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“I’m disappointed in you.”
Bruce says without much flair.
He’s tying up Killer Croc now, which brings the tally up to ten villains caught after the Arkham breakout.
Scarecrow was number nine. Nightwing and Red Robin had been dealing with him, until Tim got hit in the face with a batch of fear toxin and had to be sent back to the cave- dirt and tears streaking down his face as he screamed for his parents.
It hadn’t been until after- once the adrenaline of getting the younger out had worn off- that Dick realized there was a chance he’d gotten a whiff of the stuff too. That- it was like creeping ivy though, when it first started. A little tickle in the back of your throat, a small couple of sniffles, something you deny could ever become a full blown cold until you’re inevitably on bedrest by the time dinner rolls around.
Point being, he shakes it off, tells himself the anxiety he’s feeling is silly paranoia- a placebo- the way only faulty Bats do. Now- here at the rendezvous point- something wraps its spindly fingers around his throat, whispers: ‘too late’ in his ear with a giggle.
Distantly, he realizes Bruce is talking again.
“I took you in, Nightwing, raised you as my own for nine years- only for you to turn out like… this.”
When he says ‘this’ there’s a little hissing sound that escapes his mouth- through the teeth. He rises from the ground, away from killer croc, his limbs unfurling like spider legs.
“Couldn’t even protect your brother properly.”
“I mean- when does he ever?”
Jason, who at some point started standing next to Bruce, says with a sharp little laugh.
He’d modified his costume recently- with a little help from Steph’s ‘extremely valuable artistic input’, as she had put it. It’s a little less red now, a little more green, and has the addition of a bright yellow cape that billows in the wind behind him. It is also, unmistakingly, coated head to toe in blood.
“Nightwing will-”
Bruce says, and Dick digs his fingernails as hard as he can into his palms because that isn’t real but this- Bruce needing him- is.
He can’t let Bruce down. Again.
Can’t let anybody down ever again.
“Patrol the East side via rooftop, while Spoiler and Orphan-“
“Got it”
Dick says, mostly to himself.
Patrol the east side via rooftop. Got it. And then a series of what can’t be laughs leave Batman’s mouth, and a couple of strange, chittering sounds fill the air.
It’s the sound of everyone leaving, Dick realizes, once he looks up. Everyone but Cass, who is better than him in every way shape and form, and has stayed behind for some reason. Standing in front of him. They stare at each other.
“You.”
She says, eventually- before going silent for a moment.
“Are you… okay.”
And he can’t let her down, so Dick laughs, and listens as his tongue makes up some excuse about being tired.
It’s hard to do breathing exercises as he runs. In for eight out for five, something his parents then Bruce then school guidance counselor had taught him. He can’t do it while he runs, so he waits until he comes to a stop, and is done panting, before he begins.
“I don’t think you did a good job raising me, Grayson.”
Damian- who is stood next to him, calming down from his own run- says.
“Objectively.”
‘Objectively.’
Dick mouths, the word just so. Damian that he has to.
In through the nose for eight, out through the mouth for five.
“Yes, objectively!”
Damian grumbles from his earpiece.
“It- Todd it is not funny!”
And then the Damian on the roof says: “I died carrying on your legacy” and whatever little light, humorous thing was fluttering between them goes falling to the ground like acrobats without a safety net.
Dick swallows. Starts counting his breaths again. Says, “I spy with my little eye something big, hairy, and about to get a severe but-kicking” when he spots man-bat flying through the sky. Everyone over comms makes their guesses as Dick leaps off the roof.
He holds it together as he grapples the mutants leg, holds it together as he’s yanked into the air, stops holding it together for a few moments when he remembers being nineteen and mid-screaming match with Bruce while Jason hid in his room, then proceeds to start holding it together again as he manages to get man-bat tangled up in the ropes and the GPD on route to his location.
“I died”
Not-Damian repeats.
In through the nose for eight, out through the mouth for five.
Dick closes his eyes so tightly they hurt, and doesn’t open them again till he hears sirens in the distance.
He’s saving Jason. He could never save Jason. He’s saving Jason.
And Steph, who had also come to save Jason, who could never save Jason.
They’re up against Calculator, which really means they’re up against an army of large, spider-y looking robots, and nobody actually knows where calculator, flesh and blood, is. Yet.
“Wish Red was here.”
Dick mutters, which causes Barbara to make an annoyed huff over coms, and Tim to say: “no you don’t- you sent me away, remember?”
“It- I didn’t mean to-“
Dick tries to explain, defend, but then one of the robots hits him square in the gut and he remembers that Tim hadn’t even seemed that mad anymore, once Ra’s was defeated. Then again, Tim- all of them- are good liars like that. Maybe he-
“Get the fuck up, Dickhead!”
The words smear against a canvas, but Dick manages to catch hold of them long enough to roll to the side- leap to his feet- plunge a crackling escrima into the side of the robot.
“Hey uh, a little help over in this direction would be very much appreciated!”
Steph says from behind him. He wasn’t good enough though, and she’s already lying with her neck cracked at an awkward angle, blood pooling onto the ground.
No that’s not right either, he would- would’ve smelled the blood. Iron. Dick bites down hard on his tongue, and throws the other escrima- no electricity this time- at the robot’s face.
