Chapter 2
"Just a little bit to the right…no, the left. No – perfect, perfect! Ah, Timmy, there's no way she's gonna be able to resist your level of boyishly nerdy charm right now."
"Dick, I have contacts. I don't actually need to wear my glasses."
"Psh, it makes you look intelligent. I mean, obviously you are intelligent, but this makes you look the part. You said you guys met on some kind of a detective website thingy and she likes to read, right?"
"Reddit conspiracy theory board. The 'is Batman actually Bruce Wayne's long lost brother?' thread, if I remember right."
Dick snickered at that, stepping back to view his brother with critical, bloodshot eyes. Tim shifted uncomfortably under the blue-eyed gaze, reaching up to push his black-rimmed glasses into place and mentally wincing at the hipster look he was sure he was sporting. Still, it wasn't like he could complain. Dick was literally the only person he could go to for this kind of thing (excluding Alfred, but he figured even hipster-Tim was better than the formal suit or vest and khakis the butler would have given him to wear), and his eternally energetic brother had managed to squeeze 'primping Tim' into his already overly-packed schedule – or more namely, his one-hour lunch break at his day job.
Bludhaven cop, complete with uniform and oversized coffee thermos.
Despite Dick's reassurances that he was fine, Tim could see the strain of his night and day jobs were beginning to take their toll on even his energy reserves, and the sniper situation was giving 'haggard' a whole new definition on the acrobat's patchy sleeping schedule.
Tim jerked himself out of his thoughts before Dick figured out he wasn't thinking about his imminent date with Callie. He felt himself smile a little at the thought of her. They may have met online, but their casual shared interest in the strange and unknowns of the world (Bruce and Batman aside) had found them exchanging emails and continuing their talks outside of the Reddit thread, eventually extending into more personal life subjects. A week ago he had found out she was transferring to Gotham Elite (a very prestigious college that just showed how intelligent she had to be), and they had decided to arrange a….meeting in person.
Or, a date. Call it what you will.
At first Callie wanted to checkout a tiny café for a breakfast date, but knowing Dick would probably only just be getting in from his night job at that time, Tim had asked to make it a late lunch, to which she graciously agreed.
His palms were sweating.
Oh gosh, his palms were sweating.
Oh gosh.
Ohgoshohgoshohgosh.
"Tim, breathe."
Dick's hand was resting on his shoulder. Tim swallowed, distantly wondering why it seemed so hard to do just that.
"You're gonna do just fine. Just…stay whelmed, okay? You're gonna knock this one out of the stadium."
Tim wheezed a little laugh. "You mean ballpark?"
"Stadium, ballpark, coliseum, to-mate-to, to-mah-to."
Dick flashed him a bright grin, leaning over and giving him a hug. Tim even found himself uncharacteristically leaning into the embrace, the stiff collar of the dark blue jacket brushing against his neck and the cold metal of the badge poking him in the chest.
"Let me know how it goes, little bird," his older brother whispered in his ear before pulling away, still looking at him with that look of pride that Tim still didn't feel he deserved.
"Yeah, don't worry, I will. And Dick? Th-thank you."
Dick started to wave him off but Tim continued to maintain eye contact, trying to get across everything he wanted to say in one look.
"Seriously. You didn't have to go through all this trouble. Just…just take care of yourself, okay?"
The first Robin's smile faltered for a fleeting second, barely noticeable.
"Of course, Timmy. Of course."
(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)
Late afternoon sun was bathing the buildings and streets around them in its glorious light, giving all the harsh lines and synthetic colors of the city life a softer look while simultaneously providing a deeper contrast with the darkened shadows. Rush hour traffic had just ended, only a few cars lined up at slow-blinking traffic lights and the occasional window shopper strolling down the sidewalk with a click of heels on pavement.
Tim sat with his hands on his thighs, trying to keep them dry against his jeans and trying not to stare too much at the young lady sitting across the metal-link table from him. The sun was overhead in such a way that the blue and white umbrella spread above them angled shade over Tim alone. Despite his offers to switch seats, Callie had insisted on staying put, saying it was about time she got a little sun.
Her date wasn't about to complain, either.
The sun lit up Callie's golden-brown curls in a halo around her heart-shaped face, and her smooth mocha skin certainly didn't seem lacking of sun. Her hazel eyes, minimal with makeup, almost seemed to glow gently as they caught the light. Even the tiny mole on her left cheek was cute and endearing.
Good grief, 'endearing.'
Alfred was wearing off on him.
"…So, what's some more of your hobbies? I know you're big into creepy pastas and conspiracy theories and you definitely know your memes…"
She laughed at that, and Tim smiled, still in a bit of a daze. Even the half-empty mocha latte before him wasn't helping shake him out of his awe-struck stupor. He couldn't help it – she was just so pretty, and smart, and funny, and kind, and –
"Tim?"
