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Dick dodges a pistol whip aimed directly for his forehead, rolling with the motion onto his back to kick out the thugs feet from under her. He would stay to make sure she's really down and out for the count, but the clicking of a pistol’s magazine locking in place from the hands of another thug reaches his ears. Before he knows it, he's launching his grapple up to the upper support structures of the warehouse he currently finds himself in. Sparks fly on the metal scaffolding around him as he zips upwards and lands on the upper bars, but he uses the darks of his suit to blend into the shadows around him. Like he's been taught to do ever since he was a kid.
Except, pure black with a little bit of blue is so much easier to hide in than red, yellow, and green.
Within his hiding space, he doesn't waste the opportunity to catch his breath. Beneath him, the dozens upon dozens of thugs and hired guns shout amongst themselves as one man in particular shouts the loudest. The leader of this operation. A man by the name of Logan Rivers.
"Find him! Don't let him leave here alive!" The man screeches, his face all red and his limbs flailing like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
This. Sucks. Dick hadn't meant for his simple stakeout to turn out like this. It was supposed to be a simple "spy on the bad guys until I figure out a relatively easy way to take them down" sort of mission. However, Blüdhaven decided to rear her horribly structured head and cause a section of the roof to collapse on him while he was sneaking towards one of the sky windows. He had just managed to not go splat on the warehouse floor by using his grapple to slow his descent, but it did nothing to make his entrance unnoticed by the multitude of Rivers' small army of grunts. As debris of the collapsed section of roof clattered around him, he was quickly met with calls of alarm and a particularly loud "Holy shit- it's Nightwing!!!!"
This is fine. This is okay. Dick's gotten himself in sticky situations like this before. Besides, these are just a bunch of drug dealers in a warehouse of crates filled with the supply they're selling. Honestly, how these guys have gone so long without the cops noticing is beyond Dick. Dick at least has a reason. He was previously in Gotham until a few days ago. What excuse do the cops have?
Let's be honest. Most of the BHPD probably knows of the existence of these dealers and are buying stuff themselves, working together to keep Captain Rohrbach too busy on other things to notice.
Dick wouldn't be surprised.
Which is why he needs to take these guys down. Just… preferably when he's a little more prepared to do so.
As the people below him begin to try and search for him, he looks towards the ceiling. The sky lights are all closed, so there's no way out through the roof unless he goes through the hole he fell in from—of which is a considerable distance away and would leave him rather vulnerable to fire while jungle-gyming his way over there. However, it's still better than trying to go out through the front door.
Okay. He can do this.
He waits until there's less people looking in his direction before he makes his move. However, shouting voices calling out his location still erupt earlier than what he's comfy with. But! That's okay. He's only a few hops, skips, and jumps away from having a clear shot at the hole in the ceiling. He leaps from the last of the support beams and launches his grapple towards the ceiling. And, of course, while he’s suspended in the air—unprotected and vulnerable—the shooting starts.
Sparks fly near his body as he rises slower than what he'd like.
And he's struck with the realization that maybe these grunts are not of the stormtrooper kind when an intense pain stabs into his thigh.
Shock floods his system with the realization that he's been shot, and before he knows it his fingers let go against his will and he comes crashing down to the hard, cement floor below him. Agony rushes through every cell in his body, his leg pulses and oozes blood as the rest of his body tries to figure out how screwed he is. Thankfully, he didn't fall the full height, but it was still enough to give him a few more injuries than a just bullet wound to worry about.
Unfortunately, he doesn't get a whole lot of time to worry about much anything at all, because before he can even try to get to his feet a pair of hands grab him by the shoulders and heft him up. Dick groans through clenched teeth as he's dragged to his feet, finding himself held up between two beefy thugs with his hands bodily held behind his back.
Shit. Shit. Not good. Not good at all.
Very not good.
The two men holding him manhandle him forward. His leg scream it pain as he's suddenly shoved to the floor down onto his knees. They keep their rough grasps on his wrists, holding him defenseless from none other than Logan Rivers as the man strides towards him with his gun pulled.
