Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was nearly impossible to hear anything over the relentless pounding in Dick’s skull. The pain throbbed in steady waves, each pulse louder than the last. His vision blurred, swimming in and out of focus, until all he could see was the cold, unforgiving concrete of the subway floor beneath him—stained now by the steady drip of blood from his nose, tiny crimson circles blooming like flowers on stone. He ached—every limb heavy, every breath scraped raw inside his chest.

Gotham missions never ran smooth, but this one had gone off the rails. A chase through the underbelly of the city after Riddler’s latest crew of zealots had ended in chaos, throwing their whole rhythm off balance as everyone scrambled to stay standing. Every member of the Bat Family had taken a hit, no time to patch themselves up before things went south. They were beaten down, scattered. Exhausted. And now the GCPD was hunting them too—no distinction between criminal and vigilante when politics got involved. The family was splintered and vulnerable.
Dick’s comm crackled to life, and for a brief, foolish second, he let himself hope—Babs. Oracle, with a plan, or at least a way out. But then came the voice.

Not hers.

Riddler.

"You beat the odds and made it to Union Square, Bats! Slipped the noose when those pesky cops didn’t want to get any blood on their shiny little badges. But here’s the real question… will you make it through the maze of Union Square?” Dick pushed himself upright, every muscle screaming in protest. Despite the dire circumstances, he was almost glad they were separated. It meant nobody was there to catch the strain in his jaw, the tremor in his arm as he forced balance. He didn’t have to worry about keeping it together like this, no flippantly perfect facade to keep up.
The relief only lasted moments, overshadowed by the looming dread of “where is my family” coursing through his brain.

He gritted his teeth, leaning heavily against the cold, stained concrete of the wall behind him. His body gravitated into the solid pressure it brought, his head pressing into it like a lifeline as he waited for the pounding to subside. With shaky fingers, he raised his fingers back up to his comms, hoping, praying that a more familiar voice spoke up instead. It buzzed to life once more, and he did little to hold back the groan that dragged itself from his throat as the Riddler’s grating cadence graced the line once more.“So many levels and angles, trains, colors, letters and numbers. Platforms moving in and out like lost robots. Trying to get home? It’s a labyrinth.” A high-pitched giggle erupted through the comms, and Dick flinched. It was shrill and sudden, the feeling akin to glass shattering inside his brain.
“Can you crack the code?” the Riddler taunted. “Or will it crack you?”

Static. Silence.

He waited with his breath in his throat, hoping for any kind of sign that the others were okay. Breathing, a groan, a curse– anything that showed he still had a family to worry about.
Dick shivered. Every instinct screamed move, but he stayed still until the comms clicked again.
“Status?” A gruff voice rumbled into the line, and Dick sagged against the cold concrete with relief. He didn’t doubt that Bruce was alright, but knowing that their brooding father was still kicking was one hell of a relief. Dick reached up to his comm, stopping short as the strain of lifting his arm pulled against taut muscles. He sucked in a pained breath through his teeth, clenching his fist and pressing it firmly into the ground as he tried not to wince.

Now was not the time to hurt.

Releasing a shaky breath, Dick reached back up to his comm and flicked it on, donning the steadiest voice he could muster. “Nightwing’s alright,” he said carefully, refusing to let his voice betray how much everything hurt. “Definitely not how I’d like to be spending my Thursday night, but I’ve had worse.”
He heard a few mumbles and groans across the line, and he quickly shut off his end as another round of agony wracked his muscles. A pathetic groan slipped from his throat as his lips curled uncomfortably, his body shaking with the effort to stay upright.

He heard the voices of his brothers come through– shaky, hurt, but there. Alive. It did little to sooth the worry coursing through his pounding head, but it was something. One after the other, each easing his brotherly soul bit by bit.
The voices in his comm settled in the back of his mind as his head tilted to lean back against the wall, wincing as the cold concrete pressed against the site of where a bruise was surely forming. This corner of the subway seemed virtually abandoned, with exposed pipes along the ceiling running down darkened and stained corridors. Oil, water, and whatever mystery liquid seemed to coat the walls and ground, trash lining the station like urban greenery. The faint sound of trains running through echoed around the tunnels, the mechanical roar sounding almost like some beast waiting to swallow him whole.
His focus drifted back to the line, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he listened in to the telltale bickering of the other bats.

“If Gordon wasn’t a little bitch he’d come out here himself,” he heard Jason drawl, “Not send every officer in his goddamn institution.”
Damian’s voice piped up, and Dick’s smile fell as he registered the strain in the boy’s voice. “Gordon is far too cowardly. I’d be surprised if we see his face at all.” He sounds hurt, Dick’s mind chimed, his chest heavy with an instinct screaming to protect.

A silence fell over the line as Bruce rumbled back into the soundscape. “That thinking will get you killed, Robin. Stay alert, would you?”
Leave it to B to kill the mood, Dick thought with a quiet snort, bringing one trembling hand up to wipe the blood dripping steadily out of his nose.
“That goes for all of you,” Bruce continued, an edge of concern latching onto his gravelly air. “GCPD’s sweeping the whole station. They won’t hesitate to shoot.”

Dick’s eyes flicked back down to the hall ahead of him, his eyes flaring in alarm at the sight of flashlights scanning further ahead. Well, at least they’re timely, he thought grimly, reaching towards his utility belt for a grapple. He winced at the pull in his muscles, but he didn’t quite have a choice here. He caught the side of his cheek in between his teeth, biting down to suppress a grunt as he fired a line past the pipes on the ceiling.

He had to clasp a hand over his mouth as his body propelled toward the ceiling, and his feet landed with a soft thud against one of the wider pipes before he ran a hand down his face. His eyes screwed shut as he bit back curses, his arms and torso absolutely throbbing. Why did it have to be him? He was an acrobat, for God’s sake, why did it feel like he’d never stretched a day in his life?
His thoughts quickly quieted as he watched flashlights search the ground beneath him, lingering on the spot he’d been crumpled in not moments ago.

Moments ticked by.

One second.

Two.

Three.

When the flashlights finally disappeared further down the corridor, he released his held breath and the teeth clamped down on the inside of his cheek. Too close, Dick thought, swiping away the blood falling from his nose. I need to pay more attention.

Dick stayed statue-still, pressing himself low against the pipe until the echo of boots and the glare of lights faded into the distant end of the corridor. The loss of light should have uneased him by how vulnerable he was without a way to navigate in the labyrinth-like station, but the fact that he was out of their sights for a moment was as comforting as it could be. The distant murmur of radios crackled, faint and distorted through the tunnels, but unmistakably there. For a moment, it almost sounded like whispers against the wall of sound in the station– eerily similar to taunting jeers. Mocking, barely there, and bleeding from the very walls.

He exhaled slowly, the release shaky and uneven. Every movement felt heavier than the last. He reached up at his ear again, thumb brushing the side of the device, but hesitated. The silence between the static was suffocating. Part of him wanted to hear his father’s voice again, the gruff steadiness grounding amid his injured daze. But the other part of him reminded himself that for Bruce to speak up, there had to be something happening that was bad enough to worry him about them. If anything, the silence should have been more of a comfort.
Instead, he focused on the world around him. The constant hum of the subway, the faint hiss of steam escaping from somewhere deeper in the tunnels, the low rumble of a train passing levels below. The sound was predictable. Routine. Even Gotham’s underbelly seemed to have a rhythm, if you knew how to listen.
Dick shifted his weight, muscles tightening in protest, and began to move along the pipe. The metal groaned faintly beneath his boots, every sound amplified in the cavernous dark. He needed to get higher, find an exit point, find at least one of the others. His mind flicked through possibilities of the rest of them– Tim could pull up a map and find his way out no problem, Jason was a tank of a human and could handle himself, Damian could vanish into the darkness and be fine.

He tried not to think about the glaring question of if they make it that far that plagued his mind.

A sharp buzz in his ear made him flinch. The comm hissed to life.
“ –wing? Dick? You there?”

Jason.

