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Blüdhaven is all mangled wires, the concrete walls of the warehouses weeping and dark. Jagged glass litters the damp floors, and light manages to creep through the broken windows. Rusty fans creak under a strong breeze through the walls, the scent of rain still heavy in the air. It's the carcass of what Blüdhaven used to be: a place of industry and commerce, a city with a bright future ahead of it.
It reeks of decay. It's as sad as it is beautiful.
Blüdhaven was a beautiful city once. Her ports had promise; maritime trade bringing wealth and good fortune for those who worked the docks. The stink of fish was a blessing. The stench still haunts her streets, an echo of a time before pollution tainted Blüdhaven's shoreline.
Her skeleton crumbles from disuse. The mill houses stand vacant, condemned and left to collapse. Some of the mills have been repurposed into shops, small places of refuge in the empty streets. The canals are clogged with refuse: clogged arteries in an aging port city. Blüdhaven's infrastructure is crumbling, a fallen bridge near the harbor a silent reminder of her age. The asphalt streets are bleached by the sun and cracked, the apartment buildings decrepit.
Neon lights hang off the sides of the mill houses. The modern advertising an amusing juxtaposition with the Victorian architecture.
During the night Blüdhaven is a beacon.
Beneath the old and forgotten, a new face is emerging, born from the city's poverty and desperation, where its people have come together to rebuild. In spite of Blüdhaven's poverty and suffering, its people still have hope of something greater.
Blüdhaven still smells of promise, over a century and a half later. It's that promise that attracts Nightwing.
Nightwing hails from Blüd's sister, Gotham. Gotham and Blüdhaven were New Jersey's most promising port cities, and both were left to wither after boom became bust and people began to move elsewhere. Gotham still holds a bit of that wealth, some old money like the Wayne family refusing to move as the economy became less industrial and more service-based.
Blüdhaven welcomes Nightwing like an old friend. She can smell it in his blood - he knows poverty, of what hunger can bring out of people. He believes in rehabilitation, unafraid of ambiguity like the Bat is. Between old concrete and brick, Nightwing makes the city his home. Soon enough, Nightwing and Blüdhaven are one.
They are a beacon of new beginnings. They are rebirth.
It was a really bad night.
Dick had a feeling from the start that patrol wouldn’t go well. The sky was gray and dark all day, filled with heavy, roiling clouds. The air was muggy and miserable. He had slept in later than he had wanted to, yet exhaustion still clung to him. The humidity was making his knee act up, and icing it did little to help the inflammation. He tried to massage the knots out of his neck muscles.
The walk from his apartment was unpleasant, Blüdhaven’s streets smelled of damp asphalt and sweat. One of his kids from the intermediate gymnastics class, Mora, landed wrong after doing a handspring unsupervised - Dick had gone to put away some of the mats before hearing the audible snap and the sound of agonized sobbing.
Her parents quickly drove the middle schooler to the hospital. Dick couldn’t recall most of the day after that.
The east coast was experiencing record numbers of rain this summer, flooding Blüdhaven’s aging sewer system and flowing into the streets. The roads were flooded with polluted waters, shining and iridescent under an overcast sky. The days had swept together into one gray blur, dull strokes of oil painted haphazardly on a canvas. Life in Blüdhaven painted a dreary picture.
The slog back to his apartment kicked up sewer water with each step, ruddy water encircling his ankles. Warm, fat droplets of rain trickled down the small of his back and Dick tried not to gag. He turned the corner down Merriam Street and wrinkled his nose. The water this way smelled of gasoline and feces. The sewer lines must have burst. Dick should have called a taxi.
The flooding near his apartment nearly reached his knees, seeping into his basketball pants. The warm material clung to his calves, and his sneakers made a miserable squelching sound as he trudged up the stairs.
Dick peeled off his soiled clothes as soon as he walked in the door, flinging them haphazardly into his dirty laundry pile.
He crashed on the couch for an hour, sleeping dreamlessly until he was jolted awake by his alarm. Dick groaned, wiping an arm over his eyes. His head ached something fierce. The throbbing pain seemed to swell behind his left eye, like someone had taken a screwdriver and wedged it into the socket. The mental image made him wince.
Laundry was piled in a chair by the door, and it had grown while he wasn’t looking. Two piles of bills were strewn about on the countertop. There was a pile of sediment near the door that he was supposed to vacuum up a week ago.
Dick usually didn’t let things in the apartment get this bad. Over the past few months all the energy seemed to have bled out of him. He spent over two hours staring at his bed, trying to will himself to make it. The sheets still lay tangled at its foot days later. He just couldn’t see the point in cleaning his apartment. He couldn’t see much of a point in most things, now.
The fridge was full of spoiled food. Dick opted for a granola bar and some slices of cheese before chugging an energy drink that Tim had left in the fridge from earlier this week. It was enough to make it through patrol, probably.
His joints were stiff as he pulled on his Nightwing costume. Crime was low this month by virtue of the miserable weather, but it would be irresponsible of him to stop patrolling because of it. It was the only thing Dick was able to cobble together energy for.
Night fell on Blüdhaven. With the heavy clouds, one would hardly notice the difference. Dick could just barely make out a sliver of orange through the clouds, narrow rays peeking through a thick blanket of gray.
If only the goddamn rain would let up soon. The feeling of it on his skin made him feel ill.
Nightwing crawled silently to the window’s edge and aimed his grapple. He used the dying rays of the skyline to light his way.
His usual patrol route was quiet. He could hear little over the roar of the flood waters in the streets below. If the weather kept up like this, people needed to evacuate. He needed to be ready for when that time came. He needed to keep vigilant for people trying to navigate Blüd’s flooded alleyways, the streets that wound through the city like spiderwebs.
He was nearly back to his apartment when a shriek pierced the air some ways off. The rain came down harder, and visibility was low. He was barely able to make out two figures in the street below.
Nightwing leapt from the roof of a lower building, rolling forward to cushion his fall. His headache blurred his vision and he landed too hard, irritating his bad knee even more.