"Oh, uh. Yeah. Uh… I like…" he squeaked out, his mind suddenly going disturbingly blank. Disturbing, because his mind always seemed far too cluttered and overworked. "…computers?" he finally got out, mentally kicking himself when it came out like a question. Callie raised her eyebrows, leaning forward a little and propping her chin on her hands.
"Like, hacking and stuff?"
"Yeah. I mean, kind of?" Tim stammered, blushing. That wasn't exactly something Tim Drake-Wayne should be doing in his spare time, probably. "It's not like that – it's more tech-related and just…keeping the security systems at the manor updated. The only time I hack is to double-check them, and maybe make Bruce mad."
Callie laughed again. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.
"That's a pretty obscure hobby, but I'm not really one to judge. I'm rather fond of birdwatching, myself."
"Oh?" Tim asked, trying to sound more interested than he actually felt. He and nature had a rather bad habit of not really getting along, particularly when there were birds involved. He'd spent at least an hour trying to scrub bird droppings out of his hair the last time Dick had dragged them all together for some 'brotherly bonding time,' which meant a hike. In nature. With no cellphone service. Jason and Damian had both laughed their stupid heads off and Dick had nearly had a fit trying to scold them and calm an irate Tim down at the same time. Seeing as they had all been Robins at one time, the whole thing was pretty ironic.
Tim shivered and tried to smile. If Callie picked up on his discomfort, she gave no sign and continued to talk, her features alighting with passion as she described the various types of birds she had captured shots of, how difficult they had been to find and even more so how to stay hidden so that they weren't alerted to her presence.
"But there is one bird that just keeps eluding me, I don't think I've ever had to chase after one this long," she said wistfully, looking skyward. "it's like it can sense me there or something. All I see is a flash of blue and then it's gone, just like that."
She snapped her fingers, unwittingly causing Tim to sit up a little straighter. Darn Bruce and the training he made them all go through that would put the Navy Seals to shame.
"I'll get a shot of it one day, though. I don't give up easily and it would really spice up my collection."
On a sudden whim, Tim leaned over and took her hand, grateful that the air had cooled so that his hands were no longer sweaty. Her hand was warm and soft beneath his, calloused in places where he assumed various garden tools had rubbed, based on her other hobby she'd divulged to him. "You'll get it. Just keep trying and just about anything can be possible." he told her earnestly, feeling hypocritical but genuine nonetheless. Her eyes were warm.
"If I do, you'll be the first to know."
Tim blushed again.
(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)
The roofs were almost as slick as the pavement.
The rain fell in wavering sheets, the usual street noises and loud music of your typical downtown Bludhaven night drowned out by the roar of wind and water. Hazy orange lights flickered from the occasional street lamp, the night mostly illuminated by rows of car headlights and various shades of fluorescent lighting. Tires screeched, horns honked, metal scraped against metal, and somewhere a dog was yapping incessantly.
Nightwing would be lying if he said he didn't love it.
To him, even the nastiest places in Bludhaven had a sort of stale charm to them – seeing it thrive in its own squalor against all odds was not unlike watching a dung beetle roll its burden around all day. Although it wasn't exactly just observation Nightwing was here for, per say. No, he was here to do his best to get it cleaned up – to give the least rotten parts a fighting chance to heal and emerge stronger. To defend the innocent and save the guilty. To value every life and prevent the losing of such. The Yin to the Yang. The light to the dark. The Riders of the Rohirrim to the Orcs. Or something.
Now, if only Bludhaven understood that sentiment.
High above the bright streets and dark alleys, Nightwing was ignoring the earpiece that connected him directly to his phone back at the apartment. He was also attempting to block three katanas from slicing his head off, his only defense two ecrisma sticks and a rather flexible spine that allowed him to avoid that third razor-sharp edge.
"Do you ever have those days where someone calls you while you're super busy and they really want to chat but you're kind of having a day?"
Nightwing spun and dropped to one knee before jabbing his elbow into one of Ra's Al-Ghul's Shadows, pleased when the ninja let out a pained grunt and staggered back. He finished the job with a powerful crescent kick to their temple, turning his focus back onto the others, grinning widely in a way that was no doubt unnerving – all flashing white teeth in the semi-darkness.
Seven down, two to go.
"I mean, it's not that you don't want to talk with them but you're cranky and overworked and – "
He swept the leg of one and used the momentum to fling himself into a back handspring, bringing his heels back into the other and using the second ninja as a springboard to flip feet-first into the chest of numero uno.
" – you kinda missed your lunch break and had to grab some pizza from the cafeteria that tasted like someone chewed up a tomato and a block of cheese and then spit it onto a big pan of bread-flavored gum."
The first ninja actually began to back away when Nightwing slammed both ecrisma sticks into his current opponent's neck, effectively disabling them through the pressure points. The black haired vigilante turned slowly to face the remaining Shadow, twirling his sticks in a way that was casually threatening. The blue wings stretching across the chest of his suit seemed to almost glow in the dim lighting of the streets below.
