A/N- Starting each chapter out with an apology seems like my MO by now, right? As always, super sorry guys. College amps up the work and the assignments, and every time you think you have the hang of it, BAM. You're behind again. It's the never ending cycle, and add in work to the mix, and my eternal state of procrastination… oy. Not to mention I've been hit with one of the worst cases of writer's block I've had in a while. I have it all plotted, it's just the actual writing that's got me stuck. Right after a cliff hanger too! Wow, I really am a mean person. Feel free to stone or maim me, really.
Just got a Nightwing Funko!Pop doll the other day – its freakin adorable!
Also, cookies to whoever spots the two references hidden in this chapter!
Thank you to all of you lovely people who reviewed- PSML, CaraLee934, Amitris, authorwannabe101, starletzrose, Chise Sakamoto, shatteredrainbow, motion sickness, Vanne-the-bookworm, and Guest. You guys rock!
Chapter 8
If you took a look at the Justice League and its founding members in one room, you would be overwhelmed. Not just from the sheer amount of spandex outside of a gymnastics competition either. No, even as a hero, being in the presence of such immense power and strength and justice – you can't help but leave the room hoping a little had rubbed off on you, like it made a difference that you breathed the same air as them or something. You can't help thinking I think I'm going to go save a town and 3.5 old ladies from imminent destruction now.
Of the Justice League, there were seven founding members – Aquaman, Flash, Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, and Green Lantern. They had joined together when the Earth needed them most, and had stayed together as a team long afterwards. Because the world doesn't ever not need saving, right? Now, they were over a hundred strong, and were a force to be reckoned with throughout the galaxies.
The League, being full of fair and honest folk, operated under the understanding that everyone was on equal ground. If you were in, you were in, and there was no pulling of rank or unfair advantages given. It was a good policy to have, seeing as most, if not all, of their members were recognized as heroes from wherever they hailed from. It made finding a real way to rank or measure superiority next to impossible.
That was the official rule, anyway. Dick (and everyone else, for that matter) knew differently. The unsaid rule was that the big seven (as they were affectionately coined) had a little more weight to throw around, being the founders of the League and all, and the new members were handed a little more grunt work in the beginning. It made sense, even though Dick was all for equal footing A pecking order had to be established, however, for the sake of the League's effectiveness and efficiency.
What had surprised him most was an additional, higher order than even the big seven. When Dick was a younger Robin, Batman had brought him to the Watchtower. For a nine year old boy who'd recently been adopted by Bruce Wayne and even more recently been brought into the exclusive fold of superheroes, that was a dream. He'd pressed his cheeks on the windows and watched the world from afar, his breath fogging the glass as he traced continents with his small fingers. It brought a whole new meaning to his love of heights.
But even more interesting than the swirling white clouds on the faraway Earth that resembled a bouncy ball he used to have was the people on the Watchtower. When Dick was part of the circus he'd traveled and seen people of many cultures, so he wasn't scared of the strangers that passed through the halls of the spaceship – some of their countries were simply a little farther (galaxies) away. Instead, he watched them with all of the curiosity and intrigue of a child, talking to some of them and asking them all the questions he could think of.
When he wasn't talking to his fellow heroes, he was watching them and how they interacted and talked to each other. As a nine year old, Dick was immensely surprised to see heroes (superheroes) like the Flash and Martian Manhunter give Batman so much respect and rely on him so heavily. It wasn't that he didn't respect his mentor – he did, and he was well aware of Batman's fearsome reputation. But these people had powers. They could breathe underwater and run around the world in mere seconds and create things with their minds. Batman was only human (although Dick sometimes secretly wondered about that too).
It wasn't until he was a little older that he came to realize this higher place on the totem pole included not only Batman, but also Superman and Wonder Woman. Together, the three embodied all that the Justice League aspired to be – justice, hope, and truth, respectively. The two supers gained their way into this exclusive tier by way of their powers and their dedication to the League.
Batman though…he'd worked for it. There were no shortcuts or easy paths on his way to becoming the most dangerous human being to don a cape. He'd tested his every limit and ability to its max, and survived what most humans could only dream of. If it could be perfected or trained, Batman had done it and mastered it. He was the true embodiment of "you can do anything you set your mind to". Oxygen? You don't need it, not for seven minutes at least. Vision? Not necessary for a Bat. Trapped? Find a way out. Pain? Deal with it.
Dick had trained at the feet of the Batman, learning his views and ways and living his lessons for the better part of his life. If he actually stopped to think about it, he had been doing this for more than half of his life, something even Bruce couldn't say. And he'd been tempting gravity since the tender age of four.
So, in the grand scheme of things, what was a little bullet wound?
As soon as it pierced his side, he was sure of it. Dick had been there before – he was no stranger to the myriad of injuries that came with the vigilante occupation. At this point, it would actually be harder to find what hadn't been done to him.
It took a split second for his mind to stop the litany of shitshitmotherfuckerthathurts, to gather his breath and his wits long enough to take control, to overcome that overwhelming wave of pain as it threatened to beat him and bury him deep in a sea of red, to paralyze him completely.
He knew it was just a matter of compartmentalizing, of shoving the pain away in a box inside a chest inside a cellar in a subbasement in his mind, and quickly throwing the key away until he was alone in his apartment within reach of decent painkillers. Unfortunately, the task was made a tiny bit harder due to the fact that he was still sporting wounds from the shootout with Rohrbach, and various bruises that were still healing form his takedown of a few of the more nefarious drug operations here in Bludhaven.
Suffice to say, the chest in the subbasement was a tight fit, if it wasn't already overflowing.
But Dick didn't have time to deal with this, not in a warehouse full of thugs armed to the hilt, with a rather large, ugly goon standing over him. He could hardly ask the man if they could stop and wait for him to catch his breath. Excuse me, good sir, I seem to have been shot. Could you possibly drive me to the nearest hospital, or at least lend me some gauze and pads? That'd be swell, thanks. No, that probably wouldn't go over so well.
So he did the only thing he could do. He shoved the pain away, wrestling it and shoving it back with all the strength he had left. He padlocked it in, and almost sighed with relief as the pain subsided to nothing more than a dull roar. Bruce, master of it's not there if I don't want it to be, would have been proud.
A whistling sound cut through the air, and Dick reacted without thinking as he quickly rolled to the side.
A black crowbar angrily bounced off the tired grey concrete floor where he'd been just half a second before. Dick could see a gauge where the bar had struck. And that would have been my head.
Turning to face his large attacker, his face split into a taunting yet jovial smile. "Was that supposed to hit me? Looks like your aim could use some work buddy."
His blatant jeer had the intended effect. The man's blemished skin contorted into an ugly snarl, and his jet black eyes glittered with menace. He took one step forward. "Oh yeah pretty boy? You know what's gonna need work? Your face, when I'm done with it."
Dick lept to his feet in one smooth move, clenching his teeth as the box of pain rattled deep where he buried it. His eyes never left the man as he crouched, watching, waiting for an opening. The larger man certainly had a size advantage on him, and at a quick glance, he seemed to be uninjured. Translation: quick and agile would have to do seeing as he had the advantage of strength, and no weaknesses to exploit.
Alright, then I'll make my own opening.
He let the smile slide back onto his face. "Why does everyone always go for the face? Honestly, that has to one of the most overused lines out there. Do you guys all read from the same villain handbook or something? If so, I'd recommend coming up with some new material. It would do wonders for your delivery."
The man was moving before Dick had even finished talking. He rushed forward, the crowbar high overhead as he went for another crushing blow. Thankfully, Dick was ready. He skirted out of the way as the metal whished through the air beside him.
Then the thug surprised him. He'd been expecting the mountain of a man to take a moment, reassess, and reattack. Instead, Dick was startled when an avalanche of blows rained down as the man swiped and bashed at him. Shit. He was suddenly on the defensive, dodging and dipping and doing everything in his power to stay out of arms reach.
They continued on for a few agonizing minutes, in which the man had surpasses all odds and managed to land hits on Dick's shoulder and forearm. The spots throbbed painfully down to the bone, and while he knew from experience that nothing was fractured or broken, he also couldn't afford to wait for the next hit. If Bruce saw me right now… This had gone on for long enough.
It all happened so fast – faster, even, than one of Dick's moments. One second he was fingering his Glock, ready and (not so) willing to finish this dance, as the man's crowbar swung above his head. All it took was a quick bang in the distance, and the thug was keeling over backwards with a bullet squarely between his eyes.
His heart thudding like a jackhammer against his chest, Dick's eyes swept up to meet Gibbs' from across the room. Even from across the length of the warehouse, Gibbs' steel grey eyes bored into him with laser focus, and Dick could see the unspoken deep well of emotions filtering across them. Concern and a silent inquiry flitted across, and Dick nodded his wellbeing. Gibbs nodded back, relief dancing across his eyes as Dick's health was confirmed, and just like that, the moment was over.
