A/N: Thanks to everyone who has commented and/or favorited these Whumptober stories! :)
The eight criminals had led them on a wild goose chase, leaving random but well-designed clues that had led the heroes in the wrong direction several times. Now they were in a forest, sixty-seven miles away from Gotham City. Normally, Nightwing would have passed the information on to a hero closer to the location, but the criminals had gone on a killing spree in Gotham. Nightwing wanted these guys to himself. Batman was incapacitated, so he had sent Robin to help.
At first, Nightwing had declined the help. But then the men had killed a set of parents, leaving three newly orphaned children behind. Nightwing knew it had become too personal and had finally agreed to allow Robin to come along. He needed someone to stop him in case he started to go too far. That was not something he had admitted, but when he had gone to the Batcave, Batman had seen an expression that he was very familiar with: revenge. He had insisted that Robin assist, and Nightwing had acquiesced.
So now here they were, surrounding the small cabin where they were certain the men were gathered. Nightwing pointed to his left and Robin nodded. They separated and circled the cabin, carefully peering in windows and flattening themselves against walls whenever they heard voices. Reconvening on the other side, Nightwing asked the question with his eyes.
Did you see anyone?
Robin shook his head, then pointed to his ear.
No, but I heard voices.
Nightwing nodded in agreement. He, too, had heard voices throughout the cabin. Robin pointed at the door in front of them.
Through the door?
Nightwing considered both the question and their options. There was a front door and a back door. Three windows on the right side, and two more on the left. It didn't really matter; they would probably be seen immediately no matter where they entered.
With a short nod, the older hero strode to the back door, grabbed the handle, and shoved it open. Voices, but no people. He sent Robin left again, to what looked like a bedroom. Nightwing stalked to the front room, where again there were disembodied voices floating in the air.
"There's nobody here," Robin stated quietly as he joined Nightwing. "A bedroom with a small closet, which I thoroughly checked, and a bathroom in the hall. Not even a shower in there. We came from the kitchen, and there's nobody in here."
"Watch the door, I'm going right," Nightwing replied.
The room on the right was another bedroom with a closet so tiny that not even a nine-year-old Dick Grayson would have fit inside. Nightwing poked his head in anyway, looking for a small child or an opening in the ceiling. Nothing – no clothes or shoes or escape holes in the walls.
He went back to the front room and glanced around.
"I searched here, do you want me to take the kitchen?"
Nightwing was already there, and Robin realized his question was moot. It took the older hero only five minutes to meticulously search the small kitchen, then he rejoined Robin.
"Now we know where the voices came from," Nightwing stated, holding up a small tape recorder.
"I don't get it, the clue led right here!" the younger hero exclaimed.
"It's obviously a trap," Nightwing murmured, "and they're outside. They drew us inside with the recording to cut off any escape routes."
"But we circled through the entire forest before we came to the cabin!" Robin responded.
"Regardless, we're going to have to spend the night here. There's a storm brewing, and we don't have what we need to survive a downpour. Especially if it turns into a blizzard. Go look for blankets, I'll do a quick search outside. We need wood, if that fireplace will even work."
Robin nodded and, again, they went their separate ways. The fourteen-year-old knew there was a thin, scratchy blanket in the bedroom he had previously searched, and he found two more in the other bedroom. He brought them back to the front room then went to the fireplace and knelt down to poke at the ashes.
Nightwing made a wide circle around the cabin, watching for criminals while also picking up some small branches and leaves for kindling. He found a pile of wood but decided he would have to come back for that since his arms were full. Returning to the cabin, he passed the kindling to Robin and went back get some wood.
A man was standing by the pile. Nightwing had no idea where he had come from because he had carefully examined the forest as he circled around the cabin and had seen no signs of people.
"You can come quietly, or I can take you down," Nightwing stated as he drew out his escrima sticks. "Make your choice."
