Chapter Text
It’s been a week.
Tim and Cass, they’re still holding out hope, but Dick- Dick knows.
His dad is gone.
He knows it in the same bones that ache from years of breaking and healing. He knows it as a low, simmering pain that is both easy to forget and impossible to not remember.
His father is gone.
Fuck. Dick thought he wouldn’t have to think that again for another couple decades, at least.
‘You promised, ’ an angry little voice hisses in the back of his head as he stares at the empty Batsuit in the cave, ‘You promised you’d stick around!’
The voice is small, high, thready. Dick remembers it well.
It was his voice for years, after all.
Tim is hesitant, all wide eyes and careful footsteps, around the Manor. He seems to be of the opinion that none of them want him there, which couldn’t be further from the truth- he’s one of The Bats, now, and that implies a certain minimum level of camaraderie that Dick is not willing to sacrifice. Dick and Alfred practically have to lock the doors and board up the windows to keep him from bolting back to Drake Manor where they can’t keep an eye on him, since he seems to be so convinced of avoiding “making himself a bother”.
Alfred.
Dick knows his grandfather, has known him since he was small enough to be carried in one of Bruce’s massive arms, perched on his hip like most parents would carry a toddler. He’s felt grief with Alfred before-
Jason-
But this isn’t just loss, isn’t just grief. The glue that keeps their family together has been removed, and right now, they need a backup plan.
But not yet.
It’s seven o’clock on a Friday afternoon in the middle of November. The Bat hasn’t been seen in over three weeks- nobody has noticed, yet, that Nightwing’s hands shake a little more than usual. The sky is dark, and getting darker, and the bright electric blue of his costume feels safe and warm against the chill of the autumn wind.
It’s Tim’s first patrol without Bruce.
Dick and Cass have been going out, of course, and Steph can’t be kept in the Cave like Tim can- she’s sixteen and doesn’t live anywhere near the Manor, so Dick can’t strong-arm her into staying home.
Cass pulls on her mask. Steph adjusts her cape. Tim grumbles.
It’s a Friday night in Gotham. They’re going to be fine.
It’s midnight, and the night has been uneventful, to say the least.
Robin sticks to Nightwing’s side like glue, always careful. Dick knows Tim’s hestiance. Bruce isn’t there to be a seven foot tall wall of muscle to scare criminals away from little Robin.
It’s okay.
Dick can handle this.
The worst they’ve had to deal with, however, has been a mugging. Dick and Tim have spent most of the past half hour sitting on gargoyles and watching the view, now that the people of Gotham know that there’s Bats out on the street tonight.
Nightwing. Robin. Spoiler. Batgirl.
He wonders if anyone has picked up the conspicuous absence of the Batman himself, yet.
“It’s a quiet night, huh?” Tim says, leaning forwards. Dick smiles softly.
That’s just about when the sirens start.
There are three types of Arkham alert, because there are two major varieties of villains locked up in Arkham: the kind that doesn’t use gas (to which Gothamites are alerted to with an undismissable phone chime), and the kind that does.
Of the latter category, there are two sirens.
The first is the Scarecrow siren. It’s more of an alternating alarm than a traditional siren- it’s loud, and it’s designed to cause annoyance over any other emotion in an attempt by the designers to reduce the listener’s vulnerability to fear toxin (an attempt that failed, as now Gothamites collectively fear that alarm, but the effort was made).
The last of the three is the long, swooping, almost tornado-siren like alarm that sweeps through the city now. It’s almost heartstopping to watch, Dick thinks.
People freeze in the streets, grabbing for gas masks, rebreathers, anything they can get their hands on that will protect their lungs from poisonous gas that seeks to choke them. A few small children begin to cry- they’ve never heard this slow, menacing sound that feels like it should belong to some nuclear power plant.
Why should they?
Why should this little toddler that Dick locks eyes with now know what this alarm reverberating through all of their skulls sounds like? She can’t be more than two and a half years old. She wouldn’t have been old enough then.
The last time this siren was heard in Gotham was three years ago, after all.
Right before the Joker took his little brother away from him.
The streets are empty by the time that Dick and Tim catch up to Cass and Steph. There is absolutely nobody down there beyond the occasional gas mask-wearing cop- Gotham protects its own, and there are most certainly no tourists here during the months between Halloween and Christmas. Citizens without close access to shelter have been pulled into shops with shuttered windows, and apartments are dark and hushed, the only light from news programs as the people of Gotham desperately try to understand if they’ll be able to continue their lives in the morning, or if they’ll have to keep hiding.
“Be careful,” crackles Barbara’s voice from the comms. Dick nods.
“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he hisses through gritted teeth. There’s a hiss of air from his grappling hook as he jumps, Robin following behind him.
Joker can only move so quickly. Too quickly for comfort- he’s always had more resources than any man who loves to kill his henchmen should have- but Nightwing and Robin should be able to reach Batgirl and Spoiler on their half of the patrol before too long.