Dick’s chest eased just enough to let air through. He tapped his comm. “I’m here, littlewing,” he breathed. His voice was thin, the exhaustion bleeding through despite his best effort to mask it.
“Good,” Jason grumbled, and Dick could hear the relief in his voice. “I’m pinned near the maintenance line between Union and Bleecker. Lost visuals on the others pretty quick.” There was something thick in his voice– regret? Worry? Dick couldn’t place it, but he knew the other had to have been in a similar state.
He cursed slightly under his breath, running a hand through dark locks. “You injured?” He asked. He was met with a long pause, where he could hear the stutter in his brother’s breathing. A wince.

“Nothing serious.”
“Jason.”
“I’ve been shot before, Dick–”
“You’re shot?”
“It’s not that bad.”

“Stay put,” Dick gritted out, starting his move once more. “I’ll find a way down to you.”

“You shouldn’t be moving. Tim said he saw you get hit pretty hard,” Jason countered. Tim, you bitch, Dick’s mind hissed, but he didn’t speak on it. Jason was right, after all, every step he took sent a new streak of pain coursing through his body. But he wasn’t about to admit that, admit that he was weak. He was supposed to be the one saving them.
“Babs would tell you I bounce back,” Dick replied flippantly.
“Babs isn’t the one in your ear right now.”
“Then stop worrying and start figuring out a way for me to get to you,” he bit out, his tone sharper than he would have liked. It wasn’t his brother’s fault, but that didn’t stop the flare of annoyance in his chest. Shut up and let me help you.

The comm went quiet for a few beats, save for the sound of unsteady breathing. He’d either pissed off his brother or Jason was actually doing what he told him to for once, which was once in a blue moon. Or he’s dead because you didn’t get to him fast enough, a voice whispered.

He ignored it.

Dick took the moment to shift down the pipe, one careful step at a time, until he could drop onto a narrow ledge running along the wall. His boots landed softly, but the jolt sent another flare of pain through his ribs. He pressed a hand there instinctively and hissed, cutting it off quickly with a bite to his lip.
Jason’s voice filled his ear again. “There’s a maintenance hatch about fifty meters east of your position,” he ground out. “You’ll hit a crawl tunnel that connects to my level.”
Dick blew out a ragged breath tinged with relief. “Copy that,” he murmured, glancing toward the east tunnel. It was darker, somehow– more so than the rest of this godforsaken tunnel– and the air seemed thicker, heavy with oil and dust. Every sound echoed wrong. He pushed off the wall, forcing his body to cooperate. He could feel his movements beginning to grow jerky, pained, and he pushed it down as far as he could. He steeled himself, swallowing thickly. “You’d better not bleed out on me before I get there, Jay,” he muttered under his breath, forcing a wry grin to pull at his lips.
Jason’s breathy huff came through, sharp and hurt. Alive, though. “You say that like I have an option.”
“Yeah, well,” Dick murmured, stepping along the pipes to maneuver further down the tunnel. “I’m not gonna carry your ass back to the cave. Couldn’t move my back for days after last time.”
“I thought being able to carry your little brother was in the job description?” Jason teased, a humorous lilt in his voice. Dick huffed, lips twitching. Banter was good. Banter meant Jason was still conscious.

The ground sloped unevenly beneath his boots, the hum of the subway lines above him a constant low vibration in his bones. The deeper he went, the less Gotham felt like a city and more like the belly of some old, metal beast. Pipes groaned. Steam hissed. The stale air smelled like burnt rubber and dust, chokingly so.
The Riddler’s voice still buzzed faintly in his head, that mocking sing-song cutting into the back of his thoughts. “Can you crack the code...or will it crack you?”
He tried to shake it off, but the words clung like cobwebs.

“Alright,” Jason’s voice cut through, strained but steadying. “Once you reach the hatch, drop down and follow the orange piping. Should take you straight here.”
“On it,” Dick replied, though his voice had thinned. He could tell he was moving slower now, one hand skimming along the pipes around him for balance. Every step sent sparks of pain shooting through his ribs, each breath sharper than the last.

Dick’s hand lingered on the rusted pipe, the metal biting into his gloved palm as he forced himself forward. The shadows ahead seemed to shift, the dim glow surrounding the hatch just barely illuminating the way. He could hear the faint echo of dripping water somewhere deeper in the tunnels– Gotham’s veins pumping endlessly. It was easy to feel small in comparison, limping toward the faint promise of his family as the city roared around him.

He reached the hatch and pressed a hand against the corroded metal. His fingertips slipped over grime and rust, catching briefly on a jagged edge. The loss of movement in his legs allowed the pain in his ribs to flare, and he gritted his teeth to force a steadying breath. With one hand on the hatch and the other bracing against the wall, he swung his legs up, dropped, and landed roughly against the ground with a grunt. The force shot pain up from his feet to his teeth, and he only allowed himself a moment to wince before continuing deeper into the hatch.
The confined space smelled of oil, dust, and something sharp– choking, almost. Like the air itself was against him going any further.

“Keep moving,” he muttered under his breath, ignoring the hitch in Jason’s breath as he pressed forward. “Orange piping. Don’t stop.”

Dick crawled, the metal of the pipes cutting into his palms, every motion a battle against his own body. The further he went, the more his muscles screamed in protest, but the thought of seeing his brothers–alive–kept him clawing forward. The orange piping twisted and dipped with the contours of the tunnel. Shadows leapt ahead as the flicker of some distant light barely grazed the walls.

Suddenly, a metallic clang echoed somewhere above. Dick froze, heart hammering. His hand instinctively brushed his grapple gun, but he knew it would be useless in this narrow space. The sound repeated– a slow, deliberate tapping. Someone was up there. Something was nearby, and he didn’t know what.
“Stay calm,” He whispered into his comm, though it was barely audible. “Almost there.”

Always the comforter.

A second echo followed, faster this time, closer. Dick’s chest clenched, every instinct screaming danger. He pressed himself flat against the tunnel floor, forcing his chest to stop trembling. Straining to hear. The sound was mechanical, deliberate– footsteps on metal grates.

“Jay… you there?” His voice was barely a breath.

“Here,” Jason answered, sharp. Hurt. “Almost. You– don’t stop. Just– don’t stop.”
Dick’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need to hear more– would probably tell him to stop talking anyway. He knew the Riddler’s handiwork in trapping them down here, isolated, separate. The crawling of officers didn’t help. Pain shredded his muscles, his ribs throbbed with every movement, yet he crawled faster, dragging himself along the orange piping as if sheer willpower could carry him through the chokehold of pain.

The tunnel dipped, a low crawl, and suddenly Dick had to wedge himself through a narrow bend. Pain lanced through his shoulder as he scraped against the metal edges, his mask catching briefly on the pipe. He cursed under his breath, tasting blood, but pressed onward. Ahead a faint light flickered– the glow of a worklamp, a large silhouette crumpled just beyond it. Jason. Relief surged, and he almost allowed himself a grin.

The unmistakable hiss of steam erupted from a vent to his right.

His instincts flared and he shot himself away from the sound, only for his footing to slip and send him tumbling against the walls. Pain exploded across his ribs, his breath ripped clean from his lungs. Stars danced behind his eyes, but he blinked through it, forcing himself upright. The orange pipe wavered ahead, a lifeline.
“Dick!” Jason’s alarmed voice rang through his skull. “You alright?”
“Fine,” Dick croaked, though whether it was truthful was debatable. He staggered forward, gripping the pipe with both hands, teeth gritted against the stabbing pain. “Keep the light on. I’m coming.”
The sound of footsteps above him quickened. Dick’s mind flashed with the Riddler’s words: “Can you crack the code… or will it crack you?”
He clenched his fists. He couldn’t afford to crack. Not here, not now. Not when the rest of his family depended on him.

The orange pipe twisted downward, almost vertical. Dick took a deep, shuddering breath and let gravity take him, sliding with controlled speed down the pipe. He used his legs to absorb the jarring impact. Pain buzzed through him with every inch, but he gritted his teeth, eyes fixed on the dim glow ahead.
He staggered forward, letting his legs carry him toward the light. He couldn’t afford to think about it, could only grit his teeth and push forward.

