Chapter Text
Dick woke up cold.
The first thing to come to his senses was the hard ground beneath him, concrete like ice against his skin. He kept his eyes shut as the cold seeped into him, unfamiliar and eager to steal his body’s warmth. Bit by bit, the longer he had lain there, he froze, the cold numbing his fingers one by one like hostages.
Nightwing shivered and was met with his second sensation: pain. Right. He had been on patrol. The haze in his mind did not matter now; he needed to take inventory. He found his jaw aching (likely just a bruise), his ribs definitely broken, and something sharp and searing and wet on his thigh (likely just a stab wound).
Opening his eyes, he found himself in what appeared to be a warehouse—the abandoned hideout he had gone with Red Robin to investigate. Dick’s mental alarm bells went off as memories of the night came back to him.
They had been investigating Scarecrow’s new lair, hoping to break up the operation before it began. It had been getting easier to foil plans ever since the majority of Gotham City’s rogues decided to band together, calling themselves The Originals. It was an act of solidarity against many of the new metas and other outlaws that had been spawning like rabbits; they believed themselves to be of an elevated, elite status.
The thing they had not considered was a change in alignment amongst some of Batman’s oldest rivals. The Sirens’ morality had been waxing grey for years, and Batman’s on-again-off-again relationship with Catwoman had proved them some form of allies. They were not teammates, but were friendly enough to snitch Original plans to the Bats when they asked.
Nightwing and Red Robin had infiltrated the old factory, and Dick remembered creeping along the metal catwalks before—
Before what? He thought as hard as he could, but every attempt to remember the events of the night came up empty. His head felt foggy, and as he sat up, he felt cold. His hands were shaking, and a swirling sense of panic welled up inside him.
He spotted Tim on the ground about a meter away and rushed over, wincing at the pain in his ribs. It felt like he had been at a birthday party where he was the piñata. His brother did not look much better, bruised like an unloved peach and bleeding from a gash on his arm. Red Robin’s breathing was fast and erratic, and Dick tried to gently shake him awake.
Tim’s eyes shot open, and he sat up immediately like he had just come out of a nightmare. Red Robin grimaced, gritting his teeth against what Dick could only assume was a matching set of broken ribs. He was panicked and sweaty, much like Dick himself, and he sensed that Tim too felt the impending doom and danger prickling the hairs on their necks.
“Batman,” Tim breathed. It was like the air in the room had retreated, unwilling to enter Dick’s lungs. He gripped Tim’s shoulders as the vacuum of the room freeze-dried him alive. Something electric and horrible overcame him, activating every nerve in his body and sending him reeling.
The full reality suddenly weighed on him, that their father was looking for them, likely angry for their defection. Bruce could be harsh and cruel, and the same fear that would accompany each failure then surged in his veins now. They were in trouble, and their chances of evading contact with the Batman were slim to none.
Red Robin leaned forward, latching onto Dick in a hug with such warmth it snapped him out of his panic. Despite the ache in his torso, Dick held him just as fiercely, and it was not until the ringing stopped in his ears that he noticed he had been crying.
“Let’s get out of here,” Dick whispered, and he felt Tim nod next to his head. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I won’t let him even touch you,” Tim said, voice wet and angry next to his ear. Dick let go of him in favor of wrapping his arm around Tim’s shoulders to support him as they stood. They were on the factory’s floor level—a door was about ten meters away, and they started towards it.
A dark shadow’s movement caught Nightwing’s eye. “Fuck,” he swore underneath his breath, and Tim immediately tensed. He pulled away from Dick’s support to assume a defensive stance, whipping out his collapsible bo staff. “Red, pull back,” Dick pleaded, but Tim had already spotted Bruce and readied himself.
Batman dropped down in front of them, just barely illuminated by pale shafts of moonlight filtered through dirty windows. He was stiff, something Dick could not identify making him tense. The dark presence itself was enough to send adrenaline rushing through his veins.
Before Bruce could do anything, Dick spoke. “Bruce, please, just don’t,” he plead. He wanted to spare at least Tim from whatever hellfire was about to be rained upon them. Dick could not see his expression.
He took one step forward, and Red Robin lunged. He seemed to have caught Bruce off guard with his attack—a mistake Dick himself had paid for over and over. Something angry and ugly bubbled inside him as he drew his escrima sticks. Bruce, making the same mistakes he had beaten out of them?
The element of surprise did not last long. Tim was angry, and anger always hindered one’s performance in combat. In one move, Batman disarmed him, prompting Nightwing into the fold.
He swung, hitting pressure point after pressure point like a perfectly rehearsed dance, Bruce hitting back in all of the expected ways—something was off. Batman had seen how desperate Nightwing had been. He kept leaving himself open. Was he mocking him?
Dick saw an opportunity and thrust his escrima stick toward Bruce. On command, electricity surged, stunning him just long enough for Dick to take Tim and get the hell out of there.
They managed to finally catch their breath at a safehouse a block away. Dick knew it could not hide them for long, but they needed to tend their wounds and ditch their uniforms. Getting themselves through the window to the apartment was a painful endeavor. Dick’s chest felt like the bottom of a Doritos bag: all crunched up.
Tim grabbed the medkit. Not much could be done for broken ribs besides rest—something they could not afford at the moment. Dick wiped the sweat from his brow. Fight-or-flight still seized his lungs and veins, forcing his body to process at two hundred percent capacity. He tried to relax, but still shook as his younger brother put stitches in his leg.
