Notes: The trail grows hotter.
Notes2: I'm still bummed over not receiving my Nightwing figurine. I'm beginning to think that someone in the local post office stole my package It is NOT a good feeling.
Guest: Depends on whether InvisibleBrunette and/or I get ideas to write that. I might write a oneshot, or I might not. We'll have to see :) But thanks for the review and we're glad you liked what we wrote.
Konri Kari: That's just me inserting humor wherever I can. Hehehe.
Clove15: Good to have you onboard :)
It was Babs who found Harrison's old hideouts. As the leading information resource for the JLA and several other allied hero groups, Oracle could hack into and trace the trail of any petty criminal - and even some masterminds. There was very little her systems couldn't get into given enough time.
Sometimes though, time wasn't on their side.
Dick was warming Bruce's chair in the Cave again, waiting for everyone's reports to come in. He'd been outvoted into staying out of patrol again, and it rankled how everyone was treating him like he was a hair trigger away from blowing up.
In his mind, he understood their reasons behind benching him; but his brain and his heart weren't seeing eye to eye and his fingers were just itching to shoot out jump lines and his legs were just singing at him to leap into the air...
"The warehouse is empty." Damian's voice filtered through the speakers, cutting through Dick's developing panic. "It doesn't appear to be used recently."
"Copy that, Robin," it took some effort, but Dick managed to keep most of the shakiness from his voice. He hoped the filtering through the comms would hide the evidence of his near panic attack...
"Nightwing," Robin spoke again, "Dustin will be found. And he will be fine." And with those words, Damian firmly crushed Dick's hope that he'd hid his weakness successfully. The former Batman should have known that either the original Bat or the Bat's son would be the one to catch him when he was feeling vulnerable.
"He will be unharmed or there will be dire consequences." Damian finished matter-of-factly.
Dick huffed out a laugh, already feeling some of his tension bleed away. He could always count on his little brother's inner confidence - he wasn't going to call it 'arrogance' this one time. "I-I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Robin."
The only response he received was the click of a comms being switched off. But his little brother's words gave him hope; told him to have faith that everything will turn out alright. It was all Dick could do right now. It was all anyone could do without taking a trip down the crazy lane.
Dick rubbed his burning eyes, trying to moisten corneas that had dried from staying open so long.
"I've got something," Tim's voice came on, making Dick's heart lurch in his chest.
"Red Robin, report," Batman ordered before Dick could say anything.
"I'm at one of Harrison's storage lockers," Tim explained, the monitor screen switching to a window with his image on it. Dick had glimpses of a dirty wall behind his younger brother's head. "Looks like it's been used very, very recently," Red Robin continued. "Whoever they were left a lot of garbage behind."
" 'Garbage?'" Dick repeated.
"Candy wrappers. Empty packs of Oreos. Squished juice packs. Expiry labels say they're new."
"Biscuits and tetra packs," Batman concluded, "Could be homeless. Or Harrison and the others were just hungry. Or..."
"Kids' snacks." Dick finished with growing horror. That was it; the evidence they'd been looking for to prove that Moore, Harrison and Clarke had Dusty. After all, why else would two Blackgate escapees buy kids' snacks while in hiding?
"Again, this is all circumstantial-" Batman tried to stave off the inevitable but Dick was having none of it.
"What else do you need, Bruce?" He exploded. "Those three have Dusty and you know it! If you don't believe in coincidences and everything we've found so far are pointing to only one conclusion, then what else are you looking for?"
"Irrefutable proof." Bruce answered calmly. "So these three will not get off on a technicality."
His adoptive father's words quickly shoved a needle to pop the bubble of anger that was growing in Dick's chest. Bruce was right, as usual. Dick had been priding himself with making things easier for the cops to prosecute during his stint as Batman; he'd always taken pains to leave evidence untainted so the criminals faced justice instead of walking out free thanks to some clever lawyer. But when it came to his own son, he'd cheerfully thrown half of his training out the window.
It was...humiliating, to say the least. Bruce had made sure to instil respect for the evidence in each one of his Robins - and it was one of his most sacred rules in the fight against crime. Dick had just stomped on that for his son.
"Calm down, Nightwing," Batman's voice ordered, breaking Dick out of his thoughts. "Neither Harrison nor Clarke are the ones who would harm a child. Dusty will be fine with them. Moore, on the other hand, is an unknown."
"There's something else." Tim said suddenly. "I've found what looks like a few pieces of half-burned rubber bands."
" 'Rubber bands?'" Dick asked.
"Clarke's profile said he loved to entertain children with manipulating rubber bands into shapes." Damian offered in the brief silence as they all thought about the implications of Tim's latest find.