The fight was winding down; only eight men remained, and those that were left had run out of ammunition a while ago. Now forced to fight hand to hand, it was clear as day who the superior opponents were. Dick struck a glancing blow against one man and he sunk to the floor in a dazed state. Wiping his hands on his uniform, he watched from across the room as Ziva punched the last remaining man out cold. Well damn. Artemis, all grit and tough love, flitted across his mind's eye, and he hurried to push the thought out of his head before it could grow roots.
"Dick." Tony called from across the room. He, Ziva, and Gibbs were already making their way around to the men lying haphazardly all over the concrete floor, securing them with cuffs or zip ties. "You ok?"
His side twinged at the reminder. "Yeah, all good," Dick called across.
Tony nodded. "Good." He jerked a thumb toward Tim. "Go ahead and help McGee out with the computer mumbo-jumbo, will ya?"
McGee, whose head was already buried behind the laptop, popped up as abruptly as one of the whack-a-mole heads at the arcade that Wally always hit and pretended not to cheat. If it wasn't for the annoyed look on McGee's face, Dick would have thought it was funny. As it was, he sorely wished he had a whack-a-mole mallet in his hand as he crossed the now quiet warehouse. The only sound his sensitive ears picked up now was the metallic snapping of handcuffs, the rrrrt of zip ties tightening, and the tapping of McGee's fingers dancing across the keyboard.
Dick stood behind McGee as he did his thing – the glares Tim kept throwing over his shoulder made it clear as day that he didn't want Dick working alongside him shoulder to shoulder. Like actual teammates, or anything else crazy like that.
Honestly, this whole sustained animosity thing was starting to drag and pull at Dick. It was exhausting, and he wasn't even the one who was mad. McGee seemed to harbor some degree of rage toward him, but as Dick stood behind him and stared at the back of his head, he honestly could say that he wasn't angry at Tim. Frustrated maybe, confused yes, but not angry. Maybe he'd done something unintentionally to anger the techie agent – he couldn't deny that it was possible. But what? What could he have done or said to deserve this degree of hostility? After saving his life not even an hour before, he'd thought that everything would be forgiven. Either way, he wished McGee would tell him, or even hint to him at it, so he could apologize and get this rocky beginning behind them.
Well, you had to start small right? He took a half step to the right so he could see the glowing screen McGee was hunched over. "Need any help?"
McGee twitched his head, but otherwise didn't tear his eyes away from the screen. "I got it, thanks," he replied in short, clipped tones.
Dick continued. "Because, you know, I'm no FBI agent, but I do have some tech know-how—"
"I'm good! Thanks but no thanks."
Dick fell silent. Okay, so Tim wasn't really warming up any yet. Emphasis on yet because come on – no one could stay this polarized, this angry for this long. At some point, McGee would have to take those walls down.
Still curious, he took a silent step forward so the words on the screen went from black smudges to a line of defined print running across the screen like a migrating colony of ants.
God Rob, you're such a little troll. Artemis's words echoed in his head and he bit back a smile. What can I say 'Mis, once a troll, always a troll.
Ahead of him, Tim was definitely not feeling the aster. The rigid form of his back and the increased tempo and pressure he was applying to the keyboard definitely spoke of troubles on the tech front. And sure enough, peering over McGee's shoulder at the lines of code, Dick could see that Tim's hacking wasn't getting him anywhere. The code was running him in circles, always bringing him back to the same entrance screen with each different hack he tried. Whoever had set up this computer was more than your average street criminal.
Leaning in a little closer, Dick could hear McGee muttering under his breath. "But that should've worked…maybe if I go back…different command code…"
"No luck?" Dick probed.
"Not yet…," Tim said, distracted.
Dick peered in next to him. "You went through the command prompt in safe mode?"
Tim nodded, a frown cutting into his cheeks. "Yeah….it kicked me back to the main screen." Dick nodded. That wasn't unusual – that was the simplest method, and so therefore the easiest to safeguard against.
"I'm guessing you don't carry a Linux Live CD with you?"
An embarrassed little smile wormed its way to the corner of McGee's frown, and Dick had to guess there was a bit of backstory on this one that he wasn't going to get. "Yup. NTFS drive doesn't even show up. Obviously all encrypted drives. I should've expected it."
Dick shrugged. "You had no way of knowing. I mean, now we're getting into experienced computer geek territory, which drug-dealing criminals typically are not. I bet if we take this back –"
Twitch.
