Chapter Text
This was supposed to be a normal mission.
Perched atop a rusted billboard frame, Dick surveyed the scene below, sharp eyes tracking the movement of crates being pried open, revealing rows of neatly stacked firearms.
The rooftop was slick with rain, the concrete below glistening as Gothamites quickly jogged where they needed to go with their umbrellas in hand.
Dick was no stranger to Sionis, nor arms deals, especially after his experience with Penguin’s endless weapon caches.
He just has to wait for the perfect moment to strike, swoop in, dismantle the operation, and call in the GCPD to clean up the mess.
Easy.
Nightwing didn’t even patrol Gotham anymore, but with Batman and Robin tied up on a League of Assassins op, Red Robin handling a separate arms case, and Jason being too much of a wildcard when it came to Sionis, the job fell to him.
So Nightwing is here, saving the day. Business as usual.
The thugs below were methodically handing off the guns to one another in an assembly line. It was nothing like Dick had ever seen. Usually they’re frantic, dropping crates, throwing rifles into their bags, and speeding off into getaway vehicles.
The organization was unsettling.
Dick frowned, visibly confused, reaching up to his comms to unmute his mic.
“Hey Oracle, are we sure these are Black Mask’s guys? They’re too organized and they all look afraid.”
The goons kept darting nervous glances over their shoulders, flinching at every distant sound. Their stiff, careful movements weren’t just methodical; they were anticipatory. Like they were bracing for something.
Something is wrong.
As if on cue, It was at that moment that the assembly line came to a halt, picking up a weapon each, a thug who appeared to be supervising shouted,
“Now!”
“What the-“
Dick barely had time to process before the rooftop erupted in gunfire.
A trap. Goddamn it how did he not notice?
“Shit!—”
He threw himself backward, grappling away in an instant as hundreds of rounds tore through the space where he’d just been. Bullets shattered brick, ricocheted off steel, and sliced through the rain-heavy air like a swarm of wasps.
His feet were moving faster than his brain as he sprinted from roof top to roof top, sliding over rusted AC units, rolling across the gravel, anything to avoid the rain of metal.
He’d dodged bullets before, this wasn’t anything new, but there were at least 20 guys with 20 huge guns.
“Oracle, do you copy?”
Silence. Comms are either down or there’s some kind of interference. Fantastic.
He finally put enough distance between himself and the ambush, grappling toward a nearby warehouse rooftop to regroup. He was mid-swing when the shot rang out.
A single, deafening crack.
His line snapped.
A sniper.
The realization hit a split second before gravity did.
Glass exploded around him as he crashed through a warehouse window, shards slicing through his suit and embedding into his skin. His body hit the concrete hard, momentum sending him into a violent roll. By the time he stopped, he was sprawled on his side, gasping, pain igniting every nerve in his body.
He coughed hard, the wind was knocked clean out of him on impact with the floor. His brain was running a million miles a minute while his body could barely move.
Dazed, he forced himself onto his hands and knees, breathing ragged as he took in the sight of a jagged glass shard protruding from his midsection.
“Ohh—god,” he choked out, a groan catching in his throat as he braced himself against the blood-slick floor. His head spun, his body refusing to cooperate.
He needed to move.
This was bad. The whole op had been a setup. Someone had a sniper trained on him. His comms were down. And now he was bleeding out on the floor of some godforsaken warehouse, trapped.
Then, before he could fully stand-
A steel toed boot slammed into his ribs, sending him violently straight into the concrete, a strangled wheeze escaping his throat as he curls inward, wrapping an arm instinctively around his torso.
Blood was pooling beneath him, he could barely open his eyes to see his attacker, let alone fight back. Footsteps echoed through the warehouse.
The world swam in his vision, but even in his disoriented state, he recognized the pristine white suit, the polished black gloves, the unmistakable figure standing over him.
Roman Sionis.
Black Mask.
Dick barely had time to think before Sionis was on him, fists twisting into the fabric of his suit, hauling him up with ruthless strength.