"Red Robin, can you check the area you found the rubber in for unique energy signatures?" Dick asked, forcing himself not to sound too hopeful as an idea occurred to him. If he was wrong, it could mean they were looking in the wrong place. But if he was right...
"Affirmative." Tim answered automatically. "What kind of energy signature should I be looking for?"
"The kind that metas leave behind."
Silence greeted his request. It was a known fact who Dusty's other parent was and what he had inherited from her. But Bruce's distrust of all things meta kept him from openly acknowledging that little fact. It was always Dick who reminded him that his grandson was a card-carrying member of that meta community - so it was no surprise that it would be Dick who remembered just what his son can do.
"Don't get your hopes up, Nightwing," Bruce's voice came over the speakers, laced with concern. It was as much a word of caution and worry for Dick. As Batman, Bruce had had his own experiences with kidnapped children; and as father to four, the billionaire had experiences with kidnapped sons several times over. But that doesn't make the next incident any less easy to bear.
"Got it." Red Robin called. "I see traces of psionic energy discharge - particularly at a frequency similar to Dusty's."
Dick's breath left him in a whoosh. There they had it: proof that the two Blackgate escapees had Dusty with them. He battled within himself whether the news was a good thing because now they knew where to look for his son; or bad because now they knew his son was in the hands of Harrison, the man who swore revenge on the officer who tossed him in the slammer - one Officer Dick Grayson.
"Oracle," Batman's voice broke into his grim thoughts, "concentrate your search on Moore."
"Already done."
"Red Robin," Batman continued issuing orders. "I'll be there in ten. Robin, did you find anything?"
"This apartment has not been used for months." Damian reported.
"Go home. We will resume the search when-"
The rest of Batman's words were drowned as Alfred's voice came from the staircase leading to the Manor, "Master Dick, there's a phone call for you."
Dick's entire world narrowed down to the elderly butler - Alfred's face was pale, worry lines were etched deeper on his skin and the serious tone in his voice - and Dick just knew.
"It's them, isn't it?" he whispered.
Alfred nodded as he stepped closer into the light of the Batcave. "I'm afraid so, Master Dick."
Dick heaved a resigned sigh, just now registering that he'd left the comms on so the rest of his family had heard the brief conversation.
"Nightwing," Batman's command cut through Robin's demands for explanations and Red Robin's concerned questions. "Dick, what happened?"
"I-I got a phone call," Dick explained, his hand hovering over the button that would link the call to the Crays - and into their comms.
"Patch it through."
Normally, Dick didn't need to be reminded of what to do but his mind blanked from the moment Alfred announced the phone call and it was only with Bruce's gentle commands did his brain jumpstart into his training.
Up until this point, the kidnappers had been silent. No demands, ransoms, nor ultimatums; leaving the vigilantes to wonder at the purpose behind the kidnapping. But now, with this call, Dick hoped they were going to get the answer to their question.
He pushed the button that would connect the phone call to the Crays, quickly typing in the commands to trace the call as he waited for it to be connected. He may not have been as good as Timmy when it came to computers, but he could hold his own and Bruce had made sure to keep his equipment up to date with the latest gadgets.
"Dick Grayson speaking," he said into a small microphone that filtered outside noise so the caller wouldn't realize the call wasn't private - a couple of commands more and the rest of the family was now listening in as well.
"It's about time, Mister Grayson," the man's voice floated over the Cray's speakers. The man's voice quality was muffled, probably the result of having a rag over the mouthpiece. "You don't know who I am, but I believe I have something that you'll find very, very, interesting."
"You're the one who took Dustin." Dick said in as emotionless a tone as possible, though inwardly he was railing in anger at the man who took his son.
"Why aren't you clever! I bet you even know why I'm calling!"
There was only one thing kidnappers usually wanted: "Money. You want money." Dick replied. Despite his best effort to keep his voice even, the father in him rose up as he pleaded. "I'll give you any amount you name, but let me speak with my son. If he's hurt, you won't get a damn thing."
"Don't tell me what to do!" the man snapped. "I'm calling the shots here! You can talk to the little bastard if I say so! When I say so!"
"Okay, okay," Dick immediately backtracked, stifling his panicked instincts. Dusty's kidnapper was obviously unstable and the last thing he wanted was for this man to lash out at his son in spite. So he kept a stranglehold on the angry father inside him and adopted a soothing tone, "Look, I just want to talk to my son. Make sure he's okay."
But his hopes were dashed when the man snarled, "I don't care what you want, you son of a bitch. Had to put the little bastard to sleep anyways. Keeps burning things."
Dick could hear the gasp and hitched breath coming from his family; it was all he could do not to react in the same way. The man's statement had clearly meant the kidnappers had drugged Dusty...and all at once Dick had the frightening image of his son lying motionless on the ground, drugged to the point of death.