"I've come to warn you, not fight you," the man replied. "They are out here, well-hidden and waiting for you to sleep. You are tired, I can sense it in your aura. Take care, young hero, for they will attack as soon as your eyes are closed. The boy will be safe, you can allow him to sleep. It is you they want."
"My aura?" Nightwing asked skeptically. Immediately changing his tone, he demanded, "Who are 'they' and what do they want with me?"
"Why do you think they have gone after families with small children?"
Nightwing considered the question. The man was right: the criminals had only killed people who had kids living with them. But they had never left orphans, except for the last time. One parent had always been left alive. Usually knocked out, but alive. Had the criminals seen the similarities between Dick Grayson and Nightwing?
"They do not know who you are, your identity is safe, but they are intelligent. These men have studied you for five years. They know your weaknesses and your strengths. And now they feel they are ready for you. They did not expect the boy, but they have no interest in him."
"Who are they and why are they so interested in me? I'm nothing special."
"In your eyes, that is true. You do not know your own worth, which is why you are always willing to sacrifice yourself for your family. Batman, Red Hood, Robin – they are your greatest weakness, but not the one these men will exploit."
"Then tell me what it is so I can defend against it!" Nightwing commanded, frustrated by the mysterious warnings.
"I do not know for certain, I only know that your family will be safe. I should go, they are watching. They know that you know, for they have seen me. Farewell, young hero, and good luck."
The man suddenly disappeared, leaving no trace behind.
"What the…" Nightwing exclaimed, both startled and astonished.
"Nightwing?"
Robin was standing at the open front door, wondering why it was taking so long for Nightwing to bring back some wood.
Nightwing quickly sheathed his weapons, grabbed several logs, and returned to the cabin. He decided that Robin was not going to know about the mysterious stranger. The boy didn't need to be unnecessarily worried. Nightwing would take care of it.
"We should sleep in shifts," the older hero stated as he placed the wood by the fireplace. "I'll take first watch."
He and Robin worked together to get the fire going, then Robin laid on one of the thin blankets.
"Two hours?" the boy asked.
Nightwing grunted in response, hoping Robin would take that as an affirmative. He was not going to wake Robin up, just in case the man had been telling the truth.
The older hero stood up and began pacing throughout the cabin. After six minutes of thoughtful thinking, he stacked the remainder of the logs against the front door. Then he tested the strength of the windows in every room and placed four pots he had found in the kitchen by the back door. If someone broke in, Robin would hear it and be ready to defend himself by the time the criminal arrived in the front room.
Nightwing covered Robin with the two remaining blankets and tossed him a silent goodbye. Carefully, he stepped over the alarm of pots and walked out the back door. If they wanted him, they would have to meet him on his terms.
Four hours later:
He had been circling the cabin for the last four hours and two minutes. Nightwing was exhausted, and cold, and his escrima sticks were getting heavy in his hands. At the beginning, he had twirled them around every three minutes in order to keep his muscles engaged and ready. That had slowed to every seven minutes, then fifteen, and now it was almost thirty.
At approximately the end of each hour, Nightwing checked the window in the front room, making sure Robin was still asleep and safe. Nothing had ever changed – the fire was burning, the boy was covered with the two blankets, and his utility belt was securely on his waist.
The rain had started at the end of hour two, a light sprinkle that turned into a forty-minute downpour. It had been a cold rain, but not cold enough to turn into a blizzard. Nightwing had been very grateful for that. After the sheets of rain had diminished, when the hero could finally see more than three feet in front of him, he realized that he should have put more wood inside the cabin. But it was too late for that, so he continued circling, and watching, and waiting.
It was during the middle of the fourth hour that the criminals began attacking. One popped out from behind a bush on his right when he was walking behind the back door. Nightwing easily dispatched him, even in his cold and exhausted state. The next one came around the corner right after the hero had taken down the first. Another one easily dispatched, and the twenty-year-old wondered if they were idiots. There was only one person who had ever taken Nightwing down by himself, and Nightwing had almost died from the sword that had sliced into his stomach.
