Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kaldur rolled his shoulders as he entered the kitchen of Mount Justice, feeling the lingering soreness of a heavy hit from the team’s last mission together. His thick Atlantean skin had protected him from the worst of the damage, but the bruised muscle of his left shoulder throbbed in a silent protest to his morning swim. It was a minor nuisance – one he knew would pass in another day or two, from more experience with such injuries than his pride would care to admit – but one that bothered him nonetheless.

M’gann cheerfully levitated a cookie toward him, and he took it with a smile. Her baking had improved vastly over the seven years since the formation of the Young Justice League. Even so, he was careful to smell it – looking appreciative of the chocolatey aroma, of course, not cautious at all – before he put it in his mouth. M’gann’s long history of baking mishaps had the same effect as his history of injuries: an abundance of experience, caution, and managed expectations. The still-warm cookie seemed to melt in his mouth, leaving a strange aftertaste as he swallowed. She had likely decided at the last minute that the recipe was wrong, and added something. But he thanked her anyway, and the Martian beamed at Conner’s side.

He could hear Wally and Artemis through the door that connected the kitchen to the recreational area. They were arguing about something – and weren’t they always – and he shot a questioning look toward Conner.

“Remote.” The super clone grunted. “Lost again.”

Much had changed over seven years, but more had stayed the same.

Recognized: Superman 01

Kaldur looked up at the zeta beam’s announcement. He exchanged looks with Conner and M’gann, and the three moved quickly toward the door. The cookies were left abandoned on the counter, though Kaldur was certain they would be long gone by the time the mission brief actually began, if a certain speedster was aware of them.

Sure enough, as Wally and Artemis joined them in the briefing room, he spotted a suspicious smudge of chocolate at the corner of the speedster’s mouth. He allowed himself a small smile. Yes, some things stayed just as they had always been.

The rough-hewn walls, lined with pipes and doors, were as familiar now as the halls of his home in Atlantis. Superman stood in the center of the cavernous room, waiting for them with his back straight and eyes fixed on the team as they entered. A mission, then, he speculated silently. The founding League member was always subconsciously more casual when he came just to check in or assist with training. He’d been that way since the early days of the team, even when he and Conner couldn’t even manage eye contact, let alone a civil conversation.

Kaldur had a sneaking suspicion that it had been Black Canary’s idea to assign Superman as the one to deliver missions to the team, likely a way to force the Kryptonian and his clone together, though he was wise enough to keep it to himself. Whether it had been her intention or not, it had worked: Superman and Superboy were at ease with each other now, even having spent weekends at the Kent family farm in Kansas.

And it only took five years to happen, Kaldur shook his head, resisting the smile that tugged at his lips.

“You have a mission for us?” Wally beamed through chocolate-stained teeth, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He may be an adult in every legal sense, but even now his energy matched his hero name of Kid Flash.

“Obviously.” Artemis snorted, rolling her eyes. She tossed her hair in a way that anyone else might have called flirtatious, but that she would surely have called disdainful. “He wouldn’t be here right now if he didn’t. And I hope you left some cookies for the rest of us, Kid Stomach.” The last was delivered in a low, growling threat.

Wally gulped, and opened his mouth, likely to instigate a new round of bickering.

Superman had waited patiently for them to finish. Kaldur did not.

“Artemis, Wally.” The Atlantean called their attention. They settled quickly, their snipping little more than a token effort these days. He wondered if they’d ever really get over the childish, petty rivalry that had begun the moment Artemis had joined the team instead of Red Arrow. There was no real heat to their arguments anymore, but Kaldur wondered if they’d ever manage maturity when within earshot of each other.

“There’s something that the League needs you to check out.” Superman finally started. “It’s a little…different from your usual missions. We considered the other team for this, but they’re busy on another mission right now, and as this may end up being a much more covert operation, we decided you are the best qualified to handle this.” The Kryptonian hero seemed hesitant, brows drawn together in a frown. He visibly considered his words as he spoke them. His uncertainty was out of character, and it unintentionally ensured the unwavering attention of the entire team.

“Recently, the Justice League came across reports of a new mask, one we’ve never heard of before.” He continued, only to get interrupted.

“That’s not so different.” Wally tilted his head to the side, and Kaldur watched Artemis nearly choke on the taunt she swallowed. “We’ve made contact with a lot of new heroes. What’s so different about this guy?”

“It could be a girl, Baywatch.” Artemis pointed out. “He didn’t say it was a guy, this could be a new female hero, you don’t know.”

“Hey, I didn’t say it couldn’t be! Heck, I’d be stoked if—”

“Wally, Artemis, please.” Kaldur implored. When they allowed themselves to be silenced by his weary tone, Kaldur gestured for Superman to continue.

“While it is true, Kid Flash, that you have been the first to contact many new heroes, this situation is a little different. This new mask is very secretive about their operation. We aren’t sure when they started, and are only aware of them now because of a news story that was run a few days ago.” Superman turned as he finished, keying up a video on the holo screens behind him.

A woman, blonde hair perfectly coiffed and makeup done, appeared in a news studio. She sat behind a broad desk, papers stacked in front of her as she stared impassively into the camera. Kaldur didn’t recognize her, so the news wasn’t likely national or even local to anywhere near Mount Justice.

“There’s a new face in Blüdhaven, or perhaps, an old one. Officially reported for the first time only a week ago, we finally have an image of the masked man that’s been reportedly stalking Blüdhaven’s streets at night.” She announced. The city name sounded vaguely familiar, though Kaldur couldn’t place it. On the screen, the image changed to show a blurry photograph. A man in a dark, formfitting one-piece suit was caught by the camera at the moment of landing on a rooftop across the street from the civilian cameraman. The details of his face were lost behind windswept dark hair and a wide domino mask, but the lines of his body were easy for the experienced heroes to read: strong, lithe, and trained, the landing perfectly balanced. Despite it being a still image, Kaldur could easily imagine the fluid way the man would move. One look at the image, and he got a distinct impression, the same one that he got each time he’d come across the League of Shadows: danger.

“Since his reported debut last week,” the woman was continuing, “twenty-three other people have come forward to report their own encounters with this mysterious masked man, the earliest from a full year and a half ago. While they’re all being verified by the proper authorities, we can’t help but ask: how could someone like this hide in Blüdhaven for so long without being reported? Is this a new hero, taking on the responsibility of keeping Blüdhaven’s streets safe, or is he the newest installment of the city’s notorious underground? We—”

Superman paused the clip, image frozen over his shoulder.

“See? It’s a dude!” Wally crowed. Artemis ignored him entirely.

“Did she say Blüdhaven?” She asked instead, voice tight with incredulity. Superman nodded somberly. “Does that mean…is he related to the Batman of Gotham?”

“Why would he be related to Batman?” Wally asked, triumph abandoned in favor of curiosity. “Are you saying the Batman had a kid, and sent him to another random city to beat up guys there?”

“I’m not saying the Batman had a kid, Baywatch.” Artemis frowned at the speedster. “And he doesn’t have to be his kid to be related to him through an alliance or training. Plus, this isn’t just some random city. It’s Blüdhaven. Gotham’s sister city. There’s no way this guy is there as a vigilante without Batman knowing, and maybe even approving.”

Kaldur found himself staring at the blurry image, trying to decide if there was an insignia there or not. He wished the photo was higher quality, that they had more to go on than a strong man in a dark suit with dark hair.

“We are not sure how long this new vigilante has been operating in Blüdhaven, but we are worried that there may be some possible connection to the Batman due to the cities’ proximity.” Superman explained, “We doubt it, but at the same time, we cannot afford another Batman. One city, held by vigilantes and inaccessible to the League, lawless men doing whatever they want and calling it justice, is more than enough.

“Normally, we’d send a member of the Justice League, or, given the apparent youth of this new mask, a couple of you. However, with the potential tie to Gotham’s Batman – however slim a chance it may be – we are sending the entire covert operations team. We need you to track down this vigilante, and, given his proclivity for staying hidden, we feel that you may have a better chance than us.” Superman paused, lips quirking in amusement. “Honestly, we don’t think that sending a highly visible public figure like myself or Wonder Woman would result in an actual conversation with a flighty, secretive vigilante. We’re lucky it worked with Green Arrow, and this new man seems more paranoid than Arrow ever was.”

“So you want us to try and contact him, because it would be easier to talk with him as Young Justice than sending in the actual Justice League?” Wally looked almost put out.

“Hello, Megan!” She tapped her forehead lightly with the heel of one hand. “It’s because we’d seem like less of a threat to him!” M’gann beamed proudly at Superman’s agreement.

“We’re just as strong as the Justice League.” Conner growled, shoulders tensing and hands fisting. Kaldur fought down a sigh. As much as Conner’s ability to read social cues and respond accordingly had improved vastly over the years, some things just never changed.

“Your skill and strength are not in doubt here,” Superman reassured quickly, and Conner relaxed fractionally. “It’s a matter of tactics. Consider this: when you were first pulled from the Cadmus labs, who were you more comfortable around: Aqualad and Kid Flash, or Martian Manhunter and Wonder Woman?”

Conner seemed to consider, then accept the answer, shifting his weight back into a less aggressive stance and releasing his hands.

“It’s about appearing as an invitation, not a threat.” Artemis agreed.

“So we’re inviting him to join?” Wally frowned, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. What if he’s a bad dude?”

“We are not extending an invitation to the League, but rather to join under the League’s charter, so he will have access to allies if needed, and perhaps one day become a full member of Young Justice and then the League itself.” Superman clarified. “However, you also have a point in that we don’t know this young man yet. That’s what we’re asking for you to discover.”

Superman’s focus shifted from Wally to Kaldur. “Your mission is to locate and make contact with Blüdhaven’s new mask. Talk to him, learn about him, and find out if he’s a hero, a vigilante, or a villain. We trust you to act on whatever you discover – either bring him to the Justice League as a potential ally, or in cuffs as a defeated villain.

“I doubt you will need any backup from the League on this one. Speculation that this is a protégé of Batman’s is thin. The first two Robins both disappeared years ago, and the recent two still patrol Gotham with the Batman, last we heard. There’s never been an official list of Gotham’s vigilantes, and since Gotham keeps the news of its masks inside city boundaries, we don’t even have names for the vigilantes we do know about. But according to what we know, none of them have gone missing more recently than two years ago, when one of the female vigilantes – Batwoman, she was dubbed – disappeared from the crime fighting scene.” Superman explained.

“So I don’t think it’s likely that any of Gotham’s vigilantes have moved to Blüdhaven. As far as we know, the Batman, the two Robins, and the man who sometimes fights with them – previously as a masked man, and now under a red helmet – are all still active in Gotham. The Batman doesn’t seem the type to let anyone out of his control so easily.” The massive hero shrugged his caped shoulders. “But, the geographical closeness of the cities can’t be ignored, so we’re sending all of you as a precaution. I doubt this new mask will be able to match your skill level, even if he does have a full year and a half of vigilantism under his belt. Fighting gangs and muggers is very different from fighting trained heroes. However, as always, the League is available as backup should he prove more dangerous than anticipated.”

Kaldur could already see Conner and Artemis balking at the idea that anything was ‘too much of a challenge’ for the team, and Wally’s open determination to once again prove himself more than just a former sidekick.

“Your housing arrangements, and all other relevant information are on here.” Superman handed Kaldur a tablet, seemingly oblivious to the defiance in the room. “You have an appointment with the chief of Blüdhaven’s police department at 2 pm. He’s agreed to assign a detective to work with you in the city. I’m told someone has already been chosen to assist. So report to Chief Redhorn when you arrive, and he’ll introduce you.

“Any questions?”

They all looked to each other, but shook their heads. Superman bade them farewell, then left, cape whispering across the ground.

“Alright, team, let’s meet at the bioship in twenty minutes.” Kaldur instructed. “We’ll leave immediately so we have plenty of time to find an appropriate place to park the ship before we have to report to the chief of police. Pack for an extended stay, in case this turns out more difficult than we believe.” The team nodded their confirmations, and disappeared.

Kaldur strode down the hall toward his own quarters, feeling the weight of leadership settle squarely on his shoulders once more.

***

Detective Dick Grayson rubbed at his face as he glared down at the form he was filling out. It had been two years, give or take, since he’d joined the Blüdhaven Police Department. Two years, and he was already a detective through a large amount of work, and an even larger number of overtime hours. Two years, and he still couldn’t stand the paperwork that came with the job.

Of course, it was hard to be enthusiastic about papers that seemed to get lost more often than they were actually submitted to the courts. He knew this case was likely to end up a victim of the BPD’s filing butter fingers – he had a sneaking suspicion it would end up implicating one of the many dirty cops in his precinct – but he would rather spend another hour with Joker and his bat than be the one responsible for evidence not making it to trial.

The open room of the bullpen was buzzing around him. Officers finished reports or took statements, returned calls and chatted with coworkers. The bland cream walls and plain laminate flooring were almost clean, the permanent scum of grime an appropriate metaphor for the department itself. Desks were pushed together in pairs, and often shared across shifts, as were the lockers in the adjoining room.

Dick’s own desk was what he was sure Alfred would call chaos incarnate, files stacked haphazardly, and papers mixed together. He had two empty coffee mugs on one corner away from his computer monitor, stacked one atop another. Half-dead pens were grouped together in a pile to one side.

Overall, the desk was disorganized, messy, and entirely intentional. He knew exactly where everything was, and without it being a pristine environment, anyone who messed with his desk would be hard-pressed to put it back to exactly how it had been. He didn’t like being as paranoid as his previous guardian had been, but it had paid off several times already, and honestly it was more of a habit than anything else.

Dick startled slightly – really only the tiniest flinch, but fighting instincts are hard to suppress, Bruce, don’t you look at me like that – as a cup of coffee appeared an inch from his nose. He took it, looking up to see Sergeant Amy Rohrbach, his partner and sometimes friend. Dick sipped the coffee, humming appreciatively at the unholy amounts of cream and sugar she’d put into it. She really did know him.

She settled back against the side of her desk opposite his – her work area impeccable where his was decidedly ‘peccable – and watched him for a moment. Of average height and build, with mid-length brown hair and matching eyes, Amy wasn’t visually anything out of the ordinary. Her slim build and soft features made many assume that she wasn’t anything special in any sense. Grayson knew, however, that under that pristine uniform was a lot of hard muscle and fast reflexes that made her a skilled and dangerous opponent, and behind those plain brown eyes was a mind far sharper than just about any other in the precinct.

Grayson himself, dressed sloppily in a slightly ill-fitting uniform, was still shorter than he would have liked at only 5’10”, having never reached Bruce or Jason’s height. Every couple of weeks, Amy would tell him to find a uniform that fit him better, and he’d come up with all kinds of excuses, none of which were the truth – the truth being that the baggy fit helped to disguise not only just how heavily muscled he really was, but also sudden changes to his lithe shape, like bulky bandages and braces from nights were he took a few too many hard hits during his nighttime…extracurriculars. Whatever asinine excuse he gave, Amy would hum and shake her head, too smart to truly believe him, but dropping the topic for another few weeks.

She respected his boundaries, and he appreciated that about her. It was a lot more than he got from the others in the precinct, many of whom were still outright antagonistic toward him even after two years.

“Glad to see you’ve joined the rest of us in the Monday frowns.” Amy chuckled. “Your Monday morning cheer was creating a hostile work environment. What’s got you glaring holes in your paperwork now?”

“Evidence forms for the Henderson case.” Dick set down his cup to scribble in a few final details before signing the form. “Found the murder weapon a few blocks from the scene, fingerprints and all. Just where I said it would be.”

“You know, someday you’ll have to let me in on how you do that, Grayson.” Amy shook her head. “If you weren’t such a damn good cop, I’d say you’d committed half the murders we solve, if only because you connect the impossible to figure them out.”

Dick chuckled, taking the compliment for what it was. They drank their coffee in companionable silence for a moment before Amy straightened, the tense line of her shoulders drawing Dick’s eye.

“Chief wants to see us in a few. Wouldn’t say what about.” Amy grimaced.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Not sure why. Hope it’s just a new case.”

“If it were just a new case, Ames, he’d just toss the file at us and tell us to solve it.” Dick snorted, catching the twitch of Amy’s lips over her own mug. “Besides. It’s Monday. Bad things always start on Mondays.”

“I’d forgotten about your perpetual Monday pessimism.” Amy rolled her eyes. “All he told me was to grab you and be at his office at fourteen-hundred sharp, and not a minute late.”

Dick hoped against hope that it was the stack of missing persons cases that had been accumulating in the precinct's backlog of things they pretended to care about. There had been a spike in Bludhaven, and a matching surge in Gotham that his brothers had mentioned as well. He'd done some digging, and a couple other cities had been seeing more homeless, vagrants, and prostitutes disappearing as well. Not that anyone cared other than the occasional well-meaning officer. Something told him that these surges - despite being only a few more missing than normal each month - were more than just drug deaths or migrant population miscounts.

Dick glanced to his monitor, which was off, then twisted to look at the clock on the wall, doing his best to hide his grimace. From Amy’s narrowed eyes, he wasn’t successful. Last night had been unnecessarily difficult, taking down the last stronghold of a gang that had been causing serious trouble for the BPD – and lining a lot of their pockets, unfortunately. He’d needed to make sure they got picked up by the right officers on patrol so they wouldn’t slip back out onto the streets the same night. His distraction during the fight – wondering who was patrolling, and who he’d trust to pick them up – had earned him some fun bruises across his ribs from lucky hits.

He wondered, sometimes, why he even bothered with getting them arrested. They’d be back on the streets soon enough. Criminals just didn’t stay in jail here – something Blüdhaven shared with Gotham.

“Alright, we might as well go then.” He stood, pretending not to notice Amy’s hard look. He tucked the form into the case file on his desk to deliver when he returned form the surprise meeting. “Wouldn’t want to keep Chief waiting.”

“What happened to your ribs, Grayson?”

He could pretend not to notice a look, but pretending not to hear her speak was significantly more difficult.

“Hmm?” Smooth. He wanted to sigh, but held it in.

“What happened to your ribs?” Amy repeated, an edge to her voice.

“The boys.” Dick replied casually, “Got a little too enthusiastic about a game of Smash Bros last night, and it resulted in, well, smashing bros. I made the mistake of getting in the middle of it to split them up. Honestly, I’m lucky they didn’t bruise any deeper.” Dick laughed, and watched Amy’s expression relax. She had a soft spot for his unruly brothers, and he exploited it shamelessly whenever he needed an excuse. “I don’t remember having that sharp of elbows when I was a kid.”

“You’re still a kid, Grayson.” Amy teased, leading the way to Chief Redhorn’s office. Dick fell into step beside her with a mock-offended scoff.

“I am a legal, voting adult, Ames.”

“You still have to pay the special higher rates to rent a car, Grayson. You may be smart, but you’re still too young to be talking about ‘when you were a kid’. Besides, don’t your brothers have school today? What were they doing in your apartment a city away from home on a school night?”

“You’re such a mom, Ames.” Dick laughed. “I made sure they got home in time to get plenty of sleep before school.” More like I got them back through our private zeta tubes in time for them to leave on patrol with Bats.

“I have two kids, Grayson. Of course I’m a mom. Besides, someone has to remind you and your brothers to eat vegetables, and somehow, I got stuck with the job.”

Dick just laughed, and knocked on Chief Redhorn’s door. They heard his deep voice call for them to enter, and he opened the door. He felt his mirth die a terrible death in his throat, and he fought the impulse to groan, sigh, or just simply turn around and walk away, consequences be damned.

In Redhorn’s office stood five of the last people he hadn’t known he didn’t want to see today – six if you included the chief of police, who was one of those in the precinct who made no secret of his dislike for Dick, but Dick wasn’t sure if the chief counted, since he’d known he didn’t want to see Redhorn. Before he could decide just how to react, his phone rang out, and he grimaced as the strident tones of “The Geeks Will Inherit the Earth” filled the sudden silence.

“Ah, sorry Chief, just—just one moment. It’s family.” He leaned out of the doorway, thankful for the interruption and the chance to pull his normal Detective Grayson mask back together before facing the inevitable conversational minefield ahead of him.

“Tim, what’s up? I’m about to walk into a meeting with the Chief, and I’m pretty sure you should be in school.”

“I’m between classes, Mom,” Tim’s voice, accompanied by the sound of his aggressive typing on his current laptop, held the hints of a smile. “I just wanted to let you know that I picked up some chatter from the Big JL. Looks like they’re sending the juniors to come check out your veggie mask.”

Dick wanted to groan. He’d called a vigilante a ‘viggie’ one time and it was misheard as ‘veggie’ just that one time, but his brothers were never going to let it go. He was pretty sure it was the official Batkid code word for vigilante now.

“They’re going through BPD, so head on a swivel and all. And I called because you don’t ever look at your texts, and if you do, you don’t reply half the time. So yeah. Big JL’s babies are looking for a veggie in BH.” Tim finished, voice exasperated. Dick was suddenly very glad of the family assumption that every phone conversation was within earshot of a super – because this one actually was.

“Yeah,” Dick sighed, eyeing the superhero team standing inside Chief Redhorn’s office, “I think I just figured that one out for myself.” He heard his brother’s surprised oh? and a sudden increase in aggressive typing before Tim started to cackle. He’d probably just hacked into BPD’s cameras again, and seen the predicament Dick had found himself in.

And Amy said he was superstitious for thinking that bad things started on Mondays.

“Have fun with that one, Big Bird. Try not to be too, y’know, you.” Tim snickered helpfully. “I’m crashing at your place tonight, by the way. Demon Spawn and Jay, too.”

“Alright. See you tonight. Thanks for calling two minutes too late.” Dick resisted the urge to run a hand through his gelled hair, knowing it would only put his nerves on display. Tim cackled again, and hung up.

He tucked away his phone, and turned back to the office to face whatever hellscape his life was about to become.

Chapter Text

“Hello, Chief Redhorn?” Aqualad said politely, stepping onto the BPD Chief of Police’s office at exactly five ‘til two. The team followed, everyone in full costume and (hopefully) on their best behavior.

The office was starkly different from the rest of the precinct, the dark wood of the desk and rich blue of the carpet at odds with the grungy laminate and cheap plywood of the other areas the team had passed through on their way to his office. Awards and certificates hung on his walls, books on law and police best practice and who even knew what else on the shelves behind the man’s desk. Aqualad noted absently that there were no pictures of family, no truly personal touches other than the frames on the walls.

They’d avoided the open areas full of officers on their way here, not wanting to stop to chat with anyone who might recognize them. They’d been successful in that regard, but there was an atmosphere in the precinct, according to Miss Martian, that made her distinctly uncomfortable. Something slimy and dark, clinging to the walls and the people.

The chief didn’t so much as glance at them as they entered, and finished whatever phrase he was typing before settling back in his chair.

“Yeh. Whaddya need?” He grunted. Chief Redhorn was a brick wall of a man, easily in his late forties to mid-fifties, with a dirty blonde buzz cut that looked almost military. His jowls were round and slightly loose with age, but the hard set to his mouth and eyes, along with the callouses visible on his meaty hands counteracted any sense of softness that his ill-defined jaw may have given.

Aqualad blinked at the gruff response, but otherwise didn’t outwardly react. Instead, he straightened, squared his shoulders – careful of his lingering bruising – and addressed the man directly.

“I am Aqualad, and this is my team: Superboy, Kid Flash, Miss Martian, and Artemis.” He gestured to each in turn, and was pleased to see each teammate holding back the frustration and dislike he could feel from them through the mindlink. So far, so good. “We are here about the new vigilante on Blüdhaven’s streets. You were informed earlier of our arrival, and we were told to meet with you here. We are your two o’clock meeting.”

Beady eyes locked on Aqualad, before roaming over his team with unconcealed disdain. “You’re the team the Justice League sent? Huh. Guess it’s still better than wasting my own resources on the punk.”

“We hope to resolve this quickly, and cause as little disruption to your work as possible.” Aqualad replied stiffly, face feeling tight with the effort of keeping it impassive. Behind him, he could feel Superboy shift his weight forward, looming rather than standing back, and although he couldn’t see Artemis while he faced Chief Redhorn, he could easily imagine her narrowed eyes and chin raised in challenge.

“Right.” Chief Redhorn didn’t sound convinced, but at least he didn’t argue the point. “He’s taken down a lot of the local bangers, put a lot of ‘em in the hospital, and they were pretty well-equipped, so you have your work cut out for you.”

“Bangers?” Wally frowned.

“Gang bangers. Thugs. Henchmen. Whatever you wanna call ‘em.” Redhorn waved a large hand dismissively. “Point is, we want him off the streets before he causes more damage. We don’t need any costumes running around Blüdhaven.”

Sounds like he’s doing Redhorn’s job, Artemis sniffed, putting criminals out of action.

Perhaps, but doing it outside the law is not the answer. Aqualad replied. Hence why we are here.

Aloud, he added, “That’s what we’re here to help with, sir. We were told you have a detective who you’ll be assigning to assist us in our investigation?”

“Yeh. Shoulda been here already.” The man grumbled. Just then, there was a loud laugh outside in the hallway, then a knock at the door. “Come in.” Redhorn grunted.

The door opened to reveal two officers. The first, a woman in her mid-thirties, with straight brown hair and eyes to match, in an impeccably pressed and fitted uniform, stepped in immediately. She looked mildly surprised to see them, eyes going to the Chief as though seeking an answer for some unspoken question.

The second, a man around their age, perhaps a few years younger, froze for a moment, his face falling from a smile – he must have been the one laughing just now – to flicker through what seemed to be the five stages of grief before landing solidly into a deliberately neutral expression. He had startlingly blue eyes and raven black hair slicked back into a controlled style. His clothing was loose on him, like he’d been given a uniform that was a size too big.

Jeez, Artemis chuckled into the mindlink, I don’t think this guy has ever met an ironing board in his life.

Abruptly, an unfamiliar song disrupted the silence, and the man grimaced, pulling out his phone. He muttered an apology and an excuse in the direction of the glaring Chief Redhorn, and leaned out of the doorway to answer. The team looked to each other, Aqualad giving a subtle shake of his head to Superboy. Years of practice enabled them to share each other’s senses through the mindlink, but Aqualad didn’t find it necessary to eavesdrop as a group on the officer’s personal call. After all, they didn’t know anything about the man. He knew Superboy would listen in anyway, and let them know if anything was out of place.

“Tim, what’s up?” The dark-haired officer asked, his voice a strange mix of exasperated and relieved. “I’m about to walk into a meeting with the Chief, and I’m pretty sure you should be in school.”

He paused. Sounds like a teenager. Using codes? Superboy shared over the mindlink. ‘Big JL’s babies are looking for a veggie in BH’ he repeated.

BH could be Blüdhaven? I don’t know about the rest. Artemis supplied.

“Yeah, I think I figured that one out for myself.” The officer replied, blue eyes locking on the team for a moment. “Alright. See you tonight. Thanks for calling two minutes too late.” He looked about this close to rolling his eyes as he put the phone away.

“Sorry, Chief.” The man apologized casually. “Younger brother.”

“Which one?” The woman asked, looking thoroughly amused.

“Tim. Found something online he had to share right now. But if I hadn’t answered, I guarantee the call would have been about someone burning down something important, or someone going to the hospital.” The man sighed.

“If you’re quite done, Officer Grayson.” Chief Redhorn growled sharply.

“Detective Grayson.” The man corrected in a controlled tone. “You promoted me yourself, Chief.”

“You both know about the vigilante case.” Chief Redhorn didn’t bother acknowledging the correction, and Grayson tensed, though Aqualad couldn’t tell if it was the dismissal or the topic. “This is the team that the Justice League sent to deal with him. Rohrbach, Grayson, you’ll be taking them around the city and helping with their investigation. All other cases are secondary to this. Set ‘em aside and get this done.”

“Seriously?” The man – Grayson – looked incredulous. “We just found the murder weapon in the Henderson case this morning, and will have the arrest warrant within a couple of hours! I’ve already made the necessary phone calls, Chief. We’re this close to catching our perp and you want us to just set it aside?”

“If you’re so worried about it, Grayson, consider the Henderson case reassigned.” Chief Redhorn dismissed casually.

“All due respect, Chief, but this is our arrest. We’ve spent—” Grayson started, only to be cut off by an angry glare.

“You have a good brain in that head of yours, Grayson. But you have yet to learn how to tell which cases matter more than others. You’ll get over a simple reassignment, or you’ll get reassigned permanently back to a squad car on the streets of the South End, y’hear?”

Both Rohrbach and Grayson’s faces tightened at the harsh response. They seemed to bristle, but restrained themselves to a tight “Yessir.” in unison.

This is a fun dynamic. Kid Flash commented. There’s so much not good here, I don’t even know where to begin.

For once, I agree with Baywatch. There’s something weird here. It honestly reminds me of the tension I had with my father, and you guys know how great of a guy he was.

Rohrbach subtly nudged Grayson’s arm, and Aqualad watched the detective force himself to relax, though he could see the tension lingering in the corners of his eyes and mouth.

“Now, go do whatever it is they need you to do. I don’t want to hear any complaints about you, Grayson. Dismissed.” Chief Redhorn returned his focus to the monitor, the conversation closed as abruptly as it was opened.

“Right, then. This way.” Rohrbach said, gesturing for the team to follow her and Grayson out of the room. They did, exchanging uncomfortable expressions that needed no accompanying words across the mindlink. The awkward confrontation was not what they’d expected of a police department. Granted, they didn’t have much experience with police departments in general, but Aqualad had assumed it would be closer to the League’s dynamic, working together toward common goals with mutual respect. Apparently not.

Rohrbach lead the way to a conference room further down the barren hallway, seeming to hold a silent conversation with her partner as they walked. Grayson moved in a way that appeared overly careful of his ribs, as though he’d been in a recent fight.

The conference room itself was as plain as the rest of the precinct outside of the chief’s office. A long table, worn and marked with coffee rings, honestly looked to be on its last legs. The chairs’ padding was deformed from years of use, and looked about one average-sized man’s weight away from collapsing entirely.

They seated themselves around the table, Superboy visibly worried as he eased himself down into the most stable-looking of the chairs. It creaked ominously under his weight, but held. Once they were all settled, Rohrbach stood again, clearing her throat.

“Right. I’m Sergeant Amy Rohrbach, and unless you have any complaints or some inexplicable need to have two detectives added to your team – which I doubt you do, if you’re good enough for the Justice League to trust you with missions like this – I’ll be taking my leave.” She announced firmly. “At least this way, we can keep progressing on our active cases while there’s still a warm trail to follow.”

“That should be fine.” Aqualad acquiesced, feeling his team’s agreement through the mindlink. “I’m sure your partner will be more than sufficient help. We will contact you should we require further assistance.”

“You won’t.” Rohrbach looked smugly to her partner. “Grayson here is the best detective I’ve ever had the displeasure of being shown up by. If anyone in this precinct can catch an idiot doling out vigilante justice, it’s him.” Her smirk widened. “And since Grayson’s the one to poke the bear and get targeted by Redhorn’s wrath, I get to stick with our cases. Because Redhorn will be less annoyed with me focusing elsewhere than you.”

She walked to the door. “Have fun, Grayson. Try not to get shot again, yeah?” She tossed the jab casually over her shoulder as she left.

Grayson scoffed good-naturedly at the parting words. There was an awkward silence for a moment as Grayson seemed to size them up, which Kid Flash decided to break.

“So…shot again?”

“Just cop humor. I wouldn’t read into it.” Grayson shrugged.

“Right. So, ah, introductions! I’m Kid Flash. Super speed, super cool.” Kid gave a cocky grin as he spoke, trying to cover his uncertainty with bravado and finger guns, and probably thinking he’d succeeded.

“I’m Miss Martian, from Mars.” She blushed, suddenly looking hesitant under Grayson’s intense blue gaze. “I mean, obviously from Mars. Because I’m a Martian, and Martians—yeah.”

“Artemis,” Artemis interrupted sharply, drawing the detective’s attention away from her red-faced teammate, “archery specialist.” There was a surprisingly hostile note to her voice that Aqualad couldn’t determine the origin of. She glared at Grayson, grey eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Superboy.” The Kryptonian rumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair. It squealed in protest, and he sat back up sharply, eyes a little wider than before.

“And I am Aqualad of Atlantis, leader of this team.”

“Cool. I’m Detective Dick Grayson of—” he started, only to be interrupted by Artemis.

“Wait, Dick Grayson, like Gotham Dick Grayson?” She demanded, eyes sharp. If anything, she was glaring harder than before. Grayson sighed heavily. “I thought I recognized you. You’re Richard Grayson-Wayne, Bruce Wayne’s son.”

“Yeah, I am. Though I don’t go by Richard, and I’m not a Wayne. It’s just Dick Grayson.” The detective sounded like he’d given the answer a thousand times. He slumped back in his chair, and Artemis looked like she wanted to push the topic, start something that would surely sour the room, but was silenced by Aqualad’s sharp glare.

“We appreciate your assistance in this matter, and we hope that it will be resolved quickly so that we cause as little disruption as possible.” Aqualad repeated his earlier sentiments, going for diplomatic and landing somewhere between apologetic and formal.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll cause plenty of disruption.” Grayson replied with a sardonic smile, almost dismissive. “Heroes always do. Comes with the territory, I’d guess.” Aqualad wasn’t sure what to think of the callous reply, other than that Grayson obviously didn’t care for heroes. Hopefully he could put his opinions aside long enough to help them make contact with the vigilante.

“So, what do you know about this masked guy?” Grayson asked, vivid blue gaze sharp. He pulled out a small notepad and pen, flipping to the first blank page.

“Not a lot, yet,” Aqualad admitted, “we know that he was first reported a week ago, but that some claim to have seen him as long ago as a year and a half. We have seen the picture that was taken,” he noted Grayson’s expression flicker at the mention of the image, and passed his observation to the others through the mindlink, “and that he appears young, perhaps mid-twenties, and fit.”

“Not a lot to go on.” Grayson murmured, looking over the few words on his paper.

“Well, what do you know about him then, huh?” Artemis snapped, temper flashing in her eyes.

Grayson shrugged, seemingly unfazed by her hostility. “Not much more than you, honestly. The vigilante is the best-kept open secret in the BPD. We’ve known about him since he first appeared over a year and half ago – we’ve been picking up the guys he ties up since then, after all. Our knowledge of him is technically public record, although Chief kept it quiet enough that the media didn’t pick up the story until the most recent civilian report.

“However, it wasn’t my case before now, so most of what I know is from bullpen gossip. I was hoping you’d have more information, coming from the Justice League and all. Always figured they’d keep an eye on other masks.” His tone seemed borderline mocking, but his face remained impassive, almost speculative as he thought for a moment, completely ignoring Artemis’ growl, and the matching frowns from Superboy and Kid Flash.

Or, maybe, he didn’t even see the subtle change in Superboy’s resting scowl at all.

“I know he’s male, of average height and weight, with above-average musculature, likely strength as well.” Grayson mused, seeming to speak almost more to himself than to the team, like he was lining up facts in his own mind, choosing what to say. “Haven’t heard anything specific about superpowers, though my money’s on some kind of meta. After all, he’s still alive after taking his fight to Blüdhaven’s streets.”

“Regular humans can become heroes too.” Artemis practically growled, ignoring the concerned hand that Kid Flash placed on her arm.

“Oh, I’m sure they can,” Grayson replied dismissively, barely glancing at the archer, “but Blüdhaven isn’t exactly a walk in the park. We have a lot of violent crime here, more than anywhere but Gotham itself. It’s part of why we’re known as Gotham’s sister city.”

“You seem to have done just fine.” Kid Flash pointed out.

“You haven’t seen our stats, dude.” Grayson chuckled darkly, a sound that sent an unexpected shiver down Aqualad’s spine. “Us normal human police officers are even more of a target than the innocents of Blüdhaven. If you don’t get shot at least once a year, then you’re not out doing your job. Hence Am—Rohrbach’s joke about getting shot again. I’ve already gotten my yearly bullet wound.”

“That’s rough, buddy.” Kid Flash quipped. By the bemused look on Grayson’s face, he caught some reference that Aqualad did not. Kid Flash brightened at the recognition, but before he could say anything, Grayson continued.

“So, what’s your plan, heroes?” He looked at each of them in turn, and Aqualad felt his worth being weighed. It was something he was used to feeling when meeting new members of the Justice League – the gaze that seemed to be able to read you like a book – but he’d never felt it with a police officer or even recruits to the Young Justice teams. It made him wonder about the detective, what kind of man he must be.

What he must see when he looks at them.

“We’d like to interview the witnesses, starting with the one who made the first publicized report, and go from there.” Aqualad replied. They’d decided that much, at least, on the flight over from Happy Harbor. “We’d also like to get a sense for the city and where the troubled neighborhoods might be, as they’ll be more likely to have the kind of trouble a vigilante would go looking for.”

“Aqualad, this whole city is a troubled neighborhood. It’s probably why the vigilante chose it.” Grayson shook his head ruefully. “But I can take you to Miss Weathers today. She should be at work already. She works weeknights at a bar downtown.”

Grayson stood, stretching with a barely noticeable wince at the movement. Aqualad felt his curiosity spike – what had happened, and if he was in pain, why was he at work? – but pushed it down.

“Do you need anything before we leave? I’d rather not have to come back later if I don’t have to. I always end up with overtime, so Chief won’t care if I don’t work all the way to five in the office today. In fact, I think he might have given me this case specifically to cut down on my overtime hours.” Grayson chuckled dryly.

Aqualad smiled at the proffered humor, recognizing it for the attempted olive branch that it was. “No, my friend, I believe we have everything we need.”

“Great.” Dick grinned, leading the way out of the room. “We’ll swing by my desk in the bullpen to grab a form I need to deliver to evidence on the way out, and we’ll be all set.”

He led the way into a large, open room full of desks and buzzing with activity. Grayson seemed oblivious to the stares their group attracted – some curious, others suspicious, a few even openly hostile – from his coworkers. The dark-haired detective paused by the messy desk across from where Rohrbach sat, and frowned. Looking a little disgruntled, he grabbed his coat from the back of his chair.

Rohrbach glanced at the chaotic desk.

“File’s gone?” She asked in a light, conversational tone.

“File’s gone.” Grayson confirmed. “What are the chances it grew legs and made its own way down to evidence?” Rohrbach’s responding snort seemed to answer that.

“What’s that phrase you like to use? Not my circus, not my monkeys?” Rohrbach feigned a thoughtful expression, making Grayson laugh. “Chief already passed the case to Charleston and Pikes, so they probably grabbed it from that pigsty you call a desk.” She looked sympathetic for a moment. “Get some interviews done, Grayson, then go home. You look like you haven’t slept in a week, and I know you worked all weekend even though you had a full day off on Sunday. If not for me, then for the boys. You know you’ll need all your energy to deal with them later.”

There was a teasing lilt to her voice that softened the serious undertone.

“Fair enough. I can barely take them on a good night of sleep.” Grayson shrugged on his jacket. “Later, Ames. See you tomorrow. Say hi to Jim and the kids.”

“Will do. Try to keep the boys at least close to the line.” Rohrbach returned easily, going back to her work with a wave of her hand.

“Sure thing.” Grayson grabbed the mug off his desk and downed its contents, grimacing a little at what had to have been cold coffee. Aqualad had assumed he’d done it so he could return the cup to the kitchenette, but Grayson set it atop two others on his desk instead, despite Rohrbach’s disapproving glance. He waved for the team to follow him, leading them to the elevator.

Aqualad eyed Detective Grayson as they descended to the parking structure below the precinct, wondering what this city had in store for them, and how this young detective would fare in the days to come. The BPD’s chief seemed hostile in every way toward the vigilante, and Grayson already seemed calmer in general than Redhorn.

Though, Aqualad wasn’t sure how long that would last if Artemis kept glaring at him like she was.

***

Dick could feel the blonde archer’s glare almost like a physical heat boring into his skull. He knew who she was – really, using her real name as her hero name? Amateur move – but he wasn’t sure where the hostility came from.

Sure, he was the ex-ward of Bruce Wayne, the wealthiest man in Gotham, and sure, she was from Gotham, but most Gothamites had a weird fan-like craze about his family, like they were celebrities, not anger or aggression like he was getting from Artemis. It wasn’t like he was even living off of Bruce’s money anymore. The trust fund B had set up when he’d first taken Dick in was now paying exclusively for his Nightwing equipment, as he figured that should still be Bruce’s money taking care of what Bruce had gotten Dick involved in. Everything else came from his meager police salary…plus the little bit he took from the guys he caught at night.

Hey, drug dealers had decent amounts of cash on them. He was helping to defund crime in Blüdhaven, and managing to buy the mass amounts of healthy food needed to keep the relatively balanced high-calorie diet a young vigilante needed to keep functioning. It was a win-win.

He set the issue of Artemis’ misplaced anger aside for a time when he could contemplate other people’s issues and not just his own permanently impending doom – aka, never. Right now, he needed to get through the next couple hours of figuring out how to deal with the Junior Justice League. While helping them hunt his alter ego. No pressure.

Dick stepped out of the elevator into the cool air of the parking garage, walking toward the line of precinct vehicles. He’d signed out the keys to one of the SUVs on their way out, despite his preference for the smaller squad cars and their lower center of gravity. Unfortunately, he couldn’t fit all of the Sidekick Squad into one of them.

There was a brief squabble as he stepped up into the driver’s seat that he pointedly ignored, doing his best to work through his own thoughts.

“Whatever, Kid Mouth.” Artemis spat as she climbed into the front seat next to him. He suppressed a smirk. Kid Mouth…I’ll have to remember that one for when I meet them in costume.

Artemis and Kid Flash started to bicker – something about gross habits? He wasn’t really following – though it seemed to lack any real bite. His brothers slung harder insults than either of those two. It had the rhythm of a long-term habitual rivalry, similar to what still regularly passed between Tim and Damian, although the heroes’ snipping lacked the death threats his brothers employed. Well, that Damian employed.

He was already tired of it, and he’d only been listening for ten seconds, so he wasn’t surprised when Aqualad put a stop to it with a sharp word.

Dick watched the heroes put on their seatbelts in his rearview mirror. He had to at least pretend that he cared about upholding the little bits of the law like that one, even though he hadn’t enforced the rule with his own brothers for a while. It simply wasn’t worth the effort of fighting with Tim on the statistics or Damian on the principles. Jason would just lift a middle finger and pretend to strap himself in with it.

He noted the way Aqualad moved his left shoulder less than his right – had noticed it first in the conference room earlier – and was sure it was some mild lingering injury from a recent mission. At least, if it came down to it, he’d have an advantage in a fight against the man for the next couple days.

“Hold onto your butts.” Dick muttered as he pulled out of the parking spot.

“Did you just quote Jurassic Park?” Kid Flash grinned in the far back. “That movie is the best! The animatronics were incredible, especially for that time! I mean, the movie stands up to current industry standards, and that’s super cool, ya know?”

Dick tuned out the oddly soothing rambling of the brightly colored man. Something about the freeness with which he spoke was endearing, despite the fact that he was a spotlight-chasing hero.

He drove through the streets of Blüdhaven, avoiding the careless drivers around him. The energy of the city was more subdued than most would expect at this time of day. Although Blüdhaven lacked the perpetual twilight of Gotham, its polluted air and general culture of crime gave it a similar flavor. People walked with their heads down, hoods up, bags held tightly to their bodies. They watched the mouths of alleyways, and crossed the street to avoid other pedestrians that they considered suspicious.

The general paranoia had played really well into concealing himself for the year and a half – almost two years now, really – that he’d been active as Nightwing. Gangs didn’t share information here, so he remained a sudden and unexpected variable for longer than he’d dared to hope. Now, gangs knew about Nightwing, but their information was limited by the fact that he didn’t give away anything more than he had to. They knew he wasn’t likely to kill, but they weren’t sure if he had the same rules as the Bat did, and Dick planned to keep it that way for as long as he could.

Having the heroes here might complicate things, though. The last thing he needed was them sharing all about Nightwing to the corrupt BPD officers, and having actual intel make its way back to the gangs.

He pulled into the bar’s parking lot, and slid into an open spot.

“And here we are.” Dick announced, cutting off Kid Flash’s explanation on why Avatar: The Last Airbender was the Best Animated Series Ever, likely prompted by Dick recognizing the reference earlier. He wasn’t sure how the conversation had gotten there – he’d spent most of the short drive ignoring the chatter – but Kid Flash seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Man, you drive like a bat out of hell.” The hero laughed.

“More like a bat out of Gotham, but thanks.” Dick laughed, knowing they wouldn’t really get it – they couldn’t know about his history as part of the Batfamily, after all – but unable to resist the joke anyway. “And honestly? That wasn’t even very crazy. This is Blüdhaven, after all. If you think this is bad, you should see me in an actual vehicle pursuit.”

“Why? Are you a bad driver then?” Superboy asked, frowning and putting his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants.

“Nah, man.” Dick replied, “I’m the best in the precinct. Got a perfect score on the combative driving and vehicle pursuit course at the academy. I grew up driving on the same streets as Batman’s Batmobile. You learn some crazy tricks watching that guy careen through the city.”

There was a reason he was the first and only person to get that perfect score, too – he’d grown up in the Batmobile, and learned to drive while pursuing crime in said Batmobile. Not that he was going to admit to any such thing, of course.

“His car is called a Batmobile?” Kid Flash looked delighted.

“That’s what I’ve heard other Gothamites call it.” He shrugged, then clapped his hands together. “Anyway! Let’s go meet Miss Weathers, shall we?”

He watched as they gathered to follow him, following their movements with careful eyes. They shifted and glanced at each other like they were holding a conversation without words. He and Amy could do something similar, but that was through a series of body language shifts that they’d gotten used to over the past two years. This looked a lot more in-depth than that. The Martian must be able to set up a telepathic group chat of sorts. Interesting. It was certainly good to note that he wouldn’t be able to listen for – or hack into – their comms to track them while they were in his city.

Dick shook his head a little, refocusing, and lead the way to the bar’s entrance.

Chapter Text

Artemis scowled at Grayson’s back as he lead them to the bar. He definitely drove like a spoiled rich kid who hadn’t ever had to worry about traffic laws or the safety of others on city streets. M’gann’s concerned gaze followed her, and she knew her irritation was spilling over into the mindlink.

Are you alright, Artemis? Miss Martian asked softly. You seem really…angry at the detective.

Just…tired of Gotham’s rich brats is all. The Wayne family has a reputation in Gotham. All a bunch of playboys who could get away with murder without even touching their vaults. I’d bet my arrows it was Daddy Brucie Wayne’s money that got him to detective so fast. Artemis replied bitterly. I can’t imagine he’s ever had to learn about self-control, or—

He seems controlled. Superboy interjected, to the surprise of the group. His brows were tight with what they all recognized as his ‘deep thinking’ face. His movements. The way he speaks. Even how he breathes. It’s all…he controls his breathing and heartrate without even seeming to think of it. Like he accounts for my senses…or someone else who would watch for those signs to read someone.

That is…strange. Aqualad admitted. Something to contemplate later, however.

Artemis blinked, realizing they’d stepped into the bar behind Detective Grayson. As far as bars went, it seemed fairly standard. Smaller tables mixed with larger, with booths lining the walls. The room was small enough to be cozy, but large enough to move around, with a high enough ceiling to not feel cramped. The lighting was muted, and various television sets – still turned off for now – were scattered across the walls, interspersed with police and military memorabilia.

It’s a cop bar. She informed the group. No wonder this witness came to the police – she likely interacts with them every day, and was comfortable enough to make a formal report about it.

What does that say about the rest of this city, that they didn’t feel comfortable actually filing a report with the police about running into a crazy guy in a mask? Kid Flash asked, sounding concerned.

Detective Grayson walked straight to the bar itself, leaning casually on the polished wood. Artemis tried not to grimace at the playboy smile he pasted on his face for the petite blonde girl behind the bar. He obviously thought he was a charmer, and she had to admit that he was, unfortunately, handsome. But the whole rich kid demeanor definitely ruined any effect his naturally deep tanned skin, chiseled jaw, and startlingly blue eyes could give him. Definitely ruined it. Yup.

Artemis gave her head a small shake, refocusing and ignoring both the look that Kid Flash sent her way, and the small smile on Miss Martian’s lips. Sometimes she hated how well they could all read each other after seven years of working together.

“Hey, Syl.” Grayson grinned, and the bartender looked up, immediately perking up.

“Detective Grayson! I wasn’t expecting you here.” She gave him an assessing look. “We’re not open yet, and you’re still in uniform. I’m guessing you’re here about the guy who saved my butt last week?” She wiped her hands on the apron around her waist.

“And they call me a detective.” Grayson laughed, playing up the charm. How the bartender didn’t see right through it was a mystery to Artemis.

“I’m guessing you and your – friends? – have some questions about the whole thing.” Syl came around the side of the bar, and lead them to a larger table. The chairs were slightly sticky, and the table felt tacky under her fingers, but Artemis did her best to ignore it all. It wasn’t worse than many of the other places they’d been, after all.

“So, Detective, who are your friends? They’re certainly not BPD, unless you’re getting a new uniform too?” The woman teased lightly.

Grayson laughed easily, head tilting back in overdone mirth. “You wouldn’t catch me dead in a getup like those. These are members of a superhero team that’s here to find out more about our new vigilante. Seems the Justice League think he’s worth checking on. This is Aqualad, Artemis, Miss Martian, Superboy, and Kid Flash. Heroes, this is Miss Sylvia Weathers, the first person to, ah, officially report the vigilante.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss.” Aqualad nodded, ever the diplomat. Artemis noted the way she seemed to watch both him and Superboy with something akin to caution, though she hid her nervousness well.

She seems uncomfortable with you bigger guys. Sit loose and casual, and I’ll take over the interview if that’s okay. I think she’ll respond better to me or M’gann anyway, and M’gann shouldn’t have to focus on the questions and her own empathic perception. Artemis suggested. When Aqualad dipped his head in agreement, Artemis turned her attention to Sylvia.

“Could you tell us what happened last week?” She asked, doing her best to look friendly.

“Sure, of course. I, ah, I was just finishing my shift last Wednesday, almost a week ago now. I get off really late sometimes. The bar closes around midnight most nights, but there was a game that went late, and the owner likes to stay open until the big games are done, because it keeps the patrons happy and they come back here because they know they’ll get to see the whole game and all. And that’s not really a big deal, y’know, because I don’t have any morning classes – I do this to pay for college you see – so I didn’t mind. But we didn’t actually finish cleaning and closing up and everything until almost one-thirty – so I guess it was actually Thursday morning, not Wednesday. But anyway. I was the one with the keys, so I did a last once-over like I always do, because really the guys always forget something, y’know?”

Sylvia rambled, hands flicking in expressive gestures as she talked. Artemis held her tongue, remembering what she’d been taught by older heroes about interviews – questions were good to guide the conversation, but you’d learn a lot just by listening to how they talk, and describe the situations as well.

Sylvia seemed to be trying to justify having been in a position to be saved in the first place.

“So anyway. I stepped out back, and locked the door behind me. Because I park out back, you see. Boss doesn’t like having employees park out front where customers might need the stalls. So we all park out back. It’s not really an issue, normally.” Sylvia picked at her nails, watching tiny flakes of pink polish fall to the table. She seemed to direct her comments half to Grayson – Strange, she’s not as wary of Grayson as she is of other men – and half to Artemis and Miss Martian. “But that night, as I walked down the alley to my car – because John and Adam got to work before me, see, and so I was parked the farthest form the door, and they were already gone because I’d stayed to double check everything – as I was walking to my car, I heard this noise behind me. And I turned around, and there was this guy, like right there, in my space. He was, like, inches away from me.”

“The vigilante?” Kid Flash asked eagerly. Sylvia hesitated at the interruption, before shaking her head emphatically.

“What? Oh, no, not him, no. A different guy. A really big guy, like…like his kinda big.” Sylvia gestured to Superboy, though her eyes only flicked to him, then Artemis, before returning to her hands. “And he was, like, way, way too close so I backed up to give myself some space, y’know? But I tripped on something and I fell right on my butt. Which is gross, because that alley is absolutely filthy all the time, and Boss doesn’t do anything about it because it’s actually the city’s responsibility, but it was my new jeans that got all grossed up. And I—anyway. Sorry. Um, I fell, and this guy, uh, this guy grabbed my wrist as I was falling, he grabbed it hard. And his hand was so tight on my wrist and it hurt so I asked him to let go and he didn’t. He tried to pull me back up toward him, but I leaned back real hard, almost, like, almost like I was trying to lie down to get away, y’know?” Sylvia’s voice picked up in pace as she went on, eyes unfocused as she rubbed at the fading bruises on her wrist – and they must have been impressive, if they were still so visible a full week later.

“What happened next?” Artemis prompted gently when Sylvia stayed quiet.

“Oh, uh, he was saying something to me, only I couldn’t really hear him over my own breathing, and my heart was pounding so loud, and I think I was panicking, because I thought he was going to hurt me, like, I was going to end up on the morning news as some unknown girl who got murdered.” She explained, worrying her lower lip anxiously. “And then, suddenly, this guy just let go, and I fell backwards, and he went crashing against the brick wall of the next building over. And there was a new guy standing behind him.”

Sylvia glanced at Kid Flash, and a tiny smile touched her lips. “The vigilante, yes,” she told him, “it was him. He looked like he was going to some kind of comic convention, cuz he had this dark superhero suit on, right? And he looked mad under his mask, but like, not at me? And he knocked the big guy out when he tried to get back up with – I’m not even joking – with just one punch, just bam! And then suddenly he was kneeling in front of  me, didn’t even care about the gross alley gunk getting on his knees, he knelt in front of me, and his voice…his voice was all soft and gentle, and he was asking if I was okay.”

Sylvia smiled, looking down at her fingers. “He held out his hand and let me take it, and helped me stand up. He walked me to my car, and said he’d take care of the other guy and make sure that he got arrested and paid for what he was trying to do, and then I—I just drove home.”

“That’s quite an incident. Were you injured?” Aqualad asked gently.

“Hmm? Oh, no. Not really. I mean, my wrist was bruised and my butt hurt from falling on it for a few days,” Sylvia chuckled shakily, “but I’m okay. I was kinda shaken, but the guys told me they’ll stay each night for me to do my double check, and they’ll walk me to my car now so I’m—I’m okay.” She frowned, sounding like she was trying to convince them – or perhaps herself.

“I’m glad you weren’t badly injured.” Miss Martian said sincerely, giving her natural warm smile. Her mind feels truthful, if a little scattered and still frightened. She added through the mindlink.

Thank you, Miss Martian. Artemis, please continue. Aqualad instructed.

“You were pretty brave.” Artemis told Sylvia, angling her head to catch the petite blonde’s green eyes. “Do you remember anything about either of the men? How they looked, or sounded?”

“Well, Detective Grayson was actually the one who arrested the first guy the next morning.” Sylvia smiled shyly at the detective, who placed a calloused hand on hers.

“Tied to a streetlight with a digital copy of the security tapes of the incident.” Grayson confirmed with a nod. “He was charged officially that day, and was convicted by the courts just this morning. With his record, he’s actually going away for a while. Turns out the guy was on parole, and this was strike three.”

Sylvia visibly relaxed, shoulders easing down and hands stilling for a moment, before Grayson withdrew his, and she brushed the flakes of polish off onto the floor.

“And the other guy? The one in the superhero suit?” Artemis asked, trying not to sound too eager.

“I, uh, I didn’t really see a lot of details. It was really dark, you see, and there’s no lights in the alley, just on the streets.” Sylvia replied, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

“Any details you remember will help.” Grayson reassured her. He had that I’m-so-friendly-and-likeable smile on again, and Artemis resisted the urge to growl at him.

“Okay. He, ah, he was kind of average height? Maybe a little taller? It’s hard to judge for me, because I’m, like, the definition of tiny.” Sylvia giggled. “And he was really strong, to knock that guy out like that, with just one hit. And, um, his suit was really kinda, uh, it really showed off his muscles, you know?” Her blush deepened as she spoke, eyes locking on her hands again.

“He’s pretty built. Not like, big buff dude built like you,” she added, speaking directly to Superboy for the first time, “but like, the kind of built that you see with runners? Or, like, gymnasts in the Olympics, you know? That kind of built. And he had um, he had really messy dark hair? It was kinda all over the place, but it looked good on him, y’know?”

Grayson had a weird look on his face that Artemis couldn’t quite place, like he was struggling to keep some emotion from showing. He was probably jealous of the praise some other guy was getting. Jealous he wasn’t he only pretty boy Sylvia had talked to. She wouldn’t put it past a rich snob like him to think he was the only good-looking guy in the city.

Focus, Artemis. Aqualad’s gently chiding voice in her mind pulled Artemis back from her scrutiny of the rich boy turned detective.

“And the, ah, the costume, do you remember any details about that?” She asked, tearing her gaze from Grayson to look back to Sylvia.

“Uh, it covered him from his neck down. He had gloves and boots, and it seemed mostly black?” Sylvia frowned, trying to remember.

“Mostly?”

“Yeah, it was hard to make out, because it was so dark, but there was, um, there was some kind of symbol on his chest that was lighter than the rest of his suit? Just a little though. I couldn’t see it clearly. But it looked, well, it looked kinda like a bird? Like, um, like an eagle or something? With its wings all spread out? I don’t really know, it could have been a trick of the light. I don’t know.”

“Would you recognize it if you saw it again?”

“The suit? Well, there’s not exactly a lot of costumed vigilantes around here in Blüdhaven.” Sylvia giggled.

“The symbol, actually.” Artemis clarified. “I mean, if it were on something else, like a piece of paper, or a building?”

“Oh, um, I really don’t know.” Sylvia considered, frowning again. When her gaze returned to Artemis, it was intense, focused. Artemis blinked in surprise at the sudden ferocity. “Why do you want to find this guy anyway? He saved my life. He’s not a criminal like so many in this city.”

Artemis leaned back. From the way the chief of police had been talking, she’d thought most everyone would be happy for the vigilante to be simply caught and removed from the streets. Obviously that wasn’t the case with Sylvia, and she kicked herself for not realizing that the views of those the vigilante had helped would reflect that help.

“We just want to speak with him.” Aqualad cut in, glancing at Artemis as he took control of the situation, giving her a moment to compose herself again. “We believe he is trying to do good, to be a hero. We’re heroes in our own right, but we all started out small. We had help, people who could back us up if things got out of hand, or if we were in trouble.” He gestured to the others around the table, and each of the team nodded in agreement, thinking back to their own mentors on the Justice League, and their early days as a team. There had been a lot of times where they’d needed help, and they’d always had it – when they weren’t too proud to ask, that is.

“If he’s trying to be a good guy,” Kid Flash grinned in that easy way of his, “then we want to make sure that he has access to the same kinda thing, you know? No hero should be without friends or allies.”

Sylvia relaxed at the word ‘hero’, and smiled a little.

Well said for once, Baywatch.

I do my best.

Does she think we’re here to hurt this vigilante? Miss Martian asked, concern clear in her thoughts. It seems all he has done is help people. We wouldn’t hurt someone for that.

All he has done, according to her. Aqualad pointed out. We should find more of the witnesses. Perhaps we can come up with a better picture of who this man is, and what precisely he is doing here. If he is as heroic as Miss Weathers says, then perhaps he will be willing to accept the offer of joining under the League’s charter, even if he is not ready to be a full League member at first.

“Alright.” Sylvia said, sounding decisive. “If you really just want to talk to this guy, to help him, you should talk to some of the girls.”

“The girls?” Grayson asked, frowning in apparent concern. “Do you think they would be alright with a team of superheroes asking questions? They’re not generally too excited to meet new officers of the law of any kind.”

“Yeah, I think they’ll be okay, if it’s about helping this guy.” Sylvia replied. “And if anyone has real info on him, it would be them.”

“Who are the girls?” Miss Martian asked, head tilted slightly as she looked between the detective and the bartender.

“The working girls around Blüdhaven. My roommate works some nights, and says that they’ve come across the vigilante before, too. Most of them don’t come into this bar, but they’re around.”

“Why not here?” Kaldur’s brows drew together subtly.

“Because this is a cop bar?” Sylvia replied in a ‘no duh’ tone. “None of the girls would out themselves like that.”

“Right. That—that makes sense.” Kid Flash stammered, a blush rising under his mask.

Surely the unshakable Kid Flirt isn’t uncomfortable with the thought of chatting up some hookers? Artemis teased across the mindlink.

Shut up, Artemis. Oh, so he was uncomfortable. Future teasing material noted.

“I guess I can take them to a couple of the corners tomorrow.” Grayson mused. “We wouldn’t try to talk to any of them if they did end up drinking here. Don’t wanna mess with the peace, after all.”

“Cuz then you’d have nowhere to drink and escape the boys?” Sylvia teased, voice light. The earlier heaviness of recounting her assault had dispersed, and Artemis had to begrudgingly acknowledge that it was due in large part to Grayson’s easy mannerisms with the girl. Maybe he wasn’t useless at reading and managing a situation.

“Hey, now. I have to have somewhere I can escape to! And I’m not risking my last save haven in this city.” Grayson laughed, smile just a little too wide to be genuine. “I mean, I’m sure they already know where it is, but at least they have the courtesy to pretend they don’t know that this is where I hide from them.”

He and Sylvia stood from the table. Grayson thanked her for her time, and gestured for the team to follow him back outside after farewells were exchanged and Sylvia had returned to prepping behind the bar.

Who are these boys that Sergeant Rohrbach and Sylvia mentioned? Miss Martian asked.

I don’t know, but with her referring to the city’s prostitutes as ‘the girls’, I’d think that ‘the boys’ are similarly wrapped up in illicit activities. Both of them act as though Grayson is under ‘the boys’ thumb. Might be a gang – he could be a dirty cop for them. Artemis’ mental voice was sharp with her own disdain.

He did say something about hiding from them here, and it is a cop bar. Kid Flash added hesitantly.

Let’s not jump to any conclusions, Aqualad warned, though he too sounded uneasy, but we will watch him closely nonetheless.

“You guys okay there?” Grayson asked, leaning casually against the marked SUV. “If I didn’t hear the street behind me, I’d think I’d gone deaf and couldn’t hear whatever conversation you’re having.” His eyes were surprisingly sharp, but his chuckle just a little too forced.

Busted. Kid Flash giggled into the mindlink.

“Apologies. We were…distracted.” Aqualad replied in that soothing tone he used to unruffle others’ feathers. “We are simply trying to piece together the puzzle that is this vigilante.”

Grayson seemed to accept their excuse, but something in his body language told Artemis that he didn’t believe it. “So, where to next, might heroes?” He asked, “There’s still time before I’m actually supposed to be off the clock. I can take you to talk to someone else if you want? I don’t have any of the other vigilante sighting reports on me, but I’ll have them from the system by tomorrow morning.”

More like he doesn’t want to do his job. Lazy work for a lazy rich kid. Artemis sneered.

What is your problem with this guy, Artie? Kid Flash asked, glancing at her. It’s like he wronged you personally or something.

Or something. Artemis replied grudgingly.

“That’s quite alright, Detective Grayson.” Aqualad ignored the mental conversation, face impassive. “What of the girls that Miss Weathers mentioned? Would any of them be available at this time?”

“This early in the day? Probably not. What we’ve gathered from unofficial reports of his activities, and from the more recent official reports, all points to him being a nocturnal vigilante only.” Grayson replied, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Your best bet would be after sunset. The girls who regularly work those hours would be the most likely to know something.”

Grayson pushed off of the SUV, rolling his shoulders in a slightly stiff stretch. Artemis supposed that sitting at a desk all day, then sitting for interviews, would leave even her stiff by the end of the day as well.

“I’d offer to hang out with you guys until nightfall, but I have actual plans with non-heroes tonight, and unlike what Ames – er, Rohrbach – would tell you, I don’t actually live and breathe my job.” Grayson grimaced in a way that he probably thought looked apologetic. Artemis wasn’t buying it.

“Of course, we don’t mean to intrude.” Aqualad said quickly, cutting her off before she could find something appropriately biting to say. “Perhaps tomorrow, then?”

“Sure, tomorrow works for me. We’ll start general interviews later in the day, if you don’t mind, since we’ll be out late tomorrow night. Meet after lunch?” The detective suggested. “It’ll give me a chance to gather the files together for the other witnesses as well. Plus, I’m assuming that you heroes have to sleep and eat like normal people, and we’ll be out late if we’re doing corner interviews with the working girls at night, so a later start will give you a chance to rest up beforehand.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Kid Flash gave a thumbs up, and Artemis rolled her eyes at his antics.

“Chief Redhorn gave you my contact info, yeah?”

“Ah, no, it must have slipped his mind.” Aqualad replied, looking more than a little awkward.

Grayson snorted in a very undignified, un-rich-kid-like manner. “Right. Well, here’s my card. It’s got my work cell on it, and I don’t leave home without that.” Aqualad took the proffered card, and tucked it away into some hidden pocket on his suit. Artemis had worked with him for seven years, and she still didn’t know where he put anything in that outfit.

“Where do you want me to drop you off?” Grayson asked, “I assume you have somewhere you’re staying?”

Should we have him take us to the apartment? I’m excited to see it! Miss Martian asked eagerly.

What, have the potentially dirty cop take us to where we’re going to be sleeping, and have him know where we’ll be at our most vulnerable? Uh, yeah, no thanks. Artemis retorted.

Oh, right. That’s…that would be a problem if he’s not good. But he seems pretty genuine to me, even if his emotions are pretty muted most of the time.

You just believe the best in everyone.

And that’s what we love about you, Sweetcheeks! Both girls mentally groaned at Kid Flash’s addition.

“That’s alright, thank you for the offer.” Aqualad smiled, giving no external indication of the mental banter. “Our transport is nearby, and we would like to park it somewhere safer for the night, anyway. We look forward to working with you tomorrow.”

“Good luck finding somewhere safe to park anything here in Blüdhaven.” Grayson chuckled wryly, giving a distinctly ‘yeah, whatever’ wave. He opened the driver side door, then hesitated, looking back at the team with a considering gaze.

“Did you mean what you said to Sylvia?” He asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?” Miss Martian asked, hovering a little closer. Superboy moved with her, eyes fixed on Grayson as though trying to see through the detective.

“You said before that you want to talk to the vigilante. Chief Redhorn would rather him in cuffs or dead. I’m sure the Justice League doesn’t approve of vigilantes in general – I mean, everyone in Gotham knows about the fights Batman’s had with the League to keep them out of the city – so, what’s your intention? Do you really mean to just talk to him when you find him?” Grayson’s vivid blue eyes were locked on them, unwavering in their intensity.

“Our intentions?” Kid Flash grinned, “You’re not about to give us a shovel talk, are you?”

Grayson huffed a laugh, and the tension broke as quickly as it had built. “No, no, of course not. I—ah, it doesn’t matter. It’s your business anyway. Just curious, I suppose.” He shrugged, and moved to step into the SUV.

“We do wish to speak with him,” Aqualad said honestly, voice carrying clearly and making Grayson paused again, “and to help him if he wishes to become a hero. Or stop him should he be walking the path to villainy. But, first and foremost, we wish to find him and speak with him. That is all.”

Grayson didn’t reply beyond a nod of acknowledgement before sliding into the seat, closing the door, and driving off into the increasing traffic. The team watched him go, wondering about the sudden question.

“He’s…weird.” Kid Flash said finally. “I like him.”

“Oh, goodie, Kid Idiot’s gonna be friends with the dirty cop.” Artemis snipped, her temper making her lash out with a little more heat than she normally had for Wally and his antics these days.

“Miss Martian, call the bioship. We’ll take her to the apartment complex and leave her on the roof.” Aqualad instructed. “Then, let’s get out of our suits and meet the neighbors. I think it would be worthwhile to take the pulse of the area.”

“I can’t wait to meet everyone! Maybe we should bake cookies for them? That’s something new neighbors always do on television shows!” Miss Martian beamed, hands clasped, eyes glowing neon green as she called the ship to come pick them up.

“Who doesn’t like cookies?” Superboy shrugged.

Chapter Text

Dick pulled the SUV into an open parking spot near the beater car he actually owned, and let his head hit the steering wheel with a dull thump. He allowed himself a moment to wallow in self-pity, knowing that the days ahead would leave little time for it later. After spending just a few hours with the team of heroes, he was already sure that this was only going to get more difficult. The team might be full of annoying, spotlight-seeking heroes, sure, but they weren’t actually stupid. Well, not by normal human standards, anyway. Sabotaging their efforts to capture his alter ego without them catching on was going to get real tricky, real fast.

Good thing he was a master of tricks, then. After eleven years’ experience with vigilantism, fighting both at Batman’s side and in his shadow, Dick had learned just about every trick there was in the trade. He had the feeling he would need most, if not all of them, by the time he finally got the wannabes out of his city.

“I’d rather find one of Gotham’s villains here in Blüdhaven.” He groaned to the empty air. “At least then I’d know what to expect, and this could all be over in a few days to a week. Or I could act like B and just asshole my way out of this.” He laughed dryly, shaking his head as he sat back up. “No, no, I’m doing this my way. And my way isn’t going to burn bridges. Just…maybe disassemble bridges and stash the pieces for later use if needed?”

Great metaphor, Dick.

He stepped out of the SUV, grabbing his jacket on the way. He opened the hatch, only to realize that he hadn’t actually grabbed any files from the office to bring home today. Dick briefly contemplated calling Amy to ask her to bring him some, before realizing she’d never agree.

One night off from his day job wouldn’t be so bad.

The apartment building he lived in was practically the oldest in the city – the oldest still standing, anyway. The brick was a muddy brown-grey from years of exposure to Blüdhaven’s pollution and smog, with a few marginally lighter sections where repairs had been made over the years. Four apartments per floor, three bedrooms each, with ancient appliances and rats included in the rent. He’d looked at cheaper, smaller apartments, but had quickly realized that the extra bedrooms would be necessary given how much Tim and Damian had complained about the other places he’d looked at. His apartment was on the fourth and final floor, the roof access for leaving and coming home each night too much to pass up, despite the ancient elevator not having worked in literal decades.

Upon moving in, Dick had immediately done two things: first, he’d gotten rid of the rats in his apartment, and then the entire building, using one of Poison Ivy’s concoctions (created after particularly brave rats had gone after her garden, and kept in a safe with all other known Ivy creations by Bruce, then stolen by Dick when a rat the size of a small cat had boldly tried to climb his leg to get at his bowl of cereal after moving in); second, he’d taken steps to ensure that the empty apartment across the hall stayed empty. Rumors online of gruesome murders in the apartment, three different gangs’ signs spray painted on the walls, even a John Doe stolen from Gotham’s morgue, with plenty of drug paraphernalia. He and Jason had made a day of it, and it was honestly some of the best quality time he’d spent that year with his younger brother. Point was, no one would ever want to rent the place. He periodically updated the spray paint, adding new tags, and left random drug-related items – and drugs – liberated during his nightly escapades just to make sure it stayed empty.

It had been hugely successful for the past two years, and Dick appreciated the little bit of extra breathing room it gave him. The other two apartments on the floor were occupied by a nurse who only really came home to sleep, and an elderly Slovak woman who didn’t ask for explanations for his brothers’ comings and goings, or the strange noises from his apartment, but instead knitted him strangely colored scarves for the winter, and kept him up to date on all of the comings and goings of not just their apartment building, but the rest of the block as well.

Dick entered the grungy lobby – really nothing more than a wide hallway with mailboxes – collected his mail, waved a brief ‘hello’ to the landlord who was lingering there for some unknowable reason, and headed up the stairs. As he exited the stairwell on the fourth floor, he heard the first door on his left open.

The tiny elderly woman was in her mid-nineties, her nearly translucent white hair curled with overnight rollers, eyes squinting out from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Lenka Tóthová had lived in the building even longer than Dick himself had, and had quickly ingrained herself in his life after he’d carried her groceries up the stairs once. Now, he did her weekly shopping with his own, and he had to admit that it was great for keeping him from going too long without fresh greens. He couldn’t skip a week of real groceries, knowing it would make Lenka miss her weekly groceries as well.

Plus he really didn’t want to face her if he didn’t do what she’d asked.

“Riško, you looked sad in car.” She greeted, and Dick smiled. He should have known she’d been watching him pull in from her vantage point at the window.

“Hello, babka.” He greeted warmly, letting himself be pulled into a thin-armed hug.

“To my mind, you are getting too thin, Riško. Explain me this.” She chastised, rubbing his upper arm with a frail hand. “You must come for dinner. I will make kapustnica.”

Dick laughed. “Maybe not tonight, babka, my little brothers are coming.”

“They come too.” She declared with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You listen me now. While you were in work, someone signed for the empty apartment. They want that their adult children move in today. Very fast. Cleaned fast, furniture put inside fast. Very suspicious, Riška. Very suspicious. I don’t know when they come.”

“Someone…took the apartment? Mr. L finally leased that thing?” Dick blinked. For two years, he’d managed to keep that apartment empty. “Must be why he was in the lobby.”

“Yes. He waited all day now and they still didn’t come. Already is making dark outside, and still he waits. I don’t know when they come.” Lenka confided. “You will be more careful at night now. This is all what I want. You be careful, Riška. You are good boy, even if you are gypsy.”

“I will, babka, I promise.” Dick smiled as the petite woman rubbed at his arm affectionately again. It was still unnerving to have someone outside of the family know his secret. He wasn’t quite sure when she’d figured out that he was Blüdhaven’s vigilante, but given the amount of time she spent staring out the window, watching over the neighborhood, he was pretty sure she’d figured it out quickly. It was like Ladislav had told him, back when he was a child in the circus: where England and America had cameras to make sure people were always watched, the Slavic countries had the babkas – the grandmothers. One day, during his first winter in Blüdhaven, she’d approached him as he returned from the precinct with a black and blue knit scarf, and informed him that he was not dressed warm enough for the winter, and that the scarf would match his costume.

Then she’d informed him that the man in the second-floor apartment across the street was a woman abuser, and she’d like him to take care of it.

He hadn’t doubted her knowledge of the neighborhood’s comings and goings after that, and she hadn’t breathed a word of his alter-ego to anyone. Then again, she only really gossiped with him, as the rest of the apartment building was “full of degenerates who left their shoes on, ate as they walked, and didn’t stay for tea.” Somehow, she’d decided that even though he was Romani, he was worth adopting. He’d never understand her outright dislike of his ancestry, but he’d long since gotten past being offended by it.

It took several more minutes and a couple promises to come over to eat when she made kapustnica for Dick to extract himself and get down the hallway to his own apartment, followed by her ever watchful gaze.

He dug his keyring out of his pocket, smiling faintly at the little red motorcycle helmet dangling from it. He’d come home one day to find it on his kitchen table, a gift from Jason as thanks for letting him crash when several of his safe houses had been compromised at once. Dick knew there was a tracker inside it, and knew Jason well enough to know it was encrypted beyond belief, and that no one other than Jason himself, Oracle, and Tim would have access to its information – Jason because he’d brought it, Tim because he’d likely been the one to do the programming, and Oracle because there was no force on earth or internet that could stop her if she wanted to get into something.

Dick unlocked his apartment door, and groaned as it stuck in its frame. Humidity must be higher today. He slammed his shoulder against it to dislodge it, muttering, “BPD, coming in.” as he did so. He turned off the alarm on his phone that said someone had opened his door, and reset the system with a couple of taps.

His apartment was blissfully empty, the open kitchen, dining, and living areas dark and silent. Dick dropped his keys into the bowl by the door and armed his at-home traps – mostly little things to scare his brothers when they barged in without checking, really. He stripped his uniform as he moved to the back bedroom, passing three open doors on his way – the first to the small tiled bathroom, complete with an almost excessive first aid kid under the sink; the second and third to his brothers’ bedrooms, currently empty but for the decorations and personal items – not toys or keepsakes, Grayson, we are not children – that they kept permanently in his apartment. He sometimes wondered what their bedrooms in the manor must look like now, if all of the familiar decorations were here.

Dick tossed his uniform into the hamper just inside his door, and resisted the urge to collapse on the bed. Instead, he pulled out a pair of comfortable jeans, and an old circus shirt – not from Haly’s circus, but another he’d visited with his brothers several years back – that had more stains than actual shirt. He figured he’d be called on to help with the new tenants’ apartment, since he’d somehow become the de facto handyman of the building at some point during his two years of living there. He and Jason had done a number on the apartment’s doors and appliances, in case anyone actually made it to the actual tour part of attempting to rent the place, and he didn’t want to get into his relaxing clothes until after he’d inevitably fought the sink and hinges.

He sang to himself as he set about making an excessively large sandwich in the kitchen, an old Romani lullaby his mother used to sing to him. Strange, how their faces had largely faded from his memory, but their voices remained clear and sure. Dick turned on the new to chase away the silence, flipping open the file already on the coffee table, and setting his sandwich next to it.

Alfred would be appalled, he thought idly.

He grabbed a plate.

The notes and reports inside the file detailed his next Nightwing target: a gang that had recently graduated from baseball bats and cheap handguns to military grade automatic rifles, despite no obvious increase in their small-time drug trade. He’d been planning to do some stalking – er, surveilling – tonight, but with Tim and Damian coming over to spend the night, he’d likely end up having to push that back a day.

Someone knocked on his door, the hesitant sound nearly covered by his tv. Dick frowned. His brothers never knocked, and if Lenka needed something, she would call him. He picked up his mostly untouched sandwich, took another bite, and walked to the door with silent footsteps.

He looked through the peephole, and nearly groaned aloud.

What the hell are Junior Justice Kids doing outside my door? And out of costume at that? He asked himself mentally, before feeling the pieces click into place. No…there’s no way that the universe hates me that much.

He quickly disarmed the discrete traps around his door, and opened it to the friendly – or scowling, in the case of the archer and the clone – faces of his personal hell. They looked different from when he’d seen them in costume earlier that day, small features changed. The Atlantean’s gills were gone from his neck, his cheekbones softened and eyes darker. The speedster’s hair was slightly muted, his musculature even less distinct in his civilian clothes than Dick had expected. The clone’s eyes were a sharper blue, his shoulders a little less broad. The archer’s lithe form seemed a little less strong-lined than before, her eyes more blue than grey now. The Martian…she mostly looked the same, actually, though her skin had gone from green to a rosy Caucasian, her hair held back by a headband, her feet on the floor.

It took Dick a moment to recognize the effects of one of Wayne Enterprises’ most successful masking technologies. The holographic rings – easily spotted on each of their hands disguised as shared class rings, now that he knew to look for them – were able to subtly alter one’s physical aspect just enough to avoid casual recognition in most cases. They’d been created specifically for the Justice League, each ring programmed to a specific person’s physique and preferences. Only a handful existed in the world, and only a few of those were out of League control.

Dick had one himself, resting on the middle finger of his right hand, though his was a simple silver band instead of the gaudy pseudo class rings that the heroes wore. Unlike theirs, his didn’t actually change any of his features. Rather, it hid the scars he’d accumulated as a vigilante both in Gotham and in Blüdhaven. He still wasn’t sure how B’s tech guys had devised something that would hide old injuries without disguising new – allowing him to get medical help without showing everything – but he was pretty sure there was a blackmailed magic practitioner in there somewhere.

“Hi! We’re your new neighbors!” The disguised Miss Martian chirped, green eyes nearly glowing with excitement. “Mr. Lee said that if we had any problems, we could knock on your door?”

Dick waited a beat, before raising a sharp eyebrow. “And…is there a problem?” He asked.

“Ah, yes…we can’t seem to open the door.” She said, ducking her head a little. “The key worked just fine, but the door…it won’t open.” The out of costume heroes looked at each other, shuffling their feet. Mighty heroes…defeated by a door.

“Yeah, that happens. It’s a little more humid today, so the door probably swelled up a bit and got stuck.” Dick replied, nudging his way through their little huddle to the other apartment’s door. He checked to make sure they’d unlocked it, then smiled at them. He handed his half-finished sandwich to definitely-not-Kid Flash, muttering, “Hold this for a sec, buddy.” Then turned back to the door. “You just gotta—” he slammed his shoulder against the door, which shuddered on its hinges as it groaned open. “Like that.”

“Told you it just needed a harder push.” Regular-human-Superboy – who’s actually wearing the same thing as earlier, how does he think this is a disguise?! – growled under his breath.

“Right. Thanks for the help, dude.” Non-superhero-Kid Flash grinned, holding out the sandwich.

“No problem. Gimme a sec.” Dick held up a finger, and walked back into his still-open apartment, snatching his hefty toolbox out of the close by the door. They looked baffled when he rejoined them in the hallway, sandwich still in Not-a-speedster-Kid Flash’s outstretched hand.

“What’s that for?” Kind-of-disguised-Superboy asked.

“I’m saving you a call to Mr. L. I’m sure there’s some broken crap in the apartment – it’s been unused for ages – and he’ll just end up calling me to handle it anyway.” Dick shrugged.

“That would be appreciated. Are you the handyman here?” Gill-less-Aqualad asked as he led them all into the apartment. Dick was genuinely surprised by how perfectly clean it was. The graffiti was gone from the walls, new furniture moved in – even the suspicious stains that he’d been unable to remove from his own carpet were completely missing now.

“Sort of? I am the one Mr. L calls to fix things in the building, but he doesn’t pay me for it, other than reimbursing any parts I have to buy to fix things.” Dick shrugged again, covering his surprise. “But he’s way too old to be getting up and down those stairs, let alone crawling under sinks and such. Guy’s a fair landlord, and his wife’s a better than average cook, so it’s worth it to make sure someone doesn’t take advantage and overcharge him for simple fixes. Plus my rent hasn’t gone up in two years, which might be his way of paying me anyway.”

“So are you a handyman by trade then?” Sort-of-human-Miss Martian asked with an innocent expression. For a moment, Dick wondered why they were bothering to try and pretend like they didn’t know him – the WE disguise tech was pretty sophisticated stuff, but especially standing together, having just introduced themselves earlier today, it was pretty obvious who they were – but he decided to let them have their make-believe, and played along.

“Ah, no. I’m a cop. Handyman skills are just a byproduct of years of fixing anything my brothers and I broke before Alfie – our, ah, grandfather – could find out.” Dick laughed. “If you don’t mind, while you move in and start to unpack, I’ll just check over each of the appliances and the easy-to-access plumbing to make sure it’s all okay.”

“Invite yourself in, I guess.” Unmasked-Artemis muttered sourly, and Dick frowned.

“Or, if I’m intruding, I can just leave, and you can call Mr. L in five minutes when something doesn’t work, he’ll call me, and I’ll come back then?” Dick suggested, leaning back toward the door as though he were leaving.

“No, it’s quite alright, my friend. It’s just been a…long day.” Not-currently-a-fish-Aqualad replied. “Please, feel free to check everything over. None of us would have the experience necessary to know something was broken until we needed it.”

Dick nodded, and set his toolbox on the counter, enjoying their surprised looks at the heavy thud it gave. The way he carried it so casually always made it look lighter than it was, and he loved seeing people realize how much stronger he was than they’d thought.

It’s the little things, really, that bring so much joy.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Bleached-Miss Martian asked eagerly.

“Dick.” He replied, moving to look at the fridge.

“Unfortunate.” Normal-speed-Kid Flash grinned.

“And my sandwich?” Dick asked, having watched the redhead eat the half-finished sandwich as they’d been talking. Dude probably didn’t even realize he’d done it, judging by the surprise on his face as he tried to hand back empty air.

“Uh…also unfortunate.” He grimaced apologetically.

“What are your names?” Dick asked.

“I’m Megan!”

“Wally.”

“Kaldur.”

“Conner. Need me to move that for you?” he nodded to the fridge.

Dick grinned, and grabbed onto the fridge, lifting it a little – he wasn’t going to scratch up their floors with them in the room to see it – and pulled it away from the wall.

“I got it, but thanks, dude.” Dick replied. Conner seemed to actually smile a little – just a twitch at the corner of his lips and a slight crinkle around his eyes – and Dick figured he’d passed some kind of test by moving the fridge himself. Heroes were weird.

“I’m Artemis.” The blonde archer added belatedly.

“Artemis, huh?” Dick asked, turning back to the fridge. Unable to resist the chance to tease her, he added, “met a hero by the same name just earlier today. An archer with the Junior Justice League or whatever the Justice League’s younger team is called.” He could see Wally visibly flinch in his peripherals at the misnaming of their team. Then, he paused, and looked at Artemis more closely, as though suddenly realizing who she was.

“Wait, Artemis Crock?” He asked, feigning surprise with wide eyes.

“Uh, yes?” Artemis replied, looking unnerved as she took a half step back.

“Do you know her?” Megan asked.

“Yeah, we were in Gotham Academy together. Different grades, but you hung out some with Barbara Gordon, right?”

“Oh, yeah. I guess I did.” Artemis shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. Kaldur and Conner had moved away into the apartment, taking the group’s bags with them. “Haven’t talked to her, or anyone else from there really, for a while now. Not since graduation.”

“Fair enough. I only see most of ‘em when Bruce makes me attend one of his galas, and even then it’s only because they all want to come and show how much better they’re doing than me.” Dick laughed openly, selecting a tool and reattaching a line that Jason had pulled free forever ago.

“That seems really unkind.” Megan hummed.

“Yeah, well, welcome to the high society snobs of Gotham. Everything is ‘my dad is richer than your dad’ and ‘my son makes more money than your son’ as if money were the solution to everything. If only they could buy a personality with all that cash.” Dick chuckled to himself. “Oh, you heard about what happened to Babs a couple years ago, right?”

Artemis frowned. “What? No? Last I heard she was in college.”

“Oh, she is. Working on a doctorate or two in topics I can’t remember right now.” Dick replied easily. “But she’s doing it from a wheelchair. Joker shot her the last time he was going after Police Commissioner Gordon, her dad, and ended up paralyzing her from the waist down. Got taken down by Batman right after, but still.”

“That’s horrible!” Megan gasped.

“That’s Gotham.” Dick replied grimly. “I don’t even know how many times I was kidnapped by either a villain or just someone looking to make a quick buck. My brother Tim has a running family tally, though, and he tells me I still hold the record.”

“You were kidnapped? Like, multiple times?” Wally asked, incredulity written across his face.

“Yeah. Bruce Wayne, richest guy in Gotham? He raised me. Gave me a new life after my parents were killed, but being his ward made me a target for most of Gotham’s underbelly. I never got hurt as badly as Babs, though.”

“Yeah, you rich kids always do manage to come away unscathed.” Artemis replied with more than a little acid to her tone. Dick glared at the piece he was screwing into place on the back of the fridge. He decided he was tired of that tone. The least she could do was pretend to interact with basic human decency.

So Dick hesitated, looking at her as he pulled up some specific memories. He wasn’t sure what face he pulled, but it seemed to unsettle the three heroes still in the room.

“Most of the time, yeah.” He agreed, his voice intentionally raw. “It was Wayne money that sent Jason overseas on his humanitarian mission though. And all the money in those accounts couldn’t keep him from being killed over there, so I don’t know what wealth has to do with it.”

“Who was Jason?” Megan asked softly.

“My brother. He—” Dick’s voice broke, and it surprised him a little. Despite Jason being back from the dead for several years now, the memory of his death still haunted Dick in a way he wasn’t sure even Bruce shared. Joker’s voice echoed in his mind: All the Bat’s horses and all the Bat’s men couldn’t put Robin together again! Dick shook his head to clear it.

“I’m so sorry. That’s…that’s terrible.” Megan murmured, looking like she wanted to give him a hug. Artemis looked stricken, obviously having forgotten about the death of the second Wayne son. They had tried to keep it relatively quiet, not wanting to encourage anyone to dig into the details of the cover story for Jason’s death, so it wasn’t surprising that she’d forgotten. Artemis muttered an excuse, and hurried from the room.

“It’s been five years, give or take.” Dick replied, managing a smile. “It will never be okay, but we’ve grieved and moved on as a family. Honestly, it feels like he’s still with us.” He turned back to the fridge.

“So, what brings you all to Blüdhaven?” Dick asked, changing the topic when it became obvious that neither Wally nor Megan knew what to say next.

“A job.” Wally answered vaguely. “We won’t be here long, though. It should be a pretty quick job.”

“Oh?” Dick asked, fighting a smile as he wrestled the fridge back into place. He plugged it in, and it hummed to life.

“Yeah, we’re pretty good at what we do.” Wally flashed a grin.

“And what do you do?” Dick asked, straightening. Wally hesitated, and Megan looked at him, a little panicked.

“Uh…”

“Sorry, don’t mean to interrogate. Force of habit, comes with the job.” Dick let them off the hook with a casual surrender.

“You mentioned you have brothers?” Megan asked, and Dick allowed her to clumsily change the topic.

“Yeah. I’m the oldest – plucked right out of the circus. Jason was three years younger than me. Bruce picked him up off the street after the kid tried to steal his tires.” Dick felt the tension leave the room as they laughed with him. “Then Tim, who’s six years younger than me. Kid’s 17 now, and all set to become the next CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Has a brain for business I could never even dream of having.  He came from money, but practically lived with us even before his parents passed, as they were always out on business, and Bruce offered our home as a place for him to stay instead of being alone in his parents’ mansion. Then you’ve got Damian, who was raised in the Middle East by his mother for the first ten years of his life before he came to use just over a year ago now. Kid’s got artistic skills you wouldn’t believe! Thinks he’s the best of us since he’s the only blood son, but he’s warming up.”

Dick loved talking about his brothers, even if he was limited to what was public knowledge. He moved on to the sink, opening up the cupboards and getting down onto his knees. His ribs protested as he leaned in to figure out what Jason had done to the pipes.

“Sounds like a fun family. You said you learned to be a handyman because of them?” Megan asked eagerly. Too many of the best stories he could tell her about his brothers had to do with the other half of their lives, so Dick had to pick carefully what he did and didn’t share.

“Yeah. It started because Bruce took in the son of trapeze artists, and thought that an unsupervised nine-year-old acrobat couldn’t possibly get into trouble in a manor.”

“How much did you break before he realized?” Wally asked. Dick could hear the grin in the redhead’s voice.

“Four chandeliers, and two bones.” Dick laughed. “Alfred – Bruce’s butler and practically our grandfather – made me help with repairs despite my broken arm and leg. It was mostly handing him and the contractor tools, but it got me interested. As the number of kids in the manor increased, so did the size of chaos we could create. So I got good at fixing things before Alfred knew they were broken – or, at least, before he could prove that we had broken them.”

Dick knew he was social by nature, but he wasn’t sure why he wanted to share so much with Wally. He put it down to how easy it was to talk with the speedster, despite him being a hero. It was unfortunate, that the easiest person to talk with that he’d met in years was one of the ones trying to hunt him down. Under other circumstances, Dick could easily imagine becoming good friends with the man.

There was a lull in the conversation as he moved on from the sink to check the hinges on each of the doors – he’d personally wedged debris in several of them, and still remembered exactly which ones, but had to at least make a token effort at pretending he needed to check them all to see which ones were bad.

“So, what can you tell us about the other neighbors, Dick?” Megan asked after a moment.

“I don’t know all of the building too well,” Dick began, working at a hinge, “but on our floor there’s me, the detective who’s working even when he’s home, so you probably won’t see too much of me, there’s a nurse who theoretically lives next to you guys, though she’s never really here, whose name escapes me, and there’s Lenka, who lives next to me.”

“That’s an interesting name. Is she the cute little old lady we saw as we came in?” Megan asked.

“Cute is definitely one word for her.” Dick chuckled. “Lenka is Slovak. Lenka Tóthová. Immigrated to the U.S. who knows how long ago, and knows everything there is to know about the building and the neighborhood. Not that she’ll probably tell you any of it. She only really talks to those she likes, and it’s tricky getting on that list. But she’s a sweetheart.”

“Tt. You are wrong, Grayson,” a new, young voice growled from the doorway, “she’s a nosy busybody, and insists on touching my arm every time she speaks.”

Chapter Text

“Tt. You are wrong, Grayson, she’s a nosy busybody, and insists on touching my arm every time she speaks.”

Dick grinned.

“Dames! Dami! Baby bro!” He cheered from the kitchen floor. Megan and Wally’s heads snapped to the doorway, both shifting their weight instinctively to face the sudden newcomer. Behind him, Dick could hear the other heroes hurrying back into the room at his cheer.

“Enough of the childish nicknames, Grayson.” Damian sneered, and Dick stood, rushing to close the two steps to embrace his baby brother. “Unhand me!”

“Twenty seconds of loving physical contact daily is important for developing young boys.” Dick recited smugly. Damian growled – actually growled – and the heroes stepped back a little, but Dick just tightened his hold. Damian leaned slightly into him, an almost imperceptible movement that Dick pretended not to notice, as was their implicit agreement. At precisely twenty seconds – he was sure Damian counted simply to maintain his pride at this point – the boy started to squirm and pull away, and Dick let him.

“Did you have a good day at school, Dami?” Dick asked cheerfully.

“That’s not how school works, Grayson.” Damian muttered.

“New neighbors,” Dick chuckled, “this is my baby brother Damian! Dami, these are my new neighbors: Wally, Artemis, Kaldur, Conner, and Megan!” He introduced them with a wide sweep of his arms, performer’s grin sliding into place.

“It would seem your scheming to avoid gaining more invasive neighbors has backfired spectacularly, Grayson.” Damian eyed the heroes, critical blue-green gaze half-hidden by his scowl. “If you would purchase a property rather than renting a handful of rooms in this infested whorehouse, you would have considerably less trouble with unplanned…nuisances.”

“Let’s add ‘whorehouse’ to the list of words you don’t use in public.” Dick winced, glancing at the shellshocked heroes. “And yeah, maybe buying a house would mean I didn’t need to help fix so much for Mr. L, and it would keep you from crossing babka Lenka’s path and being forced to interact like a normal human child—”

“And you would be where you are expected to be upon my arrival at your…residence.” Damian cut in.

“—But have you considered,” Dick continued as though there’d been no interruption, “that I’m living on a cop salary, Dami? Houses are expensive. Plus babka needs help with her groceries and you know she wouldn’t trust anyone but us to do it. She likes us, buddy.”

“First, Grayson, ‘whorehouse’ is an entirely acceptable English word, and is entirely appropriate given the tenants on the first two floors.” Damian countered. “And second—"

“What kind of – how old are you, ten? – ten-year-old uses the word ‘whorehouse’?” Wally interrupted, finally overcoming his shock enough to interject. “You talk like you’re reading out of the assigned books I avoided in high school English.”

“I’m eleven years old.” Damian hissed.

“Learning Damian-ese was just part of the adjustment to having a new brother.” Dick shrugged, placing a quiet hand on Damian’s shoulder in what, to others, would look like simple brotherly affection. Damian pouted slightly – though he’d deny he was capable of pouting at all – and relaxed fractionally to agree to stand down at Dick’s silent request.

“I am speaking perfectly serviceable English, Grayson,” he huffed instead.

“It’s serviceable, but not colloquial, Dami. Now, how about you help me with the last of the fixes in here?”

“You wish for me to sit on these questionable floors, and hand you tools like some child?” Damian scoffed, lip curling as he looked at the faded laminate. “How does Drake say it? I will pass.”

“Dami, you are a child.” Dick chuckled. “And you’ve sat on far worse. These floors are probably cleaner than mine.”

“Tt. I will be waiting in your apartment, Grayson, completing the meaningless drudgery that the imbeciles with teaching licenses expect tomorrow. Do try to be efficient with your time, I do not wish to be alone with Drake any longer than I must.” The boy turned on his heel, shrugging off Dick’s lingering hand, and left without so much as a glance to acknowledge the heroes.

“Have fun with homework!” Dick called after him, laughing. “I’ll be home in a bit! Sorry about the interruption,” he added, looking to the heroes, “but once he starts talking with a point in mind, very little can slow that kid down.”

“He’s certainly…interesting.” Artemis said after a moment, the first of the still-gaping heroes to speak. Kaldur, Wally, and Megan stood beside her, looking surprised and intrigued. Dick wondered briefly whether Conner had come out at all for Dami’s arrival, or if he hadn’t bothered.

“He does have a very strange way of speaking for such a young boy.” Kaldur agreed cautiously.

“He had a very…traditional…upbringing with his mother in the Middle East.” Dick replied with an easy shrug as he tucked away the tools he’d been using to clean out the hinges. “But he’s a lot better than he was a year ago! His English is way more conversational now than it was when he came to us. He’s even attempting slang now, it’s adorable.”

“That was more conversational than before?” Wally stared after Damian, though the door to Dick’s apartment was closed now.

“Oh, definitely. He’s a super smart kid. And an absolute sweetheart once you get past the learned hostility.” Dick beamed. “Now, where—”

There was a shout of alarm from the bathroom, and Conner emerged, towel around his waist, dripping onto the carpet of the hallway and looking distinctly angrier than he had before.

“Conner! Clothes, dude!” Wally yelped.

“Water’s freezing.” Conner ignored his teammate entirely, eyes locked on Dick by his toolbox.

“I can fix that.” Dick chirped, gathering up the tools he was sure he’d need – he’d watched Jason mess with the pipes, after all, cackling about how someone was going to get dunked in the Arctic when they tried the shower – and nudged his way past the lingering heroes to the other side of the room. He slipped past Conner’s wet barrel chest into the bathroom.

It was a quick fix, though Dick made a show of examining the pipes and valves to “diagnose” the problem and manage their expectations regarding his maintenance proficiency. He made the necessary tweaks, and straightened, turning around to find himself face-to-pecs with Conner.

Immediately, Dick reined in his instinct to gut-punch the man. Not only would punching a Kryptonian hurt like crazy for his puny human fists, but it certainly wouldn’t help with the regular-human-Dick-Grayson persona he was trying to pull off with these guys.