It took a brief moment to make out what was happening. A man in a dark jacket pinned a smaller figure to a wall, one hand around their mouth and the other snaking under their shirt. The smaller figure tried desperately to wrench the hand from their mouth, and the other hand was slowly drifting lower -
Nightwing cut as quickly as he could through the dark water, grabbing the large man by the coat and burying a fist into his gut. He doubled over, and Dick unsheathed one of his escrima sticks and brought the club down on the base of the man’s skull. His body went limp and collapsed into the water with a splash.
Nightwing had to pull the unconscious man to the sidewalk so he wouldn’t drown, and called the BPD to pick them up.
He turned to the second figure, a smaller man who had already started running down the alley and into the night. He called after the retreating figure, but they had already disappeared down the block.
Aiming his grapple, Nightwing crawled up the fire escape and onto the roof. His heart was pounding in his ribcage, each beat thunderous. He couldn’t hear the flood below over the sound of blood roaring in his ears.
The rain was warm.
The rooftop overlooked the city, a concrete monster.
The sickly orange light near the door hit the puddles on the roof just right…
His costume suddenly felt too tight, feeling every inch of the lycra clinging to his skin. Fat droplets of water dribbled down between his shoulder blades, and the warm rain felt so much like fingertips it made him gag.
He was alone on the rooftop. He knew rationally he was alone on the rooftop. So then why did he feel hands all over him?
Dick tried to wrench out of their grip, stumbling backwards. He landed hard on his tailbone. The hands were still caressing him. Their gentleness burned.
He was laying on his back on a rooftop. The rain was warm. The hands went lower.
He was alone on the rooftop.
Dick lurches forward and gags again. His stomach flips and his throat closes up. His salivary glands swell and flood his mouth, and he pukes on himself. It was mostly bile, and he felt bits of partially digested granola on his teeth. The smell jerks him back into the moment, his knee pounding harder than before. His head seems to scream at him.
Shakily regaining his balance, he limps to the rooftop’s edge. He wasn’t far from his apartment now. He needs to change, shower, and get some sleep. He could do those things.
He feels a hand caressing his chest and flinches, screwing his eyes closed. The stench of bile brings him back again.
Dick manages to crawl back through his window just before dawn breaks. He’s soaked through, and he’s in desperate need of a shower and some pain medicine. A little bit of sleep, and he’d be right as rain again.
Right as rain. Maybe that idiom wasn’t appropriate for the circumstances.
Knowing his luck, plans of rest and relaxation don't seem to be in the cards for him. Dick’s heart sinks as he spots the darkened figure lounging on his couch.
It’s Jason. The red helmet looks a dull brown in the low light, placed on Dick’s new coffee table. Smugness radiates from his younger brother in waves as he cleans his guns in front of him. From the guns to the raised shoulders, he can already tell that Jason is pissed, and probably wants to pick a fight with him right now.
And Dick just had another embarrassing fit before coming here, emotions still raw and oozing like an open sore.
He seriously considers turning around, leaving Jason alone again. Dick reminds himself that this is his apartment, and braces himself.
Jason is still watching him, and Dick knows his brother’s nonchalance is fake. He feels Jason’s eyes boring into him as he fishes ibuprofen from one of the kitchen cabinets.
“You look like shit, Dickie.”
Dick pointedly ignores the jab and swallows the pills dry. “What do you need from me, Jay?”
His brother doesn’t answer. Instead, he wrinkles his nose. “Is that puke?”
Glancing down at himself, Dick grimaces. He wasn’t exactly expecting guests at this hour, especially not at a time like this. He tries again. “What do you need from me at this hour, Jason.” It’s no longer a question.
Jason stands, and Dick remembers how much taller his baby brother is nowadays. He towers over him, a mass of muscle in the dark. It puts him on edge.
“I need you to send a message to dear ol’ dad for me.”
Dick grips his countertop so hard his knuckles turn white. It always came back to Bruce, didn’t it? His relationship with his younger brother was rocky, at best. It was improving, but at the end of the day their truce was tenuous. Their adopted father was a perpetual wedge between them, driving Jason further and further away.
“He’s been fucking up some of my operations in the Bowery, recently,” Jason pointed a finger accusingly at Dick. “He knows Crime Alley is my territory. If I see him and Robin there again I’ll kick them out by force.” His face twisted at the name, disgusted.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dick braces himself. “I don’t understand why I have to be the one to tell him this. I haven’t exactly been around Gotham recently.”
Jason scoffs as if the answer is obvious. “The last time we had a little chat he beat me up and threw me in Arkham. We aren’t exactly on speaking terms. You’re the golden child here, you tell him.”
“You tried to kill Tim. You killed dozens of people. I’m not exactly sure how he was supposed to respond to that.”
A finger jabs into his shoulder, hard. It’s a warning. “I don’t care about Batman’s stupid fucking morals. Clearly, leaving rapists and terrorists alive hasn’t exactly been working for him, unless he likes them breaking out and killing more civilians. My methods are working, believe it or not. So tell him to keep his ass out of my territory, or I might actually kill my replacement for real next time.”
The line about Tim is another barb. Dick is trying very hard not to pick a fight with Jason right now. His headache is a jackhammer behind his eyes. His knee is crying for him to rest. The acrid smell of bile burns his nostrils. Jason’s breath smells like cigarettes.
Shoulders sagging, Dick pushes past his younger brother. “I’ll tell him what you said. Now get out of my house.”
Jason blocks his path, probably just to be obstinate. His brother’s eyes rake over his rain-soaked body. It made him want to crawl out of his skin.
Anger boils beneath his skin suddenly and he clenches his fists. “I will tell Bruce what you said,” Dick hisses. “I just want to go the fuck to sleep. If you would excuse me, I am going to bed.” He didn’t have the energy for a shower anymore. He was going to get out of this costume and let sleep take him.
The pale blue fingers of dawn crept through his window. Dick grimaced. It was already pretty late.
“You look like shit,” Jason was blunt as always. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Rough patrol. Now go away.”
Jason sniffs, disbelieving. He steps out of Dick’s way, though, which counts as a win. A thought seems to come across Jason’s mind and he grabs his brother by the shoulder.
“Don’t touch me!” Dick shrieks, wrenching out of Jason’s grip. His heart pounds painfully in his chest, and suddenly there were hands all over again.