Dick fights a flinch as Rivers bends down and presses the barrel of his gun against the center of Dick's forehead in one fluid motion. He grinds his teeth against the pain that his body is in and glares.
"I should kill you right now," Rivers growls, flicking his thumb over the safety of the firearm. From here, Dick can see the filed out scratches of the serial number. He keeps his eyes steady on Rivers though, slowly curling up his fingers up towards his trapped wrists where the emergency distress signal is located.
Rivers face twitches, like he's actually conflicted about shooting Dick or not, before his thumb goes back over the safety, flicking it back in.
Dick mentally lets out a relieved sigh.
But that relief doesn't last long before the pistol is whipped across Dick's face. The thugs holding him let go at that moment, leaving him to collapse onto the floor. He grinds his teeth against the persistent agony that flares up in his leg as he hits the floor, his cheekbone pulsing, but he's still thinking. Still aware enough to quickly press the distress signal before he's grabbed again and restrained with the heartless hands.
"What should we do with him, boss?" One of the thugs asks. Dick doesn't bother to remember their face. There's so many here that it doesn't matter. Rivers though doesn't disregard the thug like most crime bosses do. In fact, the man smiles at the question and drops down so he's kneeling on the balls of his feet in front of Nightwing.
Dick doesn't like the look on his face.
"I think, if he's so curious about what we've got going on down here," the drug trafficker says slowly, making Dick's stomach drop, "we should let him have a sample. On the house even."
Kay, Dick's not going to sit still and let them drug him. He glares at Rivers and tugs at the restraining hands on him. He's not a fan of drugs and he'd really would rather prefer to not be forcibly put under the influence, thank you very much. "Do that and you'll regret it."
He said it in his best growly voice; the angry voice he used when he was Batman and it sounded like he was a single mom that smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. But all it did was make Rivers smirk as he turned towards one of his thugs and told them to get some rope and some of the "good stuff".
With a smug look, he turned back towards his captive. "Have you ever tried LSD?"
No, but Dick has seen what it does to people. Hallucinogen. Alters perception of sight, sound, and awareness. The effects kick in quickly and they last a hell of a long time. Dick recalls what Roy had told him about it, about the depression and anxiety that lingers after, about how it's not addictive or particularly threatening overdose wise, but a tolerance can be built where it has you scrambling for more and more every time each dose ends up not being enough.
Dick wasn't the greatest friend to Roy back then. They've made up a little over the years, and Roy somehow found it in him to forgive Dick after he finished rehab for all the other addictive drugs he had been on. Dick knows now that someone with a drug addiction isn't a bad person, and that addictions are hard to break on their own and withdrawals can be agonizing.
It doesn't mean he wants to try any though. Even one that won't risk an addiction.
"No?" Rivers asks when Dick doesn't answer. His smug grin sharpens as a thug comes over with a syringe filled with a yellowish liquid. It throws Dick off, because LSD doesn't normally come in liquid form, let alone a yellow liquid form that has to be injected through the skin. He tugs on the holds still on him, his stomach fluttering with worry and barely concealed panic. "Well then, you're in for a ride, Nightwing. This is better."
Dick does his best to scramble away from the restraining hands and the approaching syringe, but thanks to his still steadily oozing leg wound and the bruises along the rest of his body, he's rendered helpless pretty quickly.
It could be worse, Dick thinks as his hair is grabbed and tugged to the side to expose his neck. There's a sharp pinch. I could be dead…
He doesn't feel the liquid enter his bloodstream, but he's almost immediately taken by a wave of nausea. His body goes hot and cold, numb as the needle exits his body and as his arms are maneuvered so his hands are together behind his back, strong rope lashes them together.
He barely feels anything as he's shoved to the ground with rope tied around his ankles. Voices spawn above him, far away and echoey. He blinks behind his mask, trying to listen to the voices and make sense of the steadily blurring shapes in front of him, but it's useless. The effects of this unknown drug are quick, and Dick can only wonder how long this will last before it wears off, and for how long he'll be completely helpless to it. Tied up and barely conscious.