“Um. Do you need something?” He asked, feeling every inch of his height not measure up to the wall of muscle in front of him. It was like standing next to Jason or Bruce, honestly. What was it with massive men and standing so close to him? He shouldn’t feel so tiny – as an accomplished acrobat and vigilante, he wasn’t exactly a small guy to begin with, but somehow even knowing that he could probably get Conner on the ground within a few seconds of conflict didn’t feel very helpful when he had to crane his head back to look up at the man’s face.

“Water’s hot now?” Conner asked, seemingly oblivious to his vertical insecurity and discomfort.

“Uh, yeah.” Dick said, shuffling back half a step, only to bump his hip into the counter. These bathrooms are way too small, he thought regretfully. “Just, ah, just turn it on, give it about thirty to forty-five seconds to get hot, and you should be good to go. Water’s kinda unreliable here, but you should be able to get a quick shower without any issues.” Dick explained as he did his best not to stare at Conner’s exposed chest. I need smaller friends.

“Conner, dude, personal space.” Wally called from the doorway, voice thick with restrained laughter.

“Right. Sorry.” Conner’s cheeks flushed slightly in what Dick took to be embarrassment – man, this guy is hard to read – and backed up to allow Dick to pass.

“No problem. Just wasn’t expecting to run into Arnold Schwarzenegger on my way out of the bathroom.” Dick replied with an easy performer’s grin. He stepped past, barely hearing Conner’s muttered ‘who?’ as he left the bathroom.

“That should be everything, I think. At least, all of the obvious things that I can think of that look broken.” Dick moved back toward the door, running a hand through his gelled hair to tame it. Even slicked back as he kept it for his daytime civilian mask, doing the handywork around the apartment had loosened things up, and he didn’t want to let it get too out-of-control. The wind-swept look was reserved for his costumed hours, after all.

“If you need anything else,” he added to the collected heroes in the living space as he tucked away his last tools and picked up the metal box, “you have my number.”

“We…do?” Wally asked, looking concerned.

“I don’t think you gave it to us.” Megan added, glancing nervously at Kaldur.

“What? Lost my card already?” Dick asked innocently. He took in their stunned and – in Artemis’ case, horrified – expressions.

Catching Wally’s eye as he turned, Dick shot him a cheeky wink before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Entering his own apartment, he barely avoided a recently set tripwire, and narrowed his eyes at Damian and Tim, working innocently on the couch. Things had eased between the two since Damian took on the mantle of Robin, but moments of cooperation – like the tripwire likely was, he recognized Damian’s knots and Tim’s mischievous nature – were still few and far between. Glancing up, he saw the plastic bowl of water held impossibly atop the doorframe, linked to the tripwire. He almost regretted not triggering it to amuse them.

Almost.

“So, how’s the Sidekick Squad?” Tim asked with a cheeky grin. Dick groaned.

“How sure are you that the, ah, precautions, will work?” Dick asked in lieu of an answer, eyeing the door behind him.

“The lead paint? About 78.3% sure. It worked okay for hiding from Superman that one time he came to Gotham looking to save the newest Robin from a life of vigilantism.” Tim shrugged. Damian’s mouth quirked up in a smirk at the memory. “As if vigilantism was the worst thing the Demon Spawn has been involved in.” The smirk vanished to make room for a glare. “Supes didn’t even notice Bats in his lead-painted suit until he pulled out the Kryptonite. I’m sure he and his clone-slash-son-slash-however-that-works would notice the absence of input if they were looking for it, like a blank spot on a dark photo, but they tend to assume that nothing’s out of place until they get hit with something like B’s Kryptonite-embedded batarang.

“Even just the extra layer we added on top of the old paint when you moved in should be enough to keep him from keying in on you and your big mouth.” Tim fought to keep a sly smile off his face, and failed entirely.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dick waved away the insult good-naturedly, “It’s not like we talk business too much in the apartment these days anyway. Besides, I doubt they’re going to be keeping too close of an eye on little average Detective Dick Grayson anyway.”

“They wouldn’t, if you would stop giving them reason to.” Tim glanced up finally from his computer. “Practically telling them that you know they’re the heroes you’re working with? Really?”

Dick grimaced. “I couldn’t just leave it be. What kind of idiot detective wouldn’t realize that the superheroes he worked with for a couple of hours almost perfectly match the new neighbors moving in across the hall from him?”

“The kind that doesn’t get scrutinized by the heroes who are trying to find his secret identity, Dick.” Tim sighed.

“As much as I despise agreeing with Drake, he is correct, Grayson. You should not be drawing attention to yourself as you are.” Damian muttered from the couch where he was trying to glower his homework into submission. Oh, so we’re talking normally now that we’re not trying to psych out the new neighbors, huh? Dick thought, vaguely amused by how much Damian would play up his multisyllabic vocabulary for people he didn’t like, as though it proved he was better than them.

“Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll be more stupid from here on out.” Dick raised his hands in surrender, moving to flop on the couch next to Damian, earning a disgruntled huff as his papers scattered.

“Right. Just be yourself.” Tim grinned. Dick threw one of the two tattered throw pillows in the room at him.

His brothers were right. He was likely giving away too much to the heroes. He’d slipped up several times over the day, letting himself wince when movement pulled at his bruised chest, reacting when things hit too close to home, and showing his intelligence. Dick doubted they had enough to even begin to figure him out…but he did need to get his head in the game and get his stories straight. You don’t get in trouble for lying, you get in trouble for lying badly, Batman’s gravelly mutter reminded him in the back of his mind.

“Bugs are online and transmitting.” Tim reported suddenly, and Dick shook his head to dislodge his thoughts from the path they were moving down. “You sure they won’t notice them?”

“What, those incompetent limelight publicity stunts?” Damian scoffed.

“Unlikely.” Dick chuckled. “Even if they are more competent than Dami thinks, which wouldn’t be hard with his exceptionally low opinion of everyone who isn’t part of the family, they wouldn’t be looking for them. Plus, with them under the sink, behind the fridge, and inside a couple of hinges, there’s no way they’ll see them even accidentally.”

From Tim’s laptop speakers, tinny voices started to play.

“I still think he’s a dirty cop.” Artemis’ sharp disdain carried well through the cheap microphones. “For all his talk of living independently and helping people, there was also all that about ‘the boys’ before, plus the fact that BPD is known for its corruption.”

“I mean, fair point about the BPD.” Tim muttered.

“They think ‘the boys’ are, what, some kind of gang or mob?” Dick shook his head. “That’s just how people talk about you guys. I mean, assuming immediately that a guy with three brothers – well, two brothers as far as they know – is talking about a gang and not his brothers when someone says ‘the boys’? They’re almost as paranoid as B.”

“They may be paranoid, but it won’t do for them to think you’re a dirty cop, Big Bird.” Tim’s eyes were back on his screen as he double- and triple-checked his codes as they talked over the heroes’ voices on the laptop. “You’re supposed to be beyond suspicion in your civilian alias.”

“Yeah, well my civilian identity doesn’t really account for just how much Artemis hates me,” Dick sighed, “and besides, being a cop isn’t exactly as foolproof as empty-headed playboy billionaire Brucie Wayne. Especially because I’m still trying to make a difference as a cop. I can’t just stand by and let Ames tackle BPD’s corruption alone, or worse, let it go entirely unchecked. It’s half the reason this city is as bad as it is! If I can help Ames weed out the higher-ranking corrupt cops and clean out Internal Affairs, then we can actually get this police force back into some semblance of working order.”

“You just have to be the hero in both of your lives, don’t you?” Tim shook his head ruefully.

“If you make too many enemies as Grayson, then you will end up paranoid in both of your identities, like Todd. You don’t want to be like Todd.” Damian advised in a sagely tone.

“What’s so wrong with Jay?” Dick grinned.

“Everything.” The two chorused.

“Todd is a highly unstable individual, Grayson, and while you have many faults of your own, you as yet share very few with him.” Damian added, pretending to keep his full attention on the simple ratios and proportions worksheet on his lap. Dick could see the slight pink flush to his ears though, and pulled the kid in for a mostly unwilling hug.

“Aw, thanks Dami. That’s super sweet.” Dick ruffled the youngest boy’s hair, gaining a growl and a half-hearted swat in return. “Now, babka invited us to eat kapustnica with her tonight, and we’ll be taking her up on the offer. We’ll have plenty of time after to do our own thing, but I am not turning down homemade kapustnica.”

“The old witch does have some talent in the kitchen.” Damian ceded reluctantly.

“Alfie sent dinner rolls, said they’d go well with whatever ‘Pani Tóthová’ was making for us.” Tim said, digging into his backpack without pulling his eyes from the screen to toss a container to Dick, who fumbled it but caught it.

“How does he always know?” He asked, staring mystified at the container in his hands.

“Alfie knows everything, Dick.” Tim replied with a shrug. “We don’t question his omniscience.”

Suddenly, the apartment door slammed open with a deafening bang! quickly accompanied by a splash and rough cursing. Jason, standing slightly sodden in a small pool of water with a bowl perched precariously atop his head like a plastic hat, glared at his brothers.

“Stoooop!” Dick whined, lips lifting, “you almost made me drop my croissant!”

Jason burst into startled cackling, and Tim giggled. Damian looked between his three older brothers, perplexed but entirely unwilling to ask for clarification.

“Get in here before you meet the neighbors.” Dick chided, and Jason complied, lifting an eyebrow. “I just told them you’re dead.”

“Oh good! Did you give ‘em all the deets?”

“Please don’t ever say ‘deets’ again, Jay.” Tim groaned from the couch.

“Nah, just your civvie death. Such an honorable, generous boy, taken from us too soon.” Dick sighed dramatically, swooning in mock grief.

“Sometimes I can still hear his voice.” Tim deadpanned.

“Aw, the other story is much more traumatic.” Jason pouted, pulling off his leather jacket and dumping it across the back of the couch.

“Still got Little Miss baby Green Arrow feeling bad for being prissy at me for being raised a rich kid.” Dick shrugged.

“I love it when you weaponize my death to take down those who underestimate your pettiness. It reminds me why you were my favorite brother before Bruce adopted more.” Jason grinned, embracing Dick roughly. They slapped each other’s backs much more roughly than was needed, each challenging the other to flinch first.

Dick lost this round by virtue of still-bruised ribs.

“So, who are these new neighbors, and why did they want the psycho-druggie apartment from hell?” Jason asked, perching on the kitchen table.

“The Junior Justice Kids!” Tim crowed, starting to laugh all over again.

“Wait, really?!” Jason looked to dick, who nodded morosely. “It’s because of that idiot who took a picture of you the other day, isn’t it? The Big JL is comin’ to see little Dickiebird in Blüdhaven because they’re too scared to face Bats in Gotham?”

“They don’t know I have any connection at all to Batman.” Dick clarified, as though that made this whole thing somehow better.

“And how do you know that, Dickiebird?”

“Because I’m also the detective assigned to work with them on the case.”

Jason fell off the table to wheeze on the floor.

***

“So, the detective is, like, super different when he’s not being a detective.” Wally declared immediately after Grayson left the apartment. Artemis rolled her eyes. Didn’t take much for Rich Boy to win over Baywatch.

“He seemed more relaxed than before.” Kaldur agreed. “Though I am concerned by his apparent knowledge of our identities.”

“How did he figure that out from being with us here?” M’gann asked, concern creasing her delicate brow. “I mean, did he even figure it out? Or…” she trailed off, uncertain.

“He knew.” Conner stated, standing half out of the bathroom to join the conversation.

“You really think so? He didn’t say it outright.” Wally frowned.

“No. He knew.” Conner nodded once, firmly, then returned to the bathroom to shower.

“I mean, I guess I’m not too surprised.” Wally mused.

“Why’s that?” M’gann asked, hugging herself around her waist.

Wally shrugged. “I mean, we do still kinda look like ourselves and all. Even with the rings.”

“The rings aren’t meant to be a perfect disguise, just enough to throw someone off the scent if needed.” Artemis pointed out.

“And he is a detective.” Wally added. “Plus, I mean, come on Artie, your name is literally your hero name too.” Artemis glared at him, but couldn’t find it in herself to be too up in arms about it…he was right. Green Arrow had talked with her recently about it as well.

“Why wouldn’t he have said something immediately, then?” M’gann asked.

“Maybe he doesn’t like heroes?” Wally suggested, tapping a finger against his chin. “I mean, he’s from Gotham, after all. Maybe he wanted to be nice to us as civvies but doesn’t want to be around us as heroes.”

“Maybe,” Artemis frowned, “but Bruce Wayne is the single biggest supporter of the Justice League. He openly speaks out against vigilantism, and for heroes, not to mention all his donations. He could just be playing us, we don’t know if he’s dirty or not.”

“And you’ve always agreed with your parents’ views on everything?” Wally teased.

“I believe he may have simply been choosing to be polite.” Kaldur said slowly, thinking it through. “We presented ourselves as civilians, and he reacted to us as such. But at the end of the day, he seems an honest man, and likely wanted us to be aware of a flaw in our designs that he had noticed. But whether his intentions were good or not, we should be careful to ensure he doesn’t tell anyone else.”

“I still think he’s a dirty cop.” Artemis crossed her arms stubbornly. “For all his talk of living independently and helping people, there was also all that talk about ‘the boys’ before, plus the fact that BPD is known for its corruption.”

“You do seem to be a little biased against him in general though, Artemis.” M’gann pointed out hesitantly. “Ever since you heard his name, you’ve been giving off waves of anger any time he’s near you.”

“Look, I just—I grew up in Gotham, you all know that.” Artemis began, chewing at her lip. “And in Gotham, there’s a lot of issues. I wasn’t one of the rich kids. I was in Gotham Academy – the prep school – because I got a scholarship and my mom wanted me to take the opportunity to maybe get out of Gotham, and find a better life than I’d have had there. But kids like the Waynes? They just get whatever they want right out of the gate. Silver spoons and all, from the moment he adopts them. And I just can’t imagine that a kid who’s never had to work for a thing in his life would have grown up to be someone who doesn’t take the easy outs whenever he can. I mean, he’s used to a life of luxury, there’s no way he came out here to live in a shitty apartment on a cop salary without some other motive.”

“Well, it seems he didn’t exactly have an easy life either, Artie.” Wally pointed out, looking at her like she was going to explode at him. “What with his brother dying and that friend paralyzed?”

“Everyone in Gotham has stories like that, Baywatch.” Artemis shrugged. “My mom’s in a wheelchair, too. It’s just how Gotham is. I guess even the rich can’t get away from all the consequences of living there. But Bruce Wayne and his kids could get away with anything, and no one gets to billionaire status without having some shady skeletons in their closet. Who knows what he taught his kids?”

“Perhaps, Artemis, it would be worthwhile to try and see him with fresh eyes? It has, after all, been several years since you graduated from Gotham Academy, and we do not know the circumstances of his promotion within BPD, or what all he is doing here in Blüdhaven. It could be that Dick Grayson has grown up as much as you have in that time.” Kaldur suggested, and Artemis hated that he sounded so reasonable.

“Sure. I guess. But one wrong move, and I’ll take him down.”

M’gann touched her shoulder lightly as she moved past to start on dinner, and Artemis appreciated the subtle show of support. She supposed she did have an unusually large issue with Grayson, even with her history. But she didn’t trust him, and she wasn’t going to trust him, detective or not. Something still just felt…off.

There was the crash of a door being slammed open across the hall, and loud laughter. Kaldur glanced to Conner.

Conner frowned.

“I can’t hear his apartment very well.” He said after a moment, and the team looked at each other uneasily. “Or the rest of the building.”

“What would impede your senses through the entire building?” Artemis asked, worry coloring her tone.

“Paint!” Wally declared suddenly, sounding as though he’d made some incredible discovery. “I always wondered if that would work!”

“Paint, Baywatch?” Artemis asked.

“Yeah! This is, like, a super old building, right? It could still have layers of lead paint on the walls in the apartments. And lead dampens your senses, yeah?”

Conner nodded.

“It’s definitely a possibility.” Kaldur mused. “And something worth looking into. We may want to strip the paint on the walls of our apartment, to make sure we are not caught unawares without Conner’s perception.”

“Right. So. Patrol tonight? Maybe we can find the vigilante guy?” Wally suggested eagerly.

“Yes, I believe that a brief patrol around the city would be helpful, at least in mapping out paths to and from our base of operations here in the apartment. However, I believe it would still be wise to take Detective Grayson’s advice and get an earlier night, as we will be up quite late tomorrow night by the sound of it.” Kaldur’s suggestion was met with agreement, and they set about unpacking gear and settling into the apartment.

Artemis wondered quietly about the probability of the one building they choose to live in being the same one that Grayson lived in, and one of the few that negated some of Superboy’s perceptive powers. Something about Grayson didn’t add up, and as much as she tried to convince herself it was just the rich-boy aura, she had a sinking feeling in her gut that it was going to end up more complex than that.

And after years of being in the hero business, the one thing she trusted without question was her gut feelings.

Chapter Text

M’gann walked into the BPD with her teammates at half past noon, eager to meet up with Detective Grayson again after a long, fruitless night of searching for Nightwing. The detective’s mind was fascinating to the young Martian, almost entirely closed off even to her lightest touches. It wasn’t just his thoughts, either – his emotions, too, were muted, as though she sensed them from behind a wall. But that had to be simply how he felt things – human minds were so diverse in the ways they experienced the world and emotions – because she’d never met a non-Martian who could form such a consistently strong mental wall.

Uncle J’onn had mentioned coming across the Batman once, and how he’d sensed literally nothing from the man other than a stony wall – until he made physical contact. Then he’d been struck with the coldest rage he’d ever felt. He’d said the emotion had been so sharp, he’d almost believed it had been intentionally weaponized. But that was a rare exception to the psychic experience – humans, Atlanteans, and Kryptonians all had a hard time learning to shield their minds from her and other Martians.

It had taken the team a full six months to learn enough to build decently strong barriers around their thoughts, and even then, a Martian or an enemy like Psimon – and oh, how she hated Psimon still – could still get in if they were determined. It was more a stealth tactic than actual defense, really, a way of quieting the broadcasted thoughts and emotions so they wouldn’t be obvious to a psychic being previously unaware of their presence. Detective Grayson felt similar to that, but with more experience and practice behind it. But that was impossible – he was a regular human, who had been raised in a normal human family, more or less, and then became a police officer.

It wasn’t like he was a member of the Justice League, trained by Uncle J’onn, or a member of the villain groups they’d encountered, trained by Psimon. Earth, she had learned long ago, was full of coincidences, and although encountering a mind like his would have been very plot-important in one of the old sitcoms she loved so dearly, as the team kept reminding her: real life isn’t like the sitcoms.

As they approached the bullpen, she realized Grayson wasn’t at his desk, or even in the large room. They hesitated at his desk, before Sergeant Rohrbach – and oh, her mind was so quick and ordered! – looked up to address them.

“Grayson’s in with the Chief right now. He should be back in a few. Feel free to grab some coffee or whatever you need while you wait. There’s extra chairs over there.” She gestured to her left, where two stacks of folding chairs leaned against the wall near the kitchenette entrance. Kid Flash zipped over to retrieve four, eager as ever to use his superspeed.

They settled down to wait, Artemis at Grayson’s desk, the other four taking metal folding chairs. M’gann giggled as she watched Conner eye his uncertainly before settling carefully into it. It groaned, but held his weight.

Can you hear what’s going on with the Chief? Artemis asked over the mind link. Conner’s frown deepened fractionally as he focused, before he nodded. He shared his hearing over the mindlink, keyed into the conversation happening down the hall in Chief Redhorn’s office.

“—your responsibility, Grayson! And now, with the murder weapon’s chain of custody form and your report missing, the entire case is wrecked. The fingerprints, whoever they would have matched, are inadmissible in court because you couldn’t keep track of a single file!” Chief Redhorn bellowed, his voice rough with what M’gann immediately felt was feigned anger. The team glanced uneasily at each other.

“Chief, I already told you,” Grayson said, sounding frustrated, “it was on my desk when you called me in to assign me to the hero team’s investigation yesterday! I had it ready to file, but it was gone from my desk when I got back.”

“It was your responsibility, Officer Grayson—”

“—Detective—”

“—and it was in your custody last. That makes it your error. Your mess. Your actions have cost BPD this case, and the Henderson murders will go unsolved because of it! Charleston and Pikes say your files are a mess, and they can’t find a single other lead that has sufficient weight and evidence to make an arrest now. A killer will walk free because of your incompetence.”

“Chief, please,” Grayson’s voice sounded close to cracking, and M’gann felt a piece of her heart break at the sound, “we – Sergeant Rohrbach and I – we’ve put so much effort into this case, so many hours. I spent twenty-seven hours this past weekend just tracking down every lead that would get us the murder weapon to seal this case. You have to know this isn’t my fault.”

“So you’ll blame your fellow officers instead, Grayson? Pass the buck to someone else because you don’t want to take responsibility? Or maybe you knew who it would implicate, and ‘misplaced’ the documents?”

“Never, sir, I—”

“If you weren’t on the vigilante case with those heroes, there would be serious disciplinary action for this, Grayson. You need to learn to step up and take responsibility for your actions. I thought you were ready to be a detective, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’re still too young to keep everything together like you need to.” The false defeat in Chief Redhorn’s voice twisted M’gann’s stomach, and judging from the impressions she was getting over the mindlink, the rest of the team felt similarly.

“Chief—”

“Go back to your desk, Grayson. Something like this happens again, and you’re losing that detective shield, y’hear? I don’t care what Rohrbach says, if you can’t keep track of the paperwork for an important piece of evidence, then you aren’t ready to handle real cases. Get out.”

Conner glanced at them as he stopped sharing his hearing. That was bad. He mused darkly.

What if he did lose it on purpose? Artemis asked. I mean, the chief seems to think it’s a possibility. If he’s dirty, he could have been paid off to lose the file.

Didn’t he mention something about a missing file when we were at his desk yesterday? And he looked all frustrated about it? Kid Flash asked, frowning as he recalled the memory.

Yes. His frustration felt genuine then, from what I could tell. His emotions are muted, so it’s a little hard to read, but he didn’t feel deceptive. M’gann confirmed.

He could have faked that. Artemis suggested.

Before M’gann could explain just how hard it was to fake out a Martian with your emotions, especially for someone who was obviously unpracticed in dealing with either heroes or villains, Grayson rounded the corner into the bullpen.

She didn’t see him enter, turned toward Artemis as she was, but oh, she could feel him. Unmuted waves of frustration, bitterness, anger, hurt rolled off of him like a tempest. For a moment, she drowned in it, her mind habitually extended beyond its borders to read everything around her. She pulled herself back into her walls, severing the mindlink as she tried to get her senses back under control. M’gann could feel the concerned gazes of her teammates as she withdrew, but just shook her head instead of answering their unspoken questions.

He can’t be keeping all that inside him, she thought wildly, there’s so much…too much for it to be healthy to be kept in like that!

As Grayson approached the desk, the waves only got stronger, but having finally gotten her bearings, M’gann felt secure enough to reopen the mind link.

Sorry…his emotions are…they’re so strong. His mind isn’t muted at all like it normally is. She explained. What Chief Redhorn said must have really shaken him, he’s so…frustrated and angry at the accusations.

“Good afternoon, Detective Grayson.” Aqualad greeted warmly. Grayson nodded in reply.

Rohrbach glanced up from her desk to look at him, and grimaced. “That bad, huh?”

“Not my best conversation with our Chief, no.” Grayson gritted out.

M’gann, with her mind extended once more, felt the cruel mirth in the room from the other officers, like emotional snickering and dark smirks. I don’t think the other officers like him very much, she said over the mindlink, sharing a small part of what she observed.

“Let it roll off ya, kid.” Rohrbach advised, her voice and eyes warm. M’gann could feel the affection and sympathy like warm sand against her mind, soothing against Grayson’s upset waves of emotion. “It’s just Redhorn, you know how he is. And it’s not your fault. You know that.”

“I just—I should have walked it down to evidence before we went to Redhorn’s office yesterday.” Grayson sighed. “I should have just taken the tongue-lashing for being late to the meeting. I should have—”

“Should have what?” Rohrbach interrupted gently. “Suspected that one of your coworkers, who took the same oath you did to protect the people and uphold the law, would take vital evidence in a case just to send the case down in flames?” Rohrbach asked, arching a dark eyebrow. She seemed to take his silence as an answer, and sighed. “Please, Grayson. You see the best in people. It’s a good thing.”

“I just—” Grayson paused, glancing at the heroes, then shook his head. “We’ll talk it over later, Ames.”

Rohrbach nodded, and handed him a thermos from her desk. “Here’s your cream and sugar, with a few drops of coffee for flavor.” She teased as he took it, and Grayson’s lips twitched in a small smile.

He took a deep drink of the coffee, then a deeper breath. M’gann felt his emotions recede from the tidal wave they’d been to the muted, walled-off – dammed up, really – pulse they’d been the day before.

His control over his emotions is remarkable. She commented to the team over the link. It’s almost like the technique I taught all of you, where you quiet your emotions to go undetected? Except instead of being quiet, it’s like…it’s like they go behind a wall.

That’s probably not healthy. Wally quipped.

Canary wouldn’t like it. Conner agreed with the ghost of a smirk. They shared a small, quiet flicker of amusement between them. Canary had worked closely with the team since their founding, and all of them felt both affectionate and grateful toward the woman for her assistance and patience as they’d grown from over-eager teenagers to seasoned young adults.

“Alright.” Grayson sighed after a few moments of calming himself, reining in the chaos of his emotional state. “Sorry about that, heroes.” He threw up a smile that looked real, but felt insincere to M’gann now that she’d felt what he hid behind that wall of denial in his mind.

“I have the box of witness files in the SUV downstairs.” He continued, gesturing for them to follow him. Kid Flash returned the chairs to the wall with his speed, earning little more than a glance from the detective. She felt his flash of disappointment, and smiled a little. He really was trying hard to make a friend of their new acquaintance.

“There have been about twenty more reports since the photo was broadcasted. A couple of the rookies are being given the legwork to verify the claims as best they can, poor souls.” Grayson shook his head ruefully. “I do not miss the days of being errand boy for the detectives, and watching hours upon hours of security footage to make sure no one missed anything.” He lead them into the elevator, and pressed the button for the underground parking level. “So I figure, we’ll start with the earliest reports made, since they’re as verified as they can be without having been there to see the incident, and then move forward from there, if that’s okay with you guys?”

“It sounds like a good plan to us.” Aqualad agreed.

They moved to the same SUV as the day before, and Grayson popped open the hatch to reveal two filing boxes. He pulled one to the edge, and opened it to reveal stacks of paper and files crammed inside.

“These are all of the witnesses we have so far, that are at least somewhat reliable.” He explained. “I’ve already gone over all of the verified statements, and compiled a list of those who sound like they had actual interaction with the vigilante, not just seen him on a rooftop or from a distance. I removed those who the vigilante took down – most of them are in jail, and we can do those in a single visit, or completely off the radar for now – so we have mostly the victims of attempted assaults and the like for today’s interviews.” He pulled a smaller stack from the box, separated form the others by a red file. “They’ll be our best bet to get real information on this guy. If we’re still lost after talking to them, and to the girls tonight, then we can come back through, do prison interviews, and talk to every Tom, Jack, and Sally that thinks they’ve seen a man in a dark costume fighting someone.”

That’s pretty smart. Kid Flash commented, sounding impressed.

That’s basic police work, Kid Idiot. Artemis shot back with a pointed roll of her eyes.

“That seems the wiseset course of action.” Aqualad agreed, paying no attention to the mindlink. M’gann was constantly impressed by his ability to do that – few non-Martians gained such skill at dividing their attention so completely. Then again, she also remembered him telling Artemis and Wally, I can hear you glaring, and wondered if perhaps he was just given a lot of practice with their team.

“Cool. I was hoping you’d agree. I’ve already set up meetings with the first handful. Strap in, heroes, because this is going to be a nice, long day of good old-fashioned interviews.” Dick grinned, and M’gann could believe the smile this time. His mind seemed to have quieted behind its walls, from what she could tell.

Grayson handed the stack of files to Aqualad. “For you to review as we’re going to the interviews. Top seven are those we have appointments with. Figured you’d want to see them before you walk in – I know I always like to know all I can before going into interviews. Smooths the process a bit.”

M’gann felt Aqualad’s appreciation, but his impressed look was lost on Detective Grayson, who had already turned to get into the SUV. The team piled in, Aqualad handed out the files for review, and they headed out for the first interview.

***

“Can you tell us what happened?”

“I was getting mugged in an alley…”

“…guy grabbed me and threw me against the wall and suddenly…”

“…coming after me, when suddenly this man stepped in…”

“Dude tried to grab my little sister but this dude dropped out of the sky…”

“Dad had hit my little brother, and…”

“What did he look like?”

“He moved like a dancer. It was like watching a choreographed fight from a movie.”

“Very strong and confident. Dark messy hair.”

“Mid-twenties, maybe a little older? He definitely acted like he knew what he was doing.”

“Like an Olympian athlete put on a skintight suit and said ‘Imma punch someone tonight’ and did.”

“It was dark, I couldn’t really see…but he definitely had dark hair and was a dude.”

“Could you tell us his approximate height?”

“Barely 5’8”, if he was more I’ll eat my shoe.”

“Approximately 5’10”.”

“Oh, he was very tall. Broad shoulders, strong arms…”

“Dude was definitely shorter than I was. Total midget.”

“6 foot, for sure.”

“What did his costume look like?”

“Just a black suit and a mask. Hard to see in the dark.”

“It was definitely a dark getup. Maybe a bird on it?”

“Black suit, with some kind of bird – maybe a phoenix? – on his chest.”

“Looked like it had some armor plating in it, disguised as muscle. Pretty cool stuff, like out of the Justice League or somethin’.”

“Just black spandex, stretched way too tight for anyone’s comfort, dude.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“He checked to make sure I wasn’t injured before he arrived.”

“Just asked ‘are you okay?’ super gentle like.”

“He asked if I was okay.”

“Asked if I’d been caught in the fight, if we needed a doc.”

“Yeah, he made sure we weren’t hurt.”

“Did he appear to be a meta human? Any powers you noticed?”

“He did seem to blend into the shadows remarkably well.”

“Is being really strong a superpower?”

“He was crazy flexible. Like, his joints moved in ways that I haven’t seen since I watched that contortionist video my sister sent me.”

“Has to be flight, the way he just dropped out of the sky!”

“Gotta be psychic or something, he just moved like he knew what the other guy was gonna do!”

“Is there anything else you’d like to add?”

“Just that he saved my life that night.”

“If you see him, tell him ‘thank you’ for me?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, tell him I said thanks?”

“Yeah. Leave him alone. He’s helping people.”

“Just…he’s a real hero to us, y’know?”

***

By the time the sun set, the team had managed to complete twelve interviews. The details they’d gathered about the vigilante varied widely, and often contradicted: people couldn’t seem to agree on how he’d sounded, how tall he was, or even exactly how he’d looked. But M’gann could feel their satisfaction at having accomplished so many interviews as they began to walk back to the SUV that Grayson had been driving them around in. The skies above were overcast, as they had been pretty much since the team arrived in the city, though the air was still decently warm for such a cloudy day.

“How hard is it to just describe a dude?” Kid Flash groaned. “I mean, seriously, if the guy is tall, he’s tall. If he’s short, he’s short. It can’t really be this hard!” He threw his hands up in despair, drawing a chuckle from Grayson.

“You’d be surprised, Kid Flash.” The detective sighed, rolling his shoulders to work out some tension. “It’s honestly the hardest thing about witnesses. When in a traumatic or even just a high-stakes situation, you don’t commit things to long-term memory as easily. There’s a whole bunch of neuroscience behind it, but I won’t get into those details. People fill in details after the fact, and convince themselves that they saw things a certain way. The more they retell their story, the more concrete it becomes to them.”

“Human minds are very strange.” M’gann mused.

“You can say that again.” Grayson laughed as he lead them around a corner. M’gann could see the SUV at the end of the next block, parallel parked with ease in a spot she hadn’t expected it to fit at first.

“When a Martian needs to recall something,” she explained, “they can simply access the memory again. It is part of how our minds work. We can even enter other Martians’ minds to assist in finding certain memories hidden by trauma, but they are rarely inaccurate. But with humans, you seem to…to rewrite your memories over time, rendering them indecipherable to even a Martian’s mind.”

“That’s…kinda cool that you can do that. Just, y’know, don’t do it without permission and all.” Grayson’s smile was strained. Behind his walls, she could feel a hint of anxiety, a turbulence in the restrained waters of his mind.

“Oh, I learned all about mental privacy and boundaries for humans when I came to Earth!” M’gann reassured quickly. The detective nodded, but she couldn’t tell if she’d been able to put him at ease. She resisted the urge to brush against his mind – she had just told him that she understood boundaries – and instead refocused on the task at hand.

“So,” she began, “is it dark enough to contact some working girls?” Her excitement spilled into her voice just as it spilled into the air around her to mix with the embarrassment that suddenly flooded out from Kid Flash.

“You can’t just—say that!” He gasped out, flushing red under his vivid yellow mask. Grayson burst into laughter, tossing his head back in that characteristically open and sincere way of his.

“Yes, I think it is.” He said as he recovered his breath. “Normally, though, you might want to think on the, ah, implications of your words before you say them. Especially when you have fellow heroes who might have a heart attack at the double entendre!”

“Right, that’s…that’s definitely something I’ll work on more.” M’gann felt her cheeks grow hot, and she looked away from Grayson to focus on her fingers as they twined together.

“Hey, don’t worry about it too much.” She glanced up, surprised to hear his soft tone. His piercing blue eyes were gentle as she met them. “Learning new languages and cultures takes time – a lot of it. You seem pretty well adjusted to just about everything, but even years after you arrive, little things will still get you sometimes.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.” M’gann murmured.

“Heh, yeah. I was nine when I had to go from living as a performer in a traveling circus to a member of Gotham high society.” Grayson chuckled ruefully. “There were a few other jarring steps in between, but it took a long time for me to get the hang of sitting still in school, speaking only English, and acting ‘civilized’ when company came over.”

M’gann beamed. She loved it when people opened up pieces of themselves, loved learning about how someone came to be who they were. Grayson didn’t seem to do much of it, keeping himself and his past as closed to them as his mind. Even now, she could feel him holding back, not sharing all he’d thought or remembered, but she also felt the sincerity in his attempt to comfort her, and that was enough to help her brush off the last lingering threads of embarrassment.

“Speaking only English?” Wally asked, eyes bright with curiosity. “What other languages did you speak?”

“At the time?” Dick looked up toward the sky as he counted on his fingers for a moment. “Well, I learned Romani from my parents, French from Madame Babineaux and Pop Haly, Slovak from Ladislav and German from Andreas, Spanish from the González twins…”

Wally whistled appreciatively. “Wow, that’s…a lot.”

“In the circus, we tended to talk in a blend of languages. Kind of a language unto its own. Unfortunately, the kids in school weren’t quite so well-versed in European languages, and I had to focus into English, which was honestly the one I liked speaking the least. I only learned it for our American tour, really.” Dick’s lopsided smile was endearing. It felt genuine, warm, real to M’gann, and she found herself smiling along, embarrassment forgotten in the amusement of the moment. “Then there was the sitting still. It seems teachers don’t like it much when you’re on top of the desk rather than sitting at it. Who knew?”

“Sounds like you were an energetic kid.” Artemis commented, smiling despite herself.

“I was an unholy terror.” Grayson corrected.

“I’ll admit I’m surprised you’re in such a sharing mood.” Artemis added after a moment’s hesitation.

Grayson shrugged. “I mean, I’ve probably talked about all of this in interviews before. The media really wanted to know everything about me when B first took me in.” He paused. “But yeah, I guess it just seemed like the moment to share. I could have used someone saying it to me when I was adjusting back then.”

He grinned again, pausing next to the SUV. “Besides, it’s not like I’m telling you all my deepest, darkest secrets.” Grayson added with a suggestive wiggle of an eyebrow.

M’gann was surprised when the detective suddenly started unbuttoning his uniform shirt, and she wasn’t the only one.

“Hold on there Grayson,” Artemis yelped, “what are you doing?”

He looked at her, perplexed. “Taking off my uniform shirt?” Grayson paused, and M’gann watched understanding dawn on his face. “I have another shirt underneath, don’t worry. I’m not—I’m not stripping or anything like that.” He reassured hurriedly. Sure enough, he slid the shirt off his shoulders to reveal a form-fitting white t-shirt underneath.

M’gann shared a look with Artemis. He was built under that loose uniform, lean cords of muscle wrapping down his arms and across his chest and stomach. She was loyal to Conner, but she had to admit that it was more than she’d expected to see.

“I don’t make a habit of approaching the girls in uniform if I can avoid it. Not only do they not like being approached by cops in general, but it could get them in trouble with the seedier side of Blüdhaven. Being a CI – a confidential informant – is especially dangerous work in Blüdhaven, and no one wants to look like they’re one if they can avoid it.” Grayson explained, tossing the uniform shirt into the back of the SUV and grabbing out a Gotham Knights themed jacket.

“But, back to business. One of the corners we’re visiting tonight is only a few blocks away, we can walk it pretty easily.” He turned and lead the way adown the street, shrugging on the jacket as he went.

M’gann took in the atmosphere of the city as they walked. It was so different from Happy Harbor, Metropolis, and all other cities she’d been in within the country. It was…heavy here. Like everyone carried a weight with them, dragging them into apathy and misery, suppressing their ability to look up and see more than the darkness around them. She wanted to brush away the fear and tension she felt in the minds around her, wanted to heal whatever was causing this emotional cloud in the city.

It was similar to how she’d remembered Uncle J’onn describing Gotham – a perpetual emotional twilight, broken up only by those who had darker minds than the rest, who held real ill-will towards others around them.

She wished she knew how to fix it, how to make the fog of emotions leave these people alone.

A couple blocks down the road, there were two women chatting on a corner. They were dressed provocatively, but not as stereotypically as M’gann had expected based on the movies she’d seen. The brunette was relatively small, thin fingers curled around a cigarette that she passed to her companion after taking a long drag from it. The redhead took it, and flicked ash to the ground.

M’gann knew the moment they’d been spotted, as both women seemed to shift from their casual, conversational look, to a languid stance, painted lips lazily smirking in a way that she supposed could be interpreted as flirty.

“Well, hello there. What can we do for—Grayson?” The brunette straightened as she recognized the detective, dropping the flirtatious stance and returning to the relaxed look she’d had before they’d approached. “What are you doin’ out here tonight, honey?”

“Hey, Missy, Jewel.” Grayson greeted, smiling. M’gann decided in that moment that she liked his smiles, especially the one he gave to each person they’d interviewed so far in Blüdhaven. There was something so…warm about it. He seemed to genuinely care about each of them, despite never having met them before.

“Hey, sweetie. Who are your friends?” The brunette asked.

“Heroes from out of town.” Grayson replied easily. He gave the team’s hero names, then gestured to the girls in turn, naming the brunette Missy, and the redhead Jewel.

“So what, you brought the costumed crazies out to party?” Missy smirked. She and Jewel laughed, and Grayson gave a good-natured chuckle.

“How do you know Detective Grayson?” Aqualad asked cautiously.

“Oh, he’s one of the good ones!” Jewel answered immediately, her cheerful emotions coloring the air to M’gann’s mind.

“Good ones?” Artemis repeated, confused.

“Yeah. You know, one of the cops that actually gives a shit about us.” Jewel shrugged. “Just a few weeks ago, Betty was attacked by a John who didn’t wanna pay. We convinced her to go down to the station, cuz he bruised her up real bad and she had his name so she could give a report. Grayson here made sure the guy got caught and prosecuted, but didn’t try to charge Betty with anything.”

“Not many of the cops around here care to listen to the street whores.” Missy added, taking a long drag of the cigarette.

“Hey now.” Grayson chided playfully.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. We ain’t dirty, and we ain’t legally admitting we’re whores.” Missy grinned. “Look at’cha. White knight, ready to defend the honor of lowly street girls like us. What’s not to like?”

“Other than the fact that we don’t get paid when he’s around?” Jewel asked, winking at Grayson.

“Heh. Yeah, other than that.” Missy agreed. “So. What brings you to us, honey? Need a tip on a manhunt? Cuz we know some men.” She offered with a suggestive wiggle of a badly plucked brow.

“We’re actually here about the vigilante.” Aqualad said. M’gann wasn’t sure what happened, but in a second the two girls went from playful and teasing to wary, their faces hard and lips pressed together thinly.

“We don’ know nothin’ about no vigilante.”

“Only costumed crazies around here are you.”

They spoke on top of each other, voices cold, eyes hard. M’gann blinked, and felt the surprise of her teammates through the mindlink. After how friendly Sylvia Weathers and the other witnesses had been, they’d honestly been expecting another open line of information from this meeting.

“We only wanna talk with him.” Kid Flash offered with a shrug. “Not trying to fight him or anything like that.”

“Don’t matter what you wanna do, traffic light.” Missy retorted with a pointed look at Kid Flash’s uniform. “It don’t change what we know or what we don’t.”

“Now, we appreciate your help with keeping the girls safe on the street, Detective,” Jewel added, nearly glaring at Grayson, “but we do have some business to attend to tonight, and you hanging around won’t help us.”

“And don’t bother asking the other girls. No one knows nothin’ about a vigilante, y’hear?” Missy’s chin lifted in a challenge as she stared down the group of heroes.

“Yeah, we hear, Missy.” Grayson said, voice calm and hands raised in a placating gesture. “Thanks for your time, girls. Be safe out here tonight, okay?”

Their eyes softened fractionally, and Missy replied, “You got it, honey,” before the two of them turned and started to walk away, faded heels clicking sharply against the concrete sidewalk. After just a few steps though, they paused and Missy turned back.

"By the way, honey, none of the other girls have gone missing since we started taking your advice. But I heard some of the homeless guys in the warehouse district have been talking about regulars getting picked up for meals and not coming back. Thought you ought ta know."

"Thanks, Missy, I'll try to get someone to look into it." Grayson nodded.

“That was…weird.” Kid Flash said after a beat.

“They certainly did not take kindly to our asking after the vigilante.” Aqualad agreed.

“They knew something.” Superboy grunted, looking distinctly like he wanted to go after them.

“Maybe they did, but you can’t force people to talk to you.” Grayson shrugged. “I knew it was a long shot, anyway. If the vigilante is protecting them in any capacity – even if he’s just helped someone find shelter on a cold night – they’ll treat him like one of them, and they won’t say a word. It’s the way they keep each other safe, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find out they’re doing the same for him.”

“Honor among thieves, as it were.” Artemis nodded thoughtfully. “I can respect that.”

“They’ll have spread the word by now to the others. It won’t be worth trying to track anyone else down, they’ll just avoid us.” Grayson glanced at the heroes. “Guess tonight won’t be as late as we’d originally anticipated. I’ll drop you back off at the precinct so you can grab whatever vehicle you’ve been driving around the city, and I guess we’ll call it a night.”

M’gann contemplated what she’d felt from everyone that night, and it all fit into what she’d seen, except for now, at the very tail end. As Grayson led them back to the SUV, she swore she could feel the slightest hint of relief behind his emotional walls.

If only she could figure out why.

Chapter Text

It was nearly eleven when Dick finally pulled out his black and blue Nightwing suit. Damian and Tim were spending the night – again – and he’d made a point of disassembling his coffee maker to keep Tim from using it. The teen was perfectly capable of reassembling it, but Dick was about eighty percent sure he wouldn’t bother. At least Tim might get some sleep tonight, something he wasn’t sure anyone was making him do back at the Manor.

He applied his domino mask with Spirit gum and shook out his hair, still wet from the shower to clean out the gel he used to tame it as Detective Grayson. The Kevlar and fabric of his suit moved comfortably with him, supple despite its strength. The witness who had speculated that he wore armor hadn’t been too far off, but neither was the one who had claimed his suit was spandex. He didn’t have the heavy plating that Bats and Hood employed, as his fighting style required flexibility and range of movement that theirs did not, but it wasn’t just store-bought fabric, either. It was cut resistant, dispersed impact, and had enough Kevlar at vital places to stop a small caliber bullet from penetrating the material. Bullets still hurt like hell the next day though, and painted him all sorts of pretty bruised colors.

Dick pulled on his gloves, slid his escrima sticks into place on his back, and clipped his utility belt across his hips.

It was finally time to be Nightwing.

Sometimes, it felt like he spent all day behind different masks he’d created under Bruce’s tutelage: Detective Grayson, the intelligent but otherwise average detective, became Dick Grayson, ex-ward of Bruce Wayne and dedicated big brother, became Nightwing, acrobatic vigilante and master escapist.

Sometimes, he wondered which one of the masks was his real face.

Sometimes, he wondered if he still had a real face under the masks.

Nightwing shook himself out of his darker thoughts, and climbed out of his window, ever conscious of Lenka’s eyes from the window further down the building. He could see the curtains shift as she ducked out of sight, and smiled softly. He’d likely get a scolding later for going out with his hair wet, but for now there was work to do.

He hopped up off the ledge to grab the edge of the roof, pulling himself up in one fluid movement and rolling neatly into a crouch to find himself suddenly face-to-surface with something large and red. It took him entirely too long – only a few seconds, but every second is essential, Robin – to remember that the Sidekick Squad had a Martian Bioship. The massive red metal egg, gleaming dully in the reflected lamplight from the streets below, had to be the Bioship’s resting form.

Careful not to touch it, just in case it would tattle on him, Nightwing stood and looked out over his city. Other places he’d been – Metropolis, for example – were peaceful at night, crickets chirping and people sleeping. Here, there was an ever-present sense of lurking danger, something hidden and waiting just beyond your line of sight, stalking you in the night, waiting for your back to turn. It was unnerving, but familiar – Gotham had the same aura of something watching with hostile eyes.

Nightwing rolled his shoulders, easing the tension that had built as he sat still atop the building next to the looming reminder of his most recent irritants. He’d planned to be out here last night, but once his brothers had all arrived, they’d declared it a movie night, and there was no patrol on movie nights. Instead of punching bad guys, they would create a massive nest of pillow and blankets on the floor of his living room, furniture pushed haphazardly aside, and spend the night together. Jason and Damian always made a show of keeping their distance at the start of the night, but by the time they were all drifting off, Damian would be glued to Dick’s side, and Jason would have his legs cast across the pile or Tim’s head on his stomach.

Two consecutive nights of having his brothers sleeping over wasn’t unheard of, but it was a little odd. Damian had arrived with his brother, and muttered something about being grounded from patrol, but had refused to explain why. Tim, oddly, had been just as tight-lipped. Dick just hoped it wasn’t a fight about B’s relationship with him or Jason again.

He pushed aside the thoughts, and put on the Nightwing mask more firmly, pressing his gloved fingers over the domino as though the physical pressure would help solidify his grip on his persona. There was a lot to get done tonight.

Nightwing leapt from the building, taking off across the rooftops. Amy’s investigation into a death was leading her to the same gang he’d marked for surveillance. He would need to get a head start on that, if he was to keep her out of anything particularly bad. Amy Rohrbach was one of the few truly good people he’d met in…well, ever, really. She was on the level of Commissioner Gordon himself, and Nightwing would rather walk back into Gotham to beg Batman’s forgiveness than let her come to any harm that he could have prevented.

The city was quieter than normal, and Nightwing took in the ambient noise of the streets around him – car tires whispering across the asphalt, cats squabbling in a nearby alleyway – and breathed deeply. The air wasn’t clean, but the smoggy smell had become something of a comfort. Unlike the darkness, it was different kind of dirty than Gotham’s air, and it was grounding to him, a reminder of where he was, what he was doing.

Making the leap from one rooftop to another, he glanced down and grinned. Missy and Jewel were chatting under a streetlight, just as he’d hoped. He didn’t make a habit of talking to any one person too frequently – habits and patterns are traps you set for yourself – but he wanted to thank them for their strong, if obvious loyalty to him and his secrets. Plus, after such an abrupt attitude cold front earlier, he was nearly certain that the heroes would be watching the girls to see if he’d swing by.

He’d hate to disappoint them.

Nightwing dropped, landing lightly beside the women. They jumped, but smiled when they realized who it was.

“Evening, ladies.” He let his natural Romani accent color his voice, the voice of Nightwing, a voice never trained to blend in with Gotham, never trained to hide his heritage. Nightwing felt his face settle into a lopsided grin reserved for this mask, the sly, almost snarky counterpart to Grayson’s performer’s grin.

“Hey, Wing.” Missy smiled. “Quiet night, ain’t it?”

“As peaceful as it gets.” Nightwing agreed. “Heard there’s new costumes in town, looking for me. Heard you turned them away.”

“Yeah. Team of heroes – Baby Justice League or whatever – is looking for you.” Jewel replied. “But we didn’t say anything.”

“I appreciate that.” He replied with genuine warmth. “You know me – not looking for attention if I can avoid it.”

“They said they just wanna talk, and maybe they’re honest – they had Detective Grayson of the BPD with him, an’ he’s always been honest with us – but we ain’t takin’ no chances with our personal hero.” Missy crossed her arms, a determined yet affectionate set to her mouth.

“Aww, I’m touched.” Nightwing cooed, tilting his head. “But I’m no hero. Not really my gig.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, honey.” Missy rolled her eyes with a teasing tilt to her painted lips. “But we know better. You help people, take the hits so others don’ have to, and don’ care to get the credit for it. Sounds like a hero to me.”

“Nah. If I was a hero, I’d be chasing the spotlight like the rest of ‘em.” Nightwing shrugged. “I’m more of a shadows-and-punching sort of guy, not a lights-and-camera hero. I just want to use the skills I have to help people, nothing more.”

“Whatever you say, Wing.” Jewel giggled.

“By the way,” Nightwing added, dropping his smile to emphasize the severity of what he was about to say, “stay away from the south end of town for the next week or so. Pass the word: there’s some bad mojo happening down there, and until I figure out which rats need clearing out, it’s not going to be safe for any of you ladies.”

The girls nodded.

“We’ll stay away if you’ll stay careful, Wing.” Jewel said, giving him a meaningful look.

“Since when has being careful actually kept me out of trouble?” Nightwing grinned, pulling out his grapple. “But I suppose I can try being careful, if it will make you sweet ladies happy.”

With that, he fired the grapple gun, letting himself he pulled into the air, momentum carrying him up onto the rooftop where he landed with a soft pat. A few buildings over, a small movement caught his eye. He was careful not to turn his head, but feigned a stretch while watching peripherally. Five figures moved in the darkness, thinking themselves concealed.

You’d probably fool common goons like that, but you’ve never faced off against Bats in stealth training. He thought, a smug little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Well, I knew they’d be watching for my arrival. Might as well run off some of their amateur energy before we get down to the meet and greet tonight.

I wonder how well they’ll keep up.

Pivoting abruptly on the ball of one foot, he took off in the opposite direction of the team of “hidden” heroes, leaping nimbly to the next roof. He heard the sound of feet scrambling to pick up speed, and grinned.

Nightwing soon discovered that even though the Baby Justice League had a man who could keep pace with the Flash, a Kryptonian who could probably leap over buildings, and a Martian who could fly, they couldn’t actually keep up very well in a game of rooftop tag. He chalked it up to their belief that he hadn’t noticed them, and their desire for stealth in their pursuit. So he slowed down just a little as he led them south, taking the time to add in simple flips and tricks, enjoying the familiar sensation of flying through the air.

Finally arriving in the industrial area of town, far enough from innocent bystanders to be safe – always limit potential casualties, you never know when a conversation will shift from words to fists – Nightwing slowed on the next roof, meandering to a stop near the far edge. He brushed a finger over the wing dings in his belt as he turned.

Let’s start this with a cheerful, easy-going face, see what they want.

“I had really thought you’d keep up better than that.” Nightwing called into the darkness with his best cheeky smile. He waited for them to emerge, and when they didn’t, he sighed with intentionally over-the-top drama. “I can literally see you standing there, guys. Either come out and talk like grown-ups, or we’ll play another round of rooftop tag, and see if you can keep up when I really try to get away from you.”

He was rewarded with four figures stepping into view on the next building over, looking slightly sheepish. They’d changed their costumes from the bright colors they normally sported to darker tones, likely in an attempt to blend into the shadows better. Nightwing looked to the slight distortion of the air at Superboy’s side that marked the Martian’s position, and raised an eyebrow.

“Camouflage isn’t invisibility, Greensleeves.” He called. Miss Martian faded into view, looking startled. “What, you’ve never been called on that before? Weird.”

“How did you see us so easily?” Kid Flash piped up as the group jumped – or floated – across the gap to stand on the opposite edge of his roof.

“You don’t exactly blend into the night, even with your costume changes.” Nightwing shrugged. “Stealth tech is useful and all, but you move like you’re used to being in the spotlight, not behind the curtain.”

“How did you know we had changed costumes?” Artemis asked, eyes narrowed behind her mask.

“I knew everything about you the moment you stepped into Blüdhaven. It’s my city, and I make it my business to know about newcomers who might try and stir things up.”

“Who are you?” Aqualad asked, voice strong and commanding in a way that might have cowed Nightwing if he hadn’t grown up with the embodiment of strict commands.

“Nice leader voice, I’d give it an eight out of ten, but this is my city, Fishsticks. Home turf rules state that you introduce yourselves first.” Nightwing shot back glibly. He subtly shifted his rear foot into a better bracing position, just in case. They’d said they just wanted to talk, but he wasn’t going to be caught unawares if they changed their minds.

“We are heroes of the Young Justice League.”

“That’s specific.” Nightwing rolled his eyes. “Do I get names, or should I just refer to you each as ‘hero of the Young Justice League’ all night? Oh! I could give everyone nicknames. Let’s see, you’re already Fishsticks, she’s Greensleeves, you—”

Nightwing swallowed a laugh as he was cut off by Aqualad’s long-suffering sigh. Poor guy almost sounded as tired as B did after a long night.

“I am Aqualad, and this is my team: Superboy, Miss Martian, Artemis, and Kid Flash.” The Atlantean gestured to each in turn, and they nodded as they were introduced. Kid Flash was already grinning, an amusing contrast to Artemis’ obviously intentional glare. “Do you have a name by which we may call you?”

“Formal wording, but hey. I’ve heard weirder turns of phrase.” Nightwing pulled up his lopsided, roguish grin. “Name’s Nightwing.”

“Nightwing…from Kryptonian legends?” Superboy frowned, shifting back onto his heels as he seemed to ponder the name. The body language was more of a clue to his confusion than his frown though – his natural resting face was just one big frown anyway, so Nightwing wasn’t sure if this particular frown was a reaction, or just…him. The movement of his weight was a much easier read than his face.

“Yeah. Got it from a book the Big Blue Boy Scout helped author. Seemed to fit well enough.” Nightwing shrugged. It wasn’t too far from the truth. The legend of Nightwing and Flamebird was in that book…it was just published after he’d heard the name from Superman himself. But that wasn’t a story he was going to share with the class.

“So what’s a group of heroes doing in Blüdhaven?” He asked after a beat, crossing his arms across his chest. He could feel Artemis’ eyes follow the movement, and he felt a spike of amusement as he noted the slight flush of her cheeks in the darkness as she obviously noticed the muscles that the stance emphasized through his chest and shoulders. Bats had always taught him to find any advantage he could, and while distracting his female opponents with his body felt cheap and demeaning, he couldn’t argue with the results most times.

“We were looking for you, actually.” Kid Flash supplied. “Heard about your work here and wanted to see what you're up to.”

“What I’m up to?” Nightwing chuckled. “You’re making me sound like a stereotypical supervillain, with wacky plans to wreak havoc and steal cheeseburgers.”

Kid Flash laughed. “Nah, man. We just wanna know what kind of mask you are.”

“Currently a busy one. Lots of things to do, people to see, goons to punch. You know how it is.”

“Boy, do we! From what we hear around the city, you do a lot of good!”

“Why thank ya kindly.” Nightwing replied in a truly awful attempt at a Southern Cowboy accent, sweeping into a dramatic bow before slipping back into his natural Romani lilt. “I do what I can.”

“It seems you may have the makings of a great hero.” Aqualad stated.

“Not a hero.” The correction came to his lips automatically, and he briefly considered the irony of having had such a similar conversation with Missy and Jewel not ten minutes earlier.

“Not yet, perhaps. But you have been operating a full year and a half without a major incident, and that is impressive.”

“Yup. A year and a half under my belt already. Where does the time go?” Nightwing asked with a grin. Try thirteen years on for size. I’ve been costuming for longer than any of you.

“We would like to extend an offer of friendship and partnership from the Justice League of America.” Aqualad continued, as though he hadn’t been interrupted. Nightwing narrowed his eyes. Now things get tricky. Negotiations are always…interesting. Cheerful and snarky didn’t really do much, so let’s try a sharper, but still friendly-adjacent attitude.

“Oh? And tell me, does this offer of friendship and partnership come with a gilded collar and leash, too?” Nightwing asked, pushing a sickly sweet edge into his voice.

“What do you mean?” Miss Martian asked, frowning.

“You wouldn’t be making me an offer unless you wanted something from me in return. I’ve been around long enough to know at least that much. And I’ve done my research. The Justice League’s charter is more restrictive than it is helpful.” Nightwing shrugged, landing just short of casual. “I’m not actually looking for a new partnership, anyway. Just got out from under one stoic jerk’s thumb, not really looking to tie myself to another cannonball just yet.”

“Wait, you worked with someone before? Who?” Kid Flash asked eagerly.

“Sorry, KF, but you need to level up in friendship before you can access my tragic backstory.” Nightwing grinned.

“KF? I—oh! KF! Kid Flash! Nice! I’m keeping that one!” KF beamed.

“The charter is not designed to be a restriction, but rather a protection.” Aqualad tried again.

“Yeah, that’s what the other guy tried to sell me too. ‘I’m doing this for your own protection’ this and ‘my rules are the only things that can keep you safe’ that. But ya know what? I’m doing a lot better under my own rules and I’ve been protected just fine so far. So yeah, not really looking for a new set of people to tell me what I’m not allowed to do.”

“What part of the League’s charter scares you so badly?” Artemis asked, frowning behind her mask. “I can’t think of anything that would be bad enough to warrant rejecting all the help and backup it offers.”

“Really? Did you read it?” Nightwing asked sardonically, quirking an eyebrow skeptically. “How about the clause that limits what kind of things are permissible in a fight?”

“Okay, so no torture or killing. That’s not a bad thing, dude. Heroes are supposed to be the good guys anyway.” Kid Flash shrugged.

“No torture, sure. No killing, fine. But also avoiding permanent damage to your opponent, even at the cost of your own health? Sure it doesn’t say that outright, but that seems to be the expectation. And no experimental weaponry without review and approval? Literally ninety percent of my tech and equipment qualifies as experimental under the charter’s guidelines, and there’s no way I’d give up those secrets, or the secrets of those who helped to develop them.” Nightwing shook his head. He’d never hang Lucius Fox or Timmy out to dry like that.

“Okay, but other than that?” Artemis pushed, visibly setting aside other questions his answers were raising.

“How about the part that demands I reveal my civilian identity? Not gonna happen. I’m not getting compromised.” Nightwing scoffed.

“That information is heavily guarded in the systems of the Justice League, and is only recorded for the sake of emergencies.” Aqualad defended.

“Yeah, but all it takes is one proficient hacker to give that information to every black-market dealer in the world.” Nightwing frowned. “I have people who rely on me. People who would be targeted if I were to be revealed. People who trust me to keep them and their secrets safe. People who would be revealed with me if I gave up my secret.”

He looked over the team. “I get that not everyone has high stakes with their civvy ID. I mean, look at you guys. A shapeshifting Martian who, if revealed, can just choose a new face. A Kryptonian clone – sorry, half Kryptonian – who doesn’t have any kind of high-profile ID at all, and could literally just move to the next city with new papers and be fine. A meta who has been a little too easy with his own identities. An Atlantean who doesn’t even need a civvy ID on land if he doesn’t want one.” Nightwing paused, meeting Artemis’ eyes. “And a human who has the connections to take those she loves and disappear without anyone the wiser.”

“How do you know all of that?” Artemis growled, snatching an arrow and half-drawing her bow.

“You’re not the only ones with sources.” Nightwing tilted his head slightly.

“What do you mean?” Superboy rumbled, hands clenching.

“Most of you wouldn’t get it.” Nightwing replied cryptically, watching Artemis’ eyes widen slightly as she caught on. She seemed to shift back half a step, considering, then nodded slightly to him.

Superboy growled in displeasure at being deflected, and Nightwing took a breath, forcing himself to stay calm. This is still just a conversation, he reminded himself, don’t make the first move, and don’t do anything stupid.

“Be that as it may, it would be for your protection, and that of your family and friends.” Aqualad tried.

“My family and friends are plenty protected right now, with a very limited number of people aware of my various identities.” Nightwing shot back, feeling his irritation rise with his anxiety. “So thanks for the invite to the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, but I’m gonna pass. It’s not you, it’s me, et cetera et cetera.”

Aqualad opened his mouth, and Nightwing fought down a sigh. So, a friendly ‘no’ is going to get railroaded? Let’s try a more angry, aggressive face, then.

“My friend, please reconsider—”

“Not your friend, Fishsticks.” Nightwing interrupted sharply. “And here’s a little lesson on consent: no means no.”

Kid Flash snickered, and even Artemis’ lips twitched.

“So thanks or whatever, but kindly get out of my city now. I’m not interested in having you running around making noise and pushing the rats I’m chasing into hiding.” Nightwing sent them a mid-level Bat Glare, and was satisfied to see most of them cringe back a little.

“We must insist that you take the time to listen to what we have to say.” Aqualad’s voice was starting to be colored by his frustration, and Nightwing wanted to groan. Man, this guy does not give up! “Unchecked vigilantism leads easily to villainy. No one man should be judge, jury, and executioner.”

“Hold up. I don’t execute anyone, buddy. I get them into the law’s hands, and see that there’s enough evidence to keep them there.” Nightwing snapped. “Killing is really more of Red Hood’s thing.”

“Red Hood?” Kid Flash frowned, but was ignored.

“Nevertheless, we cannot allow you to pursue vengeance without any kind of checks and balances.”

“Aaand vengeance is really more of Batman’s thing.” Nightwing drawled. “I’m more about protecting the innocent. Important distinction.”

The tension was getting too thick, and while Nightwing knew he was good, as he eyed Superboy’s taut shoulders and the ease with which Artemis handled her bow, he didn’t feel like testing how good with a still-bruised chest and five heroes of unknown skill as opponents. So he dialed back the aggression, trying to find the balance of snark and hostility that would get them to leave without starting a fight.

“Are you affiliated with the Batman?” Aqualad asked sharply, eyes narrowing.

“Nope. I’m my own gig here in Blüdhaven. No Bat-stamp of approval or Bat-interference.” Nightwing quipped, forcing his body to remain relaxed even as his mind raced. He was giving away too much too fast. He needed an out, needed space to plan his next move, since talking seemed to only go in circles. He should have prepared better for this conversation – failure to plan is planning for failure, Robin.

The team looked at each other, obviously unsure about something. They seemed concerned, almost wary now, where they’d been eager before.

Pressure began building at his temples and the base of his skull, and Nightwing immediately slammed down all of his mental defenses on instinct, focusing on them being as impenetrable and unforgiving as the rough rock walls of the Batcave. His eyes snapped to Miss Martian, locking on her hovering form.

“Mental hands out of my head please,” he growled, “or you’ll lose mental fingers.”

Miss Martian looked surprised, mouth forming a small ‘o’, but her focus seemed to shift, and he felt the pressure fade. To the untrained, she would have seemed to be gone, but he recognized the feeling of a lingering presence at the edges of his consciousness.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to—” She started.

“I said out.” Nightwing snarled. He pulled up a memory of sharp pain – Joker slamming a bat against his ribs when he was still young and stupid enough to try and go toe to toe with the psychopathic clown alone – and pushed it at her. The Martian cried out, dropping into Superboy’s arms.

“What did you do to her?” The clone bellowed, holding her close as his sharp blue eyes locked onto Nightwing with murderous intent.

“I gave fair warning. I don’t like people in my head.” Nightwing snapped. His heart was hammering in his chest, a staccato beat of impending panic. They attacked me. His mouth was dry, tongue sticking thickly to the roof. They don’t just want to talk. His breath caught in his throat. If they can’t convince me, they’ll force me. Cold shot through his core and steeled his spine.

I knew it wouldn’t just be talk.

Nightwing settled his weight lower, eyes on the startled heroes. He had mere moments to act. His mind held too many secrets to take a mental assault lightly. He pushed aside the fear of what could have happened if he hadn’t been trained to resist psychic probes, and shifted a hand to his utility belt.

They were not going to take everything from him so easily.

“Apologies,” Aqualad began, hands up in a placating gesture, “she just—”

“Save it.” Nightwing spat. Fingers found the third pouch on the right. If a friendly ‘no’ and an angry ‘no’ get ignored, how about a Batman ‘no’? “You will leave my city now. If you don’t, I will bring war to you the likes of which haven’t been seen since the League tried to kidnap the youngest Robin from Batman.” Nimble fingers slipped into the pouch, searching.

“Kidnap? When did they—” Kid Flash started, looking concerned.

“Get your manipulative hides out of Blüdhaven.” Nightwing found the small orb he’d been looking for, and whipped his hand forward, smashing it on the gravel between them. Dark smoke exploded up, and he heard startled cries as the air filled, obscuring him nearly instantly from their sight.

Nightwing flung himself over the edge of the building, using the grappling hook to descend safely to street level, then take off down the maze of alleyways.

All he left behind him was gradually clearing smoke and a threat ringing in concerned silence.

Chapter Text

Dick was fifteen the first time he and Bruce had a real fight. They’d argued before, even coming to blows, but this was the first time that Bruce had been so…so furious.

He was miles away now, unsure of what city he’d ended up in. He just knew his bike was out of gas, and this was the tallest building he could find to scale. Dick had always felt better at higher elevations. He’d fled to the trapeze when upset, climbed Zitka the elephant, even scaled the main tent pole once, all before he’d ever become the ward of Bruce Wayne. Recently, he’d taken to climbing onto the manor’s roof, or some of the massive oaks around the property. Anything to get high enough to hide, to think, to just breathe when it all became too much.

But in this unfamiliar city, he’d been unable to find anything familiar to climb – unsurprising, but distressing nonetheless – and instead sat here, atop a massive skyscraper, motorcycle left abandoned on the street below.

Tears still flowed over bruised cheeks, jaw sore from heavy hits. Sobs sent flares of pain through his ribs – he was sure one or two were cracked, though it was unlikely any were truly broken. Curling up on himself like this wasn’t good for the pain in his ribs, or for the blossoming bruises on his legs and arms, but it felt better than stretching out. For once, he didn’t want to be the unstoppable Robin. For once, he wanted to let himself be small, let himself hurt and not have to pretend that he was strong enough to ignore it.

Bruce was right: he wasn’t enough. Wasn’t strong enough. Wasn’t skilled enough. Wasn’t obedient enough.

Dick stared out at the city through blurry eyes, toes curled over the edge of the roof. His shoes had been left behind with his bike, bare feet more grounding than the restrictive shoes he had to wear as a member of ‘civilized’ society. The rough concrete under his bare soles was helping, as was the cold air against his uncovered arms.

Dick heard the rustle of fabric behind him, but didn’t care enough to turn and look. He’d lost everything tonight – what did he have to fear from a sudden arrival? It’s not like Batman would chase him to another city to make sure he was alright.

Would he?

Dick turned, hoping for a dark figure wrapped in a cloak of night. Instead, he was met with the sight of the Superman, blue and red, looking concerned as he crossed the distance toward the teen.

“Hey there.” Superman said, voice soft, careful.

“I’m not here to kill myself.” Dick didn’t care whether he was being too blunt. He didn’t care if Superman took offense and left. He just…he just didn’t care.

“That’s…that’s good.” Superman replied, looking off-balance. “I’ll admit I was worried.”

“Don’t be. I just…I just think better when I’m up high.” Dick admitted, looking back out toward the city. There was silence, and for a moment he thought Superman would leave him to his grief. Instead, the big man sat down next to him, legs dangling over the edge.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Superman asked softly. Dick shrugged. “I like to think up high, too. Seems like the air clears my mind, like getting some vertical distance from the problem somehow helps put it in perspective, helps me to see better.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Superman glancing at Dick, obviously categorizing the deepening bruises, the tears, the position.

“So what chased you into the sky tonight?” Superman asked at last.

“I…got in a fight.”

“I can see that.” Amusement tinged the hero’s voice, and Dick glanced at him. “Who were you fighting with?”

“My dad.” Dick replied. “Or…well, he’s not actually my dad.” Saying it aloud made everything hurt again. “He’s more of a foster guardian. I’m…I’m just his ward. I’m not family.”

“What happened?”

Dick wanted to stay silent. He wanted Superman to leave. He wanted…he wanted to say something. Say something to someone who was willing to just sit and listen. He wanted comfort. He wanted help.

He wanted a hero.

“We…we do a lot of extra stuff together. It’s how…it’s how we bonded.” Dick began, knowing he’d have to tread carefully. No matter how much he wanted to just spill everything, he knew he couldn’t give away their identities. It was the first rule of working with the Batman. Not getting hurt didn’t even make the top ten.

“We do a lot of…of volunteer work, I guess you could say. Helping people.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is…was. He…I disobeyed a direct order. I thought I knew better, because I could see something he couldn’t. I thought I was helping but…but I just made things worse. Someone got hurt.” Dick continued the heavily filtered account. “And because of that…he’s taking this all away from me. It’s…it’s part of who I am, it’s part of what makes me…me.”

Dick closed his eyes, feeling fresh tears run down his cheeks. “And now…I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who I am if he takes this from me. I don’t…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. Do I just…start over? Make a whole new identity for myself? Can I even do that without him?” Dick let out a shaky breath.

“I just…he doesn’t see how much it means to me, to do this with him. He doesn’t see me for who I am, he sees what he thinks I am, and no matter what I do, I can’t break through to make him see that I’m changed from who I started as, that I am better. I can’t…all I get is his disapproval, his disappointment. Like I’m not the son he’d hoped I would be. I just…I feel so lost, and I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I just…I don’t know.”

Superman was silent for a moment, eyes distant. Then, he let out a long, measured breath, and Dick could see him setting aside his own thoughts – whatever thoughts his words had triggered – to focus on the young man beside him, even though his eyes never left the skyline of the glowing city below them.

“There was a legend,” he began, “back on Krypton. It told of the dragon-like god Flamebird, who was charged by the almighty Rao with constantly refreshing the world. She was given the task of burning down the new creations of her brother, Vohc-the-Builder. She did so, burning everything he made. But he did not hate her for it, but thanked her. He was grateful that Flamebird constantly pushed him to create, to reimagine his own creations. They were a perfect balance of creation and destruction, and they worked together in a never-ending cycle of renewal.”

Dick listened, eyes on the city. Superman’s voice was gentle, and it soothed the ache in Dick’s chest. Something about the cadence of his voice made Dick relax a little, legs dropping down to hang like Superman’s, arms wrapped loosely around aching ribs as he leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees. He could see Superman watch the movement, but it felt casual, an observation rather than a hovering worry.

“There was another dragon-like god, Nightwing, who had been tasked by the sun god Rao to hunt down the evils which hid from Rao in the shadows. Being a creature of shadows, Nightwing could not walk among the other Kryptonian gods, apart from Vohc-the-Builder. He lived a lonely existence, hunting the evils which walked the shadows beyond Rao’s sight, eliminating the threats in the darkness where he, too, lingered. His work was good, but he was alone.”

Dick straightened a little, eyes locked on the city as Superman spoke, careful to hide just how much he felt for the dragon-god, hiding in the shadows, unable to share, to connect with others.

“To help his friend Nightwing, Vohc-the-Builder made it possible for him to meet Flamebird. The two quickly fell in love. Vohc’s next creation was a monument, representing all of the love that he felt for his sister. While Flamebird truly admired and appreciated the work, she was determined to fulfill her duty to Rao. Vohc-the-Builder begged her to spare just this one creation, but Flamebird ignored his pleas, and burned it as she had burned everything else. Vohc-the-Builder felt she had destroyed him with his creation, and was changed, becoming Vohc-the-Breaker.

“In his wrath, he created a spire of Kryptonian sunstone crystals that sealed away Nightwing in another realm when Flamebird destroyed it. Flamebird was heartbroken, and spent the rest of the cycle of that age mourning her lost love.” Superman paused, looking at Dick. “But when the next age came, Nightwing manifested again, as did Flamebird. Eventually, they found each other, and lived in happiness until once again betrayed by a friend and killed once more.

“In each age, they live the cycle again, reborn without each other, finding each other, only to be eventually betrayed and killed, completing the cycle.”

“That sounds like a pretty shitty cycle.” Dick muttered.

“Perhaps. But no matter the hardships and betrayals, no matter what they go through in each age, they are always born again, to new bodies, new names, new lives.” Superman replied, voice thoughtful as he spoke. “Each time, they find each other, and find happiness once again. And yes, their lives eventually burn around them, but such is the cycle of time – Flamebird herself was a deity of rebirth and renewal, not dissimilar to the phoenix of this world. And yes, she burned the creations of her brother, but it gave space to new growth, new creations.”

“I guess that makes sense. It’s like building muscle. You have to hurt to grow stronger.” Dick mused, leaning back against the AC unit behind him to look up at the stars. His mother used to point out the constellations with him, tell him stories about the characters emblazoned in the sky. She would have liked the story of Flamebird and Nightwing.

“Still hurts though.” Dick sighed.

“Yeah, it does. But even when we are hurt by those we love, there is still a choice.” Superman turned to look at the teen. “We can react as Vohc, and let ourselves be broken by others’ actions, becoming angry and bitter. Or we can react as Flamebird, and let ourselves be reborn to try again, to learn and grow from our hardships and our trials.”

“You should find someone to publish that story. Others from Krypton, too.” Dick said suddenly, his mind kicking into high gear. “I think people would like them. It would make you seem…more like the rest of us.”

“Oh?” Superman smiled, a teasing light in his eyes. “Make me seem less alien?”

“Less perfect.” Dick corrected, and smiled at the surprise on the other man’s face. “You always seem so…impervious to everything. Like you were just born with a perfect moral compass, knowing exactly what to do and how to be. I think people would like to know that you learned how to be good. Gives the rest of us hope that maybe we can be good, too.”

“You seem like you’re already pretty good, kid.” Superman’s voice sounded affectionate, his blue eyes soft.

“I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure out what I am. I don’t know what I even want to be.” Dick admitted. “I just know that I don’t want to be like my guardian anymore. I don’t…I can’t be like him. I can’t do what he does, I can’t make the sacrifices he has.”

“You have plenty of time to figure all of that out. Heavens know I had an entire childhood and adolescence before I ever took on the role of Superman. I had to learn and grow, too. And it’s hard, especially when you feel like you’re lost in the woods.”

“Like I said, you should publish those stories. I’d buy a copy.” Dick managed a watery smile.

“I’ll look into it. I know a couple writers and publishers that would probably help.” Superman returned the smile. “You’re going to be okay, kid. This cycle will pass, and you’ll get to be happy again soon.”

“Thanks.” Dick’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “For the story, for the advice…for everything, I guess. I know you probably had better things to do than tell a story to a kid on a roof.”

“Heroes aren’t just for the damsels in distress or the villains causing chaos.” Superman placed a large hand on Dick’s shoulder, and he found himself leaning into the touch, savoring the warmth and care while it lasted. “Heroes are for everyone who needs them. Yesterday, it was a giant robot trying to wipe out the city. Today, it’s a young man who’s feeling a little lost after having his world shaken. Tomorrow, who knows? Maybe it will be another villain, maybe another person who just needs someone to care for a while. Either way, it’s what heroes do.”

“Maybe being a hero isn’t so bad, then.” Dick whispered, almost afraid to say it aloud. Bats would freak if he heard Dick say it, but Bats wasn’t here, Bats hadn’t come to comfort him and make him feel like maybe the world wasn’t ending. A hero had.

“Maybe.” Superman agreed. He looked at Dick with concerned eyes, clearly having heard the weight behind the words, but choosing not to push a sensitive topic. Dick was grateful.

“Do you know a decent gas station around here?” Dick asked suddenly. “My bike’s completely out of gas, and I have a bit of a drive to get home.”

Superman laughed, a warm, joyful sound. “Let me help you get your bike to a station, then. It’s a few blocks, and I’m sure you could push it there, but what’s the point of super strength if you don’t get to use it for the little things?”

“Carrying a bike isn’t a little thing.” Dick chuckled.

“It’s a little thing to me, if it’s to help a young man like you.”

Dick felt himself flush, and Superman smiled.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what’s your name? I feel bad calling you ‘kid’ all night.” Superman asked.

“Dick. Dick Grayson.” It wasn’t like his face was hard to find on the internet, anyway.

“Where are you from?”

“…Gotham.” A simple Google search would tell Superman as much. It wasn’t really giving away information, no matter what the paranoid voice in the back of his head – sounding suspiciously like Bruce – said.

“You are a long way from home!” Superman laughed, and Dick relaxed. There was no judgement in that laugh, no plotting or scheming. “Let’s get you that gas. Do you need somewhere to stay tonight?”

“No, but thanks. I think…I think I’ll head home.” Dick said, sounding more decisive than he was.

“I’m sure they’re worried about you.” Superman’s smile was softer again.

They talked about meaningless things – school, storytelling, the way life changed as time passed – as Superman carried him down from the roof, retrieved his bike, and walked with him to the gas station, motorcycle carried securely under one arm. Dick would never tell Bruce, but it was the highlight of his year, talking with Superman, knowing the hero could have carried him and the bike to fly them faster, but chose to walk with him anyway, chose to take the time to listen to him anyway.

As he drove back to Gotham, Dick thought on the story he’d been told. He wasn’t sure he could be a Flamebird, all fire and destruction, in constant conflict with family. Jason was still new to their home – and already adopted, his mind added bitterly – but he wanted to be close with his new brother. Foster brother? Whatever the legalese was, he wanted Jason as his brother, and he didn’t want to be a force of destruction.

Rebirth sounded nice, though.

And the idea of Nightwing...he liked it. Shadows incarnate, but motivated not by anger, but by love. A creature of shadow, hunting evil in the darkness, but full of love and devotion to his chosen family…he could do that. He could be reborn as something more than a broken Robin, something like the dragon gods of Krypton. Something strong. Something that would come back time and time again to fight the darkness.

If Flamebird was a phoenix of fire and light, he decided, Nightwing was a phoenix of shadow and darkness. He could work with that.

He could be reborn, too.

And if a first-edition copy of The Legends and Tales of Krypton by Kal-El and Clark Kent arrived in the mail for him six months later, if there was a dedication to the young man who inspired a superhero to write down the legends that taught him to become the man he was now, if there was an inscription on the inside cover (“Dick Grayson—Thank you for your words, for your advice, to a hero who needed to be reminded of his own path to strength. Remember: Vohc, Flamebird, or Nightwing – it’s your choice. May your choices bring you strength and hope, and may you find yourself in the sky for joy rather than distress. –Your rooftop friend, Kal-El”), then that was his business and his alone.

And if that first-edition book, dust jacket tattered, edges worn, spine cracked, a permanent bookmark on a certain tale of rebirth, had a place in a Bludhaven apartment, tucked away in a nightstand in the back bedroom, then that was his business, too.

Chapter Text

By the time he’d reached his apartment and climbed through his window, Dick was shaking violently. He was barely able to spray the mask with the removal agent and peel it from his face, tossing it carelessly aside as he collapsed to his knees beside the bed. They attacked me. They actually attacked me, they tried to get into my mind, to force me, they—

“Dickiebird?”

He looked up to see Jason standing in the doorway, soft concern written across his furrowed brows as he shifted to step inside the room. His worried voice, though soft, had an immediate effect, the other two bedroom doors in the hallway swung open, the younger boys summoned by his tone.

Dick opened his mouth to reply, only to find the words sticking in his throat, choking him. If a sound made it out of his lips, he couldn’t hear it past the rushing blood in his ears.

Jason crossed the room in two quick strides, and knelt in front of Dick, who absently noted the younger boys jostling for position in the doorway. Dick felt his brother gather up his shaking hands, and he struggled to remember how to breathe as his hand was placed against Jason’s chest. He could feel it rising and falling against the palm of his hand, and distantly he could hear Jason’s voice telling him to focus on the sensation, to match his breathing to the chest beneath his hand.

“Hey now,” Jason murmured, “it’s okay, Dickiebird. Just count with me as we breathe, okay?”

It took several minutes for the panic to retreat, and the viciously cycling thoughts to follow. When he was finally breathing normally again, his eyes focusing like they were supposed to, Dick slowly became aware of the rest of his body. He felt sore, his feet tingling from the way he was sitting on them, his cheeks cool with lingering wetness.

There was a time when crying in front of his brothers would have caused endless embarrassment. But after all they’d been through – together and separately – the nightmares and panic attacks they all had, they’d lost their fear of looking weak in front of each other somewhere along the way. Tonight, he was just grateful to have someone in his apartment as he fell apart.

They gave him enough time to settle, to rearrange his legs with a grimace, and lean back against his bed before Tim and Damian entered the room on quiet feet. Damian tucked himself against Dick’s ribs, glued there as tightly as his Nightwing uniform. Tim crouched beside Jason, settling back on his heels and bumping his knee against Dick’s.

“What happened out there, Big Bird?” Jason finally asked.

Dick retold the events of the night in a voice that started out trembling, but slowly steadied as he recounted everything. His brothers didn’t interrupt, letting him get everything out in a cascading tumble of words.

“I didn’t really trust them anyway,” Dick sighed as he wrapped up the account, “but I hadn’t really thought they’d just…attack me like that. That they’d just start with a mental assault right out of the gate, as soon as I said ‘no’ – that they’d try to force me.”

“I’m not so sure that’s what they were going for.” Tim said slowly, frowning at a stain on the cheap carpet. Dick blinked.

“As loathe as I am to say it aloud, I agree with Drake. If this Martian is accomplished enough to be allowed out of the heroes’ sights for a mission such as this one, surely she is competent enough to mount a proper mental assault. If it had been a real attempt to subdue you, it would have been a much stronger attack.” Damian agreed, pointedly ignoring Tim’s smirk.

“What do you mean?” Dick asked slowly, practically feeling the gears in his brain grinding as he tried to understand what his brothers were proposing.

“Remember Father’s…accomplice,” Damian began, disgust dripping from the word, “who assisted him in training our mental defenses?” All four boys shuddered at the memories of those training sessions. “His assaults were brutal and sudden, the way you would take down an opponent whose skills you aren’t yet acquainted with. This did not sound like such an assault.”

“Demon Spawn’s right.” Tim nodded, ignoring his brother’s outraged squawk. “This sounds more like she was probing your mind, not attacking it.”

“Why…why would she probe my mind in the middle of a conversation like that, with tensions already running high?” Dick asked, thoroughly perplexed.

“Have you considered that maybe they’re just dumbasses?” Jason suggested, eyebrows raised. Dick blinked, then burst out laughing. The tension in the room broke, and the four boys laughed together on the floor of Dick’s bedroom.

“You…you might not…might not be wrong, Jay.” Dick wheezed through slowly receding giggles.

“They are mere heroes. It is unlikely they have ever confronted an opponent of your caliber, Grayson. Undoubtedly they lost their composure.” Damian sniffed, face back to its resting impassivity.

“Aww, was that a compliment, Baby Bat?” Dick cooed. Damian huffed, but didn’t argue or pull away from his side. He’d take that as a win.

“So. If they were just being stupid,” Dick sighed, rubbing at his eyes, “which is looking more and more likely as I look back with a calmer mind, then I’ve vastly overreacted. Any ideas on how to fix this?”

Jason and Damian looked at each other, then at Dick, opening their mouths simultaneously.

“Ideas that aren’t murder or bodily harm?” Dick added quickly, chuckling as his brothers closed their mouths.

“I mean, I do have a gun…” Jason said slowly.

“Not every problem can be solved with a gun, Jay.”

“I know, I know.” Jason ceded, then grinned impishly. “That’s why I always carry two guns.” Tim laughed as Dick lowered his face into his palms.

“Maybe…maybe I can just avoid them forever.” Dick moaned. “I’ll just avoid everything forever. Maybe, if I avoid enough responsibilities, and conversations, the consequences will pile up like a weighted blanket that I can finally sleep under.” He looked up, grinning, and added, “A consequilt, if you will.”

His brothers groaned, rolling their eyes. Damian made a half-hearted effort to pull away, as Jason threw himself backward onto the floor in a dramatic flop and Tim faceplanted. When he wasn’t allowed to withdraw, Damian chose instead to level Dick with the most disapproving look his eleven-year-old face could muster, which was honestly significantly more than Dick could have at that age.

“But seriously though, I have no idea how to switch from ‘I will bring war down upon you’—”

“You have to admit that was a great line.” Jason supplied under his breath.

“—to ‘sorry, I think I overreacted’ without looking like a complete pushover.” Dick finished. He paused. “I guess…I’ll just have to Wing it?”

His newest pun was met with a pillow to the face.

“Alright, alright.” He laughed. “But really, guys. Barring B’s go-to ignoring a situation like it didn’t happen, I don’t know how to proceed.”

“Well, not that I’m not all for you issuing impressive threats, Dickiebird,” Jason said, studying the empty air with a slight frown, “but maybe this could turn to your advantage.”

“How so?” Dick asked, all of the room’s occupants now focused on the second Robin.

“I mean, your superpower is literally making friends. You’re like a golden retriever puppy, no one can resist you. So you apologize, and, I don’t know, maybe suggest a joint operation or something?” Jason spoke slowly, considering his words. “Could be some non-Gotham allies might be good for you.”

“You want him to ally himself with heroes?” Tim gaped. “That’s almost as bad as asking some of the Gotham psychos to help you out with something.”

“Well, I did that, and it worked out pretty well for me.” Jason shrugged. “We all know Dickiebird isn’t going to wedge himself under Black Mask’s wing like I did to get the leverage he needs to get things done, but that doesn’t mean he can just always hope that we’re available when he needs extra hands for an op.”

“Todd has a point.” Damian piped up from where he was trapped against Dick’s side. “Even Mother had allies outside of her organization. She did not trust them, but they did prove useful on several occasions.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Tim ceded. Dick stared at his brothers for a minute, still processing.

“You think my best bet is to befriend them?” He asked incredulously. “You actually think they’ll take a proffered hand of friendship after I threatened them with war if they stayed on my turf? If they’re smart, they’ve already left the city.”

“We’ve already established that they probably aren’t.” Jason pointed out. “Plus you let slip a lot of info tonight, Big Bird. You know Bats is going to throw a hissy fit if he finds out – and he won’t from us,” he added quickly, “but you know he will eventually find out because he’s nosy and invasive. If he closes the Zeta tubes between Gotham and Blüdhaven, it’ll be a lot harder for us to help you if things get dicey.”

“You’re right.” Dick sighed. “I shouldn’t have talked so much. Me and my big mouth, always getting us in trouble.”

“That is why Batman stays silent. You cannot give away information if you do not speak.” Damian added.

“Which is why we all now understand his weird language of grunts and aggressively disapproving body language.” Tim snickered.

“We love your big mouth, Dickie.” Jason grinned. “Makes life more interesting for the rest of us. What would we do without you causing trouble? Actually run a criminal underworld in Gotham?”

“Actually patrol with the Bat and level up in daddy issues?” Tim chuckled.

“Or perhaps these two plebians would cause more trouble than they already do.” Damian suggested haughtily.

“Point is, Big Bird, we don’t care that you’re mouthy.” Jason smirked. “Honestly, telling the Baby Justice Squad that you’re Batman’s first Robin would be a helluva middle finger to the old man, and I’d pay to see his face if you did it.”

“And I’d pay to be out of the country.” Tim muttered.

“B isn’t your boss anymore, Dick.” Jason said in a suddenly more serious tone. “You and I? We don’t work under the Bat anymore. Tell them whatever you want. Lie through your teeth, or give ‘em the whole truth. I don’t care. You’ve always had a good head for who to trust and who not to, no matter how much we give you shit for your friendliness. You can team up with the Sidekick League if you want, and I for one would just be happy you actually had backup for your terrible plans.”

“That was really sappy, dude.” Tim said after a moment.

“Pretty sure that was his entire allotment of sentiment for the year.” Dick agreed. Jason rolled his eyes and leaned forward to punch his shoulder, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips nonetheless.

“I mean, honestly? Nothing you do now to the sidekicks could possibly compare to when you, as an angsty teenager, conned Superman into writing a book so you could use a name from one of his stories as your vigilante name anyway.” Jason grinned.

“I wouldn’t say conned—”

***

Despite searching the nearby neighborhoods for hours, the team returned to their apartment with nothing to show for their efforts. Nightwing had disappeared into the night, and even Conner’s enhanced senses couldn’t pick him out of the ambient noise and motion of the city’s nightlife. It was like he’d simply leapt back into the shadows he’d emerged from when he dropped down to talk to Jewel and Missy.

Conner rolled his shoulders as they stepped back into the apartment, tension leaving him stiff and sore. He’d never had a nervous disposition, never really considered anyone much of a threat. But the way Nightwing had moved tonight, the way he spoke and acted – the way he’d hurt M’gann – all put him on edge. Something, some deep-rooted instinct, told him that this was an opponent he needed to take seriously.

“That guy’s really something else.” Wally groaned, using the wall to brace his foot as he stretched his calves. “I ran just about every alleyway in the warehouse district, and there wasn’t a sign of the dude. It’s like he just stopped existing after he stepped off the roof.”

“It’s how he was trained.” Artemis shrugged. “I recognize some of the techniques, though he’s way better at it than he should be if he’s only been doing this for a year and a half. Plus…he mentioned having connections, and hinted pretty heavily that they were underworld information sources, like the ones I’ve used in the past when we’re desperate for information.”

“Is that what he was implying?” Wally gaped. “I thought he was just being cryptic.”

Conner rolled his eyes. “He was speaking directly to Artemis.” He rumbled, watching the team fall into silence at his voice. They waited for more, and he sighed softly, carefully constructing what he wanted to say. “At that moment, he was speaking to Artemis as a peer, showing he not only knew our basic information, but also that he knows about our pasts, at least in part.”

“I don’t think it was a flex.” Artemis murmured thoughtfully. “I can see how you’d think it was, but honestly? It felt more like he was connecting with me, pointing out something we shared, not trying to show me how much he knew about me.”

“Why do you say that?” M’gann asked, still hugging herself as she set down in the room. Superboy moved closer, and was rewarded with a small smile.

“I don’t know. Just…the way he did it. If he’d wanted to flex, he would have dropped a name or something, not just said he had sources.

“I am more concerned by his reaction to Miss Martian trying to read his emotions more clearly.” Kaldur murmured. “And the threat that immediately followed. Was the threat genuine?” He looked to M’gann, who sighed, looking down.

“I…I couldn’t really tell.” M’gann admitted, and Conner placed a hand on her shoulder. “I was still reeling from the memory he weaponized.”

“Did you catch anything form that memory? Anything that could help us identify him?” Kaldur asked gently.

“There was only a flash, really, but he was young.” M’gann replied, worrying her lower lip as she thought back to the brief moment of pain. Conner’s fist clenched at his side, her cry of pain as she’d fallen from the air echoing through his mind. “I’d say he was pre-teens, though. There was fear, and dread, and a vague impression of worrying about a father figure? Perhaps fearing disapproval? I couldn’t quite make it out. The circumstances themselves were…muddled. I got a flash of a terrifying grin, and an aluminum bat, and…and the pain. It was…it was so much for how young he felt in the memory.” M’gann’s lip trembled, and she hugged herself tighter.

“Did it feel like an abusive situation?” Artemis asked, frowning a little.

“Could have been,” M’gann replied hesitantly, “but honestly I couldn’t say for sure. Like I said, it was only the briefest of moments.”

“It’s concerning nonetheless. We should add ‘possible abuse as a child’ to our list of potential parameters for his civilian identity.” Kaldur mused. “What else do we know? We’ll need to submit a report to Superman.”

Conner watched the team drop into thought, and himself reflected on what he’d seen and heard that night.

“His voice was unique.” M’gann offered. “I’ve never heard that accent before.”

“We can go over our suit cams to figure out his physical size and build.” Wally suggested.

“He’s a high-level athlete.” Conner supplied. The team looked at him in surprise. He sighed, realizing he’d have to explain again.

“What do you mean?” Wally asked. Conner resisted the urge to growl. It took him time to organize his thoughts sometimes. He didn’t often speak aloud, and when he did, he knew his words had weight because of their rarity. He didn’t want to say things wrong when he finally did open his mouth. He wanted his words to be true and succinct. He didn’t want to have to keep explaining them over and over.

“His heartrate and breathing were at lower levels than the average person’s, even after the initial chase. It’s typical of someone who has trained a lot, and has a high level of athletic ability.” He said finally.

“That’s…really observant of you, Supey.” Wally’s comment was meant as a compliment, but Conner frowned a little anyway. He was always observant, had been since they’d helped him get out of Cadmus so many years before. Yet, since he didn’t talk as much as the others, it seemed they forgot just how much he saw and heard…and just how much he understood.

“It was hard to see his face, especially with the domino mask.” Artemis broke the slightly uncomfortable silence. “But I’d say he’s early to mid-twenties, close to our ages.”

“That sounds about right.” Kaldur agreed. “We’ll need to send a report in to Superman tonight, about all we’ve learned about this vigilante. He’s certainly strong-willed and physically agile, though we have yet to see his fighting capabilities.”

“If he’s related in any way to the Batman, I’d say his fighting will be pretty impressive.” Artemis shrugged. When they looked to her for an explanation, Artemis tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. “He did mention the Batman several times, as well as the Red Hood.”

“Who is the Red Hood?” Wally asked with a frown.

“Another Gotham vigilante, though he’s more hard-core than the Batman is.” Artemis replied. “More of a shoot first, ask questions never kinda guy, according to the rumors. Runs a bunch of the city’s underworld drug trade, but won’t sell to kids, and beats up high-level Gotham psychos regularly, so…somewhere in the realm of vigilante.”

“Do you think Nightwing is really related to the Batman?” M’gann asked softly.

“I mean, it would make sense, especially with his comments.” Artemis shrugged. “It’s worth looking into, anyway.”

“We’ll need to find a way to confirm our suspicions.” Aqualad hummed. “Artemis, check in with your contacts in Gotham to see if they can give us any information on Nightwing ever being a part of Gotham’s vigilante scene.”

“Will do, but it’s unlikely they’ll actually tell me anything. I’m not really considered a Gothamite anymore, and I never kept up with the vigilantes while I was there, so I probably won’t get much usable information from my people.” Artemis hedged.

“That’s alright, I would still like you to try.” Aqualad waited for her agreement, then turned back to the team as a whole. “We will need a way to confirm it, preferably from Nightwing’s own admission. I would rather not tell the Justice League that he’s connected unless we know for sure that he is. Think over ideas, and we will come up with a plan tomorrow to either confirm or disprove his involvement with the Batman.”

The team nodded their agreement. Conner had no idea how they’d do that, beyond just asking the man, but he was sure the more covert members of the team would come up with something that would work well.

“Are we even going to see the guy again?” Wally asked suddenly. “I mean, he made it pretty clear that he doesn’t want us here. He reacted pretty strongly there at the end.”

“I couldn’t really feel his emotions throughout the conversation.” M’gann rubbed her arm, frowning a little. “I’ve never been around someone who doesn’t broadcast at least a little of their emotions – even Detective Grayson lets some out – so it was really hard to get a read on him. That’s why I reached out to his mind in the first place. I thought if I could touch it with mine, I could understand better what he was feeling, and be able to help figure out what he was so worried about. I never expected him to be able to feel it, let alone that he would react so badly to it.”

“Why did he freak out when she touched his mind?” Wally tilted his head, visibly confused still. “It was like he was totally fine, maybe a little annoyed, and then suddenly it was all threats and lashing out.”

“Wouldn’t you, if someone suddenly invaded your mind?” Artemis asked, eyebrow raised.

“Well, yeah, but only because of people like Psimon who have brutally attacked my mind.” Wally shot back defensively. “I didn’t freak out when Megs first entered my mind. I mean, it was weird, but not exactly scary.”

“Could he have had some kind of experience with a psychic like Psimon?” Aqualad asked.

“That would explain his reaction, I guess.” Wally nodded.

“And his ability to reject my powers.” M’gann added. They paused a moment in silence, contemplating the new theory.

“Hello, Megan!” M’gann cried suddenly, lightly smacking her forehead with the heel of one hand. “It makes perfect sense! If he has been attacked before by someone like Psimon, then of course his mind would be closed off around us! Everyone knows that Martians have psychic and telekinetic abilities at this point. He must have been afraid that I would attack him like the last person did!”

“And you did.” Conner said solemnly, the puzzle of the vigilante’s actions suddenly fitting together into a coherent picture for him.

“What? No, no I didn’t attack him at all!” M’gann cried, voice rising in distress.

“Does he know that?” Conner asked. “You invaded his mind, when it was already defended and closed off.”

The team was silent for a moment.

“Holy shit.” Artemis breathed, eyes widening. “He thinks we attacked him. He thinks that we told him we wanted to talk, then attacked him when he wasn’t agreeing with us.”

“No wonder he freaked.” Wally muttered. Conner settle back on his heels, content that his conclusions were shared by the rest of the team. As long as they were on the same page, he didn’t see the need to continue speaking, when the rest of the team would be able to do so just as well, and faster than he could.

