Note: Thanks for commenting, Desiree J and guest! :)


Later that night:

Batman landed softly on the balcony outside Dick's bedroom window. It was open, which was both unusual and slightly concerning. He slipped inside and glanced around. Nothing was out of place and the bed obviously hadn't been used yet. With an annoyed sigh – the fact that Dick wasn't resting was irritating – Batman walked out of the bedroom into the front room.

The front door was unlocked, so Batman went there first. There were streaks of something that went from his shoulders all the way down to the ground. He crouched, and immediately saw the outline of a body on the dark carpet. It was drawn in red, permanent marker, and there was a picture of a blue bird right where the heart would be.

"Nightwing," he murmured, not bothering to force the worry out of his voice.

He looked at the wall and touched one of the streaks. It was dry, had evidently been dry for a while, so he leaned over and sniffed it. Nobody but Batman, and possibly Nightwing, would recognize the faint smell of salt. So Nightwing had either been in the ocean before leaning against his wall, or had been sweating enough to leave long streaks of liquid from the height of his head all the way down to the carpet.

"How bad is the probable fever, did he leave of his own volition, did that headache come back, what other symptoms does he have?"

The questions flew from Batman's mouth quickly, but he had no answers. Again. If the fever was high enough, Dick might have started hallucinating and followed whatever he had seen. However, Dick wouldn't leave an outline of himself with a blue bird in the center of it.

"You won't find him by crouching down and sniffing the wall."

Batman recognized the voice. He stood up and turned around, sending a furious Bat-glare into the eyes of the enigmatic James.

"Where is he and what did you do to him?"

"Oh, Batman, when will you learn? I have never done anything to your precious protégé. Your accusations both amuse and annoy me. Did you know he told me, when he and I first met, that you wouldn't come after him if we attempted to take him down and spirit him away? How does that make you feel, Batman? Was he correct in his thinking?"

Sidestepping the dangerously emotional questions, Batman replied, "So it was the woman, then. Your momma, right? Now I know who to arrest."

James started to reply but Batman held up his hand and continued, "Stop trying to monologue and just tell me where he is."

The not-yet-a-proven-criminal burst into laughter. It didn't last long, because Batman was already angry. He strode towards the man, grabbed him by the biceps, and lifted him off the ground.

"Where. Is. He."

It was a demand, not a question.

"You have three seconds," Batman stated, his voice dark and dangerous. "Two, one…"

"Fine," James relented, fear lacing the word. "But, before I tell you…"

"The only thing you should say next is Nightwing's location," Batman threatened.

"But…" James whined, "…please can I…"

"NO!" Batman shouted. "Tell. Me. NOW!"

"In the basement, but he's fine. Now, about what I wanted to say…"

"Shut up," Batman snapped, "and take me to him."

"Unhand me, ruffian!" James demanded.

Batman opened his hands and James, who hadn't expected anything to happen, tripped on himself and fell down. The Caped Crusader grabbed the man's forearms this time, yanking him to his feet.

"After you," James said cordially.

Growling, Batman shoved the man in front of him and they left Dick's apartment. It was three flights down to the basement and they made it there in less than three minutes. James grumbled at the pace, but Batman just kept pushing him forward, forcing him to maintain the speed.

They reached the door labeled 'Basement' and James stopped.

"Open it," Batman commanded, fully expecting a trap.

"I…"

"OPEN. IT!"

James quickly complied with the demand, opening the door and walking into the room. It was surprisingly bright and unsurprisingly full of junk. The man jumped to his left and Batman immediately dropped to a crouch. A fat plank of wood swung over his head and slammed into the side of the open door.

Batman simultaneously grabbed his can of Bat-sleep and stood up. Whirling towards the source of the near-hit, he sprayed the gas right into the face of the large woman he had seen in the alley. She instantly dropped heavily to the ground, and James nearly dove to her side. So, Batman sprayed him, too.

With both criminals incapacitated, the Caped Crusader turned his attention to the rest of the room. Nightwing was unexpectedly easy to find, his legs in full view on the far side of the room. Batman raced to his side, only to discover a mannequin dressed as his former partner.