Steph twists free, lands in a backwards handspring, which gives him the idea to-
“Spoiler- Hood- we need-“
And then the world tilts dangerously to the right, and the robots lie twitching and hissing on the ground. There’s something metal crackling in Dick’s hands, something he drops to the ground with an unceremonious: ‘thud’
“Hell yeah!.”
Steph says with a laugh. At some point, after a series of strange, squiggly sounds, she elbows Dick teasingly in the side, thanks him for the save, and grapples away. Off of the rooftop.
He doesn’t remember climbing up to a rooftop, but he’s here now, with only Jason left next to him. Jason, who asks: “what the fuck was that back there!?” With more anger than worry, or more worry than anger- it’s a bit hard to read sometimes.
Dick forces his face into what he hopes is a normal looking expression- one that has a smile.
“You mean my incredible plan that totally saved your ass?”
“No, dipshit- obviously fucking not- I mean the part where you fucking- you just fucking froze!”
Dick laughs. He thinks it might have come out like more of a strange, wheezing cough.
“Aw c’mon Hood, I thought you of all people would appreciate a dramatic, last minute, self rescue. The audience loved it!”
Except the audience was at the circus, and he doesn’t think he’s at the circus anymore- or that Jason even likes the circus. Too many clowns, right. He can’t let Jason down again- can’t take him to the circus. Can’t mess up the family vacation like he did on that trip to California two years ago.
When the silence stretches (or someone warbles, underwater) he imagines his little brother’s brow furrowing, because he hates him- and has every right to. He imagines him looking very, very concerned.
It’s fine though, because he doesn’t have time to get out a light and check his pupils- laugh about the golden boy’s failure- before Bruce barks out another order and all his little robins follow him straight down into hell.
On Main Street, people are screaming for Robin, people are screaming for Nightwing, people are screaming for Spoiler and Batman and Orphan and Signal and Batwoman and Bluebird and Bette Kain and Red Hood and anyone and everyone.
On comms, someone mutters something about calling in Superman.
That must be because it’s gotten bad, he thinks. Possibly. In truth, Dick has no clue of how bad it’s gotten, but someone definitely mentioned Superman. Or not. Maybe nobody is screaming after all, and all those millions of people down there don’t exist, or it’s a trap. Everything seems to be a trap these days. Maybe they’re already dead.
No. No that’s-
Dick shakes his head a bit (which does absolutely nothing to clear it), sucks in a breath, and flicks his mask to infrared mode. Some of the people disappear, others don’t. The ones that don’t look like people at all anymore, but instead running, orange-y blobs, are likely the only ones that are real.
“Nightwing!”
Someone yells, and he swoops down before they can get hit by a beam of ice Mr. Freeze just shot.
“Nightwing!”
Except this one really is a trap, but he manages to knock them out and free them from Hatter’s control.
“Take my-“
He takes them both in one trip, father and child, even though his arms scream in protest.
“You’re a disappointment.”
One man mutters.
A stain on Batman’s legacy.”
Another says in between tears.
“A stain on your parent’s legacy- the only legacy they have left.”
A kid says, screaming as he lifts them into the air.
“Nightwing!”
He catches them before they can fall. He never catches anyone before they can fall. Batman’s right to be disappointed. His siblings are right to be disappointed.
Four months ago, right after a patrol that had come straight from hell, Steph had started yelling about how upset she had been when she first became Robin- then batgirl. How both times everybody had told her over and over again that she wasn’t worth it, that she should give up while she still had the chance. That Bruce had been harsh and Dick- it seemed like Dick sure as fuck hadn’t wanted her around either.
That was the moment, he thinks, that he’d realized- truly, fully, realized, that he had grown up to be poison, and would never be anything else.
“Good… work tonight everybody.”
That’s Bruce’s voice- his teeth grinding together slowly over comms.
“Arrive back at the cave for a post-mission summary in-“
“Old man if you think I am going back to your underground furry dungeon at seven o’clock in the fucking morning, after I have spent the past nine straight hours-“
“It’s over?”
Dick interrupts. He blinks. He doesn’t remember it being over, anywhere close to being over, but it’s- good if it is. Very good. His tongue feels numb.
Nobody says anything after that- are they dead? His parents are dead. He misses them, even if he’s spent most of his life without them. They’d probably hate what he’s become too.
“It’s over?”
Someone’s in front of him- a civilian, he thinks, with a bit of dried blood caked on their forehead. They’re crouching down, something’s shaking his shoulder- the civilian’s shaking his shoulder, shouting “Nightwing!” Over and over and over and over and…
Once upon a time Dick was a good son, but those days are long gone. Once upon a time, he would’ve called himself a good soldier. He was never a good big brother though. Never the. He wanted to be everything Bruce wasn’t- he thinks- for his little siblings. Except that turned out to be a different kind of awful altogether.
It’s okay though.
Cass and Jason- he doubts they want the responsibility but they would be good at it. Better than he ever could be. They’re both strong, confident. Cass knows exactly what people want from her, what Bruce wants from her, and Jason is so caring- no matter how much he denies it, just so fucking funny-
He laughs. He’s choking on blood. It’s over, Bruce said, and that means he can rest now. It’s over. He can…
“Now it’s your turn to leave, Dick.”
Tim whispers, something vindictive. And he’s right.
Overhead the big top spins and the calliope starts to play and his parents wave to the crowd before they go tumbling off of the bars, all three of them this time- as the audience screams in terror.
falling falling falling falling falling.
together.
For one endless eternity.