He digs his fingernails into his arms, backing into the fridge. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch - I don’t want it, please.”
The figure backs away from him, but he can still feel someone on top of him, their hands and their lips trailing lower.
He doesn’t check to see if the figure leaves as he rushes to his bedroom. He slams the door shut behind him and peels off his rain-soaked uniform and boxers. The Nightwing costume is so tight it feels like it’s suffocating him. Rainwater and grime cling to his hair as he towels it dry, rubbing so hard it takes off the skin on his neck. He should probably take a shower, but he’s had enough of feeling rained on tonight.
Flopping gracelessly onto the mattress, the darkness of sleep comes quickly.
Dick pries his eyes open, his alarm shrill and loud. He doesn’t remember what he dreamed about, and it doesn’t feel like he’s slept much at all. The clock says it’s noon, and the gym’s opening shift is in a few hours. The headache seems to have abated, so he tries his knee. A sharp jolt of pain travels down his leg as he bends it. He must have aggravated it during patrol.
He hears the beat of rain on the window sill. It’s still fucking raining.
He feels dirty and miserable. The events of the night before weigh heavily on him, and shame balloons in his chest.
Jason saw him have another episode last night. He doesn’t understand why what happened with Catalina is still haunting him like this. It was months ago, yet those long minutes on the rooftop keep looping in his mind over and over.
And it wouldn’t even be the first time someone had taken advantage of you like this, a small voice in his head reminds him.
But he’s always been able to bounce back before. He’s recovered from worse , Dick reminds himself.
But it’s been eight months, and he’s still not getting better. It’s as exhausting as it is frustrating.
Dick still hasn’t told anyone about that night. Still hasn’t told anyone about the weeks in the hotel room after that. He wanted the secret to die with him, but now he’s almost certain Jason has an idea of what’s going on now. And Jason, just like everybody else in this goddamn family, never knows when to stop prying. They’re like a pack of bloodhounds closing in on injured game.
And that game is Dick this time around.
He isn’t even sure if Jason left after his little fit in the kitchen. Dick would have noticed if Jason had followed him into his room, so small mercies there. He doesn’t want to face the embarrassment of seeing his brother so soon after.
There were sounds of shuffling in the living room. Jason must still be here, then. He groaned and stretched his shoulders, back popping loudly. He sluggishly rolled out of bed and smacked his lips. His mouth tasted awful. He gingerly made his way down the hall and to the kitchen.
There was a skillet of scrambled eggs on the counter, and a stack of toast. Dick stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending. To his left, Jason cleared his throat awkwardly. “You smell terrible.”
Dick just blinked at his brother. “You made me eggs?”
Jason looked very out of place. “It was the only thing in your fridge that hadn’t gone bad.”
Okay. That was odd, but Dick generally trusted that Jason wouldn’t poison his food. Did his brother need another favor? Had something happened while he was asleep?
Dick squirted sriracha on his plate of eggs and wolfed them down. They were really good, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had a proper meal. The toast was buttery and the eggs were scrambled and fluffy just like Alfred’s. Jason had always been the better cook out of all his siblings.
He could still feel his brother’s presence just behind his left shoulder. Not wanting to break the peace between them, Dick projected a calm air and asked, “Why are you still here, Jason?”
His brother moved from behind him and into his line of sight, and Dick tried very hard not to tense. “I checked the news. There’s going to be a storm tonight, and it’s going to be bad. They’re saying the entire coast is going to flood and people need to get out of here before they get trapped in their homes.”
The drumbeat of rain on the window was as harsh as ever. Jason was offering to help evacuate the city. As much as he disagreed with his baby brother’s methods, Dick knew he had the best intentions at heart. It made him proud that Jason had wanted to stay behind to save people in need. He considered calling into work today, but he doubted people would want to head to the gym on a day like this. “I can suit up as soon as I’m done eating.”
Jason grimaced and shook his head. “No way, Dickhead. You need to shower first. I refuse to work with someone who smells like they’re Killer Croc’s roommate.”
Dick pouted dramatically. “My baby brother is so mean to me.”
He watched as Jason rolled his eyes hard enough to strain himself. “Whatever. Just get ready to go and we can head out.”
Kicking a dirty pair of sweatpants out of the way, Dick ambled to the shower. He was relieved that Jason hadn’t mentioned what had happened last night. He really wasn’t in the mood to explain himself, so he was glad that Jason decided not to pry. Turning the heat up all the way, he let the water scald his skin.
It was clear now that he hadn’t slept off any of the anxiety of last night. He could feel the uneasiness in his stomach, still unsettled. He’d prefer not to lose the first real breakfast he’d had in half a year.
He scrubbed his skin until it felt raw. Even showering has become a source of anxiety nowadays. He hated being in his body now, and sometimes Dick barely felt like a person in his own skin. He used to be proud of his body - he was a gymnast, pushing himself to his limits and then even harder, accomplishing the impossible. Now he just felt large and lumbering, with arms too long and legs too clumsy.
Dick toweled himself off quickly and fumbled for his costume. The one he had worn last night was still rancid, and it was hard to find one that wasn’t dirty. It’s not like there was a laundromat for hero costumes, after all. Cleaning his suit in the apartment was a trial and a half on a good day.
Pulling on the costume that smelled the least, he tried to ignore the way it clung to his body. He re-entered the kitchen and found his brother typing on a burner phone.
“How are we feeling, Jaybird?”
Jason stood, holstered his gun and frowned. “Peachy.”
The flooding was worse than Dick had anticipated. What water had been up to his ankles yesterday evening was nearly to his knees now, and the rain would not abate any time soon. The flood waters were a dark sludge, brown and gray and it stunk. Both he and Jason stuck to grappling from roof to roof to the best of their ability.
Both their comm channels were tuned into the BPD’s radio, tracking if any emergency services had been deployed yet. The current was bad enough to carry cars off the road; both he and Jason had cut a man out of his seat belt and pulled him from his car just before it sank into the harbor. Forget about hydroplaning, they’ll have an entire parking lot in the bay at this rate. There were families that had crawled to their windows, and both he and Jason had been taking turns grappling them onto the roofs of taller buildings where they could be evacuated by air later.