The familiar movements are a balm to his nerves. Dick doesn’t have the time or the emotional energy to make a show of it, but he’s always felt better when he’s in the air, regardless of what he’s doing. It’s one of the reasons B had-
No. No going down that line of thought. He can’t think of Bruce right now, not when he’s got Tim and Cass and Steph to take care of and watch over. He can see the purple (eggplant, says Spoiler’s voice in his head, in a little petulant whine that she and Tim use when they think he’s not taking them seriously) of Spoiler’s cape out of the corner of his eye, and picks up his pace.
One foot in front of the other. One breath at a time. One step at a time.
One plan at a time.
“Batgirl, Spoiler,” he says over the comms. Spoiler’s head jerks up, and Batgirl… Well, he can’t hear his sister, but he can spot the barest sliver of her cape retreating over a rooftop.
“What’s the plan?” asks Steph. Robin skids to a stop behind Dick, who raises an arm to keep him from going right off the roof.
“Oracle?” Dick asks. Oracle hums on the other end of the line.
“He’s headed for Amusement Mile,” Babs says, “I’m not going to jinx it, but this is his first taste of freedom in three years. He might be looking to savor it.”
Dick tenses. Amusement Mile is a Bad Case Scenario. There’s very little cover in the form of tall buildings- they may be just as capable on flat terrain, but sometimes-
Sometimes Dick feels like a sifaka, graceful and ever-confident at great and dangerous heights, but unsafe and awkward and exposed on flat ground, like his feet aren’t even made for walking anymore.
He knows he’s not alone in that sentiment. While all the Bats are well-accustomed to fighting on on, as one might say, equal ground, it doesn’t mean that any of them particularly enjoy being forced out of their advantage zone of uneven footing.
Right now, he can see everything. The the cars speeding down below (if it were brighter, he might notice a purple car crossing two lanes of traffic in their direction), the brightness of the city lights, and the gaps between them like rotting teeth in a smile where buildings remain unfinished, never to be completed. A sign of decay and corruption, always on display. It is Gotham, after all.
There’s something deeply comforting about being up high. Maybe it’s about being out of reach and out of sight. Dick wonders if he should talk to a flying hero about this sort of thing- not Uncle Clark, obviously, but… Someone else. Maybe.
He’s pretty sure he could get someone to agree on that particular sentiment. Maybe-
No. Bad brain. Joker-focused right now.
Fuck, what are htey thinking- Dick hasn’t faced the joker in five years, and even back then, he had B to protect him. What the hell does he think he’s doing with only one other adult with him? And Cass barely counts, she might be terrifying but she’s still his baby sister.
The last time any Bat other than the man himself had gone up against the Joker, Dick lost a sibling.
He refuses to lose another one.
“Can we go over the plan again?” Steph asks. She’s nervous. Dick understands the sentiment. None of these kids have faced Joker before.
“Nightwing and Batgirl on point to flush him out, Spoiler and I in reserve to retrieve if needed. Also, there’s no shame in calling for Superman tonight,” Tim repeats dutifully, voice a dull monotone. Dick nods.
“Nobody goes inside the lair tonight if we can help it. We don’t know how many goons he has with him tonight-”
“How the hell does he keep getting them to stay on-”
Dick misfires with the grappling hook, twisting in midair, and fires again with his backup.
He’s not on top of his game toni-
Fuck. No. No thinking like that. They have to get Joker back in Arkham before he builds up enough steam for something truly horrible. Dick remembers the days before Arkham figured out how to hold him properly- the first three days of a Joker breakout are the best time to grab him. The goons don’t know how to keep Amusement Mile up to his bizarre standards, and so he’s off his game. After those three days, he settles, and becomes far more focused and dangerous.
“He’s turned,” Babs says over the comms, “He’s not headed for Amusement Mile, he’s-”
“Oh no,” Steph whimpers. Something sharp lands itself in the back of Dick’s neck.
The effect is almost instantaneous. Dick stumbles, digging ever weakening hands into a pipe as his vision blurs. Barbara is shouting in his ear. Why is she shouting? He doesn’t see her anywhere, maybe that’s why? Is she far away?
He’s tired.
It’s so loud.
There’s a low-pitched noise, slowly filtering through his ears. Dick knows that noise. It’s a Bad Sound.
“BATGIRL!” someone screams, before their voice is muffled. What? Where’s Barb- No, it’s Cass now, isn’t it? Dick’s being forgetful again. Why is his head so heavy?
“Where’s Robin?” someone whispers over the comms. Right here, Dick wants to say. Wait, no. He raises a hand- black and bright, shining blue. Jason, maybe? No, Jason’s-
Jason’s-
Tim. Where’s Tim?
What were they doing?
The noise registers. Joker siren.
The ringing in Dick’s ears clears, and the cotton disappears from his head and his eyes.
“Hell- o,” says a voice Dick knows from cowl footage and memories of childhood. Dick’s eyes snap open to find red lipstick, unnaturally pale skin, and green, green hair.
“Ready to play?” asks the miniature Joker on the screen in front of him, “Of course, it’ll be difficult to follow up on last time.”
He steps to the side, revealing-
Cass. Tim.