Then he saw him. Jason, crouched near the maintenance ladder, one arm pressed to his side. Eyes wide but alive. Relief and rage mingled in Dick’s chest– his brother was alright. His brother was hurt. His brother was hurting because he wasn’t fast enough.

“You made it,” Jason rasped, his voice shaking with exhaustion.
“I’m here,” Dick breathed, letting himself collapse into a crouch beside him, ignoring the fire in his body. “I’m here, littlewing, you’re alright.”
He breathed out a ragged, exhausted sigh and let his head fall to rest atop Jason’s. They still had a way to go until they were safe, but one of his brothers was safe. That was all he could hope for right now.

His relief was short lived when a grating voice echoed in his ear.

Chapter Text

“All units move in on the eastern maintenance levels. Possible vigilante activity. Shoot on sight.”

Gordon’s voice bled through the stillness of the tunnel air around them, tainting the comforting silence with dread. Too close. 

Dick’s pulse stuttered, his arm around Jason’s shoulder tightening as he bit back the shaky exhale that pressed in his throat. He had to stay composed, stay alert. Jason was far too injured for him to start panicking now.

He lifted his head, peering down at his brother’s state as he devised plan after plan in his mind. His face was pale from beneath the grime, one hand pressed tight against his side and stained red from the blood he’d already lost. It stained through his armor, dark and wet, the mere sight of it set Dick on edge. 

“We gotta move,” Jason bit out, his eyes pale and bleary. Too unfocused for his brother’s tastes.

Dick blinked, his jaw setting as he focused back in. “Right,” he murmured. “Right. Come on.”

He withdrew from Jason’s side and leaned his shoulder against the wall, his teeth clenching and his lip curling in something of a pained snarl as he forced himself upright. The motion tore at his chest, each tendon igniting with hurt that ripped the very breath from his lungs. His world tilted and swam before he pressed his head into the concrete, willing it to snap back into focus. His breath was shaky, trembling, as his left leg weakened under his weight. He only let it buckle a moment before catching himself against the wall, the rough edge biting through his glove into his palm.

“Fuck,” he hissed, running a hand down his face as he reoriented himself. You’re supposed to be alright, his mind hissed, You’ll kill both of you.

He could feel Jason watching him. Whether it was with pity or disgust he couldn’t tell.

“Come on,” Dick managed, reaching out an arm. The limb screamed in protest as he hauled his brother to his feet, slinging Jason’s arm over his shoulders. The weight almost buckled him right there– but he willed it not to. The smell of gunpowder and blood clung to the both of them, sharp and putrid. 

They stumbled into motion, boots slipping against the wet floor. The tunnel was narrow, claustrophobic– the air live with the vibration of trains far above.

Their comms crackled.

For a moment, Dick sucked in a breath in preparation for another one of Riddler’s cryptic monologues; lord knows they needed more of those. At least then the annoyance would fuel him to get out of there if not to escape the lunatic’s ravings.

He blew out a relieved sigh as Bruce’s voice rumbled across the line, “Nightwing, Hood, report.”

Dick pressed his free hand to his comm, the other one tightening around his brother’s waist to support him better. “Together,” he said tightly, his voice thin with the strain. “Union lower levels. GCPD’s closer than I’d like.” 

His eyes flicked to Jason’s pale face and the blood trickling from under his hand. “Hood’s in bad shape,” he chimed, ignoring the way Jason glared at him like he resented the fact that someone fussed over him. His brother hated showing weakness– they all did– but that was an arbitrary line Dick would have to cross when the other man was bleeding out in his arms. Ironic, right?

“Stay out of sight,” Bruce responded, his voice measured yet taut with worry, “I’m en route.”

Dick grunted affirmation into the comm, shifting his focus to the tunnel stretching ahead of them. The darkness felt infinite, eerie and cavernous. The walls were slick with condensation, streaked with grime that caught in the dim orange glow of the service lights. Every step Dick took echoed across the silent soundscape around them, and every time Jason shifted his weight a fresh burst of agony burst through his ribs.

The faint scent of ozone mingled in the tunnel air with the tang of Jason’s blood, and it made Dick’s stomach twist. Somewhere above them, the mechanical roar of a passing train rumbled through the station’s concrete veins, vibrating up through his bones. Threatening to throw him off balance, to keep him off kilter. The vibration was almost hypnotic, lulling him into a dangerous haze of fatigue, yet he pushed it down. Focus. Move. Survive. That was all that mattered.

His own body screamed in protest with every step. Dick’s muscles quivered violently, each movement a negotiation between willpower and pure exhaustion. His ribs burned with a constant fire, a sharp reminder of the exhaustion seeping into his bones, and his vision wavered in dizzying pulses. Sweat and blood mixed along his brow, streaking his mask and stinging his eyes. He blinked, trying to refocus, even as his world still tilted and turned before him. The tunnel seemed to constrict around them, the looming walls closing in as the distant echo of boots grew louder. His teeth gritted, jaw aching, as he shifted Jason’s weight, staggering under the combined burden of his brother and his own injuries. He could feel the tremor in his hands, small shakes that refused to be silenced no matter how tightly he held on.

A sharp metallic clang rang out above them, reverberating in the narrow passage. Dick froze mid-step, chest tightening as adrenaline spiked through his veins. His fingers clenched tighter around Jason’s waist, more so to ground himself than to support his brother. The comm crackled again.

“Nightwing?” A young voice– Damian, thank god– thin and strained through the static. “Where–? You need to–”

“Not now,” Dick silenced hoarsely, cursing himself as his voice betrayed just how tired he was beginning to be. “Moving.” 

Step by step, Dick dragged Jason down, down, down the tunnel until they reached a sloped crawl. Not at all what he’d prefer right now, but it was better than staying in the open. 

Each motion down the crawl was agony– ribs screaming, legs trembling, head pounding like a war drum– but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t, with his family’s life on the line. He could feel his body breaking, the subtle betrayals of fatigue manifesting as he stumbled and huffed. The haze creeping behind his eyes.

A sudden slip sent him crashing against the wall, a grunt tearing from his chest. Pain flared, sharp and unrelenting, radiating from his side to his spine. Jason’s arms tightened instinctively around him, keeping them both miraculously standing. 

“You okay?” Jason rasped, his own voice weak.

Dick swallowed back bile and gritted his teeth. “I’ll survive,” he muttered, forcing a shaky grin that didn’t reach his eyes. Inside, though, the truth clawed at him; he could barely feel his legs, his arms a leaden weight, and the relentless pounding in his skull made it hard to think straight. He felt fragile. Human, dangerously exposed.

He forced himself to straighten upright again, dragging Jason’s weight along. Ahead, a faint flicker of light promised an exit. A way out of this nightmare. But every step was a battle against his own body, a war of will against the ache. The nausea, the dizziness that threatened to knock him to the ground.

The sound of footsteps returned, closer this time. Boots clanging against metal grates and pounding against concrete. Dick’s pulse spiked and he swore under his breath, dropping his head against Jason’s shoulder for a brief, shuddering second. His body trembled with effort, each breath shallow and ragged.

He pushed on.

The piping twisted downward once more, steeper than before. Dick bit back a groan, using the last reserves of his strength to lower them safely to the tunnel floor. Pain lanced through his legs, up his spine, into his chest– but he ignored it. Ignored it because he had to. He had to get Jason out, get the rest of them out. 

When they finally reached the end of the crawl, a maintenance light offering an amber glow of solace, Dick let himself slump briefly against the wall, gasping. Sweat and blood dripped into his eyes under the mask, into his mouth. His body trembled, barely holding him upright. He felt Jason shift against him, and he hardly processed the hand cupping his face as his brother examined him.

“Shit, Dick, you’re–”

“No time,” Dick strained out, shaking his head. “Move.”

Each step was agony. Every breath rasped painfully through his lungs. His vision blurred, tilting the world like it was trying to throw him off itself. For the first time in a long time, Dick felt vulnerable. Broken. Still, he moved anyway.

Because even at the edge of collapse, with his body screaming rebellion, he couldn’t stop. Not with Jason depending on him, with his family scattered, hunted, bleeding in Gotham’s dark underbelly. Not with Riddler’s taunts ringing in his head– “will it crack you?”