He continued his circle, only to be stopped by goon number three near the front of the cabin. This man was a better fighter than the last two, and it took Nightwing much longer than he would have liked to take him down. In fact, the hero had to put his hands on his knees and drop his head in order to regain control of his body. That was his mistake.
A man so stealthy that Nightwing hadn't even heard him suddenly slammed a large tree branch onto the hero's back. Nightwing dropped to his hands and knees, already knowing that a rib had been fractured. Adrenaline pushed the exhaustion away, and Nightwing threw his arm up to block the branch that was diving toward his head.
That's going to leave a bruise.
Nightwing was already on his feet again, and he knocked the branch out of the man's hands by slamming an escrima stick onto his arm. The man yelped in pain and the hero shut him up with a quick jab that sent him into oblivion.
Four down.
Carefully, Nightwing studied his surroundings. No movement, no sounds. He went to the window and checked on Robin, who was still safe in the blankets. Taking a deep breath, and putting a hand on his ribs in an attempt to minimize the pain, Nightwing continued his never-ending circle.
The ongoing sprinkles became sheets again, so Nightwing took the hand off his torso and grasped his weapons tighter. He was pretty much blind, and it would be the perfect time for someone to attack. Nightwing became hyper-vigilant; every movement in front of him was an enemy to be taken down.
But nobody else came, and the rain calmed down after only fifteen minutes. The twenty-year-old was soaking wet, tired, in a bit of pain, and his brain was screaming at him to figure out what these men wanted. And what weakness were they going to exploit?
"Hello, Nightwing."
A man walked out of the forest to Nightwing's right, and the hero dropped into a defensive stance.
"If you're thinking about monologuing, please don't," he stated. "It wastes our time. I'm assuming you're the leader, so tell your men to get out here so we can end this."
"I'm not ready for that, and neither are you," the stranger replied. "But, since you requested it…"
He clapped his hands twice, and six other men materialized out of the forest. Each one had a young child, probably between the ages of four and seven, held in front of them. There was a gun pressed against the side of the head of every child, and most of them were quietly crying.
"Either do what I say, or watch them die one by one," the man commanded. "Drop your weapons."
Nightwing glanced back at the cabin.
"Don't worry, the young one is safe. And he will remain safe, no matter what happens to you. Drop your weapons, I'll not ask again."
The escrima sticks hit the ground and Nightwing straightened up.
"What do you want from me?"
"Everything and nothing."
Nightwing growled and challenged, "Tell me what you want."
"Or what?" the man asked with a chuckle. "You'll take me down, or take my men down? What will happen to the little kiddies the second you make a move? You are fast, but not fast enough to stop a bullet. Do you need a demonstration?"
"No. Let them go, they have nothing to do with this."
"On the contrary, they are keeping you here and weaponless. Except for the ones hidden around your body. Get them out and toss them away."
Nightwing didn't move, so the stranger nodded at a man on his right. The hero heard the distinctive sound of a safety being clicked off.
"Stop," he demanded as he started removing weapons from his boots and a few hidden spots in his uniform.
"Good boy," the man said, amusement in his voice. "Now, kneel down on the ground with your hands behind your head."
Without hesitation, Nightwing did as he was told. The cold mud immediately seeped through his suit, but he was able to hold back the shiver.
"We have been watching you," the man began.
"Yeah, I know, studying my every move for a number of years, blah, blah, blah," Nightwing responded angrily. "Just do what you're going to do. And know that I will find you after this is over, and you will not have an advantage because you won't see me coming."
"Now who's monologuing?" the man asked, his tone condescending. "As I was saying, we know everything about you. We know your family, we know you enjoy relaxing in high places, we know you usually patrol the western side of Gotham City, and we know your every weakness."
"I don't have superpowers, so sue me," Nightwing grumbled.
All seven men burst into laughter.