"Tell Ra's I said I'm not coming to his little 'Detective christening' party. In fact, tell him his party favors suck and he's not getting any Christmas cards from me this year. Or ever."
The ninja quietly slipped off into the shadows to which he belonged.
It was several minutes before Nightwing stopping watching for any straggler enemies and allowed himself to relax slightly, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion. Leave it to Ra's to pick the worst time to try and recruit him for his stupid heir thing. Again.
The dark, clouded sky was still pouring buckets but the wind had died down a bit, leaving him able to feel every bit like the drowned rat he undoubtedly resembled. He reached up and pushed his sodden bangs away from the lenses in his mask, too tired to attempt to do much more. Every part of him ached deep in the bone and his stomach felt uncomfortably small and hollow with hunger.
Who would he have to kill to get some of Alfred's lobster bisque right now?
Then again, that would probably be the least effective thing to do.
"I'll see how your date went in a bit, Tim," he whispered, declining yet another call from his younger brother. "three robberies, a house fire, domestic abuse, a kidnapping, and maybe a bowl of cereal and a nice, hot shower have to come first."
That kidnapping earlier that night had been something else. As the ward of billionaire and Gotham's finest, Bruce Wayne, he had been the victim of plenty of kidnappings himself. But seeing it like this, a little girl no more than seven years old held for ransom against her father by a rival gang, it had really got to him. He might have used a little more force than necessary against the despicable lowlifes when rescuing the poor child, but he'd at least covered her eyes. More than he could say for a certain dark, brooding, mammal-of-the-night.
While he had emerged from this particular Bludhaven night unscathed aside from a few scratches and bruises, Nightwing could feel the last few weeks of rising crime levels and life-or-death situations beginning to weigh his entire body and mind down with what felt like lead chains, making his every step drag and every breath a slight struggle. He had just made up his mind to straighten his back and will his steps forward across the slimy wet concrete of the roof, deciding that he'd bag a couple burgers at the nearest In-and-Out and end his patrol for the night, when it hit him.
Or more accurately, he could feel it about to hit him.
The sudden fear prickled through him like electricity, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise and his blood run cold. Instinct had him moving before the fear had even completely registered, every muscle tense and ready for action, but it was years upon years of long hours spent training with Batman in various states of sensory deprivation and responses to surprise attacks that had him formulating and executing a plan in a split second.
The kidnapping and the emotions it had brought to surface had distracted him from the equally elusive hitman he'd had on his tail for the past week and a half. But here, in the middle of the rooftop in the pouring rain, not deep enough in the shadows to be invisible, to be hidden, pushed and stretched past his limits and running on fumes…he was a sitting duck.
The perfect opportunity for someone looking to put a bullet through his brain, and he had never particularly liked ducks – that was Damian's department.
He had three choices.
One: do the instinctive thing and immediately duck to the ground to escape the headshot. Nope. He wouldn't be fast enough and the bullet would still likely clip the top of his head. Survival rate for a gunshot to the head? Five percent. Three percent for achieving any sort of quality life afterwards.
Nah.
Option two: Keep calm and get a grip, Grayson. You're just antsy and sleep-deprived and you're imagining things because you're almost as paranoid now as the old man. Stay still.
Definitely nah.
Three: Jump and twist to the side to give the oncoming bullet a less life-threatening path while also jumping off the roof and making your escape but quite possibly getting badly injured and having the added factor of trying not to fall to your death while bleeding out.
WWBD? What Would Batman Do?
Yeah, probably that last one. If Mr. I'm-big-and-bulky-and-have-more-muscle-than-you-have-brain-cells could manage something a little more complicated than a forward tuck, much less an aerial, that is.
What happened next was quite honestly a bit of a blur after Nightwing's body and the situation had caught up with the speed of his thoughts. What felt like every last ounce of energy he had left sparked an explosion of movement that had him jumping and twisting right off the side of the building, one hand already reaching down and bringing out his grappling gun. But before the weightlessness of falling could greet him there was a whistling sound followed by a sharp, burning pain in the side of his neck.
He gasped, his vision briefly going white before adrenaline took over and he pushed it all aside, blindly shooting out his line and thanking his lucky stars when he felt it lock on and pull at his arm. Another second later and the burning pain returned as he continued his grappling through the city, a heavy liquid far too warm to be rain running down the collar of his suit. The next fifteen minutes were agonizingly long as he circled and swept around the city in a random pattern, attempting to shake off any pursuit he might have and unable to help letting out a few groans when he had to switch arms mid-flight. The movement tugged on what felt like a gaping hole in his neck, and judging by the dizziness and general weakness he was feeling, Nightwing knew he didn't have too long before he'd straight up pass out from the blood loss.
"Home it is." he muttered through gritted teeth, then jumped off another building.