Dick gritted his teeth again, dragging himself and Jason forward, limbs quaking, heart hammering, and refused to let this city break him. 

“Just a little further…” he muttered, more to himself than the brother he carried. “Just a little further.”

Dick’s boots slipped against the slick concrete, each step a painful reminder of just how beaten down he was. Jason’s arm draped over his shoulder weighed heavily, but Dick didn’t slow. Ahead, the tunnel twisted in impossible angles, shadows stretching like claws toward them. Every instinct screamed that the threat was somewhere nearby– observing, waiting. 

A faint glow appeared around the next bend– familiar, practical, unassuming. Dick’s heart lurched as he registered the sight of the teen crouched low, scanning the tunnel with a faint trail of tech glow spilling from his gauntlets. Relief washed over Dick, and he exhaled a shaky, stuttering sigh as he dragged the two of them closer. Tim’s alright, his mind murmured, You didn’t fail another one yet.

“Tim,” he breathed, his voice not more than a raspy whisper. The boy in question whipped around, on high alert, but the bristles smoothed as he took in the sight of his older brothers slumped against one another.

“Shit,” Tim muttered, hastily clasping the panels of his gauntlets closed as he pushed himself up and toward them. His expression was a careful balance of alertness and relief, his eyes scanning Dick and Jason with the precision that made Dick’s chest both ache and swell. The kid’s wide eyes were a little shell-shocked, cheeks pale in the cool tunnel light—but there were no obvious injuries, no deep crimson staining his uniform.

 “Are you two okay?” Tim blurted, and Dick could all but open his mouth before Jason interjected.

“Don’t ask that one,” Jason rasped, “he’s stubborn today.”

Dick’s lips pressed together at that, resisting the urge to reach over and jab his brother for making such a statement. Instead, he simply rolled his eyes before averting his attention back to Tim.

“Fine for now,” he murmured, letting his gaze flick over the younger boy once more. He let himself settle with the fact that he was relatively unharmed. “You?”

Tim shrugged, but the subtle wince betrayed him, a flash of strain in the quiet tunnel. “Been better,” he admitted, letting the glow of his tech spill over his face again, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the faint crease of worry on his brow. “I’ve been trying to pinpoint Bruce and Dami’s location before making a move. Guess it’s… convenient you two showed up when you did.”

A small, tired smile tugged at Dick’s lips. “Guess it is,” he said softly, and for the first time in hours, the oppressive weight in his chest lifted slightly—not because the danger had passed, but because they were one step closer to leaving this nightmare.

Chapter Text

The world had narrowed into sound and pain. 

Dripping water. Distant boots. The muffled thud of his own heartbeat behind his eyes. 

Dick’s vision swam in and out of focus, smearing Tim’s concerned face into a blur of light and shadow against the dark concrete walls. It was silent, save for the sound of the trio’s movement as they dragged Jason between them through the darkness. His body leaned heavier against Dick’s, the warmth of blood soaking through both of their suits until Dick couldn’t tell whose it was anymore. Each breath scraped his throat raw, and the dim orange of the tiny lights above flickered like dying embers against the grime-ridden tunnel walls.

“Dick.” 

Tim’s voice cut through the haze. Too sharp, too bright. The name didn’t sound like his own anymore– it felt like an echo of something else. Everything did.

“Hey. Look at me, big bird, you’re bleeding.”

Dick blinked, his head tilting slightly as he stared at the gloved hand Tim pressed to his ribs. The contact burned. His skin felt thin, brittle– like cracked porcelain stretched too tight over everything breaking beneath it. “I’m fine,” he gritted out. It fell flat, rehearsal, a hollow echo of all the words he wanted to say. “Just… need air.”

Jason’s weight sagged against him again. That, more than anything, snapped the fog in his mind for a heartbeat. His brother’s face had gone near gray, eyes hooded and glassy, breathing a shallow wheeze. Every inhale sounded like some kind of broken machine, and the blood at his side had turned nearly black as it glistened in the low light.

“You with me, Jaybird?” Dick’s voice came with a crack. 

A low hum escaped Jason, rough and slurred. “Depends. You seeing double too, or is that just me?”

It fell flat.

Dick’s chest constricted and he gripped Jason tighter, ignoring the molten pain radiating up his arm at the strain. “Don’t do that. Don’t– don’t say shit like that, okay? We’re close.”

Tim hovered near them, glancing down the tunnel every few seconds. The air was heavy with pressure– like the city itself was holding its breath as the brothers traversed the cavernous maze of tunnels. The low, methodical hum of the subway lines running above them rumbled through the bones of the station, rattling the pipes and sending tremors through the ground. Maybe the tremors were from his own feet.

Then came the sound of a radio burst, sharp and metallic through the stagnant air.

“Unit nine, sweep completed– no civilians, just evidence. Moving to level five.”

“Copy. Eastern maintenance confirmed– vigilante activity. Shoot on sight.”

The words lanced through Dick’s skull with a glasslike sharpness, and he couldn’t help the way his breath hitched. The GCPD were closing in, and the three of them were getting more and more vulnerable by the second. For a moment, he could almost picture them up there– rows of helmets glinting under harsh fluorescent lights, pistols drawn, faces blank with the detached obedience that turned men into machines. The thought made his stomach twist.

“That’s not good,” Tim muttered, “That’s not good at all.” His eyes darted to the faint flicker of flashlights bleeding through a grate further down the tunnel. “They’re sweeping faster than I thought.”

“Then we move,” Dick rasped. His voice sounded strange in his own ears, stretched thin and distant. 

“Dick–”

“Move, Tim!” His voice bounded off the concrete, too loud and raw. For a second everything felt too close. Too bright. He could feel the tunnel pressing in on him, the walls bending with every shallow breath.

Tim didn’t argue again. He ducked forward, activating a faint holographic map on his gauntlet. Pale blue light spilled over his face, turning his skin ghostly. His face twisted into something careful and hesitant, fearful. Dick’s stomach churned when he realized it was fear of him. Of his reaction.

“Tim, I’m–”

“There’s an access shaft about fifty meters east. If we can make it, it connects to a junction point Bruce marked earlier. Damian’s signal is there– he’s gotta be with him.”

Dick shrunk at the authoritative tone in his little brother’s words, guilt creeping into his chest to settle with the dread already pooling there. “Alright,” he murmured carefully. “Good work, Tim.”

He swallowed the metallic taste of blood and forced his legs to move. One step. Two. The tunnel sloped downward, slick underfoot. His boots left streaks of red as he went– sickeningly dark. Jason’s arm hung heavier around his shoulders, his head lolling against Dick’s. His weight felt wrong. Loose, boneless.

“Hey, hey, stay awake,” Dick murmured, voice shaking. “You hear me?”

Jason stirred, a groan rising from somewhere deep. “You sound weird,” he slurred. “Like… like Echo-y. You sure you’re good?”

“I’m fine,” Dick said tightly. He didn’t notice how often he was saying it anymore. 

He wasn’t fine. His head felt stuffed with cotton and static. The lights were too bright, the shadows too loud. Every sound echoed twice– the drip of water, the shuffle of their boots, the quiet rasp of Tim’s breath as he scanned ahead. They layered and twisted until Dick couldn’t tell what was real.

He could have sworn he heard other voices.

Barbara whispering through the comm’s static.

Alfred calling him to dinner.

“Will you crack the code–”

He sucked in a breath and shook his head, groaning. “Focus,” he muttered to himself. The lights flickered, and for an instant, the grime dripping from the walls looked eerily like the blood spurting from his brother’s side. Tim glanced over when his breath stuttered, but as soon as Dick blinked, and the blood was gone.

He bit down on his cheek until he tasted copper. “Keep moving,” he whispered. “Keep–moving.”

Tim’s expression shifted, his brows crinkling in an almost pitying stare at his older brother. “Dick,” he murmured softly, his lips drawn in a tight line. “You’re talking to yourself.”
Dick blinked once more, trying to focus back in. He plastered on a tired grin, even if the use of those muscles strained against any energy he might have had. “Yeah?” he huffed, “Better than the walls.”