“We should find a way to explain our intentions.” Kaldur stated firmly. “We may yet have a chance to speak properly with him, and change his mind about joining under the Charter. But first, we must repair the tenuous trust we have just broken.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Artemis asked. “I mean, I’d be pretty leery of someone if I thought they’d tried to trap me and force me to do something.”

“Our instructions so far are to make contact, and attempt to recruit him. And if we cannot bring him in as an ally, we are to bring him in as a captured vigilante.” Aqualad replied, looking unhappy.

“But there’s no time limit on that.” Artemis pointed out. “Who says we can’t take all the time we need to build back this trust before we make a decision? I was pretty suspicious of you guys when we all started out – who’s to say he can’t warm up like I did?”

“It’s true,” M’gann added, “I think this has all just been a big misunderstanding. Really, it’s kind of my fault this all went bad tonight anyway, we should give him another chance.”

“Or five.” Wally muttered.

“I would be…willing to try again.” Conner said after a pause. “I don’t like how he reacted to M’gann. But…I would be willing to try again.”

“Then that’s settled.” Artemis said decisively, and Aqualad dipped his head in acceptance of the team’s decision.

“I’ll turn in our report on tonight’s encounter.” Their weary leader sighed. “Everyone get some sleep. Tomorrow is likely to be a long day.”

Chapter Text

The next morning found Dick Grayson dead tired at his desk. After the emotional conversation with his brothers, he’d sent them off to their beds – or couch, in Jason’s case – and laid awake in his room for the rest of the early morning. He just kept going over the encounter with the Young Justice team in his head, picking it apart over and over. Each pass made his heart sink deeper. He’d really given away a lot in his panic. B was going to murder him if he found out how badly Dick had kept his secrets last night – well, not murder, because Batman doesn’t kill, but a full body cast wasn’t out of the question. The sun had risen at the end of a long and sleepless night, and he’d gotten up with it – showered, dressed, and to work on time. Easy to do when he hadn’t had to wait for an alarm to wake him.

He was going over the files Amy had left on his desk for him to review. They were all about the gang he’d been planning to investigate – and wasn’t that a solid punch to the gut, knowing she’d looked into while he’d run home to have a panic attack instead of staking them out last night after his encounter like he’d planned. The whole heroes-in-Blüdhaven thing was really starting to cramp his style, and they’d only been here three days.

“Don’t you look bright eyed and bushy tailed.” Amy said sardonically as she settled into her chair across from him. “Late night?”

“More like no night at all.”

“Partying on a Tuesday night? Scandalous. So young and rebellious.” She smirked.

“More like insomnia is a bitch and my brother’s a bastard.” Dick groaned. He shot a half-hearted glare at Amy when she laughed.

“Which one this time?”

“Tim. I took apart the coffee machine to keep him from caffeinating himself into insomnia again, and he stole a piece of it so I’d suffer with him this morning when I couldn’t put it back together.”

“Sounds like you brought this one on yourself, Grayson.” Amy chuckled without sympathy. “How are things going with the heroes?”

“Lots of interviews, little progress.” Dick sighed, sitting up straighter and rolling his shoulders. His bruised chest felt better than it had the night before, though he was sure he’d still regret letting anyone hit the nearly-healed bruises.

“Sounds about right. Any theories, boy genius?”

“He’s clever and doesn’t want to be found?”

Amy rolled her eyes.

“How about you? How’s the gang investigation?” Dick asked, gesturing to the files. Behind him, he keyed into the sound of the elevator arriving, and the tell-tale stomping of hero feet, but he elected to ignore them for the moment, focusing instead on Amy. He really wasn’t ready to deal with them yet.

“About as well as expected. I got some information about a potential base of operations, and staked it out yesterday evening. Definitely where the gang is keeping their product, whatever it is. Unfortunately, I can’t get the manpower to take them out today, tomorrow, or even this week according to the Chief.” Amy growled.

“Budget cuts, or too many people in the queue ahead of you?” Dick asked with a slight grimace.

“Who knows? All I got was ‘no one is available this week’ and to put in a formal request again.” Amy sighed.

“Perhaps we could be of some assistance, then?” Aqualad’s smooth voice came from over Dick’s shoulder, and he glanced back at the costumed heroes.

“How so?” Amy asked, eyebrow raised.

“Although we are here primarily to assist with the vigilante, we would be poor heroes if we ignored the other needs of law enforcement while we are here. After all, you are giving us quite a bit of help – how can we do anything but help in return?” Aqualad gave a slight shrug as he spoke, and Dick noted he seemed to no longer favor the one shoulder over the other. The team, arranged in a loose arc around their leader, nodded their assent.

“I won’t turn down heroes as a strike team.” Amy shrugged. “We’ll take the place today. From what I can tell, the majority of the leadership spend their days there, and bring in the goon squad each night for product movement. Taking it this morning would give us the element of surprise and hopefully prevent whatever new product they have from making it to the streets.

“I’ll submit the new plan of action for Chief Redhorn, and we’ll plan the assault.” Amy said, standing to leave. “Time to put that brain of yours to work again, Grayson. The blueprints are in the file. Pulled ‘em yesterday when I went to stake out the place. Take a look and let me know what you think.”

“Sure thing, Ames.” Dick replied, pulling the file toward him as she moved toward the Chief’s office across the floor. “So,” he continued, directing his next question to the team without looking up at them, “how did the vigilante hunt go last night?”

“We did manage to make contact.” Aqualad replied, sounding hesitant.

“Yeah, but then we also managed to screw the pooch pretty badly.” Kid Flash grumbled.

“Oh?” Dick asked, feigning mild interest – as opposed to his very intense real interest – as he looked over the blueprints. The assault wouldn’t be complex with a layout like this one.

“It was my fault.” Miss Martian sighed, grabbing onto her arm in a timidly self-comforting gesture. “I couldn’t sense anything from his mind, and he seemed so upset by something in our suggestion that he join under the Justice League’s charter. So I reached out to touch his mind – just to try and understand what he was feeling and thinking – and he reacted badly. I think he believed I was attempting a mental assault.”

“Not your smartest move.” Dick murmured, keeping his eyes moving carefully across the plans to hide whatever they’d show. “But probably not irredeemable if you get the chance to talk again.”

“I don’t know, man. Dude threatened us with war, then ran away before we could do anything else.” Kid Flash sighed morosely.

“Faster than a speedster’s reaction times?” Dick asked, glancing up at the redheaded hero, who grimaced.

“He took us by surprise. Wasn’t really expecting the smoke bomb.”

“A smoke bomb? So he has tech.” Dick mused.

“Yeah, and someone who helps him too. At least one someone by the way he talked. Said he was protecting them by remaining secretive about his civilian ID.” Kid Flash huffed.

“Makes sense to me. If they’re close to him, he must be afraid of them getting hurt.” Dick shrugged. “I’d be worried about my brothers if I got into anything like that. I mean, the wrong guy finds out about your real name, and then suddenly everyone you love is a target. I couldn’t do that to my brothers.”

“Just your brothers? What about Mr. Bruce Wayne?” Artemis asked, the now-familiar edge to her voice present.

“Nah. B can take care of himself.” Dick grinned. “But I’d be freaked if someone targeted them because of me.”

“I mean, sure, but the Justice League protects that information super well!” Kid Flash protested.

“I’m not saying they don’t. But this guy obviously doesn’t trust you, probably even less so now after your kerfluffle last night.” He paused. “So what now? Just going to set a trap and catch the guy since negotiations broke down so spectacularly?”

“Not yet.” Aqualad said firmly. “He revealed a knowledge of Gotham’s vigilantes that was deeper than we’d anticipated. He may have some link to the Batman of Gotham. We’re working to confirm that link through various channels. We’d appreciate it if you would reach out to your colleagues in Gotham and see what information they can provide you.”

“I can try, but Gotham keeps their vigilante information close to the vest.” Dick hummed. “They’re pretty friendly with Batman and his various cohorts, especially since they help so much with the Arkham breakouts. They’re unlikely to give us anything helpful, but I’ll ask anyway.”

“We appreciate it. We’re trying to learn as much as we can about him. We still believe we could have a chance of convincing him to do the right thing. We wish to smooth things over with him, to understand him, and to hopefully discuss things with him again.” Aqualad informed him.

“Discuss with who?” Amy asked, returning to her desk.

“The vigilante.” Dick replied absently. “They chatted with him last night, and then managed to scare him off.”

“Tough luck.” Amy shrugged. “You have an idea on the assault tactic you want to use?”

“Why are you having him plan the assault? He’s the youngest detective in here, practically still a kid, surely there’s someone with more experience in these kinds of raids?” Artemis interrupted. Dick sighed, and stared woefully at his empty coffee cup from this morning, sitting next to the stack at the corner of his desk. He’d been contemplating earlier whether the stack would topple if he added it. He wondered now if that would put an end to this conversation. He was not nearly caffeinated enough to deal with her dislike yet.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to – he could almost feel the air drop a few degrees as Amy’s glance turned to a glare.

“Because this kid,” Amy replied, tone icy, “has the best tactical mind in the precinct. Even the guys who hates his guts will ask for his opinion on a tricky assault plan. And you would do well to mind your tone.”

“It’s alright, Ames.” Dick sighed. “They’re not the first to question my ability because of my age and background.”

“So help me Grayson, if you tell me they’ve decided that Wayne paid for your rank—” Amy snarled. Dick saw the team glance at each other, and at Artemis, but carefully ignored it. No need to turn Amy’s flash of temper into an inferno.

“Even if they did, Ames – and I’m not saying they do – they wouldn’t be the first to think it, and you know it. Half the precinct still thinks I’m somehow riding Bruce’s coattails from a city away. The guys in the academy thought it, the guys here think it…it’s not really a new thing.” Dick shrugged. “No matter how much I prove my skills, I’ll always be blacklisted, either because of my heritage or my upbringing. Not everywhere’s a circus that will accept anyone if they have skill.”

He could feel the uncomfortable shuffling behind him, but didn’t care what the heroes thought of him, or if they felt guilty for feeling that way. It was really the least of his worries, and honestly hadn’t been more than a mosquito bite of a nuisance since he’d been in Gotham Academy and realized it wouldn’t change just because he tried harder.

“Grayson,” Amy’s voice was soft, but unyielding, “you proved yourself to me with your work and your insight. So stop the pity party, and let’s get to work.”

Dick barked out a laugh, and pulled up a smile at her characteristically brusque way of reminding him what she thought. “Fair enough, Ames. Can’t wallow too long, or I won’t get paid – and then I really will have to see if Bruce is still willing to pay for my things.”

“Can’t have you mooching off of a billionaire.” Amy rolled her eyes. “Now, the assault. What are you thinking?”

She and the team leaned in over his desk and the blueprints, the heroes visibly relieved at the change from the awkward topic. They very clearly hadn’t known what to do or say during the tense moment.

“Well, given the relatively small numbers of the gang you’ve reported, it shouldn’t be too hard to round them all up on site. If we enter here…”

***

Dick rolled his shoulders under his tactical gear, hating the weight of the bulky Kevlar vest. His Nightwing suit was much more streamlined, and allowed for his natural movements. The standard-issue sidearm was heavy in his hand as he holstered it after checking it over in preparation for the raid. He was more than competent with a variety of firearms – the product of long hours at the academy range, and productive hours with Jason at a private range – but they would never be his weapons of choice.

Bruce hated guns because they were against his Bat Code.

Dick hated guns because there was too little control: once you pulled the trigger, he lost all control of his attack. Unlike a blade or his favored escrima sticks, he couldn’t stop it before it hit its target if a situation suddenly changed.

Unfortunately, melee weapons like blades and escrima sticks weren’t police standard issue.

He stood tall beside Amy in the shadows of an alleyway in the warehouse district a block away from their target, looking over the group of heroes who had switched to stealthy coloring with a tap of their costume logos.

“Alright, I’m sure you’ve done things like this before,” he began, “but let me for my own sake remind you: move quick but quiet – secure all loose items on your costumes, stay in the correct order, and avoid shuffling or fidgeting as we clear – control your distances for maximum efficiency, take down threats with non-lethal methods if possible, and keep control of the situation and yourselves. We’re going to search the area and round up as much of the gang as are present. Best practice is to keep them out of the hospital and in the interrogation rooms, alright?”

He waited until he got confirmations from the heroes – significantly less attentive than he’d hoped for, but Dick had anticipated that their pride would get in the way of actually listening to him.

Hopefully they’d keep it in check long enough to get this operation done.

One last nod from Amy was all he needed to lead them forward for the raid. They’d been assigned clearing partners – Amy with Superboy, Aqualad with Artemis, and Dick with Kid Flash, with Miss Martian running comms and scanning with her telepathy for unnoticed minds – and all was set.

Dick let himself slip into the necessary mindset – something balanced between Nightwing and Detective Grayson, cultivated in the Police Academy for these situations. He felt the world come into focus around him as they approached the door, adrenaline beginning to flood his system. His hands were steady from years of experience with such situations.

The front door opened inwards – he signaled for the team moving with him and Kid Flash to move to the opposite side of the knob. He checked the knob – unlocked. He drew his sidearm. A countdown, then opening it quickly and quietly.

Even as his eyes darted across the open lobby of the office area of the warehouse, Dick’s mind focused on the checklist he’d been taught in the Academy.

Head and eyes – aligned with area of responsibility, checking for movement and threats.

Shoulders – aligned with hands and eyes, maximizing body armor protection.

Weapon – covering his area, close in low ready position, held in the hand opposite the wall side, finger off the trigger.

Knees – slightly bent, stable base, body weight slightly forward.

Feet – comfortable distance apart, not dissimilar to a boxer’s stance, ready for movement to any direction.

Dick moved across the room, keeping to the edges on his assigned side, but away from the wall itself to allow himself proper movement. On the other side of the room, Artemis and Aqualad followed suit. He paused to listen, then signaled for them to continue when all was silent. Somewhere on the other side of the warehouse, Amy and Superboy should be making a similarly quiet entrance through the back door into the storage area.

He gestured for Kid Flash to follow him to their assigned short hallway. Dick approached the first of three doors, waited for Kid Flash to take position just behind him, and popped the door open. He button hooked around the door, taking the left of the room as Kid Flash darted in and glanced around the right half.

The room was empty, and Kid Flash sighed.

“I could do all of this in thirty seconds or less.” He griped. “Why are we doing this so slow?”

“We’re actually doing it so careful, Kid.” Dick hissed. “And keep your voice down. Let’s clear our section.”

Kid Flash sighed again, but followed Dick to the next room. Once again, he hooked around the door upon entry, eyes locking immediately on a middle-aged man sitting at a desk, who looked up in alarm. In a hearbeat, Kid Flash had knocked him from the chair and pinned him to the floor.

The man opened his mouth to shout an alarm. Dick raised his weapon marginally, hands moving it to be in line with the man’s chest on the ground.

“Don’t.” He growled, channeling just a hint of Bat’s gargled-gravel voice. The man paled, and closed his mouth. To Kid Flash, he added, “Cuff him.”

“Uh, don’t have cuffs.” Kid Flash admitted. Dick resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose only by a patience born of years of dealing with fresh Robins unprepared for the realities of apprehending criminals.

Dick pulled out one of the sets he’d grabbed, and efficiently cuffed the man on the floor.

“Grayson to Miss Martian. One cuffed in route one, room two.” He said to his comms. Miss Martian acknowledged, and he lead Kid Flash out of the door.

Surprisingly, the next two rooms held little more than dust and old furniture. They’d expected more people in this area. Dick was starting to get concerned as he opened the final door on his route. As the door swung in, a shot sounded from somewhere deeper within the warehouse.

Years of practice had Dick moving into the room without even glancing back.

Something else had Kid Flash gone in, well, a flash.

Dick was left alone in the room, facing a man who’d drawn his own gun – Glock 30SF, he noted idly in the part of his mind not suddenly screaming at him to move – and he took a fast double step to the left as the other man’s gun went off, the bullet just scoring his arm as it burned past.

Dick’s own weapon snapped up, firing two rapid shots into the man’s chest, the bullets tearing through thin fabric and leaving fast-spreading red wine stains as the man slowly crumpled, surprised look still plastered across quickly glossing eyes.

Heart slamming against his ribs, Dick did as he was trained, eyes darting around the rest of the room to make sure it was clear. He lowered his sidearm, a carefully measured breath out to ease the tension in his shoulders that only half succeeds.

It’s not the first time he’s had to fire his weapon in the line of duty. It’s not even the first time he’s had to kill as an officer.

It’s not any easier for it.

That’s something to tackle in the aftermath. It’s not after yet. There’s still math.

Dick gave a shaky chuckle at his own thoughts, ignoring entirely how morbid it would look to an outside observer.

“Grayson to Miss Martian. One fatality in route one, last room.” He gritted out, pressing the button to transmit the message to her.

He turned to exit the room, only to be buffeted by a sudden rush of air as Kid Flash arrived. Dick’s hands twitched around his sidearm, but he didn’t raise it. He cursed the nervous energy that made him react even that much.

“I heard gunfire and I—whoa.” Kid Flash’s eyes bulged at the sight of the man on the floor. “What happened?”

“We’ll debrief later.” Dick growled. “For now, let’s finish this raid.”

Kid Flash nodded silently, glancing between the body and the detective. He followed Dick from the room. They moved quickly toward their next objective, meeting up with those clearing the open warehouse area.

Halfway there, they received Miss Martian’s all-clear call. Dick returned to collect the handcuffed man from the earlier room, hauling him to his feet and leading him outside to where the transport now waited on the asphalt.

The others were already waiting there, Amy debriefing with the other heroes collected there. Artemis watched carefully as a handcuffed man was attended to by paramedics, a cut on his face from someone’s fist colliding with his cheekbone being cleaned and a small bandage applied. She led him over to the transport to stand with the others as Dick approached the group.

“Grayson, get that arm checked.” Amy said the moment she looked over at him.

Dick blinked, looking down to see the already clotting blood smeared around the graze.

“It’s already closing itself.” He shrugged. At her narrowed eyes, Dick raised his hands in submission and added, “I’ll see them in a minute, I promise. There’s something more important first.”

His eyes locked on Kid Flash.

“Oh?” Amy glanced at the speedster, who stood awkwardly under the hard gaze.

“What were your orders, hero?” Dick asked.

“I mean, I—”

“What were your orders?” He repeated, sharply.

“To clear rooms with you.”

“What happened?”

“Well, there was a gunshot, and I was fast enough to check it out and come back, and—” Kid Flash began, speaking almost too fast for Dick to follow.

“And nothing. You were not fast enough. If I hadn’t noticed that you didn’t follow me into that room, I’d have been shot because I’d have expected the speedster at my back to take down the man aiming a gun at me.” Dick spat. “I get you’re used to doing things your own way, hero, but when you’re assigned to have someone’s back, you damn well better have it.”

“I’m sorry.” Kid Flash said after an awkward beat.

“I know you all have special skills and powers and whatever,” Dick replied in a slightly softer tone, “but most people don’t. And you’re not always going to be fast enough to take care of everything on your own. Your teammates had everything handled in the warehouse. They are fully capable of handling themselves. They didn’t need you today. I did.”

“Right.”

“Lay off him a bit.” Artemis interjected, coming to stand beside Kid Flash. “Sure, he missed the mark, but nothing bad came of it. You’re fine, he’s fine, everyone’s fine.”

“The man laying in that room in a pool of his own blood isn’t fine.” Dick retorted quietly. “From one person trying to keep people safe to another, Kid Flash, you need to learn your limits. Work within them instead of always trying to stretch yourself beyond them. Trust me on this one: spend enough time thinking you can get everywhere and do everything, and you’ll end up losing something – or someone – important.”

Dick paused a moment, and Kid Flash gave a slightly awkward nod. So he turned to Amy.

“There are way too few perps here, Ames. What’s happening?”

“That’s because all we found was the distraction.” Amy glanced at the handful of cuffed men being loaded into the police transport van. “These guys are all the low men on the gang’s totem pole.”

“Technically, the lowest positions on the totem pole are reserved for the most honored and revered—” Dick started, finger raised.

“Oh, hush. It’s just a phrase, Grayson.” Amy rolled her eyes. “You’ve told me about totem poles before. My point is that there isn’t a leader among them. Somehow, they knew to move the product before we even got here.”

He and Amy shared a look. They’d told a very limited number of people about the plan: just the heroes with them, and Chief Redhorn. They hadn’t even called in the transport van until the raid was moments from starting. Despite their care, however, the leadership of the gang had escaped – and the timing was far too convenient.

“Could they have made you when you were staking out the place yesterday?” Artemis asked, counting her arrows to make sure she’d retrieved them all.

“Could be.” Amy replied tersely. Dick knew just how much she hated pretending to be weak or inept. He also knew she hated talking openly about the corruption inside of BPD more, and that she’d rather be seen as a total rookie than tell the hero team that she suspected her own superiors of taking bribes and throwing cases. At least, until she had the evidence to back it.

“Let me know what they say in interrogation.” Dick said, nudging Amy’s arm. She gave the tiniest of smiles to acknowledge the out he’d offered her, and accepted it.

“Will do. Get that arm cleaned and put a Hello Kitty band-aid on it or something, Grayson.” She chuckled.

“Look, there’s a lot of paperwork to file, heroes. More now than there would have been since I had to shoot that man. Mind if we take a rain check on today’s efforts with the vigilante?”

“Of course.” Aqualad replied, gracious as ever. “Rest and recover, and we’ll reconvene tomorrow for further planning and action. We a video meeting with a couple of League members later this afternoon to go over what we learned last night.”

“Right. Have fun with that.” Dick gave a half-hearted wave as he moved over to the paramedics. He watched the heroes convene briefly with Amy, then head out. She left as his arm was cleaned while he sat on the edge of the ambulance.

“No stitches needed for you this time, Detective.” The young woman chuckled. “Give me just a minute and I’ll get it fixed right up. Take it easy for a few days and you’ll be all set.”

Dick made a vague noise of agreement, and let himself zone out as she poked at the slowly weeping wound on his arm. After years of taking blows and getting patched up, it wasn’t even close to enough pain to keep his attention.

Once again, he’d broken the code he’d sworn to when he’d joined Bats as the first Robin. He’d taken a life. Again. Three times now, in the line of duty as an officer, following the training given to him. They were always what the force referred to as ‘righteous kills’ but they never ceased to weigh on him. Surely he could have found another way…but the other way was to act completely beyond the abilities of a police officer. Even as Nightwing, crossing those ten feet fast enough to disarm the man without being hit in a potentially critical area by a hot piece of lead would have been a challenge. As a police officer, with half the protection he was used to…it wasn’t feasible.

Bruce still wouldn’t approve, though. He didn’t know about the other two incidents, and he wouldn’t hear about this one, either. His relationship with his former guardian was strained enough as it was, with the boys very nearly living at his apartments some weeks, and his choice to carry a sidearm as a part of his job. He didn’t need to add a body count to the fingers pulling at the fragile, unravelling threads of his bond with his former mentor and father figure.

Dick hadn’t even talked with Jason about having killed men before.

Just another thing to sweep under the rug and keep quiet from his family. He didn’t need to deal with exactly what it meant just yet. He’d be fine. At the end of the day, he’d live with his choices and move on.

He always had.

Chapter Text

Kaldur looked over his team sprawled across the couches in their temporary apartment. Wally had been quiet since they’d left the warehouse district, and none of them had quite known how to bring him out of his funk. He was always the goofy one, lightening the mood with his jokes, ill-timed though they sometimes were. To have him be so morose after the detective’s lecture was uncomfortable.

“Look,” Artemis began for what had to be the fourth time since the raid, “don’t take it too hard. He’s just sore that you didn’t take down that guy for him and he had to fire his weapon. We didn't lose any allies, Bay Watch, and he barely even got a scratch. He’s just being sore about it.”

Wally made a non-committal noise.

“Heroes just operate differently than cops do!” Artemis protested with a wide, indignant wave of her arms. “He can’t just expect you not to use your powers when you think there’s danger, it’s what heroes do!”

“He gave good advice,” Aqualad said after another long, uncomfortable moment, “and perhaps it is worth pondering. However, Artemis is right that no one was seriously harmed by your choices today. We are all trying to better ourselves, Wally. Consider today simply a…reminder. There are still things for you to work on, just as there are things we all must work on.”

Wally sighed loudly, slumping further into the couch.

“I guess. It’s just…I wanna be the hero that people can count on, you know? And I guess I failed at that today.”

“But you can try again tomorrow.” M’gann offered with a tentative smile.

“I guess you’re right. Just gotta shake it off.” Wally pulled himself further upright again. “So if we’re not looking for Nightwing with our personal cop, what are we doing?”

Aqualad accepted the change of topic. Wally would be fine. They’d all bounced back from hard times, and this would be no different.

“Superman requested this morning that we call today to discuss our findings from our encounter with Nightwing.” He said, standing up and moving to the screen mounted on their living room wall. “I sent him a message while we were returning from the raid site, and he said he’d be prepared to receive our call when we returned to the apartment. I suggest we call him now, and see what advice he has for us as we proceed.”

“Sounds good, fearless leader.” Artemis chuckled. Wally giggled quietly to himself, and Aqualad felt a soft smile form on his own face at the speedster’s returned cheer.

He set up the call, and they waited for it to connect.

Superman’s face appeared on the screen, his hand just leaving view as he removed something from his face.

“Good to hear from you, team. Your report on last night’s encounter was very interesting.” The Man of Steel began. “You said the vigilante’s name was…Nightwing?”

“Yessir.” Aqualad replied. “He introduced himself as Nightwing. He said he’d gotten the name from a book you’d written.”

“I can’t imagine how else he’d have gotten it.” Superman frowned. “A number of years ago, after an encounter with a distressed young man, I published a book of Kryptonian legends and tales. The story of Flamebird and Nightwing was among them. In fact, it’s the story that started the whole thing, when I shared it that night with the young man. Nightwing is a god that exists in the darkness away from the light’s touch, and hunts the evil that hides from the light.”

He paused, rubbing a big hand along his jaw. “I…suppose it could be appropriate for what this vigilante sees himself doing, hunting evildoers in the night. Although I cannot help but be disappointed that somehow a story about rebirth and creation from destruction inspired someone to become a vigilante.” Superman shook his head.

“But it’s not on me that this particular young man missed the point of the story. At least through his name, if he’s genuine in his choice, we can see some of his intentions. After all, the god Nightwing was all about hunting evil in darkness. What was your determination of him?”

The team glanced at each other, then at Kaldur. He looked back to the screen.

“He seems…determined, most of all. From what we’ve gathered, he’s been doing a lot to stop both minor crimes and larger criminal organizations. He’s certainly physically fit and quick. We did not see him fight, but the way he moves seems to indicate a high awareness of his abilities.” Kaldur reported.

“He definitely could handle himself in a fight.” Artemis added. “The way he moves? Definitely a fighter, and an experienced one at that. Plus he had escrima sticks on his back in an easy-reach position. That choice of weapon says he’s generally looking to be non-lethal in his attacks. Otherwise he’d keep small swords or something else that would kill more easily.”

Kaldur sometimes forgot just how much Artemis saw through her experienced eyes. She’d acclimated so well to the team over time, he often completely overlooked her past, and the harsh training she’d undergone. Although he’d have preferred that she’d never had to go through that…he did have to admit that her insight was invaluable at times like these.

“We also think he may be linked in some way to the Batman.” Kaldur added. “He mentioned Gotham and its vigilantes several times. He joked about both the Batman and the Red Hood as though he were personally acquainted with them.”

“Plus he said he’d just gotten out of a partnership!” Wally piped up from the couch, sitting forward. “Though, he also said that we needed to level up in friendship before we could access his tragic backstory.” He chuckled.

“Nightwing certainly had an…interesting sense of humor.” Kaldur nodded. “He seemed to use it as a way to keep us at arm’s length in conversation. He also seemed to switch quickly between snappy retorts and an outright aggressive demeanor.”

“That…wasn’t super genuine though.” M’gann interjected softly. “I mean, I couldn’t really read his emotions much at all because of that crazy strong mental wall of his…but there was nothing to indicate that those rapid mood swings were actually…real.”

“Interesting. Could be further tactics. And his potential connection to the Batman needs to be investigated.” Superman sighed. “There’s a lot there that needs to get unpacked, honestly. But your priority should be reestablishing contact, and finding out if he has an actual connection to the Batman or not.”

“Agreed.” Kaldur nodded. “Although…we do have a question, if you have time?”

“Of course. I still have a half hour before I’ll need to return to…other duties.”

“Nightwing said something alarming. At the end of the encounter, after we’d accidentally…misstepped…he said if we didn’t leave, he would, ah, ‘bring war to us the likes of which haven’t been seen since the League tried to kidnap the youngest Robin from Batman.’ And…well, we were wondering what you could tell us about that. We were unaware that the Justice League had ever attempted to kidnap Robin?” Kaldur frowned as he asked.

It was something that they’d talked about several times since last night’s encounter. None of them could recall any kind of mission to kidnap the child vigilante of Gotham, or even anything similar. They weren’t privy to all of the Justice League’s missions, of course, but it had been worrying them since Nightwing had said it.

“Kidnap? I…ah, yes, I suppose I can…see how that could have been interpreted like that.” Superman rubbed the back of his neck, and the team’s focus sharpened. Superman sighed.

“When the second Robin disappeared and the third stepped in, we were concerned. Another teenager was being indoctrinated into vigilantism, from what little we could gather. But there wasn’t really a lot we could do.” Superman explained. “But we agreed as a League that if we ever saw the Batman training a child instead of the teens we’d seen, we’d step in, whatever the consequences of running such a large operation in Gotham would be. We’re meant to be protecting future generations, after all. And although nearly all of us have taken on sidekicks at different points, we simply could not condone the idea of pulling a child into such a violent world. To that point, the Batman had seemed to agree with us – we had never seen him with anyone too young, though the second Robin came close, and we never saw how young the first Robin was when he began.

“So when the third Robin stepped back and the fourth emerged, we were…alarmed. He was obviously a child, not even a preteen. Our best guess was around eight to ten years old, and the thought of leaving a child to be raised fighting the same criminals that made two different Robins disappear…we were horrified at the thought. And although there are more adult vigilantes around now, we simply could not stand aside and allow this to happen.” Superman looked tired as he thought back on the day.

“We organized a raid. The plan was to separate the young Robin from the Batman, and ensure his safety. We would then return him to his parents, explain the situation to them, and potentially even help them to relocate to remove him entirely from the Batman’s influence.” Superman paused. “It…did not go to plan.

“We arrived in Gotham easily enough, but at first could not locate the vigilante duo. And when we did finally find them in the cityscape, it was obvious that the Batman had somehow known we were coming. His assault was merciless. He made it clear that he knew each of our weaknesses, and was not afraid to use them. Between the Batman, the third Robin, the Red Hood, and the youngest Robin, the six League members we had brought were surprisingly outgunned.

“The fourth Robin, though still very obviously a child, fought with more skill and viciousness than we had thought possible. It’s obvious he had been trained since infancy in martial arts and weapons. He was unafraid to take a hit, where we were unwilling to hurt him. It put us at such an impossible disadvantage…he fought tooth and nail to prevent us from removing him from the situation he’d been placed in. In the end, we were forced to retreat and leave him in the Batman’s care. As much as we would have preferred to take him away from there, to keep him from becoming like the Batman…it seems we arrived too late, even just a week after his emergence as Robin.

“It’s one of the biggest reasons why we want to stop the Batman’s vigilantism. Sure, he’s stopping crime in Gotham, but at what cost? What kind of man would train a small child the way this one had obviously been trained even before he officially took on the cape of Robin?” Superman shook his head.

“If this Nightwing is connected to the Batman, and has pulled free from his influence, we need his information. As much as I personally don’t like it, the need for that information to stop the Batman trumps our need for more heroes to join the League. That is what the League decided in our meeting this morning. I trust you’ll be able to take the necessary steps to both determine if they are connected, and to secure a path to the information we need.”

With that, the Man of Steel bade them farewell, and ended the call. The team sat in shocked silence.

“That’s…intense.” Wally said finally. “I didn’t know all of that had gone down.”

“I knew that the Batman and his fellow vigilantes had turned back the League, and that Uncle J’onn said it was an impressive fight on their part, but I hadn’t imagined that the fight was over the future of a child.” M’gann murmured. “How terrible, that he is so young, and fighting already.”

“I feel for the kid,” Artemis agreed, “but I survived that kind of life. He’ll be okay when he realizes he can think for himself. I mean, if Nightwing got out of that kind of partnership – and he did mention getting out from under someone’s thumb, if you remember – then I’m sure this other kid can, too.”

“Seems our first order of business is to figure out if Nightwing is actually connected to the Batman.” Kaldur mused. “That should be our next task. It will determine much of how we interact with him going forward.”

“I mean, yeah. But how are we going to do that if the guy won’t even talk to us?” Wally asked.

How, indeed?

***

Dick groaned as he finally reached the top of his building’s stairs. His arm throbbed dully at his side, as he’d refused the painkillers the paramedics had offered him. His pain tolerance was exceptional, after years of receiving much worse injuries – thankfully hidden by his illusionary ring – but it was really just the icing on the cake of a stressful workday.

There had been more paperwork than he’d cared to do, but done anyway, and plenty of concerned looks from Amy that had him seething quietly. He knew that she cared, but he really didn’t need her pity today. Thankfully, she’d been able to read his mood, and had kept quiet, only getting him an over-sugared cup of coffee to keep him going as he plowed through the necessary paperwork after a raid and shooting.

If the BPD adhered to actual protocols, he should have had to schedule an appointment with a psychologist that worked with the department as part of the post-shooting to-do list. For once, he was a little relieved that the BPD didn’t do things the right way. He really didn’t need to sit down with a shrink and get told about everything wrong with him right now. He’d gotten enough of that dealing with Harley Quinn and Scarecrow over the years, he really didn’t need it from someone he couldn’t just write off advice from as ‘given by the insane’ and move on. Because if someone not insane started looking into his head and decided he needed to do something…well, he just really didn’t have time for that right now.

Sorry, doc, between my day job, my night job, and my brotherly job, I’m booked. He thought with a wry chuckle.

“Riško, child, you do not look happy.”

Dick looked up, and managed a smile for dottering little Lenka as she emerged from her door. She tsked as she approached, looking him over.

“You are still too thin, Riško. To my mind, you do not eat enough. You eat kapustnica with me, and then eat nothing.” She chided. “And you do not sleep, yes? Explain me this. You work day, you work night, and you do not sleep. You are irresponsible, my little Riško.”

“You’re probably right, babka.” Dick sighed, letting her gather his much taller frame into a thin-armed hug. “I’m just really busy right now. Lots to do on all fronts.”

“You cannot win battle on all fronts at once.” Lenka responded firmly, thankfully choosing his uninjured arm to rub this time. “You fight one front, then other, then other. And at end, you win all fronts.” She narrowed her eyes, and added, “And sometimes, you pick enemy that is not enemy. Like new neighbors. They are trouble, yes, but not bad trouble. They are trouble like little brothers are trouble, not like gypsies are trouble.”

Dick grimaced a little.

“You are good boy, for a gypsy. Do not worry.” Lenka soothed, rubbing his arm as though that were his concern.

“Why are you so set against gypsies, babka?” He asked.

“Because gypsies are no-good parasites and should not have help from state because they do not contribute like good citizen.” Lenka said with a wave of her hand. “But you are good boy. You are police man, and you dress up in silly costume to do more police man work at night. Do not worry, Riško, you do not steal from garden, you are good boy for a gypsy.”

“You don’t have a garden, babka.” Dick chuckled tiredly. Every time he’d asked her why she was so against the very people who loved and raised him within the circus, he got a different but equally racist answer. He wasn’t sure if she knew why she hated them, or if it was simply a carryover from how she’d been raised back in the old country.

“That is point, Riško, but not good point.” Lenka smiled. “Now, you go home. You eat, you sleep. And when is making dark, you dress up in silly clothes and go talk to man on second floor of red building across the street. He is wife beater and should learn lesson from silly clothed police man.”

“I’ll look into it.” Dick promised with a heavy sigh.

“But look after you eat and you sleep, yes?”

“Of course.” He smiled, knowing he was probably lying, at least about the sleeping part of it. From the way she looked at him, both affectionate and disapproving, she probably knew it, too.

But she rubbed his arm again, and with an affectionate farewell, she let him continue on to his apartment.

He shouldered the door open, and was immediately treated to a loud air horn that had him dropping down into a defensive stance in a heartbeat.

Tim started cackling on the couch, and Dick sent him a dirty look as the heroes’ door behind him opened.

“Is everything okay over there?” Kid Flash – Wally, actually, since he wasn’t in costume – asked, looking equal parts amused and startled.

“Just my brothers taking advantage of an overworked detective.” Dick replied with a wave. “Sorry to disturb you guys.”

“No worries, dude,” Wally chuckled awkwardly, “just making sure.”

“Sorry about earlier.” Dick said abruptly. “I didn’t mean to sound like an ass, it was just something I needed you to understand, and in the moment with all the emotions and shit, it came out really harsh.”

“It’s okay, dude, I guess I kinda needed to hear it. Gotta keep learning, right?” Wally offered a tentative smile.

“Right. Same here. Catch you tomorrow.” Dick returned the smile with a tired one.

“Yeah, we’ll catch up and trade info when we meet tomorrow. Got all sorts of stuff to go over with you, dude!” Wally’s grin brightened, and he ducked back into the doorway.

Dick frowned, decided that whatever info they’d trade with him was a tomorrow problem, and stepped into his apartment. He glared at his younger brothers, sitting suspiciously close together on the couch. “Why are you even here?” He asked as he closed the door. “Shouldn’t you two be in Gotham, getting some rest before patrol?”

“Still grounded.” Damian gritted out.

“Wait, really?” Dick blinked. “What happened to get you multiple days’ grounding from patrol with B?”

The two looked at each other, and for a moment Dick was sure he’d get another noncommittal answer like the ones he’d gotten the other day. But they seemed to come to some silent agreement, and with a sigh, Tim started talking.

“We were running an op to catch freaking Penguin again, right?” He began, leaning forward as Damian settled further into the couch with what Dick would definitely not call a pout. “And he’s got his usual henchmen and stupid guns and whatever. But he’s got a few more than what the intel had suggested, since they’d taken out all the cameras and Oracle couldn’t get an accurate count from just the outside movement.

“So B sends us to different sides of the warehouse to start the sweep, and I take down my few, and suddenly Baby Bat—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“-and suddenly Baby Bat,” Tim repeated with extra emphasis, “calls for an extra hand because he’s got way more goons than he should.”

“I didn’t need help.” Damian clarified, looking uncomfortable as he crossed his arms. “I simply requested extra hands if they were available to ensure the takedown was done in the most efficient manner possible.”

“So anyway, I went, and kid’s facing, like eight dudes. And he’s holding his own, but that’s not friendly odds for adults on kid fights. And B’s pissed at me for leaving my post to go help!” Tim threw up his arms in frustration. “But like, I wasn’t causing any extra danger to anyone, I’d already done my side. What’s so wrong about going to help my freaking brother when he’s got more than he should have to take alone?”

Dick took a deep, steadying breath, and moved to the couch. The two younger boys separated without complaint, and he dropped down onto the sagging cushion in the newly cleared space between them. He gathered them under each arm, and pulled them against his side with surprisingly minimal complaints from either.

“First, Dami, Baby Bat, it’s okay to ask for help when a fight is more skewed than you’d anticipated. In fact, I’m proud of you for calling for backup. Don’t let B tell you it’s wrong, because it’s not.” Dick said, planting a kiss in Damian’s gelled hair and getting a half-hearted sound of disgust in return.

“Second, Timmy, my Nerdy Bird, you did good. You kicked ass to help your brother, just like you’re supposed to. B can get as pissy as he wants, but you did good. Because yeah, Dami can kick ass too, but those are really sketchy odds when your arms aren’t that long yet.”

“Grayson.” Damian whined into his ribs. Dick just chuckled and ruffled the gelled hair into a slightly less gelled state.

“You guys did what you’re supposed to. It would have been way better to have you clear together as a pair instead of alone, but I don’t get much of a say in B’s tactics these days.” Dick grumbled. “But you had each other’s backs, and I say B can suck it if he thinks that’s disobedience.”

“But he was so mad, Dick.” Tim murmured, and Dick’s heart broke a little. He pulled his little Timmy closer. He remembered the desperate need to have Bruce’s approval for all sides of his life, and how much it had hurt to be denied that. Hell, it still hurt when he had to go toe to toe with Bruce and face that disapproving glare.

Tim didn’t deserve that. None of his little brothers did. And he hadn’t been there when Jason had most needed him as Robin. He’d overreached, he’d stretched himself too thin, and he hadn’t been able to get there in time when he finally found out what was happening to his brother.

But he was here now.

“Look, can I let you guys in on something?” Dick asked conspiratorially. Tim gave him a flat look to disguise his interest, but Dick could see through the seventeen-year-old’s ruse. Damian looked up in open curiosity half-hidden behind habitual suspicion.

“It’s something that Jason and I realized when he got back and we got to really talk about everything. We realized that Jason had been trying to be Robin the way B wanted him to be Robin, how B told him Robin was. But it wasn’t how I was, not really. And I started Robin.” Dick explained. “And we decided that B can decide what Batman’s like, because he’s the only one who’s ever been Batman. He made Batman, and he fought to get the rep he wanted.

“But Robin? That’s us, not him. And Robins look out for each other. Robins have each other’s backs, because that’s who we are. Yeah, B made us legal family, but we made ourselves brothers. And brothers take care of each other. Robins take care of each other. I mean, seriously, what better legacy can I have as the first Robin, than make sure that all my baby Robins get the backup they need? That every new Robin is safer than the last, because he has the rest of us standing behind him like beefed up backup dancers?”

“Really, Dick? Backup dancers?” Tim grimaced.

“Have you seen some of those guys?” Dick asked with a grin. “They’re way bigger than some of the bodyguards I’ve seen!”

And the good-humored exasperated groans from his younger brothers was exactly what he’d been looking for. Jay was the only one who had really seen through the class clown act to what it was at its heart. He’d been the only one to call Dick on the way he’d use humor to cut the tension and bring his brothers back from the razor’s edge. Jay hadn’t told the younger boys, and had even taken up the mantle of ‘occasionally silly older brother’ when Dick had been too injured or sick to ease the tension himself.

It was still a couple of hours before he convinced the boys to go back to Gotham for the night. He needed to patrol, they needed sleep before school, and their beds in the Manor were definitely better than the beds they had here. Plus, with a discreet text to Alfred, he knew they’d get a dinner full of comfort food, and actually get some good sleep. They really did need to eat and sleep more.

How delightfully hypocritical of him.

Dick changed quickly into the tight Nightwing suit and geared up, nearly slapping himself as he threw on the domino mask. All the tension of the day – getting shot at, killing a man, lecturing a hero on being responsible, more evidence of BPD corruption, Lenka’s new target for him, and on top of it all B’s stubborn insistence that they all work alone like he purported to do – was building to a suffocating level, and he needed to get it out.

The safest out was being Nightwing.

He’d get out on the streets, and find some criminals in need of a sound beat-down. It was, after all, his night job. And he couldn’t be absent from it for too many days, or criminals would forget just how scared they were supposed to be. If the shadows didn’t bite often enough, they’d stop being scared of what might lurk in them.

Can’t have that.

Nightwing leapt across the rooftops, figuring he’d start with the gang territory nearest the warehouses. They were a violent bunch to begin with, before everything else went down. And clearly they hadn’t gotten everyone at the raid today, so there had to be someone he could take down tonight.

Destination set, he charged over the top of the cityscape with singular intent, until an alarm rang in the back of his mind.

Nightwing came to a crouched stop in a deep shadow, looking around quickly to figure out just what had triggered the automatic response. He trusted his instincts, and did a second sweep looking a few rooftops farther out when the first didn’t reveal an immediate threat.

The night was silent, the rooftops—there.

A tall figure, shape hidden by a cloak of what looked like fabric shadows. His heartrate spiked, and Nightwing found himself fighting the urge to growl like a feral dog as his carefully contained anger bucked at the end of its restraints.

Because there, on the next rooftop over, was the one person he really didn’t need to see tonight.

Batman.

Chapter Text

Nightwing landed on the rooftop, tension squaring his shoulders, back ramrod straight, chin up. He honestly looked like a soldier about to undergo an inspection. He stalked forward with a deadly, strained grace, until he was just a few feet away, close enough that a single step would bring either into easy reach of the other.

Far enough away that it would take that step to get in reach.

“You have a helluva lot of nerve coming here, B.” The masked vigilante growled, eyes narrowed through the domino mask, voice harsher than the team had heard it before.

Miss Martian suddenly wondered if this plan was as good of an idea as it had seemed five minutes ago. He was just out of her non-telepathic reach, even in this larger, bulkier body, and it seemed intentional. She filed that away for later dissection.

They’d needed to know if Nightwing had any real connection with the Batman, and since he still wasn’t talking to them, they’d gone with what they knew best – a covert operation. If all went to plan, Nightwing wouldn’t even realize that the Batman he saw was fake. After all, according to Justice League reports, the Batman never actually said much of anything when they fought. And the strong and silent type was an easy one to play, especially this one – stand still, look intimidating, let Nightwing leave, and then transform back.

Except Nightwing looked mad. And he seemed to be expecting an answer.

Miss Martian let her mental senses expand over the area, filtering out the emotions coming from her teammates and trying to focus on Nightwing without letting her mind actually brush his. She’d expected his stone mental walls to be as impenetrable as before, but the moment he’d seen her, a crack had formed. What leaked out wasn’t anywhere near what shed anticipated: anxiety where she was waiting for confidence, anger pulsing where she’d expected recognition. And fear, sickly yellow fear that oozed out of his cracked mental defenses like an infected wound.

Something’s not right. She sent through the mindlink. He’s not reacting like we’d anticipated.

Hold steady, Miss Martian. Aqualad sent back in a calm, soothing tone.

Miss Martian, despite knowing the team was concealed nearby and listening over the mindlink, ready to jump in if needed, suddenly desperately wanted to abandon this plan altogether.

It was a little late for that, though.

“What, Catwoman got your tongue?” Nightwing spat. “How about, ‘Hey Nightwing, how are things in your city?’ or maybe ‘I know you told me to stay the hell out of Blüdhaven, but I decided to come anyway, because I’m an ass?’ Either of those work for you?”

Mis Martian hesitated. She didn’t know what face to make, so she just…didn’t. That’s what the Justice League had reported before – a vague grimace, no other facial expressions – so hopefully it would pass. She did her best to just exude manliness and stoicness, and just…hope it would work. And if they really did know each other…

“Nightwing. How are you?” She called up the voice she’d heard on the Justice League’s recordings from their operations in Gotham. She wasn’t really sure how the Batman would speak, but according to what she’d heard on the recordings, he was an assertive man of few words. But this was just regular pleasantries between colleagues, right?

“What?” Nightwing asked dumbly, mouth open in a small ‘o’. Miss Martian prayed she wasn’t making a mistake.

“How are you?” She repeated.

“I…I’m fine, I guess.” In a moment, all of the anger had dropped away, leaving someone who looked uncomfortable and…submissive. “How…how are you and…the family?”

“Everyone is fine.” Miss Martian replied carefully. She didn’t know who ‘the family’ would be, and had absolutely no idea how the Batman would respond about his own well-being. Would he be honest with Nightwing? Or play it off? Best not to try at all.

“Right.” Nightwing shuffled his feet, looking surprisingly like a little kid in front of their parent. She almost laughed at the thought, and pushed it aside. It had to be a side effect of training under the Batman – she sometimes looked as uncomfortable in front of her Uncle J’onn, especially when she had been caught out doing something she shouldn’t have.

“So…why are you here, B?” Nightwing asked after the awkward moment.

Miss Martian looked at him, uncertain before her, and felt a pang of sympathy. This wasn’t the confident, feisty man they’d met the other night. But she had a role to play, and so far, the shorter answers had been best. The Batman had always been cryptic with the Justice League, so…

“You know why.”

“I—“ Nightwing started, only to waver. He crosssed his arms over his chest defensively. “Look, B, I—this is my city. This isn’t Gotham. There’s a reason I left Gotham, and this whole I’m-Batman-and-ignore-every-boundary thing is a huge part of it.”

He sounds so…hesitant now. Kid Flash said though the mindlink, sounding perplexed. Where’s the banter and sass from our meeting? The pizazz?

I don’t like this. Artemis added. Something’s off. We found out he knows the Batman, we should pull out. We don’t know enough to go through with a conversation like this.

We can do this, guys. Just…let’s try and get information. Kid Flash sent back. Superboy and Aqualad sent agreement over the link. Internally, Miss Martian steeled herself. Externally, she just crossed her massive, way-too-heavily-muscled Batman arms. She was surprised by just how much muscle the Batman had, and couldn’t help but wonder how in the world he managed to move so fluidly in the videos if he was so freaking bulky.

“You have a problem here.” Miss Martian rumbled, her voice two octaves lower than normal, and sounding like she gargled with gravel before heading out to scare criminals. How in the world did Batman talk like this all the time?

You sound like you smoke twelve packs a day. Artemis snickered into the mindlink. Miss Martian hadn’t considered it before, but Artemis was right. The man under the cowl sounded like he needed a medical examination of the frog in his throat.

“Alright, I get it, B.” Nightwing sighed. “You’re pissed that I haven’t chased out the Young Justice League yet. Especially given all of the…extended circumstances of our…interactions.” He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “But it’s really none of your concern what I do in Blüdhaven. I’m not even sure why you’re here, if I’m honest. Blüdhaven isn’t your city. It’s mine. Mine to protect, mine to defend as I see fit. This isn’t Gotham.”

“No. But it’s still a problem.” Miss Martian replied. Her heart hammered in her chest as she completely faked her way through this conversation. She’d expected to give maybe a vague threat, not have an actual conversation with someone who knew the person she was playing. “They’re going to cause…problems.”

Because the Batman obviously considered the Justice League a nuisance, he’d think that the Young Justice League was more of the same, right? But she was worried about vocabulary. She couldn’t just repeat the same words over and over again…but they had so few clips of the Batman speaking. She didn’t know what kind of education the man had. What if he was, like, a scholar and only used big, fancy words? Or what if he was some blue collar dude who worked in construction and talked like Kid Flash?

What’s wrong with talking like me, Sweetcheeks? Kid Flash teased, cueing Miss Martian into the fact that her thoughts were spilling over into the mindlink.

Sorry. This is just harder than I’d thought.

You’re doing well, Miss Martian. Stay focused. Aqualad reassured.

“You think everyone not trained by you is a problem, B. If it weren’t for your rules, I’m pretty sure you’d have ended up killing Oracle back when she showed up as Batgirl without your endorsement. Glad you didn’t, since that would have made working with Commissioner Gordon that much more awkward.” Nightwing chuckled awkwardly. “But seriously. B. This is my city. You shouldn’t even be out of Gotham tonight.”

Nightwing seemed to be waiting for some kind of answer, and Miss Martian scrambled for something to say. She decided to go with something she’d heard the Batman do on the recordings more than once.

She grunted non-committally.

“Really, B?” Nightwing sighed in annoyance, narrowing his eyes through his domino. Miss Martian got the sense that he’d found an actual response in her grunt rather than the vague acknowledgement she’d gone for. “All you have for me on this is ‘deal with it’? I didn’t come to Blüdhaven so you could expand your influence of shadowy vengeance.”

Wait, how did he get ‘deal with it’ from your grunt? Kid Flash asked incredulously through the mindlink.

I really don’t know. I just imitated a sound I’d heard the Batman use in the recordings of him fighting the Justice League. Miss Martian sent back, feeling a little worried.

“You don’t get to come here and tell me how to run my city, B. I listened to your orders when I was in Gotham. I obeyed like the good little soldier you wanted. But this isn’t Gotham, and I’m not Robin anymore.” Nightwing laughed bitterly, and Miss Martian suppressed a chill at the harsh sound. “You made sure of that yourself. Not Robin anymore, and never your son. Just your temporary burden until I became too inconvenient to keep around. Then you passed on everything I built to the next kid you happened across that was naïve enough to listen to you. And then, you had the gall to act like all you’re responsible for is making sure the Robins can fight. Forget coping with trauma, or learning how to deal properly with literally anything. No, that fell to me, and I’m barely less emotionally constipated than you.”

Nightwing threw up his arms in exasperation, shifting his weight as though to step into Miss Martian’ – Batman’s – personal space. Miss Martian shifted her weight to be a little more ready for whatever would come, and to her astonishment, Nightwing flinched back a step, arms half-raising defensively.

There was a tense moment of silence.

Did he just flinch away from you? Kid Flash asked, sounding unnerved. I mean, I knew he was super on edge all the time or whatever, but that…I dunno, man.

It does feel suspicious. Aqualad agreed. I’m more surprised, however, to find that Nightwing is one of the missing first two Robins.

 Nightwing let out a shaky chuckle.

“Guess some habits don’t go away, huh B?” He growled, seeming to cover his nerves with bitter amusement. “You can take a Robin out of the Batcave, but you can’t take the ingrained responses to the Bat’s conversation methods out of the Robin.”

“Looks like.” She agreed in that awful gravelly voice. Miss Martian made sure to hold herself as perfectly still as she could. She didn’t want to frighten him off – he looked about one wrong hand twitch away from fleeing entirely.

“Look, B. It’s really none of your business what I do here in Blüdhaven.” Nightwing said finally, his voice hard. The strength felt forced, with how much anxiety and fear she could feel creeping out of his mental walls. “If I haven’t forced out the Justice League’s Sidekick Squad yet, it’s because I haven’t decided to force them out yet. What I do here is my business. How I run Blüdhaven is my business. It’s not like I’m going to spill all the Bat family secrets. You trained me better than that. So really…it’s best you just leave now. Go back to Gotham.”

We should withdraw. Artemis sounded nervous through the mindlink. This has gone too far. There’s too much we don’t know. We need to get out of here. Take the out he’s offering, and get out of here before he figures out that Miss Martian isn’t actually the Batman.

We have a good chance to figure out what his plans are, though. Kid Flash responded. I mean, don’t you want to know why he’s acting so weird with the Batman?

I already have a pretty good idea. Artemis replied grimly.

“Seriously, B. I know you have better things to do than stand here and stare at me like that tonight.” Nightwing growled, and Miss Martian realized she had missed her chance for an easy retreat as she paid too much attention to the conversation going on over the mindlink. “Who’s watching over Gotham while you’re sitting here like one of those stupid gargoyles? I know the Robins aren’t.” He added the last with a sardonic smirk.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Miss Martian asked, and cocked her head the tiniest bit, a habit she couldn’t quite suppress in time. For a heartbeat, she was afraid Nightwing would realize it was her. But then Nightwing gave that awful laugh again.

“Wow, great innocent act, Bats. But you do know that we talk to each other right? They told me all about your latest bullshit.” Nightwing scoffed. “I mean, seriously, B. They did everything you asked, and kicked ass to not only follow your orders, but to keep each other safe and have their brother’s backs. And you acted like they did something wrong! I mean, we all know that you ‘work alone’ B,” Nightwing said, adding air quotes, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t take care of each other. We’re all capable of doing this thing alone, but we don’t have to!”

Miss Martian once again remained quiet, feeling it was the best thing to do at the moment. Thankfully, the rest of the team seemed to sense that she’d reentered the minefield that was this conversation, and stayed silent.

“You always tell us that if you don’t like your odds, change them. But then you complain when we change the odds by teaming up and supporting each other. Now, I’ve gotten used to you disappointing me. Both Hood and I have. But Robin and Red? They still believe in you, in a way that we stopped doing a long time ago.” Nightwing’s voice was somehow sharp and disappointed, exhausted and vicious. “How many Robins are you going to chase away before you’re satisfied, Bats? How many Robins are you going to lose before you wake up and actually start acting like you give a shit?”

Miss Martian didn’t know how to respond to that.

Yikes. Looks like we’ve stumbled into some serious family drama here. Kid Flash muttered through the link.

“Nightwing,” Miss Martian began, only to be cut off.

“Don’t, B. Just…don’t.” The vigilante sighed, sounding more defeated and tired by the minute. “Just go back to Gotham. I’ll take care of my city, you take care of yours.”

Nightwing turned to leave, though he kept Batman-Miss Martian in his peripherals. He moved to start running, and Miss Martian couldn’t take it. She had to do something to help this man heal. The amount of anger and pain radiating from him through even just that small crack in his defenses tore at her soft heart. She couldn’t resist doing what she had always done – reaching out to try and fix what was broken.

“For what it’s worth,” she called after him, hand half-outstretched, “I’m sorry.”

Nightwing froze, and the shield around his mind snapped back into solid focus. Miss Martian felt a chill run down her spine as he slowly turned, and stalked toward her.

“Ten-forty-seven.” He growled, locking eyes with the frozen Martian-turned-Batman.

What does ten-forty-seven mean? Miss Martian asked desperately into the mindlink.

It’s got to be a code of some sort. Artemis replied. There’s no way to guess this, just get out of there.

“Son of a bitch.” Nightwing spat. Before she could even think, he’d crossed the distance between them in two long strides. The air exploded from her lungs, and it took a half-second to realize it was his fist in her gut that had caused it.

She doubled over, gasping, and felt him quickly grab her wrists, twisting them up uncomfortably behind her back. His foot knocked into the back of her already partially collapsed knees, and she dropped to the floor. His knee landed in the small of her back, and Miss Martian realized she was pinned faster than she’d been able to properly breathe back in.

Miss Martian! Aqualad cried out. She could feel Superboy’s anger spike over the mindlink.

I’m okay, don’t attack! She sent desperately.

“Who are you?” Nightwing snarled.

Don’t do it! Superboy thought to her. Protect yourself!

It’s okay, I don’t think he’ll really hurt me. Miss Martian replied with more confidence than she really felt.

She concentrated a moment, and let her shape slip back into her hero form, black cape and heavy muscle melting away into her lean, cheerfully dressed self.

“Son of a bitch.” Nightwing spat again. “You guys again?” He leaned his weight back, mostly off of her, but still holding her mostly in place. “You’re really damn lucky I subscribe to the not-killing side of vigilantism, unlike Red Hood. If you’d done this to him, you’d be dead already, not pinned.”

“Let her go.” Superboy snarled from where he’d emerged from the shadows. The team followed suit, stepping into the vigilante’s line of sight.

“Of course you’re all here.” Nightwing growled. “Because you apparently respect ‘get out of my city’ about as much as Bats himself does.” He sighed heavily, and ran his free hand through his hair again. “Why couldn’t we just talk about this like adults? Hey Nightwing, do you happen to have any association with Gotham’s Batman? Why yes, he’s the asshole that trained me.”

“I said let her go.” Superboy repeated, his voice dripping with the threat of violence.

“Yeah, yeah.” Nightwing muttered. Miss Martian felt the pressure release, and pulled her arms back to her sides, shoulders and elbows aching from the strained position. She rolled onto her side, and was surprised to find a hand in her vision.

She looked up, and found it was Nightwing’s. Not the reaction she’d expected from the guy she’d just tricked, but she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, as the earth saying went. She took the hand hesitantly, and he pulled her easily to her feet, holding on just long enough to ensure she had her balance.

Nightwing looked distinctly uncomfortable, backing up several steps as he tried to keep an eye on all of them at once.

His heartrate is still elevated. Superboy growled into the mindlink.

Definitely looks like he wants to run. Kid Flash agreed.

“Would you have answered us if we had asked again?” Aqualad asked, taking a more casual stance. “You denied it when we first asked.”

“Okay, fair. Probably would have just done the same again because it’s my personal business, which means it’s none of yours.” Nightwing snapped. “You’re not entitled to anyone’s life story just because you asked. There’s this thing called trust that you usually gotta build up first.”

“Yeah, this was kinda more of a speedrun thing, y’know?” Kid Flash grinned easily. To Miss Martian’s surprise, Nightwing chuckled, nervously amused.

“Probably wouldn’t have landed a punch in your guts if I’d realized it was just you guys.” Nightwing muttered, waving a hand as though to dismiss the last few moments’ events.

Superboy moved to Miss Martian’s side, and she laid a careful hand on his forearm to soothe the pulsing fury he was still holding inside. Aqualad came up on her other side, with Kid Flash offset from the group and Artemis somewhere behind. Miss Martian found herself grateful for the show of support, but was worried about the way they seemed to be lined up against him now.

Nightwing took another step back, and raised a hand placatingly. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the white lenses of his domino mask, but if she had to guess, she’d say they’d be darting around, watching each of them carefully. He really didn’t seem the trusting sort.

“I don’t suppose it’s too much to ask that you keep this fun little exchange to yourselves and not share it with the Justice League?” He asked with a cringing, self-depreciating smile.

Beside her, Superboy shifted his weight.

Miss Martian hadn’t realized it in the moment, but she’d automatically followed his raised hand with her eyes. She only realized it when sudden smoke exploded again, the small pellet thrown by the hand he hadn’t raised.

Superboy charged through the smoke, but growled with displeasure.

Nightwing was already gone.

***

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Nightwing berated himself, crouching on a ledge two buildings away from where he’d run into the heroes. He wasn’t really sure what he was feeling other than stupid and angry at himself, so he took a moment, like Alfie had always encouraged, to try and sort it out while he waited for the team to leave.

Angry. He was furious at himself for not using the identity code the moment he’d seen – thought he’d seen – Batman standing there. He was livid that he’d spoken so freely about the issues he had with B. He was fuming that he’d forgotten there was a shape-shifting Martian in Blüdhaven.

Confused. Emotional whiplash was a bitch. One moment he’s finally telling Bruce what he really thought, and the next Batman’s doing the impossible – apologizing. For just one raw moment, he’d dared to hope that maybe it was real. But it wasn’t. And suddenly he was going from one kind of angry to desperate and an entirely different kind of angry, then to…whatever he’d felt when he’d realized who it was that had tricked him.

Hurt. Dragging all that up with who he’d thought was Bruce…it left him feeling raw and vulnerable. But that wasn’t all of it. A good chunk of it, much to his surprise, was that these heroes had tricked him like this. They’d manipulated him in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and, sure, he knew he hadn’t really earned their trust or anything, but he’d thought they were…better than this. Maybe that had been a mistake, to believe so much in them just because of one interaction with Superman.

Guilty. That one surprised him, but he felt bad about punching the Martian so solidly and taking her down so hard. He could have easily broken her nose as he took her to the ground. But he wasn’t sure why he felt so guilty about it. It was definitely what had made him reach out to help her back up. But why would he bother feeling guilty about hitting the person who tricked him?

Afraid. Yeah, that was the one that sucked the most to admit. He’d given away a lot of information tonight. He’d been stupid and blinded by his boiling emotions from the day’s events and revelations, and had slipped up big time. If those heroes passed everything he’d said on to the Justice League…he was well and truly screwed. If the Justice League didn’t use this to wreck his shit, Batman would.

He’d given away a significant piece of his identity. That was a pretty damn big no-no on the Bat sliding scale of Ways to Fail the Uniform.

Bruce is going to kill me. Nightwing thought with a shudder. He wasn’t even really sure how he’d reacted to the discovery that he’d been tricked. He felt like maybe he should have been angrier than he had been. But honestly, in the moment? He’d just felt like he’d wanted to run and hide.

So he’d run, and now here he was, hiding.

Great job, he thought sardonically, you’ve regressed to being a little kid caught out in a lie. Hide under the covers until it’s safe to come out, like a scared child who can’t face the consequences of their own actions. He paused a moment, then chuckled wryly. I don’t want to face the consequences of my actions.

The sounds of the heroes had faded in the time it took him to sort through his own feelings. He wasn’t sure if they were just quick to pack up and leave, or if it really took that long to look inside himself and identify what he felt.

That was a question he’d be happy to ignore for the foreseeable future.

Nightwing uncurled himself from the ledge, and pulled himself up to the rooftop. He shook out his arms and legs, took a moment to stretch to ground himself, then took off across the cityscape once more.

He wasn’t sure where he was going, other than that he was pretty sure he’d like to punch someone right about now. So he headed toward the more run-down area of the city, knowing there’d be crime happening there no matter what day of the week or time of the month.

Sometimes the thought came to him that crime would decrease significantly – or at least be a lot easier to contain and subdue – if they city ever decided to actually do something about all the decrepit buildings. Criminals wouldn’t have anywhere to properly lurk if the decaying buildings were gone.

Nightwing stopped on a rooftop, the all-too-familiar sensation of watch out coming to him for the second time that night. He sighed, turned, and found “Batman” standing on the next rooftop over.

Again.

“Not your smoothest plan here, guys.” He sighed, rolling his eyes as he jumped over. “You already tried and failed with this ruse. Mostly. So give it up, little Miss Martian, I—”

Nightwing was interrupted by a heavy right hook to the jaw. He dropped and rolled through pure muscle memory, coming up startled and alert.

No way the Martian hit like that.

Which meant…

“Are you done, Nightwing?” Batman – the real Batman this time – growled.

“What are the odds I’d play this game twice in one night, and guess wrong both times?” Nightwing muttered, rubbing at his jaw.

“Ten-forty-seven.” He challenged, chin lifted.

“Six-twenty-six.” Batman rumbled. “You seem to be having a problem with heroes in your city.”

“No problem. Just haven’t found it worthwhile to run them out of town yet.” Nightwing replied, aiming for casual and getting nowhere close.

 Batman took two long, heavy strides toward him, and Nightwing came up on his feet in an instant, rolling his weight up in the acrobatic way he’d had since he’d learned the ropes as a small child.

“You will get the heroes out of your city.” Batman’s threat tone still made Nightwing want to cringe back, despite the fact he was an accomplished vigilante in his own right. Instead, he chose to set his shoulders and steel his spine, back straight as a dancer’s as he faced his former guardian. It took everything he had not to back down from the bat-glare he was being given.

How could I have ever mistaken her for Batman? The aura, the menace…I must have been out of my mind to not realize it.

“Or what?” Nightwing wasn’t sure how he found the courage to challenge Bats, but he met the shadowed eyes defiantly nonetheless. In a moment, he was deflecting heavy blows, redirecting them to the sides as fast as B could throw them. No way he could directly block any of Bruce’s hits – the man would break his arms with the force of his blows.

He’d never pulled his punches for the Robins. Seemed not much had hanged in that regard.

Nightwing found himself in a deadly dance with the Dark Knight. For every graceful dodge of his, there was a new blow aimed at where he would stop the movement. He focused on just keeping any of them from hitting him, arms and legs flashing as he deflective massive armored fists and feet.

Abruptly, the rhythm shifted, and Nightwing found himself thrown roughly to the gravel of the rooftop. Batman’s heavy combat boot landed on his chest, pressing down enough that it took effort to breathe.

“Or I will remove them for you.” Batman growled from above him, voice thick with menace. Nightwing felt a thrill of fear run down his spine. This was the Batman he knew. The one who didn’t pull punches for his kids, who didn’t tolerate interruptions or challenges, who beat his will into the criminals of Gotham…and wayward Robins who had forgotten their place.

“It’s my city, B.” Nightwing gasped from the ground. “I’ll take care of things.”

“See that you do, Nightwing.” Batman growled. “And review your footwork. You’re sloppy and unprepared for a real fight.”

“Someone’s gotta be the laziest Robin.” Nightwing wheezed. Batman removed his boot, and stepped back, allowing Nightwing the space he needed to get back to his feet, arms and chest aching. He was sure to have some pretty bruises starting by the time he got home.

“Look, Br—”

“No names in the field.” Batman interrupted sharply.

“Bats,” Nightwing corrected himself. “You should really talk to the Robins. They’re doing their best to do everything you ask, and keep each other afloat at the same time.”

“They need to learn self-sufficiency. They will often fight alone. Something you seem to have forgotten.”

“But maybe they don’t need to fight alone, B.” Nightwing tried.

“They are Bats. They will always be alone.”

“No,” Nightwing corrected, voice quiet but certain, “they’re Robins and brothers, and we are never alone when the others support us.”

“Alone will keep them safe.”

“Alone will make them like you.” Nightwing shot back.

Batman growled, and Nightwing took a half step back, before cursing himself for showing weakness.

“Get them out of your city, Nightwing. And leave training the Robins to me.” The Bat said finally, before turning with a dramatic flare of his cape, and dropping off the side of the rooftop.

Nightwing rubbed at his chest. “Sure, training is yours, but are you caring for them, B?” He muttered quietly, some childish anxiety keeping him from saying it too loudly in case the Bat was still listening to him.

Suddenly feeling paranoid, he patted himself down, looking for bugs that his former mentor might have planted on him while they’d fought. He’d designed the costume with this in mind, actually – there were very few places a bug could be slipped without him noticing it, and the skintight fabric of the suit itself left no easy folds for a bug to cling to.

Satisfied that he was clean of Bat-tech, Nightwing rubbed at his chest again. His ribs, only mostly healed from his moment of distraction days earlier, hurt all over again. At least this time it was a different area of his chest.

“Variety is the spice of life.” He chuckled darkly. Maybe B was right – he was getting a little sloppy in his fighting, if he was getting bruised so often. His criminals weren’t anywhere near the caliber of Gotham’s, so really he shouldn’t be sustaining injuries like the Bat did.

Nightwing briefly considered going to find trouble tonight like he’d intended to. But his bullet wound – bullet scratch? – was throbbing, his forearms ached, and his ribs were protesting every breath.

“The heroes can take care of Blüdhaven for one night. They might as well earn their keep around here.” He muttered. Nightwing turned in the direction of home, wincing as landings jarred his ribs.

By the time he dragged himself through his window, he was an aching, exhausted mess. Too many emotions for one night, too many hits, too many tricks.

Nightwing pulled at the hidden clasps and zipper of his suit. The clasps came undone in an instant, but the zipper got two inches down before it wouldn’t budge.

“Just my damn luck tonight.” He groaned, pulling futilely at the stuck zipper. “I should just start lacing this stupid thing up like a corset instead. At least then I’d be able to get out of it at the end of the night!” His yelled futilely at his stuck suit.

Nightwing cursed at it, shouted and pleaded at it, but to no avail. So he started trying to worm his way out of the too-small opening, trying to remember the contortionist lessons he’d learned at the circus.

Abruptly, there was a knock at his door.

Nightwing, one arm successfully removed from the suit, the other trapped against his side with only his shoulder out of the straining material, froze.

“Detective Grayson?” The Martian’s concerned voice came through the door. “Are you alright in there? We heard shouting.”

He groaned, and wished he’d thought to buy himself a bathrobe at some point. Right now, illusionary ring off, scars on display, and struggling to get out of a vigilante costume, there was no way he could possibly answer the door.

“Uh, yeah, I’m okay.” He called back from the hallway in front of his bedroom door. “Just…uh…fixing the coffee machine?”

Super convincing, dumbass.

“Oh, alright. Be careful, I suppose, and get some sleep – it’s pretty late!” She called back, sounding uncertain but thankfully not pressing the issue.

“Yup! Sure!”

He waited for the sound of the heroes’ door closing, before sighing and looking remorsefully at his very stuck self. An experimental wiggle told him what he already knew – this was not going well.

So he applied the solvent to the mask and pulled it away with his one free hand, contemplating which of his brothers would laugh the least about his predicament. If he’d asked a magic eight ball, he already knew the answer would be “Outlook Not So Good.”

He picked up the phone, and dialed. Waited for an answer.

“Hey Alfie…I have a question…”

Chapter Text

Artemis sighed as the bioship landed on the rooftop of the apartment building where they lived. She couldn’t call it their apartment building – that sounded far too final, and she still had a modicum of hope that they could just go home soon – but she had to reluctantly admit that she was eager to be back in the rented apartment.

They’d searched the Blüdhaven rooftops after Nightwing’s disappearing act. She had a healthy respect for that man’s ability to disappear – even the League of Shadows would be hard-pressed to vanish as quickly and thoroughly. She wondered for a moment if Cheshire would be as jealous as she was of the man’s abilities, and quickly dismissed the thought. She was on semi-decent terms with her sister these days, but not nearly close enough for this kind of speculation and lingering thoughts to bring anything but that residual, aching pain of a broken family.

At one point, Superboy had heard the sounds of an argument and a fight that sounded like it had Nightwing’s voice involved, but by the time they arrived in the area, the only signs that anything had happened at all was recently scuffed gravel and a lingering sense of discontent that Miss Martian picked up on.

They’d returned briefly to the apartment at that point, to pick up some surveillance gear that they hadn’t anticipated needing to bring. But they’d wanted so desperately to make contact with the vigilante again after the botched ‘Batman’ encounter that it had been worth going back to the apartment to retrieve. There’d been yelling in Detective Grayson’s apartment, and despite whatever stupid line he’d fed Miss Martian about fixing a coffee maker, Artemis did not want to know why he was yelling in the middle of the night. Then they’d gone back to the streets, spending hours more scouring the city for Nightwing to no avail.

All in all, it had been a long night.

As they exited the bioship, Artemis couldn’t help but think about what she’d seen and heard tonight. She kept going over the encounter in her mind, and every time she did, she became increasingly uncomfortable with what she found.

She knew that stance, just out of easy arm’s reach.

She knew that tone, flipping between angry and uncertain.

She knew that reaction to movement, flinching away in the hopes you’d avoid the hit.

Artemis hated that she knew it all. The entire interaction reminded her of how she’d interacted with her father for years, if not as extreme.

That wasn’t a conversation between partners.

That was a conversation between two people in an imbalanced power structure they couldn’t escape, a careful interaction lead by someone who desperately loved and yet feared the other.

Who is Batman, really? She wondered as they opened the door to the complex’s rickety stairwell. Artemis had grown up in Gotham, had seen how necessary the Dark Knight of Gotham really was. She’d seen the darkness he held at bay, and had always admired his ability to fight against it night after night. But now…

Now she wondered if some of that darkness hadn’t made its way into the vigilante as well.

If you interact with monsters long enough…could you become one without knowing?

Artemis shook off the chilling thoughts, and refocused. The team was relatively quiet, each pondering the night’s events as she had been. Aqualad unlocked their apartment – the apartment – door, and lead them in.

Instantly, Artemis tensed, and felt Superboy do the same beside her, his eyes locking onto the open living room. Something was wrong, something was—

“You are all dumb as shit.” Sighed an unfamiliar voice.

Aqualad flipped on the light as they all dropped into ready stances, the unexpected intruder catching them all off-guard.

A man lounged on their couch, seemingly unconcerned by their fighting stances or the sudden light. He was dressed in reinforced cargo pants, heavy duty combat boots, a contoured chest plate made of what looked suspiciously like the same material as Batman’s armor, and a well-worn brown leather jacket. Hip holsters, anchored across his waist with a belt and to his thighs with leather straps, held two very visible larger-caliber handguns.

Artemis looked for a face to match the voice, but found herself staring into an impassive red helmet.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but—” Superboy started, only to be interrupted.

“I’m wearing a red hood. In Gotham’s sister city. Who do you think I am?” The man asked, voice carrying the sound of a smirk despite the voice modulator.

“Actually that looks like a helmet, not a hood.” Kid Flash pointed out, his voice sounding a little dull, like he were operating on auto-pilot. Artemis wanted to smack him. And facepalm. He was running on his last reserves, and was clearly not thinking as straight as they’d have liked for this kind of situation.

“Whatever. It started as a hood, but the helmet’s way more practical.” Red Hood shrugged. “But you gotta admit, the line was good, right?”

Artemis was taken aback by the casual tone. She half-stepped out of her fighting stance, frowning.

“You didn’t come here to attack us.” She stated.

“Points to Little Miss Robin Hood or whatever the hell you’re supposed to be.” Red Hood clapped, gloved hands loud in the tense silence. “I actually came to talk. Shocking, I know, but someone had to do it, and the usually responsible one isn’t being useful right now.” The false put-out note in his voice was accompanied by a dramatic hand to his head, like a swooning princess from a bad 80’s fantasy film.

Why did she know that?

She really had to stop watching movies with Wally.

“Look, everyone put your toys down, I’m seriously just here to have a little chit chat.” Red Hood sighed, sitting up on the couch, elbows braced on his spread knees, fingers steepled against his chin.

“Yeah, cuz we definitely trust that.” Kid Flash muttered.

“Why did you break in?” Aqualad frowned. “If you knew where we were, why not meet us on the roof?”

“Because I’m a dramatic bitch like my father before me?” Red Hood half-shrugged.

“Kid Flash, get something to eat from the pantry.” Aqualad instructed. Through the mindlink, he added, Miss Martian, your observations, please.

Kid Flash blinked, then backed into the kitchen, blindly feeling for one of his protein bars, specially designed for his high metabolism. At least he has enough sense not to turn his back on this guy. Artemis thought wryly.

“Ah, ah, H.G. Wells.” Red Hood tutted. “I’d make a threat about you trying to get into my mind, but honestly? Whatever you’d find in there is so much worse than I could threaten. So how’s about you give up with your little invasion and poking at my mind, and we just talk like—well, not like normal people, because we’re all a bunch of idiots in costumes, but something like that.”

“H.G. Wells?” Miss Martian frowned, eyes losing the neon glow that had built as she’d attempted to read the Red Hood.

“You know, War of the Worlds?” Red Hood paused, then sighed. “This is what I get for being well-read around aliens. Blank looks and lost jokes. I’d rather die than deal with this every day.” He straightened, and rolled his shoulders, casually releasing the tension in them. Artemis wasn’t fooled – she could see the tell-tale positioning of his feet, the readiness in his intentionally relaxed posture. He would be ready if they decided to attack.

She just wasn’t sure if they should.

“Superboy, Artemis, let’s sit.” Aqualad said aloud, his voice calm and measured. Watch him carefully. We don’t know why he is here yet. Miss M, please watch for anything that slips from his defenses. He added into the mindlink.

Artemis sat carefully on the couch opposite the vigilante, with Aqualad beside her, and Superboy hovering behind them, arms crossed unhappily. Miss Martian and Kid Flash remained closer to the kitchen, the speedster becoming more alert as his energy levels were slowly restored.

“Alrighty.” Red Hood sighed heavily. “First question. Are you guys always this stupid, or has this week been a special occasion?”

“Excuse me?” Artemis yelped. She knew they’d had a bit of a rough week, but who was he to come at them like this? Behind her, Superboy growled softly, deep in his throat.

“I mean, I get that you guys are heroes and all, so I really didn’t expect much, but you’ve managed to miss even my crazy low standards.” Red Hood acted totally unaffected by the rising tension.

“Dude, what the hell?” Kid Flash muttered through a mouthful of energy bar.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand why you dislike heroes so much.” Aqualad said calmly, ever the diplomat.

“You spend way too much time taking credit and talking about shit when you should be doing shit.” Red Hood shrugged. “So much time wasted on press and PR and meetings and whatever else. You know how I took over the Gotham underground? I walked in with a duffel bag full of the heads of the previous leaders, dropped it on the floor, and asked if there were any questions. Now that is efficient.” Red Hood declared proudly.

Miss Martian looked slightly pale at the image he’d painted, and sank into a kitchen chair.

“See? No constitution for what really goes on in the normal world, let alone the hellscapes of Gotham.” Red Hood sighed mournfully.

“Not everyone in Gotham is bad.” Artemis protested.

Red Hood laughed, voice booming through the modulator. “Are you kidding? If you ever meet a Gothamite who says they’ve never committed a crime, it’s a damn filthy lie. Even my grandma once robbed a corner store!”

Artemis wanted to argue, but found she couldn’t think of a friend of hers from back home that hadn’t committed at least a small crime.

“But that’s not why I’m here.” Red Hood chuckled. “As fun as it is to bash my wonderful home city, I’m here in Blüdhaven because you are all being idiots.”

They began to protest, but Red Hood cut them off with a lifted hand. “Look, you’re wasting a perfectly good opportunity with Nightwing.”

That shut them up fast.

“What do you mean?” Kid Flash asked suspiciously after a beat of silence.

“Wing is probably the closest thing to you hero types that you’ll find in Gotham-raised vigilantes, followed only by Red Robin.” Red Hood sounded like the admission was painful. “I love Wing like a brother, but damn, he is pure of heart, thick of thigh, and dumb of ass.”

Kid Flash snickered in the kitchen, and Artemis couldn’t help but crack a half-smile.

“As much as I hate to say it, he’s the heroic type. Always has been. Sacrifice life and limb, greater good, and all that other bullshit. Like, willingly die for the cause and all, unlike some of us. He just lacks the spotlight-chasing part. Which is why you’re wasting an opportunity with him.” Red Hood’s voice dropped back into a serious cadence, and Artemis found herself leaning forward a little.

“Despite being trained by Daddy Bats himself,” Red Hood sighed, “Wing has managed to stay friendly and cheerful. He’s harder to hate than a puppy.”

“Wait, Daddy Bats?” Kid Flash asked, munching on his third bar. “Are you saying you were trained by the Batman too?”

Hood chuckled. “Second Robin, at your service.”

“How did you become Robin?” Miss Martian asked eagerly.

“I was just shiny and dumb, and easy to trick.”

“Did…did you just quote John Mulaney?” Kid Flash asked incredulously.

“You catch a Mulaney quote but not the author of War of the Worlds?” Red Hood sighed dramatically. “The state of our public schools.” Then he shook his head, and seemed to refocus. “Bats would probably break his no-killing rule for me for telling you all this, but he’s already pissed at me for killing that child molester yesterday so whatever. I’m the second, Wing was the first. Shit happened, the mantle got passed, it’s a lot of family drama we don’t have time to unpack tonight.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Aqualad asked, frowning. “This is more information in one sitting than the League has been able to get out of Gotham in years. Until now, we’d believed you and Nightwing to have vanished when you were Robins.”

“Because I’m in a hurry to get a point across, and I don’t have all night. So giving a little info that is a price that’s worth paying. Not like it’ll kill me.” Red Hood shrugged. Artemis frowned. It seemed…more than that. He was too casual, too easy with the information. Almost like…

“You already knew that Nightwing told us he was the first Robin.” She said, the question sounding like a statement as it left her lips. As soon as she’d said it, she felt it ring true.

“Ah, caught in the act.” Red Hood chuckled. “But you, Miss Gotham Archer Girl, understand what I’m getting across with this. Gotham respects Batman…” he paused, letting Artemis fill in the blanks.

“But it loves the Robins.” Artemis breathed. Red Hood nodded approvingly. She knew the phrase – she’d heard it before from friends, teachers, and even street vendors who kept an ‘R’ on their carts to let the Robins know there would always be a free meal, snack, or drink to them if they needed it. “You’re telling us this because of the reputation that the Robins have in Gotham, and because you knew I’d know about it – which is concerning, that you know I’m from Gotham, but I think that’s a question I won’t get an answer to.”

“Right again.” Red Hood chuckled. “You can explain to the rest of your rag-tag Sidekick Squad later what that really comes down to, and why it’s a great character witness for our boy Wing.”

“Young Justice League.” Kid Flash corrected.

“What was that, Flash Boy?” Red Hood tipped his head to the side in an intentional display of what Artemis was sure was fake confusion.

“It’s Kid Flash, and our team is called the Young Justice League.” Kid Flash snapped. Artemis could feel his irritation at their intruder through the mindlink.

“Oh, your team is called the Young Justice League? I thought you were called ‘In Our Defense, We Were Left Unsupervised’ after hearing about you this week.” Red Hood snarked. “Seriously. You should be trying to build trust with Wing, not pushing him away. I’m not saying he’d ever really join your little team-up, or the League itself – that charter has crazy issues, even I know that – but he’d be a valuable ally. Dude packs a mean punch, and acts as though gravity’s more of a recommendation than a law.”

“As I presume you already know,” Aqualad said slowly, “tonight did not go well.” Red Hood snorted, and Aqualad seemed to carefully ignore it. Artemis could see the tension in his face, though, the effort of keeping it impassive. “Since you seem so eager for us to ally ourselves with Nightwing, after tonight’s debacle and the previous encounter, how would you suggest that we proceed?” The question was careful, cautious.

Red Hood seemed to give it actual consideration before slowly replying. “I’d say that the best way for you to see who Wing really is, and to show him what you are and what you want, would be to team up for an op.”

“And you?” Aqualad asked.

“What about me?”

“You seem quite keen on developing allies. Have you considered working with the Justice League?”

Red Hood was silent a moment, before he burst out laughing. He doubled over in his chair, holding his armored abs as he wheezed through the helmet.

“You…you’re…” he gasped through his laughter, trying to form words. Kid Flash and Superboy frowned, not keen on being laughed at. Artemis though…she understood. She knew Red Hood’s reputation. He was the man who had shown up in Gotham and overhauled the underground in mere days through sheer force of will and excessive violence. Even Batman hadn’t been able to stop him yet. He was more criminal than he was vigilante, and if rumor was to be believed, he preferred it that way.

“You’d have better luck getting Two Face to therapy than getting me on your little goody-goody teams.” Red Hood finally managed.

“Who’s Two Face?” Kid Flash asked.

“Gotham douchebag. Now, if you’re done making stupid suggestions, maybe take my suggestion and make nice with Nightwing.”

“And how do you suggest we do such a thing?” Aqualad asked.

“I’d talk to him. Convince the big softie to give you one more shot. It would be the last one you’d get, last chance to gain his trust and respect. If you can manage that, you’ll see just how valuable an asset Wing is.” Red Hood paused. “And if you tell him I said that, I’ll come back and personally remove your spleens. I have an image to maintain, after all.”

Red Hood rose from the couch, chuckling when they tensed. “I’ll give you until tomorrow night to figure out what you want to do. I’ll talk to Wing as well. Meet us on the top of the Blüdhaven City Center Mall if you’re willing to run an op with him, and see what he can do. We’ll be there from midnight to one.” He moved past the tense heroes, hands relaxed at his sides.

“Wait, we still want answers to some questions.” Artemis protested, standing.

“And I want to beat the Joker to death with a bloodstained crowbar. We don’t always get what we want.” Red Hood shrugged. “If you want answers to questions, ask Nightwing. He’ll decide what you need to know.” He fingered one of the guns at his hip in a way that promised violence if they tried to push the issue.

They let him pass as he headed for their door.

“Why are you pushing so hard for this team-up?” Artemis asked, voicing the question that had been worrying her during the entire conversation. “What’s in this for you?”

Red Hood stopped, hand on the doorknob. Artemis waited as the silence grew, until Red Hood turned his head so she could see just one of the eye visors.

“Something’s coming. Don’t know what. But Gotham’s a long way from Blüdhaven, and when it hits…I think I’d rather my brother have allies he can count on, even if they’re heroes, than be facing it alone.” His voice was deadly calm, heavy. Red Hood hesitated, seeming to weigh something in his mind, before he continued in a grave tone. “And honestly? No matter what Bats says, I don’t think Gotham will stay in Gotham for much longer. If it does spill out, you’re going to need someone who understands it. And Wing is the only one of us who would be able to look at you heroes and decide you’re worth helping.”

With that, he slipped out the door and closed it behind him. Kid Flash crossed the few steps to the door to open it, a question written across his face, only to sigh.

“Dude’s gone. How do they do that?” He groaned.

Artemis just sighed. Seemed they had a long discussion ahead of them tonight. And just when she’d hoped she’d get to go to bed at a semi-decent hour.

***

Dick looked blankly at Hood, holding a bag of frozen peas to his aching jaw, surprised by his brother’s sudden rapid entry into his apartment. Not that Jay wasn’t always welcome, he just usually entered…slower than that. He heard the heroes’ door open, and close again.

“What’s going on?” He asked, trying to move his mouth as little as possible.

Jay removed his helmet, dark hair with its singular white streak wild as it escaped containment. He pulled a small bottle of solvent from a pocket, sprayed his domino mask – overkill, Dick thought – and peeled it off, grinning wildly. He looked far too pleased with himself for Dick’s comfort.

Setting his helmet on the dinged up table, and tossing his mask atop it, Jason crossed the room in two long, almost bouncing strides, and vaulted the other couch to sit on it. Dick narrowed his eyes. This energetic attitude usually meant that Jason had done something he considered very fun, very exciting, very dangerous, very helpful…or any combination of the above.

“Jay?” Dick used a warning tone, drawing out his brother’s name.

“Yes, Dickiebird?” Jason grinned.

“What happened?”

“Well, I have good news and I have bad news. Which do you want to hear first?”

“Good.”

“It is very unlikely I will ever, ever do it again.” Jay’s grin got impossibly wider, eyes sparkling with mischief as Dick groaned.

“What the hell did you do, Jaybird?” Dick could hear the exhaustion in his own voice. He almost didn’t even want to know the answer. Jason’s schemes ranged from mostly harmless to, well, takeovers of the entire Gotham underworld. It could really be anything.

“I got friendly with your neighbors, told them they’re a bunch of morons, and invited them to run an op with you.” Jason declared proudly.

“I…you…what?” Dick stammered, lost for words. He stared at his brother, frozen peas forgotten in a limp, slowly numbing hand.

“So I got friendly—”

“No, I heard the words leaving your mouth. I just don’t understand them.” Dick interrupted.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Entonces, me hice amigo de—”

“Jay, please. No language games tonight.” Dick groaned.

“Fine, fine.” Jay grumbled, “You’re no fun.” He propped his filthy combat boots up on Dick’s coffee table, arms across the back of the couch. “I talked with the herolings. Explained to them that they’re being stupid with how they’re going about all this. Convinced them that working with you will give them a better sense of you as a veggie than arguing and tricking.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m the best big brother ever?” Jay grinned.

“You’re younger than me.”

“But bigger. That makes me the big brother.” Jason dodged the thrown bag of peas with a laugh. “Okay, okay. I did it because it was going to take way too long for them to pull their own heads out of their asses, so I decided to help it along a little.”

“But why?”

“Because you’re obviously not going to chase them out – you’d have done it already. You’re still deciding what you want to do, because you’re too friendly for your own good and have delusions of being buddy-buddy with everyone in the world.” Jason grinned under Dick’s stare. That was not why he hadn’t chased them out, he just…hadn’t decided yet…whatever. It wasn’t that.

“Get to the point, Jay. I’m tired.”

“That’s what you get for not dodging faster.” Jason shrugged. “And a headache, I’d presume. But I digress. This is a perfect opportunity for you to assess them, see if they’re any good. And I’ll be there as backup. So you decide if they’re worth keeping around. If they are, you have new friends. If they aren’t, we get rid of ‘em together.”

“That sounds…like a surprisingly good plan, actually.” Dick replied. He had to admit that having Jay as backup for his next encounter with the heroes sounded really nice. And he was right that Dick needed to make a decision about all of this. Even exhausted as he was from the day he’d had, and the conflict-filled night on the rooftops, Dick knew he needed to either fish or cut bait.

“I do have those sometimes.” Jay grinned. “What do ya say, Dickiebird? You willing to let the Junior Justice Whatever Their Name Is have one more shot at impressing you?”

“I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, but it’s probably my best bet.” Dick sighed. “When did you set up the meet?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow?” Dick yelped. “But I have to fix my suit still!” He froze as soon as he said it, but it was too late to take it back. A sly, mischievous grin spread over Jay’s face, eyes locked on Dick’s flushing cheeks.

“What happened to your suit, Big Bird?” He crooned.

“Nothing.”

“You’re not stitching anything up, so it’s obviously not an injury.”

“It just…the zipper got stuck.” Dick sighed, resigned. “I had to pull some of the stitching out to get out of it.”

Jason laughed, long and loud. “You got stuck in your Wing suit?!” He wheezed. “Why wasn’t I here to see it?! Who did you finally call for help?”

“…Alfie.” Dick admitted begrudgingly.

“Hence why you didn’t just try to cut your way out of your cut-resistant suit.” Jason laughed. “Oh, that’s too good.”

Dick sighed heavily. He was far too tired to deal with this tonight. He hadn’t even been able to think up a decent lie for why he’d need to fix the suit. It was the worst possible time to interact with his little brother, if he didn’t want to give away easy teasing material.

“I need to go to bed, Jay.” He sighed, starting to get up from the couch. “I need to sleep if I’m going to function tomorrow.”

“Wait, wait! I got you something!” Jason grinned. “Heard you got shot at today, so I thought I’d bring something for you.”

Dick frowned. That was…suspiciously nice of Jay. He turned to face his brother, who was digging in one of his pockets. He pulled out a plastic grocery store bag, wrapped around what could only be a small, crumpled cardboard box.

“What is this?” Dick asked suspiciously, taking it carefully from his brother.

“Look, I know it got a little smashed from being in my pocket, but I got it just for you, honest.” Jay said eagerly.

Cautiously, Dick pulled the box from the bag, and sighed.

“Hello Kitty band-aids? Really, Jay?” Dick wondered if Jay and Amy had talked – she’d mentioned Hello Kitty band-aids as well, come to think of it – but figured it was probably just too easy a joke to make, in the end.

“For your new boo-boo!” Jay cackled. Dick contemplated just throwing the pink box at his brother, but knew it would only fuel the reaction. He pulled up a tired smile.

“Aw, thanks, Jay. I was almost out of the Barbie band-aids you got me last time.” His smile sharpened, and he added, “Now I have something new to put on our younger brothers’ injuries.”

Jason’s eyes widened in delight.

“Oh, please put one on the Demon Spawn! I am begging you, Dickiebird!”

“We’ll see. For now…for now it’s bedtime. It’s been a hell of a day and I just want to sleep now.” Dick sighed. His energy was fading fast, and he was starting to wonder if a three-day coma wouldn’t be more restful than troublesome.

“Fair enough, Dickie.” Jay’s voice was still thick with mirth as Dick headed back toward his bedroom. “Oh, wait! One more thing!”

“What, Jay?” Dick groaned.

“What did one orphan say to the other?” Jay grinned, looking almost manic.

“What?” Dick deadpanned.

“Robin, get in the Batmobile!” Jay cackled.

“I hate you. Good night.” Dick sighed, turning to hide the tired smile the stupid joke had brought to his face. He opened the door to his room.

“See, it’s funny, because we—”

“Good night, Jay.” Dick repeated loudly, closing the door behind him. He undressed, and collapsed on his bed.

Dick supposed he should have put up more of a fight against what Jay had proposed. Working with a team of heroes went against so much of his Bat training. Doing it without the intent to double-cross or get extra information was even more so. But he couldn’t say he hadn’t been thinking of it already on some level. Ever since Jay had mentioned allies the night of his first in-costume encounter with the heroes, Dick had been toying with the idea in the part of his mind that was always working on new solutions to old problems.

It was probably a big part of why he’d reacted so non-aggressively with the whole Not-Batman situation, now that he thought about it.

He had to admit it was appealing. The idea of having the League resources, of working with others on big take-downs without having to leave Gotham less defended…it sounded really nice.

And really, if they were trained by the League, then maybe they’d had some training on being heroes from Superman. He hadn’t been so bad, after all.

Maybe the heroes deserved a chance.

Chapter Text

Artemis still felt a little groggy as she walked into the Blüdhaven Police Department with the team. They’d spent a long time last night debating whether or not to take the offer that Red Hood had made, and then even more time trying to figure out how he’d gotten into their apartment in the first place, when there were exactly no signs of tampering at any of the potential entrances.

In the end, the latter had been given up as an unsolved mystery, and the former had been decided: they’d do it.

But only after they’d had a chance to go over the many police reports with Detective Grayson to get as much information as possible before they met with the vigilante again.

They stepped out of the elevator, only to have Superboy lift a hand in a subtle signal to stop. Artemis frowned at him – they hadn’t seen a need to set up the mindlink – but he offered no answer for a moment, only staring across the room at where Sergeant Rohrbach and Detective Grayson leaned together over the detective’s desk, backs to them.

“Miss M?” Aqualad murmured. The Martian’s eyes flashed green, and Artemis felt the familiar mindlink settle into place.

What’s going on, Supey? Kid Flash asked, only getting a grunt in return.

Mere seconds later, the two officers straightened, Sergeant Rohrbach returning to her side of the desks.

They were discussing corruption within the BPD. Superboy informed them. It seems they are working together to find out which high-ranking police are involved. They also seem to think that Internal Affairs has corrupt members.

Artemis blinked, suddenly feeling more awake than she had walking in, and caught similarly surprised looks from the others.

And you’re sure they’re both actually trying to bring down corruption? She asked over the link.

Yes. Superboy said firmly. They were trading evidence, which seemed to collaborate each other’s findings, if what I heard is right.

At a signal from Aqualad, they resumed their approach, a unanimous decision to keep quiet about what they’d overheard going unspoken.

Artemis was only half-aware of the exchanged pleasantries, instead trying to make the new information fit into her understanding of Detective Grayson. He was a kid who got dropped into the lap of luxury, excelled at Gotham Academy, was a staple in the Gotham high society…then he moved to Blüdhaven to become a cop and live in a sad apartment. And apparently hunt police corruption. She’d assumed that he’d have to be in on it, be on the take somewhere, to accommodate the lifestyle he’d be accustomed to. He had to be dirty – all of Gotham high society was, to some degree.

But there was mounting evidence that she’d perhaps misjudged a little. The glowing praise from the bartender and the street workers, the understanding when he interviewed, his distress over having shot a man, and now, even evidence that he was working to get rid of corruption within the department – it was all contrary to the image she’d had of Bruce Wayne’s oldest.

She wasn’t willing to just declare him a saint and be done with it, but neither could she convince herself he was the devil. Artemis decided she’d have to wait and see what came of their conversations and interactions. Reserve further judgement until she had better information.

She wouldn’t say she was wrong about him yet. Just…perhaps slightly off-base.

“We’re glad to see you are doing well after everything that occurred yesterday.” Aqualad said.

“Yeah, I thought about dying during the raid, but realized I couldn’t afford it on a detective’s salary. So I chose the paperwork instead.” Grayson chuckled, earning a snort from Sergeant Rohrbach. Something about the way he smiled seemed a little off to Artemis’ observant eyes. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it was different somehow from the smiles she’d come to expect from Grayson over the past few days. Strange, how they’d met him Monday, and by Thursday, she knew what smile to expect.

