Work Text:
“One day you will
Learn to love me
One day you will
Thank me, you'll see
If I can't have you
No one can”
Dick Grayson jumped awake, a headache being the first thing to greet him. He was somewhat aware of what he’d been doing before he’d woken up in the dark room he was currently in. He’d been locking up the community center. Yeah, that was it. Shawn had needed that night off, so Dick had told her a few days before that he’d have no problem closing up. She had seemed oddly skeptical, but had handed him the keys and told him not to burn the place down.
He forced himself into a seated position so that he could get a better look at his surroundings. He wasn’t in his apartment, that was for certain. There was hardly any light, just a small outline that told Dick exactly where the door was. Dick’s apartment was right next to a shop that had their neon sign lit up constantly, so despite black out curtains and blinds, there was always a slight blue and red glow that filled both his bedroom and living room. In all honesty, Dick didn’t think there were even any windows in the room. If there was, they must’ve been covered up pretty good.
Dick was suddenly aware that he wasn't wearing the clothes he'd put on before leaving for work. His shoes and socks were gone, as was the watch Bruce had gifted him for his birthday one year. His khakis had been replaced with a pair of sweatpants and his polo swapped for a T-shirt. Weird. Kidnappers very rarely changed his clothes, he thought to himself.
Dick tried to focus on his surroundings. He could tell he was sitting on a bed. It was a pretty decent one, too. No springs assaulted him like they did in his bed back at his apartment. A blanket had been draped over Dick’s body while he was sleeping, but after his aggressive wake up, it had been mostly thrown off him, pooling towards the foot of the bed. Dick made a move to get up off the bed, in hopes of exploring the rest of the room with his limited senses, but a tug at his ankle stopped him. Confused, Dick reached his hand towards his leg, and sure enough, felt the roughness of a leather cuff locked around his limb.
Okay, so now he definitely was sure he wasn’t home.
Purely on instinct, Dick raised his hands to his face, feeling for his domino mask, despite recalling his last known location. It was a force of habit. No mask, which meant no Nightwing. Somehow that wasn’t a comforting thought. Dick hated being kidnapped, but he especially hated it when he was kidnapped as a civilian. As Nightwing he didn’t have to hold back on whoever had been dumb enough to capture him. As Dick Grayson, he had to be an easier target. It was annoying and usually led to more injuries, which Dick also didn’t like.
He didn’t have time to dwell much on the fact before the sound of a lock turning forced his attention towards the door. It swung open, the light from the otherside blinding Dick slightly. He raised a hand to his eyes, blinking as he tried to make out the figure that stood in the doorway, watching him intently.
“My apologies!” a man’s voice said. “It’s much darker in here than I thought!”
There was a slight click of a switch and light filled the room. Dick blinked a few more times before his eyes finally adjusted and he was able to take a better look at things.
The room was small, perhaps only ten feet by twelve if Dick had to guess. The only furniture seemed to be the bed Dick was sitting on and a toilet that was installed at the end of said bed, the chain connected to his ankle bolted into the nearby wall. The floors were a worn hardwood, the walls once painted white but were now a dull grey from age. He also seemed to be correct on the window assumption: there was one, but it was boarded up with wood.
The wall across from the one the bed had been shoved against was plastered in various news articles, photographs, and other papers. Dick could tell a few were of him, but he was much more focused on the man who had kidnapped him. He’d have time to look at the wall later, he assumed.
The man who had entered was average enough; tall with broad shoulders, his brown hair cut short and his dark eyes hidden behind glasses. He wore a pair of construction boots, a worn pair of work jeans, and an oil-stained white T-shirt under a red flannel. There was a kind smile on his face, as if he hadn’t just kidnapped Dick and chained him to a bed.
“You were out for longer than I expected,” the man came closer, studying Dick like a child might a toy in a store window. “Guess I shouldn’t have given you that second dose.”
Dick was suddenly met with a vague memory of someone coming up behind him as he locked the community center’s doors, the smell of chloroform still on his mind.
“I was just worried because you started waking up during surgery and-”
“Surgery?!”
The man smiled. “Yes, I had to get those nasty trackers out of you! You understand!”
Dick hadn’t noticed at first, hadn’t even thought to look…
He held out his inner arm, examining it. Sure enough, some slightly blood-stained gauze was held in place with a few strips of medical tape. He felt for a similar bandage under the material of the sweatpants he was wearing and yes, it was present. Dick furrowed his eyes in confusion. How hadn’t he noticed? How hadn’t he felt it?
How had the man even known? He’d been kidnapped as Dick Grayson. Why would the man know Dick Grayson had trackers? The only people who knew that were…
Well, people who knew he was Nightwing. This was not boding well at all.
The man must’ve been able to read Dick’s expression because he explained. “I gave you some meds. I didn’t want you to be in pain when you woke up, and they’re pretty strong because I didn’t think over the counter would cut it and-”
“I’m sorry to butt in,” Dick interrupted, the man’s ramblings doing nothing to help his headache, especially now that he knew both his trackers were deactivated. “But who are you, what do you want, and how did you know I had trackers?”
“Straight to the point! Understandable!”
The man was pacing now, though he had to turn around and start again quite often due to how small the room was.
“I was expecting a few more quips, if I’m being honest, but I can respect that, Richard.”
“Look, whoever you are, if you let me go I won’t go to the police and we can both be home in time for SNL.”
The man laughed loudly as if Dick had just told him the funniest joke in the world. Dick was starting to feel more and more uneasy about his situation.
“There’s those jokes I know and love! Classic Nightwing!”
Dick froze, his heart nearly stopping at the mention of his alter ego. He’d feared the man knew, given the fact he’d known about the trackers, but hearing him confirm it just made everything worse.
“What did you just call me?”
The man covered his mouth as if he were a child who’d just gotten caught swearing. “Oops! So much for that secret!”
“How the hell do you-”
“I know everything about you, Richard!” The man was back to smiling as he came closer and closer towards Dick, who was trying his best to stand his ground but was subconsciously inching away from the strange man. “There’s no secret you have that I don’t know!”
Dick looked past the man and back towards the wall of photographs, finally taking a closer look at it. Yes, many of the photos were of him living his day to day life, oblivious to someone photographing him, but a few were taken off his social media profiles. However, there were an alarming amount of photographs that were of Nightwing. The news articles ranged from being about Nightwing saving Blüdhaven from the forces of evil to what Dick Grayson was wearing to the annual Wayne Gala this year. There were even a few pictures of him as Robin and a few Flying Graysons posters from various cities.
Dick forced himself to breathe. So he had a stalker. Great. It certainly wasn’t the first time someone had put two and two together. He remembered the first time he’d met Tim, though his brother was far less creepy than whoever this guy was. Maybe the guy being obsessed with him would be better, Dick thought to himself. Maybe he would be less likely to hurt him or his family, since he cared so much for him. It was a foolish thought to have, but Dick would take as much optimism as he could.
“So you’re a fan,” Dick forced himself to say, trying to keep the atmosphere light. “I can definitely autograph something on the way out.”
“Oh, you’re not going anywhere, silly!” The man’s face was far too close to Dick’s now. “This is where you live now!”
Dick didn't like the sound of that.
“Oh, no, I think you have the wrong idea,” Dick chuckled nervously. “My lease doesn’t end for another few months.”
The man laughed again, somehow even louder this time. Dick supposed he might be able to give Joker a run for his money.
“I know it's a big change,” the man drew back slightly, which made Dick's heart rate slow down a bit, but not by much. “But you'll be much safer here, and better taken care of!”
Dick opened his mouth to respond, but the man evidently wasn't done.
“I've been watching you. You're running yourself ragged these days! Pulling double shifts at that center, patrolling every night, even making the trip to Gotham when the Bat comes calling. You're wearing yourself too thin, and your so-called friends and family don't even see it! You’re getting sick, Richard, but don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
The man was back to pacing and Dick's body was beginning to tense into a state of panic, though he forced himself to regulate his breathing as best as he could. He couldn't afford to freak out right now.
“They don't deserve you, Richard. They don't love you like I do! They don't know anything about you! They don't care about you!”
“You're wrong,” Dick said through gritted teeth. “My family, my friends… They do care. And they’re going to find me and you’re gonna wish you hadn’t-”
The smile that had once been on the man's face had disappeared, replaced with a dark, threatening look. He approached Dick once more, this time much faster, and swiftly slapped Dick across the face before he could finish his sentence. His head flung to the side from both the force and surprise of the slap and he bit the inside of his cheek slightly during the impact. Dick couldn't help but think to himself that his hypothesis about the man not hurting him was very wrong.
“I know it'll take time for you to accept, but you really are better off here. I can take care of you here, make sure you’re always safe!”
Dick looked down at where his hands rested in his lap, not wanting to look at the man less he revealed an emotion he'd rather keep hidden. He was suddenly aware of the blue logo printed on his T-shirt.
It was the Nightwing logo. One of the shirts the dime a dozen tourist trap shops in Blüdhaven sold. He remembered joking once with Barbara that he should really get a cut of the profits. The shirt felt childish on him, like he was a kid pretending to be his favorite superhero. It was something that shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did, given his current circumstances, but he couldn’t stop dwelling on it.
“Maybe you need some more time alone,” the man said, suddenly back to his happy self, albeit a bit less joyful than before.
The man turned to leave, pausing only to look back at where Dick sat. He must've been a sight: his legs curled up as best as he could manage due to the chain, his bare arms awkwardly hugging his torso as he tried to mentally force his heart to stop beating so rapidly. Despite the way Dick presented himself, though, he was staring right back at the man now, a look of determination present on his face. He wasn’t going to give up easily, that was for certain.
“You'll learn to love me too, Richard. I promise you that.”
With those final words, the man left, the door locking tightly behind him.
Dick was glad the man had left the light on. It made it much easier to continue studying the unsettling shrine on the wall across from him. It was honestly the last thing Dick wanted to do, but it was his only lead and the sooner he figured out who his “biggest fan” was the sooner he could potentially gain the upper hand.
The more Dick looked at the wall the more uneasy he felt. The guy hadn’t been lying; he really did seem to know everything about him. Between the pinned up photos and articles were pieces of lined paper, all with the same messy handwriting. They seemed to be the man’s personal notes on Dick and ranged from his usual orders at restaurants he frequented to his work and patrol schedules. Dick was almost impressed by the amount of information the man had been able to gather on him, but that feeling was overshadowed by fear.
Dick didn’t want to underestimate this man. Sure, besides the whole kidnapping business and the slap he’d been pretty friendly compared to other kidnappers in the past, but there was obviously something deeply wrong with him, something Dick was in no position to fix. He’d already proven he could become violent at the drop of a hat, and Dick wasn’t looking to test his patience too much. Hell, he’d known where Dick’s trackers were. That wasn’t information readily available to just any old kidnapper. This wasn’t something Dick could just joke his way out of.
The man had been wrong when he said no one cared about Dick. He had tons of friends, both super and otherwise, who cared. His family cared. He hated the thought, but perhaps the best course of action was to wait for Batman and Co. to come busting down the doors. Dick didn’t care much for the whole damsel in distress role, but when it came to situations such as this… maybe playing along was for the best. Even though he hated it and the vigilante part of his brain screamed at him to fight back, the logical part reminded him that self-preservation was more important than his dignity.
They didn’t need Dick’s trackers to be active to find him; Barbara alone could probably trace his location in her sleep. No, his family would find him and when they did there would be hell to pay.
Dick just had to stay calm. Freaking out wouldn’t do him any good. As long as he played along as best he could, the man would probably remain cheerful and Dick would be back home in the manor before he knew it.
He just had to hold on. Just a little longer.
He’d been through worse.
“Something’s wrong.”
Tim looked up from his tablet, his bored expression morphing into one of concern.
“What’s up?”
Barbara sighed, her fingers rapidly typing on the keyboard.
“I dunno. Dick’s trackers just went dead, both of them. He wasn’t scheduled to patrol tonight though.”
“Maybe something came up,” Tim suggested, standing from his chair and placing his tablet where he had once sat.
“He would’ve told me,” Barbara argued. “He knows better.”
“Maybe something came up fast .”
“He would have told me,” Barbara repeated, more forcefully this time.
“What’s your guy’s damage?”
Tim turned, watching as Jason walked towards them, cleaning oil off his hands with a rag.
“Dick’s internal trackers are dead.”
“What about the suit’s?”
Barbara glared at the man. “You think that wasn’t the first thing I checked? It’s still at his apartment”
Jason threw the rag over his shoulder and raised his hands in defense.
“Chill.”
