Chapter Text
Nightwing alights on a roof overlooking Robinson Park and crouches, blood racing and every sense on high alert. The fires in Coventry to the northwest illuminate the brooding, low clouds to reveal a hellish scene below.
People surge through the darkened streets, shouting and shoving one another as they take advantage of the chaos to add to the havoc without fear of reprisal. He sees flaming cars and shattered storefronts as the mob spreads out, alarms wailing in their wake, but he knows all too well the overwhelmed police won’t respond any time soon.
Horns blare and sirens keen in the distance where traffic is backed up for blocks. It’s standard practice to shut down all the bridges and tunnels to prevent the riots from spilling over to the mainland, but people never seem to learn. Screams, peals of wild laughter, and the sound of breaking glass cut through the general dull roar of Gotham City in full crisis mode. The Batsignal shines above it all, a cry for help and a beacon of hope for the truly desperate.
It’s an Arkham breakout. All hands are on deck, and it might not be enough.
Nightwing listens to the chaos. Every impulse strains to respond to the cries for help around him and it takes a supreme effort to turn his back on people in need. He wants to save everyone, knows that even one innocent lost on his watch will be a failure beyond his ability to bear.
But if there’s one lesson he’s had drilled into him over and over through the years, it’s that he can’t do everything himself. With all the will in the world, he can’t be everywhere at once. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but he’s working on it.
He still gives it everything he has, and more. But that’s not the plan this time. He’s not alone tonight—the rest of the Bats are out in force. The other rogues are in their hands, and he needs to complete his own mission as fast as possible so he can assist wherever else he’s needed.
There are so many ways things could go wrong out there.
Batman and Robin are facing the Joker at Amusement Mile, Red Robin’s tracking Poison Ivy somewhere in Robinson Park, Bat Girl is rounding up Mr. Freeze, and Black Bat’s after Firefly. God knows what Red Hood is doing in the midst of all this. He’s not exactly the most reliable member of the team. Or even an official member of the team, really. Hopefully he’s chosen to help tonight, or at least not add to the chaos.
Any one of them could need an assist, and he needs to be ready. No one else he cares about is falling on his watch. Not now, not ever.
Nightwing doesn’t have time to spare. He frowns as he scans his surroundings, focusing now on the details that might reveal which rogues are operating in the immediate vicinity. Every villain has their own style and he knows them all too well.
There are a few fights going on in the street below him, including what looks like a handful of prostitutes. They’re beating up a large man who snarls threats as he struggles in their grasp. A girl who can’t possibly be out of her teens is standing nearby, crying and clutching at her torn clothes to hold them in place. It doesn’t take much to figure out what probably happened there.
He considers jumping down to help, then spots several vines emerging from Robinson Park. As he watches, the vines wrap around the pimp’s arms and legs and go taut, apparently holding him still for the young men and women to hit.
Ivy.
He swallows, quickly dismissing the idea of helping. She’s probably got this handled and he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t welcome his interference. Anyway, Red Robin must be nearby, since he’s the one assigned to bring her in tonight. It’s doubtful he’d be any happier to have Nightwing muscle in on his mission. Things haven’t been great between them for a while now, and it’s probably not something that’s going to be fixed on patrol. He cuts off the thought, but not before a part of him wonders if it’s something he’ll be able to fix at all. Well, that’s depressing.
Okay then, moving on.
There’s no sign of the rogue he came here to find. None of the people below are exhibiting symptoms of fear gas exposure, and there doesn’t seem to be any real organization behind the chaos. Everyone he can see looks to be in it for themselves with no underlying order or overarching plan to any of the destruction. Where’s Scarecrow?
He taps his comm. “Oracle?”
She responds without a pause, her modulated voice all business. “Nightwing.” He hears rapid typing in the background and wonders once again if the others are okay. “Jonathan Crane entered the building immediately east of your position about twenty minutes ago. My cameras don’t show anyone else entering the building today besides the regular construction crews, the last of whom left three hours ago. Based on heat scans, Scarecrow appears to be alone in the building.”
Turning, he checks out the building in question. It’s a bank surrounded by scaffolding, apparently undergoing reconstruction. That’s a pretty common sight in Gotham City thanks to the near-constant barrage of destructive plots perpetrated by the various rogues. Squinting, he tries to remember if he was there for this one. The realization he has no idea what villain it was or which Bat dealt with them sends a frisson of unease through him, stirring feelings of resentment, guilt and regret faster than he can get rid of them.
Gotham isn’t his city anymore, not really. And the other Bats aren’t his partners. That’s fine—it is. He values his independence, and every decision he’s made has always had what seemed like perfectly logical reasoning behind it at the time. He can’t regret that. What he does regret is the distance that seems to have opened up over the past few years between him and the people he thinks of as his family.
