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If you ask anyone who isn't Batman, or the handful of other bird and bat related vigilantes he keeps in his company, or really anyone who might fit into the slim category of ‘Batman's friend’ — taking a day off here and there is actually a good idea.
Duke admits he's not the best at it either. For a long time, he was running three steps ahead of his usual two step ahead plans, so there was hardly any time to take a break — even if he could hear his mother's voice in his head urging him to Slow down babybird. In between looking for his parents, escaping his foster homes (and the police) (and cults) and leading a teenage rebellion, Duke wasn't exactly planning trips to the masseuse.
But lately, Duke's realised how the workload has started to affect him.
School isn't hard, it never really was, but falling asleep in his maths lessons is a bad sign. He's usually so up to date with his work, and that's the only reason his history teachers haven't reached out to Bruce about why Duke's missed the last three essay assignments.
Take a break, Duke, Miss Khan had told him, worried and concerned about all of Duke's hypothetical problems she's conjured up in her head after she caught him sleeping in her class, You're a hardworking boy. You deserve to relax! It'll only make you better in whatever it is you want to do. Solid advice.
What's worse is that he enjoys the work he does, by being Signal and reaching people who need that guiding light and help when it seems so far out of reach. Duke doesn't want it to become a chore just because he's too overwhelmed with what solo-patrolling can bring. He also really doesn't want to tell Batman he's juggling a lot more than he had first anticipated. Bruce can't really do anything about it, especially anything as ridiculous as taking Signal away — not that he could even if he tried — but the thing about Batman is that he will find a way to win.
Duke doesn't need that on his plate on top of everything else.
He's not complaining. He is excited he gets the chance to do this. To use his powers for good. Duke is doing something worthwhile and that's all that matters. He's really good at it too.
But Duke thinks he's emotionally aware enough to know when he needs to take a break, and that was probably two months ago.
Which is why he's unofficially dubbed this Saturday the first Signal's day off. It's one he's taken himself, and not forced to by Rouge-related injuries or Batman's unpredictable amount of paranoia that have him pushing pencils instead of bad guys. Duke remembers his first few weeks of training was spent suspiciously down in the Cave, doing theory work and puzzles instead of actual work — before being unceremoniously thrown into the deep end (and off buildings) of Gotham's madness.
Bruce claims it's all part of the training. If Duke could have it his way, he'd be out all the time. Crime doesn't stop or become any less worrying just because the sun's out. Especially in a place like Gotham, where following the law is a mere suggestion and breaking traffic violations is encouraged by this terms corrupted Mayor.
So, Duke starts the day with sleeping in. It's only about twenty minutes longer than usual, but even that took a tremendous amount of effort to not get up and start the day. If anything, Jay's probably just as glad Duke's decided to sleep in since his cousin is usually awoken at the crack of dawn by Duke going about his day. The man had worked a late night security gig as well, so their small apartment in East Narrows remains quiet and peaceful this morning — for a bit.
Part of him is endlessly amused by this, because if he could go back in time and tell his younger self he'd grow up to be a morning person, Duke might have thought he'd gone insane.
There are a grand total of four messages ready to greet him when he can't go back to sleep again. One from Cass, a predictable sight, usually updating him about something she forgot to tell him last night or a message to stay safe and call for backup if necessary. Her messages are usually more emojis than words, so the wall of text is surprising, and it's also rare that she ever has something for him to do. Duke grows curious as he reads her message.
CASS: [Sunshine] [Sunshine] [Cloud] [Tree] Saved a person called Shanti last night [Moon]. Barbara [Glasses] said she works at Blue coffee [Coffee] shop by 3rd. Please check on her [Teary Eyes] [Yellow Heart] [Red Heart]? Buy a sweet treat [Cake] for yourself. Steph [Pink Heart] says you deserve sweet treats [Lollipop] [Cake] [Sunshine] [Cake] [Blue Heart]
Next is Damian, which is received less often than Cass, but often enough that Duke smiles. Damian had been telling him the other day about his newfound obsession with charcoal art, and it seems the hobby has got away from him.
DAMIAN: Bianca's Craft Shop, please, if you find yourself down 10th. Ordered new charcoal. Thank you. Titus also misses you.
Following that is Bruce, who is also a daily messenger if there is no world-ending catastrophe or if Batman isn't needed on a planet in some faraway galaxy. It's a direct order that Duke can recognise as concern, even if it is annoyingly never stated as such. Duke wonders if Bruce has ever heard of the phrase have a good day.
BRUCE: Order at Tony's under 'Pete Mitchell'. Do not eat and drive.
His message does make Duke's smile a little wider though, sitting up in bed to text a quick Thanks Goose. Bruce sometimes orders him lunch in advance at Tony's, a local Narrows deli, which opens at the crack of dawn, and if Batman's still around cleaning up whatever he had to deal with the night before, he calls ahead to reserve a meal with a new name for Duke. It's a poor habit, but he and Bruce have grown to accept each other's obsession with grease and cheese.
Surprisingly, Duke has an uncommon message, followed by a bank transaction with a lot of zeroes.
TIM: duke. please pick up honey oats protein bars during your patrol. alfred says we are all out. I NEED HONEY. OATS. i owe you my life. BUY THEM ALL.
Duke blinks in surprise. He wonders briefly if he should be concerned that Tim thinks honey oats protein bars cost the same as an apartment deposit.
He’s not sure how his willingness to run errands on patrol has reached Tim, but he enjoys the honey oats protein bars too, so he’s not too fussed. Perhaps it had taken one person to do something new to encourage the others to follow suit. Damian had messaged him a few weeks back, that if he had the time after patrol, to pick up some food for Alfred (The Cat).
Duke had done it without much thought, happy to help and glad Damian feels comfortable with him to ask. It also gives him an excuse to pop into the pet store and talk to the parrots.
Looking back on it now, Duke should probably have set some sort of boundary about being used as everyone's glorified errand boy, except he realises that this is probably how this family of strange people with even stranger social cues function with people they're close to. After all, Duke hardly thinks Damian would trust just anyone to pick up his expensive paint orders.
So every morning, or before his patrol, when he wakes up for the day and all the others have (finally) fallen asleep, Duke opens his phone to find an assortment of messages and reminders. They're usually small things he can do on his patrol route.