“You guys look like you have news, though.” He added, glancing over the team.

“We have much to discuss.” Aqualad agreed. “Perhaps a conference room would be easier?”

“Sounds good to me.” Detective Grayson agreed, standing. He snagged a file from his desk, and his coffee mug – Artemis wondered if it was going to join the others at the corner of his desk, or if he’d finally take care of the lot – and gestured for them to follow him. He lead them down the grungy halls to the same room they’d been in Monday when they’d met the Detective.

They filed in, and found their seats around the table. Grayson sunk into his chair with a soft sigh, and the slightest grimace. Artemis wasn’t sure any of the others had seen it – she’d barely noticed, and she’d been watching, trying to figure out what was wrong with the way he was moving his face.

“So. What did you find out in the, what, twenty-four hours since we last worked on this case?” Grayson asked.

“Dude. So much.” Kid Flash grinned.

“Oh?” The detective asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“We originally suspected that the vigilante Nightwing was connected to the Batman of Gotham from pieces of what he’d said during our first encounter.” Aqualad began. “After discussion, it felt more than likely. So we came up with a plan. Miss Martian took on the shape of the Batman and—”

“Wait, wait. She what?” Detective Grayson gaped. “Why in the world would you think that was a good idea?” Grayson turned to Artemis. “Tell me you, at least, realized this was a terrible idea?”

“Why would she decide it was a bad idea? We made the plan together and it worked out in the end!” Kid Flash protested.

“In the end? So you admit it went badly?” Detective Grayson challenged.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Superboy grumbled. “Miss Martian did well.”

“I did my best. And we did learn a lot from it.” Miss Martian supplied, looking a little hesitant.

“You imitated Batman, the single most intense and feared vigilante in Gotham, when any one of the Bat vigilantes would have worked just as well to confirm a link between Batman and Nightwing. You’re lucky the guy didn’t just walk up and start fighting you – a lot of Gotham vigilantes are crazy territorial!” Grayson exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Well excuse us for using the almighty Batman’s image.” Kid Flash grumbled.

“We really did think it would be the best choice.” Miss Martian agreed, glancing to Superboy for support. He nodded, crossing his arms and glaring at Detective Grayson.

“So, you decided to imitate Batman. How did that go?” Grayson sighed, shook his head, and gestured for them to continue. The team hesitated.

“Not great.” Artemis admitted.

“Well, we pretty quickly found out that Nightwing is definitely a part of the Batman operation in Gotham. Or, well, he was.” Kid Flash interjected, tone still a little sour, but too excited to share information to hold back. “Turns out this dude was the first Robin!”

Detective Grayson looked impressed. “No wonder he’s been so efficient with the criminals here.” He murmured.

“Right? He’s been doing this for at least, like, ten years. Because he was around when the Justice League formed, right?” Kid Flash frowned, trying to remember.

“Longer, I think.” Grayson replied. “But whatever the specifics, he’s got experience.”

“Yeah, and a grudge against the Batman.” Kid Flash muttered.

“Oh? How do you figure?” Grayson asked, looking interested. He’d opened the file, noting down what they’d said as they went.

“He was both aggressive and somehow…hesitant when speaking to me as Batman.” Miss Martian supplied. “And he…well, he was scared. I could feel it coming off of him.”

“He acted like an abuse victim facing their abuser, not a protégé with a mentor.” Artemis added firmly. “We’ve seen both, and have a lot of experience with mentors – mostly our own, but also each others’ – but this didn’t feel like a mentorship. He stayed just out of arm’s reach, and constantly watched Miss Martian’s hands like he was expecting a fight. Definitely not the caring type of relationship between them.”

Detective Grayson looked at them a moment, visibly conflicted, then drained his coffee cup in one go.

“Interesting take on that.” He said finally, noting something in the file. “Definitely worth looking into. Never had a victim take up vigilantism before, but hey, it’s Blüdhaven. Everything’s possible.

Artemis noted the weird reaction, but elected not to call him out on it. He’d likely had lots of interaction with the vigilantes of Gotham, what with being Bruce Wayne’s kid. Some months it had felt like attacks on the Wayne family had been weekly things, with Batman and Robin – whichever Robin it was at the time – taking out the villains. It would be hard for him to swallow the idea of that protector being anything but good.

“Why does Gotham even need Batman?” Kid Flash huffed. “I mean, I get that there are some crazies in there, like that clown dude—"

“Joker.” Artemis supplied.

“But why is big dark and brooding so absolutely necessary that the GCPD never goes after him?” The speedster finished.

Grayson huffed a soft laugh. “Let me put it this way, Kid Flash. This year, the Gotham City Police Department had a banquet honoring Commissioner Gordon. They ordered a cake from ‘Crazy Clown Catering’ and the entire Gotham police force was actually surprised when the Joker jumped out of the cake with a primed bomb. So yeah. Until GCPD figures out that everything related to clowns in Gotham should be suspicious as a baseline of competency, Batman’s going to be necessary.”

Artemis laughed as the rest of the team looked both concerned and horrified.

“That’s Gotham for you.” She shrugged at their questioning looks.

“What else did you find out about our Blüdhaven vigilante?” Detective Grayson redirected.

“Well, the next surprise that night was actually when we got back to the apartment.” Artemis supplied. “We walked in, and found the Red Hood sitting on our couch.”

“Really? Red Hood? He usually doesn’t leave Gotham.” Detective Grayson hummed. “What did he have to say?”

“He wanted us to give Nightwing a chance, to run an op with him and have us assess him that way.” Artemis replied. “We wanted to ask your thoughts on that. Because we can see it going good or bad.”

“I can…see both sides of that, yeah.” Grayson said, speaking slowly as he thought. “But if you’re careful about it, I don’t see what it would hurt. He’s got a track record for going after only criminals. And with you being heroes, I doubt a proposed op would do anything other than fight criminal behavior, even if the idea is coming from Red Hood.

“If it all goes bad, you’d have reason to take him down, put him in cuffs, and get him off the streets. If it goes well, though, you might be able to build that trust you’d need to get information about him and his purpose here, maybe even gain a sometime-ally for the future.” Grayson nodded as he finished. “I’d say it’s worth trying, as long as you’re careful not to go breaking a bunch of laws with the vigilante.”

“That is what we had decided as well.” Aqualad agreed. “In preparation for that, we were wondering if you would be willing to retrieve all of the reports on his activity for us, and assist us in reviewing it. We would like to have as much information as possible on him and his methods before we meet up with him tonight.”

Detective Grayson chuckled dryly. “Sounds like an exciting day. I’ll go grab some boxes. And another coffee. You want to give me a hand, Superboy?”

Superboy stood, giving a nod. To her experienced eyes, he seemed pleased to be the one chosen to bring it all in, though his face remained as still and vaguely frowning as ever.

Grayson, however, grinned again at the response, and as she watched him leave, it finally clicked. He was smiling and talking like his face and jaw hurt. It was subtle enough that even she had taken a while to realize what it was. But she’d played the pretending-you’re-not-hurt game many times, watched her sister and teammates play it, and she recognized the tiny signs that showed. The way he was smiling just a little more on the right than the left, how his mouth moved a little less than normal – the only problem was that there was absolutely no visible bruising, nothing to indicate that there was an injury there at all.

So either he was exceptionally gifted at makeup to cover up fresh bruising to the point that even she couldn’t see it, or Grayson was an exceptionally wussy guy, wincing at a bitten cheek or something equally small. Despite her willingness to see him as less of a corrupt cop, she easily believed that rich boy Dick Grayson would have the pain tolerance of a little kid.

Artemis put aside the thoughts, shaking her head slightly, and waited for the detective to return with Superboy so they could begin the long day of looking through paperwork.

***

Dick stripped out of his uniform and stepped into the shower as soon as he got back to his apartment. The gel in his hair was making his scalp itch, and he was so done with unfortunately observant superheroes. Bruce? Abusive? Please. Strict, definitely. A little heavy handed, sure. But abusive? It made him roll his eyes. If Bruce were abusive, the state never would have let him adopt two more boys after he’d taken Dick as his ward. They were under constant scrutiny, after all.

Sure, there had been some close calls with the school nurses, but those had all been for patrol-related injuries. And they’d been easily explained by the simple fact that the boys involved were a circus brat, a street rat, a rich kid with little supervision, and a foreigner used to different rules – and that they were rowdy, active boys. Bruce’s exasperated sighs when he’d get the calls, and Alfred’s fond head-shake were plenty to keep the story from ever veering away from ‘reckless boys’ into ‘potential abuse’ and they preferred it that way.

Dick showered quickly, doing his best to avoid aggravating his aching ribs. He definitely thought one was cracked, and he had an impressive boot-shaped bruise across his sternum, but all in all, he’d gotten away pretty easy from a fight with Bruce. Most criminals didn’t fare so well, after all.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, and put the illusionary Wayne Tech ring on, watching his scars and bruises disappear in the mirror. It always fascinated him, how the ring would eliminate all the evidence of his thirteen years of vigilantism. His body showed the evidence of past fights – both won and lost – and the occasional surgeries necessary to treat especially bad nights. But with the ring, his chest and back were smooth muscle, his arms unmarked.

Like the carefree playboy he’d pretended to be before he left Gotham.

Dick shook his head, and walked into the kitchen to fuel up before the event of the night. He had a couple of hours, and planned to eat at least a bowl of cereal while he microwaved whatever leftovers were still in his fridge.

He pulled out leftover kapustnica – evidence of babka Lenka’s love for her Riško – and tossed it in the microwave. As it began to hum, he poured generic sugary cereal into a bowl, splashed in a little milk, and started to wolf it down.

Dick turned to lean against the counter while he ate the bowl of nearly pure sugar, and froze, spoon half-way to his mouth and dripping milk.

On his table, in plain view, was his folded Nightwing uniform, a piece of paper resting on top.

Was that there when I got home? I wasn’t even looking. He put the spoon back in the bowl, and walked to the table, frowning. It wasn’t there when I left, I know that much.

Dick set down the bowl, and picked up the note scribbled in Sharpie on the back of a take-out menu.

D – I had time, and your sewing skills suck. Plus I promised you’d be ready tonight. Don’t expect this shit again. – J

Dick grinned, and picked up the uniform. Jason had done an impeccable job of repairing the seam he’d had to cut open to escape last night. He put the suit back down as the microwave dinged, and wolfed down the last of his cereal, leaving the bowl in the sink to retrieve his kapustnica.

He dropped into a chair, and breathed in the scent before digging in. The traditional Slovak sauerkraut and sausage soup’s spices and flavors reminded him of the foods he’d eat in the circus as a child. Most of their troupe were European, and everyone took turns making massive quantities of their traditional favorites to share. It was one of the things he loved about babka Lenka’s cooking – it smelled and tasted like home, in so many ways. Try as he might, Alfred had never quite mastered the spices and strange combinations of some of Dick’s favorite European foods. The man was, at his heart, British, and tended to under-spice things – to Bruce’s relief, and Dick’s chagrin.

Dick devoured the leftovers, and left the container in the sink with the bowl, to wash and return later.

He retrieved the file he’d brought home, feeling only a little prick of guilt over having stolen it from Amy’s desk. It wasn’t like she’d be able to act on the information inside for a while, anyway. Not if Chief Redhorn really was a part of BPD’s corruption.

Dick opened the file, looking over Amy’s newest information. The raid site from yesterday was the main warehouse she’d found out about. But there were two others she had locations for, if little else other than that they were tied back to the same gang through reliable CIs.

After the meeting with the overenthusiastic heroes, he’d stake out one or the other, get some proper information. With luck, he’d only need to raid one of the two as Nightwing to catch the leaders and start wrapping up that particular group.

First, however, he needed to figure out some kind of op to run with the heroes. Preferably something not too earth-shatteringly important. Something where he could use more hands and eyes.

Like checking out two locations at once to take down a minor gang with new funding.

Dick chuckled to himself as he glanced over the file with the heroes in mind. It could work. Even if they decided to take a more action-based approach, it really was a relatively small gang. It would be manageable, even for heroes new to the area with questionable fighting abilities.

Might even be a good way to assess their capabilities in the field, beyond half-hearted rooftop tag and mimicking his old mentor.

He’d propose it to them, see how they reacted.

Dick settled into his equipment maintenance, sharpening edges, oiling mechanisms, and generally ensuring that everything would work exactly as it was intended to.

His careful fiddling with a spare grappling hook that had a tendency to tangle weirdly was interrupted by a sudden pillow to the face. Dick’s head snapped up to see Jason in Red Hood gear, helmet under one arm, grinning like a madman.

“Get dressed, loser, we’re gonna make Bruce regret adopting us.” Jason snickered.

“Time already? And here I was, hoping for a nap before this.” Dick sighed, getting up from the couch. “Thanks for the costume fix, by the way.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Get dressed already.” Jason deadpanned.

Dick rolled his eyes, but quickly removed the illusionary ring and changed into his Nightwing suit. His brother gave an impressed whistle at the dark bruising on his chest, which he didn’t bother to comment on. He figured Jason would easily put together what had happened, and he didn’t particularly feel like rehashing it at that moment.

“Ready?” Dick asked, placing the domino mask across his eyes and shifting into his Nightwing mindset and voice.

“Always.” Jason grinned, and slid the helmet over his head. The voice modulator activated as he added, “Your city, your lead.”

Nightwing lead them out of the apartment window, giving a quick wave to babka who sat in her window, always watching. Red Hood awkwardly followed suit, waving at the old woman. He’d voiced his disapproval of Nightwing letting her know his secret, but had taken it back after meeting the ancient Slovak woman.

They leapt between buildings and grappled across large gaps, until they landed at the edge of the mall parking lot. They crossed quickly, avoiding cameras, and scaled the building with practiced ease. At the top, they paused, taking in the silence of the night. Together they walked to the center of the rooftop, and settled into the shadows to wait.

“You know, this is weirdly calm. I expected more of Gotham’s sister city. Where’s the pizazz, the oomph, the chaos and aesthetic?” Red Hood griped.

“Aesthetic? Gotham is basically a perpetually twilit urban hellscape that looks like the Art Deco movement had a one-night stand with Soviet Brutalism in a wrought iron and gargoyle factory.” Nightwing snorted.

“And it’s an aesthetic the whole city embraces.” Red Hood asserted.

“Gotham needs less aesthetic. Maybe then it would have less supervillains.” Nightwing sighed.

“The aesthetic isn’t the problem, Big Bird. Gotham would have less supervillains if they had more safety rails and shit around giant chemical vats. That city doesn’t need Batman, it needs OSHA.”

Nightwing laughed, doing his best to ignore the way it pushed and pulled at his bruised flesh.

“So, Little Wing, while we wait—” Nightwing started.

“Okay, this ‘Little Wing’ business has to stop. I’m four inches taller than you, and like, half a foot wider, too.” Red Hood grumbled.

“You’re my little brother, and I will either call you ‘Little Wing’ or ‘Baby Brother’. It’s your choice, baby brother.” Nigtwing was rewarded with a groan. “Now, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted, while we wait I wanted to ask that you do your best not to be mean to the heroes when they get here. I’d like for this to have an actual chance at successful cooperation.”

“Name one mean thing I have done or said ever.”

“You convinced Dami that Argentina wasn’t real.”

“Oh yeah, that was great.” He could hear Red Hood’s grin under that stupid helmet and rolled his eyes in response despite knowing his own mask covered it. “If it wasn’t for Alfie getting offended that he thought the Argentina soccer team was made up, I would have gotten away with it for way longer.”

“That aside, try not to be too much of an ass tonight, yeah?” Nightwing chuckled. It had been funny to watch the British butler’s horror at Dami’s declaration that he couldn’t be fooled about a fake country’s soccer team. They’d gotten several minutes’ education on proper football after that. The man may be professional to the bone, but he was still British.

“No promises. Don’t you know who I am?”

“My punishment for dropping out of business school?” Nightwing asked flatly. Red Hood laughed, and he found himself laughing along, tension easing from his shoulders as he did.

They settled into a companionable silence as they waited for the team to arrive. Midnight came, and only minutes after, the heroes arrived on the rooftop in their bioship, disembarking and looking around.

“Guess they decided to come.” Red Hood murmured. Superboy’s head snapped toward them, and Nightwing stepped out of the shadows.

“Dude! What happened to your face?” Kid Flash yelped. Nightwing blinked, then remembered the massive bruise across his jaw. Or rather, that it was visible now, when it hadn’t been earlier. He’d been feeling it all day, after all, even if the heroes hadn’t seen his more…colorful side during their study session earlier.

“Disagreement with the Bat.” He shrugged. “Looks worse than it is.”

“Pfft. You’re just being a wuss.” Red Hood scoffed, coming out of the darkness to stand beside his brother.

“Red Hood? What are you doing here?” Kid Flash asked, frowning.

“Just following a pattern of obsessive behavior instilled in me at an early age.” Red Hood drawled. Nightwing resisted the urge to sigh or pinch the bridge of his nose.

“He offered to come with me to this meeting, and I accepted. Our last two…encounters…didn’t exactly go well for me, if you recall.” Nightwing watched them grimace at the memory. “But he did have an interesting proposition, so here I am.”

“And here we are.” Artemis smiled. Nightwing was surprised to find that her demeanor toward him was so friendly in costume. Ironic, that his non-law-breaking mask was the one she was so suspicious of. Though she’d been borderline pleasant earlier today.

“If it makes you more comfortable, I could pretend to be one of the Justice League.” Red Hood offered. Nightwing could already see the grin hidden behind the mask.

“Hood, don’t—”

“In brightest day, in blackest night,” Red Hood chanted in a borderline pompous voice of declaration, before hesitating, and finishing, “something, something, I hate yellow Green Lantern!”

Nightwing ran a hand over his face with a sigh this time, but was surprised when Kid Flash burst out laughing, with Artemis chuckling at his side and Miss Martian hiding a smile behind a hand.

“Everyone, my brother the comic relief.” He droned.

“Excuse you, I’m the family disappointment.” Red Hood shot back.

“Wait, you’re really brothers?” Kid Flash gaped.

“I know, we don’t look it, right?” Red Hood chuckled. “You know, I used to be self-conscious about my size. I mean, look at Wing! He’s all slender and tiny and bendy and shit, and he’s always been that way. And I’ve always been more of a brick wall kinda dude. But honestly? It’s way more fun to body slam people at 230 pounds than 175.”

“Focus, Hood.” Nightwing sighed.

“You’re the boss.” Red Hood shrugged, and stepped back a bit to lean against an AC unit.

“Right. So you’re willing to run an op in Blüdhaven with me. Let us both see what the other is like and how we operate.” Nightwing watched the team carefully. They showed no hesitation in their decision to do this.

“As long as you’re not going to ask us to do something like rob a bank, we’re on board.” Artemis agreed. Nightwing wondered if they’d chosen her specifically as the speaker in this conversation, or if their leadership structure was really so fluid.

“Not really my style.” Nightwing allowed himself a lopsided smile, ignoring the throbbing of his jaw. “I was thinking more like looking into and taking down a gang that’s been causing trouble here. They were small fish up until a short while ago, when suddenly they got military-grade weaponry and crazy funding. I tend to do my best to keep that kind of stuff off of my streets.”

The heroes did one of their quick mental conversations, and Artemis nodded.

“Sounds like a party to us.” She grinned. “What specifically did you have in mind?”

Nightwing pulled a folded map of Blüdhaven from his belt, and laid it out on the gravel of the roof. The heroes and Red Hood gathered around.

“There are two potential locations for the heads of this operation to be hiding that I’ve heard of. If we split into two teams, we can infiltrate both at once, and cut down on the chances of them escaping entirely. Now, I have a few ideas…”

Chapter Text

The plan itself was simple enough. Two teams, two locations. Simultaneous entry. Primary targets: information gathering and capture of leadership.

It didn’t take long to outline it. Nightwing was as efficient as Detective Grayson when it came to these plans. That, or he’d been planning this for a while, and they were just stepping in for his usual allies. Either way, Artemis was impressed by the efficiency and thoroughness with which he briefed the team.

He was clearly tense, uneasy in such close quarters with them. At one point, Red Hood had quietly bumped shoulders with Nightwing, and the latter relaxed slightly. Clearly, they were close, even for brothers. There was trust there, the kind she had with her team. Trust that your back was being protected even when you weren’t watching.

The plan itself was about what Artemis had expected, and the rest of the team agreed. The teams he assigned were less so.

“Wait, you want Superboy, Miss Martian, and Aqualad on one team?” Kid Flash frowned. “And you, me, and Artie on the other? How is that balanced?”

“Aqualad and I take leadership roles in this raid. Hood and Superboy are powerhouses. Miss Martian and Artemis are effective at long range. And both you and Superboy are faster than average. What doesn’t make sense?” Nightwing sighed.

“Um, the fact that you’re putting all of the really strong people on one team?” Kid Flash retorted. “Aqualad and Superboy are both stronger than humans, and Miss M can lift things with her mind. Meanwhile you’ve got Artie and me, who, yeah, we’re strong, but not like Supes. And then you and Hood? What, do you have some kind of meta powers you’re not telling us about?”

“His meta power is the power of friendship.” Red Hood snorted.

“Shut up.” Nightwing grumbled. “We’ll also have an extra person, KF. It’s not going to be as unbalanced as you think. After all, Hood and I are both highly trained in stealth operations. So was Artemis, if the way she moves is any indication. So where their team is going to end up with a smash-and-grab attack, we’ll be sneaking in and moving covertly.”

“But—” Kid Flash started.

“Kid Zoomies,” Red Hood interrupted, “just remember these three words: don’t argue.”

“It’s Kid Flash, and that’s only two words.” The speedster spat back.

“See, you’re already failing.” Red Hood sighed. Artemis stifled a laugh at the indignant look on Kid Flash’s face. “Look, Kid Whatever. We’ve been doing this longer than you, in more dangerous places than you, with higher stakes than you. Wing knows what he’s doing.”

“A little trust goes a long way.” Aqualad agreed. “We will do this your way.”

Artemis watched Kid Flash back down, and gave him a small smile. She knew from experience how hard it could be to trust someone you don’t know to plan an operation where your safety’s on the line. At the same time, however, she understood what Nightwing was really doing.

Oh, the explanation he gave was nice enough, she supposed, and it gave probable reasons for them to split things up that way. But she could also see that they were secondary reasons at best. The primary one was easy for her to see, from her own paranoid perspective. Nightwing had put them on teams according to who he felt he could take down.

He didn’t know the full limits of Atlanteans, Kryptonians, or Martians. But he did know what a normal human could do and take, and probably had a decent idea of Kid Flash. If anything, the speedster’s physique was less intimidating and, well, broad than their other two male teammates’. So it wasn’t hard for her to see that Nightwing was hedging his bets with this, by putting himself with those that he believed he’d be safest with if things went south and they turned on him.

She couldn’t blame him – she’d have probably done the same thing in his position.

“Any other questions or complaints?” Nightwing asked, looking them over. When no one spoke up, he stood, folding and stashing the map back into his belt as he did.

“We can use the bioship to get there more quickly.” Miss Martian offered.

“Ooh! Can I drive?” Red Hood asked, sounding oddly like an eager child.

“Um, I’m not—” Miss Martian hedged, looking uncertainly to her teammates.

“Uh, yeah, no.” Nightwing interjected. “Hood isn’t allowed to pilot any flying vehicles given that his first instinct is to play chicken with the ground.”

“I’ve only crashed one Batwing, thank you, and that was intentional because Bats was being an ass, and I needed to demolish an old safehouse anyway.” Red Hood replied haughtily.

“That doesn’t help your case nearly as much as you think it does.” Nightwing retorted dryly. “Just let the Martian fly her own ship.”

Red Hood grumbled, but acquiesced. Artemis smiled at the dynamic. The easy banter, the way they poked at each other without being malicious, it was a breath of fresh air. As much as the bruise on Nightwing’s jaw – and his explanation that it was from Batman – concerned her, she felt less worried with the knowledge that he did have a form of backup. Sure, that backup was one of Gotham’s crime lords, but the way they talked, it almost seemed like Batman was allowing Red Hood to stay in Gotham, that he wasn’t actively chasing him. It would make sense if what Red Hood said about being the second Robin was true – maybe even Batman had enough emotion to him to allow leeway for his former proteges.

Whatever the case, Artemis felt less worried having seen the dynamic between Nightwing and Red Hood.

As they followed Miss Martian to the bioship, Red Hood suddenly stopped, and growled something under his breath.

“What’s up?” Nightwing asked with a frown, looking like he was searching his brother’s impassive mask for an answer.

“Oracle. It’s an all-hands for some empty cells.” Red Hood growled.

“Which ones?” Nightwing asked warily. Red Hood glanced at the team before answering.

“Crowbar and Mallet, Scales, and Mind Games.” Red Hood paused. “I’d tell them to ask someone who gives a shit, but…”

“But it’s Crowbar, and two Robins.” Nightwing sighed. “I get it. Go.”

“Are you sure, Wing? I can stay. I mean, the chance that they’ll find him without Bats—”

“Is a chance neither of us is willing to take.” Nightwing interrupted firmly. “Go take care of it. Try not to kill anyone.”

“Aw, you’re no fun. I’ll just shoot him in the balls then. Bats can’t get too huffy over me keeping that psycho from procreating.” Red Hood chuckled grimly. “Comms are on all night though, Wing. I’ll be listening if you need me to come back.”

Nightwing and Red Hood grabbed each other in a forearm grip, nodded, and then the helmeted vigilante took off, only to pause and turn around at the edge of the building.

“Wing. Big Bird. Be safe, yeah?” The voice modulator hid much of his intonation, but it couldn’t completely eradicate the concern there.

“You too, Zombird.” Nightwing called back. Red Hood cackled, and leapt off the edge of the building.

“Aren’t you…I don’t know…worried that he’s going to actually shoot someone?” Kid Flash asked uneasily.

“He usually ends up doing that whether I worry or not.” Nightwing shrugged.

“I mean, shooting someone in the balls? That seems like something you should be bothered about.”

“Honestly? I’m usually more impressed by his aim than bothered by his decisions.” Nightwing chuckled. “I mean, I’m all for avoiding permanent harm to people…but the psychopath in question? Definitely deserves a bullet to the sack for a variety of reasons.”

“Did you want to rearrange the teams, since the Red Hood will not be with us?” Aqualad asked, as they stepped up into the bioship.

“No, this will still work fine. KF will just have to punch a little harder is all.” Nightwing grinned, seemingly ignoring the bruising and the pain that smiling must cause.

He seemed on edge as he stepped into the bioship, electing to stand at the edge of the space rather than sit in the offered chair. Artemis let the bioship strap her in as her team did likewise. Miss Martian at the helm, they rose into the dark Blüdhaven skies. Artemis was surprised to see how easily he kept his balance as they moved.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive at the drop point near the first of the two warehouses. Nightwing and Kid Flash joined Artemis at the door, leaping off onto a nearby rooftop. The bioship was a barely visible shimmer in the sky above them as it re-sealed and left.

“Alright. Here are your comms.” Nightwing said, handing them earpieces. “Keep in contact, but keep quiet. If we’re lucky, things will go smoothly. If we’re not, I’ll get to see how good you two are in a fight.” He chuckled grimly.

Artemis put in the earpiece as Nightwing lead them over to the next rooftop. He leapt it easily, flipping in the air as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

Kid Flash barley made the gap, and frowned.

“How do you do that? Jump like that, I mean?” He asked.

Nightwing shrugged. “I had a conversation with gravity once. Didn’t like its attitude.”

He motioned for silence as they slipped to the edge of the roof. Artemis cringed at how loud Kid Flash’s footsteps were compared to hers and Nightwing’s, but had to at least admit that he was trying. Besides, what he lacked in innate stealth, he more than made up for in speed and enthusiasm.

“Artemis, head to the north end. KF, stay here. I’ll go east. Let me know when everyone is in position.” Nightwing murmured. With that, he slipped into the darkness, fading away from sight almost before Artemis could agree.

She slipped down from the rooftop with Kid Flash, then split away. She rounded the north corner, and evaluated her options. It would probably be best if she got up to that high window. Best vantage point, glass already broken, and although there were no conveniently placed crates or forklifts, Artemis had brought a grappling arrow.

She’d have to remember to not tease Green Arrow for his more over-the-top trick arrows during their next training session together. He wouldn’t know why – and she’d never admit that the trick arrow was a great idea for this situation – but it would be repayment for not having to actually try to scale that wall.

Artemis used the arrow to pull herself up to the window ledge. She was careful not to step on any of the remaining glass shards, wary of being noticed too soon. Then, she lifted a finger to her ear.

“In position.” She breathed, barely daring to speak aloud. She missed the mindlink already, but this was certainly better than nothing.

“Alright. KF, Artie, go on my count. Three…two…one…”

***

“Go.” Nightwing hissed. He slipped through the door in front of him, two unconscious guards left behind against the wall. The warehouse wasn’t too big, all things considered, and this was certainly better than trying to clear it by himself, but he felt the all-too-familiar twinge of worry over having unknowns in the field with him.

You felt this way with all three Robins and Batgirl when they first entered the field too, he reminded himself, and they all turned out great. Maybe these heroes will be good too.

Nightwing slipped through the area easily, minimizing the noise he made through habit more than conscious effort. This part was as familiar as breathing.

He found two lackeys quickly, chatting over Styrofoam coffee cups, clearly just trying to stay awake through the night.

Nightwing surged forward. He kicked one cup up into the owner’s face, using the momentum to pivot and slam a fist against the other’s temple, dropping him like a rock. The first yelped as hot coffee hit his face, and raised his hands to desperately wipe at it, leaving him open to a quick jab to the stomach, doubling him over. That downward motion met Nightwing’s upward-moving knee, and the second lackey dropped, blood pouring from his newly broken nose.

Definitely just gang. He thought. Professionals wouldn’t be so easy.

Nightwing launched himself up, catching his fingertips on the top of a stack of crates, and pulled himself up. He crept along the top, until he found another group – four this time – working together over an open pair of crates. He watched a moment, pulling his rebreather from his belt and slipping it into place. Nimble fingers slipped into a pouch, and he tossed down a knock-out pellet. The gas expanded rapidly, and despite their startled yelps and the way they desperately glanced around the nearby corridors, none noticed the figure on the crates above.

“Six down.” He murmured into the earpiece, voice only slightly muffled by the rebreather. He was reasonably certain that none of the gas would get this far, but he’d rather be prepared to jump down into the smoke than not.

“Five here.” Artemis reported softly.

“Three. How did you guys get so many so fast?” Kid Flash griped. “I’m the speedster here!”

Nightwing chuckled. “It’s a well-known fact among us roof crawlers that normal people never look up.”

“Bingo.” Artemis agreed, sounding amused in his ear.

“Any sign of leadership?” Nightwing asked.

“All I have are goons.” Artemis sighed.

“Just dweebs for me, too.” Kid Flash agreed.

“Same. Finish clearing, and meet near the southeastern corner. Group of four men knocked out. There’s some open crates I’m going to take a closer look at.” Nightwing instructed.

He dropped down into the rapidly dispersing cloud of gas, landing lightly on his feet. The crates before him were filled with carefully packed and padded glass vials. The clipboard atop one crate held a manifest, likely being verified before shipping, or after receiving the shipment.

Nightwing glanced it over, frowning. The chemicals’ designations were unfamiliar to him: KV and FG. He pulled a tiny camera from a pouch, and took pictures of the manifest, in case any other information would later prove useful. He pulled two vials from the first crate – holding “KV” according to the manifest – and held them up to the ceiling lights.

The violently purple liquid was almost indigo, and seemed to nearly glow in the light. Opaque, and largely unhelpful from a simple visual examination. He wrapped them carefully in some of the packaging, and tucked them into a pouch left empty for such a purpose.

He pulled two vials from the second crate – “FG” by the manifest – and suppressed a shiver. Swirling and green, it looked almost more of a gas than a liquid within the vials. Unlike the other, he only needed to see this to know exactly what it was.

“What did you find?” Kid Flash asked, suddenly appearing next to Nightwing. It took a considerable amount of self-control to not immediately lash out at the speedster. He elected to instead remove the rebreather from his mouth to speak clearly.

“Vials. Liquids of some kind. I’m grabbing samples of both, and will run them through a lab I have access to. Hopefully I’ll be able to identify them.” Nightwing replied. He heard Artemis approaching as he spoke.

“New drugs, maybe?” She asked, frowning at the vials in his hand.

“Maybe.” Nightwing murmured. “Haven’t seen anything like them on the streets before.” He packed the two vials of swirling green into the pouch with the others.

“Hey, Baywatch, doesn’t this look like Kobra Venom?” Artemis asked, holding up one of the opaque purple vials.

“Yeah. But that…makes me nervous.” Kid Flash replied, squinting at the vial. “I thought we’d managed to get rid of all that garbage after our last run-in with it.”

“The manifest calls it ‘KV’ so I’d bet that Kobra Venom is a probable choice. What is it?” Nightwing asked.

“It’s a combination of the Project Blockbuster formula created by Cadmus and the neo-steroid Venom that Bane uses. It’s three times stronger than Bane’s Venom, and has permanent effects.” Kid Flash replied.

“Wait. You guys know Bane?” Nightwing frowned. He tried to recall the last time Bane had been off the Bat’s radar for an extended period of time. It had been a long time since they’d lost track of the man.

“Sort of. We went to Santa Prisca at one point, where we learned about Kobra Venom, and ended up kind of teaming up with the dude for a while.” Kid Flash replied, grimacing a little.

“Let me guess. He betrayed you and went for your solar plexus the moment it was convenient for him to do so?” Nightwing deadpanned.

“Ugh. Yeah. What a jerk. How do you know Bane?” Artemis asked, glancing over the manifest as she spoke.

“Most of the time, he’s a Gotham villain. Sometimes he’d leave for a while, usually when he was trying to hatch a new scheme, but he has a permanent cell at Arkham Asylum for when Bats catches him.” Nightwing replied. He was a little nervous about sharing the information, but they’d given him valuable intel with the concept of Kobra Venom, and he felt that giving a little in return was only fair play.

“Huh. I always wondered where that guy went for vacations.” Kid Flash murmured.

“Yeah. It’s a super cozy cell. He gets books and everything.” Nightwing snorted. Kid Flash chuckled with him, while Artemis just rolled her eyes.

Nightwing glanced once more at the crates, and, satisfied that there was nothing more that he could learn from them, looked to his companions.

“Did you find anything else that could be useful for information?” He asked.

“There was a computer back over there. Come on!” Kid Flash grinned, and left in a blur of limbs. Nightwing glanced to Artemis.

“That’s…just how he is.” She shrugged. “Just follow the trajectory, and we should find him pretty easily. Though, if we wait long enough, he’ll just come back and find us.”

“Noted. Kid’s gotta learn to slow down sometimes.” Nightwing muttered, following the path taken by the speedster.

“That’s like asking the ocean to stop being wet, or Gotham to be sunny.” Artemis snorted.

Their earpieces crackled to life.

“Guys! There’s—” Kid Flash’s panicked voice was cut off as quickly as it started to speak.

A gunshot. Then silence.

Nightwing took off in the direction the speedster had disappeared, Artemis hot on his heels. They slowed as they heard voices.

“—others can’t be too far. He was talkin’ to someone.”

“Yeah, but how many someones? Boss will have our asses if we lose this shipment because a bunch of punk heroes snuck in.”

Nightwing gestured to Artemis, instructing her to circle around. She nodded, and slipped away. He crouched low, peeking around the stack that hid him from the open area.

Seven men not present in the earlier sweep stood around a bound and gagged Kid Flash, who looked far too woozy for Nightwing’s comfort. He glanced over the hero, and found the cause – a bullet wound in the speedster’s thigh was bleeding heavily, already puddling around him on the ground.

From what Nightwing knew, it wouldn’t be life threatening for a speedster – their healing was incredible, and one of the few things he genuinely felt jealous of among the heroes – but he was not keen on taking any chances. The last thing he needed was to be blamed for a hero’s death. And if he was honest with himself, the speedster was kind of starting to grow on him.

Unfortunately, these seven were clearly better trained than the goons they’d encountered before. Their stances spoke of long hours at ranges and running drills. Clearly ex-military, by their gear and movements, if he wasn’t mistaken – and he rarely was.

Likely good with those guns they were holding, too. He’d have to be careful with how he approached, or he’d end up with a hole to match Kid Flash’s.

Nightwing stood, pulling out his escrima sticks. They were obviously more interested in capture than killing – likely wanting to question them – and that would work to his advantage. He fingered another knock-out pellet, and put his rebreather back into place. He wasn’t sure what effect the knock-out gas would have on a speedster, and wasn’t excited to try it on an injured speedster ally, but it would be the simplest way to deal with these men. Then he and Artemis could grab KF and get out. His teammates would know how to help him heal.

Just as enough were turned away from him and Nightwing readied the pellet to throw, another voice called out.

“Got another one!”

Three more men entered, dragging a dazed Artemis with them, arms bound behind her back, feet stumbling. She looked stunned rather than injured, thankfully, but the knock-out plan was out the window now. There was no easy way to carry both heroes out of here without being unable to fight anyone else who arrived…and the group was too widely scattered now to even guarantee they’d all be knocked out.

Damnit.

“There’s a third one. She tried to reach for this comm in her ear before we got to her.” One of the new men reported.

“Is that so?” A burly man with a rough face and five o’clock shadow rumbled. He grabbed Kid Flash by the back of the neck, and placed his handgun against the speedster’s temple. The men holding Artemis followed suit and she froze at the kiss of metal.

“Come on out, hero! We know you’re watching! Either you come out, or we’ll repaint this floor with your friends’ brains.” The rough-looking leader called. “You have five seconds.”

Double damnit. Nightwing cast about desperately for a solution.

“Five.”

There was no way to rush them for a melee attack without one or both of the heroes getting shot.

“Four.”

The knockout gas wouldn’t act quickly enough to prevent them from pulling the trigger – and with their training he couldn’t assume they’d cover their mouths instead of make good on their threat.

“Three.”

A flash bomb was as likely to startle them into pulling the triggers as it was to make them flinch away

“Two.”

There was no easy out.

“One.”

I can’t let them die.

Nightwing stepped out from behind the crates, latching his escrima sticks back into their magnetized holster as he did so, raising empty hands in a sign of submission.

“Pushed it a little close there, didn’t you?” The leader drawled. “You’re the local vigilante. Nightbird or something. Don’t look like much out in the light, now do you?”

Nightwing glared through his domino mask, but kept his silence.

“Bind him, boys.”

He fought every instinct telling him to struggle against the men who roughly grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back. He tensed every muscle as they bound him, hopeful for even the slightest give when he had a chance to test it later. They took his escrima sticks from his back, removed the comm from his ear, and tried to grab at the belt, only to get a sharp zap of electricity.

“Ouch! What the hell?” One man yelped. “His belt’s electrified, sir.”

“How do we disarm it?” The leader – I’m going to call him Grumpy, Nightwing decided – scowled.

“You don’t.”

“Then give us a way to take it off, or one of your friends gets a new hole to breathe through.” Grumpy snarled, jamming his gun against the side of Kid Flash’s neck. The woozy hero groaned at the sudden pressure, and Nightwing once again fought the urge to attempt a coup right there and then.

“It’s linked to my gloves. If you take those, I’ll get electrocuted as much as you if I try to get into it.” He admitted grudgingly. The men yanked off his gloves, tossing them to Grumpy.

“Make sure those ropes are tight. This one will be as slippery as Robin Hood over there. Zippy here is going to either bleed out, or stay woozy. Either way, let’s get them back to the bosses. I’m sure they’ll have questions for our intrepid heroes.” Grumpy barked orders, and Nightwing was roughly lead behind Artemis toward a door.

They were loaded into the back of a large van, three men keeping guns aimed at the heroes as they loaded up. Another joined them for the ride, and Nightwing tried not to growl out his frustration. They were being overly cautious, and he hated that it would work. He could take out two, maybe three, but four was too much of a stretch for him to guarantee a hero wouldn’t end up shot.

Well, more shot, in the case of a certain speedster.

He carefully tracked the movements of the van as he tested the strength of his bonds. Not loose enough to easily slip out, but if he worked at the knots, he might have a shot. Unfortunately, he couldn’t wiggle too much without someone taking notice in such close quarters.

The van drove for less than five minutes – likely still in the warehouse district, two lefts, a right, and a left again – and came to a halt.

Nightwing wondered, as they were roughly unloaded and brought into another large warehouse, just how good at hide and seek the three non-humans of the hero team were.

Half of him hoped they would be quick to realize the problem, and even quicker to find them in the new area.

The other half of him, sounding suspiciously like B, told him not to hope too hard.

He hoped anyway.

Chapter Text

Artemis scowled as she was dragged from the vehicle. She wasn’t sure who she was maddest at – Kid Idiot for getting shot, Nightwing for just giving up like that, or herself for being caught unawares and putting the vigilante into that situation – but she knew she was mad.

And currently helpless.

Kid Flash was still bleeding sluggishly, and looked completely out of it – and with her hands bound behind her as they were, she couldn’t bind the wound, or even check his arm compartment for some kind of food to help him kick start his healing.

Nightwing was bound as tightly as she was – and she couldn’t do anything about it.

If she had Superboy’s nigh invulnerability, she never would have been caught like this. If she had Miss Martian’s density shifting, she could just slip free. Even if she had Aqualad’s superior strength and access to magic, she could probably break the ropes she was bound with.

But she was just…human. Nothing special, just hours upon hours of practice. And, like any human, now that she was caught and bound, she was stuck.

The men pushed her to her knees in the center of the new warehouse, and she couldn’t help but think that moving them had been a total waste of time – this place looked just like the other. Why even bother, if they were just going to try and intimidate them here?

Because now my teammates have no idea where we are. She thought grimly.

The brutes shoved Nightwing down a few feet away, and dropped Kid Flash on her other side, before moving a few steps back. The leader of the group, who had held her teammate at gunpoint only a short time before – and that was something she wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon – stepped away, walking just out of earshot to make a phone call.

“Kid Flash, come on, you gotta wake up a bit.” Artemis muttered, glancing at the semi-conscious speedster.

“What are the chances Speedy Gonzales wakes up enough to be useful before things get really hairy?” Nightwing murmured, keeping his eyes roving over the men. His mouth barely moved as he spoke, and he was quiet enough that Artemis had to strain a little to hear him.

“Not very high.” She admitted grudgingly. “He heals fast, but without food soon, it won’t be fast enough.”

“Well that’s unfortunate. I’d have liked to have an awake speedster for our daring escape.” Nightwing sighed. “But that’s okay. First, I’ll get myself slapped around a bit by Grumpy. Then—”

“Wait, Grumpy?” Artemis frowned.

“Leader-dude. Didn’t give us a name, doesn’t have a drop of sunshine in his soul, so I named him Grumpy.” Nightwing replied, as though it should be obvious.

“Like…the dwarf from Snow White?” Artemis asked incredulously. She couldn’t believe how casual he was being about this. This wasn’t a good situation. This was about as far from a good situation as they could get, without someone being dead.

Nightwing just shrugged. “Needed to call him something. Anyway. He’s gonna have questions. He’ll ask me, probably through his fists. Then, when he thinks we’re appropriately subdued, he’ll relax just a bit, and we make our daring escape.” He paused, seeming to think a moment, before adding, “If dislike is the opposite of like, do you think the opposite of disaster would be aster? Because you really don’t seem to be feeling the aster.”

Artemis stared at his playful grin for a moment, lost for words, before replying.

“You do realize we’re both tied up to the point of not being able to move properly, right? And my team doesn’t know where we are? And we don’t have comms? And we’re outnumbered? And—” Artemis could feel herself getting just a little hysterical before Nightwing interrupted.

“Artemis. Breathe.” He murmured, turning his face to her for the first time. “Geez. You gotta calm down, girl.”

“Calm down?” Artemis hissed. “This is a bad situation to be in, in case you didn’t notice!”

“This is a bad situation?” Nightwing chuckled. “Wow. No one has ever tried to ritually sacrifice you before, and boy does it show.”

“Wait,” Artemis blinked, “someone has tried to ritually sacr—”

She was cut off by Nightwing shushing her. Artemis’ temper flared for a moment before she realized Grumpy – No, the leader. I’m not calling him Grumpy – was approaching.

“Nightwing. The Boss wants answers. You will be providing them to me.” The leader growled.

“Sounds like we’ve skipped a few steps here.” Nightwing chuckled. “You seem to have me mistaken for someone who’s frightened of you and your boys.”

“The best advice I can give you, vigilante, is to watch your tongue. Answer the questions and you’ll be allowed to live.” Grump—the leader—rumbled, looking haughtily down at the bound man.

“Not the best advice I’ve been given, but I guess that can’t be helped. You’re hardly on that man’s level.” Nightwing shrugged.

“Oh?” The leader looked almost amused. “And what was this ‘best advice’ you’ve been given?”

Nightwing considered the man before him for only a moment, before grinning cheekily and replying in a posh British accent, “One should not expect to be taken seriously when one admonishes while wearing only boxers.”

Several of the men around them chuckled despite themselves, and even Gr—the leader—smirked for a moment.

“So you’re a funny guy, eh?” He asked, rolling his shoulders. Without further preamble, he swung a heavy fist into Nightwing’s already bruised jaw, sending the vigilante lurching to one side. He barely managed to keep himself from falling, returning to upright slowly, working his jaw as he went.

“Hmmm. I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot here. Let me try again.” Nightwing muttered, frowning, before the lopsided smile returned. “Hi, I’m Nightwing. I enjoy long runs across the rooftops, and—”

He was cut off by another hit, this time knocking him fully to the concrete. Nightwing groaned, and was hauled back to his knees by one of the soldiers.

“What are you doing here with these heroes?” The leader growled.

“Sorry, but that information’s private. Could I interest you in some trivia instead? Perhaps some behind the scenes tidbits about The Lord of—”

The leader struck again, even harder, Nightwing tucking his head just before he hit the ground to avoid bouncing his skull off the concrete. The same soldier as before pulled him back to his knees, hovering nearby when Nightwing swayed a little.

“How many hits do you think you can take before you can’t speak at all?” The Leader – okay, maybe she could see why he was called Grumpy with that face, but she was more worried about her vigilante teammate right now – asked smugly. “Either answer my questions, or we’ll quickly find out. And if you don’t answer before you’re unable…well, I suppose you wouldn’t be very useful anymore, would you?”

Nightwing shifted, seeming to glance toward Artemis as she watched with a carefully blank face. Then his shoulders slumped.

“What’s your question?” He asked thickly, blood dribbling down his chin.

No way. No way that’s all it took to break his resolve. Surely he wouldn’t…? Artemis’ mind raced as she watched Grumpy’s smirk widen into a true, cruel smile.

“What were you doing in that warehouse with these heroes?”

“Honestly? Trying to find a good way to get rid of them.” Nightwing muttered. “Tired of heroes in my city.”

“Oh really? And how was working with them going to get them out?”

“Show them I’m competent, maybe kick their asses a bit? I dunno, didn’t really think too much farther than where we got.” Nightwing shrugged with what looked like entirely false bravado.

“Typical.” Grumpy-the-Leader muttered. “Got yourself in too deep with the heroes. Too bad it didn’t work, we’d rather have them gone, too. Heroes are even worse for business than amateur vigilantes like you.”

Artemis watched Nightwing closely. Surely he was bluffing. Did his lips tighten over the hint of a smile there? It had to all be an act. No way Batman’s protégé would give in so easily. Not after the fire she’d seen in him each time they confronted the vigilante.

“You want them out? I’m happy to help.” Nightwing said, voice steady as he looked up at Grumpy. “I’ll give you their weaknesses, if you’ll guarantee I’ll walk away from this with my body and identity intact.”

“What?” Artemis yelped, her blood running cold. He’d already proven he knew too much about them, and she was pretty damn sure he knew a lot more than he’d shown. If he actually gave up this information, and it got into the wrong hands, it wouldn’t just be her team that was in trouble – some of their weaknesses were shared by their Justice League mentors. Beside her, Kid Flash seemed to be trying to blanky figure out what was happening, frowning slightly as he attempted to focus his eyes. He needed medical help, and the way things were going, the chance of him getting it was dwindling quickly.

“What can you possibly give me that we don’t already know?”

“I have access to more sources than even you. Got fingers in Gotham, in Hood’s people. He, in turn, knows what the Batman does about defeating the Justice League. I can give you that information, for this set of heroes in Blüdhaven.” Nightwing explained, seemingly ignoring the blood still dribbling from his mouth.

“I can work with that. Deal.” Grumpy grinned. Nightwing nodded.

“We trusted you!” Artemis cried out, struggling futilely against her bonds. “Damn you, Nightwing, we trusted you!”

“Well then, you can’t blame me, can you? It was your mistake.” Nightwing sniped, lip curling. Artemis felt horror wrapping icy fingers around her spine, and outrage burned behind her eyes, making her blink quickly in case there were tears forming. She’d vouched for him in the team’s debate. Said he deserved a real chance to show them who he was. She’d identified so much with him, his history, his tactics. And now…now she was proven wrong in the most brutal way.

Grumpy – no. She wouldn’t use his nicknames if he was going to just betray them like this – the leader laughed, settling back on his heels.

“Trust is a fool’s game, little girl.” He chuckled, shaking his head at her. “You heroes always seem to forget to vet your sources before you trust them to have your back.” He turned to Nightwing. “We already know that the archer is just human, and that as long as we don’t feed the speedster, he won’t be a nuisance. We have Kryptonite for Superman’s clone, and napalm for the Atlantean and the Martian. With your…other sources’ information, what further steps would you suggest to truly rid us of these annoying heroes?”

Nightwing laughed softly. “You’re not even close on those.”

“What?” The leader snapped, glaring at his captive vigilante. Artemis frowned as well for a moment before schooling her expression. Those had sounded like a pretty good assessment and plan to her, honestly.

“Let’s go one by one, yeah?” Nightwing suggested, settling his weight backward to take it off of his kneecaps. When the leader of the soldiers didn’t protest, he nodded again. “So this archer? She has a subtle meta ability for perfect aim. But her hand-to-hand? Absolutely sucks. As long as you keep her from projectiles, she’s about as harmless as any civvie you pull off the street.”

The leader looked at Artemis appraisingly, and she did her best to look alarmed and betrayed. He smirked, and looked back to Nightwing. I know he knows that I’m fully capable at hand-to-hand. What’s he trying to do here?

“And the speedster?” The leader asked cautiously.

“Speedsters operate on a totally different time scale than us. He’ll stay down whether you feed him or not. Takes years to actually starve one of the bastards, no matter what they try to pretend. Flash has done a great job of spreading that propaganda, but it’s all lies. With a speedster, what you actually need to do is target their brain. Confuse them enough, and they’ll slow down to our level to figure everything out. Hell, if you bandaged the kid there, and had a couple soldiers look worried, it would probably be enough of a deception to make him stop and have to really think for a bit.” Nightwing chuckled, and added, “I guess you could say their neurons don’t move as fast as their feet.”

The leader looked dubious, but asked, “And Superman’s clone? How could Kryptonite not be the answer to that?”

“You said it yourself. He’s a clone. A test-tube baby. You think they wouldn’t fix such a glaring weakness in their new soldier?” Nightwing scoffed. “Nah, man. Kryptonite won’t do a thing against the clone. But in making him impervious to that, they had to leave him vulnerable in other ways. Turns out the genes linked to the Kryptonite weakness are the same ones that deal with his hearing. Unlike the Big Blue Boy Scout, you can sneak up behind this one if you’re quiet enough. A high-caliber round at short distance will put him down like a rabid farm dog.”

That’s all…blatant lies. Artemis thought, shocked. Kid Flash would starve within a week, especially in this state. And Superboy…his hearing is almost as good as Superman’s! And I’ve seen him take artillery rounds to the chest at short range without anything worse than a lost shirt.

Is he…intentionally giving them fake information? Artemis carefully kept her face wiped of anything but incredulity and betrayal. If that’s his plan, I’ll only get one chance to play into this deceit…I’ll have to time it right.

“And the Atlantean and Martian? Boss says heat’s been recommended to him.” The leader crossed his arms, watching Nightwing carefully.

“Yeah, recommended by other villains who would just love to see your operation eat crow when you couldn’t take down the heroes they’ve faced dozens of times.” Nightwing rolled his eyes. “Trust is a fool’s game, remember? The Atlantean is just fine with heat, but electricity will take him down. You can short out his water-bearers – those weapons he uses – with a quick surge of electricity, since they’re only designed to manipulate water when it’s not conducting a charge.”

But Aqualad can generate electricity through those magic tattoos.

“And the Martian? Taken down by heat?” Nightwing scoffed. “Please. Do you know how hot it gets in the caves of Mars where their major cities are? No, you’ve got to actually freeze her out. The colder she is, the less she’ll be able to move and focus. Heat will just make her faster – hence why Martian Manhunter has faked weakness around fire so often. It’s an effective piece of propaganda, and it’s taken down several of his enemies.”

“Interesting ideas, certainly. But how can we be sure your information is good?” The leader asked. Nightwing opened his mouth, and Artemis saw her chance.

“It’s not!” She declared, pushing an edge of desperation into her voice. “It’s bullshit, all of it. He’s trying to lead you to put yourself in a corner.” Nightwing gave the tiniest nod when the leader – Grumpy – was facing her.

“Oh, is it now?” He asked, grinning. “Now isn’t that an interesting tidbit of protest?”

“Need a better witness?” Nightwing chuckled. “Now, if you’d just untie me, we can be done with this.”

“Not so fast.” Grumpy growled. “I’ll check with the Boss, see what he thinks of this new insight, before I go letting you free.” He stalked back out of earshot, pulling out his cell phone to make the call.

***

Nightwing kept his balance carefully loose as Grumpy moved away again. He hung his head as though exhausted and in pain. That wasn’t too hard a look to pull off after those heavy blows to his already aching jaw.

He closed his eyes behind the domino mask, and listened to what his body was telling him for a moment. At this moment, his body was telling him ouch. But that wasn’t much of an obstacle. Pain never had been.

Nightwing extended his attention to the men around them, subtly eyeing them without moving his head, using his domino mask to keep his watching unseen. The men he could easily see were clearly bored at this point. The edge of attention had dulled, with captives bound and seemingly defeated or submissive. Behind him, he could hear the other men shuffling, likely anxious to be done for the night. None of them were as attentive as Grumpy.

That would play nicely in his favor.

He shifted his position, quietly testing his ropes as ‘tried to get comfortable’ on his knees. There was a little give, but not as much as he’d normally like. Taking a chance, he hooked his fingers into the ropes around his ankles, and pulled a little harder at the knot.

Come on you little piece of Damian. He growled mentally. Nightwing felt it give ever so slightly, and unhooked his fingers just as one of his captors took notice.

“Stop squirming around.” One of the soldiers behind him barked.

“Knees are getting numb.” Nightwing muttered back, settling back down and suppressing the smile that threatened to show. That little give told him all he needed to know – the knot hadn’t been tied properly, and would give the moment he put real pressure on it from his legs.

He frowned, thinking of the vials in his pouch. The knot wasn’t all he needed to know. If the heroes were right, then the Kobra Venom in his pouch was definitely linked to their enemies, and well on its way to being a big issue for him here in Blüdhaven. And the other vials…

He’d recognized them the second he’d picked them up. Since that moment, Nightwing had been wracking his brain, trying to figure out not what, but why.

Fear Gas shouldn’t be in Blüdhaven.

Bats had obviously missed something big going on in Gotham, if there was this much Fear Gas in just this one shipment here. But that wasn’t the biggest issue he faced with the vials right now – the bigger issue was the fact that there was Fear Gas from Gotham alongside Kobra Venom from the Sidekick Squad’s enemies…maybe even Bane.

Bane and Scarecrow working together sounded like a really bad night.

Or a fun family get together. Nightwing smirked a little at the thought.

He glanced over at Artemis, who still looked thoroughly worried despite her efforts to hide it. She kept glancing at the downed speedster who…okay, yeah, that guy looked like he needed some help.

Focus, Nightwing. He chastised himself.

“Artemis.” He called her attention quietly, carefully making sure the guards wouldn’t hear him. “You look distraught.”

“I look—of course I’m distraught! Kid Flash is down for the count, we’re still tied up, and we have no way out of this.” Artemis hissed.

“Well you’re going to have to get traught, or get dead.” Nightwing growled. “Getting all worked up about all of this isn’t going to help.” He’d been trying to get her to relax several times over, especially before he had his little misinformation session with Grumpy. But she seemed determined to stay tense. So a more direct approach was going to be necessary.

“But we’re just humans, unless you have some undisclosed meta power!” Artemis snapped.

“Nope. Definitely human, too. Doesn’t mean we aren’t going to wreck their shit.” Nightwing murmured. He glanced at Grumpy, still talking on the phone. We don’t have much time before he comes back. And if his Boss is one of Gotham’s rogues…we’re going to have trouble.

“Look,” he sighed, “if his boss is who I’m thinking his boss is, we only have a couple minutes to figure this out. They’ve underestimated us, so this will be fun.”

“Fun? How do you plan to get out of this? There’s no way out of these ropes! We don’t have super strength, or density shifting, or—”

“Or small knives hidden in sleeves? Or maybe belt pouches?” Nightwing asked with a lopsided grin. “Come on, Artie. We’re used to being overlooked for being human. Doesn’t mean you or I couldn’t take down a charging Kryptonian. Bats and company have taken down the Justice League’s heavy hitters every time they come to Gotham, and we’re all only human. It’s not a weakness. It’s a hidden trump card.”

Artemis stared at him for a long moment, and Nightwing was starting to worry she’d just keep panicking, before she took a steadying breath.

“Okay. Where’s your knife, then?” She sighed.

“In my belt.”

“But they took your gloves. You can’t get into your belt.” She frowned, and Nightwing chuckled quietly.

“You think I’ve never been zapped by my own equipment? It’s not lethal. Just a bit painful.” Nightwing flashed her a grin, glanced to Grumpy to make sure he was still on the phone, and at the soldiers to ensure they were still not paying attention.

They weren’t. Their mistake.

He twisted one hand, shielding it with the other, and ran his fingers along his belt. The electricity wouldn’t trigger until he tried to enter a compartment or remove the belt itself, so he wanted to be sure of where he was reaching before he willingly electrocuted himself.

Along the top of the pouches, searching for…there. A small, hidden sleeve at the seam. Nightwing centered his mind, and slipped his fingers into it. Immediately, electricity raced through his fingers and arm, making him tense slightly. He resisted the automatic urge to snatch his hand away, and clenched his jaw, focusing on the throbbing there instead of the sharp, vibrating pain of his fingers.

Half-numb from the electricity coursing through them, he almost fumbled the small blade hidden inside his belt as he pulled it free and palmed it, but years of experience kept his hand just steady enough. Nightwing gave himself two steadying breaths before giving Artemis a tiny nod.

He carefully sliced through some of the rope around his wrists, a section hidden against his back from the half-aware soldiers. Just enough that he’d be able to snap the rest of it with a well-placed blow to someone else’s leg or shoulder.

But how to get the knife to Artemis?

Before he could figure that bit out, Grumpy returned, and Nightwing tucked the tiny blade carefully against his forearm.

“Boss says you have a quick tongue, and a history of smooth lies.” Grumpy glared at Nightwing, coming to a stop just in front of him. “He also said I should pass on a message: Nice try, mi pajarito.”

Nightwing barely had time to recognize the nickname before Grumpy’s combat boot struck him in the chest, kicking him over backwards. He rolled a couple of times, coming to a stop less than a foot from Artemis.

Can we not just keep hitting the same places as B did? He thought, trying to force air into his rebelling lungs. He coughed, cringing at the pain that lanced through his ribs. Definitely cracked another one, by the feel of it.

I don’t love your methods…but I do appreciate results. Nightwing slipped the tiny blade under Artemis’ knee as she bent over to desperately ask if he was alright. He trusted she’d be able to find a way to get it from under her knee into her hands. If she couldn’t, then her training wasn’t nearly as effective as he’d thought it was.

“You Gotham vigilantes are all the same.” Grumpy snarled, gesturing for his men to drag Nightwing back toward him, pulling him up to his feet. “You think you’re so tough and so impervious, but at the end of the day, your armor and bravado can only protect you so much.”

“If you know who I am,” Nightwing gasped, “then you know I can do this as long as I need to.” He took the blow to his stomach with barely a grunt, tucking his pain away into the back of his mind as best he could. I’ve had worse.

“No one is coming to save you.” Grumpy taunted, examining his calloused knuckles. “The Bat and his boys are all occupied in Gotham tonight, running after strategically chosen nuisances that should have lured you back as well. Instead, you decided to come here and make trouble.” He shook his head with false regret.

Grumpy pulled his combat knife from his side, and rested the tip against Nightwing’s throat.

“I want answers. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

“How about we put the knife a-way?” Nightwing suggested, holding himself impossibly still. From the corner of his eye, he could see Artemis’ shoulders shifting, as she quickly sawed at her own bonds. There was a look of desperation in her eyes, and Nightwing quietly hoped she wouldn’t give herself away.

Grumpy pushed the blade harder against Nightwing’s throat, and he could feel it on the verge on breaking the delicate skin covering his windpipe.

He saw the moment Artemis finished cutting through the ropes binding her wrists and ankles. Triumph flashed across her face.

And Nightwing grinned.

Chapter Text

“What are you grinning about? You’re just a human hiding behind a mask. Nothing special about you.” Grumpy snarled. “You’re both just like everyone else, and without your toys and your shadows, there’s no reason for your bravado. Well, other than stupidity.”

Nightwing watched from the corner of his eye as Artemis, now free of her bonds, launched herself at the nearest soldier. Caught off-guard, Grumpy pulled back ever so slightly, head snapping around to see what was happening.

Nightwing seized on the moment of distraction, and slammed his head forward into Grumpy’s nose. The man yelled in pain, staggering backwards as blood began to gush down his face, blinking desperately to try and clear the automatic tears from his eyes.

Nightwing jumped up, tucking his legs tightly against him in a well-practiced standing backflip, pulling his bound wrists under his curled body to the front as he went. He pushed his legs away from each other as he landed, the combined forces of the impact and the spread pulling the knot free and loosing the ropes around his ankles.

He crossed the distance between them in two strides, aware of Artemis viciously taking down soldiers around him. Too close to their leader for them to safely fire on him, Nightwing brought his hands down together over Grumpy’s head, dropping the man and splitting the ropes in one movement.

Satisfied that Grumpy would be down for a moment – albeit stunned rather than unconscious – Nightwing lunged at the nearest soldier to him. Vaguely, he was aware of the throbbing in his jaw and chest, but dulled by adrenaline, the pain was hardly a deterrent. The mercenaries were ex-military men, and they moved the way they thought – straightforward, following orders to the letter and not a step more, precise lines with machine-like efficiency.

But Nightwing moved like a shadow, and thought like an acrobat. The world was limited only by his own flexibility. Thirteen years of following Bats – and then defying Bats – had combined with a circus upbringing to leave him with a very unique set of problem-solving skills.

The ex-military men were a threat when together. They reacted quickly, but without an organized squad and plan of attack, they were little more than above-average goons with better-than-normal guns.

Nightwing had been working alone long before he’d left Batman’s shadow, and he knew just how to play them against each other.

He stepped into the first man’s space instead of away, tucking himself tight against the Kevlar vest. As expected, the man shifted back to gain room, as he was trained to do, and Nightwing took the chance to half-drop, and slam an elbow just under the man’s heavy vest. His opponent’s breath was expelled from his chest, and he provided a convenient shield as he tried to reacquaint his lungs with air. His fellow mercs weren’t willing to shoot one of their own, and Nightwing took the second he had to evaluate the playing field.

Attention was split almost evenly between him and Artemis – and a five-on-one fight was hardly a workout these days, when he could so easily predict the way they’d choose to fight. Nightwing snapped his elbow into the man’s face, knocking him back against the concrete, where he lay still, but breathing.

Two more closed in, guns snapping up to focus on Nightwing the moment he’d left cover. He threw a wing-ding, ricocheting off one weapon and hitting the other, forcefully disarming both men with the force. He half-turned, and took a step out, a fluid quarter circle. And, like he knew they always did, the men moved too quickly into the space. Nightwing stepped sideways into them, feet quick on the concrete, grabbed them and pulled them out of their trained choreography – off-script and involuntarily – into the dangerous dance of his own making.

Swung around off-balance, two hundred and fifty pounds collided against one hundred and seventy five, as Nightwing stepped easily out of the way, hands snapping against their temples as they fell. They were limp before they hit the ground.

Across the room, Artemis dropped her third, an idle note in the back of Nightwing’s mind as he twisted around to avoid the inevitable incoming gunfire. The concussive report of the guns was nearly deafening in the nearly empty warehouse, the taste of gunpowder in his mouth as he tucked and rolled forward, coming up within arm’s reach of the next man.

The man swung as Nightwing came up, a heavy left hook slowed and broadened by the bulky gear the man wore. It was easily deflected. Nightwing’s fist to the nose then throat, his knee to the diaphragm as he doubled over, and he was down, gasping blindly on the ground.

Nightwing leapt straight up, twisting in the air as bullets tore through where he’d stood a heartbeat before. His legs absorbed the impact – his ribs flared in protest anyway – and he dropped into a low crouch, sweeping two men’s feet from beneath them, guns firing uselessly into the air. He caught their heads just before impact with the concrete, instincts warning that the force would be too great.

While they blinked in surprise, Nightwing half-lifted himself, then brought his elbows down on their jaws, satisfied when their eyes rolled back and they lost awareness.

He stood, looking for the next opponent, to find Artemis straightening her ponytail, four moaning or unconscious bodies around her.

“Not bad…for a human.” Nightwing grinned.

“Just like everyone else, according to Grumpy.” The archer huffed back. Her nonchalance was betrayed by the quirk of her lips as she turned away to return to Kid Flash’s side.

Nightwing returned to Grumpy, who had started to regain his senses, quickly binding the man hand and foot as he’d been bound only minutes before.

“Assuming we were like anyone else was your first mistake. And, having met you now, I have a really hard time believing it will be your last.” Nightwing growled. “If your boss gets you before the police come to clean you up, tell him that Arkham still has a cell with his name on it, and that his pajarito will be more than happy to help him find it.”

Nightwing collected their comms, weapons, and his gloves from where they’d been placed nearby.

“He needs help.” Artemis murmured, worrying her lower lip. “He’s not going to last much longer like this.”

“I’m assuming your team has the necessary supplies to help him?” Nightwing asked, crouching down beside her and pulling bandages from his belt. He wrapped them efficiently around the bullet wound as Artemis nodded.

He slipped his earpiece in, and was about to call to the other heroes when the rolling door exploded inward with a loud screeching of metal. Nightwing and Artemis leapt to their feet, only to find themselves looking at a very angry Superboy, flanked by Aqualad and Miss Martian, tattoos and eyes glowing respectively.

“Huh.” Nightwing said dumbly, dropping his fists from their ready stance. He shook himself mentally, and straightened. “KF was shot in the leg, he needs medical attention ASAP.”

Miss Martian hurried forward, assessing the speedster’s condition, and levitated him back toward the exit Superboy had created. Outside, Nightwing could see the bioship, open and waiting. She disappeared inside with the injured hero.

“What happened?” Aqualad asked, surprise evident as he took in the scene.

Nightwing had to admit they must be quite a sight. He could feel sticky blood drying on his chin from where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek during the interrogation to make things look worse than they were. Ten men lay strewn about them in various states of unconsciousness and pain.

He and Artemis exchanged a glance that seemed to say a lot more than it should have. Strange, how being bound and interrogated by hired mercenaries would make them feel so close already.

“We cleared the warehouse, but got ambushed by a second group of men, probably hired by the same guy who hired this gang.” Artemis explained. “They shot Kid Flash in the leg, and like an idiot, I got distracted enough to get caught myself, resulting in Nightwing’s capture as well.”

“You’re an idiot, I’m an idiot,” Nightwing shrugged, “we’re co-presidents of Club Idiot. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten tied up on the job, and I doubt it will be the last.” Turning to Aqualad, he added, “She really held her own, though. Half the men on the ground are her doing, without a weapon. Adapted quickly, too, to help buy time with some quick…misinformation.”

Artemis shook her head. “You couldn’t have warned me that we were going to suddenly start lying to them and pretending you’d sell them information on our team?”

“And ruin your shock and horror? Not a chance. You really sold it with that whole ‘damn you, Nightwing’ bit.” He grinned, and laughed as she rolled her eyes.

“Are you injured?” Aqualad asked, frowning at the blood on the vigilante.

“Oh, this? Please. A few hits to the jaw, a boot to the chest – nothing I haven’t gotten several times before. I’m only bleeding because I want to.” Nightwing waved away their concern, wiping away the half-dried blood with a gauze square from his belt.

“You’re bleeding…because you want to.” Superboy deadpanned, looking borderline concerned.

“It really sells the whole ‘pretending-to-give-in’ schtick I had going there. Makes them think they’re doing more damage than they are.”

“I’m a little concerned that you know how to fake being beaten in an interrogation.” Aqualad admitted, frowning.

“What can I say? Gotham’s just Like That sometimes. Blüdhaven less so, but hey. Old training made today easier.” Nightwing shrugged. “How was your raid?”

“Simple.” Aqualad replied. “Only a handful of low-end gang members, and nothing else of importance. It looked more of a place to hang out than anything important. So we took them down, tied them up, and called BPD to pick them up.”

“Good thing, too.” Superboy rumbled. “Looks like you needed extra hands.”

“How did you guys get here so fast? I’d just gotten our comms back and was going to call you when you guys just…showed up.” Nightwing asked, frowning.

Aqualad and Superboy glanced at each other.

“Well, it’s a bit of an…interesting situation, actually.” Aqualad said carefully. “We were just starting to get concerned that you weren’t answering comms, and Superboy was listening for sounds of conflict in the area to try and follow, when…well, someone hacked the comms.”

“Someone hacked them?” Nightwing asked, feeling his stomach sink. He almost hoped they’d say some punk kid had done it, because it would really beat the alternative.

“Yes. A woman spoke over the comms. Said you and our teammates were caught and that our assistance, although unlikely to be necessary, would likely be appreciated.” Aqualad replied, frowning.

“Did she say her name?” Nightwing asked, closing his eyes behind the domino mask. Don’t say Oracle, don’t say Oracle, don’t—

“She identified herself as Oracle.”

Damnit.

“Well, let’s get to a rooftop somewhere to finish this chat. If she’s meddling tonight, then she’ll have called in the location to the police by now.” Nightwing sighed. “Or if she hasn’t, she will now, because she’s going to owe me that much at least after tonight.” He added the last with a meaningful glare at a nearby CCTV camera.

A woman’s voice spoke over the comms – everyone’s comms, judging by the way the heroes tensed.

“You brought this one on yourself, Boy Hostage.”

“Don’t you have important things to do in Gotham tonight?” Nightwing grumbled into the earpiece.

“I am doing important things in Gotham, thank you. As well as keeping an eye on you to make sure you weren’t getting overwhelmed with your new friends.”

“Well, as you can see with that eye of yours, I am perfectly whelmed.” Nightwing smirked, ignoring the looks he was getting from the heroes.

“The eye holes in my mask aren’t big enough for the eye roll that deserves. Go play with your new friends, Boy Wonder. And send me that vial for the tests. I won’t even charge you more than a favor.” Oracle didn’t give him time to respond before leaving the comms, an audible click like someone hanging up a phone – a sound he knew she’d recorded for the express purpose of doing things like this – sounding in his ear.

He could almost hear her giggling to herself.

“So…Oracle is an ally of yours, Boy Wonder?” Artemis asked, not even having the decency to hide her amusement.

“Some nicknames never die.” Nightwing sighed. “But yeah, she’s mostly in Gotham, but she’s the most gifted surveillance and research expert I’ve ever worked with.” Most gifted and flexible fighter I’ve sparred and taught, too, before Joker stole that from her. He pushed away the grim thoughts, focusing on the heroes around him.

“So. A rooftop, if you don’t mind, before the cops show up and I have to make a second daring escape tonight.” He grinned, and the heroes acquiesced.

Aqualad lead them into the bioship, Superboy laying a hand on Artemis’ shoulder with a significant glance. The archer smiled, and nodded, causing the clone to relax. They really do care about each other’s safety.

They returned to the roof of the mall where they’d met up at midnight, the flight short and the silence tense as Miss Martian flew and Artemis assisted Aqualad with Kid Flash in a makeshift med bay. Superboy didn’t seem up for conversation, so Nightwing just let the heavy silence sit. They emerged onto the gravel rooftop, Nightwing’s ears straining in the relative quiet for any stray noise.

He couldn’t hear anyone, but he could feel that there was someone there. He had a few guesses as to who.

“Well, I appreciate the help on this one, even if it didn’t all go to plan.” Nightwing said in the awkward pause that followed.

“I didn’t ask earlier, but did you learn anything useful?” Aqualad asked.

“We found Kobra Venom,” Artemis reported, “and another unknown substance in vials.”

“Kobra Venom?” Superboy frowned. “I thought we’d destroyed the last of that.”

“Seems not. Our enemies are here in Blüdhaven, then. Last I heard, Kobra and Blockbuster were still locked away.” Aqualad mused. “What was the other substance?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet. I have some theories, but they’re unconfirmed. I’ll need to run a few tests before I can give you a solid answer.” Nightwing replied easily.

“Can we see it?” Aqualad asked curiously. Nightwing pulled one vial of Fear Gas from his belt, confident they wouldn’t recognize it.

“Careful. It looks like it could be gaseous, not liquid.” He cautioned as Aqualad held out his hand. He gave the hero the vial.

Superboy glared at the green, swirling gas inside, before his head suddenly snapped up, staring into the shadows behind Nightwing. Sure enough, he could hear the tell-tale soft crunch of gravel under steel-toed vigilante boots.

“Got yourself out already, Boy Hostage?” Red Hood sneered from behind Nightwing in his modulated voice. The heroes who didn’t have super hearing jumped.

“Aw, did you come to save the damsel in distress, Little Wing?” Nightwing crooned back without turning.

“I don’t see any damsels, just an idiot in distress.” Red Hood snorted. A quiet huff of laughter slightly to the left of Hood’s voice and the click of a tongue to the right told Nightwing all he needed to know. The heroes stared at the new arrivals, eyes wide in surprise.

“No longer in distress, thank you.” He grinned, finally turning to face his three costumed brothers. “I figured when Oracle called the heroes to come knock down the door for me, that she’d called you lot in as well.”

Superboy had quickly shifted himself to be ready to defend the entrance to the bioship where Miss Martian and Kid Flash hadn’t yet emerged. Aqualad and Artemis watched the arrivals with cautious interest, Artemis clearly recognizing them and muttering a soft explanation to the Atlantean.

“Tt. An obvious assumption, Nightwing. And just as obviously, your perception and reactionary abilities are impeded by the company of these heroes. Thus I insist you cease working with them at once. They are a hindrance and a danger to you.” Robin scoffed, scowling up at him.

“Down, boy.” Nightwing muttered, earning and indignant huff from his youngest brother.

“Congrats on beating your own record for consecutive months without being kidnapped, Big Bird.” Red Robin deadpanned, ignoring his younger brother’s comment entirely.

“Hey, this was not a kidnapping.” Nightwing replied quickly. “It was a surrender to keep someone from getting shot in the head.”

“Potato, tomato.” Robin huffed.

“That’s not how that goes, Demon Spawn.” Red Robin rolled his eyes behind his domino.

“Who are the extras?” Kid Flash asked from the door of the bioship. Nightwing spun around, assessing the injured hero. An IV line was placed in the crook of one elbow, likely full of nutrients, and his leg was freshly bandaged. Miss Martian hovered anxiously beside him, her attention torn between making sure the speedster was alright and staring at the sudden arrival of Nightwing’s siblings.

He honestly couldn’t believe the speedster was on his feet already – albeit unsteadily. They really did heal quickly. Nightwing couldn’t help but feel just a little jealous of that, his own injuries from the past few days – jaw, ribs, and arm – throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

“Heroes, these are the rest of the Robins, past and present.” He introduced. “Red Hood you’ve already met. These are the third and fourth Robins.”

“I am the Robin, Nightwing.” Robin huffed.

“I’m Red Robin. And you’re Aqualad, Superboy, Miss Martian, Artemis, and Kid Flash.” Red Robin nodded to each in turn, completely forestalling any attempt on the heroes’ part to introduce themselves.

“Wait. Your name is Red Robin?” Kid Flash frowned, limping down out of the bioship with his IV stand to look at Red Robin.

“Yes?” The teen frowned slightly.

“But he’s Robin?” Kid Flash gestured to the youngest vigilante.

“Hence the ‘Red’ part.” Red Robin replied dryly, giving Nightwing a look that clearly asked, ‘Is he serious?’

“Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning up in Gotham right now?” Nightwing interrupted before Red Robin could say whatever sharp thing had just come to mind.

“Please, Nightwing.” Robin scoffed, “Killer Croc didn’t even make it to the sewers before Batman tranquilized him, and Riddler didn’t have time to set up anything clever before we caught him on the streets.” Robin explained haughtily.

“And the other two?” Nightwing asked.

“Disappeared, as usual. They’ll pop back up in a couple days.” Red Robin shrugged. “They always do.”

“And when they do, I’m going to finally kill that clown.” Red Hood growled.

“You’ve got to let that go, man.” Red Robin shook his head. “You just sound petty now.”

“What, so if a crow remembers someone who wronged them and holds a grudge, it’s intelligent, but when I do, I’m petty?” Red Hood snapped. “He killed me, Red.”

“You’re not special. We’ve all died on the job.” Red Robin scoffed, ignoring the shocked looks on the heroes’ faces.

“Tt. I haven’t.” Robin pointed out proudly.

“Give it time.” Red Robin waved dismissively. Red Hood snorted in amusement, bad mood dispelled for the moment. Nightwing sighed, feeling the questions and arguments coming.

“You’ve all died before? But…you’re here and alive now. How is that even possible?” Kid Flash gaped.

“Zombie magic, pits of goop, really good CPR…take your pick.” Red Robin shrugged.

“If I die again, my funeral is going to be the biggest party, and you’re all invited.” Red Hood sounded like he was grinning under his impassive helmet.

“If you die again?” Robin frowned, obviously considering the likelihood of Red Hood’s second death to be well above average.

“Great. The only party I’ve ever been invited to and he might not even die.” Red Robin muttered.

“What is going on here?” Kid Flash asked, looking thoroughly perplexed.

“Hey. Quipping and snarking is a time-honored tradition among Robins.” Red Hood informed Kid Flash archly.

“Almost as time-honored as B telling us to shut up.” Red Robin snickered.

“Guys.” Nightwing sighed. “Can we have this little chat later? I’m trying to wrap up with the heroes here.” He took the vial back from Aqualad, only to have it snatched from his hand by Red Robin.

“What is this doing in Blüdhaven?” The teen asked, sounding concerned. “Isn’t Crane still in Arkham?”

“Scarecrow? That potato-sacked son of a bitch?” Red Hood asked, looming over Red Robin to stare at the vial. “Yeah, he’s still in there.”

“I still need to run some tests to confirm what that is.” Nightwing glared at his brothers. Red Robin at least had the decency to look embarrassed as he handed back the vial.

“Who is Scarecrow?” Miss Martian asked curiously.

“Gotham baddie.” Nightwing answered with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m not even sure if this is one of his concoctions, hence the tests I still need to run.”

“You should send it to Oracle.” Red Robin informed him.

“Obviously he’ll send it to Oracle, Replacement.” Red Hood scoffed. “She’s the only one who could confirm if it’s a horror film in a bottle without it getting back to the Bat.”

“Why would Oracle not alert Batman if this is indeed Scarecrow’s doing?” The youngest Robin asked, frowning.

Red Hood and Red Robin shared a look – impressive, given that Hood’s face was entirely concealed by his impassive red mask – and then Red Robin grinned at Nightwing as Red Hood answered.

“We’ll explain when you’re older, Hell Spawn.” He said smugly. Nightwing just shook his head.

“Wait. How old are you?” Artemis asked suddenly, eyes narrowed at Robin.

The boy straightened, a petulant look on his face. “Older than he was when he started.” He huffed, gesturing angrily to Nightwing.

“Batman lets children run around in costumes and fight gangs and murderers and villains?” Miss Martian gasped, hands flying to her mouth in shock. “That’s so…so…irresponsible!”

“Hardly the most irresponsible thing we’ve done.” Red Hood chuckled, drawing huffs of laughter from his brothers, and interrupting whatever harsh response Robin would have given. Nightwing had to admit he was right.

“Remember that time we had that contest to see which one of us could get the best selfie with a Gotham villain?” Red Robin asked, smirking.

“You what?” Artemis gaped.

“Oh, I remember that!” Red Hood laughed. “Nightwing won that one.”

“Only because he has the personality of a golden retriever and the super power of making people like him despite arresting them multiple times!” Red Robin shook his head.

Nightwing grinned. “It’s really not my fault that I interrupted Ivy’s birthday party.”

The heroes glanced at each other, clearly unsure of how to react. Superboy seemed startled by the easy, relaxed banter, while Artemis looked thoroughly amused. Kid Flash, his mind probably still moving slowly from his earlier blood loss, looked simply lost. Miss Martian appeared to be worried by the implications, and Aqualad…well, he just looked like this was something he’d dealt with before. Nightwing couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy, if this kind of banter was a regular occurrence within the team.

“Or when Nightwing couldn’t get What Does the Fox Say out of his head and we made up a verse for Bats?” Red Robin giggled, before warbling in a terribly off-key voice, "What does the Bat say?"

“I am vengeance!” Red Hood growled in a semi-decent imitation of Batman’s voice.

“I am the night!” Red Robin added in a slightly less convincing voice.

“No names in the field.” Nightwing grinned, recalling their mentor’s faltering patience as they’d shouted these across the rooftops.

“Report.” Red Robin grumbled, then looked expectantly at Robin. The younger boy hesitated, glancing at the heroes, then sighed.

“No.” He said in a flat monotone. Nightwing couldn’t help but laugh along with his brothers despite how it made the pain in his ribs and jaw flare.

“What even are you people?” Kid Flash gaped.

“Family.” Nightwing shrugged, still grinning.

“Uh, no. I got kicked out of the family, remember? I’m not attached to you shits anymore.” Red Hood said, raising a finger to make his point.

“You can’t get kicked out of family, Hood. That’s why it’s family.” Nightwing rolled his eyes, exasperated.

“He’s right.” Red Robin nodded. “You’re stuck with us shits.”

“Ugh. I forgot you were so clingy – guess there’s only one way out of this crazy-ass family. And, having taken it, I don’t recommend it.” Red Hood sighed dramatically.

Red Robin groaned. “Nightwing, Red Hood won’t stop talking about his death and I’ve had enough. I’m starting a petition to kill him again so we can have some peace.”

“Twerp.” Hood snipped.

“Zombie.” Red Robin retorted.

“I would sign it.” Robin deadpanned.

“Shut up, Demon Spawn.” Hood growled.

“Alright, alright. Hush. Can I finish this with the heroes before we get into this again?” Nightwing sighed, glancing toward the team, who seemed to be watching the banter now with the same interest one would watch a particularly tight tennis game.

“He started it with—” Red Robin began.

“Enough, Baby Bird.” Nightwing sighed. Red Robin frowned, but didn’t try again.

“Thank you for your help tonight.” Nightwing turned to the heroes. “I trust you’ll make sure KF heals up.”

“Oh, you can count on that.” Artemis grinned. “Can we count on you calling us up when you find out what that substance is? I’m kinda invested in taking these jerks down now.”

Nightwing paused a moment. “If it’s something I think you could help with, yes.” He hedged. “We worked well enough together tonight. I wouldn’t be opposed to doing this again.”

“Batman will order you to remove them.” Robin muttered.

“I’ve made my entire vigilante career out of ignoring Batman’s orders. I’m not about to stop now.” Nightwing replied with a dismissive wave. Robin looked personally offended by the concept.

“Why do you think there’s room for you to be Robin?” Red Hood chuckled. “None of the rest of us were obedient enough.”

“Keep the comms. I’ll call you after hours if I find something.” Nightwing told the heroes, ignoring the sprouting irritation from his brothers. “I’d appreciate it if you could get me the chemical composition of this Kobra Venom as well, so I don’t have to have Oracle work it out. Save us some time in figuring out why the gang has these two substances in particular.”

“We will see what we can do.” Aqualad nodded. “Thank you for ensuring Kid Flash’s safety tonight. It was an honorable course of action for you to take, putting yourself in danger to keep him alive. We appreciate it.”

“It was pretty heroic.” Miss Martian added with a soft smile.

“Not a hero, but you’re welcome.” Nightwing replied, ignoring the snorts of laughter from his brothers behind him.

“Wait, I have a question before you go.” Kid Flash piped up. “All of you guys either wear a domino or a full helmet. But Batman’s mask covers the entire upper half of his face, but none of his lower. Why is that?”

“It is to avoid scaring the children.” Robin huffed.

“Actually, it’s so he can eat and breathe easily on the job.” Red Robin corrected.

“So the cops know he’s white.” Red Hood added.

“What—Little Wing, no.” Nightwing burst into startled laughter, Artemis joining him with a chuckle while the rest of the heroes stared, unsure if it was meant to be a joke.

“He was running around with you and your obviously not-white skin in the Robin costume!” Red Hood protested. “It makes sense!”

“No, no, it’s obviously so he can make out with criminals!” Nightwing managed to get out. His brothers broke down, remembering certain…incidents…with Catwoman.

“You’re all insane.” Superboy muttered.

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Nightwing replied, forcing down his laughter. He didn’t know what it was about having his brothers around, but something about being with them made his ability to remain professional and serious drop to nearly zero.

“We’ll take our leave for the night.” Aqualad said finally. “We will check in with our sources about the status of Kobra and Blockbuster, to ensure they are not behind this, and obtain the chemical composition of Kobra Venom if we can, and report back to you.”

“Sounds good.” Nightwing could feel his residual lopsided grin, and couldn’t find it in himself to wipe it off. “Don’t call until after midnight, though. Can’t guarantee I’ll have the comm on me before then.”

Aqualad acknowledged, and moved to reenter the bioship, the others following him. Artemis lingered a moment.

“Thanks for what you said tonight, Wing.” She said softly. “Working with so many superpowered beings…sometimes I forget that I earned my place on the team. With my background and all…well, you know about all that, you’ve made that pretty clear.” Artemis struggled for the words for a moment before adding, “Thanks for reminding me, I guess, that us humans can be pretty badass, too.”

Nightwing felt his grin settle into something gentler.

“Look, Artemis, you can’t go back and change your beginning. Most of us in the Bat Clan have learned that the hard way…or at least watched the results of trying. You can’t change your beginning. But you can start where you are and change your ending.” Nightwing said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “And from what I saw tonight, you’re doing a pretty good job of that. Sure, there’s still room to improve, but we’re all still working on something. Tonight, you protected your allies, took down your enemies, and kept a pretty level head overall. I may not be a hero fan, but I think you’re moving in the right direction to be one of the decent ones.”

Artemis smiled, blushing faintly at the praise. “Thanks, Wing.” She murmured, turning to join her team waiting for her in the bioship. The door closed, and the ship lifted away.

There was a moment of silence, then Red Hood snorted.

“This is why I stick around: to watch Big Bird embarrass himself with these corny speeches.” Hood laughed. Red Robin giggled, and Robin smirked.

“You know what? You’re all grounded.” Nightwing snapped in good-humored exasperation. “Hood, no guns. Red, no coffee. Robin, no…no…is there anything you love?” He asked, exasperated.

“Revenge.” Robin replied, eyes narrowed through the domino mask.

“Fine! Robin, no vengeance.” Nightwing sighed, ignoring his brothers’ snickering.

“I would say ‘I will get you for this’, but I suppose that is off the table now.” Robin deadpanned. Snickers turned to full-on laughter once more, and Nightwing found himself smiling along.

“So…pizza?” Red Hood asked. “I know you have the take-out menu for a 24-hour place. I saw it on your fridge.”

“Fine. Let’s go home. But you’re paying for it, Hood.” Nightwing grumbled. “And I am not going to be the one explaining to B why you all disappeared from Gotham with Joker and Harley still on the loose.”

Nightwing stopped suddenly, his mind kicking into gear as he remembered what he’d been intending to ask them after the heroes left.

“By the way. Where is Bane at these days?” He asked with a frown.

“Dunno. Got out of Arkham a few months ago with Joker’s last escape.” Red Robin shrugged. “Why?”

“Because the mercs tonight said the message from their boss was, in part, to call me mi pajarito.” Nightwing sighed.

“So…Bane might know you’re the first Robin, and be involved in something here in Blüdhaven.” Red Robin frowned. “Add into that the Fear Gas that I know you don’t actually need to confirm, because we all know that stuff on sight…and whatever this Kobra Venom is…we’ve got at least two big Gotham players here, one of whom is definitely still in Arkham.”

“Are you certain that you prefer the assistance of those…heroes…over speaking with Batman about this?” Robin asked, trying his best to sound like he knew best. Nightwing could hear the concern layered into it, however.

“Yeah. I don’t want B thinking that I need to have him rescue me in my own city. We’re not really on good terms right now.” Nightwing shook his head, then caught the looks he was getting from his brothers. “But if it gets bad here, I promise I’ll call you guys. I’m not going to be stupid about this.”

“You’re always stupid about these thing, Big Bird.” Red Robin sighed. “But we’ll keep quiet about this around Bats unless things get crazy out of hand.”

“Not talking about shit with the Old Man is, like, seventy-five percent of my relationship with him.” Red Hood agreed with a laugh.

“I will…respect your decisions.” Robin agreed begrudgingly. “For now.”

“Thanks, Baby Bat.” Nightwing ruffled the boy’s hair, earning a scowl. “Now, let’s get some pizza. And an ice pack or three.” He grimaced, ready to be done with getting hit for the night.

Nightwing lead the way home, shaking his head as he listened to his brothers bicker about which pizza toppings to order, and whether vegetarian pizza would be a blasphemy against pizzas everywhere. Things were going to get a little crowded and stressful in his little corner of the world, but for tonight, things were still okay.

And he’d take okay while he could get it.

Chapter Text

Dick wasn’t surprised to see that the heroes weren’t in the BPD when he arrived. He wasn’t sure he expected them at all. It’s not like they needed him as Detective Grayson now that they had a tentative alliance with him as Nightwing. They’d likely just move on to what they needed from Nightwing, and leave Detective Grayson to his murder cases.

He was a little surprised, however, that Amy wasn’t at her desk yet.

Dick was earlier than he normally was, despite the late night. Having all of his brothers crashing at his place after a vigilante-heavy night was great most times, but the early morning bickering to get everyone back to their assigned places wasn’t his favorite. Damian earned his ‘Demon Spawn’ nickname when Dick had to wake him up that morning, and of course Tim had to turn grumpiness into a competition. Jason had threatened to shoot everyone in the kneecaps or mouth at least three times before Dick managed to herd them out to head back to Gotham.

Despite his brothers’ protests about how they don’t really need to go to school since it was just a Friday, Dick got the younger boys sent off to find a normal education, and Jason had gone…somewhere. He assumed Gotham.

Dick sank into his chair, setting this morning’s sugar-laden coffee on the desk. He was exhausted, hurting, and would really have rather spent the day keeping the peace between his brothers than deal with the precinct. For all his bravado last night, he really hated interrogations.

The ring on his middle finger hid the extent of last night’s effects from the officers around him, but even with the ibuprofen in his system, he couldn’t hide the effects from himself. His chest ached sharply with every breath, cracked ribs protesting every small movement. He’d skipped breakfast entirely, unable to stand the thought of trying to chew with his deeply bruised jaw and bitten cheek. Coffee counted as breakfast, right?

Sure, as long as Alfie never finds out. Dick thought with a half-smirk.

He took a long sip from his mug, and sighed. For the first time that week, Dick felt grateful that Redhorn had taken away his entire caseload – without the heroes in his hair, he’d be free for the entire weekend. No extra overtime, no cases to chase for his front-door job, just the back-window job and figuring out what in the hell Bane and Scarecrow were up to…and where the heroes’ enemies and this Kobra Venom fit into all of it.

Dick glanced up to see Amy stalking toward their desks from the direction of Chief Redhorn’s office, radiating hair-raising fury.

“Hey, Ames, what’s—”

“You want coffee, Grayson?” She interrupted sharply. Dick blinked, and looked at the mug in his hand.

“I mean, I have—”

“You want coffee, Grayson.” Amy growled, and Dick set the mug down.

“Sure, let’s get coffee.” He shrugged. “Why not?”

Amy snatched up her jacket, and Dick trailed after her as she headed for the elevator in a miasma of barely-contained rage.

“What’s going on, Ames?” He asked as the elevator doors closed.

“I think we just need some coffee. Heard there’s good little café down the street.” She replied in a measured tone, and Dick nodded, tired brain catching on at last.

“I could definitely go for something a little more real than the coffee-adjacent sludge we have here.” He agreed, rolling his shoulders. “Long night trying to think my way through figuring out all the vigilante hunting crap with the heroes.”

“Running you ragged, are they?” Amy asked, giving him a grateful glance.

“More like I’m running me ragged, and they’re in and out as they please.” He sighed. “Seems they’ve been able to talk Nightwing, and even decided to see how he operates in person.”

“I’d guess that’s what the low-end gang boys and mercenaries the patrols picked up this morning are from.” Amy chuckled humorlessly. The tension in her shoulders was nearly making Dick hurt in sympathy. Despite her best efforts to appear relaxed, Amy gave off a dark aura that would rival the Bat’s.

“Best guess is yes.” Dick agreed with a sigh. “How much admissible evidence do you think we got with those bodies?”

“We’ll definitely be able to keep the gang kids, they’ve all got priors and were found near a bunch of contraband. The mercs…they’ll probably spend a night in jail after their hospital stays at most.” Amy shrugged.

The elevator opened, letting in a breath of fresh air from the oppressive feeling of Amy’s anger. Dick was burning with curiosity at this point, but kept up the light conversation down the street, to a low-end café on a corner just a few blocks away.

They ordered their drinks – Amy taking a simple option, and Dick whatever extravagant sugary monstrosity looked most diabetes-inducing – and sat down at the most secluded of the tables. The painful small talk lasted only until their drinks were called and retrieved.

Dick took a swig of his concoction, and sighed contentedly. Jay always made fun of him for his ‘basic white bitch’ coffee choices, but he stood by his belief that coffee didn’t have to be as dark and depressing as Gotham.

“So what couldn’t we talk about at the precinct, Ames?” Dick asked, watching Amy glare at her coffee for a moment as though it were personally responsible for whatever had gone wrong that morning.

“Redhorn called me in as soon as I stepped foot inside today.” She sighed, speaking so softly that Dick had to lean forward to hear her properly in the hum of the other café customers. “Asked if I needed to meet with IA about anything.”

“Does he know about your investigation?”

“Looks that way.” Amy grimaced, wrapping her hands around her mug. “Trouble is, he also reminded me about camaraderie between officers, and told me that I needed to talk to IA, to talk to two specific men. Whose names are mentioned in a couple of our documents.”

“Well, shit. I mean, after the raid turned up no leadership with such limited information sharing, I’d wondered about Redhorn, but…”

“But it’s looking like he’s in on it.” Amy finished. “Grayson, that’s three fourths of our precinct that are implicated in these schemes at this point. Including the chief of police and at least three or four of Internal Affairs.”

“Well, shit.” Dick repeated, and took another swig of coffee. It tasted almost sickly sweet on his tongue this time as his stomach sank at Amy’s words. The precinct was rotten through, and the more they learned, the more it looked like it was the entire force for the city, not just some of the low- to mid-level officers and detectives.

“How do we even begin to clean this up, Grayson?” Amy asked, rubbing at her face. “I’m so…I’m so mad that Redhorn could be part of this bullshit, and that IA is just as disease-ridden. But with them being on the take…who do we take this to? We have all this evidence, and it’s solid evidence…but who do we give it to now? If we can’t trust Chief Redhorn or IA, who can we trust?”

Dick drank from his mug to buy himself time to think. She had a valid question. Standard procedure was to bring these kinds of things up with Internal Affairs, and they’d investigate and prosecute. But who did you turn to when Internal Affairs was dirty, too?

“I suppose…we can always try for county?” He suggested slowly, frowning. “But Gotham’s always had an issue with county being as dirty as the PD. I guess we could try to go to the State officials, but…”

“But we’re in the same state as Gotham, which means everything is just a little questionable.” Amy agreed with a grimace. “And who even knows if they’d listen to us without any complaints filed with local and county.”

“We’ll figure this out, Ames. Where is your evidence right now?” Dick asked.

“A safe at home.”

“Keep it there for now. Or bring it to me and I can keep it in mine.” Dick paused, and frowned. “What did you tell Redhorn when he called you in and not-so-subtly said he knew?”

“I thanked him for his input, and informed him that I’d do what I felt was best for the integrity of this precinct and what best aligned with the oath I took.” Amy smirked. “I got an entire damn lecture at that point about loyalty and other bullshit as he made several thinly-veiled threats about what could happen to me if I decided to attack the precinct with ‘unfounded’ accusations.”

“So Redhorn knows you’re out for blood.” Dick managed a dark laugh. “You better be careful, Ames. I am not dealing with this precinct without you at the helm.”