Dick had learned early what too much of a sedative could do to a person - slow down the organs, the heart, the brain until- No, I can't think like that! Dick tried to shake away the pounding of his heart but the lesson had stuck to his mind along with Batman's many precautionary tales.
"What did he do to Dustin?" Damian's hissing quickly dispelled the mental image and Dick clung to that with both hands and feet. He was glad though, that the Crays' filtering kept his family's voices out of the conversation.
"He's just sedated," Red Robin answered for Dick."But don't lose hope. The burned things we keep finding? It means Dusty's fighting."
"I expected nothing less." Robin grumbled and Dick had to agree with his youngest brother. Dusty was- is a fighter. Both Dick and Cheyenne had made sure of that.
"Well? Are you ready to hear my demands now?" The man's voice brought Dick's attention back to the phone call.
He clenched his fist at the hate in the man's tone but kept his anger to himself as he replied, "Fine. What do you want."
"Fifty million dollars, for starters. And you bring it - alone. None of your brothers, no capes your rich daddy might have in his pocket and no cops. If you don't comply, you and your kid are dead. Am I clear?"
"When do you want it." Dick could barely keep his anger in check. His son had been taken because some criminal wanted money? Sometimes he couldn't believe the greed that lurked in people's hearts.
"Tomorrow. Eleven a.m. sharp. You have the morning to get the money ready. You'll get another call early in the morning for the location. If for any reason you don't answer the phone or you're late to the drop, you're both dead."There was a click, and the line went dead.
The dial tone filled the cave along with the irritating beep of a trace ending abruptly.
Over the span of the next few moments, the Cave was silent but for the bats sleepily chittering above; then Dick slammed his hand on the console in front of him, shoving his chair back to stand. He didn't realize how ragged his breathing was or that his eyes were stinging until a white handkerchief gently wiped the tears from his cheeks.
"Alfie?" His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the butler heard him nonetheless.
"Have faith, Master Dick," encouraged the man who was a grandfather to him.
"We'll get him back, Dick," his adoptive father promised over the comms as though he recognized Dick's distress. "Come hell, or high water, Dustin will be back home, and safe."
Again, Dick recalled the lesson on anaesthetics and sedatives Bruce had instilled in him years ago. For a short period of time after that, Dick had shied away from every shot of sedative Alfred wanted to give him; until Bruce came and asked for his trust. And Dick had given it, just like he was giving it now.
"I trust you." And with three words, Dick put his faith on his adoptive father - on Batman.
That night, Tim and Damian came home dejected. Their shoulders were slumped and they couldn't look Dick in the eye as both headed for the showers to change into civvies. Bruce on the other hand, gave him a nod and made a beeline for the Crays. The eldest Wayne busied himself researching on the powerful computers without another word. It was as though no one and nothing else existed but Bruce and the Crays.
Bruce's behaviour didn't come as a surprise to Dick; his adoptive father had had these fits once in a while when a particular case challenged him. And instead of feeling despair that even the Bat couldn't solve his case, Dick felt energized. Usually, when one of them failed in a mission or had difficulties with a case, they would come home depressed and feeling like they weren't good enough for the vigilante life.
But not Bruce.
To the man who commanded the respect of the most powerful metahumans on the planet, any failure didn't mean that he wasn't good enough but rather, he hadn't done enough. Bruce would set his jaw and keep plodding on, searching for that one weakness, that one clue to break the case wide open. The Bat doesn't believe in wasting effort on self-pity. And the Bat would never let his family be hurt by a criminal.
"Voice recognition couldn't identify the caller," Bruce said to no one in particular. "Harrison's and Clarke's voices have been recorded on Blackgate security; neither of their voice patterns matched the one who called."
Dick stepped closer to his adoptive father's chair. "Then it must be Moore who called."
Bruce nodded in agreement. "I've had Oracle check on Moore. There must be something..."
"We've checked all of their previous apartments," Tim offered as he joined them, still towel-drying his hair, "And in Harrison's case, his known hideouts. None of them showed anything useful except for the storage locker."
"And even then, the evidence we found is stale." Damian grumbled, coming out of the showers after Tim. "I do not appreciate all this waiting while my nephew is in those delinquents' hands."
"What else can we do?" Tim challenged him. "We've tried everything-"
"Enough." Bruce said firmly. "All of you, rest while you can. Dick, I'll have Lucius ready the money for pick up."
"Bruce, I can help-" Dick tried but was cut off.
"No. I need you well-rested."
Dick sighed in exasperation and turned for the stairs. "Like I could get some sleep..." he muttered as he walked all the way back to his room.
Growing up with Bruce, Dick knew when his adoptive father was set in his decision and wouldn't let anything sway him - not even the puppy-eyed look from an adorable blue-eyed boy.
So he clung to his faith. It was all he could do.