Except today… is Signal's day off.
He'd almost forgotten he wasn't actually going to patrol. Duke had notified Barbara a few days before, because surely the only one who deserves to know when things in Gotham change is the literal Oracle, and was given the clear to spend the day doing nothing. He'd planned for video games in between movies and carefully allocated nap times — as well as the aforementioned unfinished essay assignments.
Though, if he does all that, then who will go and collect Damian's art supplies? Or Tim's protein bars? Not to mention this person Cass has trusted him to check up on.
Realistically, he could just tell them all he's busy doing nothing today, but… Duke could really do with some Tony's for lunch. Especially if Bruce has already paid for it. It'd be a waste not to!
In an instant Duke jumps to hit feet, immediately rushing to his wardrobe to get ready for the day. As he passes his dresser, his hand ghosts over the Bat-connected comm. He doesn't linger too long, instead grabbing the wallet Izzy had bought for his birthday instead.
Signal can't go out today, but Duke still can!
"Please come again!" The lady, who Duke assumes is called Bianca, calls out to him as he leaves the small craft shop by the park, giving her a polite smile and wave when the door shuts behind him.
Luckily, Damian's charcoal order isn't too big, and Duke manages to shove the small metal box wrapped in brown paper into the pocket of his cargo pants. On his arm is the shopping bag full of honey oats protein bars, since he bought pretty much all of the ones on the shelves, leaving two behind for anyone else who might be looking for them.
Deciding Tim probably won't notice if Duke takes one of the fifty bars, he peels one wrapper back to eat on his way to the cafe Cass had told him about. To check on one of their baristas. Shanti, he's sure it was.
Everything is, thankfully, within walking distance. He's planned the route so that he could collect Tim’s protein bars at the grocers first, check in on the school down the street (he'd saved their school bus from falling into the harbour yesterday), then Damian's charcoals the next street over. Just a block down is Blue’s cafe, which has a bus station right in front of it. That way, Duke can check on Shanti for Cass, hop on the bus back to the Narrows and collect his order at Tony's before making his way home. Just in time for the first scheduled naptime!
A very well thought out plan, if he says so himself.
Duke takes a hearty bite out of the protein bar as he makes his way down the street, enjoying the view from down here as opposed to the rooftops. He's more of a on the ground vigilante as it is, but it's very different just being able to stroll down the streets he's usually racing down on his bike.
As a large white van rolls by slowly, Duke notes how it seems pretty empty today. Which is pretty unheard of, given it's by the highstreet and the weekend, but it does let him appreciate the warm sun on his neck. He can't help but feel a little… unsettled though.
Duke tells himself it's because he's not used to taking relaxing walks in the city, and not because a quiet Gotham is usually synonymous with trouble. He tells himself, as the same white van from before circles the block again, that he's looking for problems where they don't exist. Sometimes having keen instincts simply means you're paranoid, or so Bruce displays, often.
He stops by a nearby bin, shoving the last of the protein bar into his mouth and scrunching up the packet to throw away. As he does, an old lady hobbles past, sparing a kind smile and nod of her head as Duke makes eye contact. It's very rare that Gothamites don't look like they're trying to bulldoze everyone in their step, so Duke grins back.
It had been a little strange, taking the train from Otisburg down to Little Italy during the day instead of his bike. He hadn't even stopped by the hatch to collect his things. So it’s even weirder walking around in his civilian clothes as opposed to his suit. The pair of jeans and Dick’s old Gotham U sweatshirt feel like an undercover disguise as opposed to casual clothes — in fact this entire ordeal feels like some sort of secret mission, where Duke is playing the character of himself. Mission aim: enjoy the day.
Duke wonders what that says about him.
Perhaps what's most bizarre of all however, is what a peaceful day it really is. He can't help but think back to how calm and uneventful this part of the city is. No sirens, no traffic, no irritated locals storming out of shops due to the coffee machine being broken because Poison Ivy grew a tree in it.
It's just a regular, calm, completely normal day.
Well, except —
As Duke throws his litter away, the same exact white van — with an obviously brand new sparkling license plate — does its third circle of the block. The front windows are all tinted black, and there's a clear silver mark across the side of the van, where something has scratched into it deeply fairly recently.
Duke's willing to bet it might be from the sharper end of a Bataraang.
He's got his phone out and typing the number plate before he can think better of it. Duke considers for a second who he should send it off to, considering Cass or Bruce — but knowing them they're probably still fast asleep. With the little rest they already get, it’s not worth causing a fuss if he's just being paranoid. He could tell Oracle, but if it is nothing, he doesn't want to have wasted her time either. Dick's not currently in Gotham to indulge in his worries.
Which leaves —
Duke: hey
The reply is, expectantly, instantaneous. This guy never seems to sleep.
Jason: What
Jason: I cant train with you tofday i got shit to do
Duke huffs exasperatedly, sending Jason the licence plate as the van turns the corner, probably to make its fourth surveillance of the seemingly desolate street. Other than him, the old lady, and two kids at the bus station with their headphones on, there are no other witnesses. Even the shops on the street are pretty unassuming, an empty charity shop, a closed key cutter, the Blue’s cafe and a building under renovation, but seemingly abandoned.
At the sight of Blue’s, Duke starts to think.
He opens his chat again, walking a little hurriedly towards the small cafe. There's a patch of dust by the building covered in scaffolding, probably sawdust, and Duke digs his feet into it as he rushes by. Faint white footprints are left behind him, a clear trail on the pavement of where he's walking.
Duke: What happened on patrol last night
Jason: Why
Duke: want to confirm something
Jason: I only joined at the end as backup eventhough I made it clear for Bruce to leave me the fuck alone but whatever
Jason: Cass busted some sort of trafficking ring
Jason: Or somewhat busted
Duke: everyone okay?
Jason: Mostly
Jason: We only found one girl who was taken just a couple minutes before we got there
Jason: Babs is looking into the others for tonights patrol
One girl.
“Morning!” a bright and cheery voice says the second Duke steps foot into the cafe, taking a look around to confirm that as he, as expected, is the only one in there, “What can I get you?”
Duke gives her a strained sort of smile, zeroing in on her nametag and the handcuff bruises around her wrist that peek through her sweater; Shanti.
“Hey,” Duke greets casually, hyper aware of the sound of the van parking outside and doors sliding open and close with a rush, “What are your specials today?”
As she rattles off some truly delicious sounding cakes and treats, Duke tries to come up with a plan. He's got about five seconds, and all he can do in that time is type out a quick and hurried;
Duke: Track me
Jason: Whrat the fuck???(
He has to hope Jason will start putting pieces together without the context, or for him to decide for once to call the others to try and decode whatever it is Duke's doing. He's not sure either, but if Cass can tell them she asked him to check on their victim from last night, then at the very least Bruce can figure it out from there.
It's not unheard of, after all, the bad guys coming back to finish what they started. Make sure there's no loose ends.
Duke tries to remember this is a really serious situation when a second after he pays for a cinnamon roll, the doors to the cafe slam open and heavy footsteps of a group shuffle in. This isn't exactly the moment to be vindicated for being correct in his deductions, especially since he sees the look of horror shudder over Shanti’s face at whatever she sees behind him.
Duke turns slowly, making sure to look as small and as scared as he can, only to be met with a group of very large and very intimidating looking men. They're all wearing ski masks, just showing their eyes, and while Duke can't see all their hands, the supposed leader of the group is holding a gun. Fucking fantastic.
“I thought you said there was no one else in here,” the leader mumbles, loud enough for them all to hear. Shanti squeaks behind him.
Someone else in the group sighs, a shrug rippling through the group as they stalk forward. There's an air of calmness, not like they're in any rush to do whatever it is they came to do and leave, so Duke can assume there's more people outside and around the small cafe. They're probably responsible for the uncharacteristic calmness of the street outside too. He guesses they blocked off the side streets and caused a diversion up main — good, more clues for Bruce to piece together.
That does unfortunately mean Duke can't really fight his way out of this one, not without knowing for certain what kind of backup they have waiting. Not when he's not even Signal.
Right now he's just Duke Thomas, a seventeen year old highschooler hanging out in the city on the weekend.
“What should we do with him?” someone else asks.
“Do I look like I care?” The leader spits, pointing to Shanti with his gun, “Just grab the girl already. Boss is already pissed she got away.”
Duke can't help it, the training instilled into his bones and the damning goodness in his heart cursing him as he moves without thinking, standing a little taller between the traffickers and the lady. Duke hears Shanti intake harshly behind him, but he's more focused on the way the group in front of him tense.
“Leave her alone!” He says, making sure the quiver in his voice is evident enough to come across as genuine and not crass. The last thing he needs is to actually have a gun pulled on anyone. Behind him, Shanti takes a sharp inhale of surprise.
The leader stalks forward slowly, tilting his head down at Duke, probably in an attempt to intimidate him more than the gun already does. Unfortunately for him, Duke doesn't back down.
The man considers him with somewhat disinterest, looking him up and down and narrowing his eyes sharply at the lack of anything impressive. He pauses at Duke's feet, and Duke forces his legs to tremble. He can't look too confident.
The man scoffs at his buckling knees, “Some fine shoes you got on, kid.” the man says, whistling.
Duke's scrambles around in his head for a plan, “St— stay back! Do you know who I am?”
The man's eyes raise, probably leveling Duke with a look of mockery beneath the fabric across his face, “What? You some kind of hotshot?”
“Maybe,” Duke mumbles. He hasn't thought that far for his cover yet.
The leader falls for the bait, curious and annoyed, “That supposed to mean something?”
“He won't let you get away with this,” Duke says, faking a quiver.
“Who the fuck are you talking about?” The leader asks with growing impatience, his desire to scare a kid clearly losing against his tolerance for the conversation, and all Duke can think is I don't know who the fuck I'm talking about either.
“Hey,” Someone grumbles behind the leader, “Ain't that the kid who…”
Duke's eyes widen.
“My — my dad — he'll get you for—” Duke stumbles, desperately hoping someone else picks up the rest of his sentence.
Thankfully, the man seems more amused than annoyed now, since he scoffs, leaning down to inspect Duke further, “That so? Who's your daddy, hotshot?”
Luckily for Duke, someone else in the group recognises him, which only does well for his cover, “Oh shit, I knew I'd seen this kid before. Bruce Wayne's new charity case!”
I resent that, Duke thinks, feeling pretty annoyed, but ultimately glad it's working in his favour. While it's a lie that Bruce Wayne is his dad, he was his foster parent, at least legally, and at least recently enough that the papers still bring him up. It's a way simpler way than saying he's my friend, also my boss — since he's the fucking Batman, and I’m the goddamn Signal and we are going to rock your shit buddy.
It's how the general public knows him right now, especially since he and Bruce did that interview a couple months ago with the Gotham Gazette when he was still staying at Wayne Manor — and that's what he needs these men to believe as well.
The man straightens up immediately, now casting a much more scary look with just his eyes as he searches Duke's person. Duke lets his fake confidence fall a little more, letting the inkling of anxiety show on his face and in his shaking shoulders. Damian would be so proud of his acting skills.
“Well ain't it just my lucky day,” the man announces with a bark of laughter, pointing the gun straight at Duke, which — annoyingly — makes his heart stutter for real, “Grab them both.”
Duke realises, after being tied up and shoved into the back of the white van, that he's never actually been kidnapped as a civilian before.
He'd been kidnapped as Robin a couple times, as Signal even more times, but Duke Thomas lives a pretty unassuming life ever since he was taken in by Bruce Wayne's unending philanthropy. In fact, aside from that one weird experience with Alfred that doesn't really count, the last time he had been kidnapped somewhat as a civilian had been with his parents, when the Joker had —
Duke blinks.
Huh. What an unnaturally cruel train of thought. If Bruce were here he'd probably frown and say You're letting your thoughts take advantage of your vulnerable position. Focus.
He takes a deep breath in, steadying his slowly rising heart rate, feeling his palms grow sweaty from where they're clasped together behind them, locked together with a thick roll of rope tied across his wrists. It's not going to end well for anyone if he's too in his own head, agitated and distracted over something that doesn't even matter right now.
There are more important things to worry about, Duke tells himself, when Shanti notices him twitching. She shuffles closer, leaning against his arm, perhaps misunderstanding his frustration for fear and trying to offer some comfort. It reminds him then, that to her, Duke is some random teenager dragged into her misfortune.
“I'm so sorry kid,” she whispers into his ear, trying not to alert the men sitting at the front of the van, “If I knew they'd come back I would've—”
Bruce might get mad at him later for not staying consistent with his cover, but Duke thinks he owes this woman the same amount of bravery she's trying to instill in him, “Don't worry, we're going to be fine.”
If she's surprised by his confidence, she doesn't let it show. Instead, she shuffles even closer, almost draping herself over him and out of the view of the men chatting to each other in front of them.
No wonder she got away, Duke thinks warmly. She's got nerves of steel.
“Can you tell me what happened last night?” He asks carefully, making sure to keep an eye on her face but also on the men.
She grimaces, “Got grabbed when I was walking back home. I was doing the closing shift, and they must have known, since it happened so quickly.” She takes a deep breath in, her confidence cracking a little under the pressure of last night's memories, “There was — there was this big box, by the harbour? I was in there for a couple minutes before Batgirl and — wait… how did you know something happened last —”
“What're you two chatting about back there?” One of the men drawls, leaning over the seat and pressing his face very close to the two of them. Duke just about manages to stop himself from headbutting him in return.
Thankfully, the driver complains about something in front of them, and the man turns back around just as quickly to continue their previous discussion. He's underestimating both Duke and Shanti, which will definitely work in their favour, but it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
Shanti doesn't seem as willing to test their luck a second time, and plants herself firmly at Duke's side but stays quiet. From this angle, it's a little hard to see where they're going since all the windows at the back are tinted — but Duke can make out a bit of where they're going through the front windshield.
They'd taken his phone and threw it out the window at the intersection, which is a little annoying since it means the others will have four potential routes to follow, but it does narrow down where in the city they were in. They'd frisked his pockets as well, taking his wallet and Jay's swiss army knife he'd gifted Duke for his seventeenth birthday, a keepsake from his time in the military. He's going to be pretty upset when Duke has to tell him he lost it during his kidnapping.
What's more worrying is definitely the fact that they haven't been blindfolded or knocked out.
Which means they're being taken somewhere familiar. The harbour then, most likely the same place Shanti was taken before. It also, unfortunately, means they won't be staying there for long.
There's now a time limit to worry about.
“Do you remember anything else from last night?” Duke whispers.
Shanti gives him a long and curious look, rightfully suspicious of his constant questions but not enough to suspect him of anything nefarious, “There were other girls there, in those huge boxes next to me. They were saying something about boats coming, but then Red Hood started shooting up the place.”
Duke suppresses an eyeroll because he's not surprised by that at all, even if he's sure Jason had a plan in place somewhere in the calculated chaos as well, “Alright.”
“I'm so sorry,” she repeats when it becomes apparent that the men are getting ready to stop, voice thick with grief. Her tone is familiar, a low and heavy weight of acceptance and guilt, for an approaching disastrous fate, and Duke finds his chest ache at the sound of it.
The car starts to slow down, the harbour coming into view, “I'll get us out of here, promise.”
Never make promises you can't keep, a voice that sounds like Dick tells him sternly. Duke ignores it, much like most of Dick's advice.
As the car comes to a stop, Duke remembers Bruce's own advice for this precise situation; If you're ever kidnapped as a civilian with other civilians, do not engage. Do not put yourself or others at risk, collect evidence of your whereabouts and wait for extraction. The man really does plan for everything.
Sorry guys, Duke thinks as the door slides open to reveal the very familiar face of Oswald Cobblepot himself — who, as far as Duke was aware, should be in Arkham — peering at him through the gaps of his dark spectacles, I don't go back on my promises.
“Who the hell’s the kid?” The Penguin demands immediately, looking up at the man who had lead the group that kidnapped them.
“Wayne's recent pet project,” he replies, sounding quite proud of himself, “Thought you'd like some more collateral.”
The Penguin scoffs, turning on his heel in the direction of one of the many cars parked around them behind a massive storage warehouse, the smell of dirty water and fish in the air, “What, you want a damn cookie? Put him with the others while I make some calls then.” He stops, turning slightly to glare at Shanti, his cane digging into the asphalt angrily, “Make sure you keep an eye on that one.”
Pressed this close together in the backseat, Duke feels the shiver run through Shanti's body, leaving her trembling. He frowns, incensed on how such a disgusting scheme is taking place in broad daylight in his city, right under his nose, leaning forward until he's shielding her from view. The Penguin notices the action immediately, eyes flickering over to him in annoyance.
He scoffs at Duke's thunderous expression, walking away without bothering to speak to him. Duke glares at his retreating form.
The cargo containers are cramped, warm and very dark.
“Hey kid,” Shanti says beside him as the group of women mumble amongst themselves, but she's looking right past his shoulder, “It's me Shanti, just stay close, okay?”
He blinks up at her, her features coming into focus slowly, but once his eyes adjust to the lack of light in the box, he relaxes his shoulders a little more. Given both Shanti and the others in the cargo container are nothing but somewhat colorful blobs against an all black void, it's almost pitch black in the warehouse they're all being stored in.
If it's this difficult to see for him despite his powers, he can't begin to imagine what it is the women around him are seeing, or lack thereof.
He’s proven right when one of the women trips right over another one sitting on the floor of the container, the two of them tumbling across the ground in a heap of curses and groans. Their hands are tied in front of them with thick rope, but they still try to help each other up, but completely miss the other by a long shot, knuckles brushing past one another.
They get their bearings after a while, holding hands in the dark, “Faith, I swear to God, if you step on me one more time—”
“Stop laying down in the middle then!” Faith grumbles, gesturing behind her haphazardly, “Go sleep by Seoyeon.”
While they bicker, Duke takes the moment to work on freeing his own hands while counting the heads around him. The knot around his wrist is almost embarrassingly easy to undo, taken straight out of one of Batman's easier training simulations — and he doesn't even have to dislocate his thumbs! Once free, he pockets the rope just in case, grimacing.