He picked up the fake Nightwing and angrily threw it across the room. Grabbing his can of Bat-awake, Batman strode back to the pile of flesh and sprayed both faces with the sweet-smelling gas. James awoke first, and he stared up with Batman with glazed eyes.

"Where is Nightwing? I thought you were stupid before…"

There was a sharp pain on the back of his head, and then Batman's world went dark.


One hour later:

The sound of an air conditioner groaning to life woke him up. Batman slid his eyelids up a fraction of an inch and listened. Quiet footsteps pacing slowly in front of him, somewhat erratic breathing that wasn't coming from him, and the soft hum of the a/c. Nothing alarming, so he took stock of his situation.

Head hanging down so his chin was on his chest, and he decided to leave it there to keep up the façade of unconsciousness. Sitting on something hard, obviously a chair but he couldn't tell if it was wood or metal. Legs tied to the chair, the familiar feeling of rough rope wrapped around both his ankles and his calves. Arms behind him and tied together at the wrists but with tight zip ties instead of rope. Whoever had immobilized him had known what he, or she, was doing.

"I know you're awake."

Batman recognized the voice of his son and a feeling of relief shot through his chest. Nightwing was alive and in the same room. They would figure a way out of this situation, just like they always had when they were partners.

The pacing had stopped, but the breathing was still erratic. Batman lifted his head and stared into the blood-red eyes of Nightwing. The young man was standing in front of him, arms folded across his chest and impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

It took a moment for everything to click. The hit to the head had given him a slight headache and fuzzied his thoughts, but he was Batman, the World's Greatest Detective. He had been knocked out by his son. Anger filled his chest, but now was not the time to allow it to be manifested.

"What did they do to you?" he asked, attempting to remain calm.

Shrugging, Nightwing replied, "I don't know what you're talking about. Nobody has done anything to me recently."

"How did they drug you? And with what?"

"Nobody has drugged me for at least four months. I don't know where you're getting this information."

"Nightwing, snap out of it. You're not restrained, so release me and we can find them together. They're criminals now, we can arrest them."

"I'm going to assume you're talking about James and Jasmina, who are no more criminals than you and I. You are very much mistaken, Batman. Whoever gave you your intel was obviously misinformed."

"You gave me the intel!" Batman exclaimed quietly. "If they're not criminals, and you're not a criminal, why am I sitting here tied up after being knocked out by you?"

Confusion raced through the crimson eyes of the younger hero, but he shook his head as if to drive it away. That was obviously a mistake, Batman deduced, since Nightwing then grimaced and grabbed his head. The moment passed, and Nightwing smirked at his former partner.

"You're trying to bait me. I'm not falling for one of your tricks."

Batman narrowed his eyes. Why hadn't he found any sign of drugs in his son's blood stream? If it wasn't a drug, how were James and Jasmina controlling Nightwing, who could withstand many things both physically and mentally?

"What the…" Nightwing suddenly whispered.

Batman had been studying the room, searching for exits and weaknesses. It was a large, perfect square, with four gray walls built of cement blocks. A window about eight feet above them that not even an eleven-year-old Robin would have been able to fit through, and a single door behind him. The soft exclamation caused him to return his gaze to the younger hero.

The blood-red had faded slightly, and the normal light-blue of his eyes was peeking through. Nightwing's brow was furrowed in confusion and his hands were shaking. He lifted them up and stared at them, then shook his head again.

"Nightwing?"

The young man's gaze jumped from his hands to the questioning look of his former partner. Batman was relieved to now see just a red outline in Nightwing's eyes.

"I…"

Nightwing shut his mouth and raced behind the chair. Batman heard the 'snap' of a knife and suddenly the zip ties were gone. The Caped Crusader shook out his shoulders as he brought his arms in front of him. His son was already crouching in front of him, working on the rough rope in order to free the man's legs.