When they reached the end of the tunnel, the floor gave way to a rusted service catwalk. The space opened into a wider maintenance chamber filled with the hum of unseen machinery, and warm air heavy with the stench of oil and smoke rolled up from the grates below. Tim knelt by a terminal embedded into the wall, fingers flying over the interface. “This should open the hatch to the next level. Once we’re through we’ll be in Bruce’s range.”

Dick let Jason slide down against the wall, crouching with him. His knees cracked painfully, but he kept a hand braced against the back of Jason’s head as he pressed his nose into his brother’s hair. A small comfort amid waves of agony, but comfort nonetheless. Jason’s breaths were shallow, each one a ragged hitch that made his chest jump. His gloves were slick with blood where he pressed them to his side. 

“Hey,” Dick’s voice wavered as his hand moved, brushing the sweat-damp hair from Jason’s forehead. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay, alright?”
“You always say that when I’m not,” Jason snorted weakly, his lips twitching.

“Shut up,” Dick rasped, his voice wavering. “Don’t talk like that.” He pressed a hand to Jason’s chest, his teeth digging into his lip as he noted the too-slow rise and fall. “Tim,” Dick murmured hoarsely, eyes trained on Jason’s pale complexion. “He needs help. He’s losing too much.”

“I know,” Tim replied, voice clipped as the terminal sparked to life. “If Bruce and Damian are nearby, we can get out in no time.” 

The hum of the terminal filled the room, a low mechanical drone that blended with the faint ringing in Dick’s ears. It was the kind of noise that crept into his skull and stayed, static and pulse all at once. Tim was muttering under his breath as he tapped at the glowing panel, his voice distant through the white noise building in Dick’s head. Every second stretched, warped. Jason’s weight sagged further, his head lolling until it brushed against Dick’s shoulder.

“Tim,” Dick called, pulling Jason closer into him, “He’s fading.”

“I know,” Tim said quickly. His hands were steady, but his voice betrayed the pressure building in his chest. “Just give me a second. If I can reroute the–”

“We don’t have a second!” Dick barked.

His voice ricocheted off the walls, too loud. Jason flinched weakly at the sound, and Tim froze mid-motion. The hum of the machines filled the silence that followed. 

Dick’s breathing came hard, his hand still pressed against Jason’s chest as he tried to find rhythm in the sling heartbeat beneath his palm. His mind felt like static– every thought half-formed and screaming. “He’s not– Fuck, Tim, he’s not gonna make it if we just stand here playing with gadgets!”

Tim looked up sharply, the light from his gauntlet casting pale shadows beneath his eyes. “I’m not just standing here,” he snapped, “I’m trying to open a path out, Dick. Unless you want to drag him through a dozen cops and get another bullet through him, this is our only shot!”

Something about Tim’s tone lit something in Dick that shouldn’t be there. A frustration that rarely came out in the most dire situations. He wasn’t thinking clearly, he knew, but there was no controlling the anger bubbling in his chest.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” he said, voice low. Raspy and hoarse, but damn near furious.

“Don’t pull seniority because you’re scared,” Tim retorted. Dick faltered, his brow twitching as his jaw set. 

“I’m not scared, Tim.”

“Yes you are,” Tim said, his voice building. “You’re exhausted, you’re bleeding out, and you’re scaring me! You can’t even stand up straight, and you’re trying to order me around like you’re not about to–”

“About to what?” Dick snapped, his voice sharp. Louder than he wanted it to be. “Pass out? Fall over? Lose my fucking mind? News flash, Red Robin, I don’t have the time to worry about shit like that when my little brother is dying!’

“Dick–” Tim’s voice cut in urgently. Hushed.

His hold tightened around Jason, pressing the other man’s head close to his chest as the other stayed planted on his chest to track his heartbeat. “You think whatever you want, Tim, but I’m not about to lose him a second time!” 

“Dick!”

He didn’t hear how boots pounded closer, the tunnel echoing with the stomp of armored feet. Rifles glinted in the low light, and Dick was too caught up in his mind to see it. Jason’s weight was too loose and heavy to worry about anything happening around him. 

“I am moving as fast as I can,” Tim hissed, his tone balancing between anger and pity. “But if you keep yelling, they’re going to find us before I finish.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. The kind that made the air itself feel too heavy. Dick’s shoulders slumped, the fury bleeding out of him as he felt Jason’s weak, trembling form in his grasp. “I…” his voice wavered, thin and small. “I just–”

A metallic clatter echoed down the tunnel. 

Tim’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Too late.”

Chapter Text

The sound hit first.

A metallic avalanche of boots and shouts swallowed the tunnel, every word jagged and indistinct. Flashlights seared through the dark like blinding blades, cutting sharp lines across the catwalk where the three of them crouched. The air turned to fire in his lungs as Dick clutched Jason closer to his chest, instincts flaring in his brain yet his body unable to enact them.

“Down! Hands where we can see them!”

The command ricocheted from every direction at once. He couldn’t tell how many– six, seven, maybe more– helmeted silhouettes donning the telltale badge swarming the narrow chamber with rifles raised and gleaming beneath the amber glow of the lights. Dick’s heart punched against his ribs. He felt Jason’s limp weight against him, felt the pulse under his palm stutter faintly. Too faintly, too weak. He swallowed thickly, eyes darting through the darkness for some kind of solution. 

Tim was already on his feet, pivoting toward the terminal with a curse. “Almost there,” he hissed, fingers flying across the interface. “Come on, come on–”

The first gunshot shattered the air. Concrete exploded a breath away from his head, spraying grit across his cheek. He didn’t hear the next one so much as feel it– vibration and force rippling through the catwalk like thunder. Jason jerked weakly in his hold, letting loose a breathless sound caught between a groan and a curse.

Instinct took over. Dick twisted his body, dragging Jason down behind the half-collapsed console and throwing his own shoulder into the motion. Pain detonated through his chest like landmines in his ribs, and the world tilted as his vision fragmented into bursts of white and red. 

Another barrage. The tunnel filled with the thunder of rifles, bullets tearing through metal and concrete, sparks leaping in a storm of fire. Dick pressed Jason’s head close, his own body curling around him like a shield. The echo was deafening– a roar that sent his skull pounding and his eyes screwing shut. 

Tim dove low, smoke pellet in his fist. Not seconds after it flew from his grasp the chamber erupted into a bloom of gray that swallowed light and sound. Shouts fractured, a cacophony of commands breaking through the panicked yells. Through the chaos, Dick pushed to his knees, gasping. His ribs screamed, his muscles quivering as if each breath was peeling him apart. His hands trembled uncontrollably, and the smoke coating the air around them made the world shimmer like a fever dream.

He couldn’t hear his heartbeat anymore. Just a dull, constant rush through unhearing ears.

“Dick!” Tim’s voice cut through, somewhere distant and far ahead. “We’ve gotta go, the door’s open!”

He blinked through the haze. A panel of harsh white light had appeared on the far wall, the maintenance hatch yawning open like salvation. That would take them straight to the regular subway stations– and one step closer to getting the fuck out of there. The thought of it was enough to propel him into standing, trying to drag Jason with him. Tim’s figure rippled through the haze, sharp edges blurring in Dick’s vision. 

“Move!” Tim’s voice came again, shouting. Desperate.

Dick’s body didn’t listen. Couldn’t, not with the way every movement sent him an inch closer to never wanting to move again. His hands slipped as he tried to hoist Jason higher; his muscles refused to obey. He staggered forward a step, two, dragging Jason’s dead weight, each movement slicing fresh pain through his chest. Move, you pathetic idiot, his mind screamed, you’re killing him!

Then– something heavy slammed into him. The air ripped from his lungs as his back hit concrete. A GCPD officer’s knee drove into his side, pinning him, the barrel of a rifle pressing to his throat. 

“Don’t move!” The officer barked, his voice a mechanical snarl through the helmet filter. 

Dick’s vision pulsed in and out of focus. The edges of the world bled. His limbs shook, more from exhaustion than fear, and Jason lay sprawled a few feet away. Motionless. The subtle rise of his chest was the only proof he was still kicking, and if that didn’t send a desperation surging through Dick, he didn’t know what would.

