A/N: Shout out to mother nature for giving me another snow day to write this chapter, and also to everyone who reviewed!
Rated T: For violence.
Arming his escrimas, Nightwing ran to the center of the room, where Scarecrow was last seen.
The adrenaline that pumped through his veins prevented him from feeling the pain that would surely come later when the rush wore off.
The bullet wound on his left arm was still bleeding profusely and Nightwing did his best to staunch the blood flow as he ran. He continued to dodge the spray of bullets coming his way as Scarecrow's cronies continued to shoot blindly into the smoke.
Are they not worried about hitting their own guys!? Nightwing thought as he ran. Exactly how many guys did he even have down here!?
The smoke began to clear just as Nightwing was approaching the makeshift lab in the center of the room. Jumping over the table closet to him, Bludhaven's protector dropped into a defensive stance about fifteen feet from Scarecrow.
Jonathan Crane remained standing, his back facing Nightwing, not acknowledging his arrival. He was no longer holding the syringe he saw from earlier. Scarecrow stood in front of five of his cronies, partially blocking their view of Nightwing. They were practically huddled together, something large clutched in their grasps.
"Call your men off, Crane," Nightwing growled, activating the electrifying control on his escrimas.
Dick watched as Crane's shoulders shook as he let out a low chuckle. "I wouldn't do anything you'll regret, Nightwing." Dick's glare deepened as Scarecrow took three slow and deliberate steps to the left and slowly turned towards him.
What Dick saw made his shoulders drop slightly. In the arms of Scarecrow's cronies was Damian. Two larger men on either side of him had his arms in as vice grip, pulling his arms apart as far as the eleven-year old's limbs would allow him. Two more men had either of his brother's shoulders locked in their arms at the crock of their elbows. Another had a gun pointed at his temple. One wrong move and they could pull his arms right out of their sockets. Or put a bullet in his brain.
Robin was struggling harshly in his captors' grasps; although, he lacked his usual dexterity. He was probably nursing a concussion. Angry, red and purple bruises graced his cheek bones and blood dripped down his chin from a split lip. His baby brother continue to shift his weight as if he meant to alleviate the pressure on his sides, which meant he probably took some damage to the ribs. Aside from that, he seemed relatively fine: he still wore that scowl on his face, looking as angry as ever. Damn, he was going to get an earful when they got home.
The worry he felt in that moment was overwhelming. Worry and guilt. Never have they been in hostage situations such as this during their time as the Dynamic Duo. Damian has proven time and time again that he can hold his own, but it was Dick's own plan that landed them in this position. It was his fault that Damian was hurt - his fault that his brother was staring at the barrel of a gun.
Nightwing considered weighing out his options, but there was no use. There was only one option here.
Dick lowered his defensive stance and dropped his weapons. He then slowly raised his arms and placed his hands behind his head in surrender.
Consciousness came back to Damian like he was swimming in mud. The darkness that plagued his vision was slowly retreating, but the blurriness was still there. He blinked minutely a few times, each blink being longer than the last. Explosions of bright, vibrant colors danced across the darkness behind his lids, as if he stared at a light too long.
Why was he here again?
His head felt like it weighed a ton, and the pounding in his temples was constant, threatening to take his consciousness once again. The first thing he became aware of was that he was being moved. Well, more like dragged. The Boy Wonder kept his head low, feigning unconsciousness in order not to make the idiot goons aware of his attentiveness. He could see the silhouettes of men surrounding him. His arms were in the vice grip of two large, dark clothed men on either side. Heavy footsteps from behind them suggested that two more men were following closely behind. A few feet in front, another man was leading them to the center of the room.
Licking his lips, Damian tasted the familiar coppery taste of blood. Taking a deep breath, he continued to access his injuries. His back left side was almost numb with pain, but the pain he felt in his chest was clear as day. Each breath struggled to fill his lungs as he fought the pain in his ribs. Bruised maybe? Certainly not broken. The strain the men were putting on them by holding his limbs in such a way was not helping him in the slightest. His face hurt too, and Damian could only imagine the field day Todd was going to have making fun of how swollen it surely was. Alfred surely would have a fit once he saw the bruises that most certainly marred his body.
Fighting for awareness more vigorously, Robin tried to get a better hold of his surroundings, but the ringing in his ears was making it difficult. Why was he captured? Why was he injured? Were those gunshots he was hearing?
...Gunshots...
...Crane...
...NIGHTWING!