“No can do,” Barbara was pulling up tabs faster than Tim or Jason could keep track of them. “Dick’s the only one with trackers implanted in him. If they’re dead, that means someone must’ve known about them and cut them out.”
Jason didn’t respond, just continued watching as Barbara searched for something, anything. He wasn’t quite sure even she knew what she was looking for, though. She’d had a point with the whole tracker bit; Dick being the first Robin meant Bruce had gone a little overkill. By the time Jason had come along, Bruce had opted for putting trackers in the suits rather than in them. Despite this, Dick’s internal trackers were still very much online, or at least were . Barbara was right; it wasn’t good at all that someone had figured out that piece of classified information. Jesus, even Jason wasn’t sure he knew exactly where both were, or if Dick had even mentioned it.
“Maybe he’s home, if that’s where the suit is,” Tim suggested, though he didn’t sound like he believed what he was saying.
“Doesn’t explain his trackers,” Barbara practically growled. “Why would those go offline?”
“Maybe he had one of his moments and cut them out.”
“Why would he cut them out now, Jason?”
“Hell if I know, I’m just trying to-”
“Well, stop trying!” Barbara shouted, startling the two men. “The only explanation is that he was taken as a civilian, and if the people who took him knew about the trackers then they know about Nightwing.”
Tim closed his eyes for a moment and forced himself to take a deep breath. He knew what Barbara was implying.
“We need to find him. Fast.”
The man came back a few hours later, or what Dick assumed to be a few hours. His internal clock was usually quite good from years of experience and past kidnappings, but his head was also still faintly fuzzy due to the drugs, so he wasn’t as confident as he could have been.
“I brought you dinner,” the man said, a Bat Burger bag in one hand and a matching take out cup in the other. “It’s your favorite; a Bat Burger meal with a side of Night-Wings and a chocolate shake.”
Dick glared at the man from where he sat on the floor, his back against the side of the bed. He’d tried seeing how close he could get to the creepy shrine in hopes of maybe plucking a pin off the wall, but he only got about a foot away from the bed before the chain had reached its limit. He wasn’t sure what having a pin would accomplish, doubted it could be used as an effective weapon or to pick the lock on the cuff, but it was better than nothing.
“I’m not hungry,” Dick replied, despite knowing that wasn’t true. The last time he’d eaten had been at work, and considering the man was bringing him dinner, that had to be nearly twenty-four hours ago.
“It’s not drugged, if that’s what you’re worried about,” the man set the food on the floor where Dick could reach it. It smelled amazing but Dick refused to allow himself to take it.
“Why would I believe you?” Dick asked. He hadn’t meant his tone to be quite as accusatory, but it had come out that way despite his efforts. He knew he’d promised himself to play nice, but every instinct he had was telling him differently.
“I haven’t lied to you yet,” the man responded as he took a seat on the floor in front of Dick. “Nor will I.”
“I’ve heard that one before,” Dick said earnestly. “They always end up lying one way or another in the end.”
The man sighed as he opened up the bag, pulling out Dick’s meal and then another burger, which he began to unwrap and eat. “I’m not like Bruce or Deathstroke, Richard.”
Dick’s eyes darted towards the man, a dangerous look crossing his face. “How the fuck do you know about Deathstroke?”
“I know everything, Richard. I’ve already told you that. You really think I wasn’t aware of your time in the Titans?”
Of course it made sense. Why wouldn’t the guy with an unhealthy obsession with him know about the worst few months of his life with another guy with arguably an even more unhealthy obsession? Did Dick give off a vibe that made creepy guys want to prey on him or something?
“You don’t know anything,” Dick said uselessly, bringing his legs to his chest. “Leave me the hell alone.”
“Richard, I’m doing this because I care about you. It may not seem that way now, but you’ll understand eventually. But if you continue to resist me, I’ll have to take more drastic measures, and I don’t want to do that.”
Dick took a steady breath before extending one of his legs quickly, kicking the laid out food across the room. He relished in the way the shake splattered against the walls. The man didn’t look mad, just a bit disappointed, which was somehow worse. Dick wasn’t sure what his problem was, why he wanted to piss the guy off so badly, especially after formulating a plan to play along. He’d barely been there a day and already he was losing it.
Maybe it was the fact he just couldn’t will himself to comply, even if he was just pretending. It was easier said than done, after all. That wasn’t who he was and it somehow felt worse than any damage mentally or physically the guy could do to him. Giving in, even just for self-preservation, felt like letting the man win. He wasn’t used to this kind of routine from kidnappers. They always beat what they wanted out of Dick. They never bought him dinner and tried to be his friend. Even Slade, the master manipulator he is, never tried to pretend he was Dick’s buddy. He’d always made sure Dick knew their positions were not equal to each other.
But this guy? He was somehow scarier to Dick than every crook or gang member that had ever dared to kidnap, ransom, or torture Robin, Nightwing, or Dick Grayson. He was unstable and his intentions were seemingly innocent, but that made it all the worse. He didn’t want to know who Batman was, he didn’t want a piece of Bruce Wayne’s money: he wanted Dick all for himself. He wanted to turn him against his family and his friends, wanted to lock Dick away like a favorite toy.
And the worst part, Dick thought to himself: the man knew everything about him, even things his family didn’t know.
“Remember,” the man said, watching Dick through narrowed eyes as he stood. “I tried to be nice. I tried to be your friend. I still want to be, but it’s evident you still need some convincing.”
Dick didn’t have a chance to ask the man what he meant by those words before he clicked the room’s lights off and locked the door behind him.
It happened once Dick had finally started to doze off into a restless sleep.
A few hours prior, he’d laid back down on the bed, not having much else to do in the pitch black room. His body was in that limbo state between sleep and consciousness when he heard the all-too familiar hiss of gas being released into the room via the air vents.
“Son of a bitch,” Dick cursed, sitting up quickly and pulling the collar of his T-shirt over his nose and mouth, though he knew it was pointless. He was acting purely on instinct.
Dick hated being gassed, whether it was with Scarecrow’s Fear Toxin or whatever Poison Ivy’s latest creation happened to be. Usually when something like this happened he had his rebreather to combat against whatever was in the gas. He didn’t have that luxury this time around.
Whatever was in the gas was starting to make Dick tired. His hand that had been holding the fabric of the shirt to his face fell limp, his face now fully exposed as his eyes began to droop. Dick tried pushing himself up off the bed, but his body felt like it was full of lead all of a sudden. He was somewhat aware of the fact that the lights in the room were now on, but Dick’s head was too clouded to pay much attention.