He wanted to reach for him. Wanted to fight, to move, to do anything– but his body refused. Everything inside him screamed in a silent, cracking roar. 

A gun cocked. 

Another shouted order.

Someone grabbed Tim by the arm, wrenching him away from the console.

Dick could hardly brace himself before the world went dark in a flurry of black and blue.

A sudden blur cut through the smoke.

A cape, massive and sweeping, a shadow stitched in motion. The officer pinning him to the ground barely had time to shout before he was yanked upward, slammed against the ceiling hard enough to rattle the bolts loose. Another fell with the sharp crack of armor meeting concrete. 

The tunnel became chaos incarnate. Smoke churned, lights strobed, shouts turned into screams. Dick’s blurred eyes caught only fragments– a gauntleted fist, the sweep of black cloth, the faint gleam of white lenses like twin ghosts moving through fog.

Bruce.

Dick choked back a relieved sob as he lay among the violence, one trembling hand coming up to run through his hair while he let his eyes slip shut for the smallest moment. He didn’t need to see the symbol to know. The air always changed when Bruce entered a fight. It got heavier, somehow, and there was a relief in the assurance that the fight would soon be over.

A smaller figure cut in beside the larger– faster, sharper, blades glinting. Damian moved with ruthless precision, his short sword flashing in controlled arcs. His eyes were cold and utterly focused. One strike disarmed, another disabled as he delivered measured, practiced blows. 

Tim wrenched himself free amid the distraction, ducking low to grab Jason’s arm. “Dick! Help me out here!” 

Dick snapped back into the moment, letting the rush of adrenaline fuel him to drag his body up from the ground. Despite the black spots swallowing the edges of his vision, he all but crawled toward Tim and Jason before looping Jason’s arm around his own shoulders. 

Boots thundered. Damian’s cape snapped like a whip as he darted across the catwalk, intercepting another officer. The clang of steel against rifle echoed sharp and metallic. 

Dick could faintly hear Tim muttering to Jason, his voice low and breathless. “Got you,” he could hear him mumble with a tremble in his voice, “You’re okay, we’ve got you.”

Dick’s eyes swiveled back to Bruce, locking on the shadow of his father moving like a storm through the fray. His blows were deliberate, his control absolute. And yet, through that familiarity he’d built with the old man after years at his side, Dick saw the unsteady way Bruce’s breath hitched between motions. Something akin to panic among the Bat’s seamless control.

Jason let out a low groan when Bruce pivoted toward them. The sound pulled the rest of the Robins back into the moment, their worried gazes settling on their injured brother.

“Jason,” Bruce breathed, his brow creased beneath the cowl as he crouched to his son’s level. A gloved hand came up to brush against Jason’s cheek, gently turning it to the side as he examined the sickly complexion he’d taken on. “Shit. He needs to be stabilized. We can’t–”

A gunshot cracked through the chamber, the concrete a foot from Damian’s head detonating into dust and pebbles. Bruce moved before he thought, his cape flaring as his arm shot through the air. Three batarangs flew, slicing through the remaining smoke, and the gunfire ceased. 

Silence dropped heavy and absolute.

Dick exhaled. It came out as a shudder more than a breath. His hands were shaking again, and the adrenaline that had held him upright in the first place finally bled away. He felt Bruce’s hand on his shoulder, the firm weight grounding and familiar. “You did good,” his father murmured, offering a small squeeze in comfort, “You got them this far.”

Bruce’s hand lingered on his shoulder a moment longer, an unspoken acknowledgement of his son’s fatigue and the hell they’d just barely escaped. “Tim,” Bruce said, his voice low and edged with exhaustion. “Status report.”

Tim was still crouched beside Jason, his gauntlet lights dimmed to a faint pulse that painted both of their faces in ghostly blue. “He’s fading,” the boy murmured, fingers working quick and careful over the bloodied armor plates. “Bullet’s clean through the side. Luckily it missed anything vital, but he’s still lost way too much blood. We need to get him proper medical soon.”

Bruce’s jaw flexed under the cowl. “The Batmobile’s down. EMP caught the power grid– communications are unstable and the access routes are blocked.” He straightened, eyes cutting toward the end of the tunnel where the faint hum of the subway lines echoed like a living pulse. “We’re too deep to call extraction.”

Damian, still standing among the debris, flicked blood from the edge of his blade before sheathing it with a click. “Then we have to figure it out,” he said, albeit uselessly. His voice was steady, but Dick saw the tightness in his shoulders. The faint tremor in the boy’s wrist. “We can’t stay here. The GCPD will regroup.”

“They already are,” Tim muttered, pulling a small sensor from his belt. The device beeped in sharp, rhythmic bursts. “They’ve started sweeping the southern corridors again. We’ve got maybe five minutes before they hit this level.”

Five minutes.

Dick dragged in a breath that scraped down his throat like broken glass. The world was spinning just slow enough to keep him teetering on the edge of collapse. He leaned against the cracked wall, one gloved hand pressing against his ribs as he forced his eyes open. The lights above flickered, each pulse of brightness stabbing into his skull. Maybe college wouldn’t have been so bad, he thought bitterly, I could be working a nine to five instead of dealing with this bullshit.

Bruce’s silhouette loomed, the cape draping him like a shroud. “Suggestions,” he demanded, his voice clipped.

It took Dick a second too long to realize they were looking at him.

His mind raced. He’d been too caught up in where his brothers were to focus on the layout of the tunnels, and even then, it was a tried and true labyrinth. His teeth instinctively clenched as that shrill, grating voice echoed through his mind.

“So many levels and angles, trains, colors, letters and numbers. Platforms moving in and out like lost robots.”

He swallowed thickly, raising a hand up to his head to run down his face. He needed to focus– didn’t need that lunatic bugging his brain more than he already had. Not now, when they were so close to getting out.

“Subway,” he rasped, finally, his voice barely holding. “We’re in the maintenance sectors now, which explains why they’re so trigger happy. If we… If we can reach the main station, we can ride a car out. They won’t risk gunfire in a live passenger zone.”

Tim glanced up, startled. “That’s…risky.”

“Everything’s risky,” Damian countered.

Bruce didn’t answer immediately. The faint light caught in the white slits of his mask as he turned toward the faint vibrations humming through the tunnel walls. Above them, a train shrieked by, the sound peeling through the air like a scream.

His decision was silent but swift. “Then let’s move.”

Chapter Text

The tunnels breathed heat. A steady pulse of machinery hummed through the walls, the rhythmic clatter of pipes echoing like a heartbeat. Maybe Gotham’s, maybe his own. The air stank of metal and smoke, and Dick could practically taste the city bleeding into his lungs with every breath. 

They couldn’t afford to move quietly anymore, not with Jason dangling between life and death between them. They moved with purpose, boots splashing through puddles that reflected the dim orange glow of the half-dead lights. Bruce led, cape a black fracture slicing through the dark, with Damian close at his flank, half-dragging Jason, whose weight was a constant reminder of how close they were getting to losing him. Tim’s brow was set in dire focus, but the exhaustion in his eyes was palpable.

And then there was Dick.

He stumbled somewhere in the middle, ribs a live wire beneath his suit and breath clawing at his throat. The ache in his skull had stopped throbbing hours ago– or maybe minutes, time was a mess– and now it just hummed like static lodged between his ears. The tunnel spun in and out of focus, a flickering reel of grime-coated concrete and rusted metal that refused to stay still around him.

The GCPD wasn’t far behind.

Their shouts reverberated down the tunnels, distorted and booming, amplified by the narrow concrete hallways. Boots struck metal grates. Radios hissed. Every sound felt like it was crawling up his spine and digging claws into the back of his mind.

“Left tunnel!” Tim barked, glancing at the readout on his gauntlet. “It connects to the platform access!”

“Move,” Bruce grunted.

Easy for you to say, Dick thought, nearly tripping over a stray extension cord. His legs were lead. Every nerve screamed in protest, but he pushed forward, one hand pressed tight to his ribs. He could feel the wetness there– certainly not just from sweat. His own blood seeped through the fabric and onto his hands to mingle with Jason’s.

