A Walk in the Park
Working in the homicide division of Blüdhaven PD wasn't exactly a walk in the park, but it did pay the bills and put food on the table.
Not that Dick actually had any time to grocery shop or eat, but that was beside the point.
"Detective Grayson, you still with us?" A sharp, feminine voice interrupted his contemplation.
He snapped to attention, back straightening immediately, "Never left, ma'am."
The speaker, commissioner Sheila Griffin, snorted skeptically, "Just in case your memory of the last few minutes was a little…foggy, I was informing you of your new partnership with Detective Bollocks."
Dick's dark brows arched as he gave the man beside him a calculated once over. The other man was clean shaven, muscular, blond, and his hand just a teensy bit too close to his holster.
Definitely a rookie.
After his quick investigation, he cleared his throat and shot the woman across from him a perturbed stare. "Might I speak with you in private for a moment, commissioner?"
The woman's stone-cold features shifted into something decidedly darker, brown eyes shining with undisguised disappointment, "You are dismissed, Bollocks. Grayson will meet you outside."
The boy—hardly a man—nodded nervously before disappearing out the shuttered door.
Griffin stood, muscled arms crossed over her immaculate uniform and lips pressed into an unforgiving line.
Shelia Griffin was both the first African American and female commissioner in all of Blüdhaven history, having to fight tooth and nail to get the basic respect and appreciation she deserved. She had climbed to the top without a drop of bitterness; her simple hardworking determination eventually winning the approval of the higher ups.
All of this to say, she was one of the few people Dick actually trusted in his mess of a city.
"Please speak your mind, detective," Her voice was laced with equal amounts sarcasm and honesty. "I know how hard it is for you to share your opinion."
Now that last bit was just plain sarcasm.
Dick contained a dramatic eyeroll and instead opened his mouth obligingly, "I seem to recall that when I first came to the precinct, we had a mutual understanding I would never be assigned a partner." Something bitter flashed in his frigid blue eyes. "Am I mistaken?"
Griffin sighed, absently twirling a lock of her long hair around her pointer finger. "Look, Dick, I know you honestly believe going solo is what's best for you, that carrying out this lone wolf charade is the only way to save everyone."
He was about to object but she silenced him with a single glare,
"Don't argue with me. You've been with us six months, but I can already tell you're carrying a heck of a lot more than homicide cases on your shoulders. I don't know if that has anything to do with the recent tabloid scandals I've been hearing about or if you're just the broody type, and I honestly don't care."
She pressed a finger to her temple, breathing in deeply through her nose, "That man out there needs a mentor, and I think you could learn a lot from him too. Would you at least give him a shot?"
Dick shifted from foot to foot, still reluctant to tether himself to the junior detective.
Her brown eyes drew him in, the hard wrinkles wreathing them betraying her age, "Please?"
If anyone else had asked this of him, any other officer in the region, he would've laughed them out the door. Griffin, however, was different. He respected this woman, which is why he found himself nodding.
Pure relief danced across her features before she was stoic again, pushing the required paperwork across the desk towards him, "Thank you. After this, you can return to your masculine, caffeinated solitude. Understood?"
He cracked a smile at her words, signing his name in the designated places. "Understood."
"Now, please bring Detective Bollocks back in. His presence is required for the briefing."
"Yes, ma'am." Dick pulled the door open and waved the young man back inside.
Commissioner Griffin pulled a tan file from her top desk drawer, placing it meticulously on her desk's mahogany top. "Reports of mass gunfire at the Colter and Madeline Street warehouse district were filed this morning in the early hours, officer in the area reported at least eight dead. Possibly more inside."
The ebony haired detective's nose scrunched as he found the facts not lining up, "I thought that was the Gang's turf, aren't they relatively peaceful?"
Griffin snorted, "If you count four cases of armed robbery and assault peaceful, then I supposed so."
He shook his head at her, a wry smile twisting his lips. "In this city, that's borderline angelic."
Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the younger detective's mouth pop open, his eyes passing quickly from the commissioner, to him, and back again.