He’s used to living with the whole complicated morass of history between him and Bruce. And the anger and mistrust in Jason’s eyes now isn’t actually that different from the way he used to look back when all Dick saw when he looked at him was another kid in his family’s colors. It hurts, but it’s an old ache. As for Babs, well, he’s lucky they managed to patch things up after everything that’s gone wrong between them. That they still have a functional friendship at all is probably more due to her capacity for forgiveness than his anything. Either way, he’s grateful to still have her in his life.
Messed up as it is, he’s used to all of that.
It’s the others that are getting to him. Damian’s bluster and snarls, slapped on like a bandage over the hurt he can’t hide—well, that’s new, and Nightwing hasn’t figured out how to fix it yet. The subtle blankness that slides over Tim’s face like a mask whenever he’s around is also a recent development. That one might be even harder to fix.
He can’t help but feel like the schism is growing. He can’t remember the last time he saw anyone in the family outside patrol, and not for lack of effort on his part. Damian rejects his offers with blunt dismissals, Tim always has excuses that sound legitimate but are starting to wear thin at this point, and Jason seems to take joy out of laughing his ass off before hanging up. Cass and Steph appear to be solidly on Tim’s side, and he can’t even blame them.
Some of his relationships are in such a painful tangle, he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to figure out a way to smooth things out. It’s looking less and less likely that everything will just work out on its own over time.
Well, crap. There goes his main strategy for how to fix relationships after screwing them up.
Another scream jars Nightwing out of that disastrous train of thought. He shakes it off and considers the case for a minute, then shrugs. Scarecrow, without any henchmen and only having had a few hours at most since his escape from Arkham? Child’s play. “Okay. Thanks, O, I’m going in.”
“Are you sure you want to go in now? I can divert Red Robin—” The sound of her typing speeds up and she bites off a vicious curse. “Actually, no. His fight with Ivy is heating up. How about—”
Nightwing shakes his head, not caring who she’s going to suggest next. He’s not about to steal anyone from another fight just to provide backup he probably won’t even end up needing.
“Negative,” he says. “I’ve got this.” He silences the comm and dons his rebreather before leaping across to the rooftop opposite. He lands in a silent crouch and listens, half-expecting to hear shouts of alarm and footsteps approaching from within. All he hears is the dull roar of Gotham tearing itself apart. He gives it another minute, then eases his way into the building through a roof vent.
He weaves his way over and between exposed girders, movements light and graceful as he leaps the gaps. He makes his way across the interior until he’s close enough to hear muttered words and see movement. Scarecrow. The masked villain is pacing below in a distinctly maniacal fashion, his grotesque, distorted shadow flickering in the dim emergency lighting. He’s muttering under his breath, showing every sign of being well on his way to working himself up to a full rant.
“—already added the base chemicals to the reservoir. Now I just need to add the final ingredient to activate the chemical reaction so that fear will finally reign supreme! But those damned plants interrupted me before I could finish, and they’ll attack again if I try to go back. Curse that woman and her obsession with clean water for her thrice-bedamned plants!” The tall, gaunt man flails his long arms through the air, clenching bony hands into fists of frustration.
Nightwing blinks. Huh. Sounds like Ivy ran interference on Scarecrow’s plan. Well, that’s convenient. He smiles. It’s always a relief when the rogues work against each other instead of teaming up.
Scarecrow snickers, drawing his attention. “Patience—I simply need to cultivate patience. After all, the Bat will be there soon, with weed poison.” His voice lowers to a malevolent rasp. “And while they’re distracted fighting each other, all I need to do is sneak past them to the reservoir, and drop in the catalyst—” The man’s pacing brings him into position directly beneath the girder Nightwing is balanced on just as he utters those words.
Sometimes this job is too easy. “Speaking of dropping in—” Nightwing cackles with delight as he jumps off and plummets feet-first toward the shocked rogue, landing on him like a sack of bricks.
Beneath him, Scarecrow crumples to the floor with a groan. One of his hands jerks up clutching a gleaming syringe. Nightwing immediately moves to immobilize that hand, realizing his error a moment too late. The long, claw-like fingers of Scarecrow’s other hand hook onto his rebreather and claw it loose, just as a loud hissing sound fills the air.
Well that’s not good.
It seems this isn’t going to be as easy as he hoped. Nightwing throws himself away from the rogue and rapidly works to secure his rebreather. Scarecrow uses the opportunity to flee, tossing aside a tiny gas canister he apparently had hidden beneath his loose clothing. Nightwing forces his breathing to remain even as he takes stock. His heart rate doesn’t seem to be increasing and he’s not experiencing any hallucinations or other symptoms of having been exposed. The volume of gas released from that canister couldn’t have been much, and his rebeather was only loose for a few seconds. Hopefully he didn’t receive a high dose.