The feeling of hands on his body initiated a sort of flight or fight instinct in him and he uselessly tried to pry the unwanted touch away, but was unsuccessful. Dick’s eyes squeezed closed as his head began to ache uncomfortably. His heart was racing in his chest and he couldn’t will himself to calm down.
“Relax,” a distant voice spoke. “It’s okay.”
Dick whined softly as he felt something sharp and uncomfortable prick his neck. His hand tried to reach up to remove the object, but it missed his neck completely, swiping at the opposite shoulder instead. There was a sudden pressure and then the object was gone just as quickly as it’d appeared.
“It’s for your own good,” the voice continued, taking Dick’s body gently to lay him back down on the bed. He could feel the blankets being tucked in around him and couldn’t help but feel somewhat more secured due to the sudden warmth the blanket provided.
“B?” Dick hummed.
Dick tried to open his eyes again but the room was spinning violently, like he was on a ride at a carnival. He closed his eyes again, a sigh escaping his lips as he finally succumbed to the drugs, the last feeling he could recall being worn hands brushing his sweaty hair across his forehead in an almost loving manner.
Jason pushed the glass door open, entering The Haven Community Center. There were a few teens milling around the main room, playing a video game on the TV or sitting at a table playing a board game. A bubbly blonde woman smiled and made her way over towards Jason. He could tell she was a little wary of him but was trying to keep up appearances.
“Hi, can I help you?”
“Yeah,” Jason rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m looking for Shawn Tsang, is she in?”
“Yes, she’s in her office. May I ask what-”
“I just need to talk to her about something.”
The woman looked hesitant. Jason didn’t have time for this. He pointed towards a hallway, his body already moving towards it.
“Her office down there?”
“Yes, but, sir-”
“Thanks,” Jason dismissed the woman, making his way down the hallway past doors with various name plates on them. His eyes scanned over each of the names, looking for Shawn’s. He couldn’t help but pause at a closed door with a name that was very familiar to him.
R. Grayson: At-Risk Youth Specialist.
Jason’s hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment before he forced himself to turn it, the door swinging open easily. The office was dark, the only light coming from the window. Dick must have left the blinds open, Jason thought as he entered.
The office wasn’t as cluttered as Jason had assumed it’d be. Dick wasn’t much of a hoarder but what little he did own always seemed to be tossed carelessly around his apartment when Jason got up enough courage to actually visit. While the desk did have some messy stacks of paper and files and the office chair had a sweatshirt thrown over it, it wasn’t too bad all things considered.
Dick’s office was actually a bit nicer than his apartment, if Jason was being honest. It felt more welcoming and Jason wondered if that was for the kids’ benefit. Among the stacks of papers that desperately needed to be put in the filing cabinet was an empty coffee cup with some motivational quote printed on it and stacks of books on child development and helping kids with mental health issues. The two chairs that sat in front of his desk had decorative pillows placed on them. There were a few plants on the windowsill, each in a terracotta pot that were obviously painted by children. The framed artwork on two of the walls were definitely all done by Damian (Jason didn’t need to see his initials in the corner, he recognized the kid’s style). They were mostly landscapes, but one Jason recognized as a watercolor painting of the front of the manor. A bulletin board took up the wall behind Dick’s desk and was covered with drawings and coloring pages done by children. There were so many that some were overlapping.
A small picture frame on Dick’s desk caught Jason’s eye. It was facing towards the office chair, so that when Dick sat down he could look at it. Jason hesitantly picked it up, flipping it around. It was the last photo they’d all taken, over the holidays. Jason remembered Alfred insisting, despite the groans and complaints he received from nearly every sibling. He also remembered Dick being one of the few who seemed to like the idea of taking a family photo, of putting on a nice sweater and actually combing his hair. Jason put the picture back, his heart aching slightly at the memory.
It was all so nice, Jason had to admit to himself. He didn’t often see this side of Dick portrayed like this. He didn’t talk that much about his day job, but Jason supposed he never really asked. Jason never really made much of an effort to talk to Dick casually these days it seemed. When Jason came around to Blüdhaven it was because he needed help with a case. Dick came to Gotham for that reason too, but he also made the trip to visit his siblings and to have weekly dinners. Jason couldn’t remember the last time he’d come to visit Dick just to hang out.
“I heard a strange man had barged in looking for me,” a voice said from behind Jason. He turned sharply to see a short blue haired woman, a smirk on her face.
“You don’t look that strange to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason offered his hand. “My name’s Jason, I’m-”
“You’re Dick’s little brother,” the woman accepted his handshake. “Yeah, he talks about you all the time. You’re taller than I imagined.”
Jason couldn’t help but blush at that. Dick talked about him?
“Shawn, I’m assuming?”
“Guilty. If you’re looking for Dick, I have no idea where he is. I’ve been calling him all day and nothing but radio silence.”
“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to see you about,” Jason said, pulling one of the spare chairs out a bit and taking a seat. Shawn followed suit, her hands folded in her lap as she studied Jason.
“Does this have something to do with his… nighttime activities?”
“So you know about that?” Jason asked, slightly amused at the choice of words Shawn had decided on.
“I used to partake myself,” Shawn admitted. “I’m retired now.”
Jason nodded. Dick had never really mentioned it before, but then again, the only time he talked much about Blüdhaven’s crime scene was when it pertained to a case he needed help on. Jason was suddenly aware he didn’t know as much about Dick as he had thought.
“Dick’s trackers went dead about thirty-six hours ago. His last location was here and I was just wondering if you’ve noticed anything strange around the center, maybe anything left behind?”
Shawn thought about it for a moment before shaking her head slightly. “No, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The only reason I suspected something was up was because he was supposed to work today. I thought his dumbass just overslept or something. He’s done that before, but calling at least usually wakes him up. His damn ringer is alway turned up, like an old man.”
“My brother Tim is at his apartment, checking things out,” Jason said, retrieving his phone from his jeans pocket to check it. Nothing. “Haven’t heard anything yet.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help,” Shawn sighed. “I know Dick’s been having a rough go of things-”
“What?”
Shawn paused, a confused look on her face. “He hasn’t mentioned it?”
“Mentioned what?”
She bit her lips. “He’s been stretching himself a bit thin these days. He’s out nearly every night on patrol, either in Blüd or in Gotham, and he’s pulling double shifts here at the center because one of our other counselors is out on maternity leave. How he’s even managing to make time to sleep, I don’t know. He really hasn’t talked to you guys about it?”
