The Choice

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, so apologies to DC if I confiscated them for a short while. Please don't sue me. Nightwing and the Bat clan will vouch for me I'm sure. Also, thanks to everyone posting these things before me. YOU GUYS ARE AWSOME!!

WARNING: this is sort of an experiment. If you want me to continue, then R and R and don't be afraid to tell me what you think. Also, this chapter has been UPDATED!! I took to heart the things suggested to me by my reviewers and thank them immensly for their support:) Keep the revs coming!!


He looked like a shadow among shadows. His raven hair blew in the wind as he made his way across the rooftops of his city. He was on the trail of a dangerous group of criminals known for their ruthlessness and cunning. They were called the Rustics. They were armed. They were slippery. They were smugglers. As the figure approached his prey he smiled, a feral snarl in the darkness. They were toast. The thieves were so occupied with their task of smuggling illegal items that they didn't know he was there until he landed a foot to the leaders' jaw.

Furious, the thug produced a switchblade and leaped toward the shadow, sneering, "Your Kevlar is not blade proof, Wingster!" the black-clad hero dodged the blade, only to realize that the rest of the brood had also taken up weapons and were closing in on him. Ordinarily, this would not have been a big deal for Nightwing, except for the fact that the vigilante had next to no room in which to maneuver and was rapidly running out of Wingdings.

If I don't make it, Babs is gonna kill me! Nightwing thought as he was overtaken by the mob that seemed to come out of nowhere. No matter how much he fought, these guys fought harder. "DIE, DIE! DIE!!" the leader screamed as he beat the blue-and- black clad hero over the head with a 2 by 4 again and again. Nightwing was ready to grab that wooden club and shove it where the moon don't shine when a birdarang sliced through the air and embedded itself in the thug's wrist. Robin the Boy Wonder was in Bludhaven.

Seeing the dire circumstances that Nightwing had gotten into, Robin quickly made it known that he was far from impressed with the smugglers' treatment of the city's ONLY vigilante by throwing both his body and several Birdarangs into the mob with such force that it took the thugs several minutes to figure out who and where their assailant was, let alone where he had come from. Once they did, they had one thought. " If the Kid's here, the Bat aint far behind!" However, there was one thing wrong with that statement. Batman was with the Justice League, so Robin, also known as Tim Drake, was on his own for the night.

Tim was angry that his friend and surrogate brother had so many enemies in Bludhaven and Dick even had a very large price on his head despite his efforts to save the city from the corruption that threatened to bury it. Wanted posters hung from every street corner and every man with a gun was after the vigilante. It made Robin sick even to think about it. What sickened him more was the fact that the 2-by-4 had left Nightwing unconscious. The vigilante wasn't moving, and Tim began to get worried as minutes went by and his surrogate brother showed no signs of recovery. "Dick?" Tim whispered in Nightwing's ear for what seemed like the millionth time. No answer. Tim nudged the still form and tried again, "Dick, get up. Please get up!" Still, no response. Tim was getting even more worried than before. He nudged Nightwing again, harder this time. "Dick? Can you hear me? Oh man, please respond somehow! You gotta get up! I can't get Oracle on the line and I'm on my own tonight because Bruce is out of town with the League, so if you're hurt worse than I think you are, then you will have to put up with whatever care I can give you."

Struggling, the third Robin dragged the injured vigilante to the latter's' warehouse lair and laid him on the small couch he knew would be there. Dick gave his successor no sign that he was even the least bit coherent as the younger Robin checked him for further damage. When it was clear that the vigilante had no other injuries that Robin could see, Tim became even more worried. What did those bastards do to you?! the youth wondered sadly as he began bathing Dick's head with a cold cloth, hoping that his surrogate brother would wake up and tell him that he was fine and that they would have a night on the town together. No such luck." C'mon, Grayson! Get UP off your BUTT! Your city NEEDS you!" Still no response. Tim checked his patient's injuries again and gasped in horror as he discovered that the wooden club that had rendered Nightwing unconscious had left several gash marks in the Kevlar suit . What worried the young Robin were the nine inch, thick, rusted staples that were peppered all over Nightwing's upper arms and chest. The red flames of deadly infection already spreading in angry raised lines made Tim shudder. He could DIE from any number of things! Lead poisoning from those staples, Lockjaw from the rust...I've gotta CALL somebody!"