“You won’t have to, Grayson. Give me the weekend to make some calls, and we’ll find someone to contact about this. Someone we can trust. Gather what you have, and we’ll package it up Monday for…whoever will be able to help us.” Amy shook her head, trying to gather what little confidence she had in this plan.

“Sounds good, Ames. I’ll make some calls too, see if I can find someone in the state who can listen. Commissioner Gordon is always happy to keep things on the straight and narrow, and I’m sure he can give me some names. We’ll sort this out.” He smiled with more assurance than he felt, and drained the rest of his coffee. “For now, though, it’s probably best that we don’t go looking too conspiratorial. I’ve gotta check in with the heroes, at least make a token effort to still help out their investigation into this vigilante.”

“Vigilante’s doing a better job than three fourths of the precinct.” Amy muttered bitterly. “Should just hire him on as an officer and make it official already.”

Dick snorted, barely keeping the coffee out of his nasal passage as he did so. “Sure. Let’s hire the spandex-clad weirdo to pass out parking tickets.”

“It does sound like a ridiculous image.” Amy agreed, laughing softly.

Not as ridiculous as the fact that the spandex-clad weirdo did in fact do his time handing out parking tickets. Dick thought wryly.

“Let’s get back, Ames. You’ve got cases to close, and with any luck, I’ll be back to really working with you within a few days. I’m sure the heroes are going to end up losing interest in little ol’ me now that they have contact with the vigilante.” Dick stood up, and lead Amy out, dropping a few dollars’ extra tip into the jar as he passed. “And we’ll sort all this out, and train the new force when the fallout is over.”

“Ugh. Almost makes you not want to report the lot of ‘em if we have to train a whole new batch of wide-eyed idiots fresh from the academy.” Amy groaned as they walked back toward the precinct. “It’s like raising a whole other set of kids on top of my own – training you up was bad enough!”

“Hey now, I wasn’t that bad.” Dick laughed. “And it’s not my fault you adopted me.”

“Well someone had to. Circus brat turned rich brat turned low-income police officer? You needed some kind of mother to show up at some point, and you just latched onto me. Plus my kids adore you, and you’re a cheap babysitter.”

“Just here for the cheap labor, I see.” Dick sighed, swooning dramatically.

“Oh, shut it, Grayson.” Amy rolled her eyes. “I’ve got some interviews to do. Get out of here. We’ll check in later.” With that, she gave a casual wave, turned, and headed for the parking garage while Dick continued up toward the precinct proper.

As he entered the elevator, his phone rang. Caller ID read ‘Wheelchair Wendy’ and he chuckled. Babs still hated that he’d put it there, but not enough to hack in and change it herself.

“What’s up, Wheels?” He answered cheerfully.

“Shut that mouth, Dick.” Babs snarked. “I have info, and you have ears, so use them.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dick chuckled, stepping into the bullpen. “What do you have for me?”

“Those vials Jay brought over earlier for you?” So that’s where Jay went this morning…I didn’t even check to see if he’d taken the vials. Dick shook his head, and Babs just continued, unaware of his interrupting thoughts. “I’ve run them through the system and it’s…weird. The one is definitely a combination of Bane’s Venom and some kind of…genetic experiment-turned-serum? I don’t even know what the hell to make of this, Dick. Jay said that your heroes identified it as Kobra Venom. If they can give you the formula, give it to me because until I play with this, I have no idea what’s going on with it. Best guess? Strong Venom.” Dick was surprised to realize that Babs actually sounded perplexed.

“How long would it take you to figure it out entirely, if I can’t get extra info?” He asked, sitting down at his desk and eyeing the cold mug from earlier.

“A few days? A week maybe? It doesn’t look too crazy complex, it’s just…very different from what I’m used to seeing in Gotham. We have surprisingly little messing about with genetics, given our demographics of weirdly intelligent crazies.” Babs chuckled. “I could figure it out, but it’ll take time you might not have. So put on the boyish charm and get information from your new friends.”

“Boyish charm? Babs, I’ll have you know—”

“Don’t argue, Boy Wonder. Just charm them like you charm the weird rich people Bruce hangs out with.” Babs interrupted with a fondly exasperated tone. “As for the other, it’s definitely Fear Gas.”

“Degree of confidence?” Dick asked, brow raised at her confidence.

“Personal guarantee.” She said immediately. “But there’s something a little weird about it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It’s been adjusted in ways that we’ve never seen Crane do. He’s always trying to make it faster and more horrifying, right? Make it a gaseous nightmare?”

“Right, that’s his style. Always has been.” Dick agreed, glancing around the bullpen at his coworkers. Years of talking about vigilantism on a cellphone in public had ingrained certain habits, and he watched his words carefully. None of the others seemed to be paying any attention, but he wasn’t about to take any chances.

“Well this? It’s not quite as potent as the stuff we always see.” Babs explained.

“What? Well, what’s the adjustment do then?”

“That’s the thing, Dick. It looks…well, it looks like an attempt to make it universal. I’m seeing attachment sites on the chemical that match up with the ones Bruce designed to account for Martian and Kryptonian biology. You know, when he created those universal antidotes we use, just in case we have to save a non-human?” Babs hesitated. “If my guess is right – and with my degrees, experience, and general state of being better at this than you, it’s most likely right – then this Fear Gas would work on every current member of the Justice League.”

Dick sat up in his chair, mind suddenly racing.

“Wait…seriously? Why would he do that? He doesn’t bother with anything outside of Gotham.” He paused, trying to catch up to his own thoughts. “Unless…”

“Unless Crane isn’t part of this.” Babs finished. “It doesn’t fit him. He’s never cared about anything beyond Gotham. And this? It doesn’t look anything like what he’d want to do anyway.”

“So, someone has either bribed him into this, or stolen from him and played with it.” Dick agreed. “Nacho Libre wouldn’t mind playing with the chemicals, but he’s not one to steal from another. There has to be another player here, or someone else pulling strings.”

“I’ll keep looking at these, try to figure out this genetic weirdness, and confirm what I’m thinking. But Dickie bird?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful. This isn’t looking like your usual Blüdhaven fare. It’s shaping up to be Gotham-level batshittery. And with Joker and Harley still skipping around somewhere here in Gotham, there’s not a lot of backup for you. Just…please be careful.”

“I got this, Babs. You know me.” Dick teased softly.

“That’s the problem, Dick. I do know you. And you know, it wouldn’t kill you to swallow your pride and ask for help sometimes.” He could hear Babs rolling her eyes on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, I could, but I’ve heard pride leaves a nasty aftertaste, and I just brushed my teeth before leaving for the precinct this morning…” Dick hummed.

Babs sighed.

“Babs, you know if I need it, I’ll call for it.” He reassured softly. “I’m stupid, but not that stupid. I’m not B. I’ll tell you if I get in over my head, okay? And I’m always here if the family needs me back in Gotham for something.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful, Dick.” She murmured.

“I promise, Babs. Now stop worrying, Mom.” He grinned as he heard her huff of laughter on the other end, immediately regretting it as his jaw protested fiercely.

“Oh, shut up. Go back to arresting delinquents or whatever it is that police do when they’re not cleaning up after vigilantes in excessive costumes.”

“You got it, Babs. You go do…what do you do all day, when you’re not doing this?”

“Goodbye, Grayson.” She laughed into the phone, hanging up on him without answering.

He tucked the phone away, and sighed.

There was a lot coming down the pipes. The corruption investigation with Ames was coming to a head, and with Redhorn aware that she wasn’t going to back down, Dick was worried about the potential ramifications. The man wasn’t one to settle things peacefully. Then there was the Kobra Venom and the universal Fear Gas, which were somehow in the same scheme with a small-time gang whose newest employer – likely Bane – wasn’t afraid to send real mercenaries in to keep things safe. One thing about that stuck in his mind was Babs telling him that the gas would probably work on the entirety of the Justice League.

Please don’t let that be what they’re planning. He sent up the silent prayer to whatever deity might listen, and rubbed at his eyes. The last thing he needed right now was a sudden need to explain what Fear Gas was to the heroes – especially the original JL members – and develop a universal antidote without B finding out what he was up to. Because although letting the younger hero team stay in his city unchallenged was a big no-no on the Bat Sliding Scale of Ways to Fail the Uniform, giving away Bat information was way higher. Just under the ‘no killing’ rule, actually.

And I’d really rather not fail the uniform in every possible way. Dick thought grimly. He’d already done a great job of pissing off the Bat repeatedly over the past several years – almost consistently since their first big blow out fight at fifteen – but B had always forgiven him for his mistakes, and let him stay in the fold. Of course, B didn’t know that he’d killed people as a police officer, but if he could accept Jay killing, maybe he’d be willing to forgive Dick, too.

Then again, he’d adopted Jay, where Dick had only stayed a ward until he’d aged out. Still sort of family, mostly by a combined blind denial of the legal side of things on his and Alfred’s parts, but not to the same degree as his brothers.

Dick shook away the thoughts, and rubbed at his jaw. He could feel the swelling under the illusion, and wondered if he should actually take something more significant than an occasional ibuprofen. He didn’t use pain pills often – if he used them for every injury he got on patrol, they’d be a part of a balanced breakfast – but today was hurting enough that it might just be worth breaking out his emergency stash.

“Detective Grayson!” A familiar voice called from near the elevator. He turned, catching sight of the heroes approaching. “We have much to update you on.” Aqualad finished, smiling warmly.

On second thought, those pain pills sounded better by the minute.

***

Bane stood before the screens, bathed in their soft white light as he exchanged the meaningless pleasantries expected of polite company. Under his painted luchador mask, he did his best to keep an impassive face. The money they offered for his assistance was better than good, even if they were more than a little loco.

“Now, how goes the most recent of our efforts to finally break down this calcified status quo?” A man asked from one screen.

“I have the products ready for delivery and use, although there was some issue with the local vigilante.” Bane replied. He chafed at working for others, but the funds they offered would be more than enough to finally reclaim his precious Santa Prisca and even upgrade beyond what he’d had before. The years since Kobra had taken it over had not been kind to him or his island, and he was tired of staying in Gotham with the Bat and his underlings.

“Oh? Do tell.” Another voice, smooth and honeyed replied.

“He’s called Nightwing, and he has the Little League heroes with him in town. They raided the warehouses, and attempted to disrupt my operations. Of course, with the policía on the take and kept calm with your generous donation to their cause, the product was quietly recovered.” Bane explained. They didn’t need to know about the four missing vials – they were already operating on a scale of twice the necessary amounts as a contingency, and he could easily explain it as damaged product in a move.

“Yes, they have been most useful.” The first mused. “However, I did receive a call from their chief earlier, he says they have someone making waves that he’d like quietly removed. A task for one of our agents, in exchange for further favors.”

“Will the vigilante become a further problem?” Another asked.

“No. I have ways of keeping him occupied. After all, my men had a chance to…ask a few questions of this Nightwing.” Bane paused, and looked to a screen on his right. “You’ll find this bit interesting,” he added to the man in that screen. “I am sure that this Nightwing is, in fact, the first of the Bat’s Robins – the acrobat.”

The man he addressed hummed. “Very interesting. Perhaps I will take up the contract for the chief of police myself. I do believe it is time for me to pay a visit to the city. Maybe even run into an old acquaintance.”

“Very well. Bane, continue with your part. You will be compensated generously for your extra efforts to keep this Nightwing and the Young Justice League occupied elsewhere as this plan is put into motion.” The first man who had spoken instructed. “Otherwise, continue as planned.”

Bane nodded, and turned to leave the dark room of bright screens.

“Bane.” Another man called, his voice rough and deep. Bane half turned to look.

“We appreciate your assistance in helping the world to see the Light.”

Chapter Text

Waking up with a dagger to his throat was exactly as terrifying the fourteenth time as it was the first. Dick went still the moment that the soft brush of cold steel touched his skin.

“Grayson. Your awareness is lacking.”

Dick sighed, and blindly batted at the knife-wielding hand. It withdrew, and he heard the tell-tale sound of a blade sliding into its sheath.

“Seriously, Dami? It’s the weekend.” He grumbled.

“Dawn has already come, Grayson. You promised the day to us, and the day has begun.”

“Alright, alright.” Dick muttered, dragging himself upright to stare blearily at his youngest brother. Damian waited impatiently by the side of his bed, arms crossed, eyes irritated and assessing. With a huff, he turned and stalked out of Dick’s bedroom, seemingly satisfied that his target was awake and unlikely to go back to sleep now.

Dick figured that while the threat of the knife was probably overexaggerated given that it had been put away, he decided not to start the day with pushing the trained-from-birth assassin’s patience. Eleven-year-olds weren’t known for their patience, after all.

He threw on an old Haly’s Circus t-shirt and mostly-clean jeans, and padded out into the living space. As he passed the bathroom door, he could hear the shower running. Tim sat typing at his laptop on the couch, fingers flying across the keyboard as he worked on whatever poor fool had currently attracted his scrutiny, empty mug next to him on the table. Damian was at the kitchen table, but stood when Dick walked in.

Without a word, his youngest brother handed him a bag of frozen peas, and tapped his own jaw with a finger in a silent instruction before turning back to sit at the table.

Dick smiled and held the bag to his aching face. The bruises were some very interesting colors now, and although he wasn’t about to win any beauty prizes without his illusionary ring, he could at least eat more easily now. The impromptu cold pack was still welcome, though, all the more so because of who it came from. Dami’s silent care for his brothers was something that never ceased to make Dick smile.

As he poured himself a bowl of generic frosted corn flakes, Dick heard Tim snort, and turned to see a triumphant smirk.

“Who’s the recipient of today’s cyber scrutiny?” Dick asked with a chuckle.

“Just a recent potential acquisition for WE. B has been thinking about buying them out since they have some projects that LexCorp is interested in. Looks like there’s some projects being kept quiet. Guess Mr. Baldy is going to miss out on those, since B will end up finalizing a deal later today now that I got through their systems.”

“If we’re not careful, little D, we’re going to end up with two Oracles.” Dick muttered to Damian. “And that thought terrifies me.”

“I wish I could have been on a team with Batgirl before she became Oracle.” Tim frowned.

“You never worked with Babs in the field?” Dick asked, surprised. He had been sure that they’d worked together at some point, but now that he considered it, he couldn’t recall when.

“No. What’s it like, working with her?”

“Well, let me put it this way, Baby Bird. Have you ever been locked in a steel cage with a wolverine?” Dick grinned. They laughed, and Dick shook his head. “She’s intense, and way more competent than she had any right to be. Honestly, with more time and experience, I think she could have taken on Bats.”

Jason chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom, wet hair dripping down into his face, shirt sticking slightly to his frame from the moisture. He stumbled into the living room, and flopped down onto the couch next to Tim.

“You look like a corpse we just pulled out of the river.” Tim grimaced, sliding his laptop away from his wet brother.

“Wrong. I look like a cool rock star who OD’d in his own pool.” Jason corrected with a grin. “What’s the plan today, Dickie-bird?” He asked, pulling out a gun from his bag beside the couch and beginning to dismantle it for a cleaning.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that in here.” Dick sighed, watching the process over his bowl of cereal.

“When I do it in the park, people look at me funny.” Jason shrugged. “Everyone here knows gun safety, and two of us are even licensed to concealed carry. It’s not like the Demon Spawn is going to play with them like they’re toys.”

“Those are much too simple to be fun.” Damian agreed.

“See?”

“That’s really not the point.” Dick sighed, but dropped it. “Let’s get outside in actual sunlight today.”

“What is this sunlight of which you speak?” Tim frowned.

“Never heard of it.” Jason agreed, cleaning out the barrel of his .45.

“Well, I’ll introduce you today.” Dick waved a hand. “You guys got a curfew for being back in Gotham today?”

“I don’t think B is even really aware we left.” Tim shrugged. “He’s been in the Cave pretty much since the breakout. No sign of Joker yet, but Alfie kicked us out to ‘go be boys elsewhere’ and you’d already offered us this weekend anyway, so here we are.”

“Alfie’s right. We’ve all spent too many hours in the Cave looking for something we won’t find until it’s ready to be found.” Dick nodded. “Besides, you need to be kids for a while anyway. So let’s go to a park, get some bad food cart food, buy some cheap ice cream, and be civvies today.”

“Blüdhaven is ridiculously paparazzi-free.” Jason said thoughtfully. “I’m down. Don’t even have to hide my face too much here.”

It didn’t take much more to convince the younger boys and get out the door. This early in the day, the park was still fairly empty. They settled down at the base of a large tree, hiding Tim’s pasty Gothamite skin from the already-strong sunlight.

“Have you ever wondered,” Jason started suddenly, “what would happen if you used the Pit’s water to gargle? Like, would it fix your cavities?”

“Or what if you drink it? Like, make coffee with it?” Tim asked, speculative.

“It’s likely inadvisable. The Pit is barely reliable in the ways it is currently used.” Damian muttered.

“I don’t know where this line of thought is going, but I’m stopping it.” Dick interrupted. “We are not going to give anyone ideas.”

“Jay, would you drink the Pit’s water if I dared you?” Tim asked, ignoring him entirely.

“I’d drink it to sate my own curiosity.” Jason snorted.

“Nope. Not doing this today. No Pit talk.” Dick shook his head.

“Fine. Then when I get murdered, Dick, can you make sure I become an unsolved case?” Jason grinned.

“Wait, when you get murdered?” Dick frowned.

“I want to be on Buzzfeed Unsolved.” Jason replied, as though that explained anything.

“Jay, you already are. From the first time you got murdered.” Tim laughed. “I’ll send you the link.”

“What? Yes!” Jason cheered.

“Hold on. Can we go back to the part where you said ‘when I get murdered’? Because that’s the concerning part to me.” Dick interjected.

“Grayson, we are all aware that Todd’s life will be taken in a fit of entirely justifiable rage.” Damian smirked.

“Just the way I prefer it.” Jason nodded in confirmation.

“How’s school been for you guys?” Dick asked, trying to find some excuse for normal conversation.

Damian scowled. “My classmates are ridiculous and incompetent, and indulge in far too many inanities.”

Tim started to cackle, and Dick frowned. This felt like a story waiting to be told.

“What’s going on with your classmates, Dami?” He asked, leaning forward.

“There are two ‘Robin’s in my class. They will not stop their boasting about their namesake, how it is better than Old Blood Gotham names because of the heroics of their namesake.” Damian growled. “And I am not permitted to tell them how they’re named after the lazy fool who has fallen asleep in a bowl of sugary cereal and then been confused when he awoke to a sticky face.”

Dick laughed, and ruffled Dami’s hair.

“Aw, is it hard to keep family secrets, Baby Bat?” He crooned. “I’ve only done the sleeping-in-cereal thing once, and I’ve saved people hundreds of times, so really, they’ve been named after one of the most badass Gothamites.”

“Aren’t you a Robin now, anyway? Just pretend they’re named after you.” Tim shrugged.

“They cannot be named after me, as most are nearly a year my senior.” Damian scoffed. “they are named after the first Robin, and yet they have no clue what their namesake truly is.”

“Ah, the woes of an eleven-year-old veggie.” Jason chuckled.  “What I want to know are the woes of our twenty-three-year-old veggie.” He looked meaningfully at Dick. “How are things with your little intruders?”

“I think I’m subconsciously trying to ruin my own life.” Dick groaned, leaning back against the trunk of the tree.

“Oh, so it’s not a conscious decision?” Jason grinned.

“Look, they’re not that bad. Yeah, they’ve made some dumb mistakes, but they’re heroes in vigilante turf. They don’t know the rules of the game in places like Gotham and Blüdhaven.” Dick sighed. “For not knowing the rules though…they’ve done well. And Artemis had my back with that little snafu with the mercs. They seem to have the right priorities, and are willing to share information. It’s…not as bad as I’d worried.”

“Of course the veggie with the superpower of friendship would adopt the Sidekick Squad.” Jason snickered.

“Actually, my meta power is your mom jokes.” Dick said in his best haughty voice.

Damian frowned. “How would that be a power?”

“I’m an orphan, they can’t say anything back.” Dick explained with a shit-eating grin. Tim booed him, throwing a fistful of torn grass into his face. “But seriously, guys. They’re…weirdly okay.”

“Just be prepared for them to decide you’re not worth the effort.” Tim muttered.

“Contingency plans are essential to all potential dealings with any heroes.” Damian agreed. Failing to prepare is preparing to fail. Bruce’s voice agreed in the back of Dick’s mind.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Dick replied, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. “But I’m telling you, they don’t seem like they’re going to be like that. I’ve been interacting with them under two different masks, remember? And they’re pretty up front with Detective Grayson.”

“They’re even more honest in their apartment with each other.” Tim pointed out. “Which, looking over the recordings, you would have avoided a lot of bull if you’d actually listened in sometimes.”

“Listened in…” Dick frowned, before realization hit. “Wow. I am the biggest dumbass.”

“You forgot about the mics you hid in the apartment.” Tim deadpanned.

“I forgot about the mics I hid in the apartment.” Dick agreed with a sigh. He supposed he’d finally hit his limit. Ladislav had taught him, so many years ago, about the juggling limit – that everyone had a limit on how many items they could keep in the air. And life was like a juggling act, where everything you had to remember, to do, to keep track of, was a juggling ball. Dick just seemed to have one ball too many in the air this past week. Not too far past his limit, for sure. Just…just one ball.

But if one ball had already fallen unnoticed, what were the chances that others could end up the same way?

He pushed away the thoughts, and refocused. “Well, I guess I’ll just…make sure to listen in more now.”

“I’ve listened some. Their orders from the big JL are to either convert or capture.” Tim informed him. “So just…be careful, Big Bird.”

The park had started to fill with other people, and an unspoken decision to move from the topic passed between them.

And not a moment too soon, as a voice called across the green.

“Detective Grayson!”

Dick and his brothers looked toward the voice, seeing a human Miss Martian – Megan, she called herself – waving as she lead the team over to him.

“Speak of the devil…” Jason muttered, pulling his baseball cap a little lower and putting on a pair of sunglasses.

“Hello, Detective Grayson!” Megan repeated, beaming. “We did not expect to see you this morning! Isn’t it just a beautiful day?”

“Definitely is.” Dick agreed, sitting up.

“These are your brothers, right?” She asked, glancing over the youngest two. “Tim, and Dami?”

“Damian.” The youngest of the Wayne family corrected stiffly.

“Right, sorry. And who are you?” She asked Jason with a cheerful, open smile. Behind her, the team glanced over the brothers, but let Megan take the friendly lead.

“A friend.” Jason replied with an easy smile.

“Practically a brother.” Tim agreed. Dick resisted the urge to shoot a warning glare.

“How many children does Bruce Wayne have, anyway?” Kid Flash – Wally, out of uniform – asked, tilting his head to the side in what was likely meant to be a teasing way. Dick, however, could feel the shit-eating grin Jason developed, and knew what was coming, although he was powerless to stop it.

“Biologically, legally, or emotionally? Because there is a difference.” Jason grinned.

“Let’s go with all three.” Artemis said. When her team looked at her, she shrugged. “What? I’m curious now.”

“I am the only blood son.” Damian informed her proudly.

“He has three legally, between The Blood Son and us adopted schmucks.” Tim chuckled.

“And emotionally?” Megan asked.

“None.” Jason laughed. “Man’s colder than ice. Kids are raised by the butler and Dickie boy here.”

“Hardly. B does his best.” Dick defended, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with Jason airing his grievances with Bruce in front of the heroes.

“Father is imperfect, but he provides what we need to become accomplished members of society.” Damian agreed. Dick noted with a twinge that the boy didn’t mention any argument against the lack of emotional support. He wasn’t sure that Damian even knew that there should be emotional support from his parents, and not just his siblings.

“Hey, think the taco cart is open yet?” Dick asked Jason, ignoring the slightly uncomfortable heroes for the moment. “Grab us something, yeah?”

Jason muttered something under his breath, but got up and stalked off across the park.

“Sorry about that. He and Bruce have had some…disagreements before.” Dick explained. “Did you guys need something today? Because the boys and I were kind of planning to have a day together.”

“The boys?” Artemis frowned.

“You know…my brothers?” Dick replied slowly, gesturing to Damian and Tim with confusion.

“Every time someone mentioned ‘the boys’, they were talking about your brothers.” Megan said, sounding like she had been given a piece to a complex puzzle.

“…Yes?” Dick replied, frowning. “It’s just kind of how I talk about them with coworkers and friends?”

“That…makes a lot of sense actually.” Wally mused. “We thought maybe they were talking about a gang or something.”

Tim burst out laughing at that, doubling over and grabbing at the grass.

“Dick…working with a gang?” He gasped through peals of laughter. “Like…like an actual…law-breaking…gang?”

“That is entirely ridiculous.” Damian agreed, looking disgusted. “Do you always assume that police detectives are involved in illicit activities, or is it just Grayson?”

“Well, we—” Artemis started, only to be interrupted.

“Is it because of his heritage, his childhood, or his former guardian?” Damian asked sharply, staring at the blonde. “Because that would make you racist, bigoted, and-or classist, none of which are a flattering look on anyone who might be working with law enforcement.”

Dick reached over with a leg, nudging Damian’s knee with a toe. “Easy, Dami. I doubt that my Rom blood, circus upbringing, or time as Bruce’s ward were the reason. It’s Blüdhaven, buddy. We all know it’s a sketchy city. Good on them for being cautious.”

“We did not mean to offend.” Kaldur – he really did just look like Aqualad in a turtleneck, did they have any idea how to disguise themselves? – soothed. “We simply wished to be cautious, as we were new to the city, and had…heard things about the city.”

“Blüdhaven’s a shitshow for sure, but she’s home.” Dick grinned. “The question does stand, though…did you need anything from me today?”

“No, we just wanted to say hello!” Megan beamed. “We were just out and about and saw you and…well, yeah, wanted to say hello.”

“We’ll leave you to your family time.” Kaldur smiled. He herded the other heroes away, for which Dick was thankful. He didn’t really want to deal with the heroes during a rare day off like this. He fully intended to enjoy his weekend with his brothers while he could.

“I’ll go bring Jay back.” Tim murmured, standing up.

“Thanks, Tim.” Dick sighed, knowing that Jay’s anger was mostly directed at Bruce, but regretting his abrupt send-off nonetheless. He was more than aware of Jay’s issues with their father, but it was hardest to deal with when it came out in public.

Tim headed off in the direction Jason had gone, leaving Damian and Dick alone.

“What do they mean about having ‘emotional children’?” Damian asked suddenly. Dick blinked, caught off-guard, which Damian took as confusion, and explained. “When asking about Father’s children, Todd said that there was a difference between biological, legal, and emotional children. I understand biological and legal, but I am…confused…about what he meant by children by emotion.”

“He means the children that Bruce loves and cares for as his own, whether they’re biologically or legally his, or not.” Dick replied, wracking his brain as he tried to figure out how to explain it. “They’re the ones he’d treat as his own kids without caring about their relationship to him.”

“That does not seem like Father.” Damian frowned.

“No, I guess not. Not anymore, anyway. He was different, when I first met him. He really tried to be there for me emotionally when I first landed in his care after the circus. It was still hard, since I was used to everyone around me acting like I’m their child – it’s just how Haly’s Circus was – but he tried.” Dick sighed. “The years have been hard on him. You can’t…you can’t fight darkness every night without some of it getting inside you, too.”

“But you have fought darkness as much as he for nearly as long, and you are still insufferably happy.” Damian pointed out.

“Because I try really hard to keep my darkness down. I don’t feed it, or let it grow any more than I have to.” Dick replied, worrying his lower lip. “I’ve seen what it did to B, and I don’t want to end up making the same mistakes.”

Damian was silent for a moment, staring into the grass in front of him. Dick held in his urge to talk, knowing that his brother needed time to figure out his mind at times.

“Did I ever have a chance to not have darkness?” Damian finally asked softly. “Raised by Mother and Grandfather as I was, then brought to Gotham…I have always had darkness that Todd, Drake, and you did not have at my age. And Father has always known it. I think…I think he fears what I could become with this…darkness inside me.”

“The way you were raised wasn’t your fault, Dami.” Dick murmured, sliding over to sit right next to the boy. “And you’ve worked hard to not stay that way. You’ve gotten a lot better. I see it every time I look at you – you fight the darkness inside you as hard as you do the darkness in Gotham.”

“Do you think…do you think if Father had met me the way I am now…” Damian hesitated, visibly trying to figure out how to phrase what he wanted to ask, “do you think…he would have accepted me? That I could have been one of his…emotional children?”

“Oh Dami.” Dick breathed, pulling his youngest brother into his arms and holding him as tightly as he dared. For once, Damian didn’t try to pull away. “I don’t know about Bruce. He’s a hard man to understand, and even harder to predict. But I love you the way you were, the way you are, and whatever way you’ll be in the future.” He promised, holding his brother close.

“You cannot promise that, Grayson. You do not know what you will think of me in the future. What if I return to my past as an assassin? Or decide to become a mercenary for hire, like your nemesis Deathstroke?” Damian muttered, head pressed against Dick’s chest, his voice quiet and vulnerable.

“Come on, Dami, Jay kills people on a bi-weekly basis, and I still love him.” Dick teased softly. He was rewarded with the feeling of Damian fighting a chuckle, and the glimpse of a smile from above. Damian pulled away, and Dick shifted so he could look into his brother’s eyes.

“Dami, listen to me. My love isn’t conditional. You can’t do anything to make me not love you anymore. I might get angry sometimes, and frustrated; I might disagree with your choices and say stupid things when you make mistakes. But I will never stop loving you no matter what you do. I’m always going to be here, and so are our brothers. That’s what family is.”

“We are hardly a normal family.” Damian scoffed, and Dick pretended not to notice as the boy pulled his own emotional mask back together, or the slight dampness on his shirt from where he’d held his littlest Robin.

“A family doesn’t have to be normal, Dami. Sometimes a family is a broody vigilante with an orphan addiction, a circus boy who butchers the English language, a zombie with a gun fetish, a computer geek who could outthink God, a teeny eleven-year-old weapons specialist with a collegiate vocabulary, and a British butler with unconfirmed immortality who could probably beat Superman in hand-to-hand combat.” Dick grinned, earning an eye roll from Damian. “Come on, Baby Bat. Let’s eat unhealthy food and do nothing productive today with our brothers.”

“Mother wouldn’t approve.” Damian shook his head.

“But Grayson would.” Dick winked. “And Grayson is in charge today.”

“Do not refer to yourself in the third person, Grayson, it is unsettling.” Damian huffed, though there was a thoughtful look in his eye as they watched for their brothers’ return.

Dick wasn’t sure how to tackle helping an eleven-year-old work through the emotional minefield that was their family, but he hoped that maybe he had sealed the worst of the leaks in the boat today. Hopefully, it would keep his baby Robin from sinking long enough for him to figure out how to add this newest ball into his own juggling act.

Because it was one ball he couldn’t afford to drop.

***

Dick pulled on the Nightwing uniform earlier than normal, barely waiting for full dark before he started checking over his equipment in preparation for a night of his back-door job. Well, back window job anyway. He thought with a shrug, leaving his illusionary ring on the side table.

His brothers had been called away in the late afternoon by an irate Batman who had a lead on the Joker’s location and wanted to know where the rest of his strike force had gone when there was still a psychotic clown on the loose. They’d left back for Gotham, and Dick, despite wanting to help, waited instead on their call. He knew they could take care of things in Gotham, and that his presence at this point would just make things harder with Bats. Their latest disagreement – and his subsequent disobedience – were still too fresh for them to work well together on a Joker hunt.

So instead he geared up in preparation of a long night distracting himself from what his brothers were up to. He figured he could check in with the heroes, see if they had information for him – maybe even that formula for the Kobra Venom – and then…pick a fight somewhere? Patrol?

It wasn’t a great plan.

But he would self-destruct if he sat in his apartment all night hoping for his brothers’ safety against the worst of Gotham’s psychopaths, so he applied his mask, and stepped out onto his balcony.

The trip over to the heroes’ apartment balcony was a quick and easy one – just over the rooftop and dropping onto the metal balcony outside someone’s bedroom window – and he knocked sharply on the glass.

The window opened to a suspicious Superboy and Artemis, the latter of which smiled when she realized who was knocking at their window.

“Come in, Nightwing.” She invited, stepping aside. Superboy didn’t move for a moment, but ended up allowing Nightwing to step in. He immediately ran through the apartment layout, marking windows and doors in his mind. Never enter an area without knowing the way out, Bat’s voice reminded him.

“Hey friends,” he chirped, following Artemis into the living room and trying not to chafe at Superboy’s looming presence behind him, “I come hoping for a formula and bringing information.”

He settled on the back of one couch as the heroes sat down around him. Their apartment felt slightly off, being the mirror to his – and cleaner – and he tried not to look too anxious, pasting on a lopsided smile and trying to look at ease.

“We did manage to get the formula of Kobra Venom for you.” Aqualad told him, handing over a flash drive that Nightwing was sure Oracle would check for bugs before allowing it access to her systems.

“Don’t know how much more help it will be than us, since we can just tell you what Kobra Venom does.” Kid Flash muttered.

“It will help me figure out what it’s doing with a shipment of the other chemical.” Nightwing informed him. “Because if they’re used together or separately, it will be obvious in their compositions.”

“Okay that’s…that’s fair.” Kid Flash acquiesced. “I guess I could figure that out by their bonding points too, yeah. So what’s the other chemical?”

“That’s the…fun part.” Nightwing worried his lower lip, and decided to take the plunge. After all, at the end of the day…it wasn’t just a Gotham issue anymore if it had left Gotham. “It’s a chemical we’ve seen a lot in Gotham. We call it Fear Gas. It’s manufactured by a Gotham psycho we call Scarecrow. It’s…it’s not good stuff. Once inhaled, it induces a severe fear reaction that causes auditory and visual hallucinations. It basically strips you of your ability to tell what is real and what isn’t, and puts you into a living nightmare made up of your own fears.”

“How have we never heard of this stuff before?” Kid Flash frowned.

“It’s never left Gotham before.” Nightwing shrugged. “Scarecrow doesn’t care about anything outside of Gotham, like many of our rogues there. His microcosm of villainy is only as big as the city limits. But this concoction…it looks like someone took normal Fear Gas and has attempted to make it universal.”

“Universal how?” Aqualad asked, eyes narrowing.

“Universal as in not limited to humans anymore. Fear Gas in the past has only worked on human anatomy due to its bonding sites. But this particular batch of Fear Gas that we took from the warehouse has been adjusted to be able to bond to Martians, Atlanteans, Kryptonians…you name it, and it might work.” Nightwing grimaced.

“What do you mean by might work?” Artemis asked.

“Well, it hasn’t been tested on any non-humans yet, or the Justice League – or Batman – would have heard about it. And I don’t know nearly enough about non-human neurobiology to know if it would work just by looking at it. So it might not work, but it’s not a chance I’d take.” Nightwing explained. “Because if it does work on all non-human species, then it would single-handedly take down the Justice League and leave them vulnerable to attack. It’s almost impossible to defend yourself while on Fear Gas if you’ve never experienced it before. I’ve dealt with it for over a decade and it’s still hard for me to fight while under its influence.”

“So their target is the Justice League?” Superboy asked with a deep frown.

“Might be the Justice League.” Nightwing corrected. “It’s definitely Bane involved here, but I don’t know what his end game is. It just…doesn’t feel like his kind of plan. He doesn’t get along with Scarecrow, and this doesn’t feel like his style. Plus there’s the Kobra Venom coming into it…I’m just not sure how it all fits together.” He admitted.

“Honestly…Batman would have my hide for telling you about Fear Gas.” He confided. “But if we’re going to figure out what’s going on and protect the Justice League from Gotham chemical weapons, you need to know what you’re up against.”

“We appreciate your honesty and trust, Nightwing.” Aqualad replied somberly.

Nightwing missed what the hero said next, as his comm buzzed in his ear. He didn’t hesitate to tap the earpiece to join the Bat comms.

“Nightwing. What’s wrong?” He asked abruptly, ignoring the heroes’ startled looks.

“Wing. It’s Red Robin. Someone…Bat’s not listening. He can’t see past Joker right now because we’ve almost found him and he won’t…he won’t listen, Wing! But it’s not all Joker. There’s someone else, and I think it might be Bane’s guys, and—” Red Robin’s frantic voice stumbled and stuttered as he tried to speak.

“Red, take a breath. What isn’t all the Joker?” Nightwing asked, his heart stopping dead in his chest.

“Robin…Someone grabbed Robin.”

“Someone…what?” He asked, feeling the world get cold around him.

“Robin’s gone, and I know the Joker didn’t take him. But Bats won’t listen so we need you to come. We need to get him back. Please, Wing, we have to find him.” Red Robin’s voice cracked, and Nightwing could hear the tears building behind his brother’s mask.

“I’m coming, Red. I’ll be in Gotham in fifteen.” Nightwing paused, and looked at the heroes. “Actually…make that five.”

He clicked off the comms, and took a breath. There was no room for panic right now.

“Heroes…I need your help.” Nightwing said, meeting their eyes from behind his mask. They looked to each other, and Aqualad straightened his shoulders.

“You have it.”

Chapter Text

Dick was weeks from eighteen the first time he felt no remorse over disobeying a direct order. Oh, he’d disobeyed hundreds of times since he first hit the streets as Robin at the ripe age of nine years old, but those had always ended in lectures, guilt, and shame.

He was climbing to the roof of Gotham Manor now, ribs and back aching from his earlier…discussion with Bruce on the topic. But bruised skin and muscle, scraped joints…it didn’t slow him down much anymore. He’d faced Gotham’s worst, and come out swinging no matter the injuries. So climbing the ivy-covered wall outside his bedroom to get to the roof while hurting wasn’t much of a hassle anymore.

Alfred always told him you couldn’t build up a true immunity to pain like you could disease. That your tolerance could be built, but a sprained wrist would always hurt like a sprained wrist – it would just seem to matter a little less after you’d had a broken wrist.

But there was still a piece of his mind that hoped, if he told himself enough that he didn’t really feel it anymore, maybe he wouldn’t.

Still, pain was the least of his worries tonight. Because tonight, his objective wasn’t the solitude of a high place like the night almost three years ago when he ran into Superman. Tonight, he was looking for the huddled figure at the peak of the manor’s rooftop.

Somewhere along the way, Tim had picked up on Dick’s need for height and space during the hard times. And at some point, he’d started doing the same. Now, after a rough night on patrol, or an awkward school day, Dick could find his soon-to-be-official little brother up on the roof, or in one of the majestic oaks of the Wayne Manor property.

He wondered if he’d hit eighteen before Tim was officially adopted, or if he’d get at least a few weeks of having a little brother again before he aged out of being Bruce’s ward.

Dick dropped down to sit next to Tim’s huddled form, one arm draped over a propped up knee, off leg stretched out as he leaned back on the other arm. Together, they stared into the darkness of the manor grounds, nightly activities done, but dawn not yet approaching.

“You okay, Baby Bird?” He asked after a moment of silence.

“Yeah.” Tim replied quietly, staring over crossed arms toward the distant reaches of the manor grounds. “I don’t…I don’t get it. Tonight…” He took in a shuddering breath, and hugged his knees tighter against his chest. “Dick, I was so scared tonight. I thought I…I thought I was gonna…”

Dick reached out and pulled his brother against his side, holding him as the preteen hiccuped into his side, shaking with quiet, shivering sobs. He stared up at the star-dotted sky, allowing the newest Robin a moment.

“I know.” He murmured into the messy dark hair. “I know, I’ve been there before. But I didn’t let that happen. And I won’t let it happen. Not tonight, not ever.”

They sat that way for a moment, just watching the horizon for signs of a dawn still hours away.

“He’s really mad at you.” Tim whispered, not pulling away from Dick’s side. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. I know you had other orders from Bats.”

“Aw, he’s been mad at me before, Timmy, and he’ll be mad at me again. Our first really big fight, I was only a few years older than you. We exchanged words, and some blows, and then I took my R Cycle and rode until I ran out of gas. Turns out I made it all the way to Metropolis.” Dick chuckled dryly at Tim’s surprised look. “Hey, it’s an efficient little motorcycle!” He protested, as though needing to defend the R Cycle, though that particular one was probably six replacements ago now.

“Anyway, I end up in Metropolis, right? And you know how I like height when I’m trying to think. So I’m on the top of this massive skyscraper and Superman shows up. Thought I was suicidal, being up that high and all.” Dick smiled softly. “It was the first time that Bruce and I really got into it, and it ended up being the Big Blue Boy Scout that talked me into going home.” He shrugged. “We’ve fought plenty of times since then, and I’ve always gone back to apologize.”

Dick paused, looking down into the searching eyes of young Tim, the newest Robin, only eight months in the field.

“But I won’t apologize for tonight.” Dick told him. “Because tonight, Bruce was wrong. I don’t care what he says, his orders were wrong tonight.”

“But Joker got away tonight because you came to help me instead of doing your part.” Tim murmured, looking away again.

“It doesn’t matter. We can find him again, and we can catch him next time.” Dick replied firmly. “Because it’s not worth risking one of us to catch him and put him back in Arkham. I know what we do is dangerous, I know – I know – that we can’t prevent everything, and that we’re going to slip up and get hurt, and that maybe someday…someday one of us will end up dying in the line of duty again. But Timmy, it’s not worth pushing the odds that far. I don’t care what psycho we’re chasing, what threat they’ve made. If the cost of putting the Joker back in Arkham is you, little Robin, then it’s not worth it. It will never be worth it.”

Dick didn’t realize he had tears rolling down his cheeks until Tim handed up a crumpled tissue to him. He gave a shaky laugh, and wiped at his cheeks, ducking his head as he tried to get himself under control.

“Sorry, Tim. I don’t mean to…” Dick took a shuddering breath, and tried again. “I just mean that it’s never going to be worth losing another Robin. Not just to put someone away.”

“Is it because of Jason?” Tim asked quietly. Dick felt the same ice he’d felt for almost a year stab into his gut again. The agony of coming home to find that his brother was gone. That when Bruce had told him to stay at school, to not worry, that everything was under control…that it had all been a lie.

He’d made a promise that night.

“A little, but it’s because of you, too.” Dick replied. “Jason’s death…I was in business school. Early admission due to early graduation. He called me. Told me he had some info on his bio mom. That he was going to track her down, finally talk to her. I asked if he wanted me to come, he wasn’t sure. I was packing my bags when B called me and told me it was handled. Ordered me to stay out of it. We’d just had a huge fight…and I listened. I didn’t want to be around him anyway, and I thought he’d take care of Jason.”

Dick wiped ineffectually at his still-wet face, Tim leaning heavily against his side, reminding Dick of a cat content to mold himself to a warm side. He couldn’t seem to stop the slow flow of tears that the memories and conversation were bringing on.

“I realized, when I came home, that orders…there are some things more important than orders. Even from the Bat.” Dick breathed, and continued. “You are more important than orders, Tim. The moment he took you under his wing and you began to be trained as the new Robin, I promised myself that I’d never make the same mistake again. I’d never obey orders if it meant leaving one of my brothers to face something alone.”

They sat together in shared silence for a moment, each organizing their own thoughts. There was a lot to organize, it seemed. Too many thoughts, memories, and emotions to fit neatly into one head. A certain memory, and its accompanying thoughts, rose to the surface.

“There are still lines we don’t cross, though.” Dick murmured into the quiet. “When I got back…I had decided to finish what Bruce wouldn’t. I hunted down the Joker, I…” He trailed off. “I killed him, Timmy. I hit him until he stopped moving, and I couldn’t stop. B pulled me off, didn’t say a word. Just started CPR and called in an ambulance.”

“You…you killed the Joker?” Tim gaped at his older brother, eyes wide.

“You have to understand, Timmy, I…I was so mad about Jay’s death. I wasn’t thinking straight. And I finally killed that deranged clown. But you know what the worst part was?”

“What?”

“I didn’t feel any better after. I didn’t feel relief that he was gone, or vindicated that he’d paid the price of killing my brother. All I felt was the same cold emptiness that I’d felt since Jay’s death. It didn’t change anything.” Dick shook his head, bangs falling over his eyes. “I realized that...that revenge wouldn’t get me anywhere. And that’s something you need to know. We don’t fight in Gotham to take vengeance against those who do wrong here. We’re fighting to keep people safe, to prevent more evil from happening.”

“But if prevention is our goal,” Tim began, voice hesitant, “then wouldn’t it have been better to have stopped the Joker tonight, instead of coming to help me?”

“Maybe, if all I cared about was the numbers.” Dick shrugged. “But I’m selfish, and I care more about you being safe than I do people I don’t know. I won’t be happy with whatever happens next with Joker. But stopping him isn’t worth your life. It never will be.”

“But…why? I’m just one kid.” Tim frowned.

Dick paused then, trying to figure out his own words. How could he explain to this kid, who was the epitome of logical thinking, and way smarter at twelve than Dick had any hope of being in any foreseeable future, that Tim was worth more to him than the mission, than orders? That, like Jay, this new little Robin had hijacked his heart, and that the world could burn, and he’d be okay, as long as he didn’t lose this kid who looked at the world and saw possibilities?

“We’re Robins, Timmy,” he said softly, carefully, “and while our lives aren’t arbitrarily worth any more than anyone else around us, our potential makes us special. Your life…it’s worth so much more than just a single moment of victory for The Mission. Sure, maybe if we’d left you alone today, we’d have caught the Joker, and a dozen lives would be saved tomorrow from whatever half-baked scheme he comes up with. But what about the years ahead of you? How many more psycho schemes will you stop as Robin? How many hundreds of thousands of lives will you save over the course of your time as a vigilante? And that’s just as Robin. What about all the good you’ll do once you graduate from Gotham Academy, and get to really influence this world? When you someday take over Wayne Enterprises and all of its various projects?”

“I…I hadn’t thought of that before.” Tim whispered. Dick could see the kid’s brain racing to run the numbers on what he’d proposed, and turned his eyes back to the star-dotted sky, entirely clear of clouds for the first time in months.

“That’s because you’re the dumbest genius I know.” Dick teased, ruffling Tim’s hair. “But I didn’t think of it like that until Alfred explained it to me, either.” He admitted.

“Alfred is the real genius in the manor.” Tim agreed sagely.

“I’ll always choose you over stopping any of our Rogues. No matter what’s going on, little Robin, I’d drop anything and everything, disobey any order from Bats, to come and help you. Because at the end of the day, the greatest good I can do is protect my little brother.”

“You’re such a sap, Dick.” Tim giggled, pushing away from his brother’s side.

“The sappiest.” He agreed with a laugh. “What do you say we get down from here, and see if we can’t get into the kitchen without Alfie noticing? I think I’ve finally figured out where he keeps the cookies, and I know he baked a batch today.”

“I don’t care how good you are, Dick, you’ll never get past Alfie.” Tim grinned, shaking his head.

“Come on now, Baby Bird, never say never. I really think we have a chance this time.” Dick stood, pulling his little brother – because honestly, this was his brother whether the adoption went through in time or not – up with him. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

They gave it their best. And yet, somehow, despite being trained by the Dark Knight of Gotham himself, and having around seven years of experience between them, Alfred ended up with extra (mandated) help in cleaning duties – in the manor and the Cave – for the next several days. Another fight about obedience and discipline was had. And another, and more after that. But promises were kept.

And just over a year later, a more experienced Robin sat down with the Replacement, and a young Robin told his predecessor about a conversation. About past actions taken by an older brother, who would rather crack jokes than discuss his grief. And maybe it eased the tension between a brother who felt abandoned in his darkest hour, and a brother still feeling guilty over trusting without verifying. And maybe it was the start of a strong trio of vigilantes who obeyed orders…as long as it didn’t put another of them in danger. And maybe it was into this brotherhood a newer Robin was welcomed two years later, with much groaning and exasperation, but no less dedication and vigor.

And in Blüdhaven, this brotherhood would be tested. Tried and pushed.

But Nightwing, once and always the first of the Robins, had made a promise years ago: never would the Bat’s orders and rules be more important than his brothers’ lives.

Chapter Text

The first thing Damian (al Ghul) Wayne realized was that he wasn’t where he should be. The second was that his body wasn’t…right. His arms ached, mostly his shoulders, tight and hot. His legs weren’t doing their job. They weren’t supporting him, just…brushing the ground.

The first thing he consciously realized was that he’d messed up somewhere, and been caught. The second was that there was something wrong with his mind. His thoughts were sluggish, and imprecise. His perception was…dark.

Why was it so dark?

Damian forced his eyes open, or he tried to. They stayed stubbornly closed, leaving the pre-teen wanting to curse his slow mind. It felt like barbiturates to him, mostly because he knew he wouldn’t have swallowed any benzodiazepines or…or…or sleeping pills of whatever type they were.

He shifted one arm, annoyed that he couldn’t move it right. It was…above him. Obviously the cause of his shoulder discomfort. Experimentally, he moved both arms, and although the sensation was far away from him in a way he couldn’t describe in any of the many languages he knew…whatever languages those might be…he could feel the IV in his left ante…antecurit…antecubital vein. That was the one.

What’s that phrase Todd kept trying to get me to use? That’s the bitch? Damian frowned. Such profanity was unnecessary, even in this situation.

All he had to do was unlock his hands and…well, something. His mind couldn’t reach that far. Damian tried to find his lockpicks, only to find his hands bare against the metal.

That was…bad. Why was that bad?

Gloves.

There should be gloves on his hands. The cold metal wasn’t so cold against his hands, likely a combination of the effects of the barbiturates in his system and numbness from both cuff pressure and lack of blood flow due to gravity. Obviously why he didn’t immediately realize his gloves weren’t on.

Because they should…be…on.

Why?

Damian growled in frustration. Curse his drug-addled mind. Gloves were important.

Because…because Robin. He’s Robin. Batman’s Robin. The Robin.

And they took his gloves because he’s the Robin, and he would have wanted to keep his gloves. Enough cause to take them, it seemed.

He needed more information. All he had was dull aches and vague thoughts. So Damian focused on his eyes, feeling his lids fluttering against the domino mask still stuck to his face.

Domino mask was good. They didn’t know who he was.

They should have taken it off. Why…why wasn’t it off?

That was important. But. But it would have to wait, because he couldn’t think enough to figure it out.

He should…he should be starting to clear up. Why wasn’t his mind clearing yet? He already had this answer, he knew it, but it wasn’t…there.

And he had other problems. Like his rebellious eyes. An unacceptable coup d’état.

No. Not a coup d’état. That would be an attempt at installing an entirely new form of government. Just a coup, then, as that would be an attempt to remove a single leader. His conscious mind, in this case.

Because that’s what’s important right now. He thought with bitter sarcasm. He’d never have been sarcastic in a situation like this back during his training among the League. It was a more recently acquired situational response.

Focus.

Damian threw his force of will against his own eyelids, and was rewarded with a blurry sliver of light. It stabbed into his eyes, costing him the battle for vision. An unfortunate, but not uncommon effect of the drugs in his system.

Because those weren’t leaving yet. At all.

He tried to pull himself up to assess his cuffs, only to find he lacked the strength. And that accursed intravenous catheter’s taping pulled at his skin.

Intravenous…the drugs. He was still receiving them. Likely at a constant rate, meant to keep him under. And the cause of his continued inability to focus his usually-superior mind.

They didn’t account for his resistance to sedatives built up over the years of his League training. Training that Grayson had been adamant would not continue when Damian had brought up the training that really ought to continue in order to maintain his edge and advantage over his opponents.

Honestly though…being captured by his enemies and losing awareness? It was a miracle Damian had regained consciousness at all. Batman probably would have entered some kind of spiritual healing state and plotted out his next seven moves by now. Damian just hung there. Mother would be furious. And Father…Father would be disappointed. Father expected better of him. It’s not worth worrying over what you can’t change, Baby Bat. Grayson’s voice came to his addled mind, clearly enough that he almost believed his older brother was there in the room with him. It was just the kind of thing Grayson would say, too.

Grayson was like that a lot. Insisted on Damian ‘acting like a child’ and ‘taking time to have fun’ and ‘not working all the time’ like he wasn’t a highly-trained protégé. Of course, Grayson didn’t doubt his abilities.

Grayson was strange like that.

Somehow, he could trust completely in Damian’s competency, and still ask him to slow down, still keep him from using all of those skills to their fullest. And yet…despite not asking for all of his abilities, not using him to his full potential, Grayson never made Damian feel unneeded or useless. On the contrary. With Grayson, he felt more appreciated and safe and…cared for than at any other time in his – admittedly short – life on this earth.

Grayson took care of him. Took care of many things, really.

Grayson would take care of this.

Damian wasn’t sure why the thought came, or how it came with such certainty, but it made him relax again, dangling limply from the cuffs, causing them to clatter softly above him. He didn’t know how he knew that Grayson would take care of this. But he did. It’s just…what Grayson did.

“Wow, hey Bill. Kid’s awake.” A rough voice growled. Damian tensed. How had he not realized there were others in this room?

“What? No way.” Another voice answered. Grayson would call them Goon 1 and Goon 2. Damian thought with continued certainty.

“Yes way. He just moved.” Goon 1 insisted.

“He should be out cold. Little kid like that, with that much whatever-it-is in his system? No way he’s awake.” Goon 2 asserted.

“Well, up the dose of it, just to be sure.”

“Boss said not to kill the kid.”

“Boss isn’t here. And that kid’s a damn menace.”

“Yeah. Batman’s menace.”

Silence for a moment. Damian strained his unfocused senses to listen for them. Normally, he’d be able to discern their breathing. Read them just by sound. Right now, however, he was stuck just trying to hear if they were near or far from him.

“Okay, so we just up it a little. Just enough to keep the Bat’s kid asleep until Boss tells us what to do next.” Goon 1 finally said, his voice slow and…scared? Worried? Hesitant. “We can’t afford to let him get out of his cuffs. Because then we’d definitely be in trouble with the Boss.”

“Right.”

Damian heard footsteps coming toward him. He struggled weakly against his bonds and oh how he hated to feel weak like this. But it was useless, as he’d known it would be. The chains were metal, and he couldn’t even open his eyes. The odds weren’t in his favor without his enemies in the room. With them here…it was far beyond his current capacity.

He heard something that his brain interpreted as medical equipment being adjusted.

Damian could almost feel the marginally higher dose taking over his barely-regained consciousness.

And as the darkness took over once more, he had a single comforting thought: Grayson is coming.

***

Nightwing was angry. Scratch that. He was furious.

He carefully controlled his breathing and kept his movements pointedly graceful as he lead the team of superheroes up to the roof of the apartment building. They allowed him his moment to calm down, glancing between themselves in a way that clearly indicated a conversation he wasn’t privy to, which only served to stoke the flames of his ire.

“So…where are we going?” Kid Flash asked, as Miss Martian did whatever Martian mind-controller-y-ness that made the Martian Bioship change into a more bioship…shape. He really needed to ask for clarification on the terms they used.

“Gotham.” He growled.

“You said you’d be there in five minutes. Even at her top speed, the ship can’t get us there in less than ten.” Miss Martian frowned, worry written across her face. “I’m afraid she’s just not as fast as you think she is.”

“We’re not flying the Martian bioship to Gotham. We’re flying it to the corner of 12^th and Styles.” Nightwing informed her, stalking into the ship. The heroes looked confused, but followed him in. Miss Martian started up the ship as everyone but Nightwing sat down.

“What’s at the corner of 12^th and Styles?” Artemis asked, frowning.

“It will be far easier to just show you, trust me.” Nightwing sighed. “Look. I know this is sudden. I’m sorry to just…demand things like this. But it’s an emergency, and I need your help. Preferably with as few questions as possible until we’ve taken care of things.”

He frowned as Aqualad took off his seatbelt, stood from his seat, and walked up to him. The Atlantean laid a calm hand on Nightwing’s shoulder, and stared into his hidden eyes.

“Tell us what’s happening, my friend, and we will do all we can to help you fix it.” The hero’s voice was oddly soothing in its calm and assured certainty.

Nightwing took a deep breath, and pushed down the bubbling anger and fear. Fear is a choice. Batman’s voice reminded him from the depths of his mind.

“Bats and the crew are hunting one of our more…notorious psychos right now. We have personal beef with this clown, and…well, Bats can get single-minded when it comes to this guy. Red Robin called me. Said Robin has disappeared from the search. The only way Robin leaves the search is by being taken from it. Bats is convinced it’s the psycho he’s hunting, that they’ll find Robin when they find the psycho. Red Robin says he’s certain it’s another one of our rogues.” Nightwing explained, barely pausing for breath.

“How do you know he’s right? I mean, he’s still just a kid himself.” Kid Flash asked, frowning.

“Because that kid has more IQ in his left pinkie than all of us here combined. He’s smarter than any of us have a dream of being. He’s smarter than me. Smarter than Batman.” Nightwing snapped. “So when he says he’s sure of something, that makes me pretty sure of it, too.”

“Right. So it’s not the psycho Batman is hunting. The clown.” Artemis repeated, before Kid Flash could say whatever he’d opened his mouth to say. She paused, and he watched the realization dawn on her face. “The clown. The Joker is out again?”

“Yes. And because Bats is going to be fixated on him until he catches him, Robin won’t have help until we can give it to him. Because Red Robin can’t leave Bats to face this alone, and Red Hood has his own…Joker-related issues.” Nightwing grimaced.

“We’re here.” Miss Martian announced as the bioship landed softly on a flat rooftop. “But…I don’t see anything that could help us get to Gotham faster than the bioship could.”

“Just follow me.” Nightwing replied. He almost couldn’t believe that he was going to break two of the Bat’s cardinal rules tonight. Not only was he taking supers into Gotham, and heroes at that, but he was going to be giving away some of their close secrets in doing so. If – well, when, really – Bats found out, there were going to be serious issues.

But that was a later problem. The now problem was that some psycho had his baby brother and that was unacceptable.

Nightwing lead the heroes down off the rooftop quickly, and into the alleyway between buildings. A decrepit-looking old phone booth sat halfway through, a big ‘Out of Order’ sign hanging on it. He walked up to it, and looked back at the heroes.

This was it. The moment of no return. If he did this, if he showed them this, and took them to Gotham, he’d be crossing a line he can’t uncross. This wouldn’t be like the other times he’d disobeyed orders to help his brothers. This was big. He was revealing real secrets – not just information on their rogues – and not just allowing superheroes into Gotham, but bringing them in himself.

Batman would be livid.

There would be serious consequences for this. Ones he’d have to face. This…this could get him well and truly kicked out of the family for good. No more being called in to help in Gotham on bad nights. No more possibility of backup from the Bat.

But Robin…he’d never forgive himself if he let the fear of dealing with B’s anger keep him from helping his brothers again. He couldn’t lose his littlest Robin. Not after they’d made so much progress in earning the Baby Bat’s trust. Not after all he’d done to teach this kid that trust wasn’t just for the weak.

He’d never forgive himself. And his brothers…they’d take on the guilt as much as he would. He couldn’t let them feel what he did when Jay was taken from him. They didn’t deserve to bear that burden.

Robin was in danger. And no matter the consequences he faced from his mentor and once guardian, the man he’d once believed would become his new dat, his new father, Nightwing had made a promise years ago and he couldn’t break it now.

He couldn’t lose his Robin.

“What you see from here on out needs to be kept between us. None of it can pass on to the Justice League. I’m breaking enough rules as it is just bringing you with me for this.” Nightwing informed them tersely.

“And if we don’t agree?” Kid Flash challenged.

“Then you’ll go back to your apartment, and I’ll get Robin back on my own.” Nightwing growled.

“You’re not doing this alone. We’ll keep quiet.” Artemis reassured, with a sharp glare at the speedster.

“Right. Let’s get going.” Nightwing turned back to the phone booth. He shifted the sign a little, pressing three fingers against the panel underneath. A section lit up with a soft blue light.

“Authorize access: Nightwing, Bat 02.” He stated clearly. The panel flashed green, then back to blue. “Access: Gotham 02, add 5 temps.”

“Error: Temporary passages unauthorized for 5.” An electronic woman’s voice replied.

“Override emergency code DGW-01.” Nightwing snapped. A pause.

“Override accepted. Accessing Gotham 02.”

Nightwing opened the door of the phone booth to reveal a swirling vortex inside.

“Wait. You have a Zeta Tube?!” Kid Flash yelped. “How do you—”

“Questions later. Let’s go.” Nightwing cut him off through gritted teeth, already dreading the inevitable Q&A to come. He gestured for them to walk through, unwilling to trust that the tube wouldn’t go back on its word of allowing the heroes through after he’d been transported. It was, after all, programmed by the Bat.

Artemis stepped through first, followed by Miss Martian, Superboy, a very concerned Kid Flash, and Aqualad. Nightwing followed them through into a grungy back alley.

Immediately the smell of the Gotham Narrows assaulted his senses. Rotting trash, colored by an undertone of human waste, was as familiar to him as the darkly-clouded night sky above him. Grungy brickwork rose to either side, and Nightwing recalled asking Bruce one night – back when he could still see Bruce under the Batman’s cowl – if the bricks were made to be grey, or if Gotham had pulled the color out of them. He couldn’t remember Bruce’s response.

Nightwing brought a hand to his earpiece, switching it over to the Batcomm frequency.

“Red, I’m here. What do you have?” He asked.

“It’s not Joker. Oracle’s been running a secondary search and she’s found where he disappeared from. It’s in the Narrows, near the Zeta tube you came in through. About ten blocks East. I’ll…I’ll let her run it from here. Bats…he…” Red Robin’s voice was still tremulous, and apologetic, but had lost its panicked edge.

“I get it, Little Bird. This is the Joker. We don’t let family face the Joker alone…and we especially don’t let Bats and Hood face Joker together.” Nightwing grimaced. “Tell Hood I’m on Baby Bat. You two stay with Big Bats.”

“But Wing, what if you need backup? I might be halfway across the city. What about not letting others face this kind of stuff alone?” Red Robin fretted.

“I’m, ah, I’ve got this, Nerdy Bird.  Just…trust me, okay?” Nightwing reassured, careful not to reveal too much on a channel that Bats might be listening to. He’d already turned East, the heroes following as he ran toward where his youngest brother had disappeared from. There was silence on the comms for a minute, before a new voice came over the line.

“I can be backup.” Red Hood was very obviously – well, obviously to Nightwing, who had known him for a long time – trying to sound strong in his decision. But Nightwing could hear the reluctance to leave the hunt for the man who had killed him years before. “I can be there in a couple minutes.”

“No, Hood.” Nightwing said firmly. “Stay with Red Robin and Bats. I know Bats probably has it handled, especially with Red. But…I’d feel better if you were there.”

“Wing, I—”

“Hood.” Nightwing interrupted sharply. “I’ve got this. Keep Joker’s filthy hands away from our brother, got it?”

“I got it, Wing.” Red Hood sounded relieved, and Nightwing felt a surge of love for his brothers. That Hood would even offer to leave the Joker hunt to help him find the Baby Bat was huge, and Nightwing knew it. He ignored the little voice in his head that reminded him it was more than Bats was doing tonight.

He didn’t have time to be bitter.

“Oracle, what do you have for me?” He asked into the comms. Nightwing could feel the heroes behind him, and was grateful for a moment that they weren’t trying to pester him with questions.

“Two blocks up, on your right.” Oracle informed him. “I’m not sure what I’m looking for after he goes in. I need eyes in that alley. Tell me what you find.”

“Got it.” Nightwing locked his eyes on the indicated alley. Within moments, they stopped at its entrance. He turned to the heroes. “This is where he disappeared from. Oracle needs to know if the ways he could have been taken from here so she can track where he went.”

Nightwing stalked into the alleyway, eyes darting across the usual Gotham filth looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“So, uh, what exactly are we looking for?” Kid Flash asked, looking vaguely disgusted by the overall layer of grime and trash.

“Signs of struggle, vehicles, and exits.” Nightwing replied.

“Well, yeah. But, I mean, no offense, but this place is filthy. How do you know the evidence of Robin fighting from evidence of a crackhead fighting someone?” Kid Flash asked. “It’s just…there’s a lot going on here, forensically. You know?”

“I get it. But do your best to see if there’s anything out of place anyway.” Nightwing sighed. The speedster had a point. There were layers upon layers of grime and previous conflicts. It took an experienced eye in Gotham to see through the layers. It’s what made Batman the world’s greatest detective, and what made his proteges so special.

He’d already picked out where Robin had been snatched. To his dismay, it didn’t look like it had been much of a fight. “Here…a brief scuffle. Not enough that Robin was really fighting though.”

“I’ve got something, Wing.” Artemis called from nearby. She straightened from a crouch with something held between two fingers. “Looks like a tranquilizer dart.”

Nightwing frowned, and approached. She handed over the small bit of metal and glass, a drop of liquid still inside. It was cracked from impact with the ground.

“They darted him, probably from a doorway, or a rooftop.” Nightwing said aloud, looking over the tiny signs of what had happened in the alley. Trash recently shifted aside. A large boot print in the muck. The half-cleared area where Robin had fought for consciousness before succumbing to the inevitable effects of the drug in his system. “It’s the only way they could have taken him without a serious struggle. I’ve trained with him a thousand times, and I would still be hard-pressed to take him quickly and without serious injury if he didn’t want to be taken.”

“So they knocked him out in this alley.” Aqualad mused. “Where did they take him?”

“Oracle, do you have any cars leaving in the ten-minute window after he entered the alleyway? It’s a dead-end alley, just the entrance we came through.” Nightwing stared around, finding no evidence that any of the alleyway doors had opened recently – no fallen rust or grime, no marks of a door sliding across the concrete.

“No vehicles. They had to have left another way, Wing.” Oracle replied after a moment.

“Got it.” Nightwing murmured, frowning. To the heroes, he added, “Do you see any other ways out of here? The two doors here don’t look like they’ve opened anytime recently.”

The heroes looked around with him a moment longer before Superboy spoke up.

“Sewer entrance sound right?” The half-Kryptonian asked from the end of the alley. Partially hidden from view at his feet was a metal grate. Nightwing went to him, and examined the grate. The concrete around its edges had been scraped recently, paler than the grimy surfaces around it.

“Sounds exactly right.” Nightwing growled. “Oracle, looks like they went into the sewers. Pull up a map of the local system for me and find me the likely paths. Anywhere they could have Baby Bat stashed underground, or exits from the system near good hiding places. Robin was darted, carried off unconscious.”

“I’m on it, Wing. Get in there, but be careful.” Oracle replied.

“Mind moving that out of the way, Superboy?” Nightwing asked. Superboy smirked, and lifted the grate like it was little more than cardboard. Nightwing grinned, and it felt feral on his aching face.

“Oracle is getting us likely directions. Tune your earpieces to the same frequency as the last time we worked together, she’ll tune into it.” He instructed. “Aqualad and Kid Flash. Artemis and Miss Martian. Superboy, you’re with me. One superhuman searcher per pair, one combat specialist. Any questions?”

The heroes glanced at each other, and nodded.

“We’re ready.” Aqualad stated.

“Then let’s take Robin back.” Nightwing growled. He dropped down into the tunnels under Gotham, leading a team of heroes into her underbelly.

Hold on, little Robin, I’m coming for you.

Chapter Text

The sewers of Gotham smelled like…well, like every other sewer Superboy had ever been in. Unpleasant, damp, and with a slimy quality to the air that seemed to stick to his exposed arms and face in a way he neither describe nor tolerate for longer than was absolutely necessary.

Judging by Nightwing’s heartrate and movements, however, this was definitely necessary. Throughout their encounters with the vigilante, he’d gotten a fairly good sense of the vigilante’s various states. The genuine calm he could read in relaxed shoulders and steady, slow heartrate when the other Gotham vigilantes were nearby, the projected air of control when he was alone with the team and using his breathing to control his heartrate, body just a little too loose and relaxed, and even the spiked anxiety bordering on fear when confronted with M’gann as Batman, defined by his uncontrolled vitals, his erratic movements.

But this…this was a different level from what Superboy had seen before. There was the projected control, held just a little too tight, and the racing heartrate of the uncontrolled anxiety. But there was an edge to it all that Superboy hadn’t seen before, something that had risen to just below the surface during their pseudo-Batman plan, but that had exploded out the moment he’d received that call while with the team.

The vigilante, who had often made Superboy think of his beloved Wolf back in Happy Harbor with his easy, languid movements that hid his true strength and agility, now reminded the hero of a caged and coiled tiger. Pacing his too-small cage, ready to lash out the moment he was given a chance. Despite his superpowers, he’d long since pegged Nightwing as someone capable of being a true threat, even to him. It made him wonder just how explosive the vigilante would be when they found whoever had kidnapped the youngest Robin.

The relationship between the brothers was…strange. They were obviously close, beyond what Superboy had expected. He considered himself and his team to be close. But they weren’t like the past and present Robins. There was something…more there that he couldn’t figure out. Something indefinable that made their interactions easy and practiced beyond what time would give. It was something he’d been pondering, and was probably going to continue pondering, as now was certainly not the time to lose focus.

The woman on Nightwing’s comms – Oracle, he’d called her – was giving likely directions of travel for the kidnappers. She said it was a rat’s nest of passages, but that she’d found the most likely options.

“Alright. Split up. Stay in contact through that mind-link of yours, since comms are likely to go out while we’re down here. Never could get enough coverage throughout.” Nightwing instructed, body already turned toward his and Superboy’s path.

Keep an eye on him, Superboy, Aqualad directed over the link, he seems more than a little on edge. Although we have seen much good in him, we must also be careful that we do not allow him to do anything…excessive…while we are with him.

Got it. Superboy sent back, though he wasn’t convinced that he’d be needed in that way. Despite the edge he was seeing in the vigilante, something in him wasn’t worried. Nightwing was very much still controlled. The fury held in a tight leash just at the edge of reason.

It’s not like Superboy could blame him, either. No matter how capable the little Robin was, how dangerous, he was still a child. And, by the older vigilante’s reactions, he was Nightwing’s child, in some way, shape, or form. He was far too young to be the actual father of the little Robin, but beyond that…Superboy just wasn’t sure.

The team split apart quickly, each heading down different paths, following directions given by the Oracle. Superboy walked a step behind Nightwing, watching the smaller man curiously. There was so much he could see about the vigilante, and so few answers as to why he was seeing those things.

He was even more curious as to why Nightwing, who had been so intensely cautious about who he trusted to have his back during the first mission they’d worked together, had chosen him, arguably the largest threat on the team, to be alone with him in sewers with no surveillance.

“What do you hear, Superboy?” Nightwing asked, his voice barely more civil than a growl. Ah. That would explain why he wanted me…but not why he trusts me.

“Not much, yet. It’s…difficult here.” Superboy growled. Sound echoed strangely in the dark tunnels. It was nearly impossible for him to tell how far a sound came from, or even a solid direction at intersections. Not that he had anything to find a direction for. The only noises at the moment were his and Nightwing’s footsteps, and the ever more distant sounds of his teammates.

“Right. Reverberation would make this harder.” Nightwing clenched his fists, visibly trying not to snap at Superboy. He appreciated the effort, especially from someone who really didn’t have much of a reason to be kind to him.

“You’re worried about him.” Superboy stated, glancing at the vigilante.

“Yeah. I mean, kid’s more than capable of defending himself against most things. But…he’s still a kid.” Nightwing sighed, running a gloved hand through his already-messy hair. “Robin’s…unique. He’s somehow a combination of perfectly trained to complete an infiltrate-to-kill mission, and an openly innocent child. He can tell you all the places you can stick a pencil in someone to kill them without making a sound, but couldn’t tell you what kind of pencil they use on standardized testing in schools.” Nightwing shook his head, a fond laugh escaping his lips. “I mean, hell, Robin not only still believes in Santa with all his heart, but is fully prepared to engage the old Saint Nick in hand-to-hand combat.”

Superboy chuckled at that. “Sounds like me, when I first got out of Cadmus.” He admitted.

“Rough and unusual childhoods will do that to a guy.” Nightwing nodded.

Everyone, check in. Aqualad’s voice came over the mindlink.

Nothing yet. Miss Martian replied.

Nothing here either. Superboy added.

Superboy opened his mouth to reply to Nightwing as well, but froze. Nightwing took an extra step before realizing, and turned to face him.

“Voices.” Superboy murmured, ears straining to pinpoint the source. “Two men. The echoes though…I can’t pick out words. But it’s this way.” He started moving forward, Nightwing only a step behind.

They moved quickly toward the sound of the voices, and although the conversation ended quickly, there was only one easy path forward, large enough for a man to pass through. He came to a stop at an intersection, frowning. Superboy resisted the urge to growl in frustration, and instead closed his eyes, focusing. Nightwing seemed to understand, holding himself as still as possible.

Faintly, Superboy could hear heartbeats – five of them. Two closer, strong and steady. Bored, probably. Two nervous and fainter. One slow…sleeping, or sedated. He nodded in the direction of them, seeing an entrance faintly at the end of the corridor, set back into the old stonework.

We might have something. He sent over the mindlink.

Keep us posted. We’ll keep searching here. Aqualad instructed.

“Two men, down this corridor.” Superboy muttered to Nightwing. “Probably in that in-set doorway there.”

Nightwing nodded, stalking down the corridor with a stay there gesture. He smoothly pulled the escrima sticks from his back, raising them into a ready position as he approached. Superboy was impressed with the vigilante’s careful tread. Even he, with his enhanced Kryptonian hearing, could barely hear the man’s boots touch the ground with each step.

The dark-clad vigilante seemed to disappear into the shadows of the sewer tunnel, slinking along the stone wall. Superboy couldn’t resist following, but stayed several paces back, leaving him as much room to move as he’d need. The vigilante’s fighting style was far more acrobatic than his own, and Superboy was unsure of what kind of space requirements he’d have in a fight.

Nightwing paused when he spotted the two men standing guard, though he took only a moment to decide what to do. Despite the tightly-leashed anger Superboy had been watching, Nightwing moved with silence and precision as he edged into his chosen position, waited several seconds for the right moment, and struck.

The men were down before they could call out a warning to whoever was behind the door. Superboy had been too far back to track the vigilante’s attacks, but was impressed nonetheless. Silent takedowns required extreme control and more than just a little know-how. Accomplishing things like that while furious was more than difficult – Superboy would know, with his own history of anger management sessions with Black Canary.

Voices came from behind the door again, and Superboy placed a large hand on Nightwing’s shoulder, stopping him in place.

“They’re discussing moving ‘the kid’ somewhere.” Superboy murmured, listening carefully to the conversation beyond the door. “Saying that their boss has secured a location. It’s…it’s about you, actually. Something about keeping you busy this weekend at minimum, and hopefully longer. Keep you from interfering in their boss’s plans.”

Nightwing’s hands tightened around his escrima, then loosened back to an appropriate grip.

“Allow me. Locks are my specialty.” The vigilante growled, taking two aggressive steps forward, and slamming his booted foot hard against the door just under the handle. The door slammed in toward the room, and Superboy had to admit he was impressed. Heavy doors like this one weren’t easy to kick in, and he often used it as an intimidation tactic, to show of his own super strength. It was surprising to see such strength in someone who, according to Artemis, was just a regular human.

Superboy followed Nightwing into the damp room, watching as the dark-clad vigilante moved with dangerous grace toward the two bulky men barely beginning to stand from their chairs. In a moment, he could see clearly the Dark Knight of Gotham had trained this vigilante. Gone was the near bounce to his stride, the way he seemed constantly near the point of taking flight and ignoring gravity entirely. Instead, his boots hit hard against the pavement, shoulders squared and weight forward, aggression written in every line of his body.

He barely had time to think that they really should have put more than two guards on this room before the takedown was complete. A combination diaphragm-and-throat punch and a brutal haymaker to the jaw took the men down to the stone floor before they could even recognize the lithe threat coming at them.

It was then that Superboy noticed the boy hanging against the back wall, looking startlingly small in his unconscious state. His presence really did make him seem like so much more than the slim child strung up against the cold stone. Nightwing hurried to the still-masked Robin, fear written clearly across his own half-hidden face.

“He’s alive.” Superboy murmured, listening to the slow, sedated heartbeat of the little vigilante. “Sedated, but alive.”

We’ve got him. Robin is alive, and we have him. Superboy sent through the mindlink, feeling relief come from each of his teammates in return. We will meet you back at the sewer entrance once we free him from his bonds.

Nightwing swung around to glare at the man still gasping for air on the floor next to his unconscious companion. Superboy moved to Robin’s side, looking over the cuffs. Should be easy enough to break, assuming the IV wasn’t going to be an issue. First aid had never been his forte…he decided he’d continue to follow Nightwing’s lead on this one.

“What is he sedated with?” Nightwing snarled, pulling the man up to his knees. The bulky man didn’t seem to even be paying attention, too desperate to recover from the earlier blow.

“Allow me.” Superboy rumbled. He crossed to them in three strides, and grabbed the man by his jacket, lifting him off his feet and holding him up against the wall. That got the man’s attention pretty quickly. “What is the boy sedated with?” Superboy asked, glaring hard into the goon’s startled eyes.

“I-I don’t know.” The man rasped. “We…we just brought…the kid here. It was the boss’s doc that…that set up the…the tube ‘n’ shit.” Superboy’s hands tightened on the man’s jacket, and he heard the goon’s heartrate spike further. “But-but-but the—the bottle! It’s…it’s still over there!”

Superboy dropped the goon, letting him crumple back to the floor where he continued his attempts to relearn how to breathe.

Nightwing strode to the medical equipment, glancing over it as Superboy approached.

He watched the vigilante’s shoulders relax in recognition of the drug name on the bottle he grabbed. Nightwing turned off the flow medication in the IV fluids, and checking over the medical equipment with a familiarity that worried Superboy just a little. No one outside of the medical profession should be that comfortable with it.

Nightwing reached into a pouch that Superboy hadn’t seen him open before, and pulled out gauze, a large bandage, and a small syringe. He inserted the syringe into the IV line, emptying it.

“It’s a counteragent to most barbiturates, the one they used included.” Nightwing explained to Superboy’s curious look. “It will help him to wake up faster. We keep it as part of our emergency kits, just in case of situations like this.”

“This…happens often?” Superboy asked, concerned.

“More than we’d care to admit.” Nightwing grimaced. “I earned the nickname Boy Hostage as a young Robin. Everyone thought if they snatched the new sidekick, the Bat would do what they wanted. They were very wrong, and I developed a resistance to most of these kinds of medications.” He chuckled wryly.

Nightwing carefully reached for the IV, pulling it from Robin’s arm, and placing the gauze over it, sealing it with the bandage to stop the bleeding.

“Going to take a second to pick these.” Nightwing muttered, examining the cuffs. He went to pull out his lockpicks, when Superboy stopped him.

“Allow me.” He offered. He broke the cuffs easily, Nightwing supporting Robin’s weight as he was released, and lowering the child to sit on the ground.

“Thanks.” Nightwing murmured.

“Let’s get him out of here.” Superboy said, standing. Nightwing collected the young vigilante into his arms, and nodded.

“Let’s go.”

***

Nightwing’s heart slammed against his ribcage as he carried his little Robin out of the room. Relief and residual adrenaline fought in his chest, ribs aching as he held the pre-teen in his arms. One part of his mind was running the list of potential side effects of barbiturates, another screaming that he needed to get the superheroes out of Gotham now.

Robin stirred in his arms, pushing against him in the beginnings of consciousness. Nightwing stopped, setting his brother down for a moment and kneeling beside him.

“Hey, Baby Bat.” He murmured. “Take it slow. You’re waking up from sedation, so don’t take a swing at me until you’re more stable, yeah?”

Robin snorted, to his relief. His brother was awake enough to hear and understand.

“Why…why would I…hit you?” Robin slurred. Nightwing remembered well attempting to speak around a drug-thickened tongue. It wasn’t easy, but it was reassuring to hear his brother’s voice. It seemed his mind was working as it should, if a little slow at the moment.

“I don’t know, figured I’d cover my bases in case you came out of sedation swinging.” Nightwing grinned.

“Unlikely, as…my limbs. They are currently attempting a…a…a coup.” Robin growled.

“Ah, yeah, they tend to do that after barbiturates. Give them a few hours and you’ll be good.” Nightwing chuckled. “For now, you’ll have to accept me carrying you for a bit. Come on, Baby Bat. Let’s get you home.”

He pulled Robin into his arms.

“Oof. Careful of my ribs there, Baby Bat. I’m still a bit sore and your sharp elbow isn’t helping.” Nightwing grunted, shifting his brother’s weight.

“Then stop…taking body shots.”

“You’re right. I should just take the hits on my arms like B does and ignore the multiple hairline fractures until I’m literally confined to bed by a very angry Agent A.” Nightwing snorted. Robin huffed in his arms.

“Agent A is…unstoppable. I have tried.”

“His superpower is guerilla parenting.” Nightwing agreed. He paused, glancing at Superboy as they started their slower walk back toward the sewer entrance. “So, Bats might get a little huffy with me over the next few days.”

“What did you do?” Robin frowned blearily up at him, eyes hidden by his domino.

“I…brought a little help to find you.” Nightwing admitted uncomfortably. “Remember that team of heroes that have been in Blüdhaven lately?”

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“They are imbeciles and completely incompetent.” Robin grumbled.

“One of them is here with us, Baby Bat.” Nightwing chided.

Robin huffed. “Then he knows what I think of him.”

Nightwing glanced nervously at Superboy, but to his surprise, the clone simply seemed amused, if his micro expressions could be believed. At least he wouldn’t be having to soothe hurt hero feelings after this.

“Batman will disapprove.” Robin added. “Of you bringing them. He will disapprove.”

“Yeah, I know. But it was the fastest way I could find you and get to you. And by the way those goons were talking, it’s a good thing I did. They were going to move you soon.” Nightwing explained.

“Which one said that?”

“Which…goon?” Nightwing blinked.

“Yes. Goon 1 or Goon 2?” Robin insisted. Nightwing chuckled a little at the uncharacteristic nicknaming of Robin’s captors. Normally he’d have refused to name them at all without knowing their proper designations.

“I don’t know. Which one was which?” He asked.

“I…I am unsure.” Robin admitted. “I did not see them. I only heard their voices. But you know that Batman will be disappointed.” He insisted, his addled brain coming back around to the original purpose of his tangent.

“Yeah, I know.” Nightwing repeated. “Won’t be the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

Robin went silent for a moment, resting his head against Nightwing’s collarbone.

“Don’t go back to sleep, little Robin.” He murmured, fighting the urge to hurry.

“M’not sleeping.” Robin slurred against him.

“I have a riddle.” Superboy offered. Nightwing nodded to him, amused and a little surprised at the hero’s attempt to help. It wasn’t the kind of thing he’d expected from the muscular, quiet man. “What goes up, but never comes down?”

Robin lifted his head slightly to glare in the direction of the half-Kryptonian. “The amount of stress you bring to Nightwing’s life?” He growled.

Superboy blinked, then laughed. “I guess I should have seen that coming.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“He’s a little bitey when he’s drugged up.” Nightwing chuckled. “Don’t worry too much. He doesn’t really approve of anyone anyway. Pretty sure I’m not even on the approved list most of the time.”

“That’s because you…you are non-specific.” Robin assertive.

“Non-specific?”

“You aren’t specific. Ever. You ask for things and then are unhappy or confused when I do them.” Robin grumbled.

“What…hold on. I’m confused, Baby Bat. What haven’t I been specific about?” Nightwing asked, frowning. He wasn’t sure just what his little brother’s brain had latched onto, what memory he’d pulled up, and he definitely had no idea when he’d been…non-specific.

“We went to the beach without you.” Robin muttered.

“The beach…oh!” Nightwing started to laugh. “You mean when I asked you to bring me a souvenir, and you brought back a seagull instead of a shell or rock?”

“You should have been more specific!”

Nightwing just shook his head. “You’re still a little addled from the sedation, Robin. We talked about this before. I wasn’t mad, just concerned. And a little curious about how you’d managed to bring a seagull all the way back here without…without your father noticing.” He changed his phrasing before he gave too much away. Superboy wasn’t stupid, despite how quiet he stayed. Nightwing couldn’t afford to say too much if he wanted to keep his identity safe.

Robin went quiet again, as they approached the intersection where they were to meet up with the rest of the heroes again.

“Wing…” Robin murmured, sounding hesitant. He glanced at the hero, then closed his mouth again.

“Go ahead. I just gotta talk with him for a moment. If you don’t mind tuning us out for a second, I’d appreciate it.” Nightwing said to Superboy, who paused, then nodded, walking further down the tunnel to rejoin the team as Nightwing knelt down with Robin still held in his arms.

“What’s wrong, Baby Bat?”

“I…Father doesn’t…have to know about this. Right? It’s just…I should have known…shouldn’t have been caught…I don’t…I don’t want to disappoint him.” Robin murmured, averting his eyes. “Or you.”

“Oh, my little Robin.” Nightwing hummed, pulling the kid closer against his chest to hug him tightly despite his ribs’ protest. “You haven’t disappointed me at all, kiddo. We’ll talk more when you’re more awake in a few hours. But for now, don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything with Bats, you just worry about getting your strength back, okay?”

Robin nodded against his chest, hiding his face in Nightwing’s costume. He took that as his answer, and stood again, walking after Superboy to rejoin the heroes.

He’d almost reached the intersection when Robin’s voice, barely audible and slurred with half-sleep, reached his ears.

“Thanks…dat.”

Nightwing’s heart stopped dead in his chest, and he tightened his grip on his drugged little brother. It’s just the drugs messing with his mind. He didn’t really call me…I’m not his…I can’t be.

Aloud, he just murmured, “I’ve got you, my little Robin.”

He turned the corner to find the hero team waiting. The girls’ eyes softened as they looked at the sleepy vigilante in his arms, and Miss Martian even ‘aww’ed softly. Aqualad smiled.

“I see you have found your little bird.” He hummed. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah, just a little loopy because of the drugs they were using. The problem is…they took him to get me out of Blüdhaven. They were planning on having him for longer, drawing it out and keeping me – and probably you as well – occupied while something goes down. So we need to head back, and quickly. Let me just…call someone to come get him.” Nightwing sighed, hating the idea of leaving Robin while he was so hurt and vulnerable, but knowing that if something was going down in Blüdhaven, then the Wayne Manor was the safest place his brother could be for the night.

“Oracle,” he called, one finger to his earpiece to reconnect to the comms and his other arm holding Robin securely against him, “I’ve got him. Can you spare someone to come get him, and take him home? I don’t want to take him back to Blüd tonight…it looks like there might be trouble.”

“Thank goodness he’s safe. They’re close to finding Joker, but I’ll send one of the boys to meet up with you real quick.” Oracle replied, residual tension still audible in her voice.

“And, uh, if you could just maybe not mention to Bats that I brought the supers here, I’d really appreciate it, Oracle. I’d owe you big time.” Nightwing added, worrying his lower lip.

“He won’t hear it from me, Wing. But…he will figure it out, probably sooner than later. Just…be prepared for that, okay?” Oracle sighed. “But it won’t be from me.”

“Thanks, O.”

“ETA on bird pickup, 2 minutes.” Oracle added. “I’ll check in with you later to let you know how your little bird is recuperating, okay?”

“Sounds good. Thanks again, O.” Nightwing turned to the heroes. “Two minutes until one of the others comes for Robin, to take him somewhere safe to recuperate and wake up fully. I…I know you have a lot of questions. And I appreciate you holding them this long. Just…I’ll answer everything I can once we’re back in Blüdhaven, okay?”

“We’ll hold you to that.” Kid Flash muttered.

“It’s of no concern.” Aqualad corrected without even glancing at the speedster. “We understand the importance of efficiency in these situations. We’ve been in many ourselves. We will ask our questions when this has been fully resolved. At this point, we’re simply glad that you were able to retrieve Robin before he was further harmed.”

“They couldn’t have held me long.” Robin grumbled from his spot in Nightwing’s arms. “I would have escaped long before they managed to do anything.”

“I know, Baby Bat.” Nightwing chuckled. “Little ninja like you? I’m lucky you let me rescue you at all instead of breaking out of a high security compound all on your own just as we arrived to help.”

Robin huffed once again, discontent with the teasing.

“What, he’s really that good?” Artemis asked with a smile.

“Let me down, Nightwing, I—” Robin struggled weakly.

“Later, Robin. Get the rest of the barbiturates out of your system first, then fight heroes, okay?” Nightwing chuckled.

“Inform her of my victory against the Green Arrow the last time the Justice League attempted to invade Gotham.” Robin grumbled.

“I will be sure to do so, as soon as you are safely in bed.”

Nightwing looked up at the rumble of a motorcycle roaring down the road toward them, and smiled to see Red Hood’s impassive mask. His brother pulled up sharply, tires squealing as he slid to a stop next to the group.

“Always the show-off.” Nightwing muttered. “Take the little bird back to the nest, and make sure Agent A is aware of him being there, so he has to wait out the rest of the dosage. I gave one dose of the counteragent, so he shouldn’t take more than a few hours. Even then…”

“Bird’s grounded, got it.” Red Hood replied sharply. “Give him here so I can get back to catching that son of a bitch who keeps trying to blow up the family.”

Nightwing settled Robin in front of Hood, then paused, a hand on Hood’s shoulder.

“Be careful on this hunt, Little Wing. Still need you around, too, okay?” He said softly. Red Hood shrugged his hand off, but gave a tiny, tense nod before speeding away with their youngest brother half-aware against him.

“Alright heroes. Back to Blüdhaven, before the Bat realizes I’ve brought you all here and makes a big deal out of it.” Nightwing sighed, leading the way back toward the Zeta tube, praying that Bats was too distracted with his clown hunt to look at the logs anytime soon.

And, he’d admit, doing his best to stop thinking about the fact that his little brother, his little Robin, who spoke many languages but was most comfortable in English and Arabic, had used Romani to call him dad.

Chapter Text

The short walk back to the Zeta Tube was a quiet one, and Nightwing was fairly certain it was due in large part to his own tension. Now that the panic for his little Robin was over, he was starting to worry about something else entirely.

He was, after all, in the Bat’s city, with a gaggle of superheroes that he brought in himself.

Nightwing couldn’t help but glance continually toward the rooftops, waiting for a silhouette that he was mostly certain was still occupied elsewhere in Gotham. And yet…it would be exactly in character for his former guardian to somehow already know what he’d done, and appear out of nowhere like the vengeful shadow he was known to be.

He’d rather not have that conversation here tonight.

Honestly, he’d rather not have that conversation at all.

Nightwing didn’t even begin to relax until he’d gotten all of the heroes back through the Zeta Tube into Blüdhaven, and the portal had shut down behind him. He didn’t truly let himself settle down until the bioship landed back on the rooftop of their apartment complex.

“Is Robin going to be alright?” Artemis’ voice startled Nightwing slightly, although he managed to keep his reaction contained to simply looking at her a little more quickly than he’d have otherwise done.

“Yeah. Yeah, he’ll be okay.” He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, thankful he couldn’t feel the sweat through his glove. “Kid’s a tough cookie. He’s been through worse than a couple hours’ drugged sleep.”

“That’s…not good. What’s happened before?” Miss Martian fretted.

“More than I want to share, and way more than you want to hear.” Nightwing hedged. “He had a lot happen to him before he was ever introduced to Batman.” He could see Superboy considering something, and recalled mentioning Dami’s unconventional childhood to the clone in the sewers. He’d been vague, of course, careful even in his distress to keep his mouth shut about identifying information when it came to his brothers.

The heroes glanced at each other, clearly having one of their mental conversations, and Nightwing sighed. Best to get this done with now, before the next piece of his own personal hell appeared.

“I appreciate your focus during our…foray into Gotham. I promised I’d answer your questions after. I can’t answer everything for…well, for various reasons, but mostly because I’d rather not get disappeared by a really angry man in a bat costume. But I’ll answer what I can.” Nightwing offered with an attempt at a grin that landed significantly closer to a grimace.

“We do have several questions.” Aqualad agreed. “First and of the most interest to us, concerns your Zeta Tubes. How do you have this technology? And does it connect to the same system that the Justice League uses?”

“I can’t give you names, but Bats is pretty well-connected. He has…allies, I suppose you could call them, in various places. One of which had access to this technology, and provided it to him. It’s a completely separate system from the League’s – without some serious hacking and slashing of the code at our tubes, you’d never be able to access the League’s system. Nor the League access ours.” Nightwing reassured. “It’s not something to be worried about. Any investigation into who his source is, or how exactly he got access to his various tech, will lead you to dead ends every time. That much I can promise you. If it helps, I can also promise that despite his…distaste for heroes, especially in Gotham, Bats isn’t out to take down the Justice League. He isn’t going to use his connections to do anything you’d consider an attack unless he’s seriously provoked. So there’s no need to worry.”

“Provoked…like if someone brought a covert hero team into Gotham to run a stealth mission under his nose while he was distracted elsewhere?” Kid Flash asked with a raised eyebrow. Nightwing couldn’t help the snort that escaped him.

“Well, yeah, but that’s not an attack that will be coming your way.” He chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry about Bats coming after you for this. If – well, when he finds out, really – it’ll be my hide, not yours. With any luck, however, that discussion is still a couple weeks away.” Not that I’ve ever been particularly lucky.

“So your reassurance to us is that when the Batman comes looking for blood, at least we won’t be the ones bleeding?” Artemis asked dryly.

“I mean, kind of, yeah.” Nightwing shrugged. “It’s not something you’ll need to worry about. Na may kharunde kai tshi khal tut. Don’t scratch where it doesn’t itch.”

“What language is that? And what’s your accent, anyway?” Kid Flash frowned.

“Tell you what. If you guess the right language and accent, I’ll answer honestly.” Nightwing grinned, his bruised jaw aching, but unable to resist the pull of the joke.

“Artemis?” Kid Flash glanced to her, and she shrugged.

“None that I speak.”

“Or me.” Superboy grunted.

“Is it Russian?” Kid Flash asked.

“Nope.”

“Uh…German?”

“Not even close.”

“While he tries to rub two brain cells together to make a spark,” Artemis interjected, rolling her eyes, “where is Red Hood taking Robin? I mean, you and the other Robins are all really chummy and all, but he is a known killer, and you left Robin with him half-conscious.”

Nightwing was surprised by her genuine concern over his baby brother’s welfare, and a little amused that she thought Hood would hurt Robin.

Well, okay, Hood would definitely hurt Robin, but only if he was already at the top of his game, and deserved it for some slight, whether real or perceived. Never when Robin was hurt or drugged like this.

“Honor among thieves?” He shrugged. “I’d trust Hood to take care of Robin or Red Robin any day. Hell, if I were bleeding out on a rooftop, I’d trust him to come patch me up even if we’d been in an knock-down blow-out fight ten minutes before.”

“But why do you trust him so much?” Artemis pressed.

“Because he’s family.” Nightwing replied firmly. “Not by blood – none of us Robins are related in any of the past six generations, we checked – but we’re family nonetheless. A violent family sometimes, and with far stranger issues than any normal family, but they’re my brothers, and I’m theirs. I’d take the dive for any of them, any day.”

“Sometimes family is more than blood.” Artemis agreed, with a soft half-smile that Nightwing wondered at the reason behind.

“It’s not whose blood you share, but who you’d bleed for.” He confirmed. “I’d imagine you’ve all worked together long enough to understand that feeling on some level.”

To his surprise, it was Superboy who chuckled. “Sometimes I’d like to hit them, but I’d kill anyone else who did.”

“That’s the feeling.” Nightwing laughed.

“How did you all end up becoming Robins?” Miss Martian asked in genuine curiosity.

Nightwing hesitated. There was only so much he could give away about their origins before he would be giving away far too much and risking their identities. But…at the same time, he wanted to share with these heroes. He wanted to tell them all about his incredible little brothers, and the bullshit they’d taken in this world to become Robins. How all of them had struggled, all of them had fallen and gotten back up…he wasn’t sure why, after so many years of keeping all of his secrets so close to the vest, it was a group of heroes that were so close to pulling it all apart.

“Well, I can’t give you the play-by-play, no matter how hilarious it would be to watch your reactions to it all. Secret identities and all that.” Nightwing explained. “But I can give you the basic idea. I wanted revenge for some bad things that happened to my family, and convinced Bats that I’d be trying to get it with or without him. He decided to keep me close to keep me out of trouble…and I just kind of stuck around, fighting beside him. We had a big fight about this, that, and the other, and fell out pretty badly. Around that time, he found a kid with more guts than sense on the streets, and decided to train him up to put his surprisingly strong moral compass to better use. Gave the Robin title to him, and I shifted to Nightwing.”

“Armenian?” Kid Flash interjected.

“No.”

“More guts than sense?” Miss Martian asked. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, he found the kid trying to take the wheels off the Batmobile to sell.” Nightwing chuckled at their surprised and borderline horrified faces. He’d probably looked about the same when B had come home and told him how he’d acquired the scruffy kid he’d brought with him. “I’d give the rest of that story, but for time and identities’ sake, I’ll just say he ended up fitting in better than we’d anticipated.

“So he was Robin for a while, until an…unfortunate incident with one of the Gotham rogues put him out of commission. He disappeared for a while, and this kid who had more brains than sense figured out Bat’s identity, called him out on it, and then just kind of informed Bats that he was going to be the new Robin. And the littlest Robin…he just kind of showed up on our doorstep one day, not gonna lie.”

“That’s…quite the tale.” Aqualad said after a moment.

“And really, really vague.” Kid Flash huffed.

“I did say I wasn’t going to give much detail.” Nightwing shrugged.

“Arabic?”

“Not even close, KF.”

“In a different line of inquiry, where and how does the Batman get his funding and gear? What are his technological capabilities? You’ve clearly been able to identify complex molecular structures quickly, but what kind of technology do the Bat Vigilantes have access to?” Aqualad asked as Artemis snickered at Kid Flash’s newest guess.