Rookie.
She ignored his quip, instead holding the file out to him, "I need you both to go and check out the scene. Forensics hasn't done their thing, so try to keep the touching to a minimum. Got it?"
Dick nodded, plucking the file from her fingers and slipping it under his arm.
Her lips turned into a downward grimace, "I'm warning you, it's not pretty."
"It never is," He muttered before following Bollocks out the door.
The Gang, known for their overwhelming creativity, were a teenage crime sect notorious mostly for their occasional storefront hold-ups and drug run.
Being of high school age, it was suspected (though never proven), that the Gang provided a majority of hard drugs in the Bludhaven schoolboard.
Which is why Dick couldn't comprehend why these kids, though definitely not innocent, would end up dead on their own territory.
These thoughts were taking up so much space that it wasn't until he was in his squad car, key in the ignition, that he remembered the newest addition to his one-man band.
"Bollocks indeed," He grumbled under his breath as the young man stood outside the passenger door window, looking increasingly unsure of himself.
Was he this hesitant his first fay on the job? Dick watched as the man spoke, whatever he was saying muffled by the vehicle separating them.
No. Dick most certainly was not.
For a moment, the detective was tempted to leave him behind; he had no need or want of the newbies help after all.
But then he recalled Commissioner Griffin's pleading eyes. Rolling the passenger window down against his better judgement, he motioned for the other man to enter. "Get in."
"T-thank you, sir," The blond stuttered, practically flying into the offered seat like Dick was about to drive away without him
Which had almost been the case, so Grayson couldn't really blame the guy.
Breathing in deeply through his nose, he slammed his foot onto the gas pedal and screeched forward, pulling out into traffic without glancing behind him.
He heard Bollocks squeak, one of his pale hands grabbing at the handle above his head.
Smothering a smile, Dick sped off towards the crime scene, barely withholding a chuckle at the frightened sounds his new 'partner' was producing.
The detective was notorious in the precinct for his reckless driving—which he argued wasn't really reckless, as he was in control the whole time—but he figured the whole Need for Speed mentality came from his time in the Batmobile.
Grunting at the sudden recollection, he cut a corner especially close and shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind. This was not the time nor place for reminiscing.
He braked hard at the entrance to the Colter warehouse district, turning towards his panting companion. "Too fast for you?"
"You…are insane." The man slowly worked un-pried his fingers from their death grip.
Surprised at the other's sudden show of bravery, or maybe fear, Dick smiled toothily at him, "Thank you. Now, would you please see where we're supposed to be going?"
Fumbling the file off the car's questionably clean dashboard, the blond sifted through it until he came across the warehouse number. "B 23, sir."
"Thank you."
Navigating carefully through the maze of tall, grey buildings, he soon found the one they were looking for.
He grabbed his vest from the back seat and pulled it over his head, expertly doing up the straps with practiced ease. Stepping out of the car, he pocketed the keys and re-checked his holster, eyeing the warehouse up and down carefully.
Two known exists; multiple floors judging by the window placement; concrete foundations; and low maintenance upkeep. The perfect base for a burgeoning drug cartel.
Bollocks stepped up beside him, his long fingers trembling on his vest straps as he buckled them into place.
"You ever been in the field before, detective?" Dick asked, praying the kid has some form of experience.
In actuality, Bollocks probably had a few years on him. The man looked to be about mid twenties, maybe late if he pushed it. Grayson, however, despite his younger age, made up for his youth in staggering combat and stealth expertise.
Being a vigilante since nine would do that to a person.
"No," Bollocks answered his question. "I've done drills, sure, but never anything like this."
Great. Dick resisted the urge to facepalm. Griffin had bridled him with an absolute greenhorn; now he'd have to keep both himself and the newbie alive. "We're just investigating the building. Probably won't see anything living."
The rookie detective shuddered minutely, finally finishing with his vest.
"Ready?" Grayson asked, trying to keep the belligerence out of his tone. If alone, he would probably be halfway over with the investigation by now.