Five girls in total. Five civilians and him. Six civilians, technically. Escaping just got a little more complicated.
“Kid?” Shanti asks, squinting in his direction since he's fallen silent, “You okay?”
Duke grabs her wrists gently, holding her steady when she jumps back in surprise, “My name's Duke. Here, let me get you out of this rope.”
He watches her blink in surprise, “How did you— did you get out?”
“Who got out?” One of the women from earlier asks in a hush, walking over, her head tilted in a way that suggests she's following their voices.
“I’ll untie everyone, just stay where you are,” he says, pocketing Shanti’s rope once undone, “I’ll come to you.”
“Hey, are you really Bruce Wayne's kid?” A voice comes from the corner. Looking over reveals the rest of the women huddled together, all with their hands tied in front of them, looking to be in various stages of exhaustion and dehydration. The woman who talks to him is looking right at him despite the darkness.
Someone sighs frustratedly, “Seoyeon, can you interrogate him after he's untied us?”
Duke frowns, stepping forward to rest his palm on a girl’s shoulder closest to his left, slowly moving his hand down to her hands so as to not startle her, “How'd you know that?”
Seoyeon huffs an exasperated laugh, “Those idiots outside don't realise these walls aren't soundproof. They've been talking about what they're doing all day right outside. We heard them talking about you before they shoved you in here.”
Duke straightens up, evidence and clues, “What else have you heard?”
“They're bringing the other girls at around three,” She tells him forlornly, “The first boat gets here at half past three to take us.”
Duke curses under his breath, “We don't have time. The boat will be here in twenty minutes.”
Shanti has finally adjusted to the darkness as well, looking at the rough approximation of his head in question as she massages her bruised wrists, “How do you know what time it is?”
“I've been counting the seconds since they grabbed us at your cafe,” Duke tells her casually.
“You've been—?!” She gawks, “Duke, who the fuck are you?”
“My damn hero, that's who,” Faith cries in triumph once he's untied her, “Now let's show these guys what happens when you mess with —”
“You're going to get us killed,” Someone hisses in the darkness.
“She's right,” Duke states.
“Thank you—”
“We need to act now before we run out of time,” Duke finishes.
“Ah great,” the same voice grumbles, “You're both insane.”
“They're always armed,” Someone else says, “And if you haven't noticed, there isn't exactly a whole lotta space to hide for cover in here!”
Duke bites the inside of his cheek, seventeen minutes, “I have a plan. But you need to trust me.”
“We're so dead,” a girl mumbles, her now freed hands running through her hair in agitation. The other girls, those who are able to stand at least, don't look eager to hear him out either, and Duke can't blame them.
They don't know him. He has nothing to show for his skills. His face might be exposed, but his identity has never meant less than it does now in the darkness of a grim future. Once the boats get here, Duke will officially be far out of his element. Not to mention that, at the very least, these women have been here for a day, at worst —
“I trust you,” Shanti suddenly announces, reaching out clumsily to grab hold of his hand, squeezing his fingers in her trembling palms, “What's your plan?”
Duke looks at her unwavering brave expression, stunned. Her grip, however shaky, doesn't slacken.
“Any day now,” Faith grumbles at his silence.
Even Seoyeon, who had shared her information willingly, but seemed the least likely to actually follow his instructions, stands to her feet in anticipation. The women are leaning on each other, no doubt from their dehydration, but also as a united front. They've got nothing to lose here than they do out there, if they don't make a move soon.
Duke takes a deep breath and squeezes Shanti’s hand back.
“Okay,” he starts, “Here’s what we're gonna do.”
“Hey! Keep it down!” Penguins henchmen shout, banging on the side of the cargo container. The hollow centre of the metal box echoes the screams coming from inside.
“She's dead! You've killed her!” Someone screams.
The henchman looks over at his partner, the two of them giving each other a stunned look. Moving towards the mouth of the container, that is firmly shut with a lock and key padlock, banging on the metal again, “What's going on in there?!”
“They — these two girls started fighting! And she banged her head onto the ground and — oh god there's so much blood!” Someone cries close to the entrance.
One of the women lets out a long and horrified shriek, “She's not breathing!”
“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” One of the men groans, pocketing his gun in the back of his jeans in order to take out a chain, fiddling through the many keys attached to it, “We gotta get rid of the body before Penguin finds out. He's gonna lose his shit if the number of girls gets any lower.”
The other scoffs, “Is it really our fault if they've started losing their minds all on their own?”
He huffs annoyedly, holding up one of the keys and squinting at the small sticker on it’s side, “Fuck, which container is this? 7? Is this the right key?”
“They're literally labelled, how the fuck are you struggling to find it? Just — just give me that!”
Eventually, the correct key is found and inserted into the padlock, unlocking the container. Immediately, the two henchmen pull out their guns again, calling out, “All of you stand at the back of the box, alright? No funny business!”
Opening the container reveals a slightly less gruesome scene that they were previously led to believe, but one of the girls is sprawled across the middle of the container in a position that definitely can't be comfortable. The henchmen grimace, doing a quick glance around the box, though with much difficulty given the darkness that shrouds the entire thing. In fact, it somehow seems even darker in here than usual, the shadows draped across the four walls closing in on them.
Actually, really, closing in, “What the hell?” One of the men mutter, watching in growing horror as what appears to be a swallowing darkness encompass them.
The other man is too busy trying to peer through the darkness to count the women, “Alright, everybody stay back and no one else gets hurt,” they say, taking a step in —
Only to immediately trip and fall flat on their faces.
The henchmen sprawl around for a moment, confused at the sudden pull of gravity that's landed them down here. Looking down at where they fell reveals two women on either side of the container's entrance, the rope that had previously been keeping their hands tied now knotted together to form one long rope, stretched from one end to the other. Because of the darkness, they hadn't seen it at all, and simply tripped right over it. Once they scramble in, the door shuts behind them, shrouding the container in darkness once more.
It's almost ridiculous, straight out of a cartoon.
But not as ridiculous as looking up to see a shadowy figure blurred in the darkness descend upon them with the same vengeance as a scorned bat — the last thing they know being an unmissable sensation of a knockout punch to the face.