“I’m not going to give you the limits on what he can do.” Nightwing replied bluntly, with a half-apologetic shrug. “We may not always get along, but I’m still not going to help the Justice League try to take him down, no matter how bad things sometimes get in Gotham. I mean, you’ve seen some of my gear and training. You’ve probably got some footage of his other tech from various sources. Just…assume that he knows way more than you think he does at all times, and that he has a tech solution for anything you would think to throw at him, and you’ll be pretty close to what he’s capable of.”

“What about his funding?” Aqualad tried.

“Private source. Even I’m not sure where it all comes from, really. But I can reassure you that it’s all as legal as funding a vigilante operation can get.” Nightwing chuckled. “Look, I get that the Justice League wants Batman to chill, or step back, or be a more legal operation, or whatever. But what they want? It wouldn’t work in Gotham. And continuing to attempt to force it will only strengthen the lines that mark the League as enemies of the Bat.”

“Czech?” Kid Flash guessed.

“Nope.”

“Slovak?”

“No.”

“Why doesn’t he like heroes anyway? I mean, what’s his deal with not letting any heroes into Gotham at all ever?” Kid Flash asked, interrupting his own attempts at guessing Nightwing’s accent.

Nightwing sighed.

“It’s…a bit of a complicated situation. The really short answer is that a lot of heroes spend way more time in the spotlight than actually cleaning up the streets, and only go after high-powered enemies, leaving the rest for the cops to deal with. If you only went after those with an active warrant, proven to have done things…well, you’d waste more time on paperwork than anything else in Gotham. You can’t chase the spotlight and expect to make a difference in the daily scheme of things, especially in a place like Gotham.” Nightwing paused. “That’s only part of it, though. It’s why he doesn’t like heroes, but not why he won’t let them enter Gotham.”

The heroes waited as Nightwing tried to organize his thoughts. Here in Blüdhaven, so similar and yet so different from his home in Gotham, their reasons to dislike heroes felt…petty. But in Gotham…it was a different world.

“Gotham and its villains aren’t like your cities. It’s an entirely different circle of hell from whatever you think you’ve seen.” He said finally. “You’ve fought really strong baddies before, I’m sure. Ones that can go through brick walls and come out the other side still growling threats, yeah?”

The heroes nodded, frowning, clearly unsure of where he was going with this.

“Well, we have some of those here in Gotham too, like Bane, but they’re really not the biggest threat for us. The fight here in Gotham…the threat isn’t nearly as physical as in places like Metropolis. Take Superman. He does a decent job keeping things relatively clean over there as far as superpowered rogues, and is generally great at taking down physical threats. But how would he fare against an emotional and psychological threat? I can think of two rogues right now who, because they were trained and educated to the doctorate level in psychology, would be able to manipulate him more easily than a small child.”

Superboy frowned, and Nightwing lifted a placating hand. “I don’t say this to be mean or to belittle his skills, dude. I’m saying it because it’s true. In the words of Friedrich Nietzche, if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. And the abyss is darker in Gotham. It tries to get inside you, to lead you around by your emotions. If someone lead by their emotions tried to face the monsters of Gotham, they’d end up becoming one themselves.

“It’s why we are the way we are. All of us ‘Bat Vigilantes’ as you called us – we care, a lot, but we don’t let emotions cloud our judgements as a rule. None of us are as good at it as Bats is, and that’s why he kind of comes off like an asshole most of the time. Because if we let our rogues see any of our weaknesses, they’ll be exploited and we’ll be dead before dawn.” Nightwing sighed. “It’s part of why I wanted out of Gotham, why I came to Blüdhaven instead.”

“That’s…dark, dude.” Kid Flash said after a moment.

“That’s Gotham.” Artemis replied quietly.

“None of the Justice League have the skills and training necessary to fight the systemic darkness of Gotham. And in trying to do good, they’d just end up getting in the way, or worse, becoming part of the problem themselves.” Nightwing sighed. “But they didn’t listen when Bats tried to explain it years ago, so now he just treats them as trespassers and threats, so they’ll stay out under threat of assault, and we don’t have to keep explaining why Gotham is still essentially lawless. Or why the League members assigned to fight in Gotham ended up going insane.”

“Surely you don’t have so little faith in the heroes?” Aqualad asked.

“Look. It’s not that I don’t think you guys can do a good job kicking butt and taking out threats.” Nightwing soothed. “I’ve seen Artemis fight, and if she’s representative of you, then I’m not worried about your fighting skills. But we’re not exactly the spotlight type in Gotham, and honestly? You have no idea what’s in Gotham.”

“Lithuanian.”

“No.”

“You took us to Gotham with you, though.” Miss Martian pointed out.

“Only because Robin was in a potentially life-threatening situation, and all of the other Gotham vigilantes were stuck waist-deep in other issues. If Hood or Red had been available, I’d have just taken them.” Nightwing said bluntly. “Gotham gets inside you. Festers deep in your mind.”

“You and the Robins seem fine enough.” Kid Flash shrugged.

“Fine?” Nightwing scoffed. “We started as brave children and now we’re broken toy soldiers still fighting a war over the soul of a city long since blackened by evil.” He snapped bitterly. “We’re as stuck in Gotham’s fight as Bats is, as the villains of Gotham are. We just deal with it together, as best we can, and hope its enough to keep our ledgers out of the red.”

Nightwing took a deep breath. That was a little too harsh, and maybe a little too honest. He’d been out of Gotham too long if he was letting his emotions push him to lash out like this. Though…he’d left Gotham because of that pervasive numbness, the way he’d had to be emotionless in the field, the orders to abandon his brothers when they needed him so they didn’t show weakness. It had been consuming him for years, and Blüdhaven, even as bad as it was, was still a breath of fresh air after Gotham’s psychological warfare.

“Look. Let’s just leave it at ‘Gotham is a circle of hell and we’re the devils in it’ and move on, yeah?” Nightwing sighed. “If you ever end up going back to Gotham, I wouldn’t count on hospitality. I appreciate you coming tonight, because it enabled me to keep Robin safe. For that, I am thankful, and answered what I could. There’s a lot of information I can’t afford to have getting back to the Justice League – and yes, I do know you’ll have to report back to them, I’m not that oblivious – but I told you what I could.”

“We appreciate the information you felt you could give us.” Aqualad dipped his head, ever the diplomat. “Perhaps it would be best we parted ways for now. It is, after all, very late, and I’m sure we could all use the rest.”

Nightwing nodded in assent. As the heroes moved to the stairs leading down from the rooftop, heading back into their homes, he stopped Superboy.

“What you heard from Robin tonight…can I trust it will stay between us? He was vulnerable in a time when he’d have preferred to have his guard up, and it would soothe both our minds if I could reassure him that anything he was heard to say would be staying with you, and going no further.” Nightwing held his breath as he waited for the answer, knowing it would be very hard to enforce any kind of silence if Superboy decided not to keep what he’d heard from the little drug-addled Robin to himself.

Superboy’s face softened fractionally. “I understand what it is to keep your mind private. I won’t repeat any of it. You have my word.”

“Thank you.” Nightwing breathed, genuine relief in his voice. “Thank you, Superboy.”

Superboy hesitated a moment, thinking, before putting a heavy hand on Nightwing’s shoulder, and making strong eye contact.

“I think we are friends after this. So. It’s Kon-El.” The half-Kryptonian man rumbled.

“Kon-El, then.” Nightwing smiled, feeling oddly touched at the gesture. “Good night.”

“Good night, friend.” Superboy nodded once, and turned to join the other heroes in the doorway.

“Polish?” Kid Flash called across the rooftop.

“Close, but still no.” Nightwing laughed. They left him alone on the rooftop, and once he was sure they were well and truly gone, he dropped over the edge to land on his own tiny balcony, slipping into his room silently.

He’d barely gotten his mask and gloves off when his phone buzzed on the nightstand with an incoming call.

Caller Name Blocked…this can’t possibly go badly. He thought wryly.

He answered the phone without speaking. For a moment there was silence on the line, and he dared to hope it was just an automated call, or someone who had called the wrong number.

Then the caller spoke, and Nightwing’s stomach dropped in the same moment rage ignited deep inside it.

“Hello, Richard.” It was a smooth baritone voice, one he’d hoped he wouldn’t hear again, but had known he wouldn’t ever truly escape from. Before he could think, he was already snarling out his own response.

“What do you want, Slade?”

Chapter Text

Nightwing’s first thought was Why the hell is Slade calling me?

The thought immediately on its tail was How did he even get my number?

And pulling up the caboose of his admittedly short train of thought was a vague discomfort that he was no longer concerned by the fact that one of his enemies – arguably his most dangerous, and the one that Dami would consider a nemesis – knew his name.

“What do I want, Richard? So brusque. We haven’t spoken in such a long time. Can I not simply call to speak with my favorite apprentice?” Nightwing could hear Slade’s smirk through the phone line, and his fist tightened around his cell to the point that the case creaked ominously under his grip.

“Still not your apprentice. What do you want?” He growled out. Nightwing couldn’t tell if his heart was racing or had stopped entirely. Slade had always had this…effect…on his emotions. Everything got out of control so quickly with the mercenary, and Nightwing was always left at the end wondering if he’d done anything right.

But it had been years since he’d heard from the mercenary now. He’d dared to hope that chapter of his life was finally closed and done. That maybe the mercenary had finally gotten himself into something he hadn’t been able to get back out of.

But there ain’t no luck for the wicked.

“Why, Richard, I—”

“Don’t waste my time, Deathstroke.” Nightwing snapped, beginning to pace the tight confines of his room. He hadn’t turned on a light, but knew the space well enough that the scant moonlight filtering through his window was sufficient to keep him from knocking into anything.

“So rushed.” Slade hummed. “Very well. Consider this a courtesy call to a colleague.”

“We’re not colleagues. You’re a mass murderer, and I’m—”

“What, a hero?” Slade sneered. “Except you’re not. We’re on the same side of the law, Richard. What would your little friends in the police department do if they knew about your night job?”

Nightwing clenched his jaw, willing himself to stay silent, to not rise to the bait. They’d had this conversation before. He was tired, stressed from the day’s events, from his little Robin almost being taken from him. He shouldn’t have answered the phone at all, with this state of mind.

Just watch your tongue, find out what he wants, and get to sleep. Nightwing forced his hands to relax their grip, and pushed his shoulders out of their defensive position.

“I’ve never known you to be particularly courteous, Slade. What’s this courtesy call about?” Nightwing asked, trying his best to sound calm and collected. He knew it wouldn’t fool his long-time enemy, but it made him feel just a little better. A little more in control.

“Well, if we’re not colleagues, Richard, perhaps I was mistaken in calling tonight.” Slade crooned.

“You? Admit to making a mistake? Never thought I’d see the day.” Nightwing spat, hearing the venom in his own voice. So much for calm and collected.

“Hmm it does happen on occasion. For example, I made a mistake in taking you on as my apprentice while you were still in the Bat’s good graces and under his capricious protection.” Slade purred. “These days, if I’m not mistaken, you fly solo, do you not?”

“What’s this about, Slade? I don’t have all night.” Nightwing growled, trying to ignore how uneasy he felt that Slade would so casually imply that he knew about the issues between him and his once guardian. He’s just fishing for information, he reassured himself, he doesn’t actually know anything. There’s no way he could know anything.

The reassurances felt empty, even to him.

“Very well, Richard. Since I’m sure you have so much to do between playing detective, fighting nighttime crime, and dealing with your new heroes in town,” Slade’s sickly sweet smile was audible and Nightwing hated it, “and I’m sure you have plans for this beautiful Sunday morning, I’ll be straightforward.”

“That would be appreciated.” Nightwing grit out.

“As I said, this is a courtesy call. You could call it professional consideration, I suppose. From one criminal to another.” Slade sounded like he was thoroughly enjoying this. It made Nightwing wonder why Slade hadn’t been sniffing around recently, if he enjoyed this so very much.

“Please get to the point.” Nightwing sighed.

“Well, since you’re being so polite now.” Slade chuckled. “I’ve picked up a contract in your area. I’ll be arriving this afternoon, and will carry out this contract within 24 hours of arriving.”

Nightwing froze halfway through his pacing, brows pulling into a deep frown.

“Why are you telling me this?” He managed.

“Were you not listening, Richard? You’re usually so much more clever than this. I told you – this is a courtesy call between colleagues, between professionals. I’d do the same for anyone else within our field of work if I were to take a contract in their home city. It’s simply the professional thing to do.” Slade purred.

“Right. So because you’re a professional, you’re calling me to give me a heads-up that you’re going to do something in my city, so I have time to prepare and stop you?” Nightwing asked incredulously.

“What you do with this information is entirely up to you.” Slade replied evenly, sounding altogether too comfortable and careless for Nightwing. “The wise thing, of course, would be to take a restful Sunday night in your shabby little apartment and not attempt to interfere in my business.”

“We both know that’s not an option.” Nightwing’s forehead was starting to ache from the force of his frown. Why would Slade just…give him this information like this? There had to be something more at play…if only he weren’t so tired, he’d be able to see it already.

“You wouldn’t be my apprentice if it were. So determined to do whatever you must to accomplish your goals…we really are so very alike, Richard.” Slade hummed.

“I’m nothing like you, Slade. Never have been, never will be. Who’s your contract on?” Nightwing tried.

“Tsk tsk, Richard, you know better than that. My business is, after all, still my business. Can’t have you interfering with the contract itself.” Slade replied, sounding amused.

“Can’t blame me for trying.” Nightwing shrugged. “Any chance of you telling me who hired you?”

“It’s sloppy of you to even ask.”

“It’s been a long day.”

“I’m sure. Gotham has been quite the mess lately. And with all of your roles, you have been busy, I imagine. But since you are such a busy little bird, I will give you this much: if you and I come face to face while I’m operating in your city for this contract, we’ll have a little chat. Perhaps you’ll even find some information that will help you.”

“So you called me to invite me out to catch up?” Nightwing asked dryly.

Slade laughed, and hung up, leaving Nightwing with a dead line and too many questions for this time of the morning.

“I hate him so much.” He sighed aloud, closing his eyes a moment. He threw the phone back on his nightstand, and rubbed at his face.

Slade was coming to Blüdhaven tomorrow. Today, really, since it was early morning already. The weight of the day dragged him down to sit on the edge of his bed. He applied the solvent, and peeled his mask from his face, letting Nightwing fall away, leaving only the exhaustion of Dick Grayson to face the dark room.

“Alright.” He muttered, “So you have another thing to deal with. There’s always something.”

Slade had said he wouldn’t be in Blüdhaven until the afternoon. Normally, he wouldn’t trust a single thing told to him by an opponent. But Slade was a different breed of enemy. The man still obviously carried his delusion that Dick might someday acquiesce to being his apprentice. Most likely, based on his past interactions with the mercenary, Slade had called to ensure that they would meet while he was in town. Like inviting a friend out for a beer to catch up.

Except they weren’t friends, and he was going to try to kill someone in Dick’s city today.

“Priorities.” Dick sighed. “He’ll be here this afternoon. So I have until then to figure out who he’s likely targeting, and set up protection for them. If I can get it right, Ames could help with…shit, I’ve got to call Gordon still for her. Find out who in the state she can take her evidence to.” He rubbed at his face again, trying to will away the exhaustion that was burning at his eyes.

“Priorities.” He sighed again. “First, a few hours’ sleep. Just a few. Then, call Gordon, get some contact info. Then, figure out who the hell Slade might be targeting. Get the boys on board to help cover potential targets, and get Ames to arrange legal protection, too. Then we deal with Slade.

“And do…something about the heroes.” The last felt like an afterthought. He could probably just leave them for a day. Let them rest after the recent escapades. It’s not like they were going to cause him major problems at this point…they’d really hit something like an equilibrium. An understanding.

Bruce could very well be wrong about these heroes. Sure, there were a lot that seemed to only be there for the spotlight. Flashy and tacky and annoying. But these ones…they’d been relatively covert. Hadn’t drawn more attention than needed, or done a single press conference since arriving in Blüdhaven. They’d actually proven helpful, after the rough start.

But that was a faith crisis for another day. Preferably a day without Slade already penciled in.

Dick sighed, and stood. First things first. Get out of uniform, set an alarm, and go to sleep.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand again. Or not. The screen lit up with Tim’s contact info, and Dick snatched it up quickly.

“Tim? What’s going on?” He asked hurriedly as he answered. “Is everyone okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry to call right now, I know you’re probably getting ready for bed.” Tim replied hesitantly.

“Hey, no worries, Baby Bird. What’s up?” Dick found himself starting to pace again, nightstand to Haly’s Circus poster and back.

“Um, well, a couple of things.” Tim replied. Poor kid sounded exhausted. “First, Joker’s in custody. On his way to Arkham right now with B.”

“Thank goodness. Did anyone get hurt?”

“Not-not really. Demon Spawn is on bed rest for the day to finish burning through the drugs in his system. And I’m stuck in bed today because Alfred called Leslie and they teamed up on me over a stupid cut on my leg.” Tim huffed. Dick paused in his pacing.

“How big of a cut?” He asked suspiciously.

“Not that big!” Tim whined.

“How many stitches, Nerdy Bird?”

Tim hesitated. “Thirty-two.” He admitted.

“Yeah, that’s not a little cut, kid, that’s what we in the biz call a nasty gash.” Dick teased. “They’re right to keep you off your feet for the day.”

“You, Jay, and B run around on your stitches all that time!” Tim protested.

“Yes, but we’re what you might call grown-ass hypocrites. Pretty sure B doesn’t actually feel pain at this point, I’m stubborn, and Jay self-medicates with alcohol.” Dick chuckled.

“So when I’m old enough to drink, I’ll be old enough to ignore my stitches, and you won’t lecture me like a mother hen?” Tim asked, and Dick was relieved to hear the grin in the teen’s voice.

“No, you’ll just be old enough to be stupid with the rest of us. I’ll still tell you it’s a bad idea. It’s what big brothers are for.” Dick chuckled. “Did Jay come out of this Joker hunt okay?”

“He’s got some bruises, and a couple itty bitty scrapes.” Tim reported with what sounded like an eyeroll. “And he’s mad that he didn’t get to kill Joker yet. But he let B take the clown to Arkham, so I guess he’s just gonna be grumpy for a few days.”

“Pretty low injury count for a Joker hunt.” Dick mused.

“Yeah, we got out okay.” Tim agreed.

“What’s the rest of what you needed to tell me?”

Tim hesitated, and Dick started up pacing again, something in his stomach sinking. Over the years he’d developed a certain sense of when things weren’t about to go right. Ames called it paranoia, but trusted his gut anyway. Dick mostly just figured things going wrong had a pattern that preceded them, and so much had gone wrong, he’d just gotten used to finding that pattern.

“What’s wrong, Baby Bird?” He asked gently, ignoring the choking anxiety high in his throat.

“B…uh…B knows.” Tim finally managed, his voice sounding much smaller than it had a few moments before. “He got an alert from the Zeta tubes about your override and, uh, guests. None of us told him, I swear, Dick. We wouldn’t have told him. We didn’t. We—”

“Hey, take a breath in there, Baby Bird.” Dick soothed. “I know you wouldn’t tattle on me. And I knew he’d figure it out. Thought it would take a few days, but hey. What’s one more complication tonight, right?”

“Um, right.” Tim still sounded uncertain. “But, um, he’s coming out to Blüdhaven after he drops off Joker. He’s really mad, Big Bird.”

“Yeah, I figured he would be.” Dick sighed. “But don’t you worry about little ol’ me, okay? I’ll just mask back up, and talk him down. Now that Joker’s in custody, I’m sure he’ll see reason about me getting backup to find Dami. Especially since we were right about it not being Joker that took him.”

Bruce seeing reason…that’ll be the day. He thought wryly. Tim seemed to agree with that thought, given his snort.

“Look, I’ll be okay, Baby Bird. Thanks for the heads up.” Dick pulled up a smile, knowing Tim would be able to hear it through the phone. “I’ll take care of it, and send him back home to rest with you.”

“Okay.” He could picture Tim chewing on his lower lip.

“Hey, Mr. Fastest Anxiety in the West, I got this.” Dick teased, and was rewarded with a soft huff of laughter over the line. “Go to bed, Baby Bird. Get some sleep. If something goes down, I’ll call, okay?”

“And tell me to ignore my stitches so I can come help?” Tim asked, sounding just a little too hopeful.

“We’ll see about that one.” Dick chuckled. “Goodnight, Baby Bird.”

“Goodnight, Big Bird. Be careful.”

“Always am.” Dick caught Tim’s snort as he hung up, and laughed a little himself. He couldn’t blame his little brother for doubting his ability to be careful, especially after the past week with the heroes in Blüdhaven.

With a heavy sigh, he reapplied his mask, and picked up his gloves.

Looks like there’s a new first priority on the list. First, talk with B. Then, sleep if there’s time. Yeah, today’s gonna be great.

***

The team was quiet as they filed into their apartment, each lost in their own thoughts. Without a word, they settled in the living room couches together, none of them quite willing to go straight to bed just yet.

“So…what do we do now?” Kid Flash finally asked. At their questioning glances, he clarified, “I mean, about Nightwing. We know with about as much certainty as is possible that he’s one of the Batman’s vigilante gang. And Superman said that if that were the case, we needed to bring him in for the Justice League to get whatever information he has about the Batman’s operation, right? So how are we going to do it?”

“We’re not, Baywatch.” Artemis snorted. “He trusts us enough to tell us all of that stuff tonight, and the other nights. There’s no way we can just tie him up and hand him over now, we’d lose all of his trust!”

“But what about our orders from Superman?” M’gann asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, Superman told us to—” Kid Flash started, only for Artemis to cut him off sharply.

“To what? Turn against the guy that literally saved your life a few days ago? I know you heal fast, Kid Idiot, but there’s no way you forget that fast, too.” She snapped, frustrated. “Even after our mistakes in those first encounters, he’s been willing to try trusting us. He’d be a crazy good hero if we can show him it’s a real option. Are you really so stupid as to just throw that kind of trust away?”

“Hey!” Kid Flash yelped. “I’m not being stupid, I’m being…order…following.” He trailed off, grimacing.

“Yeah. Good save there, Kid Mouth.” Artemis sniped.

“I know he’s been trusting us now, but…shouldn’t we be respecting the decision that the Justice League made?” M’gann asked worriedly. “I mean, they’re the ones that set our mission, right?”

“So we ask them to change it!” Artemis declared, frustrated. “We can’t just act like we don’t care what happens to this guy!”

“We don’t know who this guy even is, Artie!” Kid Flash threw his hands up in frustration.

“We know enough!” She shot back. How could he not see that? Nightwing had all the makings of a good hero, and more than enough training to make it as part of the Justice League. Sure, he had an aversion to the word ‘hero’ and a little bit of a checkered past when it came to the law, but she’d been the same way, and they’d taken her in! She couldn’t stomach the idea of just handing him over like a criminal after what she’d seen in him.

He handled himself better than most heroes in stressful situations, and had even helped her to keep a level head when they’d been temporarily caught. Nightwing was an ideal candidate for a new hero.

Why couldn’t the rest of the team see it?

“We have to try and convince the league to let us recruit him.” Artemis pushed. “If we can help him make the transition to hero, he’d be able to willingly help us reign in Batman. He’s not stupid – he obviously knows that Batman isn’t the best place for his brothers to be. If we could offer an alternative, he’d probably take it.”

“You really think he’d turn against the Batman for a bunch of heroes he doesn’t really know or trust?” Kid Flash scoffed.

“He trusted us enough to take us to Gotham to help him look for Robin.” Artemis pointed out.

“Only because he had no choice, Artemis.” The speedster retorted. “If there hadn’t been other issues happening in Gotham, he probably wouldn’t have even told us that anything was happening.”

Artemis hated that he was right. They’d been a last resort choice of allies. But…that still counted for something, didn’t it? Because he could have gone alone instead. He could have chosen to just leave and take care of it.

“He trusted us enough to ask us for help. Yeah, we weren’t his first choice, but he did still choose to trust us to try and help rescue his brother.” She pointed out.

“He changed the pairings.” Superboy spoke up softly.

“What do you mean?” M’gann asked.

“The first time, he was more worried about us turning against him during the op. This time, he trusted enough to put himself with the biggest threat because it was the most effective way to accomplish his goal.” Superboy explained.

“Exactly! So he’s trusting us more now!” Artemis crowed triumphantly. “All we need is a little more time, and we’ll be able to bring him on as a teammate rather than take him in as a criminal! If we betray his trust now, we’ll ruin any chance of him ever being a hero – and he’s got way too much potential to waste like that.”

“But it’s not our decision to make.” M’gann pointed out hesitantly. “I mean, our orders are to bring him in after confirming his ties with the Batman, right?”

“So we convince the League that it would be better to do it this way instead.” Artemis declared firmly. “We lay out our case, show them just how great of a hero he could be, and convince them to let us continue recruiting him instead.”

“Why are you defending him so much?” Kid Flash asked, frowning. “You’ve only even known about this guy for, like, a week! We have no idea who he is, let alone who he’d be as a hero.”

“Perhaps,” Aqualad interjected, “now is not the time to discuss it. We are all tired, and arguing will hardly get us anywhere. I will include your suggestion in my report on the night to Superman, and we will see what the League thinks, Artemis. But this is not a decision that they, or we, can take lightly. For now, let us sleep on it. We will discuss further tomorrow. Perhaps even with Detective Grayson, who has seen and knows so much more about this vigilante’s reputation within the city.”

Artemis stood with a huff, unsatisfied. She’d hoped to be able to convince them, but she had to agree that Aqualad was right about them being tired. She could try again tomorrow, whittle away at their arguments until they agreed.

Because no matter what the League, or even Detective Grayson may believe, she was sure that Nightwing would make a great hero. And she’d argue that point until she was blue in the face.

If she’d deserved another chance at being good, at changing her path and her future, after all the bad that she’d done…didn’t Nightwing deserve the same, after all his attempts to do good and to help?

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long for Nightwing to find Batman. It made sense – neither of them was going for stealth right now. Despite the way his heart slammed against his ribs like a bird desperately trying to escape a cage, Nightwing didn’t feel scared as he stood in the open a few rooftops away from Bats and waited.

Nightwing frowned slightly. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but it was far closer to exhaustion than fear. He’d been going non-stop for far too many days, between Detective Grayson, Big Brother Dick and Nightwing. The short nights of sleep were starting to catch up to him, blurring the lines between the masks he wore.

What he felt…it definitely wasn’t fear. Batman met his eyes across the rooftops, and Nightwing didn’t move. Not tonight. Tonight Batman could come to him if he had an issue. He’d come all the way from Gotham, he could come a few dozen yards further to the rooftop Nightwing had stopped on.

The standoff lasted only a few seconds, and Nightwing set his jaw and shoulders. Either come over here and talk, or go home, B. I don’t have the energy to play games tonight. He thought, irritated.

Batman gave in, crossing the distance in his usual strong, stomping way. But Nightwing could see the tiniest hitch in his mentor’s step as he landed the last jump to his rooftop. He’s had a long night, too.

“What are you doing out here tonight, B?” Nightwing asked, resisting the urge to cross his arms defensively. He wasn’t in the wrong tonight. Not really.

Bruce gave no answer, only locked eyes with Nightwing through their respective masks. Nightwing stared back.

“Well, if you’re not going to say anything, you might as well head back. Last I knew, this wasn’t a Gotham neighborhood for you to be patrolling. Don’t you have a board meeting to go to in the morning?” Nightwing asked cheekily, tilting his head with a glib smile.

“You know exactly why I’m here, Nightwing.” Bats growled, his gravelly voice low and tight with anger.

“Why don’t you spell it out for me?” Nightwing shot back, mouth moving before his brain caught up. He did know why Bats was here. He knew exactly why, and would have known why even without Tim’s call. His heartbeat thrummed through his neck, his bruised chest and jaw, the bullet graze on his arm. He almost couldn’t believe he was taking this route, but tonight felt different. B was almost within reach, and although he was aware of their proximity, something held him in place, kept him from stepping back.

Batman growled in frustration, and Nightwing waited, heartbeat so loud in his ears he almost missed when Batman shifted, unconsciously adopting a more aggressive stance.

“We have rules for a reason, Nightwing.” He snapped.

“I know.” Nightwing replied, surprising himself with the steadiness of his own voice.

“The rules protect Gotham.” Batman growled.

“I know.” He repeated. “But they didn’t protect Robin tonight. So I did.”

“It’s not your job to protect Robin.”

“You’re right, B. It’s supposed to be yours. But you were too focused on Joker to do your job of protecting him.” Nightwing felt something tight and hot coil in his chest as he spoke. “It’s your job to keep them safe, Bats. To protect them. They’re just kids out there!”

“My job is to protect Gotham.” Batman snarled back. “They know the risks of going into the field, and they take on those risks willingly.”

“They know the risks? They’re children, B!” Nightwing threw up his hands in frustration. “They’re still so stuck in their need to impress you, to make you proud of them, that they can’t see how bad it can get! Hood and I understand what we’re getting ourselves into when we put on the mask. We do it because we want to protect others, we want to help reign in the chaos of these cities. But the younger boys do it because of you.”

“Their motivations are none of your concern, Nightwing. How they fight is my concern. Those boys—”

“Those boys are my brothers, B.” Nightwing snapped. “I give a shit about what happens to them.”

Batman growled at being interrupted, and Nightwing clenched his jaw to avoid flinching back. He wasn’t going to flinch tonight. He had a point, dammit, and he was going to make it.

“I’m picking up your slack because you seem to have forgotten that we aren’t your soldiers. We’re supposed to be your sons.” Nightwing pressed, that tight, hot thing in his chest burning in his throat, his voice.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Nightwing, but I’m not your father. I don’t need your teenage rebellion.” Batman’s words were like a slap across his face. Nightwing froze for a moment.

“You’ve made that abundantly clear over the past few years, B.” He replied, voice quiet, but somehow still strong. “But I’m not a teenager anymore. I’m not rebelling against you. But you wouldn’t listen to Red Robin tonight, so I’m trying to get you to listen to me.”

For a moment, Nightwing thought he’d gotten through Batman’s thick wall of pride. For a moment, he thought he’d reached Bruce through Batman’s mask. For a moment, he thought he saw the man who had comforted him in a bloodied circus ring.

Then the moment passed.

“You broke the rules tonight, Nightwing. You brought our enemies within our borders. Showed them our secrets.” Batman growled. Nightwing bit back a sigh.

“I did it to protect Robin!” He snapped back.

“You should have obeyed.”

“Not this time.” Nightwing’s calm, strong voice rang in sudden silence, the burning thing in his chest as taught as the muscles of his body.

He saw the blow coming before Batman had even moved. Nightwing rolled with the motion, hips, back, shoulders, head sinuously moving to pull him out of the path of Batman’s fist. He reached up an arm to deflect the next heavy blow, careful to take as little of the force as possible.

Training kicked in as he redirected the third, taking a half-step back to maintain the distance he needed. Batman’s furious silence was as heavy of a threat as the armored gauntlets swinging his way.

The fourth blow came, and that tight livewire burning in Nightwing’s chest snapped.

He ducked the blow, stepped into Batman’s space near the leg he was favoring, and came out with one of his own, bringing his knee up sharply and slamming his heel down into his old mentor’s injured leg, destabilizing the larger man. Nightwing threw his gloved fist up, connecting hard with Batman’s jaw. The force of the blow knocked him back, and his compromised leg gave out, sending the Dark Knight of Gotham to the ground.

Silence, thick as congealing blood, reigned a moment.

“I…felt that.” Batman muttered finally, sounding surprised. “I’d forgotten what that’s like.”

“Swing at me again tonight and I’ll show you again.” Nightwing snapped, his voice hot and sharp. His shoulders were nearly trembling with the anger coursing through his veins, spreading from the burning ball of fury in his chest. Distantly, he recognized it as the frustrations, humiliations, and shattered expectations of years. Something he’d ignored building inside him until this moment.

And in this moment, with Batman laying in the gravel before him, Nightwing couldn’t push it back down again.

“You’re going to shut up for a moment, and listen, B. I’ve put up with a lot of bullshit since you took me in. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have stood up to you and made you listen then, like Alfie used to. But maybe I was scared of being left behind again.” Nightwing didn’t know where he was going with this, but the river of words trapped in that hot ball of fury was unstoppable now. “You think you’ve got it all figured out. You think you know everything that goes on in Gotham, and you think tonight was evidence of that. But you don’t. You don’t know shit.

“Oh, you now which gangs are in charge of what, and which of the rogues are currently in Arkham. But you would have lost Robin tonight if I hadn’t stepped in. You were blind tonight, and that’s not okay. Not when it’s my brothers.”

Nightwing took a deep, shaking breath, and blew it out slowly. To his surprise, Batman stayed laying still on the rooftop before him.

“I came into this world of my own volition, seeking vengeance against the man who killed my parents. You kept me from ruining my life, you took me in and gave me a new home, you helped me rebuild when I was lost and alone. For that…for that I’ll always be grateful. But B…you took it too far. Somewhere along the line, you forgot about family. You’re so focused on the darkness in Gotham that you invited into our home.

“I’ve been trying to defend you against the heroes’ view of you. Trying to show them through my actions that you’re more than just the insane asshole who teaches kids to become vigilantes and break the law. But what you trained me to be…that’s not what you’re training Robin to be. I don’t know what changed, I don’t know when you lost sight of what was important. Maybe it was when Jay died.”

“No names in the field.” Batman muttered softly.

Nightwing clenched his teeth, and swallowed his immediate flash of anger.

“That’s not the point here, B.” He growled. “The point is that at some point, I stopped wanting to be like you when I was strong enough to hold my own. I stopped wanting to be The Batman. Hood doesn’t want it, either. Somewhere along the line, you lost us in your damned obsession. And if you don’t wake the hell up, you’re going to lose the Robins, too. If you don’t turn away from this path…you’re going to lose us all. You’re going to push far enough that even Alfie won’t take it anymore. And you’re going to be a sad little king of a sad little hill in an empty manor of the worst city in the nation. You’re going to end up alone, B.”

His hot anger had simmered down, allowing the sour pain it hid to emerge as he spoke. Nightwing stared down at his mentor, the man he’d once called his father, his former guardian, and he hurt.

Where did we go wrong, B?

“Everyone dies alone, Nightwing.” Batman growled finally, beginning to push himself to his feet. Nightwing stepped back to give him the space to haul himself up. Never had a victory tasted so much like defeat as at this moment, with his heart and mind bare, and Bruce nowhere to be seen.

Batman stood and Nightwing stared into his impassive mask.

“You have never understood what it takes to fight the evils we face in Gotham.” He growled. “Your softness will be your downfall. Your kindness, your willingness to trust, is weakness when you face what we do. You see the goodness in those who need to be stopped, and hesitate to act when there’s a risk to what you care for. Your trauma made you kind. Mine made me strong. And my sons will be strong to face our enemies.”

“My trauma didn’t make me kind, B. I am kind because I choose to be. Because despite my anger and my trauma, despite everything, I have made a choice to be kind. Because that’s the kind of world I want my brothers to live in. What is the point of stopping evil if we and everyone else live in darkness anyway?” Nightwing plead. “There has to be more to our family than anger and fighting. We have to be better than the people we fight.”

“We don’t kill.” Batman asserted.

“That’s a damn thin line to separate us from them, B, and you know it.” Nightwing sighed. “I don’t want my brothers to end up like either of us, trapped in our own neuroses and accumulated bullshit. You, me, and Hood? We’re messed up. But the Robins…they still have a shot at becoming something much greater than us. And maybe…maybe that’s something the heroes could show us. Because when I asked for their help tonight, they agreed to not just help, but to be quiet, and they didn’t press for answers I wasn’t willing to give. They held themselves to the standards you used to teach us, B.”

“They’re heroes, Nightwing.” Batman spat. “They will betray your trust, and they’ll tell you it’s for the greater good. You can’t trust them, they’re not family.”

“B, we’re all barely family these days.” Nightwing rolled his eyes, despite knowing Bats couldn’t really see it past the domino. “And they’ve stepped up every time I’ve asked them to. They’ve had my back, had several chances where they could have betrayed my trust already. Maybe it’s time we give the heroes a chance to prove that they’re not what we think they are. They would be powerful allies, and—”

“And nothing, Nightwing. We will not be allying ourselves with heroes. They will fail just like their mentors have, and end up working against us. I will not have our secrets compromised.” Batman snapped.

“You have no idea who they are! They’re trying to do good, just like us, and I’m willing to give them a chance to prove their worth.” Nightwing pressed.

“You will do no such thing, Nightwing. You’re going to do what you should have done a week ago, and chase them out of your city. You’re going to obey the family’s rules, and you will stop this little rebellion of yours.”

Nightwing set his jaw. “No, B. I’m not. I’m going to do what I think is right, and what is best. And Gotham won’t stay in Gotham forever. Times are changing, and if our family doesn’t change with them, we won’t have much of a family left by the end of it. And I won’t lose my brothers over my pride.”

“Either you will get those heroes out of your city, or you will stay out of Gotham. I won’t have them in my city again, Nightwing. And if you decide to align yourself with them, then I won’t have you there, either.” Batman threatened.

Nightwing stared, and felt like he was blindfolded on the edge of a precipice. One step in any direction, and it could be the end of something. Would Bruce really cut him out of the family for this? Could he take that risk? Could he risk walking away from his mentor’s wing, and potentially lose his brothers?

Something’s coming. He knew it was true. Something big is on the horizon.

“We already have too many enemies, B. What we need isn’t isolation, it’s allies. And if that means I don’t come back to Gotham until Alfie convinces you to listen to reason…then I guess I’ll be staying out for a while.” Nightwing’s voice sounded far more sure of this than he felt. Something in him screamed at the prospect of losing these family ties, even though he knew Alfie wouldn’t stand for it for long. Despite Bruce’s stubbornness, he couldn’t be losing his family forever with this choice.

You don’t know that. He ignored his own doubts.

“So be it.” Batman growled ominously. “I’ll be shutting the tubes behind me. And they’ll stay closed until you remember that your loyalty is to the family first, Nightwing. No backup, no help from us.”

“If that’s how it has to be.” Nightwing lifted his chin brazenly, despite the tearing pain in his chest. He hesitated, then, “In my nightmares, B, you regret ever pulling me up off that circus floor. I’m just…I’m just trying to do what’s right here. The way you taught me to.”

Batman turned to leave, but paused, glancing back at Nightwing. “I’m only trying to protect this family, Nightwing.”

“So am I, B.” Nightwing replied softly. He watched Bats leave across the rooftops, wincing internally to see that the Dark Knight’s limp was more noticeable than it had been before. He hoped that it wouldn’t cause Bruce too many issues. The last thing he wanted was for Batman to go down because of him.

He wasn’t sure he’d made the right choice tonight. Not unsure enough to call Bats back and beg forgiveness, but enough to feel the pit of his stomach churn within him as he crossed the rooftops heading home.

He’d spoken his mind tonight. Spoken openly and completely truthfully with Bruce for the first time in a long while…and he wasn’t sure it had done anything. He’d finally said what he needed to…and now Bruce was farther from reach than ever before, he was cut off from his brothers, and without his main backup right as Slade was coming into town and Bane was making unknown plans.

But Nightwing had trusted his instincts for years. It was one of the first lessons B had taught him – you trust your gut. And his gut was saying that something was around the corner. Something that his family wouldn’t be prepared for, that the Justice League wasn’t prepared for. He knew that these heroes could be valuable allies.

Nightwing slipped through his window into his dark, empty apartment. And for the first time in a while, he felt truly alone. His brothers wouldn’t be coming to spend the night until B calmed down. He was going to face whatever was coming with only the heroes to watch his back.

And as he curled up under his well-worn quilt, a gift from Alfred from years ago, alarm set to go off in only a few hours’ time, he prayed to whatever deity might listen that he wasn’t wrong to trust these heroes.

Because it was starting to look like they’d be deciding his fate in the upcoming days.

Chapter Text

Dick awoke to a silent apartment. Most mornings that was a relief – either his brothers weren’t there, or were in a temporary truce – and it promised peaceful mornings. Today, however, the small apartment didn’t feel peaceful, it felt cavernous. Like if he called out, he’d hear his own voice echoing back, tinny and empty.

He rose and dressed himself, pulling on a tattered, well-worn Harley Davidson hoodie to stave off the morning chill. Jay had given it to him a while back, and while it was two sizes too big – and likely selected from Jay’s own closet as a last-minute gift – it was a favorite for its warmth and comfort, and the faint permanent smell of Jay’s cigarettes, which lingered no matter how many times Dick washed it.

Intentionally avoiding looking at his clock, as he knew it would only disappoint him to know how few hours of sleep he’d gotten, Dick slipped out of his room, carefully ignored the two bedrooms in the hall, and went in search of breakfast. One bowl of generic sugary cereal and borderline-questionable milk later, and he was sitting at his table with a pad of paper, ready to sort out the inevitable mess that would be his day.

Mouth full of cereal that Alfie never would have allowed to cross the mansion’s threshold, he listed out the priorities of the day.

1. Call Gordon for Ames
2. Slade’s target is???
3. Slade’s general bullshit
4. Bane + drugs = ????
5. Truce/Alliance/Something with Baby Justice League Heroes

And maybe find time to eat later today, too. He mentally added with a wry chuckle.

The list looked so small compared to what it represented. And it didn’t even include possibly dealing with the fallout of his argument with Bats last night. He’d need to smooth ruffled feathers with his brothers at some point, but hoped against reason that it might be after he’d gotten through his little to-do list.

They’d be mad about not getting to come to Blüdhaven, but he hoped they’d at least understand the situation and why he’d stood his ground on this one. Dick couldn’t even contemplate the possibility of them holding this against him as well – he needed to believe they’d at least be okay with how things went down.

Dick sighed, glaring half-heartedly at the scribbled list. Only one of the items – calling Gordon – would be quick. The rest were going to take some mental, and in some cases physical, oomph to get done, and probably way more time than he’d like.

But one thing at a time.

He pulled up Commissioner Gordon’s number on his cell, and hit ‘call’.

It rang, and rang, and rang, but ended in Gordon’s voicemail box. Dick sighed, and put on a cheerful voice.

“Hey, Commissioner, it’s Dick.” He chirped, “One cop in a corrupt city to another, and preferably without getting my precinct involved, I’m hoping you have contact info for someone unconnected to purse strings to get some foxes out of a henhouse. There’s a file box of evidence, and no lockup safe enough for it. Hit me back when you get the chance, yeah? Thanks, bye.”

Commissioner Gordon had likely been up all night helping Bats deal with Joker, so Dick wasn’t surprised there hadn’t been an answer. Some people actually got to sleep in on their Sundays after rough nights, rather than getting up after just a few measly hours to keep dealing with ongoing crises.

Some people also didn’t do violent volunteer work all night most nights.

Dick chuckled to himself at his own thoughts – violent volunteer work indeed – and put a mark next to the first item on the list. Sort of half-done. He’d called, at least, even if he didn’t have an answer. He honestly wasn’t sure Gordon would have a safe contact point that they could use, but if anyone understood the necessity of getting the evidence to someone outside of Blüdhaven’s payrolls, it would be Gordon.

“Now for the mental acrobatics.” Dick muttered, dropping an empty bowl into the sink to deal with later. The sink was getting a little full even for him, but he needed to think and to do that, he needed to move.

So he tipped forward into a handstand, and paced forward on his palms.

As you do.

“Slade’s been paid to target someone in Blüdhaven, and he’s going after them today.” He muttered, glaring at a suspicious stain in his carpet as he passed it. “We don’t have any important politicians. There’s been no recent scandals.” He reached the wall, and leaned his heels against it before kicking off, coming back upright.

“Twenty percent of contract killings are romantically motivated, sixteen percent are financially motivated.” He continued, bending down and twisting into a complex stretch his parents had used to limber up before performances. “But a romantically motivated contract would be a few thousand dollars, nowhere near Slade’s price range. And there’s no one in this city financially well-off enough to make paying Slade to kill them worth the money you’d get.”

He paused, reconsidering. “I guess maybe one of the bigwigs for the factories, if any of them are in town right now. Mental note: check if any big money is visiting their factories, pretending to care about workers. Right. Next motivation.”

Dick unwound himself, and bent over backwards into a lifted bridge, and paced his way back toward the kitchen. “Silencing witnesses takes up thirteen percent of contract killings. Which, depending on the organization, could warrant Slade’s pay level…but that would be a helluva witness, and in Blüdhaven it would be ten times easier, and way cheaper, to just pay one of our yellow-bellied dirty-fingered cops to take care of it. Wouldn’t need to hire someone of Slade’s caliber to do it.”

He paused again, something in the back of his mind catching on the thought. But Dick couldn’t quite place what part of the train of thought it applied to. There was…something…he should consider with this, something about silencing witnesses, paying someone like Slade, and paying cops.

After a moment of confused hesitation, he packaged up the thought and set it to the side for later consideration. He’d gnaw at it as he continued to work through the problem, and hopefully figure out what was bothering him about the situation by the time he was ready to move onto the next list item.

Dick used a walkover to come out of his bridge, and rolled his shoulders. His bruised chest and cut arm weren’t complaining too loudly at all of the movement, which he took as a good sign. His forearms were sore from deflecting B’s hits last night, but hadn’t turned any fun new colors, so he considered his current physical condition ‘Good’ bordering on ‘Great’.

Tim would have something to say about that after their talk last night, but he wasn’t here to say it, so whatever.

His heart ached at the thought, so Dick pushed it away harshly, and tipped back into a handstand. He balanced, got secure, then lifted his bullet-kissed arm, adjusting to be up on just the other palm.

“If it’s not silencing witnesses,” he continued aloud, “the next biggest piece is revenge, at ten percent of contract killings. That…would be hard to track down, and most of the time not in Slade’s paygrade either. Even the big business assholes generally don’t pay Slade’s rates just for some petty revenge, it would have to be something huge. But…it is generally the category with older targets, who have access to the kind of money Slade charges. So it’s possible…but I’m definitely hoping it’s not that. Because if it is, there’s almost no way I’d figure out who wants revenge on which Blüdhaven resident before Slade just walked up and shot them. So hopefully not revenge.”

Dick put down his arm, and lowered himself slowly, settling his knees on his elbows until his weight lined up above his palms again, and sighed.

“Six percent is drug related. Which…honestly? Not going to pay Slade’s prices for a drug-related hit. Especially not in Blüdhaven.” He paused, tilting his head slightly and adjusting his balance. “Unless this is related to Bane’s drugs? He’d have the dough to pay Slade, though I’ve never heard of Bane paying someone else to kill people when he could enjoy doing it himself…but it is the only drug operation centered in Blüdhaven big enough to be able to pay for Slade.”

Dick rocked back, setting his feet on the ground, and stood to stretch upward. “Then there’s the unknown motives, and honestly that’s not a helpful category to try and contemplate for preventative action.” He chuckled. “I sound like my Criminal Psych lecturer from the academy.”

He sighed, rubbing at the slight stubble on his jaw, almost smiling to find that it hurt less than it had before. It’s the little things.

“So. Gotta check for visiting bigwigs. And…maybe something about silencing witnesses?” He frowned. “Or…whistleblowers? Maybe there’s a whistleblower in one of the big factories that’s going to get them in serious trouble? But it would still be easier to pay a cop to do the deed for a factory worker than getting a contract with Slade.”

The thought nagged at him the same way it had before. There was something there, years of experience told him so. If only those years of experience would be more specific.

His thoughts were interrupted by his cellphone vibrating on the table. Dick looked to it, and sighed. Of course Timmy’s calling already. Kid’s too smart for his own good.

Dick picked up the phone and answered the call.

“Timmy, it’s Sunday morning. You were up crazy late last night, why are you already up again?” He asked with teasing exasperation.

“Um…” Tim hummed.

“You didn’t sleep did you?” Dick asked with a sigh.

“He never does.” Came Jason’s exasperated voice. “You have to tie this kid into bed and force-feed him melatonin gummies to make him sleep.”

“Jay’s there, too!” Dick said, surprised.

“Good job, Golden Boy. So observant.” Jay’s eyeroll was audible. “Demon Spawn is here, too, but he’s sulking because I told him to shut the hell up earlier.”

“I am not sulking.” Dami protested, and Dick couldn’t help his smile. Dami was definitely sulking.

“How’s it going, Big Bird?” Jay asked.

“It’s going…y’know…it’s going good.” Dick tried, wincing when he heard how uncertain he sounded.

“Wow. That’s the kind of ringing endorsement I used to get out of B when I managed not to die. What’s going on, Dickie?” Jay sounded like he already knew the answer, and Dick knew lying wouldn’t get him far with his brothers. They wouldn’t have called together if they weren’t aware of what was happening – it just wasn’t like them.

“Just had a bit of a spat with B last night. It’s nothing too bad.” Dick replied casually, shrugging despite knowing they couldn’t see him.

“Are you in trouble?” Damian asked, and Dick could see the little frown lines in his forehead.

“He argued with The Bat. Have a guess.” Jay said dryly.

“No?” Damian tried.

“Have another guess.” Jay snorted. Tim chuckled in the background, likely from behind his hand if Dick was judging the muffled sound right.

“How bad was it?” Tim asked hesitantly.

“Not…as bad as it could have been.” Dick hedged. “I mean, it’s not the worst fight we’ve had. He’s pretty miffed, but I did break the rules, so that was to be expected.”

“What did I tell you? Did I not say two minutes ago that he’d try to play it off like everything was okay?” Jay snickered to the other boys.

“There is no need to beat the shrubbery, Grayson.” Damian asserted.

“Beat around the bush, Demon Spawn.” Tim corrected in exasperation.

“Whatever. My point stands, Drake.”

“Seriously, Dickie. How many stitches did you get last night?” Jay asked, sounding only half-joking.

“None. I, ah, I actually hit him.” Dick replied, feeling his shoulders tense with anxiety. “I kinda blew up on him a bit. Yelled more than a little, tried to talk some sense into him about everything. I just…didn’t think I’d done wrong by bringing the heroes to help find Dami fast. There’s some things more important than the rules, and I—”

“Holy shit, Golden Boy.” Jay interrupted. “You hit Bruce?”

This is it. Dick thought, the anticipation building in his gut and back until he almost physically hurt from the tension. This was the moment he’d feared was coming. His brothers’ judgement loomed before him.

“I’m so damn proud of you, Dickie!” Jay exclaimed, laughing.

What?

“I’m glad you stood your ground on that one. I mean, yeah, he’s a Demon Spawn, but he’s our Demon Spawn, and he’s family. He’s our brother.” Tim agreed.

“You’re adopted.” Damian huffed. He sounded like he wasn’t sure how to actually deal with the idea that Tim might prefer him not disappeared. “But I am also…appreciative. It was…a convenient moment of assistance.”

“You’re full of shit, Demon Spawn. He saved your butt and you know it.” Tim cackled.

“Wait, you’re all okay with this?” Dick frowned.

“Of course not!” Jay exclaimed, and Dick’s heart sank. “Old Man’s being an ass and overreacting again. I can’t believe he’s trying to ground you in Blüdhaven.”

“What?” Dick sputtered, dumbfounded.

“At least he’s not trying to ground us.” Tim muttered,

“He wouldn’t dare.” Jay laughed. “He wouldn’t know how to deal with us being grounded.” He dropped his voice into the baritone timbre of Bruce’s posh Gotham accent. “Ground them? What would I do with my kids all day if I grounded them? Keep them in my house? Where I live?”

Dick gave an involuntary laugh as Jay and Tim cracked up on the other end of the call.

“I am sure Father would admit the error of his ways long before we were confined for so long as to have complications.” Damian asserted, though he sounded uncertain.

“Sorry to break the news to you, Demon Spawn, but your father is a stubborn ass.” Jay snickered. “So Dickiebird, what’re you going to do with your newfound freedom from B’s overbearing assholery?”

“There’s still plenty to attend to here in Blüdhaven.” Dick replied vaguely. “Always more work to do, you know how it is.”

“More than you’ve already been dealing with?” Tim asked, sounding concerned.

“The saying that life is just one damn thing after another is a gross understatement. The damn things overlap.” Dick sighed. “But such is life. It’s not too bad, really.”

“It’s like Shakespeare said,” Jay agreed, “When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.”

Silence on both ends of the line. Dick could imagine the faces that Tim and Dami were making at Jay, and stifled a laugh.

“it’s Hamlet, you uneducated heathens. Act 4, scene 5.” Jay huffed, irritated. “I can’t believe I’m legally related to any of you.”

“You’re not. Legally, you’re still dead, you nerd.” Tim pointed out.

“Oh thank goodness.” Jay sighed.

“Do you require our assistance, Grayson?” Dami asked, redirecting the focus back to Dick despite that being the last thing he necessarily needed right now. “Although the Zeta tubes are locked beyond my capacity to deal with, and Drake is currently banned from the computer bank in the Cave to avoid his interference in the matter, we do still have access to numerous high-speed vehicles.”

“Demon Spawn’s right. We can get to Blüdhaven in a few hours’ drive if you need our help.” Tim agreed eagerly.

“Not you, Geek Squad. You have stitches.” Jay muttered.

Dick contemplated, just for a moment, telling them about Slade, about needing to find his target and protect the target from one of the most proficient – if not the most proficient – killers currently alive on the Earth. But he was already in deep shit with Bruce, and the last thing he wanted was to drag his brothers into it with him. Jay could handle himself well enough against Bruce’s onslaught, but the younger boys…he couldn’t put them in that kind of situation. Not when Tim was already injured, and Dami was struggling with his place in the family and in Bruce’s world.

He took a silent deep breath, and put on his best nonchalant voice, complete with a lopsided smile they couldn’t see.

“Nah, you guys stay in Gotham.” Dick chuckled. “It’s just more of the same. Besides, if things get bad, I have the hero squad here to help make some trouble. Last thing I need is you bringing Jay here and causing issues. I’d hate to give you another speeding ticket, Jay.”

Jay let out a cry of frustrated anguish. “I was doing so amazing, too! Highest streak yet!”

“What are you whimpering about, Todd?” Damian’s frown was audible through the call.

“One of my life goals is to run as many consecutive red lights as I can without being ticketed by the police. My record was 68 before Big Bird gave me a ticket. My own brother crushed my dreams. He couldn’t even give me one more to give me a Nice number!” Jay explained, dramatic tone likely accompanied by wild waves of his bulky arms and a distressed expression.

“Why would 69 be a ‘nice’ number?” Damian asked, sounding thoroughly perplexed. Tim snorted, giggling muffled, and Jay was silent a moment.

“I have failed you. Dickie, we’ve failed him as brothers!” Jay wailed.

“I am not explaining this one.” Dick laughed, relieved that his redirection had worked. He knew his explanations would never hold up under actual scrutiny from his brothers. They knew him altogether too well for that to work now. “You walked into this one, Jay, and I’m not helping you walk back out.”

“Betrayed by my own family.” Jay moaned.

“You deal with that betrayal, and I’ll deal with Blüdhaven. I have things to do, people to see, so I’m hanging up now.” Dick laughed. “Go get cookies from Alfie or something. I’m sure I’ll see you boys soon.”

“We’ll wear him down.” Tim agreed. “Just…be safe out there, Big Bird. Especially if you won’t have our backup.”

“Yeah, don’t be stupid, Dickiebird.” Jason agreed.

“And do not trust those heroes too much, Grayson. They have not yet earned even the respect you already give them.” Damian muttered.

“I’ll be fine, guys. Go pester Alfie.” Dick chuckled nervously. He hung up before they could protest further or give more unsolicited advice…or realize that he really was going to end up doing something stupid tonight.

Facing Slade entirely alone was definitely on the Stupid Spectrum. Especially with their history of riling each other up to the point of losing perspective.

But I might not have to be stupid alone. Dick thought with a grin.

He contemplated pulling up the audio feed from the heroes’ apartment, but shrugged the thought off. I’m not Bruce. If I want their trust, I need to give a little, too.

Dick tossed his phone onto his couch, and turned back to his list. He’d call them on the comms once he had solid potential targets. He could have them help protect people, make this a less risky endeavor than it would be if he were to do it alone.

***

“—and although I understand your reasoning, I can’t promise that the League will change their minds about this. The information this vigilante has is highly important to our efforts to bring calm to Gotham, and with the press conference for the yearly review of the League's accomplishments and actions coming up this Tuesday, there is a lot on their minds already. This is not a decision that we would be able to discuss at this time, even if they were open to looking at it differently."

Artemis was struggling to keep her face impassive. How could Superman sit there and tell them that they wouldn’t change their minds? How could he not see how much better it would be to not burn this bridge?

“It is possible that this information would be available to us if we earned his trust as well.” Aqualad pointed out. “Although it is a longer route, it is more likely to succeed in the end. There is no guarantee that Nightwing would even tell you anything if he were brought in the way you are asking.”

“I see your point, Aqualad,” Superman sighed, “but there is a lot more to this than just which way he’s most likely to share information. Your time as a team is valuable, and we cannot simply leave you in Blüdhaven indefinitely. There are other important missions that you could be doing, other ways to spend your time that will bring good to the world. In an ideal situation, he would have accepted your offer of alliance to begin with. Already this has lasted longer post-contact than we had hoped for.”

“But he’s starting to actually trust us!” Artemis burst out, unable to contain her irritation any longer. “You guys were patient with winning me over, I don’t see why everyone we try to recruit should be expected to immediately trust that we have their best interests at heart. I know I wouldn’t have, and yet I’ve turned into an asset for this team. He could be the same! He has skills that none of us do, and we could put those skills to great use if you’d just give us the time to actually win him over!”

“Like I said, Artemis, it isn’t entirely up to me. I understand what you’re saying, and I even agree with some of your points. But you have to understand that although being a hero is about helping the individual, it’s also about what’s best for the communities, countries, and world as a whole.” Superman said firmly.

Artemis looked to her teammates, trying to find support in her fight against this. Superboy had more of a frown than usual, but she knew him, and that look was displeasure for sure, but not enough that he’d speak against the man whose approval he’d fought so hard to win over. Beside him, Miss Martian looked conflicted, but unfortunately submissive. She was looking off to the side, worrying her lower lip, but nodding along nonetheless. Aqualad at the front was standing stoic and strong, but he didn’t look like he was preparing new arguments. Accepting orders for what they were, she imagined. And Kid Flash to her left…he seemed like he was barely paying attention as he munched his way through a high-calorie protein bar. He nodded in agreement as Superman spoke, and glanced at her with a ‘aren’t you hearing this?’ look that she really just wanted to smack off his face.

In short, she was the only one still arguing. The only one still obviously against this. And without their support, her arguments weren’t going to go very far. She tried to swallow her anger at her teammates’ spineless reactions, at their unwillingness to argue with Superman for something that was so obviously the right choice.

Artemis tuned out the rest of the bullshit he was spewing, glaring instead at the carpet of their Blüdhaven apartment. It just pissed her off to no end that they were so unwilling to see reason. Just because the team was younger than the other heroes on the League didn’t mean that they should still be treated like children. They were smart enough to actually make these decisions, they had experience behind them that they had earned through their own hard work.

Superman was giving instruction about bringing in Nightwing, but she ignored it, knowing Aqualad would fill her in later on whatever she actually needed to know. She didn’t want to hear it right now. It felt like her own experiences had been completely disregarded in this debate, and she didn’t understand why information on the Batman was so damn important that they were going to throw away a wealth of skill and knowledge like Nightwing just on the chance that he’d give it up.

Artemis didn’t think they’d get anything out of Nightwing. There was no way he’d made it this far in Gotham and then Blüdhaven without developing a spine of steel – she’d seen it in him during their brief interactions. She was pretty sure the League could torture him to the brink of death and not get a single new piece of information out of him.

And that was if they even could catch him and bring him in. Artemis had some pretty serious doubts about that in general. He’d already proven himself far more adept at hand-to-hand and stealth than they’d thought, and she was pretty sure if he really wanted to disappear, they’d never see him again. If they decided to go this route and actually try to bring him in with force, they’d get exactly one shot. After that, his trust would be shattered, and he’d disappear.

At that point, she thought, how would we even begin to hunt a ghost?

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, he said what?” Kid Flash blinked, staring at Aqualad as he set aside the comms Nightwing had used to contact them only a few minutes before.

Aqualad couldn’t help the wry smile that found its way onto his face.

“He said if we’re going to hang around his city, he might as well put us to work.” He repeated, chuckling a little to himself. He couldn’t blame Kid Flash for his surprise – the tone of Nightwing’s call had been distinctly different from past conversations. Instead of the usual caution and vague statements, the vigilante had been borderline friendly, joking and almost cheerful in his call. Aqualad suspected there was a stress response in there somewhere, something beyond just needing extra eyes and hands to protect some potential targets tonight, but he had to admit it was refreshing to hear the other man so relaxed and cheerful.

It made him almost hesitate to agree to help. Superman’s edict – the Justice League’s edict, really, since he got the distinct impression that Superman wanted to agree with them and let them do whatever they felt was best – rang in his mind still. Betraying Nightwing’s trust didn’t feel like just a part of the mission anymore. Somewhere along the line, between the handful of interactions they’d had with the vigilante, he’d become something much closer to a colleague than a mission.

But Aqualad had never been one to turn down a chance to keep people safe. It’s part of how he’d become Aqualad, after all. And Superman hadn’t ordered them to bring Nightwing in the very next time they saw him, anyway. There was still time to figure out exactly what to do, and how to do it.

Unlike Artemis, Aqualad wasn’t prone to open disagreement with his leaders. Having interacted so much with royalty, he understood the need for a united front between levels of leadership. But he did wish he had a chance to speak more privately with Superman, and his own King, about the situation, as there was certainly more to be said about all sides of the issue. He’d kept himself mostly quiet, choosing to take the orders as they were, and determining he’d speak more on the details of said orders when he had the chance to do so alone.

“So what’s he asking us to do, then?” Miss Martian asked, interrupting Aqualad’s reverie.

“It seems he’s come across reliable information that a dangerous mercenary is going to be attempting a hit in Blüdhaven tonight. His own investigation has revealed two potential targets – both wealthy businessmen here for factory visits – and would like our help in scoping out the potential targets and preventing the hit, if possible.” Aqualad explained.

“How does he know that the merc is actually coming today? And how did he figure out the potential targets?” Kid Flash asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“He didn’t say.” Aqualad admitted. “But he sounded confident in his information, and he hasn’t done anything that would cause us to doubt him yet.”

“I dunno. Seems pretty convenient to me.” The speedster grumbled. “The day we get orders to bring him in for the League to question, he’s got some big threat coming that just so happens to need our help and split the team. I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it, Kid Mouth, you just have to do it.” Artemis snapped. “What else are you going to do, let some random businessman die because you don’t like the guy who gave you the information?”

“What else am I gonna do? I’m gonna follow the stupid orders, that’s what! I mean, they’ve got to have a reason for wanting us to do things this way.”

Aqualad stepped in before the disagreement could escalate.

“We may not know him well, but he hasn’t asked for anything wrong yet. For tonight, at least, we help him again. After that…we can discuss what we will need to do. But for now, let us do our duty as heroes, yes?” He suggested. Artemis and Kid Flash backed down reluctantly, and Aqualad fought a sigh.

“Nightwing will meet us on the roof in a few minutes. We work with him for tonight, and after we will talk together, and figure out our next plan.” He looked to his team, and could read them like open books. Miss Martian was worried – likely concerned about disobeying orders, and the conflict within the team. Superboy was displeased with the orders given, and hadn’t yet decided what he was going to do about that. Artemis and Kid Flash were angry with each other, each stubbornly holding on to their own argument.

He wasn’t entirely sure why Kid Flash, notorious for his tendency to do things his own way no matter what he’d been told, was so focused on following these specific orders. Aqualad suspected it had to do with the idea of inviting someone new into their tight dynamic, someone whose humor and attitude matched his blow for blow.

But that, of course, was only speculation.

Aqualad lead them from the apartment, glancing at Detective Grayson’s closed door. They hadn’t heard from him in a few days, which made sense given the weekend. But he couldn’t help but remember overhearing about the corruption issues the detective and his partner were facing in the precinct. He wondered if there was something they could do to help with the issue. Surely the Justice League had resources they could lend, contacts they could offer, something they could do to help the detective who had dropped everything to help them.

Now wasn’t the time to think about Detective Grayson, however – he needed to focus on their upcoming meeting with Nightwing. It was interesting, how the two men they most interacted with in this city were so different and yet so oddly…similar. That fiery drive, the push to make things be right and not just good enough, even the strength of their convictions, aligned so well.

But Aqualad had seen the bruises and old scars on what little skin Nightwing exposed in costume, and they hadn’t matched up with what Detective Grayson showed. Sure they were similar in height, but everything else was too dissimilar, from the current injuries down to the accent.

He pushed the detective from his mind, and joined his team on the rooftop, where Nightwing already waited near the Bioship.

“Hello, heroes!” Nightwing called cheerfully.

“Arabic?” Kid Flash called back hopefully, still trying to guess the language that Nightwing had used during their last encounter.

“Nope! Glad you could make it, though.” Nightwing chuckled.

“You seem happy.” Kid Flash muttered.

“Just happy I’m not covering the entirety of Blüdhaven by myself tonight, KF.” Nightwing replied.

“Why couldn’t you just ask your brothers?” Kid Flash asked, frowning. “They seem like the easier choice here.”

Something flickered across Nightwing’s masked face, gone too quickly to identify properly. But whatever it was, it made Aqualad want to step forward and comfort him.

“Big Bad Bats has everyone grounded in Gotham right now. Or, rather, he’s trying to ground me here in Blüdhaven. We…talked…but it’s just how it is for now.” Nightwing shrugged. “Besides, they deserve a bit of a rest sometimes anyway. Can’t go 100% all the time. Besides, I have a gaggle of helpful heroes already here.”

“So…what do we know?” Aqualad asked before the conversation could be derailed again.

“Two possible targets that I could find, both of ‘em bigwigs for the companies that own local factories. They’re staying in the only two decent hotels in the city, because of course they couldn’t just be together in the same one.” Nightwing sighed. “Without a prove-able threat against them, I can’t use my contacts to mobilize the police force to protect them. Trust me, I tried. But vigilante info isn’t good enough to move on, apparently.

“You won’t need to actually make contact with the targets, and we won’t need more than a few hours’ protection. Whatever’s going to happen will most likely happen tonight. The merc arrived not too long ago, by my estimation. He usually takes a couple hours to make final preparations, then takes out his target quickly. He’s almost always gone within six hours of arriving, no matter what kind of window of time he says he’ll do something in.” Nightwing explained, sounding more than a little annoyed by the end.

“What do you mean, window of time he says?” Miss Martian asked, cocking her head to one side in confusion.

“He likes to mess with people. Tells them he’ll do something within twenty-four hours, and get it done within three, then just wait until later to tell them ‘Oh, that? I got that done ages ago.’ Because he’s an ass.”

“Who is this guy? And how do you know so much about him and what he likes to do?” Kid Flash asked, narrowing his eyes.

Nightwing hesitated barely a moment before rolling his shoulders and sighing.

“The merc is Slade Wilson.” He said, and by his voice Aqualad assumed they were supposed to know of the man. He personally had no idea.

Artemis, however, openly gaped. “Slade Wilson?!” She yelped, “As in Deathstroke Slade Wilson?”

“The one and only.” Nightwing agreed, face grim.

“Who’s this Slade Wilson guy?” Kid Flash asked, looking rapidly between the two.

“Only one of the most prolific killers in modern times.” Artemis was still staring incredulously at Nightwing. “One of the only men my father actually respects, and does what he can to not cross.”

“Yeah, he’s a capital ‘a’ Asshole.” Nightwing agreed. “Guy’s a real piece of work. Been doing mercenary work for more than forty years now.”

“Forty years? He must be nearing sixty at least, then.” Miss Martian frowned. “Is he not getting too old for the work?”

“Beware an old man in a profession where men usually die young.” Nightwing intoned, the cadence of his voice making Aqualad think he was quoting someone. “He’s near sixty, but he has the physique of a man in his early- to mid-thirties. Some stupid super soldier serum type thing. I don’t know all the details, only that he’s been a top player in the mercenary game for decades, and commands top dollar for a reason. He is, unfortunately, really good at what he does.” Nightwing grimaced.

“But, at least knowing it’s him, we know his most likely course of action.” He continued, as though he couldn’t see Kid Flash burning with questions. “He prefers a long-range attack, usually one of his favored rifles, for this kind of hit. It won’t be a contract worthy of a more finessed approach in his mind. So our tactic will be to keep him from getting a clear shot before we can figure him out. He won’t back down from the contract, but we can distract and inconvenience him enough that he’ll have to reschedule his hit to a time when they’ll be somewhere with better protection.”

“How do you know all this about him?” Kid Flash interrupted.

“He’s smarter than your average criminal by a long shot, but tends to be predictable on these lower-end jobs.” Nightwing waved off the question with a gesture.

“Yeah, but how do you know that? For that matter, how do you even know he’s coming here when you don’t even know his target for sure?” The speedster pressed.

“I, ah, have some pretty accurate information from…well, we’ll just say they’re pretty close to the source. They know what’s going on with Slade.” Nightwing hedged.

“How close?”

“Pretty damn close. And as much as he likes to play games, they’re a different kind of game than outright lies about where Slade will be.” Nightwing gave a dark chuckle. “The point is, I’m about as certain as I could possibly be that Slade is coming to Blüdhaven to kill someone. By my own thinking and research, I’ve found two people that I can see being his target. Both of them are leaving Blüdhaven by eight tonight. So we just have to keep them safe until then.”

Kid Flash looked like he really wanted to keep asking questions, but Nightwing just plowed on without pause, clearly not wanting to explain any more than he already had – or hadn’t, really.

“Look, let’s just get going, yeah? We don’t have all night to debate the veracity of my information. We’ve got to get into position so we can keep someone from getting killed tonight. I’ve got two addresses, I’ll let you split your team the way you think is best, Aqualad.” Nightwing nodded to him.

Aqualad smiled slightly. “Appreciated, Nightwing. Artemis, Superboy, you’ll go with Nightwing to the first location. Miss Martian and Kid Flash, you’ll be with me at the second.”

His team nodded, and he lead the way into the bioship. True to his word, Nightwing gave the two addresses, and briefed them on what specifically to look for – movement on rooftops that offer vantage points into the targets’ rooms, places where there was plenty of cover in windows – and ideas on how to keep the targets from being easy prey for the mercenary.

The whole while, Aqualad watched the vigilante, noting his intensity, his building tension. There was something more that was bothering the man, although he wasn’t sure if it was Deathstroke’s presence in his city, or something else that was bothering him. Perhaps a combination of both. If his life was anything like the heroes’, there was often more than one issue being dealt with at a time.

He hoped whatever it was, it wouldn’t end up being too much of a distraction for the vigilante. The last thing he wanted was for Nightwing – or any of his teammates – to end up in trouble tonight.

I suppose we’ll just have to trust one another, Aqualad thought wryly, no matter what the future may end up holding.

***

Nightwing watched the bioship fly away, leaving him alone on the hotel rooftop with Artemis and Superboy. He appreciated Aqualad assigning the two to stay with him, as they were the ones that he felt most comfortable with after their various experiences. Strange, how he’d feel comfortable with Superman’s (half-successful) clone, the biggest threat to him of the group by sheer power. But he felt a sort of kinship with them both.

And yet, standing there on the rooftop, something was still bothering him. It wasn’t the company – Artemis and Superboy were already scanning the nearby area, the way he probably should be doing as well, honestly – but something in his mind. Something that had been nibbling at his thoughts since he’d first started narrowing down prospective targets.

But what?

Something about a whistleblower, and not being able to pay one of the dirty police force to do the deed.

Why wouldn’t they be able to pay an officer on the take to do it?

It was on the tip of his tongue.

“Something bothering you, Nightwing?” Artemis asked, and Nightwing realized he’d been staring at the same piece of the roof since they’d gotten off the bioship.

“I’m missing a piece of this puzzle.” Nightwing admitted. “These two are strong options for a target, but…there’s something else. I should know it, I know I have all the pieces to find it, but it’s just out of reach.”

“Talk it out.” Superboy rumbled. Nightwing glanced at him, and the big man shrugged. “Canary makes me do it when I can’t figure something out. Helps sometimes.”

“Alright,” Nightwing ceded, rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved hand, “well, there’s only so many reasons why someone would hire Slade at his price. They’d have to have a chance of gaining something significantly more valuable – like taking out a competing bigwig like these two – or it would have to be valuable to them to have the person dead.”

“Like romance gone wrong, or solidifying an alliance.” Artemis nodded.

“Exactly. Or saving an alliance by taking out a whistleblower. I keep catching on that idea…but it doesn’t make sense to hire Slade to silence a whistleblower.” Nightwing sighed.

“Why not?” Superboy asked.

Because that’s usually a smaller player trying to take out a larger player or group. And any smaller hit in this city could easily be done by the dirty cops of the precinct – heavens know there’s enough of them.” Nightwing grumbled. “What I can’t figure out is why Slade was hired to do this instead of them. There has to be a solid reason.”

Artemis frowned in thought, then met his eyes.

“So the cops aren’t the hitmen, because they’re part of the client group. Dirty cops get money from somewhere, right? So they’ve found an issue they want taken care of, but don’t want to be linked to. Their patron group, in return for a set of favors, or as payment for services rendered, has hired a high-end merc to make sure these cops stay safely in their pocket.” Artemis explained.

The cops are the clients. It fit, filled the exact hole he’d been worrying at all day.

“If the cops are the clients, then the target—” Nightwing’s voice died as the last pieces slotted into place.

“The target…?” Artemis prompted, eyebrow raised.

“Son of a bitch.” Nightwing swore, running for the edge of the rooftop. “I know who the target is!” He called over his shoulder as he sprinted away.

“And I’m guessing it’s not the guy in this hotel.” Artemis muttered, barely loud enough for Nightwing to hear – he was sure that was intentional by her tone – and he could hear footsteps as the two chased after him.

“No. It’s A—” Nightwing cut himself off, correcting his words before he could give himself away in his sudden spike of panic and adrenaline. “It’s a police officer. A sergeant of the nearest precinct. She’s been collecting evidence of the corruption, and recently found conclusive proof that the chief of police is on the take as well. He must have suspected that she realized it, and reached out to the sponsor group.”

He wasn’t sure how much of his explanation they could hear, the wind of his acrobatic descent along the external fire escape whipping his words away from his mouth. But there wasn’t time to stop and explain – Amy’s the target.

He should have seen it sooner. Looking back, it was obvious. No wonder his brain had latched onto it so hard.

In the background of his own panic, he could hear Artemis talking. Giving their heading, promising a location as soon as she knew it. Calling Aqualad to update him and the others, his mind supplied. Didn’t matter, though. Even with the bioship, if Slade was already at Amy’s apartment, it was too late.

Nightwing prayed it wasn’t too late. No doubt Slade thought he was so funny warning him about the fact the merc was coming to kill his partner.

What kind of group is sponsoring Blüdhaven’s corruption, that they can afford to hire Deathstroke to take out a simple sergeant like Amy?! The thought almost stopped him, but he set it aside for later focus. It wasn’t the immediate problem.

The immediate problem was that Slade was going after Ames.

She had a husband, children. Slade wouldn’t care. If they got in the way, they’d be dead. He wouldn’t go out of his way to kill them, but he wouldn’t hesitate either. Nightwing hated that he was so certain about it. He hated even more that he knew he was right.

Thankfully, Amy lived not too far from where the hotel was situated. She was always talking about how she wanted to move her family out to the suburbs, but so far the closest she’d gotten was a nice apartment in the slightly less-sketchy part of the city. He needed to make sure she could take her kids to the suburbs.

Superboy and Artemis kept up better than he’d expected for having no idea where they were going. And, to their credit, they didn’t ask how he knew where this sergeant lived. He appreciated that about them – no questions until there was time to deal with them.

Nightwing launched himself up and propelled himself along the fire escape to the roof of Amy’s building. Like him, she lived on the top floor. Unlike him, the whole top floor was hers. No nosey hero neighbors to inconveniently poke their noses into her business.

Or step out to defend her when danger came knocking.

The one consolation for her living so far up the building was the extra-wide gaps between her building and others in the area. Where most of the gaps he jumped during his patrols sat around ten feet wide at most, the ones in Amy’s area were closer to twenty, with no small alleys, only well-maintained roads.

Not that it would stop Slade. The man could jump farther than even Nightwing due to his superhuman abilities.

“She lives here. Top floor. Her, her husband, and two kids.” Nightwing informed the heroes, eyes darting across the nearby buildings for any sign of his least-favorite mercenary. “He’s got to be nearby. I’m sure of it. Can you pinpoint him with your super hearing?” He asked Superboy, hating that he could hear the desperation and anxiety in his own voice.

“There are too many people around here for me to find his heartbeat without knowing what it would sound like.” Superboy told him. The big man looked apologetic, almost wincing at the admission.

“Well, he—” Nightwing stopped, staring hard at a rooftop that caught his attention. There was something there, something had attracted his eye, something—there.

A glint of copper reflected by a nearby apartment window’s light. It was no more than a flicker, but Nightwing had been dealing with this man for years.

And his personal hell was trying to target one of the few good people he knew.

No way in hell that was happening.

Not in his city.

Not to his people.

Nightwing was racing toward the twenty-foot gap between buildings before he could think twice. He heard Artemis make a startled sound, but he didn’t stop.

“Stay here! Protect her!” He barked over his shoulder. “I’ve got him.” He added in a growl, legs tensing as he prepared to jump.

Nightwing had learned early in life to trust his body to know what to do. He’d spent two decades – minus a couple years at the start – training his body to know what to do. And so when he reached the edge of his rooftop, he planted his feet just the way they wanted to be, and leapt.

In the back of his mind, he recognized Artemis’ surprised yell and Superboy’s alarmed shout.

But he knew, the moment he pushed off, that his body wasn’t wrong. Nightwing cleared the gap between buildings, rolled into his landing to soften it, and sprinted toward the next gap.

Tonight, he was on his game.

Tonight, Amy would be safe.

Tonight, Slade would be his.

Chapter Text

Nightwing charged across the rooftops of his city, eyes locked on the darting, elusive figure ahead of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that letting his enemy set the course wasn’t smart. That he should be trying to head off his quarry, redirect, trap…but this was Slade. Trying to think ahead of Slade when the man had likely been preparing for this chase for hours was ineffective.

A small voice in the back of his mind added that it was a viciously good feeling to be the one chasing the mercenary for once.

He ignored it.

Slade lead him deep into the inner city, an area Nightwing had patrolled almost daily for over a year now. This was his home field, not Slade’s.

And Nightwing was both stronger and more experienced than the last time he’d clashed with Slade. He hadn’t seen the merc since before he’d transitioned from Robin to Nightwing.

Tonight was different than last time.

So why was he having to work so hard to convince himself of it?

Nightwing shook off the thoughts as he watched Slade come to a stop a few roofs over. He glanced over the area as he approached, not breaking stride so as not to give away any hesitancy to his nemesis, and carefully kept his face neutral. There was no visible reason to stop on this particular roof – no tripwires shimmering like cobwebs in the diluted evening sunlight, no height advantage over the nearby buildings, not even a particularly advantageous built environment across the rooftop. It was just another empty small apartment building rooftop with a clattering A/C unit far past its replacement date, and slightly raised concrete edges.

“Hello, Richard.” Slade purred as Nightwing tapped lightly down on the opposite end of the roof. “It’s been too long, my apprentice.”

“I’m not your apprentice, Slade.” Nightwing growled, surging forward and swinging a wide opening blow toward Slade’s glinting mask. He’d intentionally projected the move, something he’d never have done with another opponent. But Slade lazily blocked it and didn’t immediately take the opening, instead dancing back and settling into a familiar, loose fighting stance.

“Oh? Our history would suggest differently.” Despite the full-face split black-and-copper mask he wore, Slade looked entirely too pleased with himself, his single eye gleaming in the muted light that made it through the heavy clouds above. He took a single step forward and Nightwing met him halfway, closing the distance. They began to exchange blows in what felt like an almost choreographed dance of fast fists and feet.

Not for the first time, Nightwing felt slightly off-put by the easy rhythm of their fights, the way they could anticipate each other easily in the opening moves of a conflict. It felt less like an attempt to take one another down, and more like the small talk and catching up of meeting with a sometime-friend.

He pushed the feeling away, focusing back into their conversation of words and blows.

“You kidnapped me and held me captive for a week, what, six years ago now? Seven?” Nightwing retorted dryly, deflecting a high kick and snapping out a roundhouse of his own. “That doesn’t count as much of an apprenticeship.”

“You learned from me while you were in my custody, did you not?” Slade asked, sounding like he was smirking under his mask as he deftly stepped aside, and flicked a fist toward Nightwing’s solar plexus.

“Sure I did. I learned from dealing with the Joker’s brand of insanity, too. And Riddler’s games. And every other psychotic low-life I’ve fought.” Nightwing rolled his eyes as he redirected a series of body shots, knowing the mercenary would be able to read it through his mask. Slade’s eye narrowed slightly, and Nightwing felt a childish petty glee at the fact that he could still get under the man’s skin so easily. The reaction lasted only a beat before the man’s emotional mask slid back into place under his metal one.

“Opportunistic.” Slade hummed. “My own expertise came from a variety of sources as well.”

Here we go again. Nightwing thought with a flash of hot irritation, catching a kick and attempting to twist Slade’s ankle, only to find the man moving with it and nearly catching him across the jaw.

“We are not the same, Slade.” He snapped. “I don’t know how many times I have to prove this to you. We are fundamentally different. Just because I give a shit about my goals doesn’t mean I’m a cutthroat asshole like you.”

“Language, Richard.” Slade chided, clicking his tongue with mock disappointment. “Seems you’ve developed some bad habits in my absence.” He paused, stepping back and considering a moment. “Well, bad habits for someone who is supposedly one of the good guys.”

“I know plenty of good men who swear.” Nightwing snapped, before immediately regretting rising to the bait. Why am I defending my language? It’s not like he really knows what a good man is. He chided himself.

Slade stepped back into Nightwing’s space with a quick series of jabs, only one of which glanced him through his defenses.

“Of course you do, Richard.” He purred, his placating voice grating on Nightwing’s ears as he easily blocked and shifted away from the vigilante’s blows.

“Not that your opinion would matter much anyway.” Nightwing added, hating how petty he sounded. He threw out a harder strike toward Slade’s side, only to have the man sidestep and slap his hand away in what he just knew was Slade pointing out the childish remark. He could almost hear the man saying If you are going to act like a child, you are going to be treated like one.

Some memories just didn’t fade the way others did.

“That’s right, I almost forgot how little you think of me and my multitudinous accomplishments.” Slade chuckled dryly.

“Multitudinous? Seriously, Slade?” Nightwing sighed. “I want you out of my city, not giving me a vocabulary lesson.”

“Why, I’m impressed you know what it means.” Slade goaded, skipping back two steps. Nightwing caught the glimmer of amusement in the man’s single eye as he gestured for Nightwing to attack once more.

And suddenly, face to face with one of the few men in this world he truly hated, Nightwing felt entirely too tired to deal with this. Running on only a few hours’ sleep, his mostly-healed body still aching from fitful sleep, the hatred didn’t burn the way it had when he’d first caught sight of Slade across from Amy’s apartment.

Maybe it was the simple, easy rhythm of their fight, the way neither seemed to be trying particularly hard to actually hit the other.

Maybe it was the two years since he’d even heard from the older man.

Maybe it was the couple of miles between them and Amy.

But he just wasn’t feeling antagonistic tonight.

Maybe it would have been different if he’d ever been truly alone as a vigilante before Blüdhaven. If he’d left after that first big fight with Bruce, found his own city to defend instead of staying and shifting to Nightwing in Gotham when Robin was given to Jay. If he’d ever really been alone when Slade had showed up, pulling at the strings of his insecurities and prodding at the unfriendly aspects of his personality. If he’d obsessed over capturing Slade and proving he wasn’t the same, instead of being dragged back into Gotham’s many – multitudinous, ha – crises.

If he hadn’t had Alfie, Bruce, and Jay to remind him of who he was, every time Slade came sniffing around for an apprentice.

It might have been different then. But at the end of the day, Slade wasn’t as special as he thought he was. Sure, he was Nightwing’s first personal nemesis, the first rogue that came after him specifically because of who he was, and not who his mentor was, but he wasn’t the only threat Nightwing had needed to focus on.

And in a moment of clarity, staring at Slade a few paces away, Nightwing was suddenly certain that while Slade was here because of his need to finally turn him into his apprentice, Nightwing was here because Amy was in danger. He’d have defended the big factory bosses with all he had. But he hadn’t raced across the city with two confused heroes because Slade was there, but because Amy was.

My friends are more important than my enemies. The thought was clear, calm amidst the chaos of his time-hardened hatred and adrenaline-fueled desire to fight. It stilled something in him.

And in the three seconds it took for all of it to come together in his mind, Slade’s eye narrowed. Nightwing wondered what he saw, what externally showed with his internal shift.

“What is it that you are thinking now, Richard?” Slade purred. There was something. Almost…uncertain in his voice, Nightwing realized. Slade can’t read what just happened.

“Just how different we are.” Nightwing shrugged, pulling up his guard again. But Slade didn’t immediately close to attack, instead evaluating Nightwing from a few paces away.

“Oh? And how are we different, Nightwing?” Slade hummed, smirk back in his voice as he dripped condescension. Something clicked in Nightwing’s mind. He didn’t need to play Slade’s game tonight. All he needed was to keep Slade preoccupied until Amy was out of danger. Which shouldn’t be much longer – he’d sent her a contact earlier, and she’d told him she would call the man that night. If she could get the information to that contact, then Slade’s contract would be useless.

Time for a new game, Slade.

Nightwing smirked.

“You’d say we’ve both looked into the abyss, yeah?” Nightwing asked instead of a straight answer. He didn’t know what it was that Slade’s eye did to show it, but the man frowned behind his metal mask.

“I suppose that would be accurate.” The mercenary agreed slowly.

“Well, when the abyss looked back into us, I blinked.” Nightwing declared, choosing an ‘isn’t it obvious?’ tone. Slade looked annoyed, but his shoulders dropped a miniscule amount in what Nightwing read as relief at being on what the man likely thought was familiar ground.

“Perhaps, but that is a weakness we can—”

“Like greeting a big, abyssal cat.” Nightwing interrupted, cutting Slade off and watching that single eye give away everything.

“I—what?” Slade stammered. That might be the first time I’ve ever truly caught him off-guard.

“We’re companions now, the abyss and I.” Nightwing continued smoothly, cheerfully.

“What?” Slade repeated dumbly.

“Polite greetings like that will get you pretty far.” Nightwing smiled. “You should try it sometime.”

Slade simply stared for a moment, having completely lost the path of the conversation.

“What are you talking about?” Slade asked after a moment of perplexed silence.

“When a cat blinks at you, it’s a greeting. It’s only polite to blink back.” Nightwing explained, knowing full-well it wasn’t what the man was asking. “So, what, are you just going to stand there and stare at me now? And here I thought we were in the you-trying-to-kill-me part of our regular schedule of interaction.” Nightwing sighed.

Slade’s reply was a dismissive, “I wouldn’t kill you for no reason, Richard.”

Which would be a lot more reassuring if there were any kind of follow up to it explaining that you have no reason right now. Nightwing thought wryly.

“Oh goodie.” Nightwing said aloud, choosing the answer that was more likely to mess with Slade. He wished the man wasn’t wearing a mask – it would be so much easier to play these games if he could see when his lips tightened, his jaw clenched, or any of the other thousand tiny signs he’d been trained to see.

“I must admit, I’m…disappointed, Nightwing.” Slade sighed, his switch to calling him by his vigilante moniker rather than by his given name catching Nightwing’s attention. “I really expected more when I came here after two years without contact.”

“Well, I’ve recently come to realize that in order to live a happy life, I’m gonna have to disappoint some people a bit.” Nightwing shrugged. He was starting to feel a little uneasy in this standoff against Slade. Their previous encounters had been banter with blows, not this…staring contest he’d seemingly triggered when he veered so far off-script.

Every sense felt heightened, more so than even during their brief exchange of blows. He could hear the whisper of tires on the streets below as traffic picked up, citizens heading home for the day. The grimy scent of his city on the breeze, and the feeling of the chill against his cheeks below his mask, anchored him to the present even as his mind started to take off, trying to pull apart Slade’s reactions. Every beat of his heart thrummed against his ribs, in the cut on his arm, and even faintly still in the fading bruises of his jaw.

“Does that include your once-mentor and guardian, the infamous Batman?” Slade sneered, and Nightwing was surprised more by the obvious barb than the nasty tone. Slade was normally much more subtle than this.

“Sure, why not?” Nightwing replied casually. “Since you like to pride yourself on pretending you know everything, I won’t insult your ego by acting like B and I are simpático right now. But hey, it’s all part of being a grown-up vigilante. Gotta decide for myself how I’m gonna be.”

“And you think your choices are in line with your values, do you? That you haven’t done anything bad?” Slade asked pointedly.

Nightwing didn’t know what Slade knew – he generally assumed that it was going to be more than he’d like – but he didn’t really care. It didn’t matter what he was referring to, he obviously thought he had something to hold over Nightwing.

But as Nightwing thought over his recent actions – taking down the small gang, letting the heroes stay despite the early mistakes on both sides, the trip back to Gotham, his fights with Bruce, even shooting the man on that raid – he wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. He had problems, sure, especially with his most recent time taking a life as a police officer, and probably more diagnosable issues than he was even aware of, though Tim likely had some ideas on what they’d be. But he wasn’t…discontent with what he’d done overall. The balance was still in the favor of good, he felt.

“People do bad things when they’re trying to survive in a world like ours, Slade.” Nightwing stated. “It’s like the old saying goes: Nashti zhas vorta po drom o bango. You cannot walk straight when the road is bent.”

Slade seemed to frown behind his mask, though Nightwing couldn’t have said aloud what it was that made him think it.

“What can I say, Deathstroke, I’m not perfect, I don’t think anyone is. But I’m doing the best I can, and it seems to be enough. And as Dr. Seuss liked to say, ‘Those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.’” Nightwing gave a cheeky smile at the end, and watched Slade gape at him through the tiny eye hole of his mask.

“Why Slade, I’ve never seen you so speechless.”

“You think you’re being clever, don’t you?” Slade asked, a sharp note entering his voice that had Nightwing settling deeper into his stance, pulling his guard back up from where it had relaxed a little. Something in his gut said he’d missed a cue somewhere, pushed too far or not far enough…he’d missed something, and it felt like missing a step on a flight of stairs, his stomach dropping and his heart skipping a beat.

Maybe I shouldn’t have quoted Dr. Seuss at him? Slade does take himself pretty seriously…

“You think that if you play a few word games, you’ll waste my time, keep me from my target, and somehow save your little police friend? Did you think this would be more effective than fighting me, Richard? Worried you can’t keep me at bay long enough?” Slade’s voice was nearly a hiss now, and Nightwing was beginning to doubt his new game. He hadn’t actually made Slade angry in a while, and suddenly the man’s fighting stance looked more aggressive than it had before.

“I mean, it’s certainly less exertion.” Nightwing shrugged, before he could consider his own words.

And oh boy were they the wrong words.

Slade surged forward, eye narrowed in a familiar look of furious concentration, and Nightwing abruptly found himself being pushed backward toward the roof’s edge by a flurry of hard blows that landed more often than not. He was deflecting as fast as he could read the incoming strikes, but despite his redirections, his forearms were already beginning to ache under the onslaught.

I think I’ve miscalculated.

The realization floated through his mind as he focused hard on Slade’s attacks. He’d analyze where things had gone wrong later, though he already had a sneaking suspicion that he’d pushed a little too far on the casual disregard for the danger that Deathstroke posed. At some point, he’d stopped seeing Deathstroke, and saw only Slade Wilson, the man behind the mask who could be poked and prodded, goaded into anger and frustration like any other man.

He was being reminded of the Deathstroke side now, arms throbbing under the assault as he was efficiently and brutally backed up toward a five-story drop. And he was all too aware of what such a drop could do to a body.

Nightwing chose his moment carefully, adjusting to the irregular staccato rhythm of Slade’s attack, then ducked under one arm, spinning out and around to throw a jab at Slade’s kidneys. It was blocked, but its purpose had been accomplished – he had room again, with no drop within three feet of his heels.

Slade swiveled after him, and a flash of slick silver was the only warning that Nightwing had before pain flashed across his forearm. The cut was shallow, but Nightwing felt stupid for letting it happen at all. Deathstroke always had blades with him, usually of multiple varieties. He should have realized, the moment Slade came at him hard, that a knife wouldn’t be too far behind.

Nightwing stepped out of the way of Slade’s heavily armored boot, only to see his mistake as the blade came round again, aiming for his chest.

Between the beats of his racing heart, he made a decision.

Nightwing twisted and bent under the strike, hands snagging escrima sticks even as he felt the knife burn a line up his back, slicing through fabric and the top layer of flesh, eyes locked on the small rocks at his feet as he transitioned into a roll. He felt the rough surface of the roof grind those rocks into his new open wound, and pushed down the pain to come up with his metal escrima guard already catching the next blow from the knife, metal slamming together with a sharp sound. Vaguely, Nightwing recognized the soft impact of flecks of his own blood dappling across his face at the impact.

In the slowly-fading light of the day, the blades seemed to shine a wet silver, stained on one edge with his too-red blood. Dully, he realized Slade had pulled a second knife sometime during his half-successful evasion.

He spared enough of a thought to recognize that his back was bleeding, but not cut deeply enough for him to worry about bleeding out. Better my back than my chest in a fight like this.

But that was all he had time for as Slade kicked at his gut, and he was forced to twist away again, feet dancing lightly across the roof. He lashed out with an escrima, feeling satisfied at the fleshy thud of his hit, but having no space to enjoy it as he was forced back by another armored boot. His breath came raggedly in the back of his throat, but he couldn’t spare enough attention to worry about his breathing techniques with Slade coming so hard at him.

Nightwing couldn’t find a break to go on the offensive, barely catching the rapid strikes on the metal of his escrima sticks instead of letting them bite into his arms and chest. He’d forgotten what it was like to seriously fight so far out of his weight class. Slade not only had close to fifty pounds and several inches on him, but also forty years of fighting experience and an unnatural speed to his movements that Nightwing could never hope to replicate without becoming someone’s science experiment.

And the difference showed, as Nightwing found himself once again backing around the rooftop, desperately trying to just parry the dual blades that flashed toward him again and again, singing bright and loud against his defense in the staccato beat that ruled their two-man dance of violence. His arm and back burned, sticky and hot, distracting even as he pushed away the sensations and tried to refocus. A moment of indecision is all it would take to lose this fight, and the way Slade was coming at him, he wasn’t so sure about Slade not having a reason to kill him anymore.

Nightwing was starting to seriously regret his choice to change the game with Slade tonight. He had not anticipated this level of aggression, or how unprepared he was to truly fight Slade on this level. Desperately, he searched for a way to break the rhythm of the fight, to get through Slade’s anger, before his arms would give out from the repeated strikes.

Abruptly, as they came almost full-circle to where Nightwing had triggered this onslaught, Slade pulled back his attacks, tilting his head slightly. Nightwing took the chance to dance a few extra steps back, his arms almost numb from the repeated impact of blades against his guard.

“What.” He growled, and Nightwing frowned before realizing he was talking to someone through comms. He wanted to feel insulted, that Slade would take a call in the middle of their fight, but all he could feel was relieved to have the moment of reprieve.

“Well that sounds like a problem with your intel, not my execution. I’m still ahead of your requested schedule.” Slade sounded annoyed, but not furious, and Nightwing would take the change happily. Especially since it sounded like he wasn’t the only one screwing with Slade’s plans today. He didn’t mind someone else taking the heat for a moment – he honestly felt like he was only a few steps from collapse anyway, his arm and back trembling faintly, unsteady on his feet after the heavy blows.

“Very well. In that case, I see no reason to continue.” Slade’s attention returned to Nightwing, eye looking dissatisfied but somehow…smug. “Seems my contract has been cancelled. I’m sure you had nothing to do with Miss Rohrbach’s whistleblowing schedule accelerating.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” Nightwing retorted, frowning as his words came out a little slower than he’d planned. They weren’t slurred, necessarily, but he hadn’t thought he’d be this tired after the fight, even with the rapid-fire blitz attack. I really need to get more sleep.

“Hmm, of course not.” Slade hummed, seemingly back in his good mood from before. “Well, if I’m not being paid to go through you to kill Miss Rohrbach, I suppose there’s no reason for me to stay.”

Nightwing blinked. “You’re being more rational than I’d thought you were capable of.” He admitted, trying not to drop his guard just in case this was a ruse. His arms were visibly shaking now, though, and he could see the smirk in Slade’s one visible eye.

“It’s mercy, compassion, and sympathy I lack. Not rationality.” Slade replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Nightwing snorted. Well he’s not wrong there. He thought wryly.

“Besides, you certainly look to be at your limit. Disappointing, but I’m sure you’ll be stronger before our next encounter.” Slade stated smugly. “Best of luck getting home, Richard. Perhaps you should call one of those nuisance brothers of yours to come get you. Red Hood should be able to carry you, yes?”

Nightwing bristled at the condescension dripping from Slade’s voice.

“I’m fine, thanks. In fact, I think I still have one more fight left in me tonight. You want it?” Nightwing growled, fighting to enunciate his words past the thickness of his tongue, pulling up his half-dropped guard again. When did my arms drop?

“I think I’ll pass tonight, Richard. But don’t worry, if you manage to get home and patched up, I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” Slade crooned. With that, he turned his back to Nightwing in a blatant insult that Nightwing couldn’t find it in him to take advantage of. His legs felt like lead under him, soldered to the concrete under his boots.