Jason suddenly felt guilty. How the hell hadn’t he realized Dick was slipping back into that all-too familiar routine of overexertion. He’d done it before in the past, so why didn’t Jason see the warning signs?
“Dick doesn’t usually talk to us about things like this. I think he doesn’t like us to worry.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Shawn admitted. “I hope he’s just out on one of his classic Dick Grayson self-discovery expeditions.”
“Yeah, me too,” Jason agreed, watching as Shawn grabbed a notepad and pen off of Dick’s desk. She wrote something down before ripping the page off, handing it to Jason.
“That’s my number. Please… call me when you find him.”
Jason liked that she used the word when, not if.
“I will,” he promised, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket. Jason stood to leave, but Shawn’s hand on his jacket sleeve made him pause.
“Bring our boy home.”
He looked back at the woman, a teary smile on her face.
“I will.”
He hoped to God he wasn’t lying.
Dick forced himself to blink his eyes open, though it seemed like an impossible task. His entire body felt weird, almost like it didn’t belong to him. He tried to remember where he was, what had happened. He couldn't remember. Why couldn’t he remember?
“Richard, I know you must be confused.”
Dick’s eyelids felt heavy despite the fact that the rest of his body felt so light. He swayed slightly in place, his back against something hard and cold. When he laid his head back, though, he was met with something much softer, probably a pillow.
“You have to understand,” the voice sounded so far away but Dick could feel a hand on his forehead, as if checking his temperature. “You were sick, Richard. I had to give you medicine.”
“M’dic’ne?” Dick slurred, his tongue feeling as if it’s grown twice its size.
“Yes, Richard. You have a fever, you’re sick. But I’m going to take care of you.”
“Hmm,” Dick closed his eyes again as the hand cupped his cheek. Dick couldn’t help it; he leaned into the physical touch.
“We’re going to try eating, okay? We don’t want an IV in, do we?”
Dick shook his head, wincing as a headache overcame him. The gentle hand brushed his hair back, tucking the stand behind his ear. The hand left and Dick whined at the sudden lack of contact.
“Shh, it’s okay,” the voice said, the hand coming back to brush Dick’s hair. “Let’s try some applesauce, okay?”
Dick felt something cold on his lips. He tried to turn away but the comforting hand moved his head back to where it had been.
“Just a few bites, Richard, please.”
Dick hesitantly opened his mouth, allowing the spoon to enter.
“Good, Richard.”
Dick couldn’t help but feel a weird sort of pride at the praise he received, though he wasn’t really sure why. Maybe the voice had been right; maybe he was sick. He certainly felt like it. Dick couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this awful. He didn’t get sick often, but when he did it was always terrible. Fever, shakes, body aches; the works.
He’d been working too hard lately, maybe that’s how he picked it up. Or maybe one of the kids. It didn’t matter, he just wanted to go back to sleep.
“One more bite, Richard.”
“Go aw’y, B,” Dick grumbled, though there was no bite to his words.
The spoon was persistent, though, and Dick forced his mouth to open once more.
“Good. That wasn’t so bad, huh?”
“Sleep,” Dick responded.
There was a chuckle, then two strong hands on Dick’s body, gently laying him back down on the bed.
“Get some sleep, Richard. We’ll try a bath when you wake up, okay?”
Dick didn’t respond. His eyes were closed as he made himself comfortable.
“I love you, Richard.”
“L’ve you, B,” Dick said, almost too soft to hear.
He was already half-asleep when the man stood from the chair he’d brought into the room, a cup of applesauce and spoon in his hands. He smiled at Dick, but it wasn’t a kind one. No, it was much more possessive, like he wasn’t looking at a human being but an object that belonged to him.
“I told you,” he said softly to the sleeping man. “I told you that you’d love me.”
“There was nothing at his apartment,” Tim said, removing his bike helmet before dismounting. “Nothing out of the ordinary, at least. Five boxes of cereal is pretty par for the course when it comes to Dick.”
“Shawn didn’t have anything either,” Jason confirmed. He watched as Tim made his way over to where Jason and Barbara were sitting near the Batcomputer. Barbara hadn’t even looked up when Tim came in.
“Any word on Blüdhaven’s top bad guys?” Tim asked, looking over Barbara’s shoulder.
“Dick wasn’t working on anything big,” Barbara said, her fingers still typing. “I contacted Captain Svoboda, but she just confirmed that for Blüdhaven, things have been pretty quiet ever since Nightwing helped take down Blockbuster.”
“So basically we still have nothing,” Jason looked like he wanted to punch a hole in the wall, but he was exercising excellent restraint.
“The trace I’ve been running on his cell is almost ready.”
“Why didn’t we do that to begin with?” Tim questioned.
“I-”
Whatever Barbara was about to say was interrupted by a beeping noise coming from the Batcomputer. She clicked the mouse a few times before a map with a pinpoint appeared on one of the screens.
“His phone’s about two blocks from Halyard Square, in Blüdhaven.”
“That’s nowhere near the center,” Jason said, confused.
“Or his apartment,” Tim added.
“Sending the coordinates to your guys’ phones. I know you two just got back, but can you-”
“On it, Babs,” Jason squeezed her shoulder slightly before making his way over to where his and Tim’s bikes were parked. They were gone in a flash, leaving Barbara to stare at the screen alone, feeling just a tad bit useless. She had to remind herself that just because she couldn’t be out in the field didn’t mean that she wasn’t contributing.
“Jesus, Dick,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Where the hell are you?”
Dick woke up a little less out of it. His head was still pounding and he still felt like he’d been hit with a truck, but he was a little more coherent. He was aware of the fact that he was sitting up and that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He looked down in confusion as a damp sponge made small circles on his bare chest.
“Good morning.”
“What-”
“Shh, Richard, you’re still sick.”
There was a hand in his hair and Dick recoiled, confused. His eyes finally focused as he blinked the sleep away, watching the man in front of him carefully.
“Who are you, get off-”
Dick tried to push the man off of him, but he’d been right: he was still sick. His body wasn’t obeying his brain’s commands and he could barely concentrate enough to even think about fighting the man off.
“I think you need more medicine.”
Dick turned his head away, his eyes meeting a wall covered in papers and photos. It all came back to him in a second.
