Chapter Ten: Dispatch
"…Yesterday's conference also featured billionaire philanthropist Bruce Wayne, who has since taken up work on the Neon Knights Program in lieu of his son, Timothy Drake-Wayne. The Wayne Enterprises CEO plans on pushing efforts to expand the organization due to recent growth in crime. This begs the question why the younger Wayne decided now of all times to disappear from Gotham. When asked, Bruce Wayne insisted that his son is pursuing other ventures in Berlin, which the family has persistently asserted since early October."
Tim flipped casually to the next page, feigning disinterest as he waited for Nightwing to return. Tim had already read through the paper twice, so by this point the only thing that proved worth rereading was the latest press interview with Bruce Wayne.
The teenager didn't know how to feel about the man's continuous way of distracting reporters from his adopted son's disappearance. From how Tim saw it, there were only two reasons why someone would excuse something like that, both answers equally dark: Bruce Wayne was either the one responsible, or he had something to hide—something so closely linked with the truth of what had happened to his son that acknowledging it would mean revealing that secret to the public.
Tim had to admit that he was skeptical of the first explanation, but he couldn't imagine what kind of secret could be so valuable…
"I'm back!" came a sing-songy voice, followed by a chipper vigilante carrying a pair of shopping bags. He had been in a good mood all night, not showing any sign that the previous morning had happened at all.
Nightwing tossed one of the bags in the teenager's direction before taking a seat beside him on the ledge.
"Don't worry, Mr. Twenty Questions," the man chuckled at the skeptical air coming from his friend. "It's just some snacks. You can eat them when you get home." Tim accepted the gift with a polite dip of his head, secretly thankful for the donation. It'd been a while since he'd last eaten.
In the meantime, Nightwing had already broken into a box of crackers, tapping his foot happily. Tim couldn't tell if the vigilante was simply putting on an act or if he was genuinely feeling better, but he didn't question it and brought his attention back to the paper.
"Whatchya doing? Homework?" The man leaned forward in interest, and Tim angled the newspaper to let him see. After all, maybe Nightwing had some input.
The vigilante observed the article with an undecipherable look. "Wouldn't have pegged you for a gossip," he commented blandly as he took another bite of food and returned his gaze to the skyline with a small huff.
Somewhat disappointed at the response, Tim set the paper aside and entertained himself with watching the pedestrians down below. He wondered what Nightwing would have thought if he told the man he was the topic of the article, that he was really Timothy Wayne.
He glanced sideways at the person next to him.
They had been out here for a few days now, and Tim figured he'd have to tell someone his secret if he wanted to get any answers. Maybe he would just test the water, see if Nightwing recognized him somehow.
His gaze on the man intensified, trying to figure out if it was the right move to make. The very thought of giving himself away made his gut twist nervously.
"Something wrong?"
Tim started when he realized he'd been caught staring, adamantly shaking his head in reply.
"Something must be." A mocking smirk played across the vigilante's face as he raised an eyebrow. "You're brooding—and I promise you, I know a brooder when I see one." He leaned back on his hands coolly. "What's on your mind?"
Tim held his tongue for a moment. Maybe—maybe it's alright to... He inhaled slowly, pushing down the nerves building in his stomach, readying himself to—
Their attention was sent spinning down below where a chorus of shrieks had erupted. Tim let out the breath he was holding, feeling lightheaded from the stress of the decision he'd almost made.
"Another time, then," Nightwing transitioned smoothly, getting to his feet.
It wasn't a minute later that the pair found themselves on street-level, rounding a few turns onto a rather vacant avenue where they discovered a group of people congregating around the source of the noise.
"What's going on?" Nightwing broke through to meet a terrified man backed up against the post of a streetlamp. The person's brown eyes were practically bulging from their sockets, panickily glancing side to side at nothing in particular while sweat poured off of him in streams.
"He just came out of nowhere, screaming his head off," offered one of the pedestrians, pointing behind them. "Another one went that way."
A flash of light on the ground caught Tim's attention as he turned in the indicated direction. He raised the shard of glass from the pavement, a drop of cerise serum glistening on its edge. The teenager looked up to notice that Nightwing was meeting his eyes.
It's Fear Toxin.
The vigilante nodded as though he could read his mind. "You stay here. I'll get the other one." In the next instant, Nightwing had vanished, leaving Tim with the group.
"And just who are you supposed to be?" one of them snapped irritably as Tim drew closer. The teenager ignored the comment and bent closer to inspect the petrified man.
He was shaking uncontrollably, irregular breathing racking his whole body, and his brown irises—vaguely familiar—were still spinning.
"Stay back!" the man barked, swinging his arm defensively as he pressed himself further into the lamppost. "I'm not afraid of you!"
Definitely a bad batch.
Although it was only his fourth time out with Nightwing, Tim had already seen this kind of serum before. Some misguided folks got it in their heads that the serum was an enhancement drug, removing any kind of natural flight response. In part, it was true. But there were also variants that amplified it, made someone so afraid they couldn't even move. That wasn't all, though. Nightwing had told him of people who hadn't taken it well, had gone brain-dead—or just dead.
Tim glowered at the shard of glass still in his hand.
There was no way to tell how this one would react either.
He glanced back to the pedestrians behind him, deciding to cast aside his silence for only a moment. "Call an ambulance."
A strong hand shot out from in front of him and grabbed his wrist hard. Tim spun back to find dilating pupils were digging into the eyeholes of his mask as if they could see straight through it, could both see him and knew him.