"You have overcome that weakness with your fighting prowess and intelligence. Nightwing does not need superpowers to be effective. However, you will do anything to protect your family…"
Again, Nightwing glanced back at the cabin.
"He is safe," the man stated angrily. "Pay attention! You would give your life for them, we all know that. You would also give your life for any of these children, even if there was only one here. Compassion, Nightwing, is one of your greatest weaknesses."
"Not a weakness," Nightwing declared irritably.
"You can think as you like, but deep down you know it is true."
"Sacrificing myself for innocent people is part of my job description," the hero stated. "I would rather not, good fighting prowess helps, but if it comes down to it…"
"Exactly my point," the criminal replied. "There is no way you can take down all of my men and save the children. If I were to leave, you would not follow until the children were safe, probably inside the cabin with Robin."
"Leave him out of this," Nightwing spat.
"He is out of it," the man said with a long-suffering sigh. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"
"This is boring, can we just get on with it?"
"All in good time, Nightwing, all in good time. I am going to walk inside that cabin, so you have a choice. You can either run to your brother, save these children, or stay right there. If you choose the children, just know that you will have a good fight on your hands, especially since you are completely weaponless."
The man strode past the still-kneeling hero and straight toward the cabin door.
Robin can take care of himself.
Nightwing had blocked the door in such a way that Robin would be woken up if anyone tried to open it. So, he jumped up and ran for the line of men. Every man pushed the child he was holding to the side and opened fire on the hero. There was no chance of getting through the bullets without being hit, so Nightwing focused on the men instead of the pain he knew was coming.
One bullet slammed into his right thigh, another into his left shoulder, and another skimmed the side of his head. He began counting bullets, hoping that the guns could only hold six each. By the time bullet number twelve grazed his left calf, Nightwing had taken out half of the men. Bullet number sixteen sliced through his torso, right above his hip, and he was momentarily stunned by the pain. But he was Nightwing, so he ignored the fire and took down the remaining three men.
Slow clapping came from behind him. Nightwing gathered the children into a small clump and pushed them behind the wood pile. Then he turned around. The man was standing near the front door, he hadn't even opened it. Robin was still safe, and hopefully still asleep. Although the sound of six guns being fired over and over had probably been loud enough to wake him up.
"That was very valiant of you," the lead man stated as he walked toward the pile of wood.
Placing himself between the logs and the criminal, Nightwing pushed his right hand against the wound in his torso in an attempt to at least slow down the blood.
"Leave them alone."
"Of course I will, you rescued them! I have one last test for you. Turn around."
"Do you think I'm an idiot?!" Nightwing exclaimed. "The moment I take my eyes off you is the moment you will go after these innocent children!"
"Do as you will, but I advise you to turn around. The children are safe, as I just explained to you."
Nightwing stayed where he was, arms raised defensively and watching every tiny move of the man in front of him. Which caused him to miss the sound of movement behind him, and his world went dark when a large foot kicked him in the back of the head.
Sunrise – three hours later:
Robin came out of the cabin, annoyed that Nightwing hadn't woken him up for his shift. It was obvious that it had rained a lot – the wet ground was glistening in the morning sun. Robin circled the cabin, searching for Nightwing and becoming slightly concerned when he couldn't find the man.
Then he walked behind the pile of wood. Nightwing was on his stomach, blood pooling around his body and covering his head. Shock momentarily caused Robin to freeze and just stare at the awful scene. The sound of a crow shook him out of his stupor, and he quickly covered the distance between himself and the other hero.
"Nightwing, what the heck happened?" the fourteen-year-old exclaimed as he attempted to shake the man awake.
The older hero mumbled something that Robin didn't quite catch, so he leaned closer.
"Repeat," he commanded, doing his best to sound like Batman.
"Kids…gone?"
Robin stood up and looked around.
"There are no kids here, Nightwing. Why didn't you wake me up? When did this happen? How did this happen?"
"Too men ques'ns."
"Sorry. Can you tell me anything?"
"Shot."