“Get the hell off-”
Dick saw the flash of a needle moments before it made contact with his neck. He tried to rip himself out of the man’s strong grasp, but whatever had been injected into him was working fast.
“W-what… what did-”
“I’m going to take care of you, Richard, but you have to let me.”
“I don’t-”
“Shh, Richard,” the man was forcing Dick’s body back down onto the bed. Dick tried to sit up but both the man’s arms and his own body stopped him. His head was becoming fuzzy again and he knew he only had maybe a minute or two left before he fell back asleep.
Dick could feel his arms being moved to his sides before what felt like soft leather was wrapped around his wrists. He groaned, trying to pull his arms free, but there was resistance now.
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself or take out your IV,” the man said, using the sponge to wipe some sweat from his forehead. “I’m sorry, Richard.”
The last feeling Dick had was the sharpness of a needle entering a vein on his arm. He closed his eyes, the man’s words becoming too distorted for him to make out as he allowed the drugs to take over once more.
“Umm, Babs, about the location you sent us to…”
“What is it, Tim?”
Tim sighed deeply. This was going to suck.
“It’s some dumpsters outside an apartment complex.”
“Hmm. Better get digging, boys.”
“Oh, when I find Dickhead he’s so gonna get it,” Jason muttered, his arms crossed over his chest, annoyed.
“A little trash never hurt anyone.”
“Tell that to Luke Skywalker in New Hope,” Tim muttered, taking his jacket off and discarding it on the least dirty-looking surface in the alleyway.
Jason shoved the lid open, letting it bang against the brick wall.
“Babs, can you call Dick’s cell, see if it rings?”
“Yeah, fingers crossed it isn’t dead.”
They waited for a few seconds before the muffled sound of music began playing from inside the dumpster. Jason took a deep breath before pushing himself up on the rim of the dumpster, vaulting over the side. He groaned as his boots hit bags of trash. He looked back over at Tim, who hadn’t moved.
“You coming?”
“Maybe I should help from out here-”
“Tim, get your skinny white ass in the damn dumpster or so help me God-”
“Okay, fine! Keep your hair on!”
Tim grumbled as he swung one leg over and then the other, jumping down to join Jason. The two began the world’s worst game of Hot and Cold, digging through bags and discarded cardboard. The music was becoming a bit louder as they tossed bags over the side. Jason took his pocket knife out of his jeans and slashed a bag open, spilling out someone’s kitchen trash.
“Ugh, gross!”
“Shut up, I can’t hear the phone with all your complaining,” Jason dug through discarded Bat Burger take out bags and other miscellaneous garbage before retrieving Dick’s ringing cell phone.
“Bingo.”
Tim pushed some more trash around, his stomach dropping at what he found.
“Jason,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft and hesitant. “These are…”
Jason looked up from Dick’s phone, his blood running cold. Tim had found clothes; a pair of ripped khaki slacks, blue tennis shoes, and a polo with the Haven’s logo on it, a metal name tag still attached to the fabric.
“Babs,” Jason forced himself to breathe. “We found Dick’s work clothes.”
“Shit.”
Tim passed the clothes to Jason as he kept going through the bag, hoping to find a clue as to where Dick had gone, or perhaps who had taken him. Dick wouldn’t have thrown his work clothes and cell phone into a dumpster himself; someone else had to have. Tim had been pretty positive someone had taken Dick, that he hadn’t cut his trackers out himself and disappeared, but it also wouldn’t be the first time Dick had gone AWOL. He didn’t want to think his brother would do that again, but a small, terrible part of him couldn’t entirely rule it out.
“Barbara, I found some medical waste. A sharps container, some bloody gauze. Maybe we can get some DNA off of it.”
“Tim.”
Tim looked over at what Jason was holding. They were tiny, so small Tim wasn’t sure Jason would have found them if they weren’t wrapped in blood-soaked gauze.
“Dick’s trackers. Fuck, Babs, we found Dick’s trackers.”
“Jesus, okay. You guys said you’re by an apartment complex, right?”
“Yeah, why’s that matter?” Jason asked, his voice slightly agitated.
“Well, who’s to say whoever took him didn’t bring him home?”
“You think they would be that obvious?” Tim questioned, his hands gripping the bright red sharps container like a lifeline. “I mean, the guy was smart enough to cut Dick’s trackers out. Right?”
“Yeah, but overconfidence is a bitch.”
Jason and Tim shared a look.
“Okay, Babs. What’s the game plan?”
Dick was sick of waking up from a drug-induced sleep. It always made him feel groggy and left him confused as to where he was. A stupid, naive part of him kept expecting to wake up in the Batcave’s medical bay, with Alfred tending to his wounds and Bruce telling him to feel better soon. But they were never there. Dick either woke up alone or with the strange man whose name he still didn’t know.
“How… long?”
Dick hated how weak his voice sounded. He was so thirsty, but all the hydration he required was given to him via an IV. Sometimes the man gave him ice chips to suck on, but it seemed to be used more so as a reward for good behavior. Dick was unsure what counted as good behavior, if he was being honest. The man kept him so drugged up he could barely tell left from right on a good day, but he could tell he was starting to get a little used to whatever it was he was being injected with. He couldn’t tell if that was due to Bruce’s past training or if he’d been with the man so long that he was building up a resistance.
Whatever it was, it made Dick sick. He’d had a fever for at least a few days now and could barely keep broth down without feeling the need to vomit. Dick had a feeling he knew what the man was doing, but he wasn’t sure if knowing made everything better or worse. If he kept Dick sick and dependent on him, he was far less likely to try and escape or harm the man.
Classic case of manipulation. Dick wasn’t an idiot, but God did he feel like one every time the drugs took hold and he allowed the man to hold him and brush his sweaty hair back. He couldn’t help it; he was desperate for touch, to be cared for. His brain was often so cloudy that he didn’t even know who was with him. On more than one occasion he’d thought it was Bruce.
But Bruce wasn’t here. His family wasn’t here, no matter how much Dick wanted them to be.
“How long since what, Richard?”
Dick sighed as the man forced another spoonful of broth into his mouth. He was sick of broth. He shouldn’t have kicked that chocolate shake across the room. God, that felt like years ago. He’d kill for a chocolate shake.
“Since… How long…”
“You’ve had a one hundred and four degree fever for a few days now.”
“Not… no…”
“Shh, you need to rest, Richard.”
Dick furrowed his eyebrows, wishing not for the first time that his brain would form the correct words.