Instead, he watched the mercenary drop lightly over the edge of the building, and listened to the sounds of him descending the fire escape. Nightwing didn’t move as he listened to the fading sounds of Slade, until he was satisfied that the man had truly left.

He lifted a heavy arm to press the button on his earpiece, getting in contact with the heroes.

“Well heroes,” he said, forcing a cheeky smile and cheerful tone, “we did it. The infiltrator has been outfiltrated!”

He heard Artemis groan at the pun before Aqualad replied.

“Should we meet up with you somewhere? Do you require assistance?”

“Nah, we’re good Aqualad, Slade’s headed out of the city now. You guys head on home. Appreciate the help, especially on short notice.” Nightwing replied, keeping his tone casual and light, even as he started to lose feeling in his feet. I should move. Get home and get clean.

“If you’re sure.” Aqualad sounded uncertain.

“Yep!” Nightwing replied cheerfully, blinking rapidly to clear his exhaustion-blurred vision. “I’ll give you a call when I figure out what’s going on with Bane and his drugs.”

“Alright. Be safe, Nightwing.”

The comms went silent, and Nightwing breathed a sigh of relief. Now, just to get home.

He took a step toward the fire escape.

Or, well, he tried. Instead of lifting and stepping forward, his leg just sort of…spasmed a little, and gave out under him. The roof rushed up to meet him, and he threw out his arms. They met the concrete first, but barely slowed his fall, his muscles failing him. His head cracked painfully against the hard surface, but it didn’t feel like enough to cause real damage.

He was more concerned about his limbs’ sudden betrayal, anyway.

Concerned in a sleepy, bleary kind of way, that is. His mind wouldn’t quite focus. It didn’t feel like blood loss, and his back didn’t feel like it had been cut deep enough to bleed like that anyway.

Nightwing stared at his arm laying in front of his eyes, long scratch smeared with drying blood. It burned like a new wound, yet felt strangely numb at the same time. Like a…non-specific burning sensation that was only vaguely attached to the wound itself. The same with his back – burning, but in a spread-out, numbing kind of way.

This isn’t good.

His sluggish mind recalled the gleam of Slade’s knives in the muted evening light, the way they glinted wetly even beyond the stain of his blood. They’d looked wet and slick before he’d even been cut.

Damnit.

There had been something on the blades.

Best of luck getting home, Richard.

Slade had dosed him with something, and it was kicking in fast now, effects accelerated by the rapid beat of his heart during the rapid assault earlier.

Perhaps you should call one of those nuisance brothers of yours to come get you.

He couldn’t lift his arm to press the button on his earpiece.

Red Hood should be able to carry you, yes?

He couldn’t call Jay to come. If he could just press the button, he’d be able to slur out something, and Jay would come on his motorcycle, he’d find him and patch him up. Keep him safe.

If you manage to get home tonight…

Nightwing lay there numbly, realizing there was a very real chance he wouldn’t be moving for a while. He didn’t know what Slade had dosed him with. Didn’t know how long it would stay in effect. If it needed a counteragent.

If he laid here all night, infection would set in. His back would be made a hundred times worse by it. He couldn’t fight Bane if he ended up incapacitated with fever, alone in his apartment with no way to properly clean and care for his wounds. He couldn’t do this one alone.

If you manage to get home tonight…

He couldn’t call for his brothers. Slade was right – this was an if he managed to get home tonight.

Desperately, he cast about for any way to signal to Jay, or to Oracle. But there were no cameras up here for her to see him on, even if he could alert her. He was alone.

Alone in Blüdhaven.

Not quite alone.

It was a bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea. But it was the only one he had, in what he was now recognizing as his slowly-fading consciousness. His vision was blurring, his body was numb and unresponsive. There was no time for him to find another idea, another way.

He just prayed that he was right about the man’s range.

Nightwing opened his mouth, and tried to speak. The first sound was little more than a soft, breathy whine.

He tried again.

“Conner…” He rasped, his voice weak. He’s never going to pay attention to this. There’s no way to catch his attention among all the noise of Blüdhaven.

Unless… A memory surfaced. Conner’s voice in his mind, I think we are friends after this. So. It’s—

“Kon-El.” Nightwing murmured. “Kon-El, help me.”

His voice gave out, and Nightwing listened to the soft sounds of the city settling at dusk. At least Amy’s safe. Whatever happens now…she’s safe. The information is out, and she’s not a target anymore. I saved her. Slade won the fight, but Amy’s safe. He defeated me…but he didn’t win.

And as the darkness closed in around him, one last thought echoed through his mind: Never has defeat tasted so much like victory.

Chapter Text

Aqualad would be the first to admit that there were times he felt that nothing the team could do would truly surprise him anymore. He’d also follow it with the immediate caveat that, just by saying it aloud, the next twenty-four hours would be full of unanticipated surprises from his team.

So it wasn’t quite alarming when Superboy sat up abruptly from the couch where he’d been watching static. They’d just settled in the apartment, planning on relaxing for a few hours after the hustle of helping Nightwing, before working on the plan for their next steps.

Aqualad wouldn’t have said that Superboy jumping to his feet and charging out the door was the last thing he’d expected that night.

But it was pretty close.

They exchanged looks, and followed Superboy up onto the roof, where he was paused, frowning in the direction of the inner city.

“We need to find Nightwing.” Superboy stated firmly.

Aqualad, after years of working with the man, knew better than to try and demand an explanation before acting. He thanked any of the Atlantean gods listening that he’d put the comm Nightwing had given them in his pocket when he’d changed out of his uniform, instead of on the counter or table. He put it in, and pressed the transmission button.

“Nightwing, this is Aqualad, come in.” He called.

Silence.

“Nightwing, this is Aqualad, come in.” He repeated, his heart starting to beat just a little faster.

Silence.

“He’s not answering.” Aqualad said to the team. They exchanged worried looks.

“Could be he’s already home and took out his comm.” Kid Flash shrugged.

“No.” Superboy said firmly. “He just called for me.”

Aqualad blinked, and he wasn’t the only one to stare at Superboy in surprise.

“Kon, dude, what did he use to call you? I mean, if Aqualad has the earpiece…” Kid Flash trailed off, looking perplexed.

“His voice. He called for me. We need to find him.” Superboy’s voice brooked no argument, and Aqualad saw no reason to offer one.

“We’ll head in the direction of his voice.” Aqualad instructed, waving the team toward the Bioship. “Miss Martian, I know he keeps his mind shielded, but is it possible to scan for it anyway? Would you pick up on him if he were within range?”

“I…I don’t know. I think so?” Miss Martian fretted as she woke the Bioship and settled into the pilot seat. “I can try.”

“Please do. You’re our best chance of finding him quickly. Superboy, which way did you hear him?”

Superboy gestured, and with everyone in their seats and ready for takeoff, Miss Martian directed the ship toward the inner city area of Blüdhaven.

They rode in tense silence, the bottom of the Bioship made transparent so they could scan the rooftops below as they flew. Superboy was obviously concerned by the tone of the vigilante’s voice or the contents of whatever short message had been relayed, but Aqualad was concerned more by the circumstances of the call. He wondered, with an increasingly deep pit opening in his stomach, what kind of situation would make Nightwing call verbally for Superboy, relying on the man’s super hearing, rather than calling for them through the comm he’d given them?

Nightwing was, by Aqualad’s experienced estimation, fiercely independent, and more than a little stubborn. He wasn’t the type to ask for help without a barrier that he couldn’t overcome alone – despite how many times he’d asked for their help already. After all, the first “help” he’d asked for was really more of a test of their integrity and abilities, the second had been an emergency where he couldn’t ask anyone but them, and the third had been too urgent for him to find away around needing their help. Aqualad wondered, for just a moment, what would have happened if the team had arrived during a time when there wasn’t nearly as much chaos in the vigilante’s life – would he have even let them near him a second time? Or would he have simply disappeared until they gave up and left?

He was surprised by how much the thought of that alternative – of having never come to know the vigilante even the little that they did now – saddened him. There was something about this man, something that he could only describe as incredible potential. The way he interacted with them, and with the other former and present Robins, spoke of a gift for leadership, tactics, and balance that he’d rarely seen before.

If he were to join us…given time for him to adjust to how we work, and what we do?...I think he’d lead this team even better than I do.

“We should have chased Slade with him.” Artemis muttered, interrupting his thoughts, as she scoured the cityscape below. “He asked us to stay at the apartment building in case he was wrong, but…we should have followed. Then we could have helped with whatever just happened.”

“He told us everything was fine, Slade was gone, and he didn’t need any help.” Kid Flash pointed out. “It’s not like we could have known he’d need help, like, ten minutes later.”

Before Artemis could say something smart back, and potentially start something all over again, Miss Martian spoke up.

“I think I can feel him!” She gasped, directing the ship slightly to the left, speeding up a little. “It’s faint, but I can feel him. His mind is less shielded than normal, but kind of muted. I think…I think he might be unconscious.”

Aqualad ignored the clenching of his gut the way only someone who had years of dealing with a team like his could. (After all, when every ‘covert’ mission in the first two years of being together became ‘overt’ after less than five minutes, the feeling of ‘oh no, this has gone wrong’ became very familiar).

“There! I see him!” Artemis exclaimed, pointing at a rooftop ahead. It took only a moment for Aqualad to see what she’d spotted. Silhouetted against the pale concrete, a dark-clad figure lay on an open rooftop. He was far enough to the side, thankfully, that they had room to land on the same roof.

As soon as the Bioship opened, Superboy was out, charging across the short intervening distance to crouch beside the prone figure. Aqualad needed only a glance to recognize Nightwing, and only a beat longer for his eyes to catch on the long gash that stretched from the vigilante’s shoulder almost to his opposite hip, lancing across his back.

The wound was still bleeding sluggishly, but not the kind of gushing flow that would have caused him to pass out from blood loss.

Superboy sighed softly. “He’s alive, just asleep.”

“What happened?” Miss Martian wondered aloud, looking around the empty roof.

“Slade, most likely.” Artemis growled, eyes narrowed at the visible wound. “The mercenary is known for his proficiency with blades…and poisons.”

“You think he was poisoned?” Miss Martian gasped.

“I mean, if Superboy says his vitals sound good,” Artemis glanced to Superboy, who nodded a confirmation, “then it’s probably more a sedation, knock-out drug kind of thing rather than a death kind of thing.”

“He did seem to have some history with Deathstroke.” Kid Flash pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter right now.” Superboy grunted. “We need to patch him up.”

Aqualad nodded. “Miss Martian, if you could—”

“I’ve got him.” Superboy interrupted, to Aqualad’s surprise. He was already scooping the unconscious vigilante into his arms, lifting the other man with uncharacteristic gentility.

“Alright, then. Superboy, if you could bring him into the Bioship. We’ll take him back to the apartment, patch him up as best we can.” Aqualad instructed. To his relief, no one argued, just filed back into the Bioship after Superboy and the unconscious Nightwing.

The flight back was as quiet as the flight out, although Aqualad had little confidence it would last. He knew his team far too well to expect that.

But at least they didn’t argue as Superboy brought their guest inside, laying him prone on the couch so they could access the wound on his back, and the one they’d discovered on his arm as they’d moved him. There didn’t seem to be much else as far as serious injuries, and neither cut was particularly gruesome. Aqualad considered Artemis’ theory of a sedative the most viable option at the moment.

Artemis and Miss Martian set about tending to his wounds, carefully working around the tight suit he wore as they cleaned and bandaged the cuts. They didn’t dare try to remove it – Artemis remembered their brief moment of capture together too well for that – but did their best to make sure there were no other serious wounds hidden beneath.

“There’s some serious bruising starting on his arms and back,” Artemis informed them when the two women settled back at the end of their task, “and I’d guess just about everywhere else across his body, too, if what we can see is any indication. But it looks like he’ll be okay, just needs to sleep off whatever Deathstroke dosed him with.”

“That’s good.” Aqualad smiled softly.

“So…what happens now?” Kid Flash asked.

“Now we wait for him to wake up.” Superboy replied firmly.

“No, I mean, this is kind of the perfect chance to finish the mission, right?” Kid Flash pointed out. “He’s not going to fight us taking him to the League right now, we can get this done with and go back to normal. We’ve been out here for almost a week, and we were just talking about how it would be hard to bring him in unwillingly, but right now would be the easiest time.”

“What?!” Artemis yelped. “No way!”

“Yes way! We just take off his mask, put him back in the Bioship, and take him to the League. It’s that simple.”

“Not happening.” Superboy growled.

“Why not?” Kid Flash asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Because it’s wrong, that’s why!” Artemis snapped. “He’s done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment, other than be trained by a guy the Justice League doesn’t like! There’s so much more that he could be than just a source of information on Batman!”

“I mean, I guess that’s true, but what about what the League has asked us to do?” Miss Martian fretted, worrying her lower lip. “I just…Uncle J’onn, Superman, and the rest of the Justice League…they wouldn’t ask us to do this if it wasn’t the best option, right? They’d have thought about the consequences and benefits.”

“At some point, though, we have to think about these things for ourselves, M’gann.” Artemis replied. “I mean, think about this, guys! I know the League wants him for info on the Batman, but look at all the good he’s been doing here in Blüdhaven! Look at everything he’s done just with us! And that’s not even considering whatever is going on with Bane, Kobra Venom, and that Fear Gas stuff as well. How would we even begin to sort that out without him?”

“I mean, I get your point, Artie, but we can take care of whatever this is without him, right? We’ve always taken care of this kind of stuff, and come out just fine on the other end. The team doesn’t need his help to take down Bane. We’ve done just fine without him to this point! It’s not like he could do any of our jobs better than us!” Kid Flash protested.

And suddenly, it clicked for Aqualad. Kid Flash’s resistance to Nightwing, his sudden adherence to the League’s instructions despite his generally more impulsive nature. He silently berated himself for not noticing it earlier.

“Kid Flash, you know he wouldn’t be a replacement on the team, right?” Aqualad asked. “We’re not even sure he’d be officially on our team. I know we’ve trained a lot of other young heroes in teamwork and tactics, and that there’s been issues with…conflicts in the past, but offering him a place with us was never about finding someone who would do better than one of our members. He has a skillset that Artemis feels would be complimentary to our current team.”

“Exactly!” Artemis exclaimed, and Aqualad had a nagging sense that she was missing Kid Flash’s issue with the Nightwing Recruitment Angle that she was playing so hard. “It would be such a huge waste if he were reduced to nothing more than a guy with information on Batman. He has such a diverse skillset, and so much experience that he’d bring to the team!”

“I just don’t think that the team needs another person. Especially not bad enough to go against our direct orders.” Kid Flash replied defensively.

“I’m not turning him over to the League.” Superboy frowned. Aqualad turned to him, hearing the note of determination in the man’s voice that usually indicated the decision had been made and would not be changed anytime soon.

“Why is he such a big deal for you, Conner?” Kid Flash asked, sounding frustrated.

“He called for me.” Superboy replied.

“Yeah, because he was passing out and couldn’t reach his comms, and knew you had super hearing. So what?” Kid Flash rolled his eyes.

“No, he didn’t call for ‘Superboy’. He called for ‘Kon-El’.” Superboy explained in a firm voice. “He called for me. He knew that using it would be an acceptance of my offer of friendship. He chose to become my friend, and I won’t betray a friend’s trust like that. I wouldn’t do it to any of you. So I won’t do it to him, either.”

Aqualad blinked, considering for a moment. Superboy didn’t give such loyalty lightly. In fact, outside of their close-knit core team, very very few had earned that kind of trust and loyalty. He wondered what Superboy had seen or heard from the vigilante that had earned him such respect.

“Superboy’s right. He’s trying to treat us like a friend, not enemies.” Artemis agreed with a nod that sent her thick ponytail bouncing. “Remember what Hood told us? He said that Nightwing is ‘the heroic type’ and that he’d be a valuable ally for us. He even asked us to look out for Nightwing here in Blüdhaven. Said there’s something coming. Can we really afford to ignore the chance that this is going to be bigger than we’re ready to handle? What if this is The Light again?”

Aqualad had to admit that she had a point, and he could see by Kid Flash’s brief grimace that he did, too. Things were more chaotic than usual, with new substances and new players that Nightwing seemed to know better than they did. It didn’t do much to soothe his worries about Kid Flash feeling his place on the team was somehow threatened – and he could see why the speedster would feel Nightwing was a threat, the man had an incredibly diverse skillset and a quick wit to match it – but it did help to put things in a better perspective.

“I…I guess I just worry.” Miss Martian said into the moment of silence. “We always take care of our missions, and I don’t want the League to lose that trust in us.”

Aqualad could understand that. Even now, years after his initial worries about his place at his King’s side had been placated and put to rest, there was a part of him that hesitated to do anything that his King would disapprove of. He never wanted his mentor to be disappointed in him, or to feel that he couldn’t trust in his loyalty anymore.

“Like we haven’t broken the rules before? Sometimes it’s not about what’s been ordered, but what is right.” Artemis crossed her arms stubbornly. “And betraying his trust now, unmasking him and taking him to the League in cuffs now, would be so far from right.”

And that was what it boiled down to, wasn’t it?

It didn’t really feel right to turn over the vigilante who had been trying so hard to trust them and let them into his little circle. He wasn’t a bad man. He wasn’t out there hurting people because he could. He was protecting the weak and the victimized, and doing his best to guide his younger brothers – because those were definitely his brothers, no matter their pedigrees – as they grew up as well. He was the kind of man Aqualad wouldn’t have an issue working with.

“What do you think, Kaldur?” Kid Flash asked finally. “You’ve been really quiet on this.”

“I’d also like to hear what you think.” Miss Martian agreed softly. “I’d trust your judgement on this. What you think we should do…I think I’d be okay with following what you decide.”

“We chose you as our leader for a reason.” Kid Flash agreed. “I mean, I still think we should just wash our hands of this right now, but…yeah, I’m with Megalicious, I think.”

Aqualad was surprised by the agreement. He hadn’t really expected Kid Flash to defer like that, but he supposed it was the most gracious way to be able to back out of the argument against Artemis if he needed to.

They looked to Artemis and Superboy.

“I…guess I can agree with that.” Artemis agreed reluctantly. “I mean, I don’t want to hand him over no matter what. But…I mean, if it’s about us deciding as a team…I trust you.”

Superboy frowned a little, and glanced at the still-unconscious man sprawled on their couch.

“I can’t promise I’ll agree.” Superboy said honestly. “He’s my friend. But you…you are also my friends. And I don’t…I value our friendship and…” he trailed off, shrugging a little, obviously still conflicted.

“I understand, Superboy. Perhaps hear me out first.” Aqualad offered. Superboy nodded, able to agree to that much at least.

Aqualad took a deep breath, considering his options. He knew he had a reputation – and a well-deserved one at that – for being very rule-abiding. For following orders, especially from the Justice League and his King.

But the others sometimes forgot what happened the day he and Kid Flash had broken Superboy out of Cadmus’ labs. They forgot that Aqualad, too, had elected to disobey orders to stay put that day. They forgot that he was the one who stepped forward first, when confronted by the League in the smoldering remains of Cadmus’ labs, and unapologetically defied his King.

“You will not be doing this again.”

“I’m sorry, but we will.”

“Aqualad, stand down.”

“Apologies, my King. But no. We did good work here tonight. The work you trained us to do. Together, on our own, we forged something powerful, important.”

Sometimes his team forgot that Aqualad was willing to skirt and outright defy orders, given a good enough reason. That he’d been the first of them to defy the Justice League, and that in doing so, had set the stage for the formation of their team.

He didn’t defy orders lightly.

But this wasn’t a situation he took lightly, either.

“I appreciate your trust in me.” He said aloud, looking to each teammate and meeting their eyes. “I have done my best to lead you thus far, and have never made decisions affecting us all lightly. We were formed as a covert team to operate under the Justice League’s direction, but we have expanded far beyond simply a team of sidekicks. We are trusted to make vital decisions on our own, and I think, in this instance at least, that one of those decisions that we must make for ourselves is whether we will follow orders this time.

“I am aware of the different sides of this decision. At the end of the day, however, I believe it’s important for us to consider this in the context of our team, not just what the League has asked of us. They sent us here to use our discretion about whether to bring in Nightwing as a member of our team or the League, or if he was a danger to society. I think we can all agree that he is not a danger.” Aqualad was relieved to see the unanimous agreement to that statement. “He is wary of the Justice League, but not insurmountably so. He’s worked to trust us, to ask us for help, the same way we all had to learn to trust one another when this team was formed.

“Kid Flash, you and I worked hard to earn Superboy’s trust. And Superboy, it took a lot for you to decide to trust us, back in Cadmus’ labs. Even more for you to trust us enough to work with us as a teammate.” The two heroes looked at each other, and Kid Flash smiled at the memories of angry Superboy and their early mishaps.

“Miss Martian, you trusted us to have your back in the field easily enough, but it took a long time to earn the trust that we’d have your back with your heritage as well.” Miss Martian flushed, tucking her hair behind one ear.

“Artemis, you didn’t trust at all to start, you were worried we would never be willing to have you around if we knew your past. It took almost a year to gain that trust.” Artemis wrapped one arm around herself, with a face that admitted she knew he was right.

“It took us a while to truly come together as a team. But look how far we’ve come in just one week with Nightwing.” Aqualad pointed out. “Yes, much of it was necessity. But when he was alone and injured, and unable to call for his family, he called for Conner. He trusted us enough to be unconscious and vulnerable in our hands. He knew the possibility of us removing his mask and revealing his secrets was very real, but he’s chosen to trust us anyway.”

Aqualad paused, taking a breath. “That is not an easy kind of trust to give, or to bear. And at the end of the day, the way he has worked with our team leads me to believe that he would be a great hero, if only we could convince him that heroes are more than just what he’s seen and been told before. He has the potential to fit into our team and strengthen us in the few places we are yet weak. But that potential will be lost if we are simply what he still believes heroes to be.

“If we betray his trust now, when he as given us so much of it so quickly, we will ruin any chance of ever having him as an ally. He, his skills, and his experience will be lost to us forever.” Aqualad said firmly.

The team murmured in agreement, and he was relieved to see that Kid Flash and Miss Martian were nodding along with him by the end of it.

“And if I’m honest…I agree with Superboy.” Aqualad added with a wry smile. “Somehow, sometime during this last week, I have come to see him as something of a new friend. And I am not one to jeopardize friendships for impulsively-made decisions.”

He got a chuckle for that, and relaxed a little.

“So…who’s going to tell Superman that we said ‘no thanks’ to our newest mission update?” Kid Flash asked finally.

“Not it.” Superboy deadpanned, inciting a round of easy laughter that broke the last taut lines of tension in the room.

It was not a conversation that Aqualad was looking forward to, and he fully intended to pull a page from Kid Flash’s book to procrastinate it as long as he could.

After all, they had other priorities, one of which was out in the dark, scheming behind a luchador mask...and another was passed out drooling on their couch, oblivious to how close he’d come to having his trust irrevocably broken.

Chapter Text

Dick was barely eighteen when he walked away from his second life. Things had been tense with Bruce since he disobeyed to protect the newest Robin. Little Tim was so young, and still recently orphaned. Bruce had wasted little time in adopting the boy after his affluent parents were killed in a Gotham…Incident.

They’d been official brothers for two weeks before Dick’s birthday came, and he aged out of Bruce’s care.

Alfie told him it changed nothing.

But for him it changed everything.

He’d tried to go back to business school after Jay’s death, but he found himself unable to focus on the inanities of macroeconomics and marketing strategies when his brother was dead.

So at eighteen, a legal adult, untied from everything that had held him to Bruce’s plans for him, he dropped out. Tim had a better mind for business anyway, and would make a much better heir for Wayne Enterprises than the ex-circus brat who still couldn’t sit still through a class, let alone a day of meetings.

He knew he wouldn’t finish business school. Knew he couldn’t go back to the circus now, knowing the darkness that lurked in the world, knowing he had the training to stop it.

He knew he couldn’t stay in Gotham, either.

So he left, and found himself in the Police Academy. The first day, sitting in a lecture on the responsibilities and dangers of police work, he found himself at home. He could make a real difference for people here. He could do something real to help, every day.

As his first year passed in the Academy, he excelled in his classes. His grades were higher than anyone had expected of Brucie Wayne’s spoiled ward.

Except for one course.

Dick knocked on the office door, and opened it enough to meet his instructor’s eyes.

“Do you have a moment, sir?”

“Sure thing, Grayson. Come on in, I need a distraction from this paperwork anyway.” The man chuckled, pushing away a pile of papers and tossing his pen carelessly aside. In his early sixties, he was unofficially retired from the force, working instead as an instructor at the Academy, passing on his decades of knowledge and experience to new recruits.

He was one of Dick’s favorite instructors, his easygoing personality at odds with his strict standards and high expectations. He was a personable man, who expected the recruits’ best from the moment they stepped into his class to the moment they left it.

And Dick gave his best every day, relishing the challenges presented as they were trained in tactical maneuvers and takedowns. Which is why he was confused by his grades in the man’s course.

“Have a seat. What can I do for you today, Grayson?”

Dick settled into the chair opposite the man’s overloaded, rickety desk. He half-expected it to collapse under the weight.

“I’m a little concerned about my grades on the assessments, sir.” Dick started, the words he’d practiced on his way over coming easily. “I’ve been completing all of the objectives in the assessments, but I’m not getting full points, and I don’t understand why.”

“Ah, yes.” The instructor hummed, leaning forward onto the desk, ignoring its creaking groan as it took his weight. “I was wondering when you’d come to see me about this. I’m glad you came of your own accord, rather than settling and waiting for me to come and talk to you about it.”

Dick frowned a little. Why would he settle for a bare passing grade when he was more than pulling his weight on the assessments?

“I was hoping you’d already have some idea of why you’re getting docked points during these team tactical assessments.” The instructor continued. “You’re a smart recruit, Grayson, if younger than most applicants to the program. You excelled in all preliminary assessments, and you have a remarkable intellect. Yet, every time you do these team assessments, you’re missing something. Talk me through what you’re doing.”

Dick paused, thinking a moment. He’d sort of hoped that he’d walk in, get an answer, and walk out ready to fix it in the future. He hadn’t really anticipated this approach, so different from Bruce’s blunt lectures.

“Well, I’m looking to complete the assigned objectives. In this last assessment, it was to locate the targets and restrain them with minimal collateral damage. I entered through my assigned entry point, and performed a standard search. When I found the two targets, I apprehended them with the lowest level of required force. There weren’t even any shots fired, sir, so I’m not sure where I would have lost points on this.” Dick shrugged a little, frowning. “I’ve been going over it in my head since grades came out, and I just can’t find where I went wrong.”

“What about your team, Grayson?” His instructor asked patiently.

“What do you mean?” Dick frowned.

“You came in through your assigned entry point, and performed your part of the search pattern, correct?”

“Yessir.”

“And when you found the suspects, you apprehended them single-handedly, correct?”

“Yessir.”

“What about your team?” The older man watched him expectantly, and Dick felt he was missing something.

“They…were performing their own searches, sir. Following their assigned routes through the building.” He replied. From his instructor’s soft sigh, Dick gathered it wasn’t the right answer. The problem was, he didn’t know what the right answer was. It was the way he’d always operated with Bats – each performed their assigned route, and apprehended whoever they found on that route. What did his teammates’ assignments have to do with how he’d performed?

“While it’s very impressive that you were able to apprehend two men with no shots fired and an appropriate amount of force, you missed a very important step, Grayson.” His instructor explained patiently. “When you found the suspects, you went in alone. You should have called for backup, and utilized the team, instead of simply notifying them when you had completed the objectives. What would have happened if this had been real, and you had been shot by one of the suspects? You would have had no one to assist you, and likely would have been killed.”

“I…do understand the concept, sir, but I was completely certain that I could complete the take down without assistance.” Dick tried, hoping to explain his logic in a way that didn’t include ‘Batman taught me to do it this way when we were performing illegal acts of vigilantism together’. “I knew that I could take two lightly-armed men without an issue.”

“But you cannot be sure that nothing will go wrong. The briefing could have been wrong, and there could have been three or four men instead of two, with different weapons or even a hostage.” The instructor pointed out.

“Grayson, calling for backup is appropriate in many situations. Sometimes we need specially trained personnel or specialized equipment. Sometimes we need guidance from someone who is more knowledgeable or experienced. And sometimes, we simply need another unit to improve safety and minimize risks. Calling for backup is not a sign of weakness or ineptitude. It does not mean that you are unable to perform the task alone. Instead, it’s a way to ensure your safety and the safety of others. Do you understand that?”

“I…yessir.” Dick replied, giving the right answer despite feeling like he was being asked to change his entire worldview. Bruce had never told him to call backup ‘just in case’ – it was reserved for when you couldn’t complete a task alone…and even then, it had to be a task that you were incapable of completing alone, not just wary of.

“Don’t lie to my face, recruit.” The instructor chuckled with a teasing glare. “Let me put it another way for you. Most of us out there? We want to help. We’re eager to lend a hand. We will quite literally drop whatever we are doing and run as fast as we can to get to you and help. Yet some officers remain uncomfortable asking for help or guidance; and some flat-out refuse to ask, except in the most dire of situations, often too late for help to arrive in time. That refusal to ask for help when help is reasonably available can contribute to officers and civilians being hurt or killed.

“You’re good, Grayson, I’ll give you that. But you can’t do all of this work alone. Trying to do it alone will only get you or others killed.”

Dick hesitated. What his instructor was saying made sense. It was logical. But always calling for backup when it might be useful seemed impractical.

“But sir…aren’t there times where you have to immediately engage to prevent loss of life? Like in the case of an active shooter, where waiting for a tactical team isn’t the best option?” Dick asked.

“It’s true that in cases like those, you need to immediately engage, yes. I’m glad to see you’re listening during lectures.” His instructor chuckled. “But even in those situations, it’s best to take the four seconds to call for backup over your radio. Because one way or another, whether they are able to come before you encounter the shooter or not, it’s still better to have help on the way. That way, if you do fail, we know you’re in there and needing help.

“You don’t need to do it all on your own, Grayson. That’s why we have partners, squads, and precincts. It’s why there are teams dedicated to specific types of tasks. You fight like a one-man army, and that’s impressive, but asking for help in the field is never a bad thing. Maybe you don’t end up needing it, and they go back to their own tasks after a few minutes. That’s still infinitely better than the alternative.”

“I just…hate the idea of wasting time that could be used more effectively.” Dick admitted, the excuse coming the closest to what he was really feeling but couldn’t quite find a way to express.

“Think of it a different way, Grayson. Let’s say you don’t call for backup, and things go sideways. How would you face the widow of the man who was killed because you weren’t fast enough alone? How would you explain to his children that their daddy will never tuck them in at night again? Or how would you testify before a jury, knowing that if you’d called for backup, then evidence wouldn’t have been disposed of while you dealt with the perp’s accomplices?” The instructor asked, eyes boring into Dick’s.

“That…yeah, I can understand that.” Dick admitted.

“Or, to put it even closer to home for you, Grayson, you have a younger brother, yeah?”

“Yessir. He’s a few years younger than me.”

“How would you like him to get a call that you’re not coming to Christmas ever again? Or having him wait by your hospital bed, wondering if you were going to wake up?”

The questions were like a bucket of ice water in Dick’s veins. The thought of little Timmy, who had already lost so much after joining their broken little family, who had joined in the wake of Jay’s tragic death, sitting alone in Wayne Manor, or in a hospital while Bruce was at the offices, alone again. The image of Alfie, so much the grandfather to them both, the heart, soul, and glue of their family, getting the call that he’d been killed in the line of duty when he could have prevented it. The butler already waited up at nights to reassure himself that everyone came home safely from their extracurriculars, unable to sleep until he knew his flock was back in the nest.

The pit that had opened under him and swallowed him whole when he’d received the tearful call from Alfie that Jay was dead. Because no one was there.

Because backup hadn’t come.

Because he hadn’t come.

“It’s better to be safe, Grayson. Even if you think you can handle things alone, it’s always better to be safe, and to prevent that kind of pain. Trust me – I’ve been on the force long enough to see all types. And while I wouldn’t fail you for this behavior, since I know too many of you will graduate with the attitude of self-proclaimed invincibility, I won’t give you high marks for it either. A good cop can take down the enemy alone. Better cops ask for backup when they know it’s needed. The best cops – the ones who make it home after the hard days – ask for backup when it might be needed.”

Silence reigned for a moment, punctuated only by the soft ticking of the wall-mounted clock.

“Just, remember this much, Grayson: your peers are as eager to keep you safe as you are to keep them safe. There’s no manual on how to be backup – that much is left to the intuition and judgement of those called upon – but the number one rule for backup is this: If a brother calls for aid, you go. And you go now. Even if it ends up being unnecessary, we would all prefer to have a thousand uneventful backup calls than miss the one moment in which an officer needed help and didn’t call for us. This isn’t a Boy Who Cried Wolf thing, it’s a Brotherhood thing.”

Dick considered the man’s words, compared them to what was he’d learned before.

Bats kept training kids as Robins, so that if he fell, there would be a cascading order of vigilantes to take his place, and each other’s places as needed – Batryoska dolls, if you will, he thought with amusement – but the way they talked here at the Academy, maybe there was a different way. A way in which they weren’t so alone when out in the dark nights with the Dark Knight. A way whereby he could keep Timmy safe, safe in a way that Jay hadn’t been.

Because Jay had called for help, and Dick had assumed Bruce would handle it the way he’d said he would. Because he hadn’t wanted to be in the way. Because he’d thought that he’d be imposing if he’d ended up not being needed.

But if he’d been there that night, Jay might still be with them.

There are circumstances where calling for backup is appropriate.

If they didn’t work solo, if they relied on each other more when they needed help, maybe they could prevent even more pain than they already did.

Maybe he could prevent Timmy getting that call someday, from feeling the world open up and swallow him whole.

“I think…I think I get it, sir.” Dick said at last. “It’s not something I’m used to doing, but I’ll try to be better about it.”

“Good. Because you have a lot of promise, Grayson. You have the potential to become an incredible officer, and do a lot of good. Maybe someday, when you’ve made it home from enough bad nights, and you’re grey and grizzled like me, you’ll come teach the same things to idiot recruits who think they’re invincible.” The instructor chuckled.

Dick laughed with him. “I don’t know that I’d have the temperament to sit still and teach a group of kids.” He admitted.

“Ah, you’d do fine. You’re already practically teaching all of your peers during breaks and after classes – don’t think I haven’t noticed they come to you with their questions as often as they do me – and you don’t steer them wrong. You’ve got the makings of a team leader in you, Grayson.”

“I don’t know, I’ve always ended up more of a solo act.” Dick joked with a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, we know, circus boy.” The instructor laughed. “But you think the right way to be a team leader. You have the tactical brains for it and the brawn and training to back it up – or, at least, you will once you’re done here – and you bring people together faster than a puppy, and get them to work together better than the promise of a day’s rest from physical conditioning. If we can knock that self-sacrificing tendency out of you, you might just make a half-decent leader someday.”

Dick gaped. The praise came out of his instructor’s mouth with such easy sincerity, he couldn’t believe that the man didn’t mean it. But it just…wasn’t how he saw himself. He was still the young circus boy in a new world of riches and opulence, unaccustomed to everything around him, uncertain in every move he made. He was still the kid in garish colors following the Batman of Gotham into the night to fight crime, tripping over his own feet and hoping his mentor didn’t give up on him too soon. He was still the teen who gained and lost a little brother to a manic, grinning face that haunted him in ways he could never talk about with a therapist for fear of family secrets being revealed.

And sure, he was the acrobatic vigilante Nightwing, all smiles and confidence in the face of evil, fighting and moving with his own unique defiance of gravity, saving and doing good. Competent, strong, and usually enough to get the job done.

But a leader?

A leader of an actual team?

Working regularly with a team? It just didn’t feel like who he had been so far.

“Shut that mouth before you catch flies, Grayson, and get back to your studies. I’ll retroactively bump your assessment grades if you can show me you understand the importance of backup in next week’s assessment, got it?” The instructor smiled, looking almost grandfatherly as Dick nodded.

“Yessir! Thank you for taking the time to talk this out with me, sir. I really appreciate it.” He said, the manners that Alfie had forcibly instilled in him coming automatically.

They shook hands, said goodbye, and he left the room, mind still reeling.

The thought of a team, of having people who he could trust to watch his back…he had to admit it was appealing. The idea of helping and being helped without fear of disappointing others, of having enough people involved to not worry about compromising a mission if trouble arose – and experience had taught him it always did – the idea was enticing.

He didn’t know how it would work, what with him having left Gotham and its vigilantes behind, but maybe he could do a modified version with Tim. Make sure his little brother – because the kid was his brother, whether Bruce was his guardian now or not – knew he’d always come if called on.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

And maybe, someday, a real team situation would be feasible. A group bound by loyalty to each other, who cared about the well-being of each other more than just the mission’s outcome…it sounded nice.

And if, upon graduating from the Academy, newly-minted Officer Grayson responded more quickly to calls for backup than others, and asking for it when he remembered to, catching the eye of a more experienced Sergeant who would request him as her partner once he made detective, if he lectured a speedster hero years later on the importance of being backup and keeping others safe, if he called for backup as he lay half-conscious on a roof days after, trusting it would come, then that was just a natural consequence of being okay with learning a lesson an instructor was trying to teach.

And if he began to wake on an unfamiliar couch surrounded by newly-familiar voices and the smell of someone baking, and felt comforted rather than alarmed, if he had a fleeting, half-awake thought as he began to stir that maybe, just maybe this was a team he’d be okay with being a part of, then maybe that was okay too.

Chapter Text

Regaining consciousness, in Dick’s experience, came in many forms. As a child in the circus, it had been gradual and soft most mornings, like the quiet dawn that slowly warmed up the morning sky. Sometimes it had been sudden and exciting, brought on by remembering the special day of performance or travel ahead.

In the juvenile detention center where he’d spent those painful months between his parents’ fall and Bruce’s intervention, it had been abrupt and jumpy, always aware of the newfound dangers and strange accents around him.

In the Manor, it had always been quiet, and often groggy, after long nights spent chasing across the rooftops.

For the first months in Blüdhaven, it had been uncomfortably quiet, unnaturally still in an unpleasantly empty apartment.

It was suddenly waking with cold chains on wrists, or slowly coming to in warm beds. Generally, he could orient himself pretty quickly just based on what regaining consciousness felt like that particular time.

But right now, on a couch that he was decently sure wasn’t his, surrounded by quiet voices that he couldn’t immediately place, he should have had a sharp, abrupt return to consciousness, mind immediately racing to figure everything out.

He should have been wary as soon as he was aware.

But he wasn’t.

Dick – no, Nightwing, I can feel my mask still – lay face-down on an unfamiliar couch, and felt quiet and relaxed. Like waking up in the Manor’s library, a book discarded nearby or placed neatly on a table due to Alfie’s ever present diligence. He was calm, content to just lay there for a minute and take stock, listen to his body.

Right now, his body was saying ouch.

His neck ached from his position, meaning he’d likely been out for at least a few hours. His back burned softly in a way that he immediately recognized as a long cut. It felt like someone had tended to it, bandaged it up. It didn’t feel too bad, though experience told him it would hurt more once he started moving. His left arm hurt in a similar way, hanging over the edge of the couch, fingers brushing the cheap carpet. There was probably a cut there, too. His chest still felt bruised, and his jaw still ached faintly, but those had healed enough that he could ignore them easily.

As awareness slowly moved through his mind, Nightwing started to pay attention to the low hum of conversation beside him. The voices were…familiar, now that he was more awake. It wasn’t his family – his brothers were rarely this quiet to begin with, and besides, two of the voices were feminine – but they didn’t feel like danger.

It only took a few more moments to place them, but when he did, Nightwing found himself with a whole new set of thoughts.

Because if the Young Justice team was chilling in the room where he was sleeping, something had gone very wrong.

Laying still, breathing evenly as though still asleep, Nightwing wracked his brain to find his memories, mind still addled by whatever had put him out to start with. It came back in pieces – the call, the threat, Amy, Slade, bleeding on a rooftop, calling for Kon’El – and he took a minute to process.

It had been a hell of a day.

And Kon’El had come.

It made something in him warm to realize that when he’d called for the hero, he’d come and helped him, brought him back and patched him up. He’d never had to trust someone else to do that before, outside of the Bat Family. Not to the extent that he had just now.

And they’d pulled through. Patched his wounds. Brought him into their apartment – because there was nowhere else this could be, realistically speaking – and kept him safe.

And left his mask.

They hadn’t even touched it. He’d have known if they had – the feeling of a peeled and reattached mask was distinct, even hours after the fact.

He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Completely vulnerable, at their mercy, and they’d kept both him and his identity safe. They must have thought about it – he knew how much they wanted to know who he was – but they’d decided against it.

He almost couldn’t even believe it, but that’s what seemed to have happened.

Nightwing put the thought aside for later, tucking it away in his mind somewhere between ‘Ames needs someone to give that corruption evidence to’ and ‘Dami called me dat’, but not quite so deep as his ongoing crisis about having killed again…

Yeah. Let’s just leave that back there for now. He thought grimly. Too many thoughts to sort through right now.

Instead, he turned his attention to the quiet conversation, finally keying into what was being said.

“They’re fundamentally different, Kid Mouth.” Artemis hissed, sounding offended. “You add different amounts of oil and eggs to make them, they’re not the same.”

“I’m not saying they’re exactly the same, Artie.” Kid Flash retorted, and Nightwing could hear the playful grin on the speedster’s face. “I’m saying that the difference is way more form than function or composition.”

“No. Just no.” Artemis groaned.

Footsteps entered from near Nightwing’s head on the couch.

“What are you two arguing about now?” Aqualad sighed.

“Breakfast.” Superboy grunted from somewhere on the floor near Nightwing’s hip.

“Breakfast?” Aqualad repeated, sounding perplexed.

“Waffles are just pancakes with abs!” Kid Flash asserted brashly, as Artemis groaned in despair.

“Sometimes I wonder how your mind works.” Aqualad muttered.

Nightwing saw his moment, and decided to seize it.

“No, no, the man has a point.” He murmured, opening his eyes behind his domino to catch the surprised looks on the heroes’ faces as their gazes snapped to him.

“You’re awake!” Miss Martian exclaimed, beaming brightly from where she was perched on the arm of the recliner occupied by Artemis. Aqualad stood to the side, with Kid Flash sprawled on the couch across from Nightwing. In his peripherals, he could just make out the form of Superboy, sitting on the floor with his back against Nightwing’s couch.

“Yeah, drug-mandated nap over for now.” Nightwing muttered, raising his arm to brace on the couch so he could push himself up. He was stopped by a large hand against his shoulder.

“Slowly.” Superboy rumbled.

“Yeah, dude, you were stabbed.” Kid Flash added, frowning. He’d pulled his mask – hood? Hood mask? With hair-hole? – off, and his freckled face looked genuinely concerned, albeit still a little wary. Nightwing wondered what exactly the speedster still had against him.

“Only a little.” Nightwing countered, although he did make an effort to move a little slower. Twisting up into a sitting position pulled painfully at the recently-bandaged cut across his back, and Nightwing had a sneaking suspicion that it was going to add a new line to his collection of scars. Not like it’ll be particularly impressive next to everything else there.

Artemis snorted, rolling her eyes. “Only a little.” She muttered derisively. “You were unconscious and bleeding on a rooftop, Wing.”

“Because of the drugs, not the cut itself. I’ve had way worse.” Nightwing shrugged, trying to ignore the way that pulled at his back, too. “Whatever Slade coated his blades with, it was more a naptime drug than a new wooden bed drug.”

“We were concerned.” Aqualad said softly. “Superboy assured us that your vitals were steady, but you did not so much as stir while your wounds were cleaned and tended to. We are glad that you were not in mortal danger, but it would have been better to have called us to you when you chased after Deathstroke, rather than after you were already wounded and losing consciousness.”

Nightwing was surprised by the chiding tone of Aqualad’s voice.

He was more surprised by the twinge of guilt he felt at hearing it.

“I…you’re right.” He admitted. “I’m not exactly used to having a team around, though.”

“And that’s why we’re not mad, just disappointed.” Artemis informed him sagely. Nightwing couldn’t help snorting, seeing the mirth in her eyes as she said it.

“Thanks, Mom.” He muttered, earing a chuckle from Kid Flash.

It was strange to him, how easy it felt to be here with them, just casually sitting in this living room, accepting the chastisement from Aqualad and bantering with Artemis. It wasn’t something he was used to outside of his own family.

“I’m just glad you called.” Superboy murmured. Nightwing looked over to him, and pulled up a lopsided smile.

“I was a little too numb to reach the comms.” He admitted. “Besides, you said we were friends, right? Friends call each other when they need help.” The sentiment felt cheesy to him, but it was worth it to see the warm satisfaction in Kon’El’s eyes.

“I’ve got to ask though,” Nightwing said, glancing around the group, “why didn’t you mess with my mask? Not that I’m not glad you didn’t, I just figured you’d be eager to find out who I am under this.”

The heroes looked at each other, before Artemis shrugged.

“We are. Eager, that is. But you’ve made it really clear that your identity, and keeping it secret, is important to you. But you trusted us to take care of you when you were hurt. That’s a lot of trust. And the price of betraying it wasn’t worth the reward of knowing your secret.” She explained. “At the end of the day, we figured you’ll tell us when you’re ready.”

Nightwing could read between the lines of her answer easily enough – they’d debated it. But had decided and agreed not to. It had been about his current trust, but also about future trust and camaraderie.

They wanted to keep working with him, to keep his trust and keep him around.

He felt a little silly for how much it meant to feel wanted by this team of heroes.

And the thought of telling them his name, of taking off his mask, of letting them in on that last big secret…he had to admit it was weirdly tempting. There was an appeal to letting himself become fully a part of this team of heroes, of letting them recruit him and working with them openly, not worrying about being secretive…

It was another thought for another time, however. There was still plenty to deal with right now.

“Fair enough.” He replied simply, electing to keep his thoughts and emotion to himself.

“Is it Hebrew?” Kid Flash asked suddenly.

“I…what?” Nightwing blinked.

“Your accent. Is it Hebrew?”

“Sorry, KF, it’s not Hebrew.” Nightwing chuckled, shaking his head. He’d forgotten about his challenge to Kid Flash to figure out his accent.

“I’m running out of languages I know.” Kid Flash admitted glumly. “I don’t know why you can’t just tell me.”

“Because you’d probably be able to figure out who I am by the language alone.” Nightwing shrugged. “I’m not going to make it that easy for you.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to be a dick about it.” Kid Flash muttered, though he didn’t sound actually offended, just mildly frustrated.

Nightwing grinned broadly. “Oh, I can’t not be a Dick about it. Being a Dick is an essential part of who I am.” He laughed, knowing they wouldn’t get it…but also knowing it would be hilarious once they finally did. Oh, their faces were going to be awesome when he told them.

When had he decided to eventually tell them?

“Are you kidding me?” Kid Flash exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

“No, I’m adulting you.” Nightwing shot back lightly.

“Great, now there’s two of them.” Artemis muttered good-naturedly. Kid Flash gave her an odd look that Nightwing couldn’t quite read, as Miss Martian giggled, a hand covering her mouth lightly.

“What time is it, anyway?” Nightwing frowned.

“Almost seven-thirty in the morning. You were out all night.” Aqualad informed him.

“Seven-thirty? Shit!” Nightwing yelped, leaping to his feet. “I’ve got to leave, now.”

“But I have breakfast in the oven!” Miss Martian protested. And although whatever she was baking smelled heavenly, Nightwing shook his head.

“Another time, Miss M. I’m going to be late.”

“Late for what?” Kid Flash challenged.

“My day job. Vigilantism doesn’t exactly pay the bills, KF.” Nightwing explained hurriedly, snatching his escrima sticks and their straps from the table.

“You know, normal people would call in sick after being stabbed.” Artemis pointed out dryly.

“I was only stabbed a little. Besides, you really shouldn’t compare me to normal people. Normal people don’t dress up in a costume to punch assholes in the face at night.” Nightwing retorted absently. He hesitated, looking to the front door. It would be so much faster to just go across the hall directly into his apartment. But then there’d be a chance that they’d see, or hear…

“Go ahead. We promise not to follow you, just be careful getting out of the building.” Artemis waved him off. “There’s a little European woman who lives on this floor who sees everything.”

“Yeah, Lenka is pretty observant.” Nightwing nodded without thinking. He paused as the heroes stared. “I’ve been in Blüdhaven for more than a year, and worked in this area. You really think she hasn’t cornered me to offer me a scarf that matches my costume?” He asked with a lopsided grin, playing the situation off as best he could. Obviously he wasn’t operating on all cylinders if he was slipping up like this.

“I could see her doing that.” Superboy shrugged. “She seems the type.”

“Go ahead, Nightwing. Contact us when you have time later today, and we will try to figure out what Bane is planning.” Aqualad requested, waving him toward the front door.

“Right. I’ll do that.” Nightwing agreed. He took three quick steps, then paused and turned again. He couldn’t resist. “You should check up with Detective Grayson and his partner today. They’re working on taking out some wide-spread corruption in the BPD…could probably use your help and whatever contacts you have through the Justice League to get the evidence into the right hands.”

Aqualad blinked, then nodded. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Nightwing nodded back, then hurried out the door, closing it carefully behind him. He debated walking loudly down the hall, just to mislead them, but his eyes were burning almost as much as his back, and he still needed to not only get the mask off without tearing the skin from his face, but change into his work clothes and look something close to presentable and drive all the way down to BPD before he was due there in fifteen minutes.

He was going to be late, and if they heard him opening a neighbor’s door, he’d just say he left through babka Lenka’s apartment for convenience.

Mind made up, Nightwing hurried into his apartment, closing and locking the door behind him before very nearly ripping off his uniform…which needed mending again…and rushing deeper into his apartment to do what he could before leaving for work.

Ames was going to have his hide if he showed up late.

***

“Heeeyyy, Ames.”

“Look who bothered to show up.” Amy drawled as Dick dropped his coat onto his chair. “I was starting to think you’d actually decided to use some of the vacation or sick time you’ve built up while working here.”

“Nah, just a bit of a, ah, rough weekend.” Dick replied with an awkward chuckle. “Didn’t wake up to my alarm today.” His head felt oddly thick, the aftereffects of whatever Slade had dosed him with having really started to kick in as he’d changed for work. For once, he was thankful for the cloudy Blüdhaven skies – with how much the fluorescent lights were making his head hurt, he could only imaging how much he’d despise direct sunlight.

I’m turning into Bruce. He thought with wry amusement.

“You look rough. What, late night with your boys?” Amy asked, eyebrow raised. “Or did you finally use that pretty face to land yourself a girl?”

“More like taking care of all the things that I can’t deal with on a weekday.” Dick deflected with a wave of his hand.

“I get how that goes.” Amy sighed. “And yet, somehow, I’m still here on time every Monday. Whereas you are late two out of three weeks.”

“And yet, you still love me.” Dick teased.

“Eh.” Amy shrugged, but she couldn’t hide her smile.

“Let’s get a coffee, yeah? I think I have something that might help with your current…evidence collection and submission issues.” Dick suggested. “That place down the street had way better coffee than here.”

“Everywhere has better coffee than here.” Amy snorted. “This sludge is only considered coffee by virtue of having come, somewhere down the line, from a coffee bean at some point.”

She followed him back toward the elevator. From the corner of his eye, Dick could see Chief Redhorn glaring after them, arms crossed at the end of the bullpen.

“Did we do something to piss off the Chief?” Dick muttered to Amy.

“Don’t know. Normally he’d be pissy at you, but today it seems I’ve attracted his ire. Other than our evidence situation, I can’t imagine why he’d be fussy, but here we are.” Amy shrugged. “He certainly wasn’t this mad Friday, so something must have happened over the weekend.”

Or not happened. Dick thought, glancing back at the Chief. It would make a terrible kind of sense, the BPD hiring Slade to take out Ames just to keep her silent. The price tag still didn’t really fit, but if they had big backers…maybe someone connected with both the BPD’s corruption and whatever Bane was up to? That would explain how Bane ended up with Kobra Venom and Fear Gas under BPD’s nose without raising any alarms.

He tucked the thought to the side to marinate in its own juices, trusting that he’d be able to pick it apart better after he’d talked with Amy.

The elevator dinged, and opened to reveal the team of heroes, looking as surprised to see them as he and Amy were to see the team.

“Detective Grayson, Sergeant Rohrbach, you’re precisely who we were hoping to speak with.” Aqualad smiled, recovering quickly from his surprise.

“Awesome. Come with us to get coffee.” Dick replied, stepping into the elevator, Amy close behind him. The team crowded back a bit to give them space, and he felt some of the tension leave as the doors closed between them and Chief Redhorn’s heated glare.

“Isn’t there coffee here?” Kid Flash asked, sounding confused.

“Place down the street is better.” Amy replied easily.

“Plus it’s not in the corn patch.” Dick added, earning a snort from Amy.

“In the corn patch?” Superboy frowned. Well, his eyebrows moved inward ever so slightly, which on his face constituted a confused frown. Dick was really getting better at reading those expressions.

“The bullpen’s a corn patch – too many ears.” Dick grinned. Artemis rolled her eyes, but Kid Flash chuckled.

“Hey, I have a joke for you.” The speedster bounced on the balls of his feet eagerly.

“Please no.” Artemis groaned.

“What is it called when you kill a friend?” Kid Flash pressed on, ignoring her.

“Murder?” Amy replied, looking vaguely amused.

“Please don’t say it, Baywatch.”

“Homiecide!” The speedster crowed.

Artemis sighed, and Miss Martian gave her a sympathetic pat.

“Homiecide,” Dick wheezed, laughing openly as the elevator opened to the ground floor of the precinct. He twisted to exit, and winced as his back split open again under the bandages.

“Grayson, what did you do to yourself?” Amy sighed, the mirth leaving as everyone’s attention snapped to him. “You’re moving like an old man.”

She held up a hand as he opened his mouth. “And don’t give me that ‘rough weekend’ bullshit. What happened?”

“I, ah,” Dick hesitated, glancing at the heroes, before deciding that between his Gotham accent, illusionary ring covering his scars, and the general lack of suspicion that it could possibly be Detective Grayson behind the mask, that he was safe. “I was messing around with the boys, and got, ah, lightly stabbed.”

“You got stabbed?!” Miss Martian gasped in horror.

“Lightly.” Dick corrected. “I’m fine, really. Just a little sore.”

“Yeah, I’d imagine you are, after being lightly stabbed.” Amy droned, both her face and voice saying she didn’t believe a word of it. “I don’t know why I expect a straight answer out of you anymore. We both know you won’t give them.”

“You know the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, right?” Dick teased, latching onto the chance to divert the topic.

“Don’t push it, Grayson. You owe me a coffee for all the stress you put me through.” Amy muttered, leading the way out of the building and down the street.

“Yeah, fair enough.” Dick shrugged. To the heroes, he gave a conspiratorial smile, and added, “she worries like a mom.”

He got some half-amused smiles, but sensed that he hadn’t allayed any worries. So Dick focused on keeping his movements smooth and easy, watching the heroes relax slowly in his peripherals. They looked like they were having another one of their mental conversations, probably deciding that he was just joking about the ‘lightly stabbed’ bit to mess with his partner.

By the time they reached the little coffee shop, the comment seemed to have been forgotten entirely. They placed their orders, Dick paying for both his and Amy’s because honestly? He probably owed her a lot more than just a coffee for all she’d done for him, but it was a good start to paying her back.

“So what did you need from us? Vigilante giving you troubles?” Amy asked, settling against the wall to wait for their order in a corner out of easy earshot of the scattered patrons and staff.

“We were, ah, informed that you are in need of trustworthy contacts to pass on some sensitive corruption evidence.” Aqualad said, clearly choosing his words with care. “I believe we can offer that connection to you. Working so closely with the Justice League, we have access to many of their contacts, several of whom are in federal positions. It is my understanding that an FBI agent would be able to investigate widespread corruption in a state or city law enforcement organization and potentially do something to clean it out.”

Amy stared at Aqualad for a moment, lips parted in dumb surprise. She looked sharply at Dick, who shrugged.

“Don’t look at me.” He raised his hands, doing his best not to lie directly to Amy’s face, since he was pretty sure he’d give himself away on this one. Lying about why he was hurt was one thing – he’d been doing that since he was a child in Bruce’s care. Lying about something like this – which dealt specifically with their future as BPD officers and potentially her future outside of jail and with her family – was a bigger deal.

“It was not Detective Grayson who told us.” Aqualad reassured her. “It seems your local vigilante has his fingers in several pies, as the saying goes. He’s aware of the corruption in BPD, and that you two are wanting to clean things up here. We understand if you would prefer that we keep out of it. However, we felt that as heroes, it is our duty to offer help in stopping wrongdoing wherever we encounter it.”

“I mean, I’ll take what help we can get.” Amy replied slowly. “I’m just…unsettled that he knows so much about the inner workings of the department. It’s not exactly something that’s common knowledge, even among the officers. I doubt that most of them are even aware of just how many others are on the take.”

“Here, it’s the number for one of the Justice League’s contacts within the FBI. His office is in charge of this area. He’ll be able to either take care of things for you, or put it all into motion with the state bureau of investigation so that you can get the assistance you need in clearing out the corruption.” Aqualad said, holding out a folded piece of paper. “Tell him that Aqualad gave you his number, and he’ll put things in motion for you.”

“I…thank you.” Amy replied, taking the paper. “This is a better solution than anything we’ve been able to come up with. I’d made some calls yesterday, but those leads would probably take weeks or even months to even really get rolling. I really only got the word out.”

“Might want to take a couple days’ vacation, head over to the state offices with the evidence after you call. I’m sure Jim and the kids would appreciate a few days in another city.” Dick suggested, letting his voice drop into the tone he used to push in serious moments as Detective Grayson. He couldn’t tell her that her life was probably still in danger despite Slade having been called off – he had no reason to know that – but he could do his best to impress that there was a possibility of danger to her and her family.

Amy met his eyes, and must have read some of his intent in his gaze, because she nodded. “We’re about due for a vacation anyway. Emma and Justin would love to skip school for a couple days, and Jim’s always saying I work too much anyway.” Her lips twisted in a sardonic smirk. “I tell him I only work that much because I have to keep an eye on your irresponsible, self-sacrificing butt.”

“Ouch. You wound me, Ames.” Dick laughed. “If you need it, I’m happy to give you some of my PTO. I have way more than I’ll use anytime soon.”

Their order was called, and Amy went with Miss Martian to grab the cups.

“Thank you.” Dick said, voice settling into serious again as he turned to Aqualad. “She’s taking a big risk, putting all of this together to have a solid case against the corruption in BPD. Having this quality of a contact to help push things through and get things set up right…it’s going to keep her safer. And for that, I’m grateful.”

“We’re glad to be of assistance.” Aqualad replied with a small smile and a nod.

“You really care about her, don’t you?” Artemis asked, looking at him oddly.

“Ames…she’s good people. She’s honest and dependable, and doesn’t take any shit from anyone.” Dick chuckled. “You don’t meet a lot of people of her caliber, inside or outside the force. She really took me under her wing when I showed up green and inexperienced, the least I can do to repay her for trusting me and giving me a chance prove myself as more than Bruce Wayne’s ex-ward, is do what I can to keep her safe.”

“You’re not what I expected.” Artemis said after a beat of silence. Dick waited for an explanation, but she didn’t say anything else, and Amy quickly returned with his coffee, handing over his sugary concoction.

Just another mystery to set aside and ponder later, he supposed.

Chapter Text

If he was honest with himself, Dick wasn’t quite sure how his day went. The aftereffects of whatever Slade had used on his weapons lingered far longer than he’d expected them to, and although he did a remarkable job of covering it up, he was sure his ‘Detective Grayson’ mask had slipped a few times throughout the day.

Then again, if the looks Ames had given him were any indication, perhaps he hadn’t done such a great job. At least his coworkers didn’t much care about what he did, and Ames hadn’t asked any uncomfortable questions anyway. Plus, the heroes were helping her to be safe as she took the next step in getting Blüdhaven PD clean, and he hadn’t actually given away anything important about himself to the heroes.

So today was a win.

At least, what he could remember of it was.

If he focused, he could follow his path through the day’s events. But it wasn’t until the past hour or so that his memory really came into focus. That was more than a little worrying, but honestly, compared to the rest of the things he was trying to juggle? It wasn’t anywhere close to the top of his list of worries.

Ames had left a couple minutes ago to head for home and tell her family they’d be going out of town for a few days. It had taken some convincing even after the heroes’ offer, but he was about ninety percent sure she’d already called the agent recommended by the heroes, and would be leaving the next morning for the city he was based in. So at least worrying about Amy turning up dead because of her determination to get BPD clean was off his list.

Dick gathered his things from his desk, and tucked his jacket over his arm. Giving a casual wave to the coworkers that were nearby, he turned toward the elevators before pausing, his mind catching on something.

He and Ames, before the heroes had shown up, had been investigating that gang. The one that the heroes had helped him as a detective to raid, and then him as Nightwing to raid again. The gang’s warehouse had been where he’d learned it was Bane that was involved, and found the Kobra Venom and Fear Gas. The guys who had gone over all of the evidence taken from the first raid had reported that there hadn’t been anything of use in there…but BPD wasn’t exactly the most clean and forthcoming precinct right now.

Could be worth looking over again.

Dick made his way to Evidence, back protesting the movement and the friction of his shirt against his sore skin. Everything still hurt, and yet here he was, pretending that the ring he wore on the middle finger of his right hand erased more than just the visual aspect of the wounds. He could almost see Alfie shaking his head in exasperated, affectionate disappointment. The older man had never approved of pushing injured bodies to keep performing, but sometimes there just didn’t seem to be much of a choice.

After all, there was a gang with access to very intensely bad drugs, and there wasn’t anyone he could just hand the mess off to. In Gotham, they’d take over each other’s cases when someone needed to step back. But here, there was really only him.

Well, him and a precinct full of people who would probably kill him rather than arrest him.

Shaking off the darker thoughts, he opened the door into the evidence lockup room. The woman who ran it, Maureen, didn’t even glance up from her desk as he entered.

An older woman, Maureen was a squat 5’4” and a weight Dick didn’t dare try to guess for fear of death, Maureen was the one person in the precinct who was about as likely to be dirty as Ames. It wasn’t that she had any significant stance on morality, right and wrong, or even the greater good. No, she was simply the kind of woman who didn’t tolerate deviation from what she declared to be The Right Way. In fact, Dick was pretty sure that the only reason the precinct had hired an ‘assistant’ for her was to get around her strict adherence to the rules when they needed something sketchy done.

He stopped in front of the evidence lockup cage where her desk was the only opening between the two areas not held closed by a heavy padlock, pulling up a bright, friendly smile.

“Evening, Maureen. How’s your day been?” Dick asked, leaning a hip against her desk.

“Weight off my desk, Grayson. What do you need?” She asked sharply, glaring at him over the edge of her glasses, clear blue eyes piercing and unamused. He leaned his weight back off the desk.

“Just a box of files.” He replied. “I have the case number here.”

“You haven’t brought the other box back yet.” She replied flatly, looking back down at the paperwork she was working on.

“Still working with those files. That whole vigilante business is almost wrapped up though, I’m sure I’ll be bringing the box back in the next week or so.” Dick smiled.

“Hn.”

He held out the sticky note that he’d written the gang investigation’s reference number on, and Maureen snatched it from his fingers with marked distaste and a look on her face that said she didn’t believe she’d see the box of vigilante files anytime soon.

Dick couldn’t blame her – he often kept files much longer than she’d prefer, working on them at home and forgetting to bring them back for months. But he also knew she wouldn’t fight him too hard on taking out a new case’s files, as long as he had a legitimate reason to want them. She’d just judge him for it.

Maureen stood from her desk, and walked into the rows of shelves with his request. She returned with two file boxes stacked atop one another, thumping them heavily on the desk in a cleared area. Without a word, she slid a clipboard across to him.

Dick signed out the boxes, keeping his cheerful smile on, and slid it back. She pushed the boxes toward him, but didn’t let go for a moment.

“I want those other files back, Grayson. Vigilante files and the other case you have signed out from three weeks ago.” She informed him, disapproving gaze locked on him and holding him in place.

“Yes ma’am.” Dick replied, holding up his smile with some effort. “I’ll bring them back as soon as I’m done with them.”

She gave a disbelieving huff, but let him take the boxes from the desk and leave Evidence without any further reprimands. All in all, an easy encounter with Maureen.

He probably owed the woman a hot tea and a donut, with all the stress he brought to her just by doing his job. Not to mention everything she put up with from the rest of the precinct.

He had no illusions that he’d remember to do that, however.

Dick took the boxes out to his car, loading up and heading home.

The streets were relatively quiet for Blüdhaven, and that put him on edge. Quiet streets seemed to always lead to dangerous nights. Though that could be the years of learned paranoia speaking. Either way, he kept a close eye on the cars around him, and even watched for signs anything was amiss as he walked up the flights of stairs to his apartment.

There were no signs of his door being tampered with, or that anyone had even thought about tampering with his door.

You need more sleep. You’re starting to act like Bruce. Dick reprimanded himself, unlocking the door and shouldering it open. He half-expected to find his brothers inside, already fighting over something inconsequential.

Instead, he opened his door to silence.

The apartment was as empty as he’d left it, and he tried not to feel disappointed by it.

Dick nudged the door closed behind him with a heel, and dropped the file boxes on his table. Before he could dig into them, however, there were a few things he needed to tend to. Like cleaning up the pieces of his vigilante gear scattered across the path back to his bedroom…and the things he’d left out yesterday in his hurry to confront Slade.

Honestly, it was a miracle no one had broken into his apartment to steal and ended up figuring out his secret. All it would take was one bad coincidence on one bad day, and he’d end up in jail, or worse.

Sometimes he thought it wouldn’t be that bad, to be found out and sent to jail. Three square meals he didn’t have to cook, a bed, time to read and actually sleep…it sounded more like a vacation than a punishment.

Of course, the times when jail started to sound like a good idea were usually the times when he was most needed on the streets getting his shit together and taking care of things, not in jail relaxing.

With a sigh, he gathered up the scattered pieces of his costume, taking them back to his room and dropping them on his bed. He was planning on getting back in costume tonight anyway, so there was no point in putting it all away in the hidden safe he’d built into the wall behind the Haly’s Circus poster. The other pieces of his vigilante gear, however – the sharpening and maintenance kits, the Spirit gum solvent, and miscellaneous tidbits and parts used to keep everything in fighting shape – needed to be put away in that safe.

He’d gathered up most of it and stashed it safely away, and was heading back to do a final sweep for incriminating evidence when he heard an almost tentative knock at the door.

Frowning, Dick padded silently to peer through the peep hole, and blinked in surprise.

He opened the door.

“Can I help you with something, Artemis?”

The archer, dressed in her civilian clothes, stood awkwardly for a moment, shuffling her feet and not quite meeting his eyes.

“Do you have a moment? I’d…I think…” Artemis stammered, before sighing in apparent exasperation. “Can we talk for a sec?”

Dick hesitated only a moment, trying to figure out what in the world the hero would be here to talk about with him. Except she wasn’t in her hero gear, so potentially she was here as Artemis the Not-Hero?

But why?

“Sure,” he managed, stepping aside to let her in, “don’t mind the mess, I was in the middle of cleaning the place up a bit.”

Artemis stepped into the entryway, and he closed the door behind her. An awkward hesitation, then he lead her over to the couch.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?” He asked, the manners he’d learned both from his parents and Alfie kicking in automatically.

“Uh, no, that’s alright.”

Look at us. Can take down a bad guy before he can raise the alarm, but we can’t manage to avoid the awkwardness of pleasantries. Dick thought with a wry smile.

He dropped down onto on one end of the couch, gesturing for her to sit on the other. They sat half-facing each other, each with a leg tucked up onto the couch so they could turn better. Dick noted with amusement, but didn’t comment on, the similar positions, choosing instead to focus on whatever conversational minefield was sure to come.

“What’s up, Artemis?” He asked, when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to start talking without being prompted.

“Right. Um. I think I owe you an apology.” Artemis seemed to be struggling to get the words out, a strange combination of discomfort and distaste in her voice making it hard to get a read on exactly what she was feeling.

“For?” Dick frowned. He couldn’t think of anything she’d done against Detective Grayson specifically.

Artemis stared at him incredulously for a moment, making him feel like he’d missed something both obvious and important.

“I’ve…kinda treated you like shit since I got here?” She replied, voice turning up at the end insecurely.

“Oh, that.” Dick chuckled breathily. “It’s hardly the first time someone from Gotham has taken exception to me and my history. I didn’t even really pay too much attention to it.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have judged you like that. I…was wrong about you, Grayson.” Artemis sounded like it was almost physically painful to admit it, and Dick could sympathize. He was rarely wrong, but when he was…it sucked to say that aloud.

Dick waited for her to continue, electing to let her take her time in getting out whatever she felt she needed to get out here. She watched him for a moment, before taking a breath.

“Right. Um. Look.” Artemis toyed with her blonde ponytail, pulling it over her shoulder and running her fingers through it in what Dick would guess was a nervous tick. “I guess I thought you would be more stuck-up and…I don’t know, a jerk?”

“A dick?” He grinned, earning a soft huff from her, and a slight relaxation of her shoulders.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s just…growing up in the Narrows, fighting for everything we had – every job, every week of groceries, every chance to get more than what we had – it sucked to know there were the mansions up on the hill that just…had everything. And getting the scholarship for Gotham Academy was awesome, it was a privilege, a chance to be more than I was, but it sucked being around all the rich kids. And you just…were part of that, I guess.” Artemis shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “You knew the right things to say, the way to act, had the brains and the charm and whatever. I guess that impression just kinda…stuck. That you were just another one of the Gotham hoity-toities that didn’t understand what it was like to be a normal person.”

“I…yeah, I can see that.” Dick chuckled dryly. Artemis looked surprised. “What, you think I didn’t know what it looked like from the outside? Yeah, I had everything after Bruce took me in as his ward, but I also lost everything first.”

Artemis shifted, alarm tightening her features. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, it’s all good. I know you didn’t mean it that way.” Dick reassured her. “I get it. I was the rich kid who got everything. But I mean, I didn’t really fit in with the hoity-toities at first either. I was a circus kid who had never been in an actual classroom or sat still long enough for a real lesson in my life. I was an eight-year-old who went from living in a trailer at the circus and eating meals around a campfire with the most eclectic group of people imaginable, to sitting in a tux at fundraiser galas, trying to figure out the best way to avoid getting my cheeks pinched.”

Artemis chuckled, and Dick smiled, feeling the tension ease a little.

“You don’t…you don’t need to share any of your past if you don’t want to.” Artemis said a little hesitantly. “I mean, I wouldn’t expect you to share anything with me after the way I’ve been acting. I sure wouldn’t share with someone who treated me like that.”

Dick smiled. “I don’t mind. I think you and I have a lot more in common than what first meets the eye, Artemis.”

“It’s hard to remember,” he continued, “that everyone’s life in Gotham has sucked in some way. I had the money and the prestige, but it cost me my parents and the life I’d always imagined for myself. It cost my heritage and my childhood, in many ways. I lost everything I’d valued, because some gangster decided to teach a travelling circus a lesson.” He pushed away the pain that always accompanied remembering his parents’ deaths. He’d asked Bruce once if it got any easier, and the man’s morose eyes had been answer enough. “In a lot of ways, it set me up to someday become a cop. I mean, I tried to do the business school thing, but it just…wasn’t me. But making sure other kids wouldn’t lose their parents to assholes like that guy?”

Dick shrugged. “I guess it’s not the path that the Gotham high society would choose, but it’s the path a young circus kid would, after losing his parents. Our past doesn’t define us, but it does…direct us.”

“I just…I guess I forgot.” Artemis admitted, studying a couple strands of hair to avoid looking at him. “That you started out like that. Like a lot of us in the Narrows, without the galas and the money and the whatevers.”

“Yeah, I did not fit in at first.” Dick chuckled. “A regular fish out of water. But I learned the accent and the mannerisms, learned how to put on the high society mask. Just like you learned to put on the ‘I don’t care about your opinions’ mask that you wore to school.”

“I…yeah, that’s fair. Wait…accent?” Artemis frowned.

“Yeah, you think I grew up in a travelling circus with a Gothamite accent?” Dick laughed. “Half the kids in my classes pretended they couldn’t understand my accent when I was put in school under Bruce’s care.”

“What was your accent like before?” Artemis asked curiously.

“Well, my parents were Rom. So I spoke like the rest of the Romani people, I suppose. Plus I spoke many languages more than I spoke English, so things just sort of got blended together.” Dick shrugged.

“What did it sound like?”

Dick opened his mouth before realizing just how bad of an idea that was. He used his native accent in his Nightwing mask, and there was no way she wouldn’t immediately recognize his lilting voice as Nightwing.

“I mean, we’re getting a little off topic here.” He deflected. “My point was, I appreciate the apology – it’s a lot more than I got from most of the people who judged me based on Bruce’s wealth – but also…I get it. Everyone has a crazy past, and a lot of times we just…don’t know what someone else had been through. It’s easy to judge what we can see, and I get it, Artemis. There’s no hard feelings here.” Dick smiled, before his eyes caught on a stray glove draped across the back of the couch just behind her. Son of a bitch.

“I…I’m glad. I’ve been thinking about it, and you’re a better person than I’d assumed you were.” Artemis smiled slightly. “I’ve had my own…mishaps with my past. And I get the idea of leaving your past behind and becoming something else despite what others may have expected of you.”

I’m sure you do, daughter of Sportsmaster and Huntress. Dick thought vaguely, trying to keep his eyes from focusing on that damn glove.

“Nah, I get it.” Dick smiled. “I left behind the circus when my parents died, and I left behind Gotham when I came here. Sometimes you just have to pull up ties and move with life’s current.”

Artemis hummed in agreement, and they settled into a momentary silence, significantly less awkward than the one that had started the conversation.

“I guess I just wanted to apologize for that.” Artemis said at last. “Because I’ve been trying to be better about admitting when I’m wrong, and apologizing when I’m wrong. It’s something the team has really helped with…and I just…yeah.” She finished with a shrug.

“Being around good people will do that, yeah.” Dick agreed. “But no worries, there’s no hard feelings here. I’m glad I could prove you wrong about me being a stuck-up pompous asshole, though. I’m not that kind of Dick.” He grinned.

Artemis chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you’re not.” She agreed. “Well, I should be getting back. We’re meeting with the vigilante later, probably, so I should be ready for all that.”

Just don’t turn around and look at the glove.

“Fair enough.” Dick agreed, standing up with her from the couch and walking her to the door. He opened it for her, and she stepped out. “Hey Artemis,” he called after her as she moved toward her own apartment, “I’m glad you came over and said something. You’re not too bad a person yourself, for a hero.”

Artemis looked at him oddly, and for a second Dick worried he’d messed up somewhere.

“Yeah, you’re not too bad for a cop.” She said with a teasing smirk, the odd moment passing as she turned away.

Dick closed the door, locking it out of habit. He snatched up the wayward glove, counting his lucky stars he hadn’t accidentally given away his own identity before he was ready.

As he finished cleaning and set to making himself a quick dinner, Alfie’s voice echoed in the back of his mind: Remember caution, Master Grayson. If you wear too many masks, one is bound to eventually slip.

He was starting to feel like his masks weren’t slipping so much as on a collision course. And he wondered what would remain when the dust settled.

Chapter Text

Waiting for Nightwing to arrive was torture. The man was taking forever.

Okay, to be fair, everyone took forever. Speedster time just hit different. But Wally was vibrating with the need for the vigilante to get here already. Something about the man still rubbed him wrong, and something about the whole situation in Blüdhaven felt dangerous, and something about the team’s dynamic shifting made him anxious.

Things were good the way they were now. It had taken them a long time to get to where they were. But the League respected them as heroes. They worked together as a solid team. They were successful. They were happy.

But their interactions with Nightwing were causing a shift in the team dynamic. Nothing bad had happened, but there was an ominous ‘yet’ hanging over them.

There were times when he almost liked the black and blue clad vigilante. The man certainly had a similar sense of humor, and could more than hold his own in a fight. He’d proven a useful ally in the few times they’d worked together so far. But still…

Aqualad had decided to see how he could work with their team. Superboy had already embraced the vigilante, and Miss Martian seemed to trust that Superboy was omniscient, as usual. And Artemis…Artemis had asked him to give Nightwing a chance.

So here he was, waiting for a vigilante to appear.

In their apartment.

He sighed, leaning back and pulling out an energy bar to munch on to assuage the constant hunger that plagued him as a speedster. Artemis glanced at him, and tossed him a second bar with a half-smile. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed to taste better than the first, despite being from the same box.

Just as Wally was thinking he might need to start cracking jokes to relieve the boredom, he heard the sound of their living room window opening. He turned to see Nightwing folding himself through the window – is there even a fire escape outside that one? I didn’t think there was – and into the room.

“He lives!” Wally declared, throwing his arms up in mock triumph.

Nightwing chuckled. “Still standing.” He confirmed with a fluid, elaborate performer’s bow.

“How are you standing?” Artemis frowned. “You got stabbed.”

“I can stand.” Nightwing replied vaguely.

“Good for you. Very stoic. You must be, like, ninety percent painkillers right now.” Artemis shot back, with that particular half-smirk that accompanied her jokes.

“I’m traught,” Nightwing replied with a dismissive wave, “no need to worry.”

“Yeah, you look super whelmed right now.” Wally snorted. To his surprise, the usually stony faced vigilante looked delighted at his word butchery.

“Absolutely trocioius.” Nightwing agreed.

Wally felt oddly pleased to have successfully joined in the wordplay. Now, if he could just figure out that accent…

“Turkish?” Wally asked hopefully.

“What? Oh, nope. Not Turkish.” Nightwing chuckled.

Wally was running out of languages, he was fairly confident it wasn’t a language like Chinese or Thai. He’d initially thought European, but after brainstorming with Artemis and a reluctant Superboy earlier in the day, he was leaning more toward Middle Eastern. One quick Google search later, and he was armed with a list of languages.

“Kurdish?” He tried, watching Nightwing closely. Was it his imagination, or did the vigilante look unnerved?

“Also no.” Nightwing grinned. “Good to see you getting creative, though!”

“You had something for us to look over?” Aqualad interjected, glancing at Kid Flash in a silent request. He acquiesced, leaning back once more.

Nightwing nodded, holding out a file. “It’s the police after action reports from the warehouse raid.”

“How did you get this?” Aqualad frowned.

“I have my ways.” Nightwing shrugged, a mischievous look on his masked face. Wally felt an urge to push for a solid answer – he hated not knowing things – but didn’t at a look from Artemis.

“So what did you want us to see in this?” Miss Martian asked, taking the file and beginning to flip through.

“It’s more what you won’t see in there.” Nightwing frowned. “From what you’ve said, Detective Grayson and Sergeant Rohrbach ran point on this, yeah?”

Aqualad confirmed. Kid Flash didn’t remember them telling him that, but he wasn’t wrong.

“Well, their reports are missing from the case file.”

Wally frowned, and glanced to Miss Martian, who nodded after glancing through the file again.

“And the reports that are here seem…vague. They really don’t have much detail.” Miss Martian added.

“They’re from some of the dirtiest cops in the precinct…none of whom were actually there for the raid.” Nightwing sighed. Wally couldn’t help but think the masked vigilante looked tired. He wondered how often things like this happened in a city like Blüdhaven. Despite his interest in forensic science courtesy of his Uncle Barry, Wally had never really paid much attention to police procedures, filing, and reports. Maybe he should ask his uncle about police corruption in other cities. It couldn’t be this bad everywhere.

“So what does this mean?” Wally asked. “Other than that the BPD is full of dirty coverups and could do with a rinse cycle?”

“They likely had something to hide. There’s no mention of the evidence gathered, only that none of it was pertinent to the case.” Miss Martian shook her head. “I thought things like this only happened in tv shows.”

“Welcome to Blüdhaven, Miss M.” Nightwing sighed, shaking his head. “Sergeant Rohrbach is working on it, and she’s got a real chance thanks to you guys, but it’s a mess over in the BPD.”

“So what were they trying to hide?” Wally mused. “It would need to be incriminating enough that any dirty leadership couldn’t sweep it under the rug if it came to light.”

“Either incriminating for them,” Nightwing agreed slowly, “or for the ones who hired them.” At their confused looks – since when does the BPD work for someone? – he continued, “I’ve been thinking about it, rolling it around in the back of my mind. Slade was obviously after Sergeant Rohrbach, but he’s more than a little out of BPD’s normal price range. I mean, the man rarely even listens to a contract under five million. If they are the ones that hired him – and it’s the best explanation I could find, since she’s the cleanest cop in the precinct – it’s possible that the BPD is on payroll for some bigger organization. Someone with real money backing them.”

“It makes sense,” Artemis agreed, “and it would fill in a lot of blanks. They clean up the scene for this shadow group, maybe some instances of looking the other way or protecting their merchandise, and in return this organization is protecting the dirty cops, too. Taking out contracts on whistle blowers, lining pockets, and what have you.”

Wally nodded, his mind racing. “There are a lot of rich, sketchy organizations, though, and they all have different objectives.”

“We do have some clues.” Aqualad pointed out. “They are well-funded, and have access to military-grade weaponry.”

“And they’re not afraid to give it to kids.” Wally muttered darkly, thinking about the younger gang members they’d apprehended during the raid and subsequent operation with Nightwing. He hated it when bad people got kids involved in bad things. It too often ended in blood and ruined families.

He glanced at Artemis. He’d never had the courage to ask her about the details of her childhood, but what she’d shared painted a grim picture.

“We also know they have some kind of contact with Bane,” Nightwing added, “and potentially Scarecrow. Though, honestly, it’s just as likely that Bane stole some of the Fear Gas from him and had his people reverse-engineer it before editing it.”

“We know they’re interested in having a weapon that could work against non-humans.” Miss Martian offered.

“So they’re prepared for the League to get involved in what they’re planning. That means they’re thinking big.” Superboy nodded. He opened his mouth to add something, but suddenly paused, eyes unfocusing in that characteristic way which Wally had come to recognize as him listening to something beyond normal hearing.

“Someone is coming down the hall. Sounds like two of them. They’re trying to be quiet, but they’re not very good at it.” Superboy informed with a slightly sardonic twist to his lips.

Sure enough, only a few moments later, they could hear shuffling, hesitant footsteps in the hallway, and hushed, nervous voices.

At a nod from Aqualad, Miss Martian hovered over to the door, and cracked it open just enough for the voices to filter through more easily. She looked back at their leader, clearly asking if she should set up the mindlink, but Aqualad shook his head subtly, glancing briefly at Nightwing.

Wally felt a flash – Ha! A ‘Flash’! – of irritation. The mindlink was one of their great advantages. With the ability to communicate without audible conversation, they’d been able to work in easy, stealthy tandem. And now they couldn’t even use that advantage, because their temporary vigilante teammate had issues with letting them into his head, and Aqualad didn’t want to step on toes.

If Nightwing had noticed their little exchange, he gave no indication.

“Are you sure this is the right apartment?” A gruff murmur asked from the hallway.

“For the third time, yes, I’m sure!” A second voice snapped in a harsh whisper.

“And you’re sure the cop isn’t home?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Was the hissed response.

The team tensed, glancing at each other worriedly. What did these two want with Detective Grayson? Wally frowned. He may have his reservations about Nightwing, but he really liked and respected Detective Dick Grayson. Sure, it hadn’t been fun to get chewed out for being reckless, but Wally had to grudgingly admit that he’d needed to hear it. And the man was an impressive detective, with some pretty great humor when he let himself relax. Wally was sure that, in another life, they would have been best friends.

Which is part of why he was worried about the intruders outside in the hallway. Dick was super smart, and a pretty good guy – even Artemis was willing to admit it now – but he was only human. He wasn’t even a human hero like Green Arrow and his prodigies. He was just a regular human cop, and that left him vulnerable.

They heard the distinct soft sounds of a lock being picked, and Wally fidgeted anxiously. It was times like this that he hated the near-constant time dilation that came with being connected to the speed force. Heartbeats stretched out forever, breaths impossibly long as he waited for direction. Could they intervene? Should they?

Beside him, he could practically feel the tension pouring off of Nightwing. That’s right, he thought, eyeing the vigilante in his peripherals, he’s talked positively about the detective before. He’s even the one that pointed us in the direction of offering more help to Dick and his partner in taking down the corrupt cops. He’s gotta be worried too.

“We should stop them.” Wally hissed softly. “We can’t just sit by and let them rob our neighbor! What if he’s home? They could end up hurting him!”

“He’s not home.” Nightwing murmured. “And it’s likely that they’re connected to the group we’re chasing. We could learn something by sitting back and listening.”

Wally stared in disbelief. “You can’t know he’s not there!” He declared, feeling hot anger burn up his throat. “And I don’t know how you run things here in Blüdhaven, but we heroes don’t just use our friends as bait for information, especially without them knowing about it!”

“You think of Grayson as a friend?” Nightwing blinked.

“That’s what you’re stuck on?!” Wally threw up his hands in exasperation. Nightwing ignored him in favor of looking at something that had popped up on his wrist computer. Outside, the telltale sound of a door opening increased Wally’s worry. “Aqualad, come on! We can’t just let this happen! Superboy can’t even hear very well in there!”

Aqualad frowned, looking around at the team (and vigilante), and Wally knew from the look on his face that he agreed.

***

Shit shit shit shit, Nightwing thought oh-so-coherently.

He couldn’t let the heroes just barge into his apartment unchecked. The thugs breaking into it probably wouldn’t recognize his vigilante paraphernalia among the regular mess, but these heroes definitely would. Artemis had already been giving him weird looks tonight. And somehow, Wally was getting close with his language guesses – Romani was an Indo-Aryan language, and although the speedster hadn’t yet hit that branch of languages, he was guessing in the right corner of the world. It was only a matter of time before he hit on Hindi, Punjabi, Sanskrit…

Point was, he needed to clean way better if heroes were going to end up in his apartment anytime soon.

Because despite his newfound and unplanned desire to become a part of their team and share who he really was, he wasn’t ready to go unmasking himself just yet. And he certainly wasn’t looking to have the masks ripped off by sudden realizations on their part.

Which lead back to his current predicament – stopping them from entering his apartment, which was currently being broken into by persons unknown (and persons incompetent since they hadn’t noticed the alarm before entering, or realized they’d set anything off after entering. Amateurs.)

From the looks the team had been giving each other, it was fairly obvious that they weren’t using their mind comms or whatever they called their psychic link. And it was more than fairly obvious to Nightwing why. He was pleasantly surprised by the respect and trust they were giving him by letting him in on all present communication without trying to push him into participating in their weird mind talk. It was a nice gesture, if tactically unsound.

But they were trying to extend that hand of trust and friendship. That meant something.

He could see Aqualad wavering under the unrelenting pressure of Kid Flash’s conviction – since when are we friends? – and it was time to act.

“Then let’s get ears in there.” Nightwing stated firmly. The team looked at him.

“Where would we get a mic small enough to slip in there without them noticing?” Artemis asked.

Nightwing made a decision he just knew he was going to regret.

Trust goes both ways, right?

Act like you trust people, but remember that trust opens the door for ruin. Bruce’s gravelly Batman voice reminded him darkly.

Ah, yes, there you are B. I almost missed your voice in my head. Nightwing frowned. Is it crazier to have voices in my head, or to reply to them?

He shook himself from his thoughts – no time to speculate on my mental soundness, I’ll just bring it up next time I’m fighting Harley – and focused on the heroes.

Without a word, he unfolded from where he’d perched on the back of a couch, and crossed the room in two strides. He wedged the end of a wingding into the hinge of the closet door, and pulled out the mic he’d slipped in there when he’d been fixing their apartment.

Wow, that felt like forever ago. Had it only been a week?

“You bugged us?!” Kid Flash yelped indignantly. Artemis shushed him, earning an incredulous look, to which she just nodded at the still-cracked door.

“Can you levitate this into Grayson’s apartment?” He asked Miss Martian, pointedly ignoring the sharp, narrow look that Kid Flash was sending his way, and the open surprise from Artemis and Aqualad.

“Uh, yeah, yeah I can do that.” The martian stammered, eyes flaring neon green as she mentally took hold of the tiny microphone and moved it toward the door.

“Are you all seriously okay with him bugging our apartment?” Kid Flash hissed,

“We’ll address it later. I’m assuming you already have the receiver?” Aqualad asked, voice sounding like a strange mix of amused, exasperated, and annoyed. Nightwing wasn’t sure what to make of it, so he put it aside to overthink later.

In answer, he opened his wrist computer, calling up the holographic display. As the mic passed into the apartment – his apartment – sound waves began spiking as a visual accompaniment to the voices that started to play.

“—finding it anywhere. Are you sure he took it home?” Asked Goon 1.

“That’s what the source said. I dunno why they care so much about what this out-of-town group wants.” The sentiment was accompanied by a derisive snort from Goon 2.

“Big out-of-town group, big money. They’re a bunch of greedy pigs, what did you expect?”

“I just think it’s stupid that we’re getting involved in this. Word on the street is this guy’s a good fighter. I don’t wanna even try bringing him into the bosses.”

“So we don’t.” Goon 1 sounded like he was shrugging. “We go back to the warehouse tonight, tell ‘em we couldn’t find the file or the cop, and it’s whatever.”

The team looked around at each other, concern written clearly across their faces. Concern for Detective Grayson, the poor, plain human that’d gotten mixed up in all this superhero business. Nightwing would have felt touched, if it wasn’t so ironic.

“The guy the pigs are contracting with is s’posed to be meeting with the boss tonight.” Goon 2’s voice was nervous, uncertain. “What if he’s pissed about us not getting it done?”

“What’s he gonna do? We’re Fangs, we’re damn near untouchable in this city. Boss wouldn’t let him do a thing, it would be an insult to the Fangs, dude.” Goon 1 declared confidently.

“Right, right. Yeah, we’re cool. We’re good.” Goon 2 rambled, trying to convince himself.

“Let’s just get the bikes and get back. This pigsty is impossible to find anything in anyway. Could be the file isn’t here at all.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

As the sound of hurried footsteps faded down the hall – they didn’t even close my door, Alfie would be appalled – Nightwing turned off the transmission, and noted Miss M’s eyes fading back to their normal color in his periphery.

“So, we know they’re part of the Fangs gang, they don’t know who their boss is working with, but it sounds like BPD is mixed up with an out-of-town group of heavy hitters with deep pockets. Confirmation of what we were thinking, and no harm came of it. They didn’t even find what they were looking for.” He grinned.

“And they’re looking for our detective friend.” Aqualad frowned. “This can’t be good.”

“We need to know why they want him, before they have another chance to find and hurt him.” Kid Flash agreed.

Nightwing ran through options in his head, immediately discarding most. They had actionable info, which meant they had to action.

To take action.

I’m too tired for this.

“Best chance we have of finding our last puzzle pieces is to follow them to the warehouse.” Nightwing decided aloud. “We need speed to follow them on their bikes, and stealth to stay unnoticed.”

“Just what I was thinking.” Aqualad agreed. “Kid Flash, you and Nightwing are going to follow them. Stay in touch with the comms, keep us updated when possible.”

“What? Why not Supes?” Kid Flash yelped, echoing Nightwing’s own astonishment.

“I’m fast, but I’m loud. Good choice.” Superboy agreed, crossing his arms with a nod.

“Better go fast, Kid Mouth, or you’ll lose them.” Artemis teased good-naturedly.

With a poorly-suppressed groan, the speedster turned for Nightwing to climb on, piggy-back style. Nightwing suppressed the image of doing this with Andreas the Strongman as a small child, and climbed on.

“Heavier than you look.” Kid Flash muttered, hooking his arms under the acrobat’s legs.

“Had a heavy dinner.” Nightwing quipped, before he was suddenly clinging to the shoulders in front of him as the world blurred.

In moments, they were down the stairs, and out the front. Down the street, two cheap motorbikes were turning onto a sidestreet. Kid Flash took off after them at a more sedate pace than he’d started, matching their speed and staying just far enough behind to be out of their immediate awareness.

“Damn, this speed is convenient.” Nightwing muttered.

“Speed? This is nothing. A light evening jog around the block.” KF bragged.

“How fast can you go?” Nightwing didn’t have to feign his interest. This was something that even B wasn’t completely sure on. The max speeds of the speedster heroes was a matter of speculation, even among the Justice League.

“I don’t really know. Fast enough to run on water or create a tornado. Flash can get out of the way of bullets, but I haven’t tried that one yet.” Kid Flash replied, sounding like his caution was starting to be overridden by his excitement over his own powers.

Could be the safe middle ground Nightwing had been looking for to connect with the speedster.

“That’s dope!” He grinned, even though he knew his companion was focused on the road ahead. “Think you’re fast enough to set up a bucket on a door after someone’s already started walking in, and be back across the room without looking like you’re involved?”

“Now you’re speaking my language.” Kid Flash cackled. “I think there’s only one way to find out.”

“After this, wanna run some…trials? Find your top speed, maybe cause some innocent chaos?” Nightwing proposed, feeling a childish excitement build in his chest. Without his brothers here, there was no one to prank on or with. And hey, if the team was wanting him to be a part of their little group, surely he should be bonding with everyone, right? This was just him bonding with Kid Flash.

It could also be that he was feeling the effects of his sleep deprivation, and had always been a little slap happy while running on fumes.

A little of column a, a little of column b…

“Dude, I’m so in. No one wants to pull pranks with me since the last prank war with Artie got out of hand.” Kid Flash sounded like he was grinning. “Heads up, looks like they’re stopping.” He added, voice slipping back into his more borderline serious tone.

Nightwing held himself close to the other man’s back as they slowed, not wanting his weight to pull the speedster off-balance and tip off their targets. He dismounted after they’d come to a full stop, and watched the two goons – they’re really more like idiot young adults, honestly – walk into a smaller warehouse.

“We’re here.” Kid Flash said into the comms.

“Keep the comms open, we’ll move closer to your location, and join you if you give the signal.” Aqualad replied in that firm, confident, leader-y voice of his.

Kid Flash agreed, and fiddled with his earpiece until he found the tiny switch to leave the line open.

“It’s always the warehouses.” Nightwing muttered, gesturing for Kid Flash to follow him. “They’re so uncreative. At least in Gotham we get art galleries, docks, garages, sewers, trap-riddled towers shaped like the Joker’s grinning face…there’s some variety in bad guy bases.”

“I’m sorry, what was that last one?” Kid Flash blinked. Nightwing just chuckled softly, and lead the way around the back of the warehouse. It looked simple, just one giant room with at most a small office inside. As he’d suspected, there was another entrance back there, and they slipped inside.

He found himself pleasantly surprised by how quietly Kid Flash was walking, and how closely he stuck by Nightwing’s side. It seemed he was intent on following the plan this time around. It took only a couple minutes for them to arrive at the center of the storage area, where any self-respecting gang leader would hold a meeting with a potentially dangerous ally. It was textbook.

But there was no one there.

In fact, he couldn’t even hear the two goons in the room, and he should have been able to hear their voices and even their footsteps with the echo the space produced.

But there was nothing. Just some piles of crates, and a suitcase sitting in an open area among the inventory.

“Time to do some sketchy shit, doo dah, doo dah,” Kid Flash sang under his breath as they moved carefully toward the silver case.

Nightwing had to agree. It was obviously a set up. But for whom? It wasn’t like the goons could have known they’d be tailed by superheroes tonight.

Right?

“Man, this is weirdly familiar theatrics.” Kid Flash grumbled. “It’s almost like…” he trailed off, frowning.

“Care to share with the class, KF?” Nightwing asked, arching an eyebrow in the speedster’s direction.

They were almost within arm’s reach when some alarm bell suddenly started ringing in the back of his head. But before he could react to it, the suitcase suddenly clicked, and popped open. He caught sight of a flash of white – a note? – then an awfully familiar green gas was shooting out at a rate that could only be achieved with aerosol propellants.

“Shit!” Nightwing yelped, grabbing at Kid Flash’s arm to haul him back. “Hold your breath!”

Too late, too late, his mind chanted as he felt it burn into his throat on its way to his lungs.

“What is this?!” Kid Flash shouted, a panicked edge to his voice.

Too late, too late, it’s already in your lungs.

“Kid Flash! Nightwing! We’re on our way!” Aqualad’s voice sounded alarmed.

Too late, too late, can’t contain it. Can’t let them in.

“Stay out, heroes.” Nightwing snapped, tasting the sharp sour fear on his tongue even as he heard it invade his voice, ringing foreign and distant in his ears.

“What?!” Kid Flash yelped, eyes wide behind his goggles.

Too late, too late, he doesn’t know what’s coming.

“They can’t help us until it disperses.” Nightwing tried for firm, and landed somewhere around terrified.

“Why?!” The speedster’s voice was climbing in pitch and volume as his panic grew.

“It’s Fear Gas.”

Chapter Text

Kid Flash didn’t know what was happening. His heart practically vibrated in his chest, its already-fast pace speeding up to dangerous levels. The world around him swum in and out of focus, his concentration slipping through his fingers like the sands of Happy Harbor Beach. Distantly, there was a voice trying to calm him down, hands grabbing at him.

He slapped them away, stumbling backwards. He tried to run away, tried to get away from this all-consuming terror, but for the first time since he’d gotten control of his powers, his speed failed him. He moved through frozen molasses, legs refusing to carry him at the speed he should be capable of.

“Why can’t I run?” Kid Flash whimpered, “My…my speed…it’s…gone.”

A sob broke from his chest, fear constricting his lungs and robbing him of his breath. It can’t be gone, he reasoned, that’s not how this works. It’s…it’s impossible.

Grabbing hands coming for him again – he darted away. Ignored the soft, distant voice in favor of his spiraling thoughts.

More impossible than mixing some chemicals, getting struck by lightning, and somehow not only surviving, but being connected to some amorphous Speed Force? His traitorous brain asked ominously.

What if it doesn’t come back?

“I always knew you’d end up useless.” The voice wrenched him from his thoughts, and his head snapped up.

Steel grey eyes, flat with disdain, framed in a face that was all sharp, beautiful angles. Ash blonde hair pulled back in an effort to look harsh, but just cleared the way to read her expressions, her emotions that she tried so hard to pretend didn’t exist. Full pink lips, pulled flat in a sneer.

“I mean, come on, Baywatch. You didn’t really think you contributed anything other than some fast feet?” Artemis sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. “And now, here you are, nothing more than another average person. Just a regular human.”

“You’re a regular human too, Artie.” Kid Flash protested weakly, trying to ignore the pit that had just opened up under him, and the hands still trying to grab at him. He sidestepped, not breaking eye contact with his teammate.

“Yeah, but I’ve got training, Kid.” Artemis laughed darkly. “With my hand-to-hand prowess and precision shooting, I can take down just about anyone. Without your speed, what can you do? Talk someone into submission?”

“I…I can learn. You could teach me.” Kid Flash hated the way tears welled in the corners of his eyes.

“Teach you? As if!” She scoffed, “Why would we even want you on the team anymore? We have access to Nightwing.”

“You don’t mean that.” Kid whispered, “Tell me you don’t mean that.”

“No, she’s right.”

He spun to face Superboy, cold blue eyes boring into him, seeing into his very core.

“You’re too weak. We can trust Nightwing, he can take care of himself.” The super clone droned flatly. “We don’t need three humans on the team.”

“I’m sorry, Wally, but he’s right.” Aqualad said from behind him. He dodged hands – still grabbing, trying to pin him down, have to escape, don’t listen to the hands – to face his team leader. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time to wait for you to get more training. We have missions to complete, lives to save. We can’t wait for you to catch up.”

Green caught his eye to his left, and he turned to see Miss Martian. The sweetest, most compassionate of them all, she’d bring some reason to the team.

“They’re right, Wally.” She sighed, smiling sadly, and he felt the world shatter. “Nightwing has all the training we need to round out the team. And without your speed, there’s really no role for you to fill.”

“The team doesn’t need a clown, Kid Mouth.” Artemis snapped. “You’re wasting our time and putting everyone in danger. We don’t need you around anymore. Not if you can’t be useful.”

Kid Flash staggered back, pulling away from grabbing hands, as his teammates’ voices started to overlap.

“—can’t carry dead weight—”

“—no need for useless members—”

“—nothing without your speed—”

He tried to run. “Please stop.”

“—try too hard—”

“—for the love—hold still dammit!”

“—never cared about you—”

He stumbled, legs too slow. “Please, you don’t mean it!”

“—why would we want you—”

“—can’t even keep his feet—”

“—going to get us all killed—”

He fell, a weight slamming into his side, hands grabbing him, pinning him. Kid Flash tried to struggle free as he was wrenched harshly into a tight Judo hold, thrashing against the impossible force binding him even as his team continued their painful, uncaring rage above him. They really don’t want me, he despaired. They never did.

His lungs burned as his world tinted orange for a brief moment. Then something was being pushed against his face, elastic wrenched over his head to hold it firmly in place. He struggled against it, agony screaming through his chest as his heart tried to rip itself free of this pain.

His team faded out, until he was left with only the memory of disappointed steel grey eyes and the echo of harsh truths. His heart wasn’t slow in his chest, it was racing so fast it felt like it was vibrating. His face was wet with tears.

Clean air burned into his desperately gasping lungs, and the world seemed to come into focus around him. There was a slight green tint to the air, like he was looking through stained glass.

A face, tight with concern and something he couldn’t pin down in the moment, stared at him from his peripherals. A black gloved hand held a mask – rebreather, his mind supplied helpfully – over his face, black-clad limbs wrapped around his in a complex hold that immobilized him.

“I…Nightwing?” Kid Flash frowned, his voice sounding rougher than it had the morning after his 21^st birthday.

“Thank heavens.” Nightwing breathed, his voice trembling. “You’re too fast.”

“Sorry?” Kid Flash tried, still working on putting the pieces of reality together into a coherent picture. “Where…where did they go?”

“Not real.” Nightwing replied tersely, screwing up his face behind his mask as though he were holding his eyes tightly closed. “Fear gas.”

“Fear…oh.”

And it all snapped into place.

The run over with Nightwing. The empty warehouse. The briefcase. Green gas filling the room around them. His lungs burning with the new chemical.

Kid Flash looked around, eyes going wide at the destruction around him. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been running into crates and piles as he evaded Nightwing’s attempts to grab him – hadn’t even registered the impacts – but there was shattered wood all around, product strewn across the floors. It looked like a disaster area.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Nightwing flinching away from some unseen blow, a black-clad arm snapping up defensively.

“You…you gave me your rebreather.” Kid Flash stared at the vigilante. “But…don’t you need it?”

“Have a…tolerance.” Nightwing’s voice was tight, breath quick through his nose as he fought the gas’s effects. “Been…exposed before. It’s…not real…I can…I can take it.”

Even if the words were reassuring, the stammering tone, and the way he was visibly trembling weren’t.

“You, um, you gave me an antidote, I think?” Kid Flash paused, and Nightwing nodded tightly in confirmation. “Where is it in your belt? I’ll give one to you.”

“It’s here, I—” Nightwing froze, face twisting behind his domino mask. “No, no, no no…not here, he can’t be…”

Faster than Kid Flash had thought possible, Nightwing scrambled away, his usual grace forgotten in the face of his need to escape. In moments, he’d disappeared into the boxes of the warehouse.

“Wait!” Kid Flash called after him, hopping to his feet. But the man had already vanished into the already-dissipating green haze. “Now what?” he wondered aloud.

“Kid Flash?” Aqualad’s voice in his ear made him jump.

“Uh…yeah…did…did you guys hear all that?” He winced.

“Yeah, we did.” Artemis replied, voice soft. Kid Flash flinched, unable to stop himself from hearing her previous words. “Are you okay, Baywatch?”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m totally fine. Totally…totally okay.” He knew he didn’t sound convincing, but he didn’t have time to convince them. “We uh…we got hit by some crazy green gas, Nightwing said it was Fear Gas. I uh…I got dosed, but he gave me the antidote and his rebreather. And uh…before I could return the favor he kinda…freaked out and ran off and now I don’t know where he is.”

“We’re on our way.” Aqualad informed him.

“No!” Kid Flash yelped. “The gas is still everywhere, and it’s…it’s bad stuff. We don’t need the rest of you getting dosed. I’ll find him, and we’ll meet you outside the warehouse.”

“Let us help, Wally.” Artemis plead.

“I got it. Just…wait outside.” He said firmly.

He was relieved when they agreed. Part of it was what he’d said – they didn’t need the team getting gassed with this stuff. But the other part of it…something told him that Nightwing wouldn’t want to be seen by too many people right now. The man was fiercely private, and if what Kid Flash had experienced was any kind of indicator of how fear gas would affect him – and Kid was sure he’d only been breathing it for a few moments – he couldn’t imagine what Nightwing would go through. He didn’t think the man needed heroes witnessing his panic.

As he searched for the vigilante, Kid Flash kept thinking back to the destruction he’d caused during the brief moments he’d been under the influence of the fear gas. He’d never really focused much thought on the kind of damage he could really do at uncontrolled high speeds, but it might be worth thinking about, if only to be aware of it.

It really was a good thing the team was staying outside the warehouse. He could only imagine the damage that Superboy could cause if he were to go into the same blind panic that Kid had faced.

It would be even worse if…

“Oh, no.” He breathed, stopping mid-stride.

“Wally?” Artemis yelped. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I just figured out the target, and who’s behind all this.” Kid Flash replied, mind racing.

“Who?” Miss Martian asked.

“Have you found Nightwing yet?” Superboy demanded.

“Not yet.” Kid Flash grimaced. “I’ll tell you all when we get out of here. I really hope I’m wrong, because if I’m not, we’ve got some craziness ahead. Just…let me focus right now, okay?”

To his relief, he got grudging agreement from the comms.

He continued his search, using his speed – not gone, just somehow suppressed before? Or forgotten? – to search for the vigilante.

He was going so fast, in fact, that he almost missed the man when he did find him.

Almost invisible in his dark suit, Nightwing was curled up in a small dark corner, face buried in his knees, arms wrapped tightly around his legs. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Kid Flash felt his heart break.

One of the things he’d learned from comforting Artemis was that no one naturally cried silently. It was a learned skill.

And knowing how Artemis had learned, he hated to imagine what had happened to make Nightwing learn to cry like that.

Kid Flash approached slowly – even slowly for a non-speedster – and lowered himself to crouch just outside of arm’s reach. He didn’t want to crowd the man.

“Hey, Wing.” He murmured. Nightwing didn’t seem to hear him, whimpering something into his legs.

Kid Flash inched closer, straining his ears to hear the soft, sobbing words.

“Daj, Dat…please…please no…bring them back, bring them back…they can’t be gone…please…Daj, please, Dat…”

He frowned, not sure how to proceed. He’d been pretty out of touch even just a few seconds into exposure to the toxin, he didn’t know how much deeper Nightwing must be.

Would he attack, if Kid touched him?

Does it matter? He needs my help.

“Hey buddy,” Kid Flash murmured, closing the distance and reaching out slowly. “I’m here to help you, Wing. I’m just…gonna get into your belt, find the antidote.”

No answer.

“Okay, so usually no answer means no, but I’m pretty sure this is a different kind of situation, yeah?” Kid Flash laughed awkwardly. “I’m just…really hoping you’ve labelled it somehow.”

He touched the belt lightly, and yelped as electricity zapped through his fingers sharply.

“Your belt is really inconvenient.” He muttered to the nonresponsive Nightwing. “Maybe if I…”

He tried to reach in at a different angle, and got another painful hit.

“Or what if…”

His third attempt was met with more pain, his fingers tingling even after he’d withdrawn.

“Well this isn’t working.” Kid Flash bit at his lip, trying to quell his rising panic. If he couldn’t get to the antidote in Nightwing’s belt, how was he supposed to give it to the vigilante?

What was it he said right before he lost it and bolted? Kid Flash sorted through the last several minutes in his head anxiously. He said, “It’s here,” so…

Of course.

Kid Flash raced back to the area of his own destruction, kicking himself for not realizing it sooner. His panting echoed loudly in the rebreather, reminding him of the urgency of the situation, reminding him that the man he’d been intentionally antagonizing had intentionally let himself get dosed with a dangerous toxin so that Kid wouldn’t suffer the toxin’s effects.

It took only a moment to spot what he was looking for in the epicenter of the destruction: a small silver aerosol can – TSA compliant size, his mind added with idle amusement – and only a moment more to snatch it up and return to Nightwing.

He was looking worse for wear, curling up even tighter if that was possible. His whimpered words were different than before, vaguely familiar names slipping through, but Kid Flash paid no mind, focusing instead on the task at hand.

“Alright, uhm, I think I need you to lift your head a bit, buddy.” Kid Flash murmured. “Gotta breathe this thing in. Same as you did for me, except I really don’t have your mad Judo skills so I really can’t pin you…”

He reached out, touching Nightwing’s arm lightly. The vigilante’s head snapped up, and his hand struck out like a viper, clipping Kid Flash as he desperately tried to dodge away.

“Oh, now you get all feisty? Come on, man!” Kid Flash yelped as the canister was knocked across the way.

“It’ll never be enough for you!” Nightwing roared, voice raw.

“I…what?”

“No matter what we do! And now…now they’re dead, B!” Nightwing shouted, surging forward, fists coming for Kid Flash with a speed he wouldn’t have been able to beat without his powers.

“Right. Hallucinations.” Kid Flash muttered, scanning for the aerosol can while trying to deflect as many blows as he could.

“They’re dead because of you!” Nightwing pressed forward. “My brothers are dead because of you and your damn crusade!”

Kid Flash dived for the canister as Nightwing lashed out with a booted heel. He really needed this to end quickly.

Thankful for the speed that enabled him to reach it before the vigilante managed to land a truly solid blow, Kid Flash spun around, spraying a desperate plume of orange gas into Nightwing’s face. The man spluttered, stumbling to a stop, and swaying in place as he seemed to blink behind his domino.

“Wing?” Kid Flash asked cautiously, still poised to dodge away, “You with me buddy?”

“KF?” Nightwing croaked, staggering slightly. Kid Flash was at his side, pulling an arm over to shoulder Nightwing’s weight before he’d even consciously decided to do so.

“Hey, dude. I uh, found the antidote.” Kid Flash grinned in an attempt to make the whole situation feel less terrible. “It works pretty quick, thankfully.”

“Yeah…” Nightwing shook his head, visibly trying to clear his thoughts. “A near-instant antidote is important when your teammates are the Batman and his prodigies.” He chuckled dryly. “That kind of training is pretty lethal when the control to match it is gone.”

“Yeah I, uh, kinda saw that.” Kid Flash laughed awkwardly. “Good thing I’m a speedster.”

“Sorry about that.”  Nightwing cringed.

“Speaking of,” Kid Flash redirected, uncomfortable with how self-blaming Nightwing was looking, “why couldn’t I use my speed under the gas?”

“You could, and you did.” Nightwing replied casually. “Didn’t you see the wreckage?”

“Well, yeah, but…but I couldn’t?” Kid Flash frowned.

“The gas made you think you couldn’t.” Nightwing explained, taking pity on him. “It reaches into your mind, pulls out your worst memories, your greatest fears, everything terrible you’ve ever seen, or could ever imagine, it weaponizes it all. The hallucinations are so intense, you’ll go irrevocably insane in less than a week without the antidote.”

“Yikes. That’s…that’s bad. Especially because I think I know who’s working with Bane, and who they’re targeting.” Kid Flash winced.

“I want to hear your theory. But first, let’s get out of here. Extended exposure can overwhelm the antidote, and I don’t have a second rebreather on me tonight.” Nightwing took his arm back, but bumped Kid Flash lightly with his shoulder in a friendly way before leading the way toward the exit.

They walked in silence for a moment. But as they approached the door, Nightwing hesitated, looking at the speedster.

“KF…thank you. I know…I know you don’t really trust me yet. But you came for me, and you helped me despite your misgivings. It means a lot.” Nightwing’s tentative half-smile felt like the most genuine thing Kid Flash had seen in a while.

His suspicion of the man felt less…founded than it had before. He risked himself to save me…can’t really stay mad at a guy who’d do that.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, man.” Kid Flash shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like you’re a bad dude.”

“It’s just that I change things.” Nightwing’s smile was a little too knowing. “It’s not hard to see why you don’t like me much, KF. If it’s any consolation, I think a comic act only gets better with someone to play off of.”

“Yeah, okay.” Kid Flash blinked, not really sure how he was supposed to respond.

“They care about you, you know. They were really freaking out on the comms while you were out of it.” Nightwing added, almost casually. “They care about you more than you realize.”

“The uh, the team’s waiting outside so…”

“Right. Let’s go and hear your theory on who our perps are.” Nightwing nodded, gesturing for Kid Flash to lead the way.

He stepped out of the warehouse into the clear air, and breathed a sigh of relief.

A sigh that was cut short as the air was knocked from his lungs by a very worried archer.

“You’re such an idiot!” She growled into his chest where she’d buried her face. “Making us worry about you like that. We couldn’t do anything, we just listened and it was awful.”

“I’m sorry, Artie.” He murmured, wrapping his arms around her to return the embrace. “But I didn’t want any of you to get hurt in there, either.”

“Just don’t do that to me again, you got it, Baywatch?” Artemis sniffled – Was she actually that close to crying?! – and pulled away, eyes suspiciously wet.

“If you cry, I’m gonna cry. And if I start crying, then Conner’s gonna cry, and we’re all gonna be a big crying mess” Kid Flash teased lightly, earning a half-hearted smack to his shoulder.

“He might not cry, but I sure will.” Nightwing called from behind, grinning cheekily. “So when’s the wedding?” Kid Flash flipped him off, but couldn’t keep the grin off his face as his team gathered around, each visibly relieved to see him alive and well.

They care about you more than you realize, Nightwing’s voice echoed in his mind. He’s right, this is my team. He thought, looking around.

Maybe change wouldn’t be so bad, if it’s like this. His mind added traitorously.

“So, Mr. I-Won’t-Share-Until-We-Come-Out,” Miss Martian teased, “what’s your theory? Who do you think is behind this?”

Kid Flash’s smile fell from his face as he was reminded of the reason they’d come to the warehouse in the first place.

“I think it’s The Light.” He said solemnly.

“The Light?” Artemis frowned. “They’ve been quiet for a while.”

“Too quiet.” Superboy agreed.

“Who’s The Light?” Nightwing asked with a frown.

“Shadow organization convinced that superheroes are preventing human evolution from continuing. Bunch of super rich jerks.” Miss Martian explained.

“They’ve been a pain in our side since we first became heroes in our own right and formed this team.” Aqualad agreed.

“But if The Light is behind this, that means their most likely target is…” Artemis’ eyes widened.

“Is the Justice League.” Kid Flash nodded.

Nightwing’s brow furrowed behind his mask. He opened his mouth, and – in Kid Flash’s opinion – summed up the situation:

“Well, shit.”

Chapter Text

“So, let me get this right. There’s a shadow organization, ironically called The Light, that work to control the government and secretly eliminate superheroes?” Nightwing really didn’t sound as incredulous as Kid Flash thought he should have. It was, after all, a huge revelation of a massive conspiracy that should have been an enormous surprise.

“That is correct.” Aqualad nodded solemnly. The team watched the news sink in – faster than it really should have – and Nightwing sighed.

“Baby Bird was right. Damnit, I’m gonna be in debt to a 17-year-old.”

“Wait, how did Red Robin know about this?” Artemis frowned from her spot next to Kid Flash. He couldn’t help but note how close that spot was. She must have really been shaken by the whole Fear Gas fiasco.

“Super genius with a super computer. I should have known better than to make a bet with him.” Nightwing sighed. “But that’s a problem for Later Me. We have a bigger problem right now.”

“Right.” Kid Flash agreed, suddenly pulled back to the bigger problem at hand. The much bigger problem at hand. “The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. I mean, we know they’ve worked with other villains in the past, so it’s really not a stretch to think they’d work with Bane and this Scarecrow guy.”

“More likely Bane just stole from Scarecrow. They’re rarely on good terms.” Nightwing interjected.

“Cool. One less to worry about.” Kid Flash acknowledged before plowing on, his words tumbling over themselves at a speed that only he and the Flash could manage without them turning to mush. “So if The Light is behind this – and they probably are, I mean just look at the resources that have been thrown behind this – then they probably were using BPD to cover up any of their involvement and their actions here for as long as they could to keep from being noticed, which means that they probably also hired Deathstroke to kill Sergeant Rohrbach, likely as a form of payment to BPD – y’know, you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours – and then to try and stop Detective Grayson from figuring out whatever is going on by breaking into his apartment to steal some file he was looking at – which he is still missing by the way and we should really look into that before he ends up in real danger like Sergeant Rohrbach did – but somehow realized that we’d be listening in on him too, and set up a trap for us, so that we couldn’t interfere with their plans against the Justice League which are probably going to happen soon because there’s no way that they’re doing this overt of interference without an end game in sight, which means we’ve really got to sort out what’s going down, where, and when, and somehow stop it before all of the Justice League lives their worst fears because the collateral damage would be apocalyptic.”

Kid Flash took a deep breath at the end of his rambling summary, and noticed Nightwing staring at him.

“What? I’m smart when I focus, and I’m pretty observant, too.” He snapped defensively, feeling his cheeks color.

“Oh, yeah, no, I figured you had serious brains already.” Nightwing dismissed, waving a black-gloved hand, “I was more impressed that you got that all out in one breath with that clear of diction.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I talk fast.” Kid Flash rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed over his assumption.

“Useful skill.” Nightwing agreed, before turning to the team. “The trap was probably meant for me more than you. Bane and Deathstroke are both fairly familiar with my modus operandi, and that trap was pretty much tailor-made for me now that I look back.” He smiled sheepishly, face moving as though his eyes were crinkling behind the mask. “I mean, putting goons in, ah, Detective Grayson’s apartment, talking about a meeting that they then went directly to, in a warehouse where I wouldn’t be worried about collateral damage while I investigated, and Fear Gas to incapacitate...yeah, I should have seen that one coming.”

The vigilante grimaced, as though hearing some reprimand or reproval that they didn’t.

“We were all feeling the pressure.” Superboy reassured in his endearingly deadpan way. “And it all turned out alright. So we move on.”

“Um, first problem: do we need to do anything to clear the warehouse of the Fear Gas?” Miss Martian asked anxiously.

“Hm?” Nightwing blinked. “Oh, no, it’ll disperse quickly. It reacts with nitrogen in the air, and will be pretty much fully inert within the next twenty minutes. Probably less. Scarecrow relies way more on the element of surprise than any long-standing traps. It only takes one breath for it to start affecting you. Breathe it in for a little over a minute, and you’ll already need an antidote. Twenty minutes is already overkill for him.”

“That sounds awful.” Miss Martian shuddered. “The sheer...terror I could feel from just you two under the Fear Gas...I can’t imagine what it would be like if he got any more than a couple at a time.”

“It gets ugly fast.” Nightwing agreed grimly. “Which is why I’m worried. If what Oracle said is true, then Bane or The Light – doesn’t really matter which at this point – managed to modify the Fear Gas to work with all currently known sentient species. Martians, Humans, Kryptonians, Atlanteans...all of us are in danger from this gas.”

“That is indeed very concerning. What about the Kobra Venom?” Aqualad frowned. “What part does that play in all this?”

“Remember how hard it was to fight someone on Kobra Venom?” Artemis asked quietly. Kid Flash shuddered – those had been hard fights, every time. The relief when they’d finally eliminated the last stores of the drug and the notes on its creation had been intense. Guess we missed something somewhere, though. He thought grimly.

Artemis leaned into him a little, warm against his arm. “Imagine having that fight while terrified out of your mind, and hallucinating.”

“Even I would be in danger then.” Superboy rumbled softly.

Silence took over for a moment as they all contemplated it. Kid Flash agreed that it was a terrible image.

“With the number of vials we saw...that’s a lot of Kobra Venom-induced crazy.” Kid Flash grimaced. “I’m really not liking this. How in the world do we stop this?”

“One step at a time.” Nightwing said firmly. He glanced to Aqualad, who nodded his assent to some unspoken question. “First things first. We figure out where and when the Justice League will be vulnerable in the near future. If The Light’s intent is to ruin them, it will be public and sensational. Somewhere with media and cameras.”

“The press conference.” Artemis murmured. “Remember? Superman mentioned they were preparing to address the press about some big case they’ve been working on.”

“Right. That’s Tuesday, right?” Miss Martian frowned.

“Tomorrow.” Aqualad confirmed with a nod.

“Great. And we’re already almost out of daylight today.” Nightwing sighed. “Always these last-minute projects. It starts in high school, and it just never stops.”

“Chronic procrastinator, were we?” Artemis teased.

“I spent my nights in a suit, fighting evil. Math homework just didn’t seem as cool.” Nightwing shrugged with a wry smile.

Kid Flash chuckled. He could certainly relate – a lot of his own homework had been done at super speed minutes before leaving for school in his teens. Running around with Uncle Barry had just been so much cooler and way more exciting than the homework that was always too easy anyway.

He wondered if he and Nightwing would have been friends if they’d met earlier. With his chronic insecurity temporarily set aside, he could see a lot of similarity between them, and a lot of ways they’d have gotten along.

Maybe they still could.

After this whole The Light trying to gas the Justice League thing is over.

“That’s going to be a crowded area. We’ll need to pull the Justice League away before they get hit with the Fear Gas, without arousing too much suspicion, or find the canisters and remove them before they go off.” Nightwing mused.

“Why don’t we just tell the Justice League about all this?” Miss Martian asked.

“You really think the Great Justice League of America would take me at my word about all this? No suspicion that I’m in on it, no side quests to capture me as well for interrogation, no pride getting in the way of just taking out a real threat? They wouldn’t second-guess every piece of intel I give, or every suggestion I make?” Nightwing asked dryly.

Kid Flash winced, watching his team do the same. They couldn’t make those reassurances. The Justice League was made up of individuals with incredible power...and some egos to match as well. Add in their bad history with the Batman and his Robins, and the involvement of The Light...and suspicions would be sky-high.

“They’d be as paranoid as Bats usually is.” Nightwing grimaced as he read their expressions. “Maybe if we had a week to talk with them, allay suspicion, and explain all of our thinking and evidence, we could do it. But with less than 24 hours, it’s not a chance I’d like to take. Especially with them as the targets.”

“So we do this ourselves.” Aqualad confirmed. “It’s not the first time we’ve taken on larger-scale operations without direct approval.”

Artemis grinned wickedly. “Yeah, and anyway, we were told to take care of the Nightwing Situation. This is just an extension of that.”

“A side quest, if you will.” Kid Flash agreed sagely.

“I don’t know what the Nightwing Situation is, but I’m guessing it’s basically my existence here. So I’m going to just skip over that bit.” The vigilante chuckled. “So. Given that telling the Justice League isn’t an option, it’s time to think of other options.”

“We’re up against a group that knows how we operate – both the team and you, Nightwing. Our options are pretty limited.” Artemis sighed.

“Then we make new options.” Nightwing shrugged, something mischievous and playful fitting into his smirk.

The team looked to Aqualad. He looked at each of them, and Kid Flash felt the weight of something big shifting. Aqualad nodded, and turned to face Nightwing.

“And how do you propose we do that?” He asked.

“Well, it’s going to take some finagling, but I think I have some ideas” Nightwing grinned.

***

It took the better part of the night to work out all the kinks in the plan. It was far from a perfect plan at this point, but it looked like it would at least be functional.

Nightwing glanced around at the heroes as Superboy passed around the pizza they’d ordered from his favorite 24-hour delivery place. Miss Martian delicately took a slice as Artemis ran interference against the hungry speedster, who they all knew could just take it if he’d tried, but played along with the gambit.

It was a different dynamic than the one he was used to. Oh, the teasing was still there, and the close knit feeling, but there was something different with this group. Maybe it was the diverse backgrounds – but his brothers and he came from all over, and it didn’t feel like this.

Watching them banter amongst themselves, though, he had to admit that they honestly just felt...lighter than his family. The years of fighting crime and villains hadn’t weighed on them the way it had on the Bat Family. A lot of it probably had to do with them fighting in non-Gotham areas, but a large piece of it, he was sure, had to do with the team’s dynamics as well. Sure, they didn’t want to disappoint their old mentors in the Justice League, but not once had he seen actual fear when they’d talked about defying orders, or going against the Justice League’s wishes.

Man, we’ve got problems, he thought with a wry huff, but maybe we can still change.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Miss Martian asked softly from beside him on the couch.

“What, don’t want to try to reach in and read them anymore?” Nightwing teased, pulling off his gloves and accepting a piece of pizza from Superboy.

Miss Martian grimaced. “I don’t think your mind is a place I’d go lightly.”

Nightwing winced, and Miss Martian hurried to correct herself.

“I mean that I would hate to violate your trust! I really quite like having you around, you are such a good addition to the team, and--”

“Miss M, it’s alright.” Nightwing smiled wryly. “I know I have issues. It comes with the territory. I mean, before leaving Gotham, I was fighting rogues with PhDs in psychology and psychiatry on a weekly basis, side by side with a man who dresses up as a bat to punch criminals at night, in a city that built a literal batsignal to let the super mentally stable Batman and his crime-fighting children know that there’s a new psychotic plot afoot. I’d be more worried if I didn’t know that I had issues.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Miss Martian flushed, glancing away.

“I was just thinking about how different planning is with you guys.” Nightwing offered the out, and Miss Martian took it happily.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s not like I didn’t plan a thousand ops with B and the boys, but it’s different. Just reflecting on the experience, I suppose.” Nightwing shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with trying to explain. He took a bite of the pizza in his hand to buy himself a moment.

“Guess I’m still getting used to being around a group of heroes and not feeling like I’m going to end up the target.” Nightwing chuckled.

“I guess, in our minds, you’re already a bit of a hero yourself.” Miss Martian beamed. “You just hadn’t accepted the title yet.” She bounced up as Superboy sat down on the other couch to join her boyfriend. “Glad to see you’re adjusting to it, though. We’ll make a hero out of you yet.”

Nightwing blinked, pizza halfway to his mouth. Me? A hero?

Just a week ago he’d have scoffed at the notion.

Just a week ago he had scoffed at the notion.

But over the past seven days, a lot had happened, and somewhere in there, something had shifted. They didn’t feel like the trespassing spotlight-chasers they’d started out as. They didn’t feel like threats or potential enemies.

They felt like friends already. Somehow, in just seven days, they’d become trusted allies.

Adrenaline is one hell of a drug and trauma is one hell of a bonding agent.

“You ready to put yourself in the Justice League’s sights tomorrow?” Artemis asked from the floor where she lounged against Kid Flash’s legs.

“Ready as I’m gonna be.” Nightwing chuckled.

“If all goes well, he won’t have to, he’ll get to keep his mysterious shadow persona.” Kid Flash teased, waving his fingers ‘mysteriously’.

“Since when has anything gone well on a mission?” Artemis laughed.

“It did this time.” Superboy shrugged. “We got Nightwing, and didn’t even have to use handcuffs to keep him around.”

Nightwing laughed. “Handcuffs wouldn’t have kept me around long. I’ve been picking locks since I could understand what locks were.”

“So, a criminal upbringing, then?” Artemis grinned, picking up on the clue to his childhood.

“Some think so.” Nightwing shrugged. “I, however, have never used any of my powers for evil.” He paused, thinking. “When not under duress, anyway.”

“And what powers are those, pray tell?” Artemis cooed.

“Haven’t you noticed? I’m perfectly average at everything I do.” Nightwing chirped.

“You are many things, my friend, but average is not one of them.” Aqualad chuckled.

“Man, I can’t wait to get the stories behind some of these cryptic phrases sometime.” Kid Flash laughed.

“You’ll have to keep waiting for now.” Nightwing smirked. “Unless you’ve figured out the accent?”

“Uh...Hindi?”

“Nope.” But you are getting way close.

“Man, I’m running out of languages here! I’m gonna have to Google a list of languages at this point and just go down the list!” Kid Flash griped, throwing himself back dramatically and almost losing his slice of pizza.

“Honestly, I’m kind of surprised you haven’t guessed it yet.” Nightwing teased. “After all your bragging about how smart you are and how fast you work, you’re still left stumped over a simple language and accent.”

“Why don’t you just tell us already?” Artemis asked.

“Because then you’d really know who I am under this domino.” Nightwing grinned.

“I can’t believe that a domino hides so little and yet somehow keeps us from recognizing you!” Artemis grumbled. “If it would be as obvious as you say it is from just your accent, then you have to be someone we’ve been interacting with a lot. And no one that we’ve been talking to with any frequency here in Blüdhaven looks like you without a mask!”

“Some of your scars are quite distinct.” Aqualad agreed.

“If you really are just hiding those under makeup, then I need lessons on how to apply mine.” Artemis huffed.

“It’s like they say – lipstick is for feeling pretty, contour is for murdering a man and getting away with it.” Nightwing shrugged. Artemis and Miss Martian giggled at that, while Kid Flash just looked confused.

“Why would...never mind, I don’t want an answer. I know next to nothing about makeup, and I plan to keep it that way, thank you.” He muttered.

“Aw, is Kid Flash afraid of makeup?” Artemis crooned.

“Kid Flash,” the speedster corrected, “doesn’t want to bother with anything to hide my appearance other than these nifty rings that the Justice League uses.” He pulled the ring from a pouch at his hip, flipping it in the air like a coin.

“And that doesn’t even really change your appearance much at all. You really should ask them to adjust it so that you look less...you.” Nightwing chuckled.

“Wait, you’ve seen us with the rings on?” Miss Martian asked curiously.

“Please, I was watching you from the day you arrived. Heroes don’t exactly arrive quietly.” Nightwing pointed out, cursing his loose tongue without any real vehemence.

“But the Bioship was camouflaged!” Miss Martian protested indignantly.

“You came to my city in an alien spaceship.” Nightwing scoffed. “I don’t care if it was camouflaged, you literally came in a spaceship and thought it was subtle.”

“Okay...you kinda have a point there.” Artemis admitted with a sheepish chuckle.

“I guess we do forget that it’s not as normal for everyone else as it is for us.” Miss Martian agreed.

“Yeah, but who needs normal anyway?” Nightwing leaned back, folding his pizza slice and taking a large bite.

The banter continued around him, and his attention drifted, letting it all fade into background noise as he finished his slice. He was comfortable with them. It felt...right.

Maybe in another life, he’d have joined them earlier, helped to shape this team into what it had become over the years. Maybe in another life, he’d have lead it instead of Aqualad.

But in this life, he was starting to just feel thankful that they’d come to Blüdhaven in search of him. Although he’d resisted their efforts at first, and things had definitely been tense, he had to admit:

There was something nice about being found.

Chapter Text

Nightwing sighed, thinking longingly of his warm bed and quilt back home. The heroes had split up to go to their beds just after nine, in preparation for a potentially long day of fighting – and probably justifying their choices to their mentors – tomorrow with the press conference. The mid-morning media spectacle was far enough away that even with the bioship, they’d be up at dawn to get there early enough to have a chance at actually stopping the sinister plot at hand before serious damage occurred.

And yet, here he was, hunched over in the semi-light of a vast cavern, when he should by all rights be dreaming of cereal.

He’d told the heroes that he was as ready as he’d ever be to face the Justice League tomorrow. That was a bit of an omission. There was one more thing he needed to handle before heading into the fight.

It had taken two hours of not-sleeping time to drive all the way here from Blüdhaven, and it would take another two hours to get back, plus whatever time he needed inside...that was more than half his night gone in one fell swoop.

But if everything went horribly wrong tomorrow, it would be worth the trip.

A worthwhile trip...albeit a painful one. This cave was full of memories and mementos. Dangerous weapons from long-defeated – and in most cases still re-occuring – enemies, oddities left behind after particularly strange cases, and even old uniforms in glass cases. A locker room, a medbay, a giant dinosaur, a bank of computers more powerful than nearly any others on the planet, an inactive Zeta access point...a staircase and elevator leading upwards to a place that he still thought of as home.

Nightwing missed those earlier years with an ache that seemed to flare up at the most inconvenient of times. Like when he should be focusing on the task at hand. He rummaged through the storage vaults, trying to work as quickly and cleanly as he could as he searched for what he needed. The computer said it was still in the vaults...somewhere...At least he had his brothers watching his back upstairs, and out on patrol with Bats, so it wasn’t like he was going to get caught in the act.

Someone cleared their throat pointedly behind Nightwing, nearly startling him out of his skin. He whirled around to find himself face-to-face with the most feared and beloved figure of his post-circus childhood.

“Have you, perchance, forgotten where the front door is, young master?”

“Er...It’s been a while?” Nightwing grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. He felt oddly like his twelve year old self again, caught swinging on a chandelier when he thought Alfred would be out running errands.

“Hmph. It certainly has. Come upstairs with me, we’ll arrange a nice cup of cocoa for you, and you’ll fill me in on why you’re skulking about the manor grounds at this late hour.” The stately butler didn’t even glance to see if Nightwing was following as he strode off toward the elevator, and Nightwing didn’t blame him.

He’d follow Alfred Pennyworth anywhere.

“I kinda...I just need to grab a couple things and I’ll be going, I really don’t have all night, Alfie.” Nightwing said apologetically as he attempted to trail behind, only to find himself keeping reluctant pace with the butler.

“You certainly have time to talk with me in the kitchen for ten minutes while I make you something warm and caloric to drink, Master Dick.” Alfred smiled warmly as the elevator doors closed behind them.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t have much time before B gets back. Nightwing thought desperately as he did nothing to stop Alfred from pressing the button to send them up into the Manor proper.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, Alfie, it’s just that I’m on a time crunch,” Nightwing hedged, fingers idly playing with his belt as he looked anywhere but Alfred’s face, “and Bruce and I aren’t really on good terms right now.”

“Come now, Master Dick, you can spare ten minutes for me after all these months away. You rarely come home to the Manor these days, and I daresay I miss you terribly.” Alfred put a gentle hand on Nightwing’s arm, already softly pulling him out the elevator, through the study, and toward the hall.

“Alfie, I really can’t. If Bruce catches me here, he’ll be pissed. And I--”

“Richard John Grayson, you will come with me to this kitchen, and I will be putting something warm into your hands, which you will drink.” Alfred’s voice was as hard as the steel reinforcing the manor itself, uncompromising and yet, somehow, impossibly affectionate.

Nightwing sighed, realizing he’d lost before he even knew he was playing. “Alright, Alfie. I’m coming.”

“And you can remove that ridiculous domino of yours, you are at home, not in the field. I will not tolerate such attempts at hiding from your family tonight.” Alfred arched a silvered brow, before turning to lead Nightwing toward the kitchen.

The vigilante carefully peeled his mask from his face, using the tiny bottle of solvent from his belt.

“Wait...did you say hiding from the family?” He asked abruptly, mind catching up to his feet. He eyed the kitchen door ahead warily.

“Young Master Richard, my dear boy.” Alfred sighed, turning to face him, a weathered hand returning to Dick’s arm. “There have been some very hard conversations over the past several days, and especially tonight. There are things which should not have been said, and things which ought to have been said years ago that I, in a misguided attempt to maintain my professional role, did not say.”

“Aw, Alfie, it’s not--”

“Hush, young man.” Alfred chided gently. “I have run this household for two generations now, and never have I allowed it to get into such a disarray as I have of late. But we have been waiting for your arrival, and tonight you will sit down, drink a cup of the hot cocoa that I have warming on the stove under the watchful eye of young Master Jason, and perhaps we will salvage some of what is left of this family.”

Dick felt his stomach twist within him. He was not prepared for whatever this was. He was just supposed to sneak into the cave with his brothers’ help, snag a few items, and be on his merry way. This was not at all what he’d intended to do.

And yet, his feet numbly carried him after Alfred, the kitchen door swinging open as silently as it ever had. It should have creaked ominously, he thought wryly, would have been appropriate. He stepped through despite the mental protest against it, unable to find a good enough excuse to back out of this impending conflict without tucking his tail and running from one of the few men who had loved him unconditionally.

The first one he saw was Jason, standing at the stove, carefully stirring a pot of Alfie’s homemade hot cocoa on the stove. His white-blazed black hair was tousled from the helmet that sat on the counter beside him. He was still in his vigilante gear, looking comically domestic despite the large handguns on his hips.

“Great lookout there, Little Wing.” Dick couldn’t find it in himself to put any heat into the jab, knowing that Jay was as likely to truly defy Alfred as he was – and he’d followed the man all the way up here with barely a verbal protest.

“He offered us hot chocolate, Dick. What were we supposed to do? Say no?” Tim sighed mournfully from his spot atop the counter next to Jay as he stared longingly at the pot. “I can’t say no to Alfie’s hot chocolate.”

“You won’t have to if you don’t get off of my counters, young Master Timothy.” Alfred said archly. Tim immediately slid off, snatching Jason’s helmet as he went. “I shall pretend I did not see anyone’s gear on that counter, either, then.” Alfred added.

Jason’s cheeks turned an interesting shade of deep pink even as he casually pretended not to notice the reprimand.

We really are all just a bunch of kids here still, Dick thought with a soft smile. Tim scurried over to him, wrapping his arms around Dick’s chest with a little more fervor than usual, and Dick returned the hug with an extra squeeze. Tim had missed him, and he’d missed his little brother, too. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to actually say these things aloud, instead of just relying on their body language and almost unnoticeable gestures to communicate with each other. But it just wasn’t their way – Bruce hadn’t raised them to be emotionally available, after all.

Jason caught Dick’s attention with a barely-audible grunt, and gave the tiniest nod toward the kitchen table, a warning in his eyes.

Speak of the Devil…

Damian, in his Robin gear minus the domino, sat next to Bruce, whose Batman cowl was on the table next to him, rather than covering his face. Bruce sat still as a statue, back and shoulders tight.

Damian was slouching, one heel propped up on the seat with him, arms wrapped around the lifted knee. He didn’t meet Dick’s eyes at first, and it took only a moment to figure out why – of course he’d feel he’s failed me, he was supposed to keep B occupied tonight.

Dick strode over, carefully avoiding Bruce’s piercing steel gaze, and snatched his youngest brother up out of his chair, swinging him in a wide arc up into a tight embrace.

“Grayson!” Damian yelped in surprise, sounding offended. His arms, however, easily found their way around Dick’s neck – for support, of course.

“Baby Bat!” Dick laughed loudly. Then, quieter, he added, “No one wins against Alfie, bud. Don’t worry about it.”

He felt Damian relax against him for a moment, before starting to push away in token protest at the hug.

“Unhand me, Grayson! I will not be coddled!”

Dick let him escape without much fight, but tousled the kid’s dark hair as he moved away for good measure. He was, after all, the big brother. It was his job to drown his siblings in brotherly affection. Deep in the back of his mind, he hadn’t forgotten what Dami had said the other night, still drugged and groggy. Maybe he was a bit more than a brother sometimes, especially for the younger two.

“Thank you, Master Jason.” Alfred murmured behind him, dismissing Jay from the stove. Dick could hear the tell-tale sounds of cocoa being ladled into ceramic mugs, but couldn’t bring himself to turn and watch. Not while Bruce sat there, just a few feet away.

Their last conversation still rang in his mind. And while the days had done wonders for the bruises left by their first confrontation last week, he could still feel the phantom impact of his fist connecting with B’s jaw. He was definitely feeling more than a little on edge about being so close, not knowing where they stood. Alfred had implied that things were being settled to some degree, but that didn’t guarantee that this wasn’t going to go south.

“Do sit down, Master Dick.” Alfred sighed, setting a blue mug on the table across from Bruce and nudging Dick toward it. “This is a conversation that needs to be had, and I would very much like for us to have it in time for everyone to actually get some sleep tonight, including yourself.”

“Right.” Dick swallowed hard, but sat down in the offered chair. Jay settled to his left, with Tim beside him, and Dami sat back down to his right. Dick and Bruce at the opposite heads of the table, the family seated between them. It felt almost like a tug-of-war, or a treaty negotiation.

Alfred distributed mugs to everyone, including placing one in front of Bruce, then silently removed the cowl from Bruce’s side of the table. Dick felt an odd sense of relief, not having to stare down the cowl as well as Bruce, and from the sly look in Alfred’s eye, he thought that might have been why Alfred had done it, even more than the ‘no-masks-at-the-table’ rule.

Awkward silence reigned a moment as everyone waited for someone else to start.

Dick, deciding he wasn’t going to kick start this conversation, took a long sip of his cocoa. The thick liquid – made with milk, never water – warmed him instantly, and brought a soft comfort with it. This was one of the tastes of his childhood, warm chocolate spiced with ginger and cinnamon, done a similar way to how his daj used to. He knew Alfie used different spices for each of them, according to their preferences. Jason’s was more of a Mexican blend, with a little extra heat to it, Tim’s had a hit of vanilla and hazelnut like his favorite coffee blend, and Dami’s was reminiscent of the Arabic seven-spice hot chocolate. It was comforting, to be part of the hot chocolate tradition in the Manor, yet to be seen as an individual by the man they all loved so much.

“Oh, for heavens’ sake.” Alfred sighed in exasperation. “Master Bruce, if you would?”

“Right.” Bruce muttered. He took a deep breath. “Richard—Dick—I owe you an apology.”

Dick tensed. “Ten-forty-seven.”

“Six-twenty-six.” Bruce sighed, “It’s me, Dick. And if you have to use the verification in the Manor of all places...I guess Alfred is right.”

Dick just sat there, watching Bruce. This...was not what he’d expected tonight. To his left, Jason openly stared, and Tim fiddled uncomfortably with his mug. Dami was focused on his own cocoa, surreptitiously looking between Bruce and Dick.

He knew what Bruce was trying to say – he’d always joked that he could translate the emotionally constipated Bruce Speak into actual speech, and as a child had repeated things back to Bruce in a less stunted way. This would have translated into Alfred told me you don’t trust me anymore and I think he was just proven right. That’s not what I wanted.

“I have not been properly focused lately,” Bruce admitted. I’ve been hyper-focused on the wrong things for a while now.

Bruce looked into his own mug of chocolate – the World’s Okayest Dad mug they’d gotten as a joke for him years ago, filled with what they’d always teased was the World’s Most Boring Hot Chocolate, as he had always liked it simple.

“Since the rise of the Justice League, things have gotten...complicated. In order to protect this family, I pushed harder on training, on individual competency, on precision.” I saw the Justice League as a threat, and as usual I approached a new threat with aggression, and pushed my children to do the same.

“It seemed the right path over the years.” When I thought about maybe backing off, bad things happened so I assumed I was right to fight harder.

“I was protecting this family. And I…” Bruce trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

Dick took pity on the bigger man, and said the Bruce Speak translation aloud.

“You were scared.”

Silence, for a moment, as his siblings waited to see how Bruce reacted to such an accusation.

“Yes.” Bruce admitted, surprising them all.

“What could you possibly be frightened of, Father?” Damian scoffed from the side. Dick could hear the underlying tremor, the tiniest waver in his voice that belied his uncertainty. In Dami’s world, Bruce was unshakable, infallible.

Bruce glanced at his youngest son, and sighed. “Of losing. Losing the fight in Gotham, losing this city to the darkness that dwells in her...losing all of you.” He took a deep breath. “I thought if I lost focus, I would lose everything.” If I stopped to think too hard, I realized just how dangerous all of this was for my children. And although I’m an emotionally constipated ass, I do care about my children’s survival. I thought if I fought harder and made all of you fight harder, we would somehow become magically invincible and never have to worry about it again.

Okay, so maybe he took some liberties in translation sometimes.

Dick sighed, pulling his wandering mind back into the conversation at hand. How to make him see?

“But doing things this way, B...you’re going to lose us all anyway.” Dick murmured. For the first time in years, he felt like he actually saw Bruce in the unmasked face before him, open and raw with emotion. “B, I know this family and this city is all you have...but this family is all any of us have, too.”

Bruce huffed what might have been a laugh, with a wry half-smile. “Alfred said almost the exact same thing to me the other night.”

“He came home a right angry mess after his fight with you.” Alfred supplied with an arched brow. “After I finally got though his angry Batman facade to get the story of what had happened, we had a very frank discussion about what we had both allowed to occur within this family.”

“They argued. It was loud.” Tim murmured conspiratorially. “Alfie threatened to resign and walk out if he didn’t listen and shape up.”

“Of all the nights to stay in a safe house rather than the Manor.” Jason sighed mournfully. “I’d have loved to watch Bruce get his ass handed to him by Alfie.”

Dick nudged Jay under the table in a playful reprimand. Jay pushed back, a little harder, his signature smirk a little strained. Hearing Bruce have actual emotions wasn’t easy for anyone in this family.

We’re a real mess.

“It’s true.” Bruce’s face was almost unreadable, but Dick recognized the look from his early days as Robin, when he’d get battered and bruised. It was the look Bruce wore when he was regretting a choice – in those days, letting Dick become Robin – and didn’t know where to go from where he’d ended up.

“And?” Dick prompted.

Bruce blinked.

“And Alfred was right,” Bruce continued, “I have set important things aside in pursuit of the Mission.” I let my grudges and my vengeance take priority over the family I thought I was protecting.

Silence fell as Dick digested what Bruce was saying. He hadn’t heard so many contrite and quiet words from the man since Jay’s death, honestly...even if half of the meaning was coming from his own translations of Bruce’s words.

“So what now?” Dick asked. “Where do we go from here?”

“We—” Bruce paused, then met Dick’s eyes again. “I was told by a wise man that perhaps I should let you have some input in that.”

Alfred’s eyes crinkled in a proud not-quite-smile.

“I...wow. Okay.” Dick took a deep breath. “It’s not that I don’t...want it, or anything. It’s just...this is not the conversation I was expecting to have tonight.” He laughed shakily, and got a hesitant almost-smile from Bruce in return. “I...I don’t know where to start on this. And I really really don’t have time to sort it all out tonight.”

“The heroes?” Jay asked, glancing at him. Dick nodded.

“There’s something big going down tomorrow, something against the Justice League, and I’m helping them take care of it.” Dick explained.

“You can’t trust them, Dick, they’re heroes.” Bruce growled.

Ah, Dick thought wryly, there’s the Bruce that’s lived in my head rent-free for over a decade now.

The atmosphere got tense around the table. Everyone held their breaths a moment before Dick broke the newly heavy silence, trying to trust in what he’d heard in Bruce’s words earlier.

“You can’t trust them, B.” He replied softly. “But that’s because you haven’t seen them in action yet. They’ve already saved my ass several times—”

“Language, Master Dick.”

“—and I trust them with my life. I have been cautious, B. And they’ve proven themselves over and over already.” Dick sighed. “I know you don’t trust heroes. And they’ve made mistakes, for sure. But they’ve earned my trust.”

“And their mentors, the Justice League? They invaded our city and tried to kidnap Robin.” Bruce retorted, brows drawn into a dark frown.

“I’m being careful, B.” Dick protested. “You taught me better than to go into something like this blindly. I have plans, backup plans, and backups to my backup plans. I’m not being stupid about this! I know that the Justice League hasn’t earned our trust yet. But they need help. And that’s what you trained me to do, all those years ago. You taught me to not just turn a blind eye when darkness plots against good people. And maybe the Justice League hasn’t earned our trust or help, but what about all the innocent people they protect? It’s not just about us, or just about Gotham. This is something that they won’t see coming. Gotham doesn’t stay in Gotham anymore. The world’s villains are collaborating, and the Justice League isn’t prepared to fight it.

“So maybe I’m being a little impulsive, jumping in to help the League. Maybe they’ll turn on me as soon as the threat is over. But someone with Gotham expertise has got to help them, or one of the few forces on Earth actively fighting against the assholes out there will be taken out. If not me, then who?” Dick suddenly realized he was standing, hands planted on the table. He didn’t remember getting up, but his heart hammered in his chest as he refused to back down from Bruce’s hard gaze.

“Okay.”

“B, I—wait. What?” Dick stammered, not expecting the quiet, grudging agreement. He’d had another two passionate speeches half-planned already to keep arguing his point.

“I won’t try to stop you from going.” Bruce sounded like he’d been asked to chew nails, but he was agreeing.

“I—thank you, B.” Dick hesitantly sat down, not quite sure where to go with Bruce’s agreement.

“Go and help. Take whatever you need from the Cave.” Bruce told him, gesturing back in the direction of the office, where the entrance to the Bat Cave was hidden. “But. I want a promise from you in return.”

“What promise?” Dick asked suspiciously.

“If they make any move against you, if anything even feels like it might be a setup, you leave them. You come back to Gotham, and you let us barricade you in and protect you from them.” Bruce’s voice was as hard as the high-carbon steel composite of the batarangs.

“You see the good in everyone,” Bruce sighed, “and I don’t know if that is a testament to my parenting, or a failing of it. But you trust too easily. I don’t like it...but I will support you.”

“That easy trust has kept me coming back to this family, hasn’t it?” Dick asked gently. “Maybe it’s not all that bad, to trust people sometimes.” Bruce managed a strained half-smile in return.

“I want a promise, Dick.” He rumbled.

“Alright, B. I promise that if I catch even a whiff of betrayal, I’ll split and come back here.” Dick acquiesced.

“We’ll come with you, Big Bird.” Tim offered brightly, “We can help protect you if things go bad.”

“No.” Bruce’s voice was immovable steel once more. “If Dick wants to risk his life with them tomorrow, that’s his choice. But you three are staying here in Gotham.”

“But B!” Tim started to protest.

“Timmy,” Dick interjected with a slightly forced smile, “stay here. Stay safe. For all we know, there will be a coordinated attack in Gotham at the same time tomorrow – we already know at least one of our rogues is working with those plotting against the Justice League. We can’t leave Gotham undefended.”

Tim muttered a reluctant agreement, and Dick caught something that might have been gratitude flash across Bruce’s face for a split moment before it was gone.

“Go. Get what you need from the Cave. We will be monitoring the comms tomorrow.” Bruce’s tone was a clear dismissal. Dick got up, and Bruce stood with him. They walked in semi-tense silence back through the halls to the office.

They paused at the secret entrance to the Cave.

“B, I know...I know things have been bad with us lately. Have been for a while.” Dick sighed. “Tonight...thank you for what you said tonight. But...I don’t want you to think we’re just...just good now. I think it’s going to take a long time for us to get back to where we were. To really trust again.” He turned to meet Bruce’s inscrutable gaze, emotions already locked back behind the black Batman mask he wore, even without the cowl. “It’s going to take a while, B. But...I want to get there again.” Dick finished.

“Me too, Chum.” Bruce murmured, a heavy hand coming to rest on Dick’s shoulder. He did his best not to flinch at the touch, even as he felt warm at the old nickname. There was definitely a lot of work to do between them. The kinds of things they’d said and done...it wouldn’t be washed away in a single night of kind words.

Maybe he could convince Bruce to go into therapy.

And maybe he’d wake up to flying pigs tomorrow.

“Night, B. I’ll call you when it’s done.” Dick said at last, turning to descend into the Cave even as Bruce was already turning toward his desk in the office.

Dick had a handful of items to retrieve before he could go home and call it a night. He hoped he wouldn’t need them, but if Bruce had instilled one thing into him – aside from the crippling fear of failure, a borderline suicidal compulsion to save others, and various unhealthy coping mechanisms – it was that you should always prepare for the worst-case scenario.

When he emerged from the Cave’s vaults with the items he needed stashed safely in the ratty backpack he’d brought with him, Dick was pleasantly surprised.

The Zeta tube was alight, its ethereal glow a promise.

Maybe things could heal between them after all.

Chapter Text

“So...uh...what’s in the bag there, Nightwing?” Kid Flash asked, his voice an odd mixture of curious and apprehensive.

Morning had arrived entirely too early, and even now, an hour into the flight on the bioship with the team, Nightwing found himself wishing he were still in bed. He’d woken that morning feeling like the night before had to have been a dream...except the bag of contingency plans was still there, resting now against his leg as they flew at impressive speed toward the Hall of Justice.

“Hopefully, nothing we need.” Nightwing deflected. At Kid Flash’s curious look, he added, “It’s just a few back-up gadgets. This is a big op we’re about to pull, and the last thing we need is a surprise we can’t handle. So I brought a few extra things. With any luck, we’ll toss the bag in a corner and won’t need to touch it until we’re leaving for home.”

“That’s not ominous at all.” Artemis scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“It’s Nightwing, Artie. He’s just like that.” Kid Flash laughed, winking at the vigilante.

The easy acceptance and companionship still made Nightwing’s skin itch. Bruce’s conviction that they were still on some elaborate plot to trap him wasn’t getting to him. It wasn’t. It was just that this was all still so new.

Sure, their friendship and trust had been fast-tracked. And maybe that would be cause for concern in other circumstances.

But he wasn’t about to get paranoid about it now.

If they’re out to get me, it’s too late to do anything about it anyway, now. He thought dryly, trying to shake the foreboding he felt.

“We’re getting close to landing.” Aqualad announced, “Let’s go over the plan one more time.”

Everyone shuffled in their seats for a moment, attention pulling inward toward their Atlantean leader.

“We’re aiming to arrive a half-hour before the Justice League should be preparing for the media, meaning a full hour before the press conference is scheduled to start. We’ll sweep the area in pairs, discreetly, and disarm any gas traps we find. If anyone runs into trouble, you radio in ASAP to get backup. No one here should be taking on a Kobra Venom-fueled enemy alone, or even with a partner. Remember that the Light always has backup plans in place, so be on the look out for anything out of place. Keep your rebreathers on in secluded areas, and at hand in public.”

Aqualad paused, looking over the assembled team. He sighed. “I know this is important. I know we’re all worried for our mentors, our friends. This is bigger than a lot of the other Light plots we’ve faced before. And, well, let’s be honest, this op is probably going to sideways within ten minutes of our arrival. So everyone stay on comms, stay calm, and stay quiet.”

“Comms might be a bit loud for an empty area like this.” Miss Martian frowned.

“Can’t do a mindlink minus one, it will just mean more chatter from Nightwing’s team as his partner relays everything to him.” Aqualad shook his head.

“Maybe…” Nightwing paused, hesitating to say what he was thinking. But with all eyes on him, he took the plunge. I can’t believe I’m about to do this. “Is there a way to secure the mindlink without every though being accessible to Miss M?”

The team stared in varying degrees of shock and open mouths before Miss Martian blinked and replied.

“Um, yes, I can do that. I, uh, the mind link doesn’t really pull thoughts or information out of your mind, it’s more like...more like you push your thoughts into it? I guess?” She stammered over her explanation, looking like she wanted to wring her hands even as she flew the ship. “We can, um, we can do a trial run right now if you want? So you can decide if it will be okay?”

Nightwing hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Let’s try it. Worst case, we stick with comms. But if I can make this work, then we’ll have a distinct advantage over our enemies.”

Miss Martian handed off the controls to Aqualad, and stepped over to take his place next to Nightwing.

“Alright, um. Just...don’t attack me please?” She giggled nervously.

“Right. Sorry about that.” Nightwing winced, remembering the last time she’d tried to get into his mind. “What do I need to do?”

“Just...focus on opening your mental walls just a little. Think of it like...like running a cable through, or a phone line.” Miss Martian suggested.

Nightwing settled back, eyes closed. His mental walls, always present, seemed as unyielding as the Bat Cave’s bedrock. Running a cable through...just a small drill hole.

It felt wrong trying to open a hole in his defenses, but thinking about the image Miss Martian had suggested helped some. It was more fighting his trained instinct to keep out any and all foreign forces. It was the same training that helped him to fight Fear Gas, and to withstand her first attempts to get into his mind. It was training that had saved him from insanity on multiple occasions while fighting at Batman’s side.

He’d just about figured it out when he felt her mind brush against his, a foreign thought half-forming at the edge of his consciousness, and instantly his walls slammed down, tighter than ever. He could feel his own frustration building as he did his best to relax.

Trust me.

The thought came from just beyond his own mind, more of a vague impression of Miss Martian’s voice than fully-formed words.

Trust.

He trusted them enough to find him unconscious on a rooftop. He trusted them enough to bring them into Gotham to save his little brother.

He needed to trust them enough to believe that this wouldn’t be used as a shatter point to crack open his mind for them to dig through.

Worst came to worst, he could always fight back. That was his specialty, after all.

Focusing harder, he mentally reached out toward Miss Martian’s presence at the edge of his mind. He flinched back a little at making contact, but forced himself to steady, calling on breathing techniques to steady his mind.

Good. Can you hear me clearly, Nightwing? Miss Martian’s voice echoed in his mind, as clearly as if she’d spoken aloud. It was...weird. He’d expected it to feel violating, or dangerous. But instead, it felt...safe.

I can hear you. He thought, focusing on pushing the thought toward her.

Are you ready to have me connect in the others? She asked.

Will they have to connect with my mind as well? Nightwing wasn’t sure he’d be able to let in so many people. Even letting Miss M get in was a mental stress he wasn’t accustomed to.

More like they’ll connect to me, and hear your thoughts through me.

Okay. Do it. Nightwing took a steadying breath.

How does it feel, my man? Kid Flash’s strident voice rang in Nightwing’s head, and he tried not to flinch back.

Weird. Nightwing replied, carefully trying to shield any errant thoughts from passing through as well.

It took some time for us all to adjust as well. Aqualad’s soothing, even tone was oddly calming, even if it was coming from inside Nightwing’s own mind.

Think you’ll be okay with us in your head for a few hours during this op? Artemis asked softly.

Nightwing pondered it a moment. The voices were distracting, but no more so than comms usually were. And it would be a lot quieter, better for them to sneak in and take care of the impending threat against the Justice Leauge. It was uncomfortable, but already he’d begun to relax more, becoming accustomed to the tendril of presence in his mind.

Yeah. I think I can make this work. Nightwing replied at last.

We’ll keep chatter to a minimum in the link for this op. Aqualad decided. And we’ll still keep our comms as well. If at any point it is too much or too distracting, you need only let us know.

Nightwing felt touched by their concern and consideration. And I wondered if I could trust them with this, he thought with rueful amusement.

We appreciate your trust. Artemis sent back with a hint of a smirk.

Did that come through? Nightwing asked, startled.

Yeah...took us a little while to not send most things, too. Kid Flash replied. You’ll get the hang of it quickly though, you’re a smart cookie.

“Speaking of cookies,” the speedster continued aloud, seemingly unaware of Nightwing’s new uneasiness at the prospect of the wrong thoughts making it across the mindlink, “any chance you made any of yours Miss M? I could do with a snack.”

“You can always take a snack, Kid Mouth.” Artemis shot back playfully.

Nightwing let the banter wash over him, trying not to feel too unnerved by the feeling of the mindlink still active in a back corner of his mind. He was going to need to be very, very careful if he didn’t want them to pick up on unintentional thoughts.

He couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that he’d sealed some kind of fate by accepting the mind link...like he’d stepped over a line he couldn’t back out of.

There would be time to worry about that later, though.

Because they were descending out of the clouds now, toward the glittering Hall of Justice below.

The op was beginning.

***

The team slipped off the bioship, which Miss Martian had landed neatly – and discreetly – on what was usually the Invisible Jet’s landing strip. They were reasonably confident that Wonder Woman would just come by zeta tube with the rest of the League, and the area was conveniently placed near their target area. They’d arrived later than they’d wanted to, due to some unanticipated crosswinds that had required a small detour from their planned flight path.

Artemis had to admit, as she stalked through the streets and lingered in darkened alleyways with the dark-clad Kid Flash beside her, that she was a little nervous. The tension from the team resonated over the mindlink, a familiar sensation at the start of most of their bigger missions. Except every once in a while, an unexpected voice would chime in with insight or a check-in.

It didn’t feel bad to have Nightwing in on the mindlink. Just...unfamiliar. A little weird, if she was honest. Kid Flash had already mentioned he thought Nightwing fit right into the mental dynamic, and maybe that’s what was so weird about it to Artemis: that it wasn’t all that weird at all.

Maybe it was the amount of time they’d already spent with the vigilante. The ops they’d run with him, the rescue mission and the rooftop scramble to stop Deathstroke. Maybe it was because he fit so easily into their team in other ways, too. Whatever it was, it was unnerving in its normalcy.

They’d split up into teams to search, but hadn’t found much yet. Hadn’t found anything yet, really. She’d expected to at least find some kind of look out or...something. They’d assumed the gas would be released at the press conference, in front of the whole world. But there was no set up they could find for it. No suspicious figures in the streets, no one among the media crews beginning their setups that acted out of place.

This doesn’t feel right, guys, she sighed into the mindlink. There’s something we’re missing.

I think so too, Nightwing replied, surprising her with his easy agreement. His thoughts still felt forced in the mindlink, but she couldn’t blame him, the stress of trying to hide so much of his mind while still speaking to them was something she could definitely relate too, given the secrets she hid for their first year all together.

It’s too quiet, there’s nothing suspicious happening, Kid Flash groaned. How are we supposed to stop the bad guys if they aren’t even here yet?

Hold on, what if we’re thinking about this wrong? Nightwing asked.

What are you thinking, Nightwing? Aqualad pressed, when the vigilante didn’t immediately continue.

Well, Fear Gas is most potent in a closed room or building, not in the streets, Nightwing explained. We’re only a few minutes out from the League’s arrival right now, but wouldn’t it make more sense to attack them from inside the Hall of Justice, rather than trying to gas them outside? The Gas would be more contained, and more potent, and the effects would take hold before the conference. The media wouldn’t even see an attack on the League…

They’d just see the Justice League blindly attacking civilians, Artemis finished for him, a horrible realization setting in.

The team was silent a moment as they all processed the new, awful idea.

How would they get inside? Most of the building is locked up tighter than Nightwing’s secrets, Kid Flash pointed out. I mean, even visitors have to walk through serious security to get into the civilian-accessible areas. There’s no way someone would make it in with freaking canisters of gas.

Oh, I’d never even try to get them in through public access, Nightwing chuckled.

How would you do it then? Miss Martian asked with open curiosity.

Sewer lines or old subway lines. This area of town is older, just look at the buildings, Nightwing replied, and judging by the way they’re arranged, something important used to sit where the Hall of Justice does now. My guess would be a town hall or an early subway access point. I’d bet there’s serious tunnels under our feet.

Artemis exchanged a look with Kid Flash. Nightwing was scary smart sometimes. She’d never have thought to look for tunnels to access the Hall of Justice.

Everyone, look for major sewer or underground access points. Aqualad instructed. We only have a short time before the Justice League is due to arrive. If the attack is to happen inside the building, we need to clear it now, before they come.

Artemis scanned the ground anxiously as she approached the Hall of Justice. She wasn’t quite sure what exactly she was looking for, but trusted she’d know it when she found it.

“KF, look at that.” She murmured, nudging her companion. The redheaded speedster followed her line of sight to a pair of steel access doors set into the concrete near the back wall of the buidling.

We’ve got something, Kid Flash sent, nodding to Artemis. They approached together, tense and alert for any emerging threats.

Southwest corner of the building, looks like an underground maintenance access hatch, Artemis reported. We’re going to investigate.

Artemis, Kid Flash, be careful, Aqualad instructed. Report in as soon as you find anything.

Artemis crouched by the doors, and locked eyes with Kid Flash. She held up three fingers. Then two. One.

She pulled open one side of the hatch, and Kid Flash darted in faster than her eyes could track.

We’ve got goons! The speedster called into the mindlink, even as she heard the thud of bodies dropping below. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, nocked it in her bow, and dropped down after him.

Three men lay unconscious around the entrance, obviously caught unawares by the sudden super-speed assault. Immediately she glanced over Kid Flash, looking for any injuries. She hadn’t heard any gunfire, but she was still reassured to see him safe and unhurt.

Three men, definitely left here to guard this entrance, she notified the team. I think we have our access point.

All teams, converge on the southwest corner of the Hall, Aqualad ordered. Artemis, Kid Flash, proceed with caution. We’ll all be there soon.

Artemis and Kid Flash nodded to one another, and took a look around the area. To their left was an immediate dead end, just some pipes that Artemis assumed had something to do with plumbing, based on the pressure gauges, locked behind some chain link fencing. To their right, the tunnel headed off into the semi-darkness that seemed omnipresent in badly lit maintenance tunnels.

If it were a movie, it would have been cliché.

They hurried down the tunnel as quickly as they could without being careless, checking for any traps left behind: tripwires, alarm sensors, anything. They found nothing.

Nothing, nothing, and more nothing, Artemis growled mentally. This is taking too long.

What’s our ETA on the Justice League’s arrival? Aqualad asked, sounding strained.

Maybe ten minutes if we’re lucky? Miss Martian guessed. I can’t feel Uncle J’ohnn yet.

Are we even in the right tunnel? Kid Flash fretted. She could feel him nearly vibrating next to her, his anxiety matching her own.

Artemis was just starting to doubt that this really was the way they were supposed to go – despite their being literally no other direction for them to go – when she heard soft, muffled voices ahead.

She held up a hand to stop Kid Flash, feeling both relieved that they were in the right place, and worry that the enemy was already within the walls.

We’ve got more goons up here, I think. I can’t make out what they’re saying, though. Artemis strained a moment to hear before adding, their voices are weirdly muffled. I think they might be wearing masks of some kind.

Aren’t we all? Came Nightwing’s sardonic reply. Based on the amusement that flooded the mindlink, and the hint of embarrassment she was sure was coming from him, he hadn’t mean to send the thought.

No, no, man’s got a point. Gotta hide your pretty face somehow, Wing, Kid Flash teased, Wouldn’t want someone recognizing those scars of yours and figuring out who you are.

KF, you can’t even recognize my accent, Nightwing shot back good-naturedly.

Punjabi? The speedster asked, hopeful.

Nope.

I’ve got to be getting close, though. I mean, there’s only so many languages, dude!

There are over 7,000 individual languages in the world, buddy. And you’ve guessed, what, ten maybe?

Thirteen, Kid Flash corrected.

Right. While Kid Mouth keeps trying to think of languages, can we please focus on the task at hand? Artemis tried to rein in her frustration. She was glad that KF and Nightwing were getting along better, she really was, but she could feel the time ticking down until their window of opportunity closed. We’re running out of time here.

Behind her, familiar footsteps approached as the team arrived at their location.

Beside her, Kid Flash sent her an apologetic grimace. She knew he dealt with stress through humor, the way she dealt with stress through frustration and anger, but this was big. If they didn’t get this sorted out now, the Justice League was going to get dosed with Fear Gas and potentially cause irreparable damage to both the city and their reputations.

They’d never forgive themselves if they were unwittingly turned into weapons pointed at humanity.

Nightwing sidled up beside her, crouched down and peeked around the corner at knee height. Smart, since most people would be looking for intruders at head height. It was something her father had taught her, back when she’d considered what he did ‘teaching’.

Four goons, Nightwing reported, barely dressed for the weather.

What’s that supposed to mean? Kid Flash asked, perplexed.

Ah. Lightly armed. Sorry. Nightwing sounded a little embarrassed.

You’re an odd one, Artemis sent with a smile, but I think we’ll keep you around anyway.

At a signal from Aquaman, Miss Martian, Kid Flash, and Superboy rounded the corner, and quickly dealt with the four goons.

Artemis realized as they approached the fallen men that Nightwing was right: they, like their counterparts at the entry point, were lightly armed, just a single hand gun each.

I don’t think they were really expecting any kind of opposition today, she mused, we caught the other ones off-guard fairly easily, too.

Their loss. Let’s get up there. Superboy’s voice was as impassive as ever, as he looked up the ladder to the grate above.

He went up first, listening carefully at the top to make sure no one was nearby, before casually lifting the heavy metal grating with one hand and setting it easily aside. Artemis was, at one point, jealous of his strength and the ease with which the half-kryptonian clone was able to do most physical tasks. She’d mostly gotten over her jealousy, though at times like this she had to admit that it would be so useful to be able to do that.

The team filed up the ladder, crouching in the increasingly crowded maintenance room above. There was a single door out into the Hall of Justice, and Artemis marveled that this entrance hadn’t been better secured before.

Then again, it’s not like the Hall of Justice had been attacked all that often. And never as covertly as this group was attempting to do. Usually, it was treated like the landmark it was, and openly attacked in an effort to tear down the League’s symbol of power and protection in these parts. Not a bad plan, but one that had yet to actually succeed.

Meanwhile, this group of men sneaking in to attack the League in silence was already succeeding. Not only were they already inside the building, but the Justice League was entirely unaware of the threat.

Not for the first time, she second-guessed their decision to leave the League out of the loop on this one. The Light was dangerous, beyond dangerous. She knew their reasoning was sound...but they’d also banked on being able to take out the threat before the League was in any serious danger.

Their window to do so was rapidly closing.

Everyone pull out your rebreathers and get them on, Nightwing warned, from here on out, we don’t know what we’ll be facing, but it’s likely they already have the Fear Gas in here. We really don’t need anyone getting dosed if we can avoid it.

The team obeyed without complaint. Kid Flash looked especially unnerved by the idea of getting hit with the Fear Gas again.

Edging out into the hallway, bow half-drawn, Artemis could feel her heart hammering away in her chest. But the cavernous halls were empty. These back hallways, although rarely used, were still sized to fit Hawkwoman’s wings twice over. A smart design, given that the League consisted of many broad-shouldered heroes who tended to move in groups. The photographs on the walls showed the Justice League members accepting awards, making appearances, and even a few candid shots of them in action. It was something she’d often seen here, even discreetly marveled at when she was a new sidekick, and the familiarity brought comfort despite their urgency.

But the silence that filled the building left her feeling like a rabbit in a too-quiet forest. Just waiting for the predator to swoop down and strike.

The team rapidly cleared the nearest halls and rooms, finding no indication that anything was amiss.

Despite their hurry, their hustle, their pressing need to get this done now with the ever-decreasing time limit fast approaching, nothing was happening.

Alright, what’s going on here? Kid Flash asked, frowning. I thought there would be baddies everywhere, man.

Where are they? Artemis agreed, irritation flashing through her mind. This shouldn’t be taking so long. Why was it taking so long?

My guess is that they’re laying low until the League gets here, Nightwing posited. It’s what I would do. Find a strike zone, and hide my allies around it, ready to strike. Then we’d wait until the enemy was exactly where we wanted them.

But aren’t there supposed to be Kobra Venom dudes too? Kid Flash griped. They’re not usually very subtle. Or hide-able.

It didn’t take long to take effect in other situations. Aqualad sounded worried.

If it doesn’t take more than a minute to take full effect, I wouldn’t even dose them until the League is already exposed to the Fear Gas, Nightwing confirmed. Better to strike a minute later than to be caught out before the ambush.

So we’re looking for a bunch of hidden enemies, in a large building like this? Miss Martian worried her lower lip, looking around them.

Miss Martian, can you reach out through the building to find other minds? Nightwing asked suddenly. Artemis fought down an angry growl. It was obvious. Why hadn’t they done that sooner?

Hello, Megan! Miss Martian tapped her forehead with the heel of her hand, a habit she’d never really gotten rid of, and her eyes glowed a moment. They’re near the zeta tubes, in between the public access and the restricted access areas. There’s a hallway there with meeting rooms, and there’s a bunch of nervous minds in those rooms.

Let’s go, then.

The team ran through the building, only for Miss Martian to suddenly freeze.

Oh, no!

What is it? Aqualad asked, concerned.

The League just arrived. I can feel my Uncle J’onn, he just came through the zeta tube.

A pit grew in Artemis’ stomach. They had mere minutes to get things handled now. Without so much as a word, they took off sprinting in the direction of the goons. The building just had to be stupid big, and they just had to have started on the opposite end of the damn thing.

Time was ticking down to the end of their window.

The Justice League was walking into a trap.

A trap that could mean the end of the Justice League.

Artemis knew, perhaps better than most, that timing was essential in plots like these. And as they skidded to a halt, throwing open the door into the long, wide hallway, it felt like her heart stopped entirely.

The hall was filled with toxic green gas and the sound of increasingly panicked coughing.

They were too late.

The trap was already sprung.

Chapter Text

“Madame Babineaux, do you see the future?”

“What think you, little one?”

“I don’t think anyone sees the future, but you tell people their fortunes all the time. How do you know what to say, if you don’t see the future?”

“They are come to me not for the future help, but for the now comfort. I tell them what they are wanting to hear.”

“But how do you do that?”

“Little Dickie, let Madame tell you a secret. You must to be confident. If you can believe in your words, then they are believing too.”

“We’re too late.” Artemis’ voice wavered as she took a half-step back.

What do we do? Kid Flash asked anxiously through the link.

Already, they could hear the sounds of men crying out in pain as their bodies were agonizingly twisted into Kobra Venom monsters. It would be mere minutes before they emerged from the conference rooms along the hallway.

We’ve failed! Miss Martian wailed mentally.

“It’s okay to fail, Miss M. But it’s not okay to give up!” Nightwing declared, trying to push conviction he didn’t feel into his voice. His mind raced through a dozen half-finished thoughts as he heard the increasing panic both inside his head and to either side of him.

If you can believe in your words, then they are believing too. Maybe Madame Babineaux, the fortune teller of Haly’s Circus, was onto something.

“We can fix this.” Nightwing said firmly.

“How? We can’t fight all the Kobra Venom goons by ourselves! And we can’t subdue the Justice League to administer the antidotes!” Kid Flash yelped. “The Light has us in check mate!”

“Like a bad chess match.” Superboy rumbled, his brow furrowed in deep worry.

“You know what’s more fun than playing chess?” Nightwing took two steps forward, turning to look at the Team, earning a few startled looks. An idea was starting to form in his mind.

“What?” Miss Martian asked, eyes filling with tears as she obviously struggled to keep the oppressive panic of the room from spilling into her mind.

“Cheating at chess.” Nightwing grinned.

“What do you mean?” Aqualad asked. “How does that help us?”

“I brought extra pieces for the board.” Nightwing slung the bag off his back, ripping it open as he dropped it to the floor. He’d hoped not to do this, hoped he wouldn’t have to put their trust to the test like this.

“How do you do that with your bodies? Do you have less bones than me?”

“No, chico, we have just as many as you.”

“We’re just more flexible! We stretch and stretch, and then stretch some more.”

“But how? I stretch too, but I can’t do that with my legs!”

“Miguel, should we tell him our secret?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Mario, do you think he’s ready?”

“I’m ready! I’m ready, what’s the secret to doing this?”

“A contortionist is flexible-”

“-but not just in his body. It’s about the mind-”

“-about how flexible you are in the mind, chico.”

“What do you mean, flexible in the mind?”

“You have to see it before you can do it, see it in your mind.”

“Your body can’t move in ways your mind can’t imagine.”

“We’re going to have to get creative here. I need you to trust me.” Nightwing looked significantly at the Team. They did their best to focus on him, but the sounds of the Justice League beginning to truly panic behind them didn’t help.

“What’s in the bag?” Artemis asked, her voice more careful than it had been when she’d asked the same question on the flight earlier.

“Contingency plans.” Nightwing upended the bag, spilling out three devices he’d snagged from the BatCave.

A compact flame thrower, able to produce streams of burning napalm with a white phosphorus component that would maintain a flame even in a rainstorm.

A Cold Gun (a freeze ray, the boys had always insisted) confiscated from Mr. Freeze himself during a recent conflict, capable of freezing and encasing nearly anything in immediate ice.

And a lead-lined contraption that Bats had called a Kryptonite Dispersal Device, but Nightwing knew was basically a Kryptonite Bomb. Upon activation, it exploded in a cloud of shrapnel and finely-ground Kryptonite.

They were the weapons Batman had procured and produced in the event that he had to incapacitate the Justice League should they ever return to Gotham.

Nightwing could feel his heart lurching with each rapid beat in his chest as he briefly explained the devices. He knew the Team could read between the lines of what he was saying, could tell what these devices were intended for.

I need to disassemble these and use them to make something to disburse the antidote in the room, he explained over the mindlink, hoping that speaking directly into their minds would help to refocus them on the task at hand, and not on the sound of their mentors behind him. The gas would be clearing rapidly soon, and he needed them on board before they could see the panic and fear. Before they panicked more, too.

We don’t have much time, Wing. It’s impossible to create something like that in the couple minutes we have before the Kobra Venom goons strike. Kid Flash’s mental voice was on the edge of completely losing it, and Nightwing took a deep breath.

KF, I’ve been trained to do the impossible daily...and twice on Sundays. He winked at the speedster, catching a wobbly half-smile in return.

It would have to do.

Aqualad glanced at his team, took a breath, and nodded to Nightwing.

“Tell us your plan.”

“How do you lift so much, Andreas? You’re like the man from the story Daj told me about the man who holds up the world.”

“Like Atlas? You flatter me, vögelchen. I am strong, but not so strong as him. It is a secret I tell you, that I learn when I was child.”

“What secret, Andreas? Is it how to bend a steel spike with your hands? Or, or how you lift the González twins with one hand?”

“Ja, vögelchen, it is exactly this. To do these things, you must do two things first: you must to have strong base, and steady center. You prepare for success. If you do these, you will be one day terrible strong, like me.”

Nightwing pulled off his gloves, wanting the maximum dexterity in his fingers he could have. This was going to be tricky.

Miss M, I need you to create a force field around the Justice League to keep them contained. The Martian nodded shakily, tear-filled eyes glowing as she called up an iridescent dome to surround the panicking heroes. And just in time, too – Flash impacted the dome and staggered back, eyes unfocused with terror.

Artemis, I need one of your exploding arrows. The archer’s fingers trembled as she plucked one from her quiver and handed it to him. He nodded toward Miss Martian, and Artemis went wordlessly, linking her hand in her teammate’s, a silent support against what he assumed was overwhelming levels of panic coming from the League.

Already, they were mindlessly attacking her barrier. Colliding with it as they tried to flee or fell whatever horrors the Fear Gas had conjured in their minds.

It was harder than he’d expected to watch. Sure, he wasn’t necessarily a huge fan of heroes...but the blind panic was unnerving. They didn’t all react how he’d anticipated. Wonder Woman was fighting as he’d expected, Flash was a blur ricocheting through the dome, Green Arrow’s eyes tracked invisible enemies, bow half-drawn, but Aquaman stared in silent agony at something on the ground, hands half-outstretched as though he couldn’t bear to touch what he desperately wished to hold.

And Superman.

Superman knelt in the center of the dome, staring at his hands in open horror. He made no noise. No movement. He just...knelt there, tears running down too-pale cheeks.

Nightwing was well aware of what kind of horrific images the Man of Steel and the King of Atlantis must be facing.

Please hurry, Miss M called through the mind link, her mental voice strained and distressed, my uncle is fighting against the containment. I don’t know how much longer I can hold this.

Nightwing hadn’t seen Martian Manhunter inside the dome, but assumed he must have turned invisible.

His fingers darted through components, carefully detaching and reattaching pieces as he reassembled the three anti-League weapons into an antidote dispersal device. Somewhere in the back of his mind, B’s voice growled something about him being helpless against their powers if he disassembled all his contingency weapons. But he smothered it down, focusing on the task at hand.

He’d just have to trust that when this was all over, he’d either be able to slip away, or be able to trust the Young Justice heroes to have his back.

Here’s how this is going to go, he thought, fingers barely slowing has he turned a part of his attention to updating the increasingly anxious team on his plan.

KF, as soon as we’re ready, Miss M is going to drop the shield. I’m going to need you to run around the League fast enough to concentrate the Fear Gas in the middle. Can you go fast enough for that Nightwing glanced to the speedster, and got a nod of confirmation. Once it’s concentrated enough, Aqualad, I need you to use your water-bearers and send a burst of electricity into it. Oracle says it should combust if it’s concentrated enough.

That would get rid of the rest of the Fear Gas, and give space for the antidote to be breathed in.

“When you shoot, Grayson, you shoot to kill. A gun is a lethal weapon, and is intended to be used as such. Trick shots, like shooting out a knee during a pursuit, are impressive, but in the field they are impractical. When lives are at stake, and the situation calls for a weapon to be fired, you fire to protect yourself and the lives around you. You don’t risk missing. Do you understand me, cadet?”

“Yessir.”

“We can’t risk missing.” Nightwing muttered aloud, as he finished securing the last of the wires in the makeshift antidote...bomb...thing.

Honestly, it was a makeshift monstrosity that had entirely more improvisation than a world-saving device probably should, but it was going to work...maybe.

It had to work.

I can’t hold it much longer! Miss Martian called. She was half-supported by Artemis now, eyes squeezed tight against the strain of holding up her shield.

Drop the shield! KF, go! Nightwing ordered. The speedster took off, and the iridescent dome fizzled away, Miss Martian very nearly collapsing as it did, held up only by Artemis’ arm around her waist.

“Kon’El,” Nightwing turned to Superboy, “this is going to sound crazy. But I need you to throw me up to the center of where the dome used to be, and I need to be there now. It’s the only way to make sure this thing detonates where it’s supposed to.”

Superboy blinked, then nodded. Nightwing was reminded of his circus days as he carefully balanced his not-unsubstantial weight through his crouched legs into his feet planted in Superboy’s big hand. A sort of heady rush pulsed through him, and he found himself grinning maniacally behind his rebreather.

What I’m about to do has not been approved by the Vatican, he thought giddily.

As Superboy prepared to launch him bodily down the hallway – thank goodness for vaulted ceilings – Nightwing feld the world slow around him.

Kid Flash had just about formed a cyclone of sickly green, the concentration enough for Aqualad to pull back his arm, water-bearer already alight with electricity, ready for it to finish clearing the last of the League.

The Flash, blind in his panic, darted at the wrong angle, cutting off his younger counterpart.

Kid Flash tripped.

The spinning column of gas slowed.

Aqualad hesitated – if he lit it now, he could burn their mentors with the resulting gas combustion.

They’ll just have to forgive us later. Nightwing thought, and watched as his private thought – apparently transmitted through the mind link – steeled Aqualad’s resolve, and the whip of water lashed forward to lick the green miasma.

A column of swirling fire erupted, someone – several someones – shouted, Nightwing couldn’t spare the attention to figure out who.

“Now, Supes!” Nightwing shouted, and suddenly he was weightless.

“How do your hands find the balls and the torches and the rings? How do you find all the things you threw when you juggle, Ladislav? How do you remember them all?”

“Well, maličko, when you juggle as long as I juggle, you not think any more about it.”

“You catch them without thinking about it?”

“Yes. The balls will go where they are willing. And the body, it remembers how to catch them no matter how much there are. So you are trusting the body to remember how to move.”

Nightwing knew Superboy was strong. But he had not anticipated the sheer speed at which he hurtled through the air. Luckily, he’d flown many times.

He’d flown since he was a child.

And his body remembered.

It was like he was back above the floors of the circus, soaring between ropes just as his parents had. Arcing across the open air in a stunt that defied the pull of the earth below, snatching moments of freedom from the jaws of inescapable gravity. Pulling off tricks that made onlookers gasp in fear and awe.

And this? This would be one hell of a circus trick if he pulled it off.

He eyed the trajectory, then pulled the trigger – once attached to a mini flamethrower – to ignite both what was once the controlled explosive of a trick arrow and the larger incendiary of the ex-Kryptonite bomb. The shrapnel had been left on the floor far behind him, the lead-lined Kryptonite container tossed aside. What spewed out of the cannibalized bomb was a thick orange gas, which Nightwing dropped down into the center of the panicked Justice League heroes.

His flight continued forward, toward the back wall.

Nightwing used to fear falling, falling as his parents had. It had made climbing the trapeze the first time after Bruce had one installed in the Manor that much harder. But, on the platform, far above the unforgiving concrete – different from the concrete that took his parents’ lives and stained itself with their blood, but not different enough at eight years old – he remembered the way his mother and father taught him. Remembered what he’d nearly forgotten in the wake of horror and gnawing empty loss.

And now, flying over tile so different from those concrete floors, the lessons still sang in his mind and his blood.

“Dat, if I climb all the way up there, I’m going to fall.”

“It is true, you cannot fall if you do not climb. But my son, where is the joy in living your whole life on the ground? Besides, we want to fall!”

“You want to fall?!”

“Remember, my little Robin, that falling is the lifeblood of the trapeze. It brings us the momentum we need to move between the bars and the ropes.”

“If we do not fall, my son, we cannot fly.”

“I wanna fly, too.”

As Nightwing flew toward the end of the hall, he could almost imagine the gasping he heard was from the audiences he used to love performing for, rather than the heroes below trying to breathe through their rapidly diminishing panic. He could almost pretend the smoke was from the cannons and the firebreathers instead of Fear Gas and its aerosol antidote.

But all flights come to an end, and this one was going to end on the floor below, not a rope or platform.

This is going to hurt a little. His back was going to hate him when he tore all the wounds from Slade open again, but there was no other way to safely land now.

Nightwing twisted himself to land properly, loose knees to absorb some impact but planning to fall into a diagonal roll to disburse the energy and save his knees.

Then abruptly, something caught the back of his knees, scooping him into a bridal carry position. A heartbeat of panicked adrenaline lanced through his stomach at the prospect of landing back-first from such a height at such a speed.

But the ground didn’t rise up to meet him. Nightwing’s eyes snapped up to meet a grinning masked face under a shock of red hair.

“Nice of you to drop in like this, Wing!” Kid Flash crowed as he came to a stop and set Nightwing on his feet.

“Thanks for the save.” He returned with an easy smirk.

Did you not have an actual plan to land that impromptu flight?! Artemis’ mental voice sounded equal parts exasperated and worried. We just patched you up, what, a day or two ago?! You should have a plan to land before you go flying!

Jump first, look for a net second, is kinda my thing, Artie, Nightwing shot back with a smirk.

I can’t believe that worked, Miss Martian sighed, sounding exhausted but relieved.

Yeah, it was a stupid move, but it worked, Artemis agreed, adding, like most of your plans, it was just stupid enough to work.

No amount of evil planning will protect you from the sheer luck of a chronic dumbass, Nightwing grinned.

He spun at the sound of doors slamming open. A dozen hulking, twisted bodies poured out, the Kobra Venom having completed its transformation of its unfortunate victims.

We’re not out of the woods yet, team! Everyone, engage! Aqualad’s desperate call across the mind link had Nightwing rushing forward almost before he could decide to do so. We have to buy the Justice League time to come to their senses!

Nightwing zeroed in on a massive goon lunging for Green Arrow, whipping out his escrima sticks and slamming one into the goon’s gut.

It barely had an effect.

But the second stick colliding with his knee produced a sharp crack! and staggered his target.

Go for the joints! He called through the mind link. It’s the weakest spot on larger opponents. They’re not used to their size and weight yet, we can buy time if we can take out their knees!

Nightwing couldn’t afford to spare more than that thought as he felt a massive impact across his already-sliced back. His vision whited out for a moment, but his body rolled through the fall, bringing him up into a crouch facing his attacker.

These Kobra Venom-infused goons were faster than he’d anticipated, he realized as his head swiveled toward his opponent just in time to be faced with an impossibly large fist.

I’m so sorry, B, he thought, already knowing the impact would be more than his fragile human bones would be able to take.

But the hit didn’t come, instead the fist disappeared from his view to be replaced by a muscular figure standing tall in red and blue.

“So I take it you’re Nightwing?” Superman asked, his voice a jovial tone that his stern face didn’t match. “We need to talk about your name.” The Man of Steel flashed him a smile, then was gone before Nightwing could reboot his brain and come up with something witty to say.

Great. First meeting with Superman in costume and I’m getting my ass kicked, he thought wryly.

Hey, at least you didn’t trip over your own feet and give yourself a bloody nose against his knee! Came Kid Flash’s cheerful response. He really needed to work on shielding his thoughts more, if he was going to make this mind link thing work in the future.

The thought caught him off-guard, and he tried to shelve it for later, but as he moved out of the way of a Kobra Venom goon sent flying by a hero’s blow, he couldn’t help but wonder when he’d started considering a future where he’d be working with the team enough to need the mind link.

He wasn’t even really sure when they became the team and not Baby Justice League.

The fight was embarrassingly short after the Justice League got involved. Their experience and power would have been frightening if it had been directed anywhere but the twisted golems created by the Kobra Venom. The team assisted their mentors, but mostly got themselves out of the powerhouses’ way.

It made Nightwing wonder just how much they’d really held back when fighting the human vigilantes of Gotham. If they’d come at the Bat Clan with this kind of raw power and unrestrained force, they’d have killed at least one of the Gotham vigilantes by now.

That had to be why.

Despite their differences, it looked like the heroes of the Justice League were just as reluctant to kill as B and his brood.

Another thought to file away for when he wasn’t in the middle of a massive conflict in a confined space.

Superman’s blows sent the massive bodies of the Kobra Venom goons flying to smash into surprisingly well reinforced walls. Wonder Woman’s Lasso of Truth flashed through the air, giving her the leverage to practically lance herself through the fray. Nightwing didn’t want to imagine what those heeled boots felt like on impact.

Green Lantern’s eerily-glowing weapons – too close to the shade of the Fear Gas for Nightwing’s current taste – flashed here and there, carving a path through the mountains of drug-reinforced muscle. At his side, Green Arrow – funny, the Greens stick together – launched trick arrows through the fray, unbalancing or temporarily anchoring opponents for his teammates to take out.

Martian Manhunter and Aquaman worked in easy tandem, force, water, and electricity arcing and throwing the goons about like they were little more than ragdolls.

If they really wanted to take out the family, they would have just killed us, Nightwing thought, a hollow pit opening up in his stomach. He caught Artemis glancing toward him in what looked like worry, but had little time to overthink it with the constantly shifting combat around him keeping him moving. He withdrew carefully from the fray, dodging blows and bodies with practiced ease despite the throbbing protests of his partially-healed wounds.

There’s no way I could actually stop them from taking me. Not with my injuries and my contingencies dismantled.

Something in the mind link shifted, but Nightwing was too preoccupied with not getting laid out by an errant fist or flailing limb to pay it much attention. He needed to get out, and he needed to get out now.

Nightwing watched from the edges as the League systematically dismantled the Kobra Venom-fuelled assault. His back and arm pulsed in time with his racing heartbeat, and he felt no burning desire to re-engage in a clearly steeped battle. Instead, he slid through the fringes of the conflict to where he’d stood earlier with his team – the team – and quickly collected the scraps from his impromptu antidote bomb. No need to leave the Kryptonite or proprietary equipment, even dismantled as it was, for them to pick through.

The remnants of his antidote bomb were still in the middle of the conflict, and he wasn’t sure he’d have a chance to grab it before he would need to make his escape.

In fact, as he quickly zipped his bag and turned to make sure his team – the team, damnit – were alright, he realized it was already too late.

The dozen assailants were unconscious, incapacitated, or in most cases, both.

The Justice League of America was standing tall, victorious.

And looking at him.

The Young Justice team had at some point moved to stand halfway between the League and Nightwing.

They’d said they would defend him before. They said they wouldn’t bring him in bound and gagged, to be handed over to the Justice League.

They’d proven themselves allies in the past.

They’d defend him now.

...Right?

“You’re going to need to come with us, son.” Superman’s voice was level, but brooked no argument.

“Why do you tell so many stories about the past, Pop Haly?”

“We remember the past, Dick, because he past informs the present, my boy.”

As Superman and Wonder Woman took a step toward him, Nightwing was suddenly, absolutely sure that he was not going to see B or the boys for a very long time.

Then there were five bodies between him and the Justice League.

Miss Martian turned and winked a glowing green eye at him

Don’t worry, Wing. We’re not going anywhere.

Chapter Text

Aqualad sensed Nightwing’s surprise when the team formed a defensive wall between him and the Justice League, effectively placing him safely behind allies. He had to admit that he was a little surprised it had worked as quickly as it had – Superman had settled back on his heels, considering his options even as the rest of the League shared incredulous glances.

He idly noted, that the original mentors – Aquaman, Flash, and Green Arrow – looked the least surprised by the turn of events. In fact, they seemed to be exchanging long-suffering looks that could only be interpreted as ‘we should have seen this one coming’ commiseration between them.

If you wish to run, Nightwing, now would be your chance, Aqualad sent over the mind link to the anxious vigilante behind him.

All through the fight, he’d monitored the man’s mind, pleasantly surprised by his quick thinking under pressure, and calm reactions despite the chaos of his racing mind. He was reminded of waterfowl, placidly floating across the turbulent seas, their feet in constant rapid movement as they adjusted to the currents around them. But as the fight had wound down, he – and the rest of the team – had felt Nightwing’s anxiety and fear spike. By the time the League had turned to face them, Nightwing’s terror was pulsing through the mind link, and the Team was already in position to defend him.

He expected the flighty vigilante to take the chance and bolt, to leave them and disappear back into the dark alleys of Blüdhaven.

Nightwing’s mental voice – strong, steady, and sure, despite the racing beat of his fear – surprised Aqualad.

And become known as the vigilante that doesn’t clean up after himself? Perish the thought!

Aqualad risked a glance back, catching an exhausted but genuine smirk from their newest teammate. Something warm rose in his chest, and he had a sudden certainty that this would be resolved in their favor.

Because the Team was going to accept nothing less.

“Kaldur’ahm,” Aquaman was the first to speak, and Aqualad recognized the severe set of his heavy brows, “you will stand down and let us take this vigilante into custody.”

“Apologies, my King. But no.” Aqualad felt a sense of déjà vu, recalling a time when he and Kid Flash had stood unwavering between the same Justice League and a different new friend, declaring their right to decide their teammates and their path.

A chuckle from Kid Flash and a twitch of Superboy’s lip caught only in his peripherals told him he wasn’t the only one who recognized the echo.

“We did good work here with Nightwing. Were it not for his intervention and assistance, we would not have succeeded in thwarting the Light today, and this attack on the Justice League very well may have struck home.” Aqualad fixed each member of the League with the hard gaze he’d learned from his mentor, daring any of them to challenge his assertion.

“This attack has shown us that we are still vulnerable to perils from beyond our awareness,” Wonder Woman agreed slowly, “there is a need to fill gaps in our knowledge and monitor new threats.”

“Which is exactly why we need to shut down the black out vigilante schemes in Gotham!” Green Arrow declared firmly. “We cannot guard against what we do not know about, and the Batman’s insistence on keeping us out and his information in has led to an attack that endangered the world, not just Gotham! We need to either get that man and his sycophants to open up and share information, or clear them out entirely.”

Aqualad sighed internally, watching the man with impeccable aim entirely miss his point. But as he contemplated how to explain their decision, he felt a sudden surge of resolve through the mind link.

Coming from Nightwing.

Please don’t antagonize them, he begged without thinking.

Nightwing flashed him a cheeky grin as he stepped up beside the harried Atlantean. Only if they antagonize me first, he promised.

That’s not much of a promise, Kid Flash thought with ill-concealed glee.

“With all due respect, you are never going to get the Bat to agree to let any of you into his databanks. And unless you’ve all suddenly decided that rampant murder is your new MO as a League, you’ll never get him and his – what did you call them? Sycophants? - out of Gotham, either.” Nightwing’s voice was cheerful, and it was only through the copious amounts of time that Aqualad had spent with him combined with the mind link still connecting their minds that he was able to detect the uneasy, frightened tone underlying the bright voice.