetic shrug. “I'm not having a good technology day. Laptop's glitching.”
Lewis nodded. “Dispatch, we're experiencing technical issues with our computer. We'll be heading across the bridge in the mean time.”
“You'll be given li-....huh....dates on-.. eh....ang's moveme-...
el....ea surro-...puh...ing Bludhaven West High School has been
put on a lo-... dih...own, with suspi- kuh.... runaways being armed.”
Lewis' brows furrowed. Turning to Dick, she silently mouthed “Do you hear that?” before turning back to the device. She tried to adjust the setting on the transistor as she spoke into the receiver. “Dispatch, we're not getting a clear signal, here. Please repeat.”
“Y- dih... d... signal is cut- kuh...out, 083.”
“Dispatch?” Lewis hit a series of buttons on the transistor, looking more and more like she was just button smashing in frustration. “Dispatch, we're not – hello?”
The signal completely cut out at that point, dissolving into a loud static buzz, cut up with bursts of other frequencies. Music and voices from ten different radio stations surged through the speakers, for half seconds at a time, creating a haunting patchwork of noise. And still, that one persistent voice tore through the static in intervals. “D..... kuh.... ih.....dih...... kuh.... Dick!”
Dick yanked on the doorhandle and pushed it open, stepping out of the car with a feverish urgency. Because for that one second, the voice cleared, quiet as crystal beneath the noise. And Dick didn't know if it was because of monument or because he'd joined the team again or what, but – that was Wally's voice. Clear as day for that millisecond, Dick swore he heard Wally's voice, and he was probably going insane. All he knew was that the squad car was suddenly a vacuum, and he couldn't fucking breathe.
Lewis was quick to follow him out of the car, leaving the engine on as she leaned over the roof from the driver's side. “Grayson? What are you doing?”
Dick swallowed, collecting himself before he turned around to face her. “I'm going to head over to the Shake place down the street. If we're going to be doing a sweep with no info, we might as well do it with some onion rings.”
Lewis frowned. “We've got to head back to the burrow.”
“We don't even know what we're looking for,” Dick shrugged. “I'll get the food, you try to sort the transistor out.”
“Alright...” Lewis sighed as she slid back into the driver's seat. “But hurry up. And get extra sriracha mayo for mine!”
Dick gave her a mock salute, trying so damn hard to hide how shaken up he was. “You've got it.”
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Lewis managed to get both their computer and the radio working again by the time Dick came back with their food. Heading back over into Bludhaven, they spent about two hours patrolling the streets by the harbour. Even with the live updates on their now functional computer, they didn't see a single suspect. They did stop to help an elderly man get his groceries into his house, but that was about it. Once their beat shift was over, they headed back to their own station. Dick helped Lewis sort through the files she'd been given, and spent the last several hours of his shift doing his own paper work.
Evening crept up on him. It was easy to forget sometimes that the days were getting shorter. He'd looked up from his desk just as he'd logged off his desktop computer to find that the sky had already faded from the golden rays of afternoon and into darkening indigo. He stretched, stuffing his belongings into his carrier bag. Pulling the strap over his shoulder, Dick stood and headed toward the front desk to clock out.
“Grayson,” a voice called out from behind him.
Dick turned around to find Officer O'Neal approaching him. They'd been at the police academy together, in different classes, but still knew each other well enough that they were familiar. Dick gave him a quick wave as he pushed his time card into the clock to punch out. “Hey,” he replied once O'Neal stopped next to him, leaning against the other side of the desk.
“What're you up to?” O'Neal asked.
Dick sent him an odd side glance, nodding toward the device that he was clearly currently using – one he figured they'd both be familiar with. “Just... y'know, clockin' out for the night.”
“Right,” O'Neal laughed. “Listen, I was just wondering if you wanted to grab a coffee some time this week.”
Dick bit the inside of his cheek. His chest went cold just for one heartbeat, flooding arctic ice through his veins. He swallowed down the burning in his head. Glancing over his shoulder, he found his partner watching him, giving him an encouraging nod. Finally he looked back to O'Neal. “Uh- yeah, sure,” he nodded.
O'Neal grinned. “Awesome. Friday morning at the place across the street?”