Rebreather finally secured, Nightwing throws himself into pursuit of the rogue. He follows him through an open door to emerge onto the sidewalk in front of the half-rebuilt bank. Car horns blare in front of him, where traffic is backed up in both directions on Mortimer Ave. A few vehicles skewed sideways show him Scarecrow’s route and the havoc he left behind. Beyond the roadway, he can see the rogue’s back as he flees into Robinson Park.
“Damn it,” he mutters, then speeds up, leaping from cartop to cartop before alighting on the soft grass and racing after the fleeing villain. He’s gaining ground, but this was not the plan. Ivy and Red Robin are fighting somewhere around here, and the last thing anyone needs is for them to face off against two rogues at once and risk losing one in the resulting chaos. If he can just intercept Scarecrow before they encounter Ivy—
Even as the resolve forms in his mind, the fleeing figure in front of him lets out a shocked wail as he’s slammed into the ground by what looks like a tsunami of roiling green vines. Oops. Nightwing skids to a halt, wincing as he spots a slim figure in black and red struggling in the vines as well.
It seems Red Robin’s fight isn’t going any better than his.
He tenses, ready to throw himself into the fight, then freezes when Red Robin looks his way and gives a minute shake of his head. Nightwing freezes, torn between saving his little brother and trusting him.
He hasn’t stood on firm ground with this particular little brother since he took away the suit. A show of trust is probably in order. Despite his reluctance, he signals that he won’t interfere.
The moment he gives the sign, Red Robin twists, fighting the grip of the dozens of thick vines encompassing his body. Growling, he pries a tiny bottle free from his bandoliers and manages to use his teeth to loosen the cap, then nudges it carefully with his chin. As the liquid in the bottle spills out and splashes over the plants in his vicinity, he grins.
The vines around him begin to shrivel and blacken. They recoil as if in pain, releasing both of their captives as an unearthly vegetative keening fills the air. Nearby, a woman screams in eerie unison with the plants—Ivy. As the vines draw back, Scarecrow rolls free and surges to his feet, already reaching for his pockets.
Nightwing and Red Robin barely have time to brace themselves and square off against their respective adversaries before two slim, agile forms come flying onto the scene, converging from different directions and sending everything into chaos again. As they come to a halt near him, he recognizes Black Bat and Batgirl.
Batgirl laughs, sounding way too happy as she bounds forward, tailed by a sputtering, furious Mr. Freeze. “Give it back!” he demands, sending a blast of ice her way. She ducks, as does Red Robin who gives a startled yelp but manages to get out of the way. Beyond him, Ivy’s reflexes aren’t quite as fast. She takes the ice blast right to her legs.
Inhaling in shock, she stares at her ice-encased legs, then at the blackened vines unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast as well. Turning a furious grimace at the newcomer, she snarls, “How dare you? I hate frost. It kills my darlings!” She raises her arms, summoning more vines from the surrounding greenery.
Frost holds up his gloved hands, looking dismayed and irritated. “I assure you I have no quarrel with you, Ms. Isley—I was aiming for that annoying little brat.” He scowls and raises his arm to point dramatically at Batgirl. “She stole the designs for my new—”
“I don’t care!” Ivy roars, sending her remaining plants his way in a wave of fury. Batgirl cackles, dancing out of the way toward Black Bat, who barely seems to be paying attention to the ruckus. She’s just standing there, staring at the sky to the north. Well, that’s ominous.
Red Robin scrambles to his feet and begins a whispered conversation with Batgirl, both of them staring at the embattled rogues. They’re almost certainly planning a strategy.
Nightwing wonders if he should help, then catches sight of Scarecrow, who is predictably edging toward the reservoir. He rolls his eyes, then catches the rogue with a couple of well-aimed wingdings. Scarecrow collapses, cursing, onto a nearby mass of roiling vines and rapidly disappears. Nightwing eyes the vines for a moment, wondering if he should take the time to haul him back out.
Eh, he’ll keep.
There’s no time to do anything about him, anyway, because at that moment the clearing lights up with a blazing brilliance that dazzles his eyes. He lowers his head as he reaches up and deactivates the starlight lenses. Blinking back tears, he looks up again and immediately spots an incoming fire ball, still distant but rapidly growing closer. “Holy shit!” he yelps, reaching out reflexively to grab as many of the others as he can to drag them all to safety.
