A Botched Thievery
Dick had gotten back to his apartment far later than he'd anticipated.
After finally finishing what felt like an endless series of incident reports, filing them all away, and slipping out of the department, it was well past his usual dinner time.
Which, admittedly, was already pretty late to begin with.
His apartment complex was in the rougher end of the city, wedged in between an often-vacant strip mall and a questionably stable block of shabby condos.
It wasn't that Dick didn't have money—even though Bruce had cut him off—his job paid fairly well. Very well, especially considering he'd only been on the force about a year.
It was more that if anything were to happen, it would happen on this end of town. Meaning he would already be within fairly close proximity.
That, and here was no better way to gather intel than to observe the lower end. To be aware of the comings and goings, the 'word on the street', so to speak.
He tromped up the stairs, ignoring the leaves that'd blustered in through one of the taped off windows.
His room was on the fourth floor, meaning he was a nearly winded by the time he reached it.
There was an elevator, but the young detective had never been courageous enough to attempt it. Death-by-elevator was rather low on his'Ways to Go Out' list. Tenth, actually, right behind radioactive jellyfish.
But Dick digressed.
His door, the wood panelling swollen with moisture, had a habit of sticking when he went to open it. With a grunt, he rammed his entire body weight into it and felt it shudder.
It was good practice for forced police entry, he supposed. He resisted the urge to whisper a soft, "BPD, we're coming in" under his breath as the door shrieked open to reveal a dingy apartment room.
There was a squat entryway with a bathroom on the immediate right, which didn't have a door handle, for reasons unknown to him. From there the room opened up into a sort of living space, equipped with relatively intact furniture and a mounted TV, all of which was overlooked by an open concept kitchen.
The bedroom was off down another hall, secluded from the rest of the apartment and barely large enough for a bed and safe, the latter of which was technically unnecessary as he didn't have an intrusive roommate.
Thankfully. Dick couldn't even imagine what they would say to the birdarang holes in the wall, or the swathe of dark spandex airing over a spare kitchen chair.
Nothing good, that's for sure.
His plan for the night was simple; patrol for awhile, then break into his boss's office and steal key evidence to his own case. Huzzah.
Usually, breaking and entering would take a little more recon, surveillance, and a teensy bit more scheming. However, since he knew all the ins and outs of the BPD, such actions would be mostly unnecessary.
'Sides, he was a bat. Compared to some of his previous missions, this should be a piece of cake.
Patrol that night was surprisingly anticlimactic, most criminals apparently having taken the night off. The only trouble he encountered was a mugging, attempted stabbing, and petty arson.
Not bad, for a night in Bludhaven.
He'd just used a thug's own phone to call the police on them, familiar blue and red sirens surging around the corner, when he checked his holo-display's time stamp for what felt like the thousandth time.
12:47. Now or never.
His suit slid flawlessly to accommodate his every move, the tensile fabric shifting with every swing of the grappling gun as he sailed above darkened buildings.
It was the same material as his Robin getup, but significantly more…stealthy. Where his previous uniform had been a lovable hodgepodge of reds, yellows, and greens, his Nightwing suit was matte black with grey detail.
The grimmer colours matched the more serious vibe he was trying to convey; a solo vigilante. A far cry from the League's poster reds, spangled blues, and eye-scorching yellows.
He paused briefly on the roof of the BPD's neighbouring building, running a gloved hand over the coloured insignia on his chest. It was as familiar to him as his old Robin symbol, carrying more meaning to him than Bruce—or anyone living—could ever fully comprehend.
Sighing, he pushed the invasive thoughts back and focused on the towering building in front of him.
Breaking a window would probably be the wisest choice, as it would condemn a clumsy and amateur thief. Not a hardened vigilante.
Dick's goal was to set this up so as to have the blame pinned on a petty thief; someone without a plan or outside resource.
Now that he'd secured a point of entry, he carried his imaginary break in further. He'd have to pretend to break into something, something a regular low tier criminal would go for.
Something that would betray desperado, as well as give them another lead…
The perfect idea struck him; the evidence lock-up. If he tailored it to look like he'd hit there instead of the commissioner's office, any suspicion would fall on those criminals' whose cases were tied up with evidence.
A grin pulled at the corner of his lips and he felt a thrill of adrenaline.
