Chapter Text
The case was simple: Scarecrow was shipping out vials of fear toxin to buyers from other cities. There were five buyers; one from New York City, Washington DC, Brooklyn, Metropolis, and Blüdhaven. All that they had to do was intercept the sales, arrest the buyers, and run tests on the toxin to check if it was a new strain. It usually wasn't, but it never hurt to check. If it was, that would mean that Scarecrow was planning something big.
The issue was that all sales were happening on the same night, and all in different parts of Gotham, with not enough vigilantes to handle all of them.
Red Hood was investigating a new business of dealers near his territory, trying to gauge how much of a threat they were so he could take them out. They were experienced, and growing fast; if he didn't nip it as fast as he could, it might grow out of control and start becoming an issue.
Spoiler and Black Bat had had a recent run in with Killer Croc, and were both benched due to injuries. Steph had a sprained ankle, and many stitches all along her arms and back. Cass had a dislocated shoulder and concussion, as well as many stitches along her legs and torso. Both were lucky to have not gotten worse.
Signal, despite insisting that he should go, was out of commission. He'd already worked well into the night shifts the previous three nights due to several kidnapping situations that happened too close together to not be connected, but ended up just being very coincidental. That, plus his need to keep his grades up, had him pretty sleep deprived. While not usually an issue, a fourth night out later than he should've been would've only made it worse, and fear toxin with sleep deprivation was one of their absolutely nots.
That left only Batman, Robin, Red Robin, and Nightwing to deal with busting the sales. Four vigilantes to deal with five sales in five separate locations within the city. No problem, could be done very easily.
Nightwing had gotten the sale in Fashion District. The information that Oracle had been able to dig up lead him to an alley behind a two-story boutique. An unusual meeting place, but better than some abandoned warehouse. That was just becoming cliche at this point.
He was perched on a rooftop above, blending into the dark, clouded sky. It wasn't as efficient as the shadows, but he had been yet to be spotted. A car was already waiting, three guys twiddling their feet as they waited. The buyers, undoubtedly. Nightwing sat studying them from above.
Their car was a black SUV, covered in family stickers. Likely to be more inconspicuous, but could've been from one of their moms. Criminals were just like that sometimes. Two of the men were obviously well built, their frames on the bulky side. The third wasn't quite so built, but he seemed relaxed as they leaned back against the metal frame of the car, so he wasn't just some lackey dragged along. Likely a getaway driver, maybe the leader of this operation.
After around 15 minutes of sitting around, a van pulled up to the entrance of the alley. The driver stayed inside, while the the passenger and a few men from the back hopped out. The gimmicks of their outfits told Nightwing that they were Scarecrow's men. One of them was carrying a briefcase, which he identified as the goods.
The three guys snapped to alert, the leaner man taking charge. That clued into him being the leader. They met each other half way, a conversation springing from hushed voices. Nightwing strained to hear what they were saying, but that wasn't the important thing. What he needed to do was stop the sale from happening.
He monitored the men for a bit longer, listening to them speak. They were haggling, probably. If they sale went through, than he would need to apprehend all of them. If it didn't, he'd only need to deal with Scarecrow's men. The others would be their own cities problem.
"My sale fell through," came Red Robin's voice crackling through the comm in his ear. "Moving in now."
Below him, the leader gestured back toward the car. One of the bulky men moved towards it, opening the back and pulling out a small duffel bag. He handed the bag over, and Nightwing shifted to get a better look at the bag that was being opened.
Yep, that was cash.
"My sale is going through," Nightwing said into his mic, hushed. "Moving in."
Before the trade off could happen, Nightwing slipped off the ledge of the roof quietly. He angled himself slightly, making sure that when he landed it was on the lean man's shoulders, sending him shooting down to the ground under the weight. The man under him grunted as he hit the ground, letting out a wheeze. He wasn't unconscious, but he made no move to get up. Probably due to the pain of being slammed into an alley's concrete floor from roughly 180 pounds from above.
"Gentlemen," he chirped in greeting, electrifying the ends of his escrima sticks before flipping of the man under him towards the other two. The men reached towards their waistbands, likely reaching for a gun, but it mattered little when the electricity pressed hard above their collarbones. They spasmed, muscles stiffening under the shock, before collapsing as he pulled back.
Scarecrow's men gasped, followed by shouts and the sounds of feet scuttling away. Nightwing grabbed the lean man's collar, tossing him towards the other two. He dropped a bead in between them that exploded, wrapping cord around their limbs and tying them together.
"I'll be back for you!~" he called in a sing song voice, spinning around to watch the henchmen loading into the van. He pulled one of his sticks up, letting the hidden grapple inside of it shoot into the side of the building. The van roared to life, and Nightwing used the momentum of his lines tension to propel forward, landing on the roof as the wheels screeched against the road.
"Sale went through, moving in," came Robin, and from the sounds of exertion coating his voice, he was a little late on that callout.