The second henchman manages to take the hit and roll back for more, pointing the gun haphazardly into the darkness. But before any bullets can go flying, Duke easily kicks the weapon out of their grasp, curling back around to kick them forward into the side of the container. Once they collide with the metal, they're old cold right beside their buddy.
For a moment, there is tense silence.
“Holy shit! Fuck yeah!” Faith shouts triumphantly, standing up from the corner and dropping one end of the rope. With a grunt, she and another woman push open the container doors again, allowing a thin veil of light in.
Shanti leaps up from the floor, no longer having to pretend to be dead, rushing towards the now unconscious henchmen and getting to work helping Duke tie them up with the remaining rope, “I can't believe that actually worked.”
“Me either,” Duke admits with a slightly winded laugh, body still thrumming with the rush of adrenaline, “We had to use the darkness to our advantage, since your eyes have adjusted to it better than theirs. Then there’s just hoping they're stupid enough to not look down.”
“Not to mention you knocking ‘em out in the dark,” Faith laughs, helping the other women to their feet, “What are you, some kinda teenage assassin? Kid ninja?”
Duke can't help the bark of surprised laughter that's pulled from him, slumping the henchmen against the back of the cargo container with more force than necessary — which they deserve. His laughter hangs onto his words when he helps the rest of the women out the container one by one, heart tight and heavy when they take deep breaths of fresh air, despite the stench of Gotham's river. It, hilariously, smells like freedom.
“Nah, just a kid from the Narrows,” Duke says with warmth.
“Alright, now what?” Seoyeong asks at his side.
In Duke's back pocket, the heavy weight of the container keys the henchmen had pulls him down. There had been at least a dozen keys on the chain, meaning at least a dozen other containers full of women about to be shipped off to who knows where.
In front of him, the women all look at him expectantly. Some of them can barely stand, leaning against the others and being held up by nothing but adrenaline and hope. In the light peeking through the boarded up windows of the warehouse, he can see their realisations at his young age, but it doesn't seem to make them lose their trust in him. Trust.
He holds the keys, and their trust.
He can not hold both.
“Now, we get you all out of here!” A voice suddenly says through the palpable pause, lifting it immediately and Duke would have collapsed in relief if not from the adrenaline keeping him upright.
He does not need to hold both, alone. Not anymore.
“Robin!” One of the women says in amazement.
Damian rushes towards them, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the group when he realises Duke is very evidently not Signal at the moment. He lets his startled gaze linger on Duke for a moment longer than usual to make sure he's alright, eyes scanning for injuries until they land on his face. While he looks terribly confused, Damian can't hide the pure happiness that twitches the corners of his mouth at Duke's presence.
Duke smiles back unabashedly, genuinely elated to see him, but reunions will have to wait, “Get them to safety. I'm going to get the other girls out.”
“What!” a chorus of voices exclaims at once, though Damian's is by far the loudest.
“Absolutely not! I will get the other hostages, you will follow the civilians to safety.” Damian argues, forgoing any sort of secrecy and stomping up towards Duke in a way that screams familiarity.
When he's close enough, Duke whispers quickly, “We don't have time. Less than ten minutes before their backup arrives. These civilians need you to take care of them right now, Robin.”
Damian regards him for a moment, the urgency of the situation making his fingers twitch at his side, but he follows Duke's glance up and looks at the group of women. At the mere sight of their city's young Robin, the women's relief is palpable, hope restored and more importantly — home is within reach. The trauma they've endured is blinded by Robin's yellow cape, a beacon in the otherwise darkness they were imprisoned in.
Robin understands his role better than most when it comes to these situations.
“Alright,” Damian acquiesces, though he doesn't sound entirely happy about it, “The others are around and I'll alert them of your idiocy. I will return once everyone is safely evacuated.”
Duke gives him a thankful smile, letting it grow a little brighter when he looks up at the group of women. His eyes land on Shanti, who is eyeing him in concern and shock. She's smart, there's no doubt she's starting to piece things together, but rather than seemingly affronted by it — she grows visibly worried.
“I promised,” he tells her quietly. She only frowns in confusion.
Well, he's never been one for goodbyes. It's not really his thing (he never really gets the chance for them anyway).
So, without another word, Duke takes off in the direction of the many cargo containers lined up throughout the warehouse, ignoring the chorus of surprised cries calling him back. He holds the keys close to his chest, the ridges of the metal digging into his finger as the seconds tick past in his mind. Nine minutes.
Of course it wasn't going to be that easy. From the moment Duke decided he was going to relax and enjoy his day off, the universe obviously also decided to bring upon every misfortune it could possibly muster.
Stood in front of a cargo container with a massive 14 spray painted on it, Duke realises he only has twelve keys.
It makes sense the henchmen wouldn't have been given all the keys, just for security sake. There was probably a fixed rotation given the size of the warehouse and the amount of containers, so whoever was supposed to be patrolling this section must have the other set of keys.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, pulling at the padlock desperately, “Fuck!”
“Please — please get us out!” a muffled voice cries from the container, banging on the door while Duke stands outside helplessly pulling at the lock as if it would come undone.
“I will— I will! I just —” He looks around hurriedly, hoping Cass will suddenly appear from thin air to help him, like she always manages to do. He curses again, digging around his pockets for anything the henchmen might have forgotten when they emptied his pockets. Jay's swiss army knife would've helped him, but anything would work at this point — a pin, a paperclip, a —
He blinks in surprise when he pulls out the small metal casing of Damian's charcoals, still wrapped in the brown paper he'd bought them in. Whoever had frisked him, didn't seem to think art supplies were all that dangerous. He unwraps it hurriedly, fumbling with the case and dropping one of the rectangular pieces. It leaves a smudge on his shoes as it falls to the ground.
This isn't going to help, and he's wasting time just standing here — six minutes — so Duke has no choice. While it's not what he's looking for, he's done more with less in his pockets. He needs to find the other keys, or something to break the locks. He also needs to stall until Damian, or someone else, comes to him with a plan of action.
He takes a deep breath in. His mission is to save the civilians. It always has been, since he became the Signal.
“I'm going to come back,” Duke shouts over the crying of women, holding the charcoal steady and willing his hand to stop shaking as he draws a very messy and very quick bat across the front of the container, just in case anyone comes along before Duke can find a way to get the locks open.