The two of them had gotten into a routine depositing people onto the roof of a nearby shopping center. The rain was coming in hard, tendrils of wind lashing out and stinging his face. Dick envied his brother’s helmet right now. Visibility was low, and he was struggling to find a place where his grapple could land. What he could see, he couldn’t land without the wind interfering with the lines.
The storm was nearly on them, and thunder roared from above. Lightning danced across the sky, blinding them both when it struck a nearby lamppost. Dick pressed a finger to his comm. “Hood, it’s getting bad out here. We should find shelter before we get caught in it.”
He could barely see his brother’s outline in front of him. “There’s a warehouse nearby we can hide out in until it settles.”
The warehouse was just uphill from the worst of the flooding, and right near the shopping center. They slipped in through a window on an upper floor and slammed it shut behind them. The lenses of his Nightwing mask adjusted to the darkness.
The building was eerily quiet compared to the raging storm outside. The window that they had entered through rattled dangerously in the dark.
“You looked like a drowned cat,” Jason noted.
“...Thanks.”
They both lapsed into an awkward silence as rain pelted the building. At least Jason wasn’t trying to argue with him this time, and his verbal jabs didn’t have much bite to them. They even worked well as a team today.
It reminded him of what things used to be like. It reminded him when Jason would shyly explain how excited he was to take a new writing class, and shared his stories with Dick. His story of a flying dog had won an award.
Dick remembered that day. It was one of the few times he was back at the manor, and Jason had absolutely beamed at him when he showed him the bright tassel. They had gone out for ice cream afterwards, and Jason had made fun of him for liking the mint chocolate chip.
It was when Bruce was a little kinder, and Dick a little angrier. Now he just felt sad. He should have been better to his brother.
“You know I’m still proud of you, right?”
Jason’s face was inscrutable under the helmet. Dick took this as a cue to continue. “I know that things are tough right now, and I know you and Bruce don’t exactly get along-” he heard Jason scoff beside him, “-but you know he still loves you, right? He thinks the world of you. Your death destroyed him, you know. He still wants you to come home.”
Dick inhaled a shaky breath. “I’m really sorry about how I acted when Bruce made you Robin. I was angry and took it out on you, and you didn’t deserve that. I couldn’t have asked for a better person to take up the mantle, and I couldn’t have ever asked for a better baby brother.”
Jason had just been a kid when he died. Just an innocent kid who loved to read and who had been hounding Bruce for another dog before he died. A child who would never get to go to high school, who would never get a shot at a normal, stable life. A child who never really had a chance at a future.
“Did you hit your head before you got here?”
Dick deflated. “Jason-”
“ No. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, but if you see the way Bruce treated me and think that what’s between us was fixable, then you really are insane. I don’t care if he wants me home. If he feels sorry about locking me away he can apologize himself. The last thing I need is you playing defense for him.”
“But-”
“I don’t understand you at all, Dickhead. I don’t know what happened after I died, but you kissing his ass like this was the last thing I expected. You used to fight with him all the time, you hated each other. You couldn’t stand being in the same room as him. And now you’re rolling over and groveling on his behalf.”
His hand subconsciously drifted to his jaw. Things were really bad after Jason had died. Dick wasn’t really there for most of it, after Bruce had punched him and threw him out again. But Bruce was never the same after Jason. The grief destroyed the man he used to be.
“I grew up. I realized that holding onto my anger wasn’t worth destroying my relationships with my family,” he wiped dirty water from his forehead, “ please Jason. I know if we work together we can fix this-”
“I don’t want to be fixed!” Dick could feel the heat even through the voice modulator. “I don’t want a relationship with Bruce. I don’t want to go back and pretend what happened between us was okay. I thought you out of everyone would understand that.”
Dick winced. He did understand that, once. But Bruce was family, whether they wanted that or not. No Robin could ever quite escape Batman’s influence.
Jason is a wall of a man, and the weight of his grief drags him down. He sags, collapsing in on himself like a dying star.
“God, Dick, it’s just - I died , and it seemed like everything I fought for never mattered. I got another chance and all I see is more of the same. The same pain, the same hunger, the same death. I come back and the Joker is still alive. I keep fighting, and it’s never enough. I’m never enough. I do what I do because I want to save people,” Jason shudders again. “But I’m just so angry all the time and I keep killing because that seems like the only solution. The world is so bleak, and I can’t even think of a good reason to keep going, anymore.”
There’s a pause, then Dick wraps his younger brother in his arms. It’s the first time he’s had this in years. The comfort is bittersweet. He gently cards his hand through his brother’s hair, massaging circles into his scalp. Jason sinks into him, and he feels a wetness on his shoulder as he weeps silently. Sirens cry in the distance.
“Jason, I’m sorry. You know I love you, baby bird.”
“I know. I know.”
There was silence in the warehouse, the drumbeat of rain the only sound in the darkness. Everything was so fucked up now, nothing but pain and darkness. Nobody was ever quite clean. Dick feels dirty, and he can feel Blockbuster’s blood on his face again. He feels like a stranger in his own skin.
The moment doesn’t last. Jason pulls away and sniffs, and Dick feels cold in his brother’s absence.
Jason sighs and crosses his arms, angry again. “The rain is letting up soon. We’ll continue this later. We also need to talk about whatever happened last night, but there are probably people who need our help right now.”
His stomach rolled at the mention of the night before. He had hoped, stupidly, that his brother had forgotten about it. Dick nodded silently. His knee ached.
The rain had let up finally, slipping through the window and onto the metal roof. Pain arced up his leg as he adjusted himself. The air was thick and oppressive, and sea salt burned his nose. He could smell Blüdhaven's harbor even a half mile inland.
Torrents of floodwater rushed downhill and into the city streets, watching as empty cars floated downstream and piled up in a nearby intersection. Dick flipped his comm back to the police radio to track distress calls, motioning for his brother to do the same.
Static blared loudly in his ear. Dick couldn't quite make out what the clipped words through the interference.