The van wiggled underneath Nightwing's grip, trying to shake him off. Nightwing acquiesced, his hands gripping the edge of the top as he forced his legs down and through the windows of the back doors.
Several more shouts filled the air, and Nightwing was quick to silence them. He was also careful to not shatter the fear toxin that had been dropped on the floor in the struggle. The passenger in the front whipped around, and Nightwing was distantly aware of the glint of metal pointing towards him, but he snapped the wrist pointing the gun at him before he even recognized it as a gun.
The henchmen yelped in pain, and then did it again when his head was slammed into the dashboard. Nightwing hopped over the seats, landing on top of the unconscious body, his feet resting in the lap of the driver. In his hands, a stick came to life with more electricity.
"You gonna pull over?" he asked, smile in his voice as he waved the shocked-up end at the other. The henchmen let out a small whimper, leaning away from the weapon. Nightwing almost felt bad for him as he screeched off to the side, obeying.
When all of the henchmen were tied up, and Nightwing had doubled back to make sure the almost-buyers hadn't managed to escape, he notified the police before sitting back on a roof, basking in his victory.
"All involved are apprehended and waiting for police custody, and the toxin has been secured," Nightwing said, stretching out from where he was sat. The men didn't put up much of a fight, but the few blows the did land would probably bruise in the morning. Probably. This was a surprisingly easy run. "Reports?"
"Scarecrow's men are being tied up now," Red Robin replied, his voice soft after the fight. "Toxin secured"
"All involved apprehended," came Batman, who hadn't given the status earlier, the asshole. "Toxin secured."
"You never notified us you were moving in," Nightwing said helpfully. Not that it mattered too much; he was Batman, he'd be fine. "I'll start moving into the last sale now. Send me the location, O." Then, after a beat, "Robin, status?"
There was a brief stutter of silence. Nightwing hardly noticed it as he crossed from building to building, careful not to break anything. Hardly.
"Robin?"
"All involved apprehended," came the shaky voice of Robin. Uh oh, not good. "Toxin secured, one... one vial broken."
Shit.
"Try staying calm, I'll head your way," Nightwing said, spinning on his heel to where Robin handled his sale in the Narrows. It was on the opposite side of Gotham, but he'd be damned if he didn't do anything to-
"Actually," cut in Oracle's voice, "You should get over to Diamond for that last sale. You're the closest, and if all other sales are finished by now, that one might be close to done, or already finished. Red's the closest to Robin, he can go."
Red gave an affirming hum into his mic. "On my way, hang tight Robin. ETA like... 12 minutes."
Robin didn't respond, which made Dick's heart stop, but he turned back to his original path. His family was reliable, and they'd be fine. Stopping this sale was important, and he wasn't even close enough to object.
"I'll go with Nightwing," Batman said, voice gruff and focused as usual. "If they're wrapping up, and he gets there too late, I can keep speed with the batmobile."
"Acknowledged," Nightwing acknowledged as he soared over the gaps between buildings. "ETA 5 minutes."
Those five minutes were rather silent, only filled with his heavy breathing and grunts and he hopped and rolled around and off the rooftops. The vials in the briefcase he had pressed against his ribs clanked together ominously, but there was not breaking glass yet. He hoped there wouldn't be.
This time, the place of sale was some old, rundown warehouse. Nightwing gently set down the briefcase on the roof, dropping through a shattered skylight and moving like a spider in the rafters. There was arguing below him, loud and... not quite angry. No, it was frustrated, and building up to anger.
"I'm just saying, that seems like a high price to pay for something we don't even know works." The accent suggested Blüdhaven. Good, these were his own criminals then. He could handle that just fine.
Nightwing slipped around the rafters a little more until he had a clear view of everyone. He took a quick headcount. Five of Scarecrow's men, and he thought he saw another van outside, so probably more in total. Seven men stood before them, and Nightwing thought he recognized them from a gang who caused a lot of problems for him. It was hard to tell in the dark. This warehouse was so run down that there wasn't even any lighting in here.
"Twelve counted inside, likely more spotted outside," he said into his mic, his voice kept low and even as the men continued to argue. "The outcome of this is probably gonna be a big fight, so have your rebreather on just in case."
Nightwing slipped his own rebreather over his mouth, fastening it tight behind his head.
"Understood. I'm pulling up now."
The arguing below softened, and Nightwing was struggling to hear what was being said again. He did notice the exchange of bags, though.
"Good, the sale just went through. You're just in time."
Once more, Nightwing dropped from the sky like a missile. This time, he focused on the henchmen, as the gang men had the fear toxin. He had to be careful to not break them open. Even if he had his rebreather on, fear toxin wasn't fun to deal with.
These henchmen put up a bit more of a fight. Not good enough, of course. The metal pipe to the back of his head was, though.