He wonders what state he'll be in after this. If his body will crave more. If karma finally comes to bite him in the ass for how he treated Roy in their outsider days. He wonders if anyone will find him before he bleeds to death with his now completely numb bullet wound.
As the world shifts and his body floats—crashing waves of serotonin overtakes the nausea—Dick loses himself and doesn't wonder anything anymore.
---
"Ah, that never gets old," Jason sighs, brushing his hands together as he finishes cuffing the still twitching attempted rapist. Honestly, making the bat symbol on his chest able to electrocute people was probably the best decision he'd ever made in his entire life. It makes a very satisfying way to take people out, especially if they somehow manage to get him pinned down. Not that this dumbass had gotten the better of Jason.
Jason just likes to make men like him suffer a little.
He looks towards the young teen who's pressed herself against the brick wall of the alleyway. Her eyes are wide and the strap of her spaghetti-strap tank is still hanging off her shoulder, along with her bra strap. She's probably in shock. Perhaps from actually being grabbed by a creepy old man in some dark alleyway, or perhaps she's thunderstruck that a bat had actually come to her rescue.
Regardless of the reason, he's gentle while bringing her back to the present, taking off his helmet and using soft words and slow gestures. Eventually, he manages to coax a name out of her. He tells her to get going and tells her what streets he's already been through so that she knows what the safest path would be to take. After giving her Jim Gordon's number and bidding her farewell, he leaves a tip for the cops to come pick this piece of scum up. He'll probably just be detained for a while, not officially arrested and jailed because, legally, it was just an attempt. A slap on the wrist and a "don't do it again" is the most Gordon can probably do, but Jason will definitely make sure to dig into ever aspect of this guy’s life and find something damning in his history.
He's not even worried that there won't be anything in his history. It's Gotham. There's always something for everyone, even the nice old lady who Jason helps cross the street every morning probably has something red in her ledger.
As he's walking out of the alleyway—mentally reviewing his patrol route and replacing his helmet back onto his head—something over the comm feed catches his attention.
A series of beeping noises. Which is entirely strange and out of place. Mostly because while Jason is patrolling inside Gotham tonight, he's not working together with the big bad bat. He's solo. Independent. All on his own. So he's not on the same frequency as the rest of Gotham's finest.
There's only one explanation of what the beeping can be.
Someone activated their distress signal.
He brings his hands to his helmet and jumps into the main bat frequency, and immediately there's voices talking quickly between each other.
"Red Robin?" Batman's annoying and gruff voice growls, and for a minute Jason thinks it's Timbo who's in distress. But then a familiar voice answers.
"It's Nightwing," Tim says, the sound of clicking keys coming through the feed. The kid must be manning the computer tonight, with Alfred off on vacation and Barbara having taken the night off to have a sorta sisterly but also sorta mother/daughter dinner and movie with Cass.
So it's Goldy who's in distress. How poetic. The damsel of the family is the first one to send the signal in three months of it not being used.
"What are his vitals?" Robin asks, his tone is tight like a bowstring. Tighter, even. The little tyke is worried. How cute.
There's more clicking and Tim groans in frustration. "He's not wearing the suit with the vital sensors. He must be wearing his old one, he had a run in with the sewers a few days ago and must be getting it cleaned."
Jason swears he almost hears Bruce curse. Which would honestly be a little understandable. Dick only wears his new suit really to give Alfred peace of mind, but he also really doesn't like to be monitored all the time and uses his crappy old suit whenever possible. It's worn down, and filled with tight stitching to close various cuts that it's gained within the years it's been in use. However, the suit isn't as strong as his new one. It's much more susceptible.
Another voice speaks up, Dukey boi this time. "Do you have his location?"
"Yeah," Tim answers, rattling off the address of Nightwings distress pings. At least there's that.
"Red Robin, see if you can hack into the security of the warehouse and find out why Nightwing was there. Try to get contact with him. Signal, continue patrol with Spoiler but remain on standby. Robin and I will head to Blüdhaven. ETA 45 minutes. Red Hood-"
Of course Bruce knew Jason was on the line. Jason cuts him off immediately though. "Woah, wait, why 45? The Batmobile can get to 'Haven in 20."