His hands close on nothing. In a move that looks almost practiced, Black Bat and Batgirl each grab one of Ivy’s arms and simultaneously deploy their grapnel guns, using their lines to launch themselves and their captive clear of the danger zone. Red Robin does the same with the writhing mass of vines that contains Mr. Freeze. Nightwing belatedly remembers Scarecrow and snags a handy vine, dragging the restrained rogue along as he flees ground zero himself. The searing heat on his back tells him how close he cut it.
An inferno roars to life in their wake as they retreat deeper into the wooded park. Panting, Nightwing twists to stare at the sky as he lands beside the others. Sure enough, there’s Firefly, his wild laughter ringing through the air as he starts more fires throughout the park with his usual indiscriminate abandon.
“Oops,” Batgirl says, making a face as she watches him. She plants her hands on her hips and turns her head toward Black Bat. “Guess the timing was a little off, huh? I should’ve gotten here with Freeze like, five minutes later and it would’ve been perfect.”
“Good try,” Black Bat says with a philosophical shrug.
Nightwing raises an eyebrow, wondering what they’re talking about. “Timing?”
Red Robin turns to them, apparently picking up on their plan. “Wait, did you guys lead those two here on purpose?”
“Yep.” Batgirl rolls her eyes when Nightwing and Red Robin both turn to stare at her, judgement obvious. “Hey, it was a great idea! We were going to set them against each other—it’s brilliant! Fire and ice should cancel each other out!”
“There are so many problems with that plan,” Red Robin mutters, looking incredibly done with everything, then gasps and clutches his vine-shrouded burden again. “Incoming!” They all retreat farther into the park, dragging their various disabled rogues along for the ride.
“Uh, I think Freeze is getting loose,” Nightwing says, eyeing Red Robin’s twitching vine bundle. As he watches, an armored hand clutching a freeze gun pokes out. He tenses.
“Oh, awesome!” Batgirl cheers, reaching over to grab the hand. Wrapping her own fingers over Freeze’s hand on the freeze gun, she crouches down and takes aim. Black Bat quietly adjusts her aim a touch to the right. Batgirl grins her appreciation, then fires.
It’s a direct hit. Firefly drops out of the sky like a rock, encased in ice from the shoulders down and cursing in helpless fury.
“Ha!” Batgirl crows, leaping to her feet and pumping her fist in the air. “It totally worked! Go team!” She raises her hands with an expectant grin and Red Robin and Black Bat both immediately high five her. The gesture looks natural, like they’ve teamed up so often they don’t even have to think about it.
Nightwing just watches, wondering when they all got so comfortable working together. It’s great that they’re a real team and seem to have fun—it is. That knowledge doesn’t do anything about the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, though.
He pushes the thought away and focuses on their surroundings, then frowns. “Is that…?” He goes still, listening.
The others turn to look at him, gazes questioning. A moment later, the voice he thought he heard speaks again. “Get back here so I can apprehend you, ruffian!” It’s definitely Robin, and he sounds furious.
Which… is a pretty normal state of being for Robin, but it’s still mildly worrying.
“What? No, that’s not how this works!” And that’s almost certainly the Riddler. He sounds out of breath, his voice practically a wail as he runs into the clearing from the east and looks back over his shoulder. That doesn’t work out so well for him and he almost trips, barely managing to catch himself. “You’re supposed to follow the clues, and come find me at the place of my choosing, not sneak up on me in my hideout before I even finish setting all my riddles! You’re supposed to play the game!”
“I have no patience for your trivial games,” Robin sneers, closing the distance between them and swinging his gleaming katana in a menacing arc.
The Riddler shrieks and dodges. “Help!” Panting, he scans the clearing. When he spots them, he sighs and visibly relaxes. “Oh thank goodness, it’s you.” He changes course and races toward them, arms outstretched in supplication. “Save me from the feral one! He has a sword! Since when does a Robin carry a sword?” He runs straight into the cuffs Red Robin is holding out and willingly allows himself to be bound.
“Well, that was easier than usual,” Batgirl says, eyeing the rogue with bemusement.
Riddler makes a face. “That was a travesty. Riddles used to mean something! Why, in my day—”
“I would’ve solved your riddles,” Red Robin says in a soothing voice as he clicks the cuffs into place.
“That’s why you were always my favorite,” Riddler sighs, then yelps and recoils as Robin catches up and brandishes the katana in his face. He cringes and ducks behind Batgirl, eyeing the katana warily. “You can’t hurt me now! I gave myself up!”
“Coward,” Robin snarls. “This is unbearably dull. Will no one stand and fight me like a man?” He looks at each of the bound rogues at their feet as though hoping one of them will spontaneously spring up and give him the battle he craves.