The vertigo retreated almost instantly. He remembered his mission. Their mission. He was not going to fail Father nor his brothers. The toxin, according to Scarecrow, was now complete. He had long lost his rebreather sometime during the fight, but luckily he kept a spare in his belt. Nightwing needed him right now. Shooting upwards, Robin attempted to relinquish the hold the goons had on him, but to no avail. He kicked outwards only to have the two men tailing the them from behind hold him at the shoulders, at the crook of their arms, on either side.
The man leading turned around at the commotion, lifted the gun he held in his right hand and aimed it at the center of Robin's forehead.
"Don't do anything stupid, kid," he commanded in a low, raspy voice.
"I'd say the same," the Boy Wonder snapped back. It took four men and a gun pointed at his head to hold an eleven year old boy? Pathetic.
They continued to hold Robin until they arrived at their location in the center of the room, directly in front of Jonathan Crane. Gunshots continued to echo throughout the facility, but Crane did not seem bothered in the slightest. The man who had previously pointed the gun at his forehead now held it to his temple.
The man in question turned upon their arrival and approached the group slowly.
"Perfect. Everything is going swimmingly," Scarecrow stated, his hands gripped behind his back.
Even though Damian couldn't see it, he could practically hear the smile behind the dirty, stitched burlap sack. Scarecrow stood close enough to him to block his vision of the other side of the room. Robin continued his struggle. He still had to assist Nightwing!
As if on cue, he heard his brother's angry voice from behind Crane. "Call your men off, Crane," Nightwing growled.
He continued to struggle, but his motion was extremely limited, part due to the men whom restrained him, part due to the pain he attempted to alleviate from his ribs by shifting his weight from foot to foot as he struggled. Crane released a low chuckle and Damian could feel the rumble his voice gave off as he laughed.
"I wouldn't do anything you'll regret, Nightwing." Scarecrow took three slow and deliberate steps to the left and slowly turned towards the opposite side of the room.
Grayson stood about fifteen feet from Crane, crouched in a low, defensive position. The two brothers made eye contact, and Grayson's stance dropped slightly.
Robin could only imagine how pathetic he looked at that moment. Blood continued to drip down his chin from his split lip, his face was likely marred with bruises, and he was still in the grasps of a group of complete imbeciles! If he was physically able, and not staring at the barrel of a gun, Robin could take these guys out, no problem! Grayson would be ashamed - Father would be ashamed for allowing himself to get captured so easily.
Grayson wasn't looking so well either. On his left arm, a small strip of the fabric was torn clean off showing a long, nasty gash on his skin, likely from a bullet wound. Nightwing was slightly panting, but not noticeably, as the scowl on his face deepened.
From their days as the Dynamic Duo, Damian learned to decipher exactly how his mentor felt, even behind the mask. Behind the scowl, Grayson's emotions practically hit him like waves.
Anger. At him, surely. He had ruined the plan. Failed the mission.
Worry. Batman was going to yell at him for his failure.
...Guilt?
Why would Grayson feel guilty? It was he who was in the arms of the enemy, not Nightwing. Yes, it was Nightwing's plan that got him in this position, but had he executed his part properly and adapted to the situation, he would not be in this predicament. If he was more competent, they could have avoided this situation entirely. The mission is of the utmost importance. Grayson likely felt guilty about what he would have to do to apprehend Crane: risk his life for the sake of the mission. Damian understood. He was not some civilian hostage. If he had to die for the success of this mission, then so be it. Surely, that was the source of his brother's guilt.
Nightwing was likely going to attack Crane while he thought he was pondering on what choice he was going to make. He would expect Nightwing to save his Robin, but he'd go for the offensive, have Crane call his men off, and complete the mission. Who knows? Hopefully it will be before a bullet was lodged in his skull.
Robin's movements became slower as he tired himself out by struggling. The pounding in his head was persistent. He looked to his brother expectantly, waiting for him to make his move, but he did something he was not expecting. Lowering his defensive stance and dropping his weapons, Nightwing raised his arms in surrender.
The fool! He would not allow the enemy to call the shots if it was his own life that was at stake!
Removing his gaze from his brother, Damian glanced around the room. Goons surrounded them from all sides. They formed a circle a distance away from them, ready to jump in should Crane demand it. Where had they all come from?!
Nightwing allowed two particularly larger men grab both of his arms, as another kicked him roughly in the chest, bringing him to his knees. The same man lifted his fist to strike him in the face, and did so with as much force as his body would allow. Wordlessly he moved aside to allow another man wielding a bat to strike his brother repeatedly until he was left in a bloody heap, only being held up by the arms by the two men who initially grabbed him.