Dick turned to his brother and tapped his comm. "We should split up for our search, going block by block starting near the harbor and working inland. Keep your comm line open and call for backup the second there's complications."
He could already see Jason beginning to disagree, but his brother pauses. “I’ll take Second Street if you take Thatcher. We reconvene in an hour and reassess. Splitting up is a dumb idea but we’ll cover more ground that way.”
His brother aims his grapple and heads east without bidding him goodbye.
Dick heads down Thatcher and the interference in his communicator clears. There’s a call for backup near the older mill buildings near the canals, which had taken the brunt of the flood.
One of the old mill buildings near the canal was converted into a shopping district over a decade ago. It's currently being used as a refuge for anyone living near the harbor, and is on the verge of caving in. The harbor around the mill houses overflowed during the storm, sending tonnes of ocean water into buildings well over 180 years old. Some of the abandoned factories collapsed in on themselves, unable to withstand the weight of the torrential flood. Mill number four, the only mill that had been updated, still stands.
The mill houses that had housed industrial workers for decades were flattened, those who still lived in them escaped to mill four. According to the report there are over one hundred people seeking refuge there. Many who lived near the mill resided in low income housing. The homes nearest to mill four were over a century old at least, and were falling apart long before the storm. There would be significant casualties when people’s homes collapsed on top of them.
Despite its update, mill four’s aging infrastructure couldn't withstand the water from the nearby canal. The evacuation process to the roof has been delicate and excruciatingly slow.
Nightwing grapples to the roof, which is busy with panicking civilians. The helicopter can only carry thirty people at a time, and getting them into the cabin is taking longer than they had expected. Some needed to be taken in a gurney, which significantly decreased the helicopter’s capacity. Medical personnel needed to stabilize any who had been injured, and time was not on their side.
Another issue is the roof. It's clear that the water damage to the structure is significant. The ceiling to his left is sagging, bits of waterlogged plaster crumbling into the flooded street below. The building shudders, the floorboards creaking loudly as the mill building settles. There is a limited amount of space on the roof, which means that there are still people inside.
The stairway is crowded with people desperate to escape. Dick has to grapple down to a window and crawl inside to gain access to the building. Thankfully, there are only a handful of people that need to be evacuated from the lower floors, which means the helicopter can evacuate the rest.
There is a commercial building on higher ground a block away, and Dick needs to grab them one by one and drop them off before the mill caves in. the building shudders again, a loud crack sounding like a gunshot.
He grabs the first civilian, a young man in his twenties, and hooks an arm under his armpit. The man snakes his arm around Dick’s waist to hold on, and he struggles not to shudder at the contact.
There are five people on the lower floors that need to be evacuated. The helicopter has lifted the remaining people on the roof and will take fifteen minutes to return, which is time they do not have. Luckily, none seem to be injured, so bringing them to higher ground is easy without putting someone’s safety at risk.
Once the last five are moved, Nightwing makes a final sweep of the building. Upon entering the staircase on the ground floor, he freezes. There’s the sound of labored breathing to his left. He turns, and his stomach drops.
His student from his gymnastics class, Mora, is huddled in the corner. There’s a plaster cast wrapped around her ankle, bright pink in the muddled darkness. The plaster was coming apart and damaged by the water, and tears stained the girl’s cheeks. Dick hadn’t seen her parents on the roof or in the building. She was here alone. Mora spotted him and seemed to brighten.
“...Nightwing? Oh thank god, I thought I was gonna die here. I can’t get up the stairs because I broke my leg,” Mora sniffed. “I don’t know where my parents are. They went ahead of me and left me here.”
Dick grimaced. “Hey, it’s going to be okay, but I need to get you out of here. I can carry you, but the roof-”
The sound of the roof coming down is thunderous, and the building shakes so hard Dick falls. They’re both out of time. He grabs Mora and shoves them both in an alcove under the stairs, covering her with his body. He hears as each floor comes down above them, and braces for impact.
Something heavy falls onto him, and he screams as something sharp lodges itself into his back. Dick’s ears are ringing as the rubble settles. Mora is sobbing underneath him, thankfully still alive. Whatever heavy object that had fallen onto him shifts, and falls to the ground with a clatter. He paws at his back, crying out again as his hand brushes whatever had lodged itself into his side. He tries to cough up the dust that coated his mouth and throat and gags. Every movement hurts so much he can barely think. Cracking open his eyes, Dick tries to assess the situation.
The alcove under the stairs protected them from most of the falling rubble, the air pocket it created kept them alive. There’s a crack in the wall to their left, which is wide enough to crawl through if they were delicate about not shifting the rubble. He could see the street from the opening, and the two of them would have to swim to higher ground while injured.
They could stay here and wait for someone to find them, but there was the risk of being crushed by the rubble. If they escaped, there was also the possibility of drowning in the canal.
Dick could hear the sound of water rushing into the collapsed building. Neither option seemed good. Biting his lip, he made a decision.
“Are you injured besides the leg? There’s an opening in the wall here, and if we’re careful we’ll be able to get out of here. I can help you out if you can’t reach.”
Mora crawled out from underneath him and sat up. Her movement jostled his side, and he bit his cheek so hard he tasted blood. She hopped on one leg to the opening in the wall, assessing. “I can do it on my own, I think. Are you okay? I heard you scream when the mill came down.”
Dick stands and wavers, feeling lightheaded. The pain in his back is sharp. He looks down, and he can see a bit of rebar sticking through his side, exiting through his abdomen. There’s a lot of blood leaking out onto the floor, rusty and dark.
“I think I can manage,” He lies.
His student hoists herself through the hole and crawls out into the street. If he could think straight, Dick would probably be proud of her core strength, which had improved a lot in the past few months. It takes a few tries for him to get through, and he’s in so much pain he nearly blacks out. He finally hoists himself out of the hole and onto an elevated pile of rubble nearby, water up to his waist.
Dick tries to stand, but the pain in his side is too much. Blood steadily flows from the wound, the water around him is stained red. Mora is hovering beside him, hands worrying over his prone form.
“Do you think you can swim from here? There’s a building a block away from here, the one that has the advertisement for Blüdhaven Jewelers on the front. There are other people there that evacuated, and I need you to go and ask them for help, okay? They’ll help you.”