"You've been shot?!" Robin exclaimed. "I'm going to call for backup, but I have to find a signal. Stay here."
"Where else go?" Nightwing muttered.
Robin ignored the comment and stood up. He took out his Bat-communicator and began walking around. A long twelve minutes later he found the perfect spot.
"Robin to Batcave, come in Batcave!"
He waited thirty seconds, then repeated the words. Another thirty seconds, repeat.
"Batman here."
"Batman, Nightwing's been shot! He's…"
"On my way," Batman interrupted. "Location."
"Sending coordinates. You might want to take the Bat-jet."
"Batcave out."
Robin put his Bat-communicator away and ran back to where Nightwing was still lying down. The older hero had rolled himself onto his back and was squinting against the bright sunlight.
"Need…new…mud," he whispered.
Robin was confused, so Nightwing sighed and started squishing some mud under his right hand.
"Pack shot," he murmured.
That's when Robin noticed three mounds of mud on Nightwing's body – one on his right thigh, one on his left shoulder, and another long one across his entire torso. Everything clicked.
"You stopped the bleeding with mud," Robin said, awe in his voice.
"New," Nightwing replied, and Robin began squishing mud together and forming it into balls.
"Old off."
"Are you sure?" Robin asked, not wanting to risk making Nightwing bleed by removing the old mounds.
Nightwing clenched his jaw and nodded.
Robin hesitated, then gently tried to pull away the one on his shoulder.
"No," Nightwing gasped, "fast."
"I…"
"Fassssst."
Robin hesitated again. Nightwing was more experienced, but wouldn't it hurt more if he pulled it off quickly?
"Ro…bin."
Nightwing's commanding voice was outlined with pain, so Robin did as he was told. The man wanted to scream in agony, but knew he had to be strong for the fourteen-year-old. So, he clenched his jaw again and remained quiet.
The wounds began bleeding as soon as the mud pack was removed, just as Robin had known they would. Robin carefully placed the fresh mud on top, but stopped when Nightwing grabbed his arm.
"Pack, not put," he whispered.
Robin nodded and forced the mud into each bullet hole. The pain was too great, and Nightwing passed out.
"Sorry," the boy said, his voice trembling.
"Well hello, little Robin."
Robin jumped to his feet and turned around. A man had just stepped out of the tree line on his right. The boy instantly grabbed a Bat-a-rang out of his utility belt.
"Did you do this?" he snarled.
The man laughed and replied, "He did it to himself. I gave him a choice, and I even warned him to pay attention."
"What did you do?"
"Let's just say I exploited a weakness. Everyone has a weakness, and he has so many to choose from."
"Nightwing is not weak," Robin growled.
"Would he sacrifice himself for you, or Batman, or even Red Hood?"
Robin didn't reply, so the man answered for him.
"You know he would. That is a weakness. Would he save innocent people before chasing after the criminal who is getting away? Yes, and that is another weakness. Love, compassion, emotions all get in the way of strength. Batman is strong, Red Hood seems to be strong, you are too young to evaluate. This boy is weak."
The man's eyes widened in astonishment as he gaze shifted to something beyond the fourteen-year-old. Robin started to turn around, but suddenly a mud- and blood-covered Nightwing was standing between the boy and the stranger.
"You're…supposed to be dead," the man stated, disbelief filling his voice.
Nightwing remained silent, and Robin took a step back. The hero looked like a man who had just risen from a muddy grave. His muscles were tense with anticipation, and his hands were clenched into fists.
"How are you not dead?" the man asked, his voice now outlined with fear.
"The children," Nightwing said gruffly.
"Home," the man replied. "They were just for you. You were supposed to die! Why aren't you dead?!"
"Dying is a weakness," the hero hissed, disgust in his voice. "Let's end this."
Robin was staring at Nightwing, shock and fear flashing across his face. Nightwing had never used a tone like the one he was using now, and the fourteen-year-old was worried that something terrible was about to happen.
The man burst into laughter again.