Four of the five of Scarecrow's men were down, and what knocked him off his feet was a metal pipe. Damn. He tucked and rolled with the blow, bouncing up on his hands and knocking the weapon away with a kick. He was back on his feet, escrima sticks in both hands and poised to fight when a shadow descended upon the others.
The fighting only increased with a new player in the ring, but it was easier this time. Batman wrestled the briefcase of vials out of the gang's hands, tossing it on the floor behind him and out of the crossfire. The final henchmen had been forgotten in favor of the others. By the time another four men were down, Nightwing had realized that it was a mistake.
A click of metal made Nightwing whip around, arms raised and ready to either take or deal some serious blows. What he saw, instead, was a grenade mid air, heading fast towards him. It bounced off the ground, nestling against the briefcases handle.
Nightwing's muscles tensed, crouching low and fast, the hold on his weapons loosening. He needed to grab the briefcase. If the toxin blew, everyone without a rebreather would be affected. Dealing with a large number of criminals was hard; dealing with a large number of criminals who were terrified out of their minds and fighting like caged animals was hell.
His eyes flicked over to the grenade, and he hesitated. That wasn't good. You never hesitated on the field like this. But he knew those grenades. Most had plenty of seconds of fuse in them, for optimal range. If a grenade blew up too quickly after it was thrown, you'd get caught in the crossfire. But these ones, the one that had been thrown his way and was nestled against too many vials of fear toxin, was very short fused. The best way to take out a bat was to surprise them. That was very hard to do.
Using a weapon with no guarantee of survivability for the user was a good way to do it.
Nightwing wouldn't have time to move, not anymore. Maybe if he'd jumped at first, he could've gotten far enough away. But he was crouched down low, leaning toward the thing rigged to explode in at most two seconds, one hand reaching forward. His mind processed, vaguely, that he should run. Maybe he could run still, maybe, but would his body catch up to his thought process? Probably not. It hadn't even registered he was in danger yet.
Shit. He was going to die, huh? Or at the very least get badly injured. He was going to maybe die because he was too slow to recognize danger and his body was even slower to respond to his mind's commands and-
"Robin!"
His body moved before his mind caught up this time. He didn't know why. He hadn't been Robin in, what, 8 years? 9? But he new that name. He new that tone. He'd heard them both countless times over the years. And when they were paired together like this, when his veins were full of adrenaline and his stomach felt like a pit of ice, it meant run.
So he did. His legs pushed up, and his hips turned so fast he might've gotten whiplash, and his arms reached out until they found something firm and dark and safe. There was the flutter of a cape, and then there were strong arms around him, grabbing so tightly that the skin and bone underneath them ached.
There was an explosion. He didn't feel it. He could hear the sound of it, the gunpowder igniting and swelling into a cloud of fire. He could hear shouts and shrieks around him, groans and yells and maybe something breaking. He could feel his side grinding against something he recognized as the floor, but it felt distant.
He could feel his face pressed into a chest, coated in a thick material that had repelled knives, bullets, and wandering hands and fingers that traced the bat design on it after he had saved someone that he would gag about later in the back of the batmobile because he was too small to ride shotgun.
The floor under him stopped moving, and the screams had cut off. He peaked an eye open, looking up at the roof of the warehouse. There was a face there, with a chiseled jaw and scars that were small enough they could only be seen up close. There was black material that only covered the top half of that face. Above them was a thick substance in the air. Fear toxin, he registered after a few moments.
Slowly, the two bodies pulled apart. A hand was under his arm, guiding him up to stand. A survey of the area showed no deaths. Everyone unprotected had at least been far enough to only have been blown back. No missing limbs, no cuts, no burns. Just a few bruises.
"Are you guys okay?" Oracle asked, a hint of panic in her voice. "Cameras showed a bright light go off inside, and your vitals are off."
"All good, Oracle," said Batman, still surveying the scene. "There was a little explosion. No one seems seriously injured. Everyone else is unconscious, though, and there's toxin in the air." He didn't mention calling for his Robin.
"Good news about that!" Red Robin chimed. "It's not a new strain, which means we have antidotes on standby. Also, Robin's doing alright."
"Hn, good. We'll tie up loose ends here and head out. See you at the cave."
There was a round of sign-offs, and the two in the warehouse began rounding up the unconscious thugs. Toxin seeped out of the skylight above. The henchman that threw the grenade was nowhere to be seen, likely having fled during the chaos.
"I left my case of toxin up on the roof," Nightwing said when everyone had been restrained. He didn't mention the name either.
Batman let out a hum of acknowledgment. "I'll be waiting for you in the batmobile to head back to the cave." The flutter of a cape - one that had protected him - let him know that his dad was gone.
Nightwing climbed his way up to the roof once more, slow and deliberate. His body ached a bit more, now that he'd taken more hits and had been thrown across the floor. Being thrown by an explosion wasn't fun, 0/10, would not do it again.
Despite that, there was a smile plastered on his face.
Dick kinda liked being Robin again.