If Dick hadn't gone down the vigilante path, he likely would've been a master criminal.
Running a quick hand over his mask, ensuring that it still rested over his eyes, he edged to the back of the roof he was currently on for a running start, hurtling forward and upwards.
The gap between the building wasn't overly wide, but it still gave him that familiar rush as he flew through empty air, wind whistling past his ears and tearing at his unkempt hair.
He always kept it gelled back at work, especially when he was enacting his celebrity persona. On his more nightly escapades, however, he let it take its natural shape.
His landing was flawlessly executed, if he did so say so himself. Rolling into a brief somersault, he pushed himself up and raised his hands above his head, flaunting them like a gymnast who'd just finished their routine.
Technically there was no one around to see it, but he couldn't help the showboating. He was a performer without an audience; so sue him.
Humming under his breath, he traipsed over to the lip of the roof and hung his leg over the edge, smashing his reinforced heel into an upper window.
The precinct didn't have a modern alarm, just security cameras in case of incident. In their original design, they'd probably banked on the fact that no one in their right mind would try to break into the police department.
Jokes on them.
With a grunt, he grabbed the roof ledge and lowered himself into the broken window with just his arms, feeling them pull against the fabric of his costume.
Straining only slightly, the vigilante carefully maneuvered himself in between the jagged edges of glass. Perfect.
Allowing himself a small sense of pride that he wasn't a grease spot on the pavement below, he dusted his hands and took stock of his surroundings.
Dick had chosen this particular window because it had easy access and, more importantly, should fall into one of the cameras' many blind spots.
He'd taken stock of them when he'd first checked out the security display room, noting each crack and crevice that was out of sight.
A smile twisted his lips as he slunk down the hall, slipping from shadow to shadow on his way to the target.
Even without the shock absorbing technology of his boots—similar to that of Olympic track stars—Dick had always been stealthy. His natural awareness combined with the diminutive stature made for absolute quiet.
Not even the BPD's rats would've heard him, had there been any to begin with.
He passed his own cubby and offered it a two fingered salute, thoroughly enjoying the irony of breaking into his own workplace.
Maybe a little too much. Should he be concerned?
The evidence locker was downstairs and should be fairly easy to get too, especially considering there were significantly less security cameras on the lower levels.
With this in mind, Dick continued with his soft maneuvering, humming that same song under his breath. He wasn't entirely sure where he'd heard it, perhaps on the radio during a patrol?
Upon reaching the desired door, he bent low and removed his lockpicks from their place on his personage, fitting one in between his teeth as he eyed the lock.
It was pretty heavy duty; might take him all of four minutes.
Dick was wrong. Three was apparently all it took, a faint click sounding in the stilled silence.
He toed the door open and peeked inside, carefully examining each shadow for signs of intruders. Besides himself, that is.
Deeming it all clear, he slid inside and over to the rack where they stored significantly less crucial pieces.
Rubbing at the non-existent stubble on his chin, he carefully and soundlessly removed a box and rifled through it with intentional clumsiness.
He wasn't actually planning on taking anything, he didn't want to unintentionally interfere with any of his partner's cases, but he did want the place to look searched.
Searched by a hapless idiot, but searched all the same.
After repeating the process with three more evidence bins, he figured that would be enough and stood up.
Turning, he gave his work another once over. The place looked properly ransacked; odd bits of official papers and used items littering the floor.
Squashing his smile—vandalising police property really shouldn't feel this good—he left the evidence lockup with the door wide. Hopefully that would be enough to draw the morning shift's attention.
It felt wrong to leave such a mess behind him, as he was generally succinct on his own missions, but it had to be done. He was trying to make this look like the work of an amateur, after all.
With that out of the way, his real mission could begin.
Returning back to the aboveground floors, he padded to the commissioner's office on silent feet.
Here, he met his first hiccup. It wasn't exactly unexpected, as Dick knew he'd have to face it sooner or later, but it was a dilemma all the same.
Being the commissioner and holding one of the most important roles within the precinct, Griffin's office was substantially more secure than the rest of the building.
This meaning that there was a camera trained straight at the door.
Obviously he couldn't be caught on it, or his whole trip down to the evidence lockup would prove pointless, so he'd just have to override it singularly.
He pinpointed the corner it hung in, its reflecting lens aimed straight at his target. He kept in its blind spots and keyed up his holo gauntlet.