Fantastic. Add it to the list.

Jason muttered something unintelligible between ragged breaths, his voice a gravelly hum that cracked every few syllables. Damian snapped at him to stay conscious, Tim shushed them both, and Dick just kept running because stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant realizing just how much shit they were in.

A sound cracked through the chaos– the shrill metallic screech of a sliding gate somewhere behind them. Reinforcements. 

Of course. Half-measures aren’t really Gotham’s thing, he thought.

The platform wasn’t far. Dick could feel it before he saw it: the shift in air pressure, the faint vibration beneath his boots that told him they were close to the tracks. A low, rumbling growl rippled through the concrete as a train, close above them, roared past. It was the kind of sound that rattled in his aching ribs and made his heartbeat stutter to match.

When they burst into the service corridor that opened to the station, the lights hit them like a spotlight. Stark fluorescents hummed overhead, illuminating grime-streaked tile walls and rows of flickering advertisements that no one would ever stop to read. The roar of a passing train filled the air, then faded– leaving only the hollow echo of the city’s veins.

“Go!” Bruce barked, motioning to the maintenance door ahead that spilled light from the platform beyond. 

They stumbled out into the open, swallowed by the cavernous expanse of the platform. Abandoned this late, save for the faint metallic scent of gun oil and the echo of their own ragged breaths. 

And there– salvation– the gleaming silver shell of a subway car idling at the far end, its doors open and lights burning warm against the cold concrete.

Tim didn’t wait for orders. He sprinted first, boots hammering the tile, gauntlet already flickering to life with blue light as he pulled up the train’s diagnostics. 

Dick swallowed the iron taste pooling on his tongue and forced his body forward. The world swayed around him like a pendulum– he could feel every tremor of Gotham’s underground in his bones. His legs trembled. His ribs throbbed in sync with the hum of the train. His body had stopped trying to recover a while ago; now it just ached. 

Dick’s lungs burned, each breath scraping fire down his ribs. He wasn’t sure what hurt anymore: the bruises or the thought of slowing down. 

Tim’s cape sliced through the sterile light as he reached the panel by the open doors. His gauntlet flared blue, fingers flying across cracked keys. 

“Come on… come on…”

Dick leaned heavily against the wall as he scanned the empty expanse of the station. Empty, except for the echoes.

The first shot rang out. 

Concrete burst inches from Dick’s head, peppering his cheek with grit. Another ping ricocheted off the steel railing behind them —the GCPD had reached the platform. The bullets came faster this time, closer, sharper, bouncing off of steel and tile in a chorus of bursts across the corridor. The rounds snapped past Dick’s shoulder, and he dove low, dragging his body behind a concrete pillar slick with grime and old graffiti. 

He could hear Bruce barking orders above the din. Damian’s blade flashed as he deflected a baton from an officer who lunged too close, using the momentum to drive a boot into the man’s chest. The cop went sprawling across the platform tiles, weapon skittering into the dark, and Dick couldn’t stop the flash of red-hot anger pooling in his chest. He’s a fucking kid, he wanted to scream, You’re fighting a little kid.

Dick lurched up beside his father, groaning as his muscles screamed in revolt. “How’s it going, Tim?” he asked with growing impatience. 

Tim didn’t look up from the panel by the train doors, his fingers flying, blue light from the gauntlet painting his face in ghostly streaks. “Almost there,” he bit back, “It’s locked behind a city override. Give me thirty seconds.”

“We don’t have thirty seconds!” Damian shouted, ducking a bullet that chipped a spark from the rail beside him as he pulled Jason to safety behind a pillar.

“Do I rush you to do your job?” Tim snipped, looking up for one brief moment to shoot a glare at his brother through the chaos. His mouth opened as if to continue his snark, but a glare from Bruce and a hissed “boys!” had him scrambling back to focus. 

Dick flew into action before the thought of how bad everything hurt took over his bones, sliding across the slick floor to grab a downed baton. He rose with the weapon in hand, a sharp crack echoing as he drove it into the side of an officer’s armor plate. The man went down with a groan, and Dick nearly followed. His body screamed for mercy, but it was all he could do to push harder.

Jason’s voice– weak, hoarse– came rasping through the comms. “Is this not above their fuckin’ pay grade?” he slurred, and Dick could see his arm raise with his pistol from behind the pillar. 

“Don’t waste your breath,” Dick huffed, swinging the baton once more to deflect yet another hit. Jesus, how many of them are there?

Bruce’s shadow loomed through the dust in the air, cape slicing across the platform as he disarmed one officer and sent another sprawling into a pillar. Every motion was clean, practiced, but there was a roughness in it. A fatigue that Dick had only seen Bruce allow himself before he’d had so many kids to worry about.

“Tim!” Bruce barked again, voice edged with exhaustion. 

“Got it!” Tim yelped, jamming a final command into the panel. The train car shuddered, lights flickering to life in a flash of harsh white. The doors hissed open wider, a hollow chime ringing through the underground. “We’re good! It’s online!”

Nobody needed the order to rush inside. In a moment, they were all a flurry of motion. Every part of Dick ached to obey, to collapse inside and breathe and let go– but his movements didn’t slow down. He swung back with a sharp grunt, catching an officer’s arm before twisting it and sending his rifle clattering across the tiles.

Damian dove through the doors first, covering Tim as he locked in the protocol he’d overridden while they backed up into the car. Jason stumbled in next, propped up against Bruce, his half-conscious groans barely audible over the hum of the train’s engines booting up. 

Dick was the last through.

He staggered inside and immediately braced against the wall, chest heaving. The air inside the car was hot and still, smelling of metal and ozone. The others crowded near the back– Damian scanning the entrance, Bruce crouched over Jason, Tim at the control panel, rerouting power to the front systems. 

For the first time all night, Dick allowed himself a single breath of relief. 

Then another.

And another, settling heavy in his chest with emotion and giddiness, and thank god they were out. They were safe.

A light laugh bubbled up through his throat, and as it released, he leaned his head back against the cold metal wall behind him. His body thrummed with exhaustion, and he had pushed himself far beyond anything he thought possible, but he was here. His family was here, all a little hurt but whole.

He felt a firm grasp against his shoulder, and his eyes darted up to meet Bruce’s gaze through the whites of the cowl’s eyes. For a moment, he expected a reprimand, ridicule for pushing so hard that he put them in danger. But as Bruce’s careful hand landed in his hair to offer the gentlest ruffle he’d ever gotten from the Batman himself, his shoulders relaxed once more.

“You did well, Dick,” Bruce rumbled, his mouth quirking up into a hardly detectable proud grin. He must have been exhausted, too, from the way his touch lay heavy against Dick’s head. For a moment, it felt right. Like after hours of being on the run, piled on top of the mission beforehand, they could rest.

“Hold up,” Tim muttered, his fingers freezing over the system glowing atop his gauntlet. “I’m getting a signal. From the main tunnel.”

Dick’s smile faltered. “Riddler?”

Tim shook his head, eyes growing increasingly wide. “No. No, this isn’t Riddler, this is a police frequency–”

The train jolted violently, the hum of the engines stalling into silence. Red emergency lights bled into the cabin, washing everything in an alarming crimson glow. Dick’s gut dropped. Bruce’s head snapped up, his hands flying back to his utility belt.

Tim’s gauntlet lit again, data streaming too fast to parse. “They’re forcing lockdown protocol. If they finish the override, the train’s dead weight. We’ll be sitting ducks.”

A flicker of static burst through the train’s intercom system– for a moment, Dick’s heartbeat stuttered with dread. Will you crack the code? His mind echoed. Or will it crack you? Or will it crack you? Or will it– or will it– Or will it–

“Bats.”

Not Riddler.

Gordon.

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing,” the man’s voice grated, cold and heavy with something that wasn’t quite anger. Exhaustion? Annoyance? Dick scoffed at that, heartbeat still racing– he didn’t have the privilege of being annoyed while his family stood half-dead in a train car that hardly worked. “You and your people are done running through my city,” Gordon droned on, “You’re shutting this down. Now.”