"The Batmobile was left hidden in Robinson Park. It will take Robin and I time to get back to it."
Of course. Jason sighs and tries not to worry about what trouble Dick could be in right now.
A lot can happen in forty-five minutes.
Jason looks at his bike that's parked near the mouth of the alleyway he had just taken the attempted rapist down in. It's not as fast as the Batmobile, but if he leaves now he'll get there quicker than Bruce and Damian will.
Jason informs everyone on the line of this, keeping his voice nonchalant so he doesn't sound worried. If he sounds worried, no one will let him live it down. He's supposed to be the aloof lone-wolf of the family, after all.
Bruce gives the go-ahead—not that Jason needed it—and says he and Damian will be right behind.
Tim turns down the volume of the distress beeping, but doesn't turn them off.
It makes for horrible music on the freeway between the sister cities of New Jersey.
---
When Jason arrives at the warehouse, he's honestly… underwhelmed. It feels like an anticlimax to see an empty parking lot, dark windows, and slightly cracked open doors. The stone walls are mis-patterned, showing decades of wear and tear and half-assed attempts to keep the building up to code for hurricanes and earthquakes. Jason climbs the wire fencing that surrounds the building, wrinkling his nose against the disgusting stench of Blüdhaven's coast. Dick once told him horror stories of the buildings that are this close to the ocean. Most are under the ocean now, only revealed at the low tide. A ghost town in every sense of the phrase. Jason wonders if even Arthur and all his Aqualad's would ever even tease the idea of exploding these shores.
Jason hops to the graveled ground on the other side of the fence and makes his way to the front doors, conscious of the viewpoints those murky windows provide.
With a little bit of unease, Jason manages to pry the doors open wide enough and quiet enough for him to stick his head in.
There's nothing.
He frowns and opens the door wider, walking into the empty warehouse who's only illumination comes from a caved in hole in the ceiling and yellowed sky windows.
He looks around himself, finding fresh footsteps in the dust along with outlines of where boxes and such probably used to sit. Recently even.
The unease grows. Where's Dick? His location was here. He should be here. Or at least his suit should be. And Jason doesn't think any of Blüdhaven's criminals are smart enough to trick bat technology.
He's almost considering hailing Tim and asking if he's sure this warehouse was where Dick's location was coming from, but then his eyes land on something black and blue shoved into the corner of the dark warehouse.
Relief floods his veins along with… worry.
That's Dick alright. But he's just… laying there on his side, his back facing Jason. Jason takes slow steps forward—noting how Dick's wrists and ankles are restrained—before he kneels down and puts his hand on Dick's neck. He'd rather know Dick was a corpse before he turned him over and saw his dead gaze.
Thankfully, there's a beat. A… soft one. But steady. He turns on his comms.
"Found him. He's alive. Warehouse is empty."
There's a moment of silence, and then Batman's voice comes in with the sound of a car's engine in the background.
"Status report?"
"Hold on, I'll check."
Jason frowns and brings a knife through the rope around Dick's wrist. The knots are simple and the rope isn't as tight as it probably should be with someone who can contort themselves such as Dick.
Dick should have been able to slip these ropes the moment they were put on.
He turns Dick to his back, not liking how limp and loose he is.
The moment Jason sees his face, he knows something is horribly wrong, especially when he sees an injection wound near his neck. Dick's skin is incredibly pale and there's a line of drool leaving the corner of his mouth down the side of his cheek. His eyes are open behind the mask, yet when Jason tears the mask off and shines a light in his red rimmed eyes, there's hardly any pupil reaction.
Has… has Dick been drugged?
There's no other explanation. Jason knows a drug victim when he sees one. Dick mumbles something incoherent and Jason almost snorts.
He's high as balls.
Now is the issue of figuring out what sort of drug Dick was given. What kind of symptoms they can expect while the drug is in his system and what kind of effects linger after it tapers off. He looks at the rest of Dick's body, noting the various tears in his suit and bruises on his visible skin.
Then, he notices the dark stain on Dick's leg and his blood runs cold.