Mora shakes her head. “But I’ll have to leave you here.”
“That’s - that’s okay. You can tell them to send someone back, but you’re not safe here. The rest of the building could come down, and you won’t be able to find your parents by staying here.”
That seemed to be enough for her. Mora nodded at him, stating, “I’ll get help, and I will come back for you. Thank you for saving my life, Mr. Nightwing.”
Dick huffs a laugh as she swims away, leaning against one of the mill’s few standing walls. He tries his comm, but no luck. It must have been damaged when the building came down. He winces as the device makes an odd squealing sound in his ear. Hopefully Jason will realize something is up when Dick doesn’t reconvene in an hour.
The pain in his side is unbearable, but there isn’t anything he can do but wait.
Dick waits, but help doesn’t come.
The water is green and tepid, stretching into infinity. The Atlantic has come to Blüdhaven's streets, buildings of sun bleached concrete barely peeking out over the lolling waves. For the first time in weeks Dick could see the sky, a robin's egg blue filled with fluffy white clouds. Beneath him, the flood is teeming with marine life. An Atlantic Halibut encircles a road bike, still chained to a rack several feet below the surface. Cod swim lazily out of a bakery window. A crab busies itself by digging through a floating trash bin. In the water's reflection, there is a gleaming rainbow.
The world is silent, an exhale after the storm. The waves crash gently against the roof of the shopping center.
The world is always so beautiful after it ends, Dick thinks idly.
The water is warm as it laps at his sides, tugging him into the emerald bay. Tendrils of red are washed away as he bleeds sluggishly. The rhythm of the waves continue to jostle the rebar, sending spikes of pain through his side. The salt water burns. The pain in his abdomen radiates and then drains away to numbness. Jason was right, splitting up was a stupid idea. Now he'll die here, another body floating in the harbor.
He can see them in the distance, bobbing face down as they crest over the waves. They were the people he was too late to save. Minnows pick at their flesh as they ripen in the midday heat, decaying fast in the ocean’s water.
They say that seafarers walked a delicate boundary between the living and the dead, dancing along its fringes. Dick shifts as sediment billows out from under him. He isn’t quite alive, but not yet dead. He drifts in limbo, waiting for the dark.
Seagrass tangles itself around his legs as he bleeds out, utterly alone. He stares into the brilliant blue of the sky, accepting death as it comes. The world fades away.
Consciousness comes slowly. He drifts in and out of awareness, not quite attuned to the world around him. Dick’s body feels heavy and too large, like he’s a small sliver of awareness in an empty cavern. He can’t muster the energy to open his eyelids. After drifting for some time, he starts to feel the warmth of the water lapping at his side. The breeze is cool, and a mist of sea salt covers him.
Dick tries to inhale but doubles over coughing. His lungs rattle, and he hacks up the fluid that was building in his lungs. His side is on fire and he lets out an agonized whine, hot tears dribble down his cheeks. The twisted rebar is still lodged in his side. From the position of the sun above him, it seems that very little time had passed while he was unconscious.
His fingers feel numb as he fumbles for his comm. It, like everything else, is encrusted in sea salt and grime. It continues to blare static at him, but he presses the button that activates the distress signal anyway. Dick doesn’t have the energy to cry for help, and he doubts that anyone is close by to hear him anyways. This is his only chance, and it’s a slim one.
He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but he hopes that Jason will notice his absence. He tries to strategize about a way to get to safety, but his thoughts aren’t exactly coherent right now. There’s sounds of a disturbance to his left, but he can’t muster up enough energy to turn and check. Stars dance in his vision, and in spite of the summer heat he’s shivering.
There’s a splash and then cursing. In the edge of his vision, he sees Jason doggy paddling towards him. The sight of his six-one brother paddling towards him is deliriously funny, and he laughs so hard his side hurts.
The water brushing against his side is red. He doesn’t remember bleeding that much.
“You are a fucking idiot,” Jason grumbles. He doesn’t sound angry, just stressed. “I leave you alone for an hour and what do you do? Nearly get yourself killed.”
Dick grins lazily at his brother. “I knew you’d come, baby bird.”
Jason doesn’t say anything, opting to wrap his arm under Dick’s shoulders and hoist him to his feet. He gasps as the rebar in his side shifts, and tries to get his numb feet under him. They move from the pile of rubble, Jason using his free arm to paddle them both to higher ground as the water becomes steadily deeper. Dick tries to help swim, but his energy quickly flags as he fights to stay conscious.
His brother basically drags him to shore. He lays Dick on his side in an empty alleyway, inspecting the wound. Dick hears him mutter darkly, unable to make out the words. He feels cold, the crash of the water muffled to his ears. The edges of his vision are white.
He watches uncomprehendingly as Jason peels Dick’s own mask from his face. The sting of the spirit gum pulling at his skin is dull. Jason pulls a knife from his belt and starts cutting away at his Nightwing costume.
Dick’s focus snaps back into place, suddenly hyper aware of the hands on his bare chest. He writhes out of their grasp, breaths ragged. His heart is racing as the grip on his bicep tightens.
“No, no, no - I don’t want to be touched, don’t touch me, don’t touch me!” He shrieks. The hands let go of him, but he can’t stop shaking.
He barely hears Jason over the sound of his own heart. “I have to get you in civilian clothes and get you to a hospital. Can you hear me? I need to get you out of your costume before you bleed to death.”
Dick shakes his head so hard his vision swims. Jason isn’t here, it’s just him and Catalina now. Blockbuster is dead, dead and it’s his fault, and he can feel the warmth of her breath on his chest. The hands are back again, and he sees Tarantula on top of him. His body goes rigid as the hands pull off his pants.
He’s screaming for Catalina to stop, but she never does. Every muscle in his body is tensed, and Dick screws his eyes shut and waits for it to be over.
He lays there for a moment with his eyes closed, slowly processing his surroundings. Dick feels fabric underneath him, coarse and wrapped around his fingers. The sag of the fabric beneath must mean he’s laid down on some kind of cot, and there’s many voices all around him. They echo loudly, which means wherever he is, it’s big and open.
