Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Is there some unwritten rule that all secret, evil,  laboratories have to be in some awfully dark and dreary place that makes it damn near impossible to get any form of vitamin D? One evil lab; on an island, with sandy white beaches…is that really too much to ask for? 

Honestly at this point, Dick had seen enough sketchy medical lab facilities that he could write an entire library of horror screenplays. 

An abandoned secret facility in an underground system below ground? It’s agonizingly unoriginal. After Cadmus, the Court of Owls’ labyrinths — Hell, even Killer Croc with the winding sewer systems that spread out underneath the streets of Gotham… it feels like underground lairs must be part of the curricular for “Evil 101”. Do bad guys have to pay off their evil student loans? 

Dick cautiously padded through the dark corridor that lay condemned and abandoned for who knows how long. Judging by the mildew and mold that creeped across the tiled walls; it did not bode well for OSHA upkeep and regulations. He could see the yelp reviews now: ‘ 1 star; unsanitary medical conditions. Would not recommend being medically experimented on at this location.’

As if to prove his point; a rat scurried hastily in front of his stride; veering off into a branching tunnel that would become the vigilante’s next destination in this impromptu urban exploration that he wound up tangled in. 

Let’s go investigate the suspicious power grid that appeared underground they said…it would be fun they said…

There wasn’t even a “they”...

 He was in this alone; no backup; no emergency plan… truly off to a great start on that horror screenplay with Dick as the lead role.

In retrospect, not one of his brighter ideas… but it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice in the matter at the time being. 

His family was still angry at him— He wants to say understandably so, but it’s still shitty of them to incorporate the ‘excel at everything’ mentality that was ingrained in every child vigilante raised by a man dressed as a bat. Grudges and anger was no exception. Despite this; Dick was not going to deny them the space that was needed from him; the boundaries and walls that they put up to block themselves from the damage Dick caused to the dynamic. It’s the least he could do to start to fix things. 

It’s always up to the eldest to patch things up; isn’t it? —

Why did it always have to be him that needed to reach out? 

Sure; he could go on the coms and request back-up– but he doubted that would be a decent icebreaker to start up communications with his family— did not work the last twelve times he attempted that strategy . Besides, Dick wasn’t really in the mood to placate angry family members with apologies that fell upon deaf ears today. His already crumbling self worth probably couldn’t withstand even some of the more subtle insults that the bat family was notorious for.

The upsetting part is that it really wasn’t even his fault. He knew this. Well..kinda.  It is more that there is the smallest flicker of acknowledgment that it wasn’t his fault— but after repeatedly being denied his side of the story; it’s hard to keep those embers of self respect burning.

Dick misses his old self in times like these. Where he had a roaring fire that refused to be snuffed out no matter what was thrown in his direction. Sure; he was quick to anger in those times; but Dick would honestly love to feel an emotion that wasn’t depressive bitterness.

Dick’s attention shifted as he stared at a rather peculiar splotch on the wall to his right; hoping that the grotesque looking blemish was mold or rust and not blood.

The lack of bones and corpses gives the vigilante an essence of hope that it is not biohazardous material, but Dick will not be risking the removal of his rebreather mask to test that theory.  Without the mask; Dick truly questioned if he would be able to stomach the stench that this facility more than likely emitted. 

He is genuinely surprised that even a rat would want to live in this squalor.

Squalor? If only Jason were here to acknowledge that his inner monologue’s vocabulary was growing. All the ‘mandatory classic literature reading’ family bonding sure was bearing fruit. Jason would be proud.

Damn; Dick really misses his family.

A sigh manages to shakily pass through his lips–strained  and  exhausted with defeat. Thinking about them now wasn’t going to get the task at hand done any faster.

Dick turned left into the tunnel. While there was a blip on the power grid showing that there was indeed power running through this place;the ceiling lights gave only enough light to see about a foot in front of you at best. The flickering every eight seconds wasn’t helping too much either in terms of visibility.

Hope the rats that live down here don’t have epilepsy. 

Dick fiddled with the night vision setting on his mask before continuing down the corridor. It wasn’t long ; maybe twenty or so feet until it reached the end; but the foreboding steel door that laid at the end which seemed to be ripped from the hinges wasn’t something to take lightly. Not thrown across the hallway; but clearly broken off and then placed back almost comically as if no one would notice that it was broken.

Back-up might be more valuable than pride at this point. Dick might be at an all time low and has made a lot of questionable choices; but he wasn’t suicidal. Maybe it didn’t have to be his family..there are other means of help besides Batman and Company.. would Superman hear him if he shouted?

Movement echoed eerily from the shadows of the door that obstructed the full view of whatever was in there.

Would whatever broke that door hear him if he shouted?

More movement.

 closer; faster..

And there was the rat that entered a few moments ago; exiting from where it came in a full on bolt underneath Dicks legs and continued to who knows where.

Dick’s muscles which he didn’t know were tensed; relaxed only a little. His brothers would definitely get a good laugh at him if they knew he was jump scared by a rodent. One would think that spending a lot of his life in a cave filled to the brim with literal bats would help him acknowledge between a threat and a small creature.

Rodents carried the plague a long time ago; he reasoned with himself. And rabies..rabies could be threatening.

The vigilante took a few more moments to get control of his breathing before returning his attention back to the door. No other movement was heard; just the low hums and sparks of the light fixtures on the ceiling that were begging at this point to be put out of their misery. If Dick found the generator that was giving this facility life support; he’d shut it off and let this place rest. No need for some electoral fire or explosion to make a butterfly effect on the world above this place. God forbid another giant sinkhole that swallows up entire streets… like underground lairs— that also seems to be quite the common occurrence these days; no wonder insurance and cost of living is skyrocketing.

The long silence from the door must have given Dick a false sense of security; that or he was more suicidal than he’d originally anticipated; because he was now making his way closer to the door.  

Considering the thickness of the door; the vigilante doubted he could move it on his own. However; there was a nice human size gap that with Dick’s flexibility; would not be all too difficult to slip into. 

And so he did; contorting himself ever so slightly to fit himself through the gap. Yes; it was a stupid decision to go in alone. But that just was it wasn’t it? He was alone and there was no one there to tell him it was stupid. There certainly was no one there to stop him either.

It was a ‘future Dick Grayson’ problem at this point.

The hallway behind the door definitely was more ‘lab facility’ compared to the rest— Containment units; lab equipment…

Dick was pretty sure he was up to date on his rabies and tetanus shots— but he would definitely be checking when he got back home.  More splotches on the walls made Dick wince. His years as a vigilante; police officer, and his time undercover with Spiral— it doesn’t really leave much to the imagination. It wasn’t mild; or rust..

It was caked on blood that dried with time. 

Still no bodies could be seen;  though judging by the size of the stain; Dick wasn’t too optimistic that it was because the one who made it walked out of here alive. 

Then spotted the clothing; lab coats scattered throughout the facility; bloodstained and tattered.

Whatever or whoever was kept in here; certainly put up quite the fight. 

Dick leaned closer to examine the clothing; taking pictures with his mask cam. 

Something rustled again in the corner; but this time Dick did not jump. Instead he pivoted in the direction of the sound. It was soft; repetition of small feet. Another rat most likely. 

When he turned, what  greeted Dick was a rat that was the equivalent size of a small dog. 

But, it wasn’t the size of the rodent that was concerning . The creature was oozing from the mouth; its eyes not a typical beady black; but a milky white.

Yeah; that was definitely infected with something. