Chapter Text
“Move in.” Batman’s low growl crackled over the coms. Dick lifted the window panel in front of him silently. He’d been called in to help round up Scarecrow, who was said to be setting up his usual toxin shop in the warehouse they were now invading.
Dick landed in a crouch on the upper level soundlessly. He saw Red Robin on the lower level, Batman and Robin probably entering from the back. He nodded at Red, though the younger did not return the gesture or acknowledge him at all, and then approached the first hallway. He cleared it, reporting the empty barrels of chemicals.
“Rebreathers.” Came the order, Dick already had his on; despite being pretty immune to the gas, it didn’t hurt to be safe.
There was a hiss as the speakers came to life and the sickening, high-pitched voice of Scarecrow flooded the space. “Oh, goody, here come the bats and birds. I hope they’re not too scared to play!” There was a grunt over the coms. Nightwing froze at the sound.
“Red Robin, check in,” Batman ordered. Nightwing turned to sprint back to the main room, a growing feeling of unease forming in his gut. The quiet grunt turned to shouting, Batman and Robin joining in on whatever Red had gotten into.
Right before Dick exited the hallway, a giant slab of solid concrete slammed down in front of him, forcing him to flip backwards to avoid being crushed. Cutting Nightwing off from his group. “Shit, guys, something's not right. Get out now!” He tapped his com, the familiar feeling of panic spreading in his chest. But his com just responded with feedback.
Dick crinkled his nose as the hall flooded with a sweet smell. Shit. Dick quickly placed an explosive wingding on the wall, running back to avoid as much of the blast as possible. Dark spots appeared on the edges of his vision, the rebreather only able to filter so much with no supply of fresh oxygen.
The explosion shook the walls around him, but did little to bring down the wall. Dick leaned against the wall in an effort to remain standing. He tried to move towards the wall, but the world spun, and his efforts to remain standing failed him. In a last measure before darkness overtook him, Dick pressed his panic button on the inside of his wrist.
. .
Nightwing woke with a gasp, taking in the fresh air (as fresh as you can get in Gotham) in quick gulps. He sat straight up, attempting to rub the sore spot where he landed on his shoulder after fainting, but was prevented due to the cuffs around his wrists that had him chained to the floor in front of him. He groaned, testing the strength of the metal. It was solid, and he doubted he’d be able to escape that way.
Dick looked around the room. His gear was still in place, as was his mask. Meaning their captures were stupid and overly confident, or they were convinced Nightwing wouldn’t get a chance to use it. He looked around the room; there was nothing in it, and three of the walls were a plain hospital white. The wall in front of him, however, was entirely glass, but Dick could not see to the other side. He raised his brow, wondering what Scarecrow needed a two-way window for. There was a door to his left, solid metal with no window.
He stood, dragging the chain with him as he approached the glass wall. It wasn’t long enough for him to reach it, but just barely. He tried the door with the same effect.
Nightwing chose a spot as far away from the door as he could get, sitting cross-legged. He sighed heavily, hoping his distress signal had been successfully activated and that the rest of his family was okay.
He didn’t know how long he sat there; he was about halfway through counting the bricks that lined the walls when there was the sound of a speaker coming to life. Dick tensed and then forced himself to relax as Scarecrow’s voice filled the room.
“Well, well, Nightwing! I hope your stay has caused a fright! Though don’t panic, there is still much to fear coming near!” Nightwing rolled his eyes at the fear jokes; they weren’t even original anymore.
“Where are the others, Crane?” Dick spoke in a hard and demanding voice, hoping he wasn’t talking to an empty room where no one could hear him. But it seems Scarecrow could.
“No need to fear, they are here.” There was a chuckle, and Dick’s attention snapped to the glass wall as it turned transparent, and he saw Batman, Red Robin, and Robin each tied up in their own chair, facing the glass wall. Dick’s shoulders relaxed slightly at the sight.
Dick did a quick study of his family; none seemed to be critically injured, though Red Robin was leaning on his left side more heavily than he should be. Hinting at an injury to the right side of his body, possibly his ribs, if it was painful while sitting.
The same feeling of dread from before grew in Dick’s stomach. While the others were set up in a spectator position, he was… on the stage. His heart skipped a beat. He made eye contact with Bruce, who tapped the chair a few times. Signaling that help was on the way.
A shadow appeared from behind the sitting bats. Scarecrow clapped his hands together to draw attention to himself. “Now then! Let’s not delay! I fear we may not have all day!”
“What do you want?” Robin spoke through gritted teeth. Dick could see the youngest of their group slowly twisting his wrists and ankles in an attempt to loosen his restraints.
Scarecrow stalked over to Damian, sighing heavily and pulling a pistol from his robes. “Are you scared, little bird?” There was a chorus of shouting as the bats told him to put the gun down. Nightwing had moved as close to the window as he could, ignoring the sharp pain in his wrist as he tugged on his restraints. “Mmm. Seems they are.” Scarecrow laughed, but kept the gun pointed at Robin’s head.
Dick’s head jerked to the side as the door opened. Two overly muscular men, dressed similarly to Crane, approached Nightwing. He bent his knees, ready to fight against them, but Crow caught his attention again, “Uh uh, don’t you want the little to return to the nest?” He pressed the tip of the weapon against Damian’s temple, who let out a string of curses and insults at the man.
Nightwing muttered a curse under his breath, but relaxed his stance. Each man took one of his arms and forced him to kneel in the center of the room, facing the window. Dick blew some of his hair out of his face. He really needed a haircut, but it’s not like he could go to Alfred’s salon. Since he hadn’t been to the manor in almost three months, he pushed the thought from his mind, “If you wanted a performance, Crow, all you had to do was ask.” Dick smirked, pretending he didn’t hear the ‘tsk’ from someone on the other side of the glass.
Someone forced him to look at the ceiling by tugging on his hair, a slight grunt escaping his lips. “I hope you don’t get stage fright, boy wonder!” Dick tried to move his head to look at him, but was forced to stay still. “Resist and I pick a bat to splat!” Nightwing gritted his teeth and froze, his heart beating fast. There was only one thing Scarecrow wanted to inflict. Fear.
In his head, Dick was grateful he was the one in the hot seat. He always had a harder time watching his loved ones be in pain than taking the pain himself. That face was one of the leading reasons behind almost everything he does. Furthermore, he and Bruce have been testing his level of resistance to Scarecrow's fear gas, and compared to the others- even Bruce- he was the best option for this.
Another goon entered the room, carrying a tray, but with the angle his head was being held at, he couldn’t see its contents. Crow was moving back and forth behind the vigilantes now, swinging the gun from one head to the next. Dick didn’t move, despite his neck protesting the position. “Word going around, Nightwing, is that you seem to be less… influenced by my fear gas than most.” He chuckled, tapping Batman’s shoulder casually with a long, bony finger. “I suppose you might’ve built up a tolerance over the years, so you inspired me to make a little concoction designed to clip your wings specifically.” Dick tensed, now very aware of the long syringe the goon not holding him had in his hand.
The air became tense as Batman spoke, “Crane. You don’t want to do this. Come quietly before you do something you’ll regret.” Dick could tell his jaw was tense from how he spoke. Worried about whatever substance they were about to subject his oldest to.
“Are you afraid, Batman?” Scarecrow’s voice was teasing, “I’ve put too much work into this to back down now! Those little viles are going to be the future of fear! Stronger hallucinations of your greatest fears, more adrenaline, longer-lasting effects!”
As he spoke, the goon kneeled in front of Dick and placed a headband-shaped device on his head, sat across his forehead, and stuck to his temples. Nightwing didn’t resist, nor did he when the needle was jammed into his neck.
Nightwing’s eyes went wide, and he gasped as his heart immediately kicked into overdrive- he gasped for air as the world spun. He was vaguely aware that Crow was still speaking, gloating about whatever horrors he was about to experience. Dick felt his hands being released, and the hands holding him up left.
He fell backwards onto his back. There was a muffled sound- maybe someone calling out for him? He stared at the ceiling and tried to slow his breathing. He clutched his chest, forcing air through his nose and out his mouth. Just like he’d been trained to do.
Dick sat up slowly, blinking rapidly as the lights seemed to shine much brighter than a moment ago. He reached up to feel the band on his head, but couldn’t remove it. He noticed that the glass wall seemed to be gone. Dick’s heart skipped a beat as he lost sight of his family. He crossed his legs and clutched his knees, closing his eyes in an attempt to meditate through the toxin.
“Oh, my baby boy.” Dick’s eyes shot open at the sound of his mother’s voice. Mary Grayson stood across the room from him, wearing her Flying Grayson uniform. She smiled softly at Dick.
Nightwing stood, taking a step forward before he could think about it. He froze as John Grayson appeared next to his mother. “My son.” The words were spoken in English, but his parents’ heavy accent- just as he remembered them- was still there. John’s outfit matched his wife’s.
Despite knowing they weren’t real, Dick whispered to them, “Mami? Tati?” He took another step, even if it wasn’t real, the temptation to feel those arms wrapped around him one more time-
His mother gasped as he came closer, her hand going to cover her mouth. “Kon si kadava? [Who is this?]”
Dick moved faster, his feet dragging him closer to them. “Mami! Tati! It’s me!”
John moved both of them back a little, both their eyes wide in shock, “Tu na dikhes sar amaro Dickie. [You don’t look like our Dickie.]”
Dick froze, absently reaching for them both. “Me sem! Me sem! Si me! Tyo tikno robin! [I am! I am! It is me, your little Robin!]”
“Oh na zhanav... [Oh, I don’t know…]” Mary’s eyes drifted down to Dick’s hands. He followed her gaze and gasped, taking a step back from them.
His hands were slick and wet with blood- fresh, impossibly red blood. It coated him up to his elbows, dripping on the floor and onto his feet. Dick resisted the urge to vomit at the sight. John was shaking his head, “Our Dickie, our Robin-” tears were streaming down his face, Dick noticed with horror-
His mother approached him, also crying, but her gaze remained soft even as she spoke, “Savo legato si kado? [What legacy is this?]” She motioned to the growing pool, “Na, na, nashti te aves amaro Dickie. [No, no, you cannot be our Dickie.]
Even though he knew the words were not real, that his own brain was playing on his greatest insecurities, he couldn’t stop the tears that came. He told himself that it was the toxin; he knew he should be better, have better control of what his own mind could do to him-
Mary crouched beside him, not laying a hand on Dick or comforting him in any way- because he ruined their legacy, Dick told himself.
Because he took something pure and magical and tainted it. With blood. With all the harm he’s caused. He was nothing but a disappointment to them- the last of the Flying Graysons had fallen a long time ago- before Spyral- before the Syndicate- before Blockbuster and Tranchula-
Maybe he’d never really been flying- not since that night- not since his parents' bodies were never to fly again-
“You are poison.” Dick gasped and jerked away from his mother- Mary’s voice twisting as her body did- morphing into someone else-
Dick scrambled backwards as far as he could, his back colliding with the brick wall. He shut his eyes tight, forcing steady breaths through his body. He shoved his head between his knees; his breath was too fast- it wasn’t real. It was just the toxin- he couldn’t be back there-
His entire body shuddered as he started to feel the rain- he gasped as the cold drops made contact with his back, sending a chill down his spine-
There was a hand on his shoulder- Dick jerked to throw it off- “No.” He tried to keep his voice level and firm, as if he could will away the toxin in his system. “No.” He repeated, this time louder.
He was on a roof- there was the smell of gunpowder and blood in the air- he backed up to the ledge- his back hitting the wall- but it wasn’t a low-berring wall on a roof, it was a tall brick wall, right, because this wasn’t real- she wasn’t real-
She laughed with ease, her bright orange and black suit shining in the dark of the night. “No need to be afraid, mi amor. You enjoyed it last time…” She moved towards him, she grabbed his wrists and pulled them, breaking the protection he had crafted for himself-
His hands trembled, the suit was sticking to his body- his breathing was too fast- she would do it again- he had to stop her-
This time, he wouldn’t let that happen again- it was his fault there was blood on his hands- his fault she happened- his fault for not fighting back- for stepping aside-
“We’re alive, he can’t hurt us anymore.” She was closer now, a hand reaching for his upper arm-
Nightwing leaped to the side- pushing her away, hard. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Something crashed into him, sending him to the ground- she was holding his arms- “NO!” He wailed, kicking and attempting to throw her off- he couldn’t- he wouldn’t let it happen again-
There was pressure as someone sat over his hips- trapping his legs- Dick’s eyes went wide with fear- he couldn’t breathe- everything was blurry- he lurched forward in an attempt to head butt her-
There was a sharp crack as Dick’s vision whited out for a few seconds. She fell to the side, clutching her head. Dick scrambled to his feet, moving as far away from her as possible. He was still breathing rapidly, moving as far into the corner of the room as he could. His head was pounding, and he reached up, and his hand came back bloody.
He tried to steady himself with the wall, moving away from her- he didn’t make it far before he found himself sliding down the wall. Somehow, she had moved to stand right next to him. Dick gasped, lifting his hands in defense. “Please, just- no- I don’t- not again-” he gulped in air, trying to slow down his breathing. In the back of his mind, he knew this wasn’t real- she wasn’t really there- but-
The weight on his hips- the pinning of his arms- it all felt so real-
There was a sharp prick on the side of his neck. Nightwing gasped, his hand moving to the spot- but the movement was sluggish- he felt his body tip to the side, but found he had no energy to catch himself-
Dick tried to tug on the ends of his hair, but the movement was caught by the band of metal secured to his forehead. He paused, tracing the edge across his face.
He was vaguely aware of Catalina’s form shifting and changing in his peripheral vision- he grabbed the edges, digging his nails under the device and pulled- there was yelling, but he didn’t care- he had to get it off-
“Nightwing!” Dick’s head jerked up at the sound of Batman’s voice.
Dick felt himself sigh with relief, dropping his hands, “B? Is it over?”
Batman kneeled in front of him, checking him over for injuries, everything he would normally do. “No. It’s not. Stay awake.” Dick tensed as his father reached for the dev-
For the cowl. Dick blinked. Then he blinked again. He didn’t feel drenched anymore, or like his suit was going to suffocate him, but there was no ease of the panic in his chest.
Bruce pushed down the cowl, his own already hanging at his back. Dick wanted to laugh at the pair, both of whom were wearing their respective Batman costumes. But he never felt like laughing in this particular suit. He hadn’t needed his since- since Bruce came back- why would-
It was then that he noticed the various injuries and damage Bruce was sustaining on his own armor. Dick’s stomach lurched. They were kneeling on the ground, Bruce’s hand cupping his face gently. There was a pool of blood spreading around the tree. Dick felt the warmth on his knees. Bruce gasped wetly, red coating his lips- Dick searched for a wound to treat-
“Dick, look at me.” Another wet cough. “Look at me, chum.” Dick grabbed his father’s wrist, tears already falling down his face- he did as Bruce asked.
“Please, don’t go-” Bruce hushed him. Reality setting in for both of them.
Dick’s heart rate spiked as Bruce spoke. “Gotham-” A coughing fit caused Bruce to halt-
“I can’t-” Nightwing asked, desperation creeping into his voice- he didn’t know what was happening- how had Bruce gotten injured? Where were the others-
Bruce spoke with determination, seemingly having made up his mind about what he was going to say, “Gotham needs Batman. Batman needs you.” His words were slurred, blood leaking from the corner of his lips.
Nightwing sobbed; he didn't want this. He did not want to wear the cowl, he didn’t know if he could do that again- “B, I can’t- please-”
Bruce grabbed his other wrist, using it to keep them upright, “They need you-” There was a choking sound- they didn’t have much time-
“No! You promised!” Dick wanted to shake the man before him, wanted to scream until he continued to breathe- “You said you wouldn’t leave me again-” His voice lowered, almost to a whisper as the light faded from Bruce’s eyes.
Dick watched, his chest tightening, “You can’t- I can’t do it, B, I can’t be Batman- not again- I failed- please, don’t go-” His voice cracked.
He felt the darkness on the edge of his blurry vision, and even then, he continued to beg, to plead for Bruce to stay- to wake up-
He saw various bodies moving around him- he reached up for the cowl- a mask he swore never to wear again- the burden having taken everything he had to give- how was he supposed to do that again? Bruce swore- he promised he would never put him in that position again-
Dick was grateful when the sweet silence and thoughtlessness of unconsciousness came to claim him as he hiccupped and sobbed- his body aching for rest- though his dreams would prove counterproductive in that effort.