If Damian manages to get the others to safety, he'll circle back here following after Duke and can get the victims out with his tools. Regardless, none of them, especially not Bruce, would walk past something with their symbol on it without investigating. It's a hopeful plan, but all he has for now.
If he follows along this route, it should eventually lead him to a break room of sorts, or wherever it is the goons are handing off their shifts and keys to eachother. If he could only just find —
“Hey— it's that Wayne kid! How did you get out?” A voice shouts from behind, startling Duke hard enough that he presses down on the charcoal, feeling it snap between his fingers.
Sorry Damian, Duke thinks inwardly, before turning around and lunging the small piece of charcoal at Penguin’s goon.
Duke's arm has always been good, probably thanks to his dad and their many fishing adventures — the time Riddler flooded Gotham not included — and so it smacks the man right between his eyes, sending him scrambling back in surprise. That's all the distraction Duke needs to shoot forward, almost into a crouch before punching up towards the goons chin.
Jason did say he had a pretty good punch. Maybe not as good as Stephanie's left hook is rumoured to be, but it gets the job done. The henchman falls back like deadweight, out cold.
The victory is short lived when Duke hears the telltale click of a gun's safety going off behind him. It happens quickly;
Duke turns slowly, hands up and eyes wide. It's too late to feign fear and appease for mercy, what with the unconscious man at his feet with a bruised jaw, but it's not too late to make a bad situation lethal. The henchman, the same one from the cafe and the car, is pointing the gun right at Duke, eyes blazing angrily. He's hidden in the small space between two containers, covered well enough that Duke didn't even notice him.
"Listen, just put the gun down and we can—”
“Penguin said you're only useful as a hostage if you're alive,” the man cuts him off, stepping forward until he's out in the open, opposite Duke, “Makes me wonder how much you'd be worth to Wayne dead. Probably still a lot, right?”
Duke is about to attempt reason, another lie and promise of money at the tip of his tongue, but he swallows his words. There is a dark, swallowing, shadow perched on top of the cargo containers, watching the two of them eerily.
This one is not one of Duke's tricks.
The goon twitches at Duke's attention being enraptured elsewhere, sparing a fleeting look towards whatever it is the boy is staring at in awe. It's here, he's already lost, since the time between Batman descending upon you and the impact of a bat-boot to the face is practically non-existent. One second Duke feels the tendrils of a fear not easily lost slowly snake its way up his legs when faced with the barrel of a gun, and the next those same legs are rushing towards Batman.
Bruce stands tall after the man is successfully knocked out, the magnetic cuffs slapped around his wrist pulling him up against one of the storage containers in a position that will definitely hurt when he wakes up. As Duke comes to a stop in front of Batman, he kicks the gun away for good measure. He feels breathless.
They don't do something as dramatic as a hug, even if Duke is beyond relieved to know Batman's here, but Batman still reaches out to rest his hand on Duke's shoulder. Sentimental, perhaps, having found Duke without his armour in front of a gun.
Bruce squeezes his shoulder once, eyes searching Duke's, “Are you alright?”
Duke inhales, “Yeah.”
And that's that.
Bruce nods stiffly, quick to care but the situation at hand requires more urgency than gentleness at the moment. He pulls away, looking around until his eyes land on the storage container with the bat drawn across its door, an intimidating padlock staring back at them.
Bruce presses the side of his cowl, “Found him and the other hostages. Continue with the plan.”
“What plan?” Duke asks, stepping back. There's an uncomfortable imbalance across the soles of his feet, the persistence of time slipping away. They need to move. When Bruce takes too long to answer, watching Duke's movements curiously, the words rush out of him, mind spinning, “Did you bring my suit?”
In his hurry to recollect the seconds that have slipped through his fingers, Batman's face turns cold and unreadable, jaw tensed beneath the cowl. Duke stops abruptly, staring at him in cold realisation.
“You didn't,” he answers for himself, inexplicably hurt, before Duke shakes it off and breathes in deeply, “Fine. Give me a spare mask and comm. Some smoke bombs if you have any. I can still help.”
Before Bruce can answer, Duke feels a push of air behind him. There is a very deliberate movement to that action, a clear way to make him aware of their presence as to not sneak up on him, and for that reason alone, Duke knows immediately who it is.
Cassandra's gloved hand appears on his shoulder, covering the place Bruce had just touched. “They asked about you,” She says quietly, the non sequitur throwing him off and making Duke's shivering stop all at once, “Demanded, actually.”
He frowns, “What?”
“The people you saved. They refuse to leave for medical attention until you return. Safely.” Cass offers, coming to stand in front of him and sounding somewhat amused behind her mask.
Bruce's expression cracks a little, the slightest quirk to the corner of his lips, “You left quite the impression.”
“I need to help them,” Duke states, holding a hand out for Bruce to give him some supplies. At the very least, a domino mask and emergency comm that lets him talk to the others would be enough. Despite her face being completely hidden, Duke sees the way Cass looks between him and his outstretched palm in surprise.
“You are helping them,” Bruce argues.
Give me just a mask, then. Duke's closes his hand into a fist and it trembles between him and Batman, “They don't need me. They need —”
“The Signal?” Cass asks calmly.
Duke huffs harshly through his nose, overwhelmed from the absence of adrenaline that's been keeping him upright for the last few hours, feeling the acrid burning of his blood closer to his skin, “Yes.”
She tilts her head to the side consideringly, “Was it the Signal who saved them?”
Duke pauses.
“That's not fair,” he stresses. They don't have time for a lecture about secret identities!
“You saved them,” Bruce reasons back just as urgently, the squeaking of his leather gauntlets balled into a fist at his side showing he's just as eager to end his conversation and get to work, “What you were wearing as you did so is not relevant. You did good. Now, you finish the mission you started.”
The mission…
“I'll get us out of here, promise.”
Suddenly, Duke feels a pin go straight through his heart. It aches for a moment, before he feels the build up of the last few hours escape his chest, deflating him and leaving him spent. The hollowness feels colder now, no longer a burning urgency to go go go — and instead, there is space for choice. Duke takes a deep breath in, filling his chest with determination.