"Yes."
"Let's go, then."
Dick took the lead, steadily approaching the entrance door. A security camera watched them from above, its scrutinizing black lens apparently doing nothing to steady Bollock's anxiety.
Trying the handle, he wasn't at all to find that it had been previously jimmied. "Stay behind me, got it?"
The blond nodded, wide blue eyes trembling in their sockets.
It was technically procedure to enter with guns-a-blazing, ready to combat whatever might be waiting for them on the other side, but Dick still resisted using his firearm when possible. Call it cowardice, call it morals; he just didn't like it.
He threw the door open, charging in with an echoing, "BPD!"
The unstealthiness (was that a word?) of it all made him cringe, the caution instilled in him from day one protesting wildly.
Thankfully, there was no one to greet them except the dead bodies.
Maybe not thankfully, but at least they weren't under fire.
The smell of death, unfortunately familiar, assaulted his nose and throat. Ignoring it, he did a quick assessment of the room around them.
It was long, the entire length of the warehouse, and filled with various common place household items. A couch here, lamp there. Even an old TV mounted up on an empty bookshelf.
If it weren't for the bodies, this would look like any regular drug bust.
There were seven men and one woman sprawled out on the concrete floor, dried blood surrounding each of them in at least a two-foot radius.
He heard Bollocks gag behind him, the poor freshie probably drastically unprepared for the carnage.
It wasn't as gory as some of the things Dick had born witness too, just quick and clean shots to the chest and head, but the sight still caused his fists to clench.
These were kids, barely older than he was when he'd first become Robin. Nobody, especially not them, deserved to be killed.
Putting his anger on the back burner, he stepped towards the closest man and squatted beside him. Judging by the angle of the brutal hole torn into his back, the bullet had come from…
Dick turned, following the invisible path with his minds eye toward the warehouse's upstairs, a rickety set of stairs connecting the two floors.
He frowned, turning his gaze back towards the bodies. By the looks of things, the attack had been a surprise; the first couple bodies furthest from the stairs furthest from the door hadn't had time to run. The other's, likely startled by their companions' sudden demises, had run toward the door.
"Bullet holes in the back, my friend." Dick commented, hoping to distract Bollocks from the grisly sight he was now being forced to deal with. "Can you tell me what that means?"
The man stumbled over to him, a hand covering his mouth as he gave each body a wide berth. "They tried to run."
His voice soft, he offered a small smile to his companion. "Very good, do you know what that means?"
Bollocks looked somewhat calmer now, small lines setting between his eyes as he tried to recall his training. "Ah, they were either just turned around or…running!"
Dick nodded, "Right." Now that the other was significantly less skittish, he hopped back up to his feet. "If the first few to go down were taken by surprise, that could mean we have a civil gang war on our hands. Likely they weren't anticipating an attack."
"It could also mean they were taken out by a sniper though, sir." The other detectives voice wavered at the words 'taken out', "I mean, if they never even saw it coming, they probably weren't expecting anything."
Grayson was pleasantly taken aback by Bollock's theory, as it reflected his own. It was becoming apparent that, though a complete and utter newbie, maybe the detective had potential.
Maybe…maybe having a partner again wouldn't be so bad.
"Well, I think that's the best we can do for now. Not much to go on, but maybe the guys down in forensics can—"
And that's when he felt it, the unmistakable sensation of a weapon being trained on you. Dick wasn't sure if it was just a strange sixth sense he had or if all combat-honed veterans felt it; goosebumps at the neck. A sudden drop in core temperature. Fear. Adrenaline.
He just knew something was aimed at him.
Reacting on pure instinct, he threw himself at Bollocks, hurtling through the air as if in slow motion.
It was while he was briefly airborne, no longer than a second, that he heard two shots fired in rapid succession.
Pain briefly bit into his both his mid-bicep and chest as he knocked into the taller man, sending both of them crashing to the ground.
Ignoring the fire in his arm, he pushed himself up off the detective and braced his elbows against the concrete.