"You really think you can fight me?! You can barely stand!"
Nightwing had been slowly slumping into himself, but the challenge caused him to straighten up. He took a deep breath and forced himself to walk toward the man. Every step was like a bolt of lightning shooting across his torso and down his leg. The stranger took a step back, then another as Nightwing advanced.
"We'll finish this later," he promised.
"NOW!" Nightwing commanded. "We will finish this NOW!"
The man decided it was time to leave, so he turned around. The only thing he saw was a black-gloved fist, and then pain exploded in his head. He dropped to the ground, unconscious.
Nightwing, as soon as he saw Batman, dropped to his hands and knees. The fresh mud Robin had packed into his bullet wounds had fallen out, and blood was running down his leg and arm and dripping onto the ground. Robin was instantly by his side, and Batman joined them ten seconds later.
"Shoulder, thigh, and torso," Robin reported. "Sometime last night, he hasn't been coherent enough to tell me much of anything. We were supposed to take turns keeping watch, Batman, he didn't wake me up!"
Robin was becoming slightly hysterical, so Batman put a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"This is not your fault," he said. "The Bat-jet is in a clearing about two miles west of here. I need gauze and Bat-wrap and medical wipes. Go!" he commanded.
Robin raced away, and Batman gently helped Nightwing lay on his back.
"What happened, chum?" he asked, knowing he needed to keep the twenty-year-old awake.
"Kids, was gonna kill," Nightwing answered breathlessly. "Had to protect, no choice."
"When?"
"Two, maybe three?"
"How long did you keep watch?"
"All night," Nightwing muttered.
"There is a lot more to this story than you can get out right now. I'm going to clean and wrap your wounds, then we're going to the Batcave. After you rest, we'll talk about it."
"Kids?"
"There are no kids around here, or in the forest."
Nightwing shivered, so Batman took off his own cape and laid it across his son's body.
"Why didn't you stay in the cabin to keep watch?" Batman asked.
"Din' wan' Rob wake up."
"You were going to stay up the entire time anyway," the older hero commented with a sigh. "Did you go in the cabin at all, or where you out here all night?
"Here."
"You do know he was here to help you, right? And staying up all night, outside in an almost-blizzard, is not good for your health, you know that, right?"
"No snow," Nightwing scoffed.
"I said 'almost'. The storm went through Gotham, too. It was a cold rain there, it must have been very cold here."
"Jus' a lil'."
Batman had been carefully removing mud from Nightwing's wounds during the conversation. Robin returned, and both heroes began cleaning the already-infected areas. Nightwing remained silent, and so still that Robin thought he had passed out again.
"Um, shouldn't we keep him awake?"
"Am awake," Nightwing mumbled through gritted teeth.
"Oh. Um, why did you put mud into your body?"
"Stop…"
The twenty-year-old gasped loudly as a medical wipe swished across the bullet wound in his torso.
"…uh, bleeding," he finished.
"But…"
"Robin," Batman stated, using the word as a command to stop asking questions.
The fourteen-year-old closed his mouth and began wrapping Nightwing's leg with Bat-gauze.
"Rob," Nightwing whispered, "bleed out or get infected?"
"Well, you would be dead if you had bled out, but you could die from an infection."
"Immediate?" Nightwing inquired.
"No, the infection has to have time…oh."
Batman grinned slightly as realization dawned on Robin's face.
"You had a better chance to live if you stopped the bleeding by infecting the wound," the boy commented.
There was a short pause, then Robin continued, "You're not weak, Nightwing."
"Sometimes...people pass...judgement...on what they, um, don't understand," Nightwing replied softly. "And weakness can...be strength."
"Stop talking," Batman commanded.
"But what the man said..."
"Robin."
"Okay, sorry."
Nightwing caught Robin's eyes, grinned slightly, and mouthed, "Thanks."
THE END
A/N: Kind of a crappy ending, not at all happy with it, might have to do another chapter eventually. Sorry about that.