“Tim,” Dick said, “Do you remember what happened before we woke up?”
Tim shook his head. “It—I think it has something to do with… y’know, him.” Dick knew, and felt both their shudders at the mention of Bruce. “I don’t know what, but I’m— I—” Tim stuttering was unusual. He was usually articulate, and everything he said, he said with purpose.
“Scared,” Dick finished, and Tim nodded. “Me, too.” Dick bit his lip as he began to patch up Red Robin. He was worried in a way he could not remember ever feeling before. “It’ll be okay.”
“How do you know?” Tim asked, and Dick had to think for a long time. He finished wrapping Tim’s arm. He did not know. Nothing was certain, not even why they were running—Dick just felt this urge to run, that they were in danger—he knew it had to be okay. He could not accept any other outcome.
“I’ll protect us,” Dick finally said. “Let’s get in civvies.”
They changed into comfortable, nondescript clothes. Dick had finally been feeling a little warmer when a shadow appeared in their window.
Dick’s heart raced, and he was momentarily frozen until the light revealed it was Jason, not Bruce. He breathed a sigh of relief at the same moment that Tim let out a startled wail, staring at Jason in abject terror. His eyes momentarily flitted to Dick for help.
“Tim, it’s Jay,” Dick said. Tim was not comforted in the slightest.
Jason coughed. “I just came to ask what’s going on, ‘cause I’m getting, like, a billion calls—”
Tim scrambled back, away from the two of them and pressed against the far wall. He reached for the nearest thing he could grab (a remote) and held it out defensively, chest heaving. Dick gave him a questioning look, to which Tim only gestured to Jason.
“Okay, seriously, what the fuck?” Jason asked, and with each word Tim seemed to grow more and more terrified. Dick slowly approached him, gently taking the remote out of Tim’s hands and guiding him to sit on the couch. Tim’s hands clutched fistfuls of Dick’s shirt. He had never seen his brother so scared. He was pale, trembling, impossibly small as Dick held him to his chest.
“You’re alright, Tim, breathe,” Dick reminded him, placing his palm on the center of Tim’s back. “It’s just Jay. In and out.”
Jason fidgeted uncomfortably as they remained there with only shuddery breathing to fill the silence. Tim did not speak, choosing instead to hide his face in Dick’s neck. It was moments like these that reminded him that he and his brothers were not just vigilantes; they were children, putting on a brave face and pretending to be adults—not because they wanted to, but because it was what was expected of them.
Dick sighed. “We’ve had a rough night.” He swallowed thickly. Breaching the topic would upset him, so he had to speak carefully. “Run-in with B.”
“A run-in,” Jason echoed.
He pressed his lips together in a tight line. “You know how he is,” Dick said, forcing his voice to remain neutral. He had to stay calm. Getting upset would make all of them stressed and he did not need that right now.
“What exactly happened? No offense, but you guys look like shit,” Jason said, crossing his arms. Dick’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“It was… y’know. That,” he replied carefully.
Jason raised an eyebrow. “What, using you as a training dummy?” The light smile on Jason’s lips died as he saw the look on Dick’s face. “Dick, what’s going on?”
Dick had thought if any of them would understand the situation, it would have been Jason. He had had it the worst; rebellious, angry youth paired with bitter jealousy and rage had formed something so tumultuous that he had ended up paying the ultimate price.
“You know,” Dick said, eyes pleading, “it’s how he is.”
Jason shook his head in disbelief. “Dick…” He felt fear prickling at his lungs like asphyxia, and he held Tim just that much closer. “This sounds like a code orange.”
Dick gaped at him. Batman had instilled in all of them secret emergency procedures should they need them (and need them they did). He furrowed his brow. Jason was insinuating mind manipulation, and Dick knew what fear toxin felt like—this was not it.
The more he thought about it, the twist in his gut became worse. “How—How can you say that? You?!” Dick’s voice became strangled with tears. Jason frowned at him in confusion. “He— He beat you to death, Jason!”
Jason opened his mouth to speak, clearly shocked, but said nothing. “He murdered you,” Dick continued, “and he’s constantly a hair away from doing the same to the rest of us!”
Jason’s face was stony, eyes calculating as he looked Dick up and down. “… Then why is Tim afraid of me and you’re not?”
Dick had to pause. “You tried to kill him,” he said gingerly.
“I tried to kill you, too,” Jason countered.
He shakes his head. “That was different—”
“—HOW?! How is that different—”
“—I don’t know, okay?! I don’t know,” Dick cried, exhausted and overwhelmed. “But this isn’t fear toxin. It’s— I’m— I don’t know how to explain it, but I know that this is real. Tim—he feels the same thing.”
Jason nodded slowly, putting his palms up in a gesture of concession. “Look, whatever’s going on, it’s weird, and it would benefit us to access a lab—”
“No!” Dick cut him off abruptly. “No way—”
“Listen,” Jason snapped, and Dick felt Tim flinch in his arms. “If Bats tries anything,” he patted his loaded thigh holster, “you know I won’t hesitate.”
Dick sniffled, and rested his chin on the top of Tim’s head. He tapped twice on his shoulder, a nonverbal request for Tim’s opinion, and Tim shakily exhaled in response. He did not want to, but knew they likely had no choice.
“…Okay,” he finally agreed, and Jason breathed a sigh in relief. “Make sure they’re loaded,” he added.
Jason nodded, aghast. “Wow. Okay, uh—y’know what, fuck it. We don’t have time to unpack all of that. Let’s get a move on.”