Chapter Text
Dick Grayson would say he is a family man. As he adores his brothers with all his heart. Even though he has done some not nice things, he’s tried to make up for it.
But after he had to fake his death with Spyral, all thanks to Bruce’s input, his relationship with his siblings has worsened. And now he was estranged with the whole family.
Dick hasn’t spoken to Tim, Jason, or Damien in months. He hasn’t spoken to Bruce or Alfred for even longer. They haven’t even contacted him for help with cases.
Well you did lie to them about your death…
Dick sighs softly as he crouches on the ledge of a warehouse, overlooking another one. He was currently following a tip about a deal going down in the Bludhaven’s warehouses. But he hasn’t seen anyone come in or out.
It was getting late and he wanted to crash at his apartment before he had to go to work in the morning, so he needed to wrap this up.
Nightwing hops down the side of the warehouse he was on, landing on silent feet. His eyes behind his domino flick around as he jogs over to the suspected warehouse.
With the use of his grappling hook, he scales the building. Padding on the top before finding the ceiling access. Once open, he hopped down onto the catwalk. Trying to be as quiet as he could.
He looks around and below into the warehouse, taking out one of his escrima sticks.
It was…surprisingly empty for a Bludhaven warehouse.
Nightwing ran a gloved hand along the catwalk, picking up dust as he looked at it.
Pretty dusty up here, I guess it now would be easier to see if anyone had broken in.
He thought with a slight smile as he dusted his hand off on his thigh.
Since he didn’t see anyone, Nightwing decided to hop down from the catwalk. Tucking into a roll to break the fall. Causing a soft thump.
He moved his head around as he straightened, looking for any movement clocking all possible exits.
Nightwing then starts walking around, looking for anything suspicious. The floor was covered in dust, leaving his boot prints in his wake. The warehouse itself was bare. Maybe one or two pallets and a couple boxes.
I've never seen a warehouse so empty…Even the abandoned ones are at least semi full. It’s unnerving.
A shiver ran down his spine as things about this warehouse just felt wrong.
He then spotted footprints that started from nowhere. Dick stops right in front of them, crouching down observing them. It shouldn't be possible for footprints to start from nowhere. Especially in a warehouse this dusty.
He gives the suspected footprints a wide step, as to not disturb them. He follows them, walking to the side.
They lead to behind one of the pallets, where a dust free duffel bag is laid. Dick stops right beside the duffel bag, crouching beside it. He holsters his escrima stick as he moves the bag around, looking for any logo or name.
Dick sighs. This better not be full of Fear Toxin or Joker Venom. I don’t need that in my city while dealing with the mess called Bludhaven.
He rubbed the lense of his domino as he sighs again. He knows he’s overworking himself and draining himself. Between patrolling alone every night and working at the police station to help rid it from corruption. But he has nothing else.
He knows he’s not welcomed back at the manor after what he’s done. But that’s ok. He’s ok. He’s willing to be alone if it means his family is happy.
Nightwing takes a deep breath as he unzips to duffel, shifting his feet and preparing to run if any gas escapes
But nothing comes out. He looks inside as he releases the breath.
It seemed like a normal homeless person duffel, clothes (seems like it would fit at least a small teen,), non perishable food, water bottles, small amount of cash, what looked like a bo staff?
Ok, that item was a bit odd.
A burner phone was next. He looked it over but didn't turn it on. Not wanting to invade what looks like a homeless teen’s privacy. It was an older model, something cheap and easy to get.
Nightwing puts everything neatly back into the bag as he takes out the next and last item.
He felt himself tense and freeze as he pulled it out, the white lenses of his domino blowing wide.
It was a replica, a very good replica, of his Robin suit. But there were some changes. The three colors, red, green, yellow, were more muted. And there was more black on it. Most importantly, there were pants.
Dick snorted to himself softly as he remembers the arguments of little nine year old Dick Grayson arguing with Bruce about his costume not having pants at the time. He shakes his head softly. Both Bruce and Alfred tried tirelessly to convince him to add pants to it.
He shakes his head again, pushing the thought to the side.
Not the time to get distracted. Nightwing sighs as he feels the costume’s material, surprised. Whoever made this didn’t cheap out. This is the material that my Nightwing suit is made out of, plus extra Kevlar and armor.
He sighs again, tired and rubs his face softly. He folds the suit back up, putting it back in the duffel. Zipping it up, throwing it over his shoulder. He’ll give everything back to the teen once he finds out where that suit came from. No one should have the blueprints for the material the Bats use.
Before Dick could react, there was a whirring noise coming from behind him. He tenses back up and he tries to jump out of the way but the blast hits him dead center of his back. He could have dodged it if he wasn’t so tired.
The last thing he heard before his world went black was a wishful voice,
“Fly high, my little Robin..”