The precinct's security was a joke. It was actually kind of sad that it took less than sixty seconds to enter, and substantially less to put the single camera's feed on a loop.
Maybe he should volunteer his own services tomorrow, after he'd broken in. The lack of any form of security was sort of concerning.
With that out of the way, he pulled out his lockpicks again.
Griffin's door had three different locks, which meant his time would be tripled. Grunting as he squatted in front of the door, he quickly got too work.
Click, click, and click: there was not a more satisfying sound in all the world. Except perhaps that of a microwave timer hitting zero.
Placing the thin metal pick firmly between his teeth, for he'd likely be needing its services again soon, he quickly pushed the door open and stepped in.
A swift survey of the room proved it to be empty as he slunk inside, already aware that the space didn't contain a camera. A soft sound echoed from his right, like a strange fluctuation in the stillness.
A gasp.
Ears perked, he snapped his head around, narrowing his eyes at the seemingly empty air to his left.
Then he frowned, realizing he was likely just being paranoid again. Maybe B's constant vigilance was rubbing off on him. He wasn't entirely sure he appreciated it.
Turning back to the office at large, he didn't bother checking the darkened corners for cameras.
Far too many secret and or classified things went down in this room for it to be recorded. That, and Dick was betting the commissioner suspected the security exec of being dirty.
He didn't blame her; half the cops in the precinct were taking bribes or worse. Much worse.
Dick felt the smallest pinprick of guilt for rifling through his boss' personal artefacts, but it couldn't be helped. If he had to choose between her life or her continued privacy, he'd choose her life every time. No questions asked.
Removing the lock pick from between his teeth, he made short work of the desk drawers. Each proving void of the object for which he searched.
He was beginning to entertain the sobering thought that she may have taken it home with her, when the second last drawer proved his doubts to be ungrounded.
Dick couldn't quite stop the relieved breath that whooshed out of his lungs as he fingered the vial, carefully making sure it wasn't a decoy before slipping into the secure confines of his belt.
The vigilante had just finished methodically re-locking each drawer when he felt it, the all too familiar prickle of a presence trying to worm its way into his mind.
Telepath. He hated telepaths.
Slamming backwards and knocking the commissioner's chair over in the process, he quickly threw down every mental wall and defense he knew of, shutting out the presence with a searing shove.
Bruce had given him extensive mental training in his early years as Robin, to guard both their identities from potential threats such as Martian Manhunter or Psimon.
His gloved fingers whipped out his escrima sticks before he even had time to think, brandishing them in a defensive position as he scanned quickly for any sign of the intruder.
Dick had his suspicions, but he still felt a familiar weight settle in his stomach when the red-headed Martian popped into view, eyes widened at him in unbridled surprise.
The wall at his back felt even firmer as he met her gaze. If she was here, then the rest of the junior Justice League wasn't far off.
In fact, they were likely already en-route to their teammate's position.
Pushing past the mounting wave of panic consuming his every conscious thought, he tried to look surprised at her presence here.
"Well, if it isn't Miss Martian. What brings you to these here parts, Greenie?" Dick fixed a smile on his face, leaning casually on the very same chair he'd practically just knocked over.
Her eyes glowed as she hovered off the ground, fists clenching in the air at her side, "You have something that doesn't belong to you. And I don't like thieves."
He picked up the pound of footsteps in the hallway outside and gathered that the rest of the team would be arriving shortly.
Shoot.
For the first time in two years, Dick found himself wishing for backup. For some kind of presence behind him.
He tried to shake the thought away, ignoring the reeling thoughts clamouring for attention in the epicentre of his mind. Bruce was right. He really was pathetic.
Fixing Nightiwing's smile in place, he shrugged casually, hoping she couldn't see the faint trembling of his fingers,
"What can I say? I'm a bit of a klepto, really."
Then he attacked.
(A/N): Chapter six, folks! What'd you think?
Something I'd like to add about this AU is that Batman will be, for lack of a better word, a total d**k. Don't get me wrong, I love daddy!bats, but that just won't work in this specific fic :/
Thanks for reading! And a special thanks to IAMMAYAN, Hamato-Grayson, Guest 1, Guest 2, and Emily for leaving reviews! They really encourage me to keep writing :)
Stay safe! See ya next week!
~ASL