Or, more accurately, Dick's blood runs cold. Because it's currently oozing sluggishly from a hole in his leg.
Jason quickly checks for an exit wound, and doesn't find one. The bullet is still in his leg, and judging by the red staining around the entrance wound even after he wipes some of the blood away it's already catching infection.
It appears Dick's paleness isn't completely the drugs' fault.
Jason gets back on his comm and uses his free hand to gently slap Dick's cheek to get a reaction out of him. There's no reaction. Just some more mumbling that definitely isn't English and might not be any other known language.
"He has a GSW in his right thigh. He's also drugged to high heavens on an unknown substance. Probably a depressant or narcotic. I'm not ruling out hallucinogen. I'm going to treat the gunshot wound."
"Copy. ETA is 8 minutes."
The 'you better keep him alive or I swear to God, Jason' goes unsaid.
Jason doesn't bother to give a response as he shifts down to Dick's leg, pulling out various first aid stuff that he usually carries with him. There's not much he can do besides wipe up the blood and apply disinfectant to the wound before wrapping it tightly. It doesn't seem to have hit an artery, considering that there's not any pools of blood anywhere and Dick is still alive, but it's been sluggishly bleeding for the at least better part of thirty minutes. Dick is probably going to need a blood bag. Or Steph. Jason's pretty sure they share the same blood type.
He's in the middle of retrying his attempts to get Dick lucid, or at least aware, by the time the familiar rumble of an engine stops outside the warehouse. There's the sound of boots running on gravel just a moment before the doors are shoved open, allowing Robin to run in like a worried mother hen-bat out of hell. It's crazy how protective the kid is over his eldest brother.
Right behind him is the worried father bat out of hell. And nope. Jason is going to throw both those metaphors out of his head. He regrets thinking them. With his cape whipping behind him, Batman strides over to Dick and does the exact same thing Jason did.
Checks his pulse.
The moment Batman is within Dick's line of sight though, a sloppy grin spreads on Dick's face. "Buh…" Dick mumbles, his arms twitching. His eyes are far away, but it seems he's at least aware enough to recognize his dad in his hazed out mindset.
Jason tries not to think of the times his mother, when she was alive, would sit on the couch or under the table with a dead look in her eyes for hours until Jason would slowly coax her out, staring straight into her eyes and relishing in every spark of recognition and love he'd find there.
Bruce carefully gathers Dick into his arms while Damian hovers nearby, scowling. There's a frown between his brows though. He's probably worried or confused with Dick's situation. The kid's definitely come into contact with junkies and drugged out people before, though it's one thing to see some random high person in the streets and another to see the same look on someone you know.
Bruce then gently lays Dick on the backseats of the car and lays his detached cape over him like a weighted blanket. However, he doesn't manage to stop Damian from crawling into the back as well to rest his eldest brother's head on his lap. The brat glares at Jason and Bruce, practically daring them to tell him to leave Dick alone, but Dick doesn't... look bothered. So Bruce closes the door and turns towards Jason.
"Need a ride?" He asks, and Jason shakes his head.
"I'll take my bike, if that's alright with you."
Even if it wasn't alright with Bruce, Jason would still just take his bike. This whole thing has brought up uncomfortable memories with his mom. He would really like… an hour to himself. At least. Just to regather his emotions.
Thankfully, Bruce doesn't question it and nods. Or perhaps he doesn't need to question because he already knows. Bruce places a hand on his shoulder and gives a squeeze before going to the driver's side of the Batmobile. Then, with the roar of an engine, the car and it's three occupants take off towards Gotham with gravel shooting behind it.
Jason watches it go with his hands in his pockets.
Damn. He could really go for a smoke.
But he doesn't, because he's clean and there's no way he'll let that control his life ever again. Instead, he turns and hops onto his bike. He takes off towards the same direction the Batmobile did, but he takes a certain turn that takes him off the freeway and into winding, hardly used roads in the forest. Thirty minutes till Gotham turns into fifty. He enjoys every minute of it.