It doesn’t escape Nightwing’s notice that Red Robin eyes him with caution and then edges away a small distance. Well, apparently not all his siblings have worked through their relationship issues while he wasn’t looking. He feels a twinge of guilty relief, then hates himself for it. He should be glad everyone’s getting along for the most part. He is. Just…
He wishes he could be part of it.
A cold feeling settles in his chest as he watches Damian bicker in an almost amiable manner with the others. It’s obvious he’s comfortable with them, way more than he was six months ago when Bruce came back from his unplanned jaunt through time. It’s good, really. But he hasn’t looked Nightwing’s way even once tonight. That hurts.
After all, it hasn’t been that long since they were partners.
Clearly, Robin still hasn’t forgiven him for leaving, even though it was the only thing to do. He had to step aside to give Bruce a chance to bond with his son. He never thought he’d lose his own bond with Damian in the process, though.
He doesn’t have time to analyze it any further because at that moment, a loud explosion rises above the general din. It’s closely followed by an angry-sounding roar and a familiar voice getting steadily louder. Soon, it’s possible to discern words.
“Fuck, fuck, FUCK! That did not go according to plan!” A second later, Red Hood bursts out of the foliage to the west and sprints across the clearing. His leather jacket is torn half-off his left shoulder and deep rents in his jeans expose the body armor underneath. He’s soaking wet—hopefully with water—and his helmet is missing, although his domino is intact.
Not two seconds behind him, Killer Croc charges in pursuit, roaring and visibly gaining on him. His torso is suspiciously blackened, as though he was at the center of a minor explosion. Tiny red shards bearing a close resemblance to fragments of Red Hood’s helmet shed from his shoulders as he runs.
“Seriously?” Red Robin sounds supremely unimpressed. “You blew up another helmet?”
“Is… your helmet a bomb?” Batgirl says, looking like she can’t decide between horrified and impressed. She continues to stare at Red Hood as she reaches out and grabs Robin by the scruff right before he attempts to launch himself at Killer Croc, katana first.
“Unhand me, wench!” He twists in her grasp, snarling.
“Nope, I’m not explaining to B that we let Croc turn you into sushi.” She eyes the flashing katana and makes a face. “Or, uh, the other way around.”
Red Robin sighs, ignoring Batgirl’s struggles to contain a snarling, cursing Robin. “His helmet is definitely a bomb.” He retrieves a wicked-looking syringe from his bandoliers and eyes the approaching figures. He’s clearly working out a plan—but Nightwing’s always been the fastest at thinking on his feet, and Red Hood doesn’t have much time.
“Yoink!” Nightwing grabs the syringe from a shocked Red Robin’s hand and then dives forward, timing his leap so he lands directly on Killer Croc’s shoulders. The enraged rogue roars even louder, skidding to a halt and pawing at him in a desperate effort to dislodge him.
Black Bat appears out of nowhere, striking at pressure points and drawing Croc’s attention long enough for Nightwing to stab the syringe into the thick muscles of the man’s neck and depress the plunger. Just in time, because Croc bucks wildly and manages to get a grip on him, flinging him across the clearing with brutal force.
Ouch.
He grunts as he crashes, his landing fortunately cushioned by some of the vines that are still piled around the clearing. It takes a moment for him to recover—Croc is strong, and getting hit by him feels like taking a sledgehammer to everywhere. His gaze flies back to the fight, where Red Robin and Batgirl have joined Black Bat and are slowly bearing a drowsy-looking Croc to the ground under the force of their combined weight. Robin crouches atop the rogue’s shoulders, grinning in fierce pride.
Red Hood is eyeing them all from nearby, arms crossed in a sulk. “I totally had that,” he mutters.
“You sure did,” Batgirl says in her most encouraging voice as Red Robin snickers. Red Hood glares but doesn’t even threaten to shoot any of them. They all seem to be getting along so well. It’s great to see.
Really.
“Ow,” Nightwing mutters, wincing as he stretches a bit to check the status of his ribs. Bruised, maybe, but not broken. Well, it could be worse. He takes a deep breath, then freezes as he feels a sharp stab of pain in his neck. What…?
He smacks his hand on the spot, expecting to find an insect or maybe a thorn. These are Ivy’s plants, after all. Instead, his hand slaps down on—another hand? Jerking in shock and yanking on the hand, Nightwing sees familiar loose burlap gloves over long, claw-like fingers. “Oh no,” he whispers.
Clutched in Scarecrow’s hand is an empty syringe.
Well, shit.
As the edges of his vision start to dim, he thinks he sees Red Robin turn to look at him with a frown. Then a shadow falls over him, and he’s gone.