He was violently shoved backwards into a concrete beam, his back in searing pain as he stumbled back to the floor.
Still, when Black Mask loomed over him, fists clenched, boots planted firm, all Dick could do was let out a breathless, humorless chuckle.
“Y’know,” he coughed, “you could’ve just sent an angry email?”
Sionis responded with a boot to his ribs.
The force sent him rolling onto his side, pain splintering through his body like lightning. He barely had time to suck in a ragged breath before Sionis grabbed him by the front of his suit and yanked him upright, shoving him back against a stack of old crates.
“Red. Hood. That little bastard has been tearing through my operations like it’s a hobby. And instead of coming here to face me himself, the Batman sends you to do his dirty work?”
Dick wheezes in response, his ribs on fire and ego bruised, “So this- whole thing… wasn’t even for me? I’m hurt.”
Sionis shoved him harder against the splintered wood, further into the ground,
“Oh no, I knew that you’d show up to clean the mess. I figured your corpse would send a nice message.” Sionis said breathlessly, his mask indicating no emotion, but his eyes showing a manic aggression.
“It’s bold of you to assume- that he gives a shit.” Dick coughs as his suit grows more and more wet, blood seeping from each and every cut.
The punch came hard and fast—no finesse, no precision, just brute force. It crashed into the side of Dick’s face like a sledgehammer, snapping his head to the side. Stars burst in his vision, his ears ringing.
Sionis didn’t stop.
Another fist to the gut. Another to the ribs.
Dick crumpled to his knees, barely catching himself on one shaking arm. Blood dripped from his nose, mixing with the crimson already pooling beneath him. He sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. His body screamed at him to stay down.
But staying down had never been his style.
He sharply exhaled, shifting his weight, before roughly sweeping his legs beneath Sionis’ feet. The man stumbled, falling back and catching himself on a nearby crate.
This misstep gave Dick a moment to stand, he stumbled, his head spinning, the room spinning, but moving nonetheless.
Sloppy, uncoordinated, but moving.
He ducked under Sionis’s next swing—barely—before driving his fist into the man’s side. It was like punching concrete.
If he hadn’t been already injured, that punch would’ve landed better, Dick likes to hope. But his limbs feel weak and he’s losing blood.
Great.
The figure barely flinched before sending a mean backhand straight into Dick’s jaw, sending him sprawling back to the ground.
He landed on his hands and knees, coughing up a puddle of blood while crawling over to the wall to try and get some leverage to stand.
“Get up Nightwing. Put up a better fight than that” Black Mask growled under his breath, gritting his teeth and rushing over to rip him from the ground once more.
“Okay man, you punch like a truck. Good for you.” Dick said out loud, spitting more blood to the floor.
It was only seconds before Sionis was on him again. A fistful of his hair, yanking his chin upwards.
“You think this is funny, Boy Wonder?” he spat, venom dripping from his words, “You really think Hood is gonna let this slide? After everything he’s done to my operations, you don’t think I know what’ll set him off?”
He chuckled, out of breath and unhumorously
“When he finds out what I did to you here, he’s not just gonna come to me, he’s gonna tear through Gotham like a rabid dog. And when he gets here- I’ll be waiting.”
Sionis snarled and slammed Dick’s head into the floor.
Everything went black for half a second. A high-pitched whine filled his ears, nausea rolling in his gut as his vision swam.
His body refused to listen. His limbs felt like lead. He was losing too much blood.
Sionis crouched beside him, pressing a heavy knee into his chest, crushing the air from his lungs. “I should put a bullet in your skull right now.”
Dick wheezed, blinking blearily up at him. He was too out of it to throw a punch, too weak to push the bastard off.
So he smiled.
His mind finally stringing the pieces together. The perfect shot through his grapple line. The way the sniper had waited for the right moment to fire. The only reason he was still breathing was because they’d wanted him to fall, not die instantly.
“If you were gonna kill me,” he rasped, “Deadshot would have done it already.”
Sionis glared down at him, grip tightening on his collar.