Dick he feels like he’s floating. There’s no pain in his side, and his brain is struggling to string together his thoughts. Peeling open his eyelids, he winces as his eyes adjust to the light. Being a vigilante for so long usually means his tolerance to anesthesia is absurdly high, which means whatever drugs he’s on must be really strong. There’s an IV drip in his arm, and his side is bandaged up tightly.
He sees Jason sitting on the ground to his left, dressed in civilian clothes. They’re in a school gymnasium - the one from Turncoat Elementary, he remembers fuzzily. He helped train some students for a gymnastics competition here, once. It’s filled with people, with hundreds of cots lined up alongside him. There’s medical personnel everywhere, providing emergency care with what supplies they had managed to salvage before the flood drove them out. There’s crates filled with food, blankets, and other necessary supplies for the thousands of people suddenly without homes.
There’s an older man resting in the cot beside him, breathing shallow. His face is an ugly gray color, features sunken. He’s surrounded by what seems to be his family, whispering amongst themselves. Dick realizes, darkly, that the family is discussing what to do with his belongings. He suddenly feels like he’s privy to a conversation he shouldn’t, and turns away.
Jason is asleep, resting his head on a navy blue duffle. His face is slack, white streak flopping into his eyes. He’s shot up like a weed since the last time Dick had seen him alive, all hard lines and muscle. It wouldn’t be hard to mistake Jason as the older brother, now. But he’s asleep right now, the weary lines of his face relaxed. At this moment it strikes Dick that Jason is only nineteen, still young. The world has taken too much from him in the few years he’s been alive.
He lays there, staring at his brother from the cot. He sees his Hudson University sweatshirt peeking out of the bag. Jason must have grabbed it at some point, which probably means his apartment must have been totaled during the storm. That’s the second time this year his home has been destroyed. Dick doesn’t feel much of anything as he stares at the bag, at the last of his possessions. Jason had gone out of his way to grab them earlier. The kindness of the gesture takes him off guard.
Hopefully Gotham wasn’t hit nearly as hard. They had been struggling through bad weather just as much as Blüdhaven had, but their infrastructure had been updated to withstand the torrential rains. Their sewer and wastewater systems were updated using funds from the charitable Wayne Enterprises - their real goal was to create a robust sewer system for Batman’s use, of course.
Dick Grayson may be the former ward of Bruce Wayne, but he certainly did not have the same funds or institutional power behind him. He had tried to sever himself as much as he could from his father figure, valuing independence above all else. It was why he chose Blüdhaven in the first place. Without the charitable donations from WE, Blüdhaven was a city left to fend for itself. Property taxes from impoverished working families could hardly support proper schools or roads, leaving the city vulnerable to disaster.
He watches fondly as Jason jerks himself awake, snorting loudly and blinking the sleep from his eyes. There's a frown on his face again, which ages him some. Jason stands, back popping loudly as he stretches. They both stare at each other for a moment, neither quite willing to broach the awkward silence between them.
Dick grimaces. "I don't remember getting here."
"You, uh, blacked out when I had to cut you out of your costume."
A pause.
"Oh."
"Yeah…You had lost a lot of blood and I needed to get you to the hospital right away. It was being evacuated already, so you were transported here after they stabilized you. You needed a transfusion after they got the rebar out of your side, and then they stitched you up. You've been asleep for sixteen hours or so."
Sixteen hours was a lot of lost time. “Did everyone get out of the building okay?”
A nod. “Yeah, you were the only casualty. That one girl led me to you. If she hadn’t, you’d probably be dead right now.”
So Mora was going to be alright, and her parents also made it out earlier. Dick would have to thank her later if he could find her again. He watched Jason warily. His brother’s face was intentionally neutral, though still haggard. Dick was perfectly content to ignore the elephant that was sitting between the two of them. He had been doing an excellent job of it so far.
Jason had mentioned talking about the fiasco back at the apartment the day and a half before.
Dick quickly pivoted. “Is there anything else I missed while I was out?”
Jason eyed him for a moment, expression inscrutable. “We were lucky that people got the notice to leave their homes early on. There’s only been thirteen confirmed deaths so far, all near the harbor. About 136 confirmed casualties, with you being one of them. For a major city, these numbers are better than whatever we could’ve asked for.”
That was…incredibly good news. “And Gotham?”
Jason made a face. “Gotham got a couple of severe thunderstorms, but that was it. Blüdhaven’s shitty canal system and sewers were the main cause of the flood. Now the whole city smells like human waste. It’s very symbolic.”
“Are you calling my city shitty?” Dick pouted.
“You’re goddamn right I am. Blüdhaven’s a shithole at the best of times. You’re lucky I grabbed some of your stuff before your apartment went under, or you’d be picking through human shit to get to it.”
Dick gagged for dramatic effect, and Jason rolled his eyes. If he closed his eyes, Dick could pretend for a moment that things were normal between him and his brother. He gave Jason a meaningful look. “Thank you for that. It was very kind of you.”
Jason frowned. “I’m not that bad, Dickhead.”
“You kill people.”
“Only people who deserve it.”
Dick eyed his brother dubiously, but didn’t say anything. They got lucky this time, but thousands of families had their homes leveled in the deluge. His apartment being one of them. With Blüd’s failing infrastructure, the catastrophic failure was a long time coming. The local government’s continued failures to revamp its aging canals led to over a dozen people losing their lives needlessly. Putting off necessary repairs for decades finally came to a head with a particularly brutal rainy season. If nothing changed, it was bound to happen again.
Jason scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I wonder what the hell they’re gonna do now.”
He watched as people bustled about the gymnasium. Dozens of volunteers manned makeshift soup kitchens and organized supplies. A young woman draped a blanket over a shivering child, gently brushing their wet locks from their face. An old man redressed another’s bandages, hands shaky but firm.
“We’re going to rebuild.”
And rebuild they did. The tenacity of Blüdhaven’s people to return and look out for one another was unparalleled. Millions of dollars were spent on revamping the city’s canals, a massive undertaking that should have been taken care of years ago. Main roads were torn up to accommodate a new sewer system and wastewater treatment plant. It would take a while before the city could fully repair itself, but it was rebuilding for the better.