“Sounds good.” With that O'Neal headed back to his desk. Dick stood there at the desk for a long moment, until the secretary cleared her throat and brought him back to the present. Shooting her a sheepish smile, he put his time card back into its slot. The moment his hand moved past the lamp on the secretary's desk, the light bulb flickered and died. The secretary scowled at the lamp, fiddling with the switch before giving up. By the time she'd turned back, Dick had already gone and headed out onto the street.
Stepping from the warmth of the station and out into the city night, a brisk wind tricked through the streets. Dick zipped up his jacket and stood to the side of the door at the top of the steps, staying out of the way as he checked his phone. The ever-so-trusty transit app claimed that he'd missed the bus, and that another wouldn't be coming for another half hour. Stuffing his phone into his bag, Dick began walking. Whether that information was true or not, he didn't feel like waiting. He'd been tense, skittish ever since the radio incident that afternoon. Maybe a quiet walk home would clear his head. He didn't bother taking his phone out for music.
He'd go home, maybe stop by the sharawma place on the corner, and then get suited up for a quick patrol. He was off tomorrow, could work out his frustrations on a few burglars and drug dealers, try to meet up with Babs, and then sleep in. The tech issues he'd been having were a coincidence. Or maybe it was a solar flare, or something. It had him on edge, and he was letting that get to his head. That was it.
The walk from the station to his apartment wasn't short by any means. By about forty minutes in, he'd made to Vanaver Heights, the little neighbourhood sitting between the station and the next city block, where his apartment was. The streets were lined with old Victorian houses, all crammed together on the narrow roads. Round streetlights lined the sidewalks on both sides of the street, throwing out halos of florescent light. The Bludhaven skyline loomed around the neighborhood on all sides, closing it in to the point that it was difficult to find where the they blended together.
Hands stuffed in his pockets as he walked, Dick didn't notice when the first streetlight flickered out behind him. The street was fast asleep, sitting in an isolated pocket in the middle of the city. He'd finally started to relax again, breathing in the cool night air.
Then the streetlight above him burned out. Dick stopped, looking up at it in silence for a moment. He didn't know what he was waiting for, but nothing happened. He just stood there in a cone of darkness between spots of light. Keeping a lingering gaze on the light, Dick continued to walk.
A streetlight adjacent to him on the other side of the street shut off as soon as he moved again. Dick could have sworn he heard shattering glass. That coincidence theory was starting to drip down the sewer drains. Tensing his shoulders, Dick picked up his pace, walking faster as one hand slipped into his carrier bag. Sewed into the lining was a pocket lined with lead covered fabric that held his escrima sticks. He kept his hand on the weapons as he made his way.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught another streetlight burn out – only this time it seemed to grow brighter until the bulb inside couldn't take it. The shatter of glass was louder now. Dick walked faster. Every light he passed under, followed by its counterpart across the street began to flare and the burst, flare and burst, flare and burst. The flares became corporeal light, shooting in a zigzag pattern down the street, crackling with electricity. Dick ran.
Streams of light burst between each light until finally, it shot ahead of Dick just as he made it to the edge of the neighborhood, where the back of an office building cut the road off and forced a sharp left turned. Dick continued ahead, darting into a wide and open alley at the end of the street, closed off by a house on one side and a brick wall on the other. The electricity shot into the flood lights, the older streetlamps, any source it could reach until it was circling around him.
Dick wiped out his escrima sticks and slipped into a fighting stance, keeping his eyes on the light as it spiraled overhead. It spun, faster and faster, sparks flying off in every direction. Dick waited for an attack, for something to fight and make sense of all this. He didn't know what he was facing, what it expect. Gritting his teeth, he waited with baited breath.
For just a second – a flash of a silhouette in the light, the light itself bursting for just that nanosecond with yellow and red. And then it stopped. Every single light source around him, down the street, in what had to be a 50 meter radius, exploded all at once, Dick hit the ground, arms covering his head from the falling glass. Just like that, the street was silent again. When Dick looked up, glass dust was shimmering in the air, falling down like snow. He stood, shaking the shards off his body as he looked around. Like nothing had ever happened. Complete stillness and silence.
Dick took in a slow breath. He swallowed, finding his mouth dry and his throat burning from his sprint. Slowly, he put his escrima sticks back in his bag, flexing his empty hands at his sides. “Alright...” he spoke to the open air. “You've got my attention.”