Damian wanted to scream. He was out for blood. Not only had he watched as those animals beat his brother to a pulp, but he watched helplessly as his bother allowed them to do so. These monsters had to pay.
The two men continued to hold Nightwing up as Scarecrow approached him. Grayson was panting heavily as blood from his split lip and broken nose dripped audibly onto the concrete floor, his head hanging low. He didn't even appear to be conscious, but he slowly lifted it to meet the eyes of Scarecrow's mask.
Nightwing gathered the saliva and blood that had collected in his mouth and turned his head to the side to spit onto the concrete floor.
"Ow," he coughed.
He could hear Robin scoff from the other side of Crane.
"Nice of you to drop in," Scarecrow stated as he turned and approached the table closest to him.
Nightwing took a brief moment to control his breathing before responding. "Nice of you to have me." He glanced around and took note of all the men surrounding him. "Although, if I knew you'd have so many... guests, I would've brought gifts."
As Crane walked away, he could see Damian about fifteen feet away, still not having moved from his previous position. He still looked relatively fine, and he stopped struggling in the arms of his captors. Dick sent a reassuring smile his way, but his teeth were probably stained with blood, making it far from reassuring.
Batman and the other's should be here soon. I'll keep him talking, he tried to relay to Damian through a look. Damian responded by nodding minutely, meaning he understood.
"No worries," Crane's voice brought his attention back to where he was standing. "I have one here for you." In his arms was the cylindrical aerosol, bomb-looking, contraption he saw from earlier.
"How nice of you," Nightwing grit through his teeth. "New formula, I presume?"
Scarecrow laughed in response, "You've come to know me so well, Bat." He practically spit out the last word, as if it was an insult. "But, yes. My newest creation is...revolutionary." He said almost whimsically.
Robin took the opportunity to jump into the conversation. "What's so special about it?" He asked sarcastically.
Scarecrow spoke, his low voice reverberating against the walls of the closed room, "Our brains - our minds - are everything. Deep within our heads are our fears. The fears that have the ability to trap us in ourselves - keep us prisoner. My goal as a doctor, was to find those fears buried deep within the mind and find a means to conquer them. My serums, all of my serums, had one goal: to expose fear buried deep within a person and alter the reality of a specific person. To make their fear their reality."
"That doesn't answer his question," Nightwing interrupted. "What's so special about this one?"
Scarecrow chuckled. "Patience, my dear boy." Crane pushed a button on the machine, activating a green blinking light that lined the sides. "It lacked patience," he said, mostly to himself.
Crane placed the contraption on the table and walked again towards Nightwing, "I'm going to find all the faults in your fears and i'm going to expose them." He bent his knees so that he was at eye-level. "Slowly. I'm going to make you suffer."
Nightwing raised a brow and imagined Robin rolling his eyes at how cliche the phrase was. Like, no one has ever said that before. Their entire lives were based on conquering fear, and Nightwing has been exposed to more than one version of Scarecrow's toxin in his time as Batman's partner. He could hold his own and face whatever Crane had to throw at him.
"So that thingy," Nightwing jutted his heads towards the contraption on the table. "New formula? Is that suppose to make it airborne, or what?"
That small contraption would probably only do, what? Fill the room, at the most. Batman and the League had devices that could do more than that, and then some. All they had to do was find whatever antidote they needed, and if Crane decided to use those devices to infect Gotham, the League would be able to counteract it before he did any real damage.
Still crouched in front of Nightwing, Scarecrow turned to look at the device again. "That," he began. "That's not the new formula. That 'thingy' is my escape plan."
Scarecrow stood and took a few steps back. Nightwing's brows furrowed in confusion just as his head was violently pulled back by his hair, and a long, thick metal needle was roughly plunged into the side of his neck. The men holding him released him, and Dick fell forwards, one of his arms catching him as the other gripped the side of his neck.
"That is the new formula," Scarecrow said as he gestured for his men to move.
The vertigo he felt was overwhelming. His head felt heavy, and his body swayed as he fought for control of his own body. Looking up, he could see the machine Crane left for him on the table begin to rapidly release a green fog, and the silhouette of Robin running towards him. Without thinking, he inhaled deeply as the fog engulfed him. Nightwing's arms went lax, and he fell to the side as he welcomed the darkness that previously threatened to overwhelm him.
A/N: Like I said before, I have this story planned out, but not written. Next chapter will hopefully clear any confusion and explain the stuff that happened in this chapter in Timmy's and Jay's perspectives. Maybe Bruce's who knows. I don't.