Over five thousand people were left without homes. Hotel rooms were rented out for free until people were able to find a new place to stay, while some families let in their neighbors while they tried to get back on their feet. The people built their own shelters, food carts, and medical centers for those who needed it. While the corrupt BPD and local government floundered, the people of Blüdhaven stepped up for one another.
While Dick’s apartment complex was rebuilt, Jason offered one of his spare bedrooms in Gotham. Luckily, his gym got out of the flood waters relatively unscathed. Mora was reunited with her parents but was unable to return to classes because of her leg. He left behind a thank-you card when he was out on patrol one night for saving his life.
Most of Nightwing’s work in the flood’s aftermath was helping those in need. The homeless population had exploded, and crimes done out of need skyrocketed. Most of his time was dedicated to finding people shelter and a warm meal when they needed it, so they didn’t have to risk their lives stealing. More often than not, Red Hood would be seen on patrol with Nightwing.
Things were good. Or at least as good as they could be, considering the state of his life within the last year. The commute to work was an hour longer than he would have liked it to be, and living with Jason could be tense even at the best of times.
And Jason had been acting awfully kind to him for that past month. It was as nice as it was strange. Bruce, of course, hadn’t reached out to Dick in the past few months unless he was needed for a case. The upside of living in Gotham meant that Dick could visit Tim more often, who seemed grateful to meet up with his older brother. He wasn’t exactly pleased that Dick was living with Jason, mind you, but Dick had determined that the two could fix their relationship if they worked at it.
His apartment should be finished by the end of the month, thankfully. He loved being closer to his family, but he valued his independence. Bruce had been making more and more frequent summons for his help, and the two had already begun to butt heads again. The last thing he wanted was a meltdown in their relationship when the peace was so tentative.
The peace between his family couldn’t last, obviously. Not with his luck.
Dick woke up one Saturday morning, feeling well rested for once in his life. He massaged his bad knee and dressed in comfortable sweats, cooking both him and Jason a sizable breakfast. The two sat in silence as they ate their eggs, and Dick had nearly choked on his portion while checking his phone.
Catalina Flores, who had been sentenced to twelve years in prison, had her sentence reduced to a year and a half.
Which meant she would be released in nine months from now.
He stared unblinkingly at the headline, vision tunneling. His body felt far away, the sound of his brother muffled by the beating of his heart and the ringing in his ears. A broad, heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
Dick flinched so hard he tumbled backwards, landing awkwardly on the tile floor. His mind snapped back to the present, fumbling for his phone and ignoring how hard his heart was pounding. Jason removed his hand from his shoulder, face twisted into an expression Dick couldn’t quite identify. He winced at Jason’s expression, feeling embarrassed. “I’m, uh, sorry about that. Just surprised at some news.”
His brother opened and closed his mouth before his lips pressed into a thin line. “Can I ask you something?”
Dick’s stomach rolled, bracing himself. “Ask away,” he rasped.
“You don’t like being touched. You weren’t always like that,” Jason stated. “When I had to cut you out of your costume a month ago, you…said some things.”
Oh no.
“Were you, um.” Jason paused. “Assaulted? In a sexual way?”
Dick dug his nails into his arms as hard as he could. They were having this conversation now, when Dick would prefer to have this conversation never, which meant Jason knew. And if Jason knew, who knows how many other people knew. Did Bruce know? Did Bruce know that he was a failure? Did Tim know?
His jaw opened and closed, making an awful, strangled sound.
Jason grimaced, backing off from his older brother. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
If this was a different day, Dick would have laughed. His brother was being absurdly delicate, suddenly respecting people’s boundaries. He then realized, angrily, that this must have been the reason Jason had treated him so nicely the past month. He felt the heat rise in his chest.
“No. I’m not-I’m not having this conversation with you. Sure, I may have had some sex I regret. I might not have wanted it, but it’s not like that. I’m not some victim.” Dick had gotten to his feet and started pacing. “I let them kill somebody, then I let them do it. It was on me.”
Jason took a step towards him, stopping himself after Dick started to back away. “Dick, that’s rape. That wasn’t your fault.”
He was getting even more frustrated. “You don’t get it. I let her do it. I could have fought back, but I didn’t,” he clenched and unclenched his fists. “It wasn’t rape. It was just…it was just non-consensual.”
Dick made a face. Now that he said it out loud, his justifications sounded weak. But he could have fought back, and he didn’t. Babs was right, he must have wanted it. Even if he said no at the time. From the look of it, Jason wasn’t buying it either.
“You didn’t let her do anything. It wasn’t your fault.”
“But-”
“You said no, right?”
“Yeah, but-”
“Then it wasn’t your fault. For Christ's sake Dick, would you say something like that to someone on patrol?”
Dick balked at that. “Of course not.”
His anger was wearing away, but his heart was still pounding painfully. He just felt ill now, stomach churning unpleasantly. He was reminded of how much he didn’t want to have this conversation. He gripped the counter hard, trying to ground himself. But his head was still spinning, and he couldn’t catch his breath. Jason and the kitchen suddenly felt very far away.
He feels his throat swelling again, and he runs to the sink and pukes. His throat burns, and he can feel the tears in his eyes. Distantly, he can hear his brother curse from behind him. Jason enters his line of sight, hovering just out of reach.
“Is it okay if I touch you right now?”
Dick pauses. His skin is crawling, and he can’t quite shake the feeling of phantom hands all over him. He realizes, distantly, that he’s crying. He used to crave contact at times like this. Everything is so messed up now. Between him, his family, and losing his home again, all he wants is for the pain to stop.
He silently nods, and lets his brother envelop him in his arms. He melts into his grasp, and the phantom hands fade away. Jason massages circles into his back as Dick sobs into his sweatshirt. It just hurts, an ache in his chest that had been festering for months.
He had been so frustrated by his lack of recovery. He now realizes - belatedly - that by refusing to acknowledge what had happened to him, he couldn’t begin to heal. Dick cries until he has nothing else to give, exhausted.
“What am I going to do now?” He hiccups.
Jason holds him tighter. “We’re going to rebuild.”