"A Bat-knot?!" Nightwing exclaimed softly. "How? No, nonono, I didn't…"

"Nightwing, relax," Batman commanded. "It wasn't you, they were somehow controlling you. None of this is your fault."

"Wrong again, Batman."

The annoyingly familiar voice of James floated from behind him. Nightwing dropped the knife and jumped to his feet. The slight swaying of the younger hero's body didn't escape Batman's notice, although nobody else except Alfred would have detected it.

James chuckled and said, "You're just like him, in almost every way. Your strength surprises me, you are so very young, but not your conviction."

"Are you going to try to monologue again?" Nightwing asked evenly as he unobtrusively pushed his knife toward the older hero. "Because I really don't want to hear it. I'm tired of it, and you're not very good at it."

Batman had grabbed the knife and was working on the Bat-knots tied into the rope, trying to finish what Nightwing had started. If he could just free his legs…

James sighed and covered his ears. Nightwing recognized why, but by the time his still-shaking hands obeyed him, it was too late. A note that neither hero had heard before sliced through the tension in the air. It wasn't beautiful, it was harsh and staccato and deep. And the effect on Nightwing was instantaneous. He turned slightly and punched Batman in the face, then raced to the nearest wall and allowed himself to barrel into the hard cement. His head bounced off and he fell to the ground, completely unconscious by his own hand.

The unexpected jab had thrown the chair backward. If Batman had still been restrained, his head would have hit the ground first and he, too, would be unconscious. But he wasn't, so he was able to catch himself on his forearms. His landing dislocated his right shoulder, and knocked the knife out of his hand, but at least he was conscious. The same question as before raced through his mind: why had the note affected Nightwing, but not Batman? And, just as before, he had no answer.

Batman knew what would happen next, so he relaxed everything and closed his eyes mere seconds before James glanced at him.

"Momma, they're both out and Nightwing needs more."

More what?

Opening his eyes a slit, Batman turned his head slightly in order to see his son. What he saw didn't please him. Nightwing was flat on his back, a stream of blood running down the side of his face and another one trickling away from the back of his head. At least he was breathing – Batman could see the rise and fall of his chest, although it wasn't regular at all. But he was in danger of bleeding out for the second time this week.

James and Jasmina were kneeling on either side of the fallen Nightwing, and the woman was pulling something out of her pocket. James carefully removed Nightwing's mask then, from somewhere on his body, produced a roll of brown gauze. He tore a piece off and slapped it on Nightwing's forehead, pushing down hard until the blood had been reduced to a thin dribble. Then he ripped off about two feet, folded it together, and placed it under the young hero's head.

Batman winced in sympathy. Nightwing was going to have another fierce headache and a very severe concussion. Hopefully he didn't slip into a coma. There had been a lot of trauma to his son's head recently, but this one was the worst. At least the man had stopped the blood.

"It didn't last very long, momma," James said. "Can we make it stronger?"

Batman nearly growled, but wisely stayed quiet. He needed to know how they were drugging the strong body of his son, and he wouldn't be able to do that if they knew he was conscious and watching them.

Jasmina had a short, fat vial in her right hand. She had just pulled off the top, and Batman was surprised to see what looked like a dropper. Puzzle pieces came together, but the Caped Crusader wasn't going to assume anything. He had to know for sure.

"Iz fine," the woman said. "Juz…" she paused for several moments then continued, "Faut juste en mettre plus."

James sighed, annoyance clearly evident. She, at least, was French, and apparently her son didn't want her to use her native language. Batman translated in his head – you just have to put more. But, again, more what?

"English, momma!" James exclaimed. "You think it will work if we just put more in? We did three last time, won't it overflow or something?"

"No, iz fine," she repeated. "Open."

There was nothing Batman could do. He had no way to get over there quick enough to stop what was about to happen; he should have just freed himself earlier. James was already holding Nightwing's left eye open, and Jasmina was tilting the vial.

"STOP!" Batman thundered, his voice commanding and leaving no room for disobedience.

"Shut up," James snapped as Jasmina counted five drops into Nightwing's eye. "You can't stop it, so just shut up."