What he saw made him wince.
Detective Bollock's eyes were glazed over, the life already having seeped out through the hole in his forehead. Dead centre.
Dick felt his steady hands check for a pulse despite the fact that he knew there would be none, the skin beneath the young man's neck still warm to the touch.
The sound of something falling against wooden boards, quickly followed by the frantic slap of feet, alerted him to the fact that the cop-killer was making a break for it.
The muted ringing that had been clogging his ears ever since the first shot burst like a bubble, sending him dashing into action once again.
Heaving himself away from Bollock's still form, he took off in a dead sprint towards the stairs, faintly recognizing that the footsteps had come from above.
Taking them three at a time, his eyes quickly adjusted to the dimmer lighting of the second floor. It was much less clean than the room below, rows of stocked shelves creating a veritable maze.
Off to his left, where the loft-like opening revealed a perfect view of the bodies below, was an abandoned sniper rifle. Ten bullet cases were tossed carelessly around it.
Dick observed this all in a second, his eyes quickly tracking the prints in the disturbed dust leading away from the gun.
Large, wide prints. He was likely dealing with a man then.
He took off at a breakneck pace, his whole body leaning into the run as his legs pounded the wood beneath him.
As he followed the trail around a row of shelves, he saw a man in black booking it for a window at the end of the warehouse with reckless abandon, barely dodging the various shelves and crates.
Dick followed, quickly gaining on the man, his years of pushing his body to its limits and beyond more than paying off.
Believing himself to be in the clear, the killer glanced carelessly over his shoulder. A ruby-red mask caught the light as he turned, eyes widening beneath the swathe of fabric as he saw his pursuer was not as far behind as he'd hoped.
The slip gave Dick just the time he needed to catch up, simultaneously revealing just who the man was.
Sniper. A low tier hit man chock full of Nazi fantasies and white supremist ideologies. His identity was as of yet unknown, probably due to the fact Bruce had never cared enough to look into it.
Panicking, Sniper seized a nearby shelving unit and knocked it down into Dick's path. Bottles of cleaner and other miscellaneous items rolled underneath his feet.
The hit man took off again, beelining straight for the window. He was likely hoping to jump out, despite the fact they were on the second story.
Grunting, the detective vaulted over the shelf, putting his acrobatics to good use as he sailed over it. To brace his fall, he tucked into a neat somersault, settling back into his sprint without breaking stride.
Sniper was ahead of him now, too far to tackle and seconds from the window. Refusing to let the man escape, Dick snatched his gun out of its holster and took aim.
He could feel his face go slack, that familiar chill seeping into his veins as he readied himself to hurt another living creature. A horrible, despicable one, but still of blood and bone.
Two booms rent the air again, this time firing from the detective's own weapon. There was a light whistle and then the killer buckled, crying out as he hit the boards.
The ebony's chest shuddered, slowly pulling himself back from the precipice. A tremor wracked his hand and he tossed the gun aside, palms tingling from where they'd touched the cold metal.
Pulling his cuffs from their compartment at his lower back, he cinched Sniper's wrists together with a little force than was strictly necessary.
"Officer down at Madeline Street and Colbert warehouse district, B23, suspect apprehended and injured. Requesting back-up and emergency vehicles." He spoke into the radio at his shoulder, dragging the downed man to his feet.
The villain cried out, tears actually spilling out from behind his mask, "You knee-capped me!" He sobbed, bracing his body against the detectives. "This is police brutality!"
Dick didn't react to the man's cries, simply helping him stagger back towards the stairs.
Like he'd said, the homicide division was definitely no walk in the park.
(A/N:) Welcome! Thanks for reading :)
This is sort of a Batman/Robin-never-joined-the-Justice-League-and-were-on-their-own AU, and I'm super excited to flesh it out :3
If you have any questions/critics/concerns, I'd love to hear 'em! I'm hoping to update once a week, maybe more if the story really flows.
Stay cool, cucumbers!
~ASL