“Who… get off…”
“Richard, you’re becoming agitated because of your illness. It’s not your fault, but if you continue to, I’m going to have to give you some medicine to help you sleep.”
“No!” Dick turned his head sharply away from the man, his heart beginning to race. “No, don’t! No!”
“Richard-”
“Leave me alone! I want-”
“Richard, please-”
There were hands on him now, and it was just making everything worse.
“Get off! Let me… go! Let go!”
The hands disappeared and Dick thought for a split moment that maybe the man had left, but he was never that lucky. With his head still turned, he could see the man injecting something into his IV line.
“Don’t, please, I’ll be… good, please, no-”
There was a hand in his hair. He hated how good it felt. Why did it have to feel so good?
“It’s okay, Richard. We’ll keep trying.”
Dick felt a tear run down his face. He wasn’t sure, but he was pretty sure this was the first time since he arrived that he’d cried. He wasn’t sure exactly what that meant for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care all that much.
Maybe that was a scarier notion than crying.
“I analyzed what was left of the liquid in the sharps container, as well as the blood.”
“And?”
Barbara hesitated. “The blood’s Dick’s. No doubt about it.”
Jason sighed. “Okay. And the syringes?”
“That one’s a little more complicated.”
Barbara pulled up a few tabs with what Jason assumed to be chemical compounds. He couldn’t say he completely understood all of it, but he recognized some element names. He wasn’t completely hopeless.
“The liquid is a new pyrogen of sorts. There’s not a ton of information on it, but from what I can tell from its chemical makeup, it’s a fast-acting fever inducer. Works faster than anything I’ve ever seen before.”
“So it makes you sick?” Jason asked.
“Yeah, basically. Makes the victim feel flu-like symptoms, but to the max. Fever, chills, nausea, fatigue; the whole kit and caboodle.”
“Could be how they’re keeping Dick under control,” Tim suggested. “It’s harder to fight when you’re trying not to puke.”
“Anything else? Any other DNA?”
“There’s some partials on the syringes, but not enough to show up in the database. Whoever they belong to might not even have their prints on record. I’m gonna keep trying, but don’t expect a miracle.”
“I thought that’s what you did, Babs. Perform miracles.”
Barbara looked at Jason, unamused. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”
“Maybe. Tim and I are gonna patrol around the apartment complex, see if we can find our boy, or at least something more concrete. Stay on comms?”
“I always do.”
Tim was already on his way to get changed, and Jason was about to head over himself when Barbara’s hand on his forearm made him pause.
“Jay?”
He paused for a beat. “Yeah, Babs?”
“Please find him.”
Jason put his hand on Barbara’s hand. “You know I will.”
“I know, just…”
“I know,” Jason finished. “I know.”
Dick was trying to kick the blanket off of him. Despite shivers overcoming his entire body, he felt like he was on fire. The chain around his ankle was getting wrapped around the blanket and Dick was beginning to feel overwhelmed.
“Off,” he mumbled, his eyes closed tightly as sweat dripped down his neck. “Off!”
“Richard, what’s the matter?”
“Get it off!”
“Richard, you’re going to tear your IV out-”
“Off!”
Dick’s arms struggled against the restraints. They only seemed to overstimulate him more as he tried in vain to remove the blanket.
“Too hot, please-”
“Okay, Richard, it’s okay. I’ll get some water for a bath, okay?”
“Too hot,” Dick moaned, the side of his face shoved into his sweaty pillow.
“I know, Richard, I’ll remove the blanket, but I’ve already taken off your shirt and pants. We’ll get you a cool bath, okay?”
“Just… go…”
Dick felt a hand touch his burning hot forehead and he whined in protest. The room was too hot, everything was too hot. Why couldn’t he get up? He wanted up!
“I’ll be right back, Richard.”
“B!” Dick cried, his voice breaking. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t care how weak he sounded. He just wanted to feel better.
“Shh, Richard, please-”
“B, please don’t leave me, I’m sorry.”
“I have to go get water for your bath, Richard. I’ll be right back.”
Dick felt tears prick his eyes, mixing with the sweat against his flush face. Why was he leaving? Couldn’t he see Dick needed him?
The feeling of lips on his hot forehead did little to comfort Dick as he was left alone once more, his body shaking violently as he tried in vain to curl in on himself.
“Anything yet?”
“There’s nothing out of the ordinary. Just a normal night in Blüdhaven.”
Tim had binoculars in his hands, looking into each window of the apartment building from on top of the convenience store across the street. Jason was on the roof of the building next door, practically vibrating at the chance to crash through a window.
“C’mon, there has to be something.”
“I already sent in Oracle’s bugs, Hood, what more do you-”
“Shut up, you two, I’m getting something!”
Jason and Tim obeyed, waiting for Barbara to patch whatever she’d heard through to their comms.
“-get better. You have to relax-”
“Please, just stop-”
“Dick,” Tim’s voice whispered over the comms.
“Oracle, get me a location!”
“Third floor, hold on-”
“On it.”
“Red Hood, hold on, let me get you a unit number before you bust down some poor old lady’s door!”
Tim had used his grappling gun to swing his way across the street and onto the roof of the apartment building. Jason had beat him by a few seconds, the door to the stairs already unlocked via a bullet.
“Okay, the bug’s camera got me a number. Unit four C.”
“Copy, going in.”
Jason and Tim raced down the stairs, only pausing slightly to read the numbers on the floor signs. They reached the third floor quickly and Jason kicked the door down, even if it was overkill. If Tim had an opinion on it, he didn’t say, opting instead to make his way down the hallway.
“Try not to draw unwanted attention,” Tim said, trying his best to keep up with Jason’s long strides.
“When do I ever draw unwanted attention?”
“Um, like every single day of your life?”
“Whatever.”
The two made it to the door, pausing for a split second. Maybe it was due to the fact they weren’t used to going through the front door, or maybe it was because they had no idea what they’d find.
“Ready?”
Jason didn’t look at Tim. He tilted his head slightly before removing his gun from its side holster, shooting the doorknob off the door. Tim was just glad he had a silencer on the damn thing.
“It could’ve been unlocked, you know,” Tim rolled his eyes as he pushed the broken door open.
“Guess we’ll never know.”
Tim and Jason entered, looking around the apartment. It seemed normal, all things considered. It didn’t look like the type of place a criminal would hang out at, but they both knew looks could be deceiving. The sound of something clanging against a hard surface, most likely the floor, rang out from down a hallway that connected the rest of the apartment to the kitchen and living room.
They moved fast, rushing down the hallway towards the only open door positioned at the end of the hall. There was light coming from inside and they could hear muffled cries. Tim tried to ready himself for anything.
As it turned out, very little could have prepared either of them for the sight.
Dick was naked, save for a pair of blue boxers, his ankle chained to the wall and his wrists wrapped in leather cuffs attached to the bed he laid on. His body was shaking and drenched in sweat, his eyes closed tightly as he tried his best to shove his face into a sweat-soaked pillow. The bed sheets were also terribly sweaty: it seemed like the only thing that wasn’t was the strange man sitting in a folding chair next to Dick’s bed, running a wet sponge across Dick’s flushed, bare skin.
“Get the hell away from him,” Jason said, his voice almost mechanical from behind his helmet. He had a pistol pointed at the man’s head, but it didn’t seem to phase him much as he turned, a disconcerting smile on his face.
“I was wondering if you two would show,” the man dropped the sponge, not seeming to care that the basin of water he’d been using had been turned over, spilling water all over the floor.
“I have to say, though. I expected Batman.”
“Sorry, you’re stuck with us,” Tim replied.
“I understand. Mr. Wayne is a busy man, after all.”
Jason forced himself not to drop his gun in surprise. Tim, however, let his surprise show slightly. The man was still smiling as he tilted his head towards the wall next to him.
“Take a look, Mr. Drake.”
Tim looked at Jason, silently confirming he had the situation under control, before he turned his attention to where the man had gestured. It looked like one of their case boards, though Tim knew better.
“Hood-”
“Oh, please, we’re all friends here. You can call him Jason-”
Jason swung his gun sharply against the back of the man’s head before aiming it once more. Remarkably, the man stayed in the chair.
“I’m not your fucking friend. What the hell is this?”
“That’s for Richard, so he knows I care.”
“What-”
“I’m the only one who cares!” the man raised his voice. “None of you came to his aid until he disappeared! None of you cared that he needed you until it was too late! I take care of him, not you! You don’t love him like I do!”
“You’re insane,” Tim said, his eyes not leaving the wall. “Jesus-”
Jason had seen enough. He grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to his feet and against the wall.
“Red, cuff this freak and tell Oracle-”
“No!”
The man swung around quickly, fast enough to take them by surprise and grab Jason’s gun from his hands. He was shaking with rage as he pointed it at Tim and then Jason.
“Whoa, hey-”
“No! You won’t take Richard from me! He needs me, he’s sick!”
“He’s sick because you drugged him.”
“No, I give him medicine to make him better!”
Jason had his hands raised. He wanted to go for his second gun, but he was also standing in front of where Dick was laying. If the guy wasn’t a good aim (and with the way he was shaking, Jason doubted he would be) he could easily miss Jason and hit Dick. Jason might be wearing bulletproof padding, but Dick certainly wasn’t.
“You can’t keep Dick here, man,” Jason said, taking a step towards the man. “He doesn’t belong to you, to anyone.”
Jason hoped to God Tim was planning something in that genius brain of his.
“No,” the man nearly sobbed. “No, if I can’t have him then you can’t either!”
“Hey!” Jason took another step, not liking the wild look in the man’s eyes. “You don’t want to hurt Dick. You care about him, right?”
The man took a moment to breathe before nodding. “I’m all he has.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve created this elaborate fantasy in your head, but it’s one-sided. Dick doesn’t want to be here, look at him.”
“Hood-”
Jason ignored Tim’s warning. “Look at him. Does he look happy? Does he look healthy to you, like he’s getting better?”
The man turned his eyes away from Jason and to where Dick laid. The man was trying to force his eyes to stay open, but he was too exhausted, his fingers weaky gripping the sheets underneath him. He was taking shallow breaths, broken only by the occasional coughing fit and incomprehensible moan.
“Richard,” the man looked broken, like he’d finally seen what he’d done. “Oh, Richard.”
The man raised the gun to his head and before either Tim or Jason could stop him he’d pulled the trigger, falling limply to the ground as blood mixed with the previously spilled water.
“Well, I guess on the bright side we don’t have to worry about him telling people about our secret identities,” Jason said humorlessly.
“That’s not funny,” Tim said, though his usual snark wasn’t in it.
“Whatever. Start taking the sicko’s shrine apart.”
Jason removed his helmet, tossing it aside on the folding chair as he made his way to Dick’s side. He quickly unbuckled the leather cuffs and took off one of his gloves so he could feel Dick’s forehead.
“B?”
Jason paused, meeting Dick’s teary blue eyes. The older man looked confused and Jason doubted he was thinking clearly. He wasn’t sure if Dick had any other drugs in his system. They’d have to wait until they got back to the Batcave to be sure.
“No, Dickie, it’s Jason.”
Dick smiled, his eyes closing for a moment before opening again.
“Jay. Hey.”
“Hey yourself. Tell me what hurts.”
Jason wasn’t expecting the question to agitate Dick, but he began to curl up, his arms wrapping around his bare torso.
“No more… medicine. I’ll be g’d.”
“No more medicine,” Jason confirmed, trying not to let his heart shatter into a million pieces. “We’re going home, okay?”
Dick hummed, his hand reaching for Jason’s. Tim had made quick work of the board, moving now to pick the cuff around Dick’s ankle. He frowned at the redness that circled Dick’s too pale skin.
“H’me?”
Jason positioned his arms under Dick and lifted, hating how light he felt. He probably hadn’t eaten much the few days he’d been gone, maybe even for a while now. Alfred wouldn’t like that one bit.
“Yeah, Dickie, we’re going home.”
Dick buried his head into Jason’s shoulder as Tim tucked the stack of papers under his arm, grabbing Jason’s abandoned helmet and glove for him.
“Th’nks, Jay.”
Jason looked at Tim, who was making a point not to meet his gaze. The kid was trying to busy himself by talking to Barbara over the comms, requesting that she send some uniforms over to the apartment after he made sure no other evidence of Dick’s captivity remained.
“I got this. You take him back to the manor and I’ll meet you there.”
“You sure-”
“Go.”
Jason usually liked arguing with Tim, but his heart wasn’t in it.
“See you soon, then.”
Jason exited the room, his grip on Dick tightening as the man finally fell into a natural sleep, his hand still gripping Jason’s leather jacket like he might disappear if he let go.