Batman tried to roll the chair over so he could drag himself to his son. But Jasmina was already dropping the liquid into Nightwing's right eye. James slowly closed the lid and gently rubbed the younger hero's eyes.

"We have to make sure it goes everywhere," James stated for Batman's benefit, who growled in response. "Hopefully five drops is enough to keep him with us for longer. If not, we'll have to go seven next time, I guess."

Batman saw a drop of red slide out of Nightwing's left eye. James mumbled something and swiped it off with his index finger. He picked up the blue domino mask and re-attached it across the young hero's closed eyes.

"Too much, momma, I knew it," he said, his voice a little louder.

"No, iz fine," she said for the third time. "Il peut perdre un ou deux."

He can lose a drop or two. But why does it have to stay in his eyes? Is it bad if some of it slips out? Why?

Batman had no answers to those questions, either. It was irritating to have so many unanswered questions about these two strangers, their plans, and how they were controlling his son. Suddenly James was crouching in front of him, grinning.

"Well, now you know," he said with a shrug. "You can't do anything about it, though. He's mine, and he'll be mine forever."

"Until I smash that vial," Batman snarled. "I have everything I need to arrest you now. Assault…"

"He knocked himself out," James interrupted. "He's also the one who knocked you out in the basement, and he recently punched you in the face."

"I'm. Not. Done. Drugging a duly deputized agent of the law."

"There is no evidence of drugs in his system, Batman. Surely you know that by now. Surely you took him to the Batcave and analyzed his blood sometime in the last few days."

"I watched you drug him, idiot," Batman snapped. "Whose word do you think Commissioner Gordon will believe?"

"I have no criminal record, you have no evidence, you have no proof. There is nothing for the commissioner to believe."

Batman had to admit it was a good point. Nightwing didn't know for sure who had knocked him out on that first night, a woman's song was not proof of anything, it was Nightwing who had punched Batman, it was Nightwing who had run into the wall and knocked himself out, and there was absolutely no evidence of chemicals in the younger hero's blood.

"Your silence is telling, Batman. You know I'm right. And I see that you are partially free, which I'm sure Nightwing helped you do. I need to get some supplies, I'll be back. You have a decision to make: come after me or check on your precious little sidekick."

Jasmina was already gone, and James walked out through the only door in the room. Batman saw Nightwing's knife in his peripheral vision, and twisted himself around until he could reach it. Less than a minute later he was completely free and, without stopping to think about the choice James had given him, was by his son's side.

"Nightwing, wake up. Fight off whatever they gave you."

The younger hero didn't move. Batman only knew he was alive because he was breathing. Then Nightwing's eyes flipped open, darted around the room, and snapped close. His blood-red eyes, Batman noted with dismay.

"Come on, chum," the older hero said loudly, not caring that the word of affection had slipped out. "Fight it off."

So focused was he on trying to wake up his son, that Batman didn't even hear the quiet chuckle that came from James. The man walked up behind the hero and slammed a plank of wood against the back of his head. Batman fought against the dancing rainbows, but then he collapsed into darkness.

"I knew you would come after him, no matter what he claimed. A man doesn't leave his partner in danger, even if they have a fight."

Grabbing Batman's arms, James dragged him toward the wall on the opposite side of the room. There was a chain with two manacles attached lying on the floor. James slid the hero's wrists into the manacles and tightened them. Then he returned to Nightwing, where there was a similar set-up, and did the same to him. He quickly checked the positioning – the long, heavy chain was wrapped tightly around a steel beam right under the ceiling, and both heroes were tightly restrained by the steel circles surrounding their wrists.

Nodding in satisfaction, James strode to the door and stopped just outside. There was a winch, which he immediately began turning. Chains rattled and the sound of fabric sliding across cement drifted out the door. After a few seconds of turning, James stopped and looked around the corner.

Batman was against the west wall, arms in the air and feet barely touching the ground. His eyes were closed and his chin was on his chest. Nightwing was in the same position, but he was about six feet away from the east wall.

"Perfect," James murmured. "Now the real fun can begin."