"Y—y—you're—" the man stammered, choking on the pronoun as he tried to force a sentence from his throat. Tim watched in horror as the man's brown eyes slowly slid upward, leaving only white. "Red…red…"
Red serum?
Red blood?
"Red…"
Red what?!
The man's grip slackened until the hand fell to the pavement, his sclera wandering absently from Tim's face, and his lungs released one last puff of steam into the wintry air.
He'd been talking about him. Tim knew it, could feel it.
An irrational urge boiled up to shake the man until he finished, force him back to life as if he was simply asleep. This was what he'd been searching for—some clue as to who he was—and now it was gone.
The frustration fading into disappointment, Tim pulled himself to his feet. He was distantly aware of the horrified people behind him but was too consumed by his thoughts to give it much notice.
The one Nightwing had gone after was probably at death's doorstep too. He vaguely recalled that he should go see if his partner was alright.
Tim's eyes widened.
The other one! Maybe they know—
He was skidding down the path Nightwing had taken before he could finish the thought.
"He got away!"
"What do you mean!?"
Tim registered the voice as Nightwing's, although it sounded angrier than he'd ever heard it. The voices were getting closer.
He spun around another corner.
"We—we didn't tell Boss until tonight…!"
The blue of Nightwing's uniform was menacingly hunched over the other figure.
"What happened!?"
Tim barreled across the street fast enough to rip Nightwing off the other man, who he'd had pinned up against the wall. The teenager could already tell he was too late. This person was choking on his words too, coughing up frothy spit as he struggled to respond.
"Robin…"
Tim was still holding Nightwing back as they both waited on bated breath.
"…wrong."
The scarred face went slack and slid to the side, motionless.
Aside from a black cat that slunk across the road, it was only the two and the man that sat before them on the wide street. The pair watched the lifeless form for what felt like a lifetime.
Eventually, Tim let go of Nightwing defeatedly, the teenager's arms dangling uselessly at his sides as he let his head fall. He hadn't learned anything more. Nothing red. Just jumbled sentences that could add up in fifty different ways.
"Robin was wrong."
Tim spared a glance at Nightwing, who echoed the sentiment as he slipped to his knees. The vigilante looked like he was on the verge of some revelation, scrutinizing the sidewalk just as Tim was beginning to scrutinize him.
"But does that mean he's…?" Nightwing's attention flickered back to the corpse. "Is he still…?" He seemed too shocked to even finish the sentence, frustration seeping from every inch of his being as he made to shake the figure back to life.
Tim jumped to stop him, and Nightwing's gaze shot to his partner, taking him in with a look of disbelief. At first the teenager thought he'd simply forgotten he was there, but Nightwing didn't look away, his stare penetrating and unnerving. It was like he was seeing him for the first time.
An uneasy feeling was tearing at Tim's chest. He made to take a step back, but Nightwing was standing over him in a flash, holding him roughly by the shoulders like he could shake the dead man's answers from the teenager instead.
"Who are you?"
Tim was too stunned by the sudden, desperate change of tone to answer.
"Who are you!?"
"Nightwing!"
Both heads turned up to the new arrival, who landed roughly on the pavement before staggering to a stop. The blonde looked like she'd had a long night, her cape shredded along the edges, and a small trickle of red leaked from a cut on her abdomen, clashing with the purple of her costume.
"What is it, Batgirl?" Nightwing may have been looking at the young woman, but Tim was painfully aware of the fact that the vigilante's focus was still glued to him.
"It's bad," Batgirl breathed exhaustedly, holding her stomach. "Batman just caught wind of where Joker is. I tried to talk him out of going, but he won't listen to me!"
Tim could feel that Nightwing's full attention was now on the words tumbling from Batgirl's mouth.
"And to make matter's worse, Red Hood's back. Word on the street is he's making a pass at Arkham."
"When?"
The girl pointed helplessly to a foreboding red cloud that was hovering to the north.
"Now."
It was probably where she'd been heading before she ran into them.
Nightwing's grip on Tim's shoulders eased when he looked back to him, searching the dark eyeholes of the teenager's mask. He looked like he couldn't bring himself to leave until he'd had his answer.
Nightwing finally spoke in an apologetic manner, his voice quiet enough so only the teenager could hear. "I understand if this is something you have to do…" His grip slid from Tim's shoulders to his arms, a tad friendlier, maybe even imploring. "…but can I still ask for your help?"
Tim was confused by the sympathetic tone. It felt like Nightwing had drawn a conclusion from information the teenager didn't have access to, like they were now cohorts guarding some mysterious secret.
Tim eyed the man for a long time before offering a noncommittal nod, struggling to decipher what'd just transpired between them.
Meanwhile, Nightwing talked to the other vigilante without looking away from Tim. "Leave Jason to me. You two find Batman before it's too late."
"Nightwing, you're the one he needs right now! You're the only one who can—"
"No," Nightwing shook his head faintly, his focus sharpening on the teenager in front of him. "No, I'm not the one he needs."
He let his hands fall from Tim's frame. The teenager observed him with an air of confusion, attempting to read the man's expression to no avail. In that moment, he would have given everything to know what Nightwing was thinking.
"We don't have much time." The man eyed the horizon with a dark look, firing off a line. He hesitated before going, turning his head to the side without making eye contact with either of them.
"…Take care of him for me, will you?"
"Sure?" Batgirl volunteered after sparing a glance to Tim. He wasn't quite sure if Nightwing'd been talking to her, but it was too late to ask more.
The man was already gone, lost to the night.