“Man,” he grumbles, stepping back with a skip of his feet and bursting with energy, “It's kinda annoying when you give really good advice.”
Bruce frowns, “I always give you good advice.”
“Not with words,” Cass shrugs.
Duke rolls his eyes and starts to turn for the way he came, when his eyes catch on his messily drawn bat-symbol. The powdery outline stares back at him menacingly.
He turns back, feet rooted in place, stomach in knots, “I can't just leave them like this—"
“What the — you three having a fucking party or something?” A deep modulated voice says from around the corner, approaching them with the thundering of familiar boots, “The boats are arriving, if anyone cares!”
This time, without saying anything or seeing her face, Duke can tell Cass is rolling her eyes. As Jason approaches them from behind, she takes off in the direction of the exit, no doubt to head for the docks. As she passes him, Duke feels the gentle brush of her cape against his arm, another deliberate move: Stay safe.
“Let's go,” Bruce grunts, having no more time to spend here. He's got his own mission to finish.
Jason stops next to him, looking like he's going to complain some more about Bruce's dilly dallying, but then zeroes in on Duke's restless presence. He holds up a hand, digging through his pant pockets for something with the others, “Hey Narrows, think I found something of yours in the break room.”
Before Duke can blink, Jason's chucking something at him. He catches it on instinct before he realises what it is, and for the second time, he feels his heart swell with promise.
Jay's swiss army knife. Immediately, he flicks it open, pulling out the lockpick.
He's not sure what kind of expression he has on his face when he looks up at Bruce, but whatever it is, it makes Batman soften enough to sigh in defeat.
“Go,” is all he instructs before running off to join Cass, a confused Jason trailing after voicing his complaints about Batman's monosyllabic words of encouragement.
Duke runs towards the containers, the bat-symbol welcoming him.
The moment Duke exits the warehouse, dozens of exhausted and injured people following behind him, the paramedics descend upon them in a flurry of questions and siren lights.
Duke's happy to note there are more ambulances waiting outside than police cars, since the last thing these women need is to be interrogated by the GCPD. Chances are they're on the other side of the docs, apprehending whoever it is Batgirl left battered and unconscious for their questioning.
He and a young girl with a twisted ankle hobble over to the closest ambulance, her arm over his shoulder as he helps her onto the gurney. Whrn situated, she doesn't drop her hand immediately, clutching onto the sleeve of Duke's shirt. Slowly, he covers her hand with his own and pulls it away.
“We're safe now, I promise," he tells her softly.
It's not much, but she believes him enough to let the paramedic get close enough to check her injuries. As Duke leaves the ambulance, another paramedic approaches him with worried eyes.
He waves her away, “I'm fine. I — please check on the others.”
Duke doesn't wait for her response before he's moving through the crowd again. The sea of people starts to dwindle as the hospital transports leave, others huddling into groups and holding each other close. There is the unmissable sound of crying, and Duke feels his own eyes burn, but he swallows the grief and paints on a brave face. There's still work to be done here, and for them there always will be, but Duke can only hope things get better.
He doesn't hide his aching heart quickly enough, since as he forces himself to dislodge the growing devastation with a harsh inhale, he sees the group of women he was locked up with. They, as Cass had said, are vehemently avoiding getting into the ambulance and seem to be fighting the medical staff. Faith in particular, although looking dreadfully pale, refuses the pleading paramedics advice to seek treatment.
Next to them stands a very angry Damian, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently.
Shanti sees him approaching first, “Duke!”
Damian turns around immediately, domino mask lenses wide as they take in Duke's figure. Relief flashes across the young boy's face, which is honestly really sweet, until it is immediately replaced with irritation, “Finally! You see? He is very much alive! Now into the ambulance!”
Duke can't help but laugh in surprise, the sound heavy against his tongue, and it only grows more unbearable when Shanti reaches out for him, “He's right. Let's go.”
“You look like shit,” Faith offers with a groan as she all but crawls into the ambulance. Seoyeon rolls her eyes, but nods at Duke before following behind. There's still space for two more.
Duke swallows thickly. He looks around, at the people still seeking treatment and the vehicles rolling in. He'd unlocked as many containers as he could on his way out, but he could've easily missed one. Besides, if Damian hasn't left yet, then whatever it is the others are handling isn't over either. If they need the back up then he needs to be here when —
“Duke,” Shanti says softly, waiting by the doors of the ambulance, a small smile as she gestures inside, “We're getting out of here, remember?”
Duke stares at her in surprise, but returns the smile after a beat of silence. Maybe this is why Dick told him not to make promises — they're really powerful.
Jay is, unsurprisingly, distraught when he finds Duke in the discharge room of Gotham General Hospital.
“Holy shit kid,” Jay curses immediately, rushing forward.
He's dressed in his work clothes, so they must have called him in from his shift. Though, before Duke can apologise for causing all the unnecessary fuss — since really, all he was treated for was a couple of scrapes and he could've taken the bus home — Jay all but knocks the two of them to the ground in his hurry to hug him.
“You're okay,” Jay mumbles in a way that might be to comfort both Duke and himself, squeezing tight, “You're good.”
Duke goes still in the embrace. He and Jay aren't usually the hugging type. Or even the high-fiving type. Maybe when he was younger, and Jay hadn't gone off to the military yet, when they were both a little softer and eager to play in the walls of their childhood bedrooms. But here, pressed against his Big Cousin Jay's chest, Duke feels smaller than he has in a long time.
Slowly he raises his arms, gripping onto the back of Jay's shirt, “I'm good.”
“They told me on the phone you got kidnapped?!” Jay then exclaims, pulling away but still gripping onto the side, "Christ man. What the fuck —”
“I promise I'm okay,” Duke says with an amused huff, unused to seeing Jay so frazzled, “Just tired.”
“No shit. I — I took a day off tomorrow, okay? We'll just stay in and eat food. And watch your, uh, anime cartoons, okay? We'll both have a day off.” Jay continues, speaking quickly as he pats a hand against Duke's cheek, as if he's still seven years old and not seventeen, “Sound good?”
A day off.
Duke snorts, “Yeah. Sounds good.”
Batman will just have to wait until Monday for his mission report. Hopefully.