Dick turned sharply to Bruce. “He’s going to shut down the line, Bruce, we have to–”

“We’re not in a shape to find him ourselves. We have to keep our distance,” Bruce bit out. “Tim?”

“I can block him– but only if he stops pushing new code through. He’s got priority clearance over me,” Tim replied, voice tight as he typed away. The boy blinked slowly and hard, the tiredness surely taking its toll on him.

Bruce’s jaw flexed. “I’ll handle–”

The words didn’t quite reach Dick’s ears. His breathing was heavy in his ears, the pounding of his heart drowned out the noises around him, and the static at the edges of his vision blotted out anything he wasn’t focusing like hell on. He’d gotten his family into this mess. If he had been better, faster, then Jason wouldn’t be half-dead in the corner. Tim’s hands wouldn’t shake with the stress and the pressure they all set on those young shoulders. Damian wouldn’t have to cover the obvious worry in his shoulders with stoic confidence, and Bruce wouldn’t have to hide the fatigue in the lines of his face.

It was all Dick’s fault, and he had the gall to be exhausted.

The roaring in his ears quieted as Bruce stepped toward the door, and his focus narrowed into that lethal clarity that felt so far away before.

He was an observer of a body that had already made up its mind.

Dick lifted a hand to Tim’s shoulder as he pushed past him, his feet flying to the door through protests of agonized muscles and the confusion from his family around him. "Get them home," he gritted out, eyes locking on Bruce's as he passed. He heard him call out, his voice a rough boom over the din, but Dick didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not with his family sitting like cornered rats.

Bruce extended an arm, hand clawed to grab at him, but before he could reach him, Dick slipped through the narrowing gap in the train doors and hit the platform running. The doors hissed shut behind him with a mechanical click, followed by the echoing boom of Bruce’s fist against the metal. The gunfire had died down; the GCPD were regrouping across the far side of the platform. And at their center, calm, composed, unflinching, stood Gordon. His sidearm hung low, not raised, but the weight of his stare against Dick’s bruised and battered body felt like it was meant to pin him down. He stood steady amid his battered officers as the rest of them hung back, their rifles half-raised but uncertain. Waiting.

“You just don’t know when to quit,” Gordon hissed.

Dick’s breath tore ragged in his chest. He could feel his pulse thrumming through his teeth, every nerve screaming at him to move, to do something before the train died behind him. “Call it off, Jim,” he rasped, like he’d swallowed glass. “You don’t want to do this.”

The realization that he’d done something so irrevocably stupid was not lost on him.

“You don’t get to tell me what I want,” Gordon shot back, tone low and lethal. “You think I like chasing you through my city? You think I want to be standing here while my men clean up after whatever the hell your lot was doing?” He gestured vaguely toward the wreckage of the platform —smoke, broken tile, blood. 

“Then don’t!” Dick snapped, his voice a nearly laughed huff. He was too tired to be cautious. Too wired to stop. “You know who we are. You know we’re the reason half this city is still standing.”

Gordon’s eyes flicked toward the train, where the echoes of the other bats beating against the metal and cacophonous shouts muffled by the metal erupted through the tunnel. “No. You’re the reason it’s falling apart.”

Something inside Dick snapped. He moved without thought, pure instinct, and raw, exhausted rage twisted together until his fists decided to do the talking.

The baton came first– he swung it in a wide arc that Gordon caught against his forearm with a grimace. The older man twisted his wrist, wrenching it free, and slammed his elbow into Dick’s ribs. Pain detonated like a bomb, white-hot and blinding, but Dick couldn’t fall. He pivoted, driving his shoulder into Gordon’s chest and sending them both crashing against the tiled wall. He heard the sounds of rifles cocking at the scuffle, and Gordon’s gruff voice commanding them to hold. “Call them off!” Dick shouted, his voice breaking.

Gordon shoved him back with surprising strength. “You’re out of control!” He barked, drawing his sidearm but keeping it low. “Don’t make me do this, son.”

“I’m trying to save my family!” Dick snarled, the word hitting like a confession. He lunged again, knocking the gun from Gordon’s hand. It skittered across the platform and clattered over the edge, onto the tracks. 

They collided once more, a blur of fists and fury. Gordon caught Dick by the collar and slammed him into a pillar, the back of his head cracking against the concrete hard enough to blur his vision. Dick saw stars, but swung back around, landing a solid hit to the older man’s jaw that sent him reeling. Gordon staggered, but didn’t drop. He wiped the blood from his lip, his eyes narrowed furiously, and his brow streaked with sweat. The older man inhaled briefly, some sour remark on his tongue, but was silenced as the train behind them groaned back to life. 

Tim.

Dick’s heart lurched as the brakes released with an ear-splitting screech. He’d bought them enough time.

For a moment, he let himself breathe. The train was active. The officers were occupied. He was battered and bruised, maybe beyond repair, but his family was going to make it back to the manor. They would be alright, and he would find his way home, and god, Bruce’s face in the window was so desperate–

A solid, hard blow landed across his jaw, and his head snapped to the right, and he’d hardly had enough time to recover before his world was lost in a flash of motion. Gordon’s blows were fueled with rage, fury at being beaten, and anger at Dick for getting the better of him. He felt the invigorated force behind the punches thrown across his face, and as his back hit the concrete, he bit back the agonized cry tearing from his throat.

He could briefly see the officers rushing out of the tunnel– no doubt to continue their pursuit, but they’d never catch up. They wouldn’t get to them. Another blow and a firm grip on his chin directed his attention back to the Commissioner, who now rained punch after punch into his bones.

Hurt.

Agony. 

Peace, in a way.

He didn’t have to try anymore.

What?

No. No, he had a family to get back to.

A family whose train car hadn’t left the station yet. 

They still needed him.

Mustering as much energy as he still had in his battered body, Dick surged forward and threw Gordon off him. Lunging with an animalistic desperation, he tackled and rolled Gordon onto his back, grunting and biting back cries of hurt as they circled the drain.

Dick was turned over and his chest pressed heavily against the concrete, and he gasped as his head was shoved forcefully into the ground. 

“Stay down!” he heard faintly, ears muffled by the blood flowing into them, underscored by the bellow of an approaching train. A groan. A sharp inhale of breath, and he surged up, flipping Gordon to the ground as he slammed his weight against him, laying fatigued blows across his face and chest.

He’s trying to kill me, he thought grimly, every move I make is keeping me alive right now. There was no room for error.

He felt the breath in his lungs leave him as Gordon shoved his knee into his stomach, and he only allowed himself to crumple for a moment before pinning the older man’s shoulders hard against the concrete.

Bruce would have beaten him no problem.

I am no Bruce.

His attention was directed to the train car as the cacophony of muffled shouts erupted once more, and with a blissful flutter of relief, he watched as the lights flickered. As it started moving, albeit slowly, in the way long-dormant trains do.

Moving. Safe.

His eyes met the pleading, desperate whites of his family’s masks, each mouth gaped open in a hardly audible cry for him. He who, against all odds, had bought them the time to leave. His lips pulled into a smile.

Short-lived, as he felt Gordon’s legs curl beneath him, feet planting against his torso. 

Dick hardly had time to look down at him before he felt the push against his body. Before his world slowed into a blur of bright, bright light and a deafeningly loud roar in his ears.

The moment his body detached from Gordon’s, it flew back toward the platform. 

It clicked, then. 

Dick Grayson was never going to leave the train station. He knew that from the moment he’d staggered inside, bloody and bruised to hell. From the moment he’d found Jason with a bullet in his side and fought tooth and nail to get him to safety. Even within the brief respite he’d found in the train car, with Bruce’s gentle touch or the almost painful relief he’d felt at the prospect of safety.

Hair whipped in his face, and he could do little more than stare at the bright, harsh light approaching him at lethal speeds.

Will you crack the code?

A scream ripped through his throat. Whether it was pain, terror, or because it was all he could do, he didn’t know.

Or will it crack you?

The light swallowed him whole.

Silence.

Dick’s body met the train with a sickening crack as he became a splatter of blood across the platform.