“Come on Roman- he would’ve dropped me… before I could even see the muzzle flash.”
The words had barely left his mouth before Sionis slammed his fist into the side of Dick’s head. The impact sent his skull bouncing off the cold concrete, a sharp, blinding pain exploding behind his eyes.
“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Sionis sneered. He grabbed a fistful of Dick’s hair and yanked his head back up, forcing him to meet the hollow black gaze of his mask.
“You think you’ve got this all figured out? That I need Deadshot to take you out?” He gave Dick’s head a violent shake before releasing him, letting it drop limply back onto the floor.
“I want you alive long enough for Hood to see what’s left of you. But don’t get cocky—” Sionis stood, rolling his shoulders, cracking his knuckles. “I can still have my fun before he gets here.”
The hits continued, on his face, his ribs, his chest. Burning fire spread throughout his entire body, the agonizing pain tearing through his system. The only reason he was still thinking straight was complete willpower. His body had stopped fighting back, the only thing he was actively trying to accomplish was staying awake.
At some point, the hits stopped. Dick couldn’t tell how long it had lasted, or if it was truly over. Sionis stood over him, breathing hard, flexing bloodied knuckles.
“Don’t pass out yet, Pretty Boy,” he taunted, nudging Dick’s shoulder with the toe of his boot. “Wouldn’t want you to miss the fireworks.”
He called out to someone, the dial tone of a phone barely made its way to Dick’s ears, but it was better than the sound of his own blood splattering across the floor. Footsteps flooded out the door. Sionis and his men not forgetting to act as if Dick was a museum exhibit.
The thugs laughed as they passed his broken frame, seeing it as some kind of revenge for whatever “The Bat” had done to them in the past. All of them finally left, silence flooded the warehouse.
He was left with the sound of his ragged breathing and quiet whines he hadn’t allowed himself to express while Sionis was still there.
He tried to move. His arm twitched but went limp again. The pain was too much. He was stuck .
Then, through the haze, a voice cut through his skull like a gunshot.
“Jesus Christ.”
It was distant, distorted, but he knew it anywhere.
Jason.
The heavy stomp of boots rushed closer, then stopped beside him.
“Shit—shit, okay—hold on, man.” Jason’s voice wasn’t its usual sharp-edged growl. There was something else—panic. He was already dropping to his knees, gloved hands hovering over Dick like he didn’t even know where to start.
His eyes quickly took in every inch of the scene, including Dick’s broken escrima stick, snapped right in the center alongside a note:
Your fault, Red.
Dick’s body felt like it was carrying the weight of a thousand suns, but he still managed to let out something weak that sounded like it could’ve been a laugh, “Took you- long enough…”
Jason inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening.
“You weren’t answering your damn comms,” he muttered, voice rough.
Blood trickled slowly out of his mouth, “Didn’t know I had to… schedule my beatdown’s in advance.” Dick winced, a sob tearing through his throat, too exhausted to actually cry.
Jason’s expression softened, his hands violently shaking trying to find where to hold pressure first.
“If I had known you were getting your ass kicked by Sionis because of me, I would’ve showed up sooner…. all I got was a last location and a voicemail from the bastard.”
His voice was strained and angry. Not at Dick, not at himself, but at Sionis.
This wasn’t a hit, it was a message. He didn’t go after Jason— he went after family. Jason wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what this meant.
Sionis wanted a war and he was going to give him one.
But he had bigger things to worry about right now.
He slid his arm under Dick’s shoulders and the other under his knees.
“Alright, Nightingale, up we go.”
Dick groaned, his head lolling against Jason’s shoulder as his body protested every movement.
“Thought… thought you hated that nickname…”
Jason huffed as he lifted him, adjusting his grip.
“Yeah, well, you’re half-dead, so I figured I’d go easy on you.”
As Jason carried him out into the cold Gotham night, his grip on Dick was firm, unrelenting.
And his chest burned with rage, his face in a scowl beneath the shining red helmet.