And- last time? Jason was last time?
Dick is untied. Spoiler is on a rooftop close by, shaking off her own drugged experience. She stumbles to her feet like a newborn fawn. Behind the white lenses, he assumes her eyes are wide and dilated, like his probably are.
Dick would probably normally say something clever- a witty catchphrase, something - maybe about clowns, maybe about something else. Right now, though? Right now, Richard Grayson is just angry.
And scared.
He can’t afford to make mistakes.
Not now.
There are way too many clues for comfort. Next to him, Steph is nervous, skittish- good. It’ll keep her alive right now.
Dick is oscillating between fear and rage, at the moment. Fear for his little siblings, rage at the man who’s taken them. He curls his hands into fists, pacing uneasily on the roof outside the building that Cass and Tim’s trackers have been sending signals from.
It’s one of the many abandoned buildings here in the Narrows, left before construction ended, with gaps where windows should be. Dick can head the familiar laugh even from out here.
He hadn’t been this terrified of Joker before Jason.
Oh, sure, he’d been scary, back when Dick was Robin- all of their villains had been. But Dick has always had a far more instinctive response to Two-Face (one of the few things that makes Dick certain that the man has no idea of their secret identities- B still talked to him, sometimes, as Brucie Wayne, and he always seemed so confused as to why little Dickie Grayson was so nervous around him) than he’s ever had to the Joker.
But Jason’s death- the helpless realization, days after the fact, that he’d been too late. Too late to save his brother. Too late to save his family. It had gotten worse, after Barbara.
Dick isn’t terrified of the Joker. He’s terrified of losing his family.
And he is fucking pissed.
There’s no satisfying crash of glass under his feet when he swings in, but that’s okay. Dick grits his teeth, clears the first room, and keeps on moving.
There’s a crackle.
Tim and Cass’s com’s are on.
“Hmm, hmm, how do we get this to work! Ahh,” the odious voice on the other end of the line hums, “Why don’t we let your brother listen while we pluck your feathers back into shape, hmm? Maybe that will finally drag Batsy out of whatever cave he’s hiding in this time.”
There’s a whimper. Cass. Tim is silent.
“Awwww, all tuckered out?” Joker laughs, “Do we need to make some adjustm-”
There’s a crackle of electricity, and, over the line, Dick can hear Tim as he begins to scream.
He sees red.
By the time Dick and Steph reach the floor, Tim and Cass have gone silent. Joker turns back towards them with a massive smile. Behind him, Cass and Tim are slumped on the floor.
They’re not moving.
This fucking piece of shit.
He’s taken his brother already, and now that B is gone, he thinks he can take his sister and his littlest brother, too? Fat chance.
Dick lunges like a striking snake, throwing a batarang and covering the distance between them in the blink of an eye.
He’s on Joker before he can think, screaming. He feels like every nerve in his body has been set alight in his rage and desperation, and-
Wait.
Wait, there’s too much blood here to be from him.
Dick freezes, and takes a step back. In the silence, he hears a cough, and turns his head.
“... Dick?” Tim asks, raising himself to his feet. He looks haggard, injured, but he’s still able to stand. Cass is in worse shape. Every line of her body screams pain.
He probably thought she was being stubborn when she wasn’t screaming.
There’s a crack, from behind them.
Dick practically hisses when he turns back around, Cass’s arm looped over his shoulders. Instead of the Joker’s ghastly grin, Dick sees Steph, staring at a figure on the floor.
Oh.
Dick takes two steps forward, stares, and promptly empties his stomach of its contents.
A week later, a broad young man is walking through Gotham, eyes peeled and ears sharp for gossip. Had he been anyone else, perhaps someone would have warned him about walking through Black Mask’s turf right now, especially this close to night.
There are whispers, in an alleyway. The young man turns, approaches, and leans his shoulder against the wall.
“So, what all were you saying about the Bat?” he asks. They look between themselves, and shrug.
“Wonderin’ how long Nightwing’s gonna be out for,” the smallest of the three of them responds, “Looks like the Bat shoved him back in their cave. No wonder, though.”
“Why’s it no wonder?” the young man asks, tilting his head to the side. A lock of white hair falls into his eyes, and he reaches a glove-clad hand up to brush it back with the rest of the darker strands.
“You just got back from college or somethin’, kid?” the largest of the three bites, “I know an Alley accent anywhere, but everyone in town’s been talkin about it for the past week.”
“Talking ‘bout what?”
“Nightwing killed the fuckin’ clown, that’s fuckin’ what.”
Jason Todd (Todd-Wayne, he would have corrected a handful of years- what feels like a lifetime- ago, but not now, not any longer) takes a step back.
“You serious?”
“Dead serious. Guy had all the marks of a Nightwing fight ‘cept for the Batarang sticking outta his neck, and the Bat only showed up again on Wednesday.”
Jason’s heart stutters in his chest.
“You okay, kiddo? You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Yeah. Fine. Just gotta… I gotta go.”
He’s gone before any of them can blink.
“Nice kid.”
“... Didn’t he look like that dead Wayne kid to you?”