That's all the warning Dick had before the nearest black lump of a criminal, formerly still on the floor, reached up, needle in his hand, and stabbed Tim deep in the calf and depressed a full chamber of a pure amber liquid into him.
Dick was on him in an instant. His blood rushed around his ears, pounding like the ocean in a storm as he grabbed the man by the lapels of his jacket and threw him away from the table and the laptop and McGee.
Who was now leaning against the table, laptop long forgotten.
The team was running toward McGee, frantically asking questions. Their raised voices seemed to reverberate and echo and Dick couldn't concentrate over the rushing, roaring blood screaming for justice. "Stabbed," he got out. "Injected him with something."
He looked back down to the man who wore all black, and grabbed the man's collar to haul him up. "What did you inject him with?" he ground out, his voice such a low timbre that he almost mistook himself for Batman.
The man peered at him slyly for a moment, and then Dick's rage raised to hurricane status as a wide, wolfy grin spread across his tan skin. He looked Dick straight in the eyes as his chest shook with laughter. "Leave it to the Bludhaven police not to connect the dots. Children, all of you."
Dick's hands were shaking with spasmodic tremors as he stared down at this man, red swimming at the edge of his vision. He never understood Bruce's monsters most of the time, and his temptation to do more than send his criminals into the revolving door that was Arkham Asylum, but in this moment he got it. He wanted to knock this man into unconsciousness, break his nose, pull his short blonde hair out of his scalp…
Dick looked at him again, really looked. He'd seen this man before, he knew it. Something about the shape of his head, the color of his hair, even his outfit…all were ringing bells somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, but from where? He wracked his brain…How do I know you? The man grinned back, obviously taunting us as he silently dangled the unspoken question in front of Dick. We've met, or at least seen each other…Bludhaven police…connect the dots…
And suddenly Dick was plunged headfirst into a dark night lit only by streetlights and gunfire, hiding behind car doors and watching his comrade fall beside him…seeing men slump at car hoods and men with blonde hair run out of sight and out of reach…
This was him. This was their blonde, five foot nine, 170 pound contract killer and/or assassin. This was the man who killed with special knives instead of his Beretta 87 he had in his picket, and who had at least three suspected murders under his belt. At least.
And possibly a fourth in progress.
Dick glared back at him, desperately wishing at that moment for Superman's laser vision or at least something to channel through his eyes to inflict pain.
A lot of it.
The man's grin only got wider and toothier and more maniacal. "This is only the beginning," he mocked, his voice rough and scratched like a rusty pipe.
As the red film covered his eyes again, like a smokescreen of fury, he smashed his fist into the man's face and watched with satisfaction as his head cracked back on the concrete and his eyes closed as he was abruptly sent into the oblivion. Dick didn't usually get satisfaction from acts of violence, but today he found he would gladly make an exception.
That didn't last long. A crashing sound sounded behind him, and Dick turned to see Tim take the table down with him as he met the floor.
Even surrounded by his teammates, Dick could still make out Tim's shaking form writhing on the ground.
TBC-
Caralee934- First of all, this is a refreshingly new twist in this category, second, it looks like you are actually going to finish it! First of all, thank you! There is definitely a niche to be filled here, and if there's a story to tell, I'm more than willing to tell it J. And of course I'm going to finish this! I know sometimes it looks/sounds like I'm not going to (the month long waits between chapters doesn't help any), but believe me, when you have several stories planned in advance, there's really no choice in the matter. I'm just as excited as you guys are to see where it goes, and I'm the author. Believe me, no matter how painful, I will finish this tale!
Amitris- What is this past meeting between Dick and the team that you keep mentioning? Is it from another story? Ok, so I'm not really big on the whole exposition, tell you every detail of the person's life before the story thing. It's a little boring, to me and to you guys. It's not another story currently, but it is something I have on the drawing board—the point at which the NCIS and Young Justice teams meet. Kind of a prequel for this story. For now, though, you have all the info you need—NCIS met Dick and the Young Justice team 7 years ago, and NCIS walked away with a whole new appreciation of vigilante awesomeness. I'm definitely interested in writing this prequel, if other people are interested in reading it :D
As always, thank you so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following this story, and I am so sorry for the delays. I am just thankful that you all are being so patient with me as I try to get my life and this story together! I'm excited for the upcoming chapters, and even more than that, the following story I have planned for this. Don't forget to leave your questions, comments, ponderments, concerns, and anything else in the reviews-it makes my day!