---
After a bunch of tests, Tim had declared Dick "fine". The drug in his system isn't lethal in any way, considering it's just a mix of various drugs. Dick is predicted to come to feeling like he drank the world's biggest bar, especially with the added effects of the bullet wound.
But he's fine.
And ten hours later, Bruce is there to watch Dick's eyes slowly begin to take in information about his surroundings. Once Dick begins to shift a little, Bruce smiles and puts his hand on Dick's shoulder, startling the young man to flick his lazy gaze towards him.
It takes a full minute for Dick's brain to kick in, and when it does the heavy smile Dick gives is enough to lighten something in Bruce's chest.
"How're you feeling?"
Duck mumbles something, closing his eyes when Bruce lifts his hand to run his fingers through his hair. The drug is still in his system and it's still tapering, and eventually Dick will probably ask for a bucket to vomit in, but for now Bruce just chuckles and thanks whatever deities out there that it wasn't any worse than what it could have been.
"Try to rest, chum," he says, brushing his fingers through Dick's sweaty hair and enjoying the quiet of Dick's bedroom. "You have a long day ahead of you."
Bruce isn't sure if Dick really hears him, but Dick still gives something of a hum in response. If hums could slur that is.
And Bruce is just happy that in the end, everything will turn out alright.
---
It’s well past fourteen hours since Dick was drugged, and he’s been barricaded inside his bedroom ever since. According to Bruce, Dick’s lucid now, but is feeling like the world’s worst hangover.
Everyone’s been worried about him. Especially considering how, normally, when in the manor Dick’s the loudest, most lively voice there is. It’s strange to be told to be quiet when passing Dick’s room. It’s even stranger to not hear a single thing when you press your ear against his door.
Tim decides rather quickly to change that. He knows that Dick’s suffering a major headache and can barely hold down water, but he also knows that Dick is the most static person there is. When upset, he seeks attention and physical affection; except Dick is currently so drained from the drugs that he literally cannot stand up to seek that attention.
So Tim won’t keep him waiting.
The first thing he does is grab his laptop then run down to the library where he finds Damian curled up on one of the sofas, ignoring Titus who’s pressing his snout against Damain’s side as he sketches something in that book of his. Tim calls for him to follow along, and shockingly he follows without much arguments. Just a little grumbling.
Next, he goes into the kitchen and finds Duke and Steph arm wrestling as Cass eats leftovers from the restaurant she had went to with Babs. He tells them to follow and they do. Tim skips out on fetching Bruce, the man has been down in the cave for the past two hours researching the drug trafficking group Dick had been going after. Luckily enough though, Jason walks into the manor’s front door as Tim and the rest of the group walk past it towards the staircase.
Jason had come inside the manor for a little after Dick was retrieved, but then left again once it became time to catch some rest. Tim is honestly shocked to see him back, and Jason seems shocked to see the rest of the siblings all gathered together and tip toeing up the stairs.
But he follows along, grumbling about Cass having promised some of her left overs if he came over and that he wanted to eat before shenanigans. Tim says no. Jason sighs sadly but comes along for the shenanigans.
Dick’s room is dark and silent when he opens the door, but Tim can easily see Dick curled up in his bedsheets like a burrito. Tim goes to step closer, but then Damain ducks under his arm and climbs up first onto Dick’s bed, carefully settling at his side. Dick stiffens at Damain’s movement, but doesn’t push Damain away. In fact, he relaxes rather quickly, letting a hand escape his comforter burrito to place his fingers in Damian’s hair.
Tim takes that as an invitation for them all to come in.
Piling on top of Dick’s bed is a painstakingly difficult task, but eventually the manage to get everyone comfortable. Tim flips open his lap top—the brightness turned all the way down—and puts on the first episode of the Umbrella’s Academy. He has the volume down low as well, to not cause Dick’s headache to become a migraine.
No one speaks, and Dick doesn’t come out of his burrito, but in the middle of the third episode, Tim looks down to see Dick poking his head over his comforter with eye’s watery and half-lidded, watching the episode along with the rest of them, not a stress line to be seen on his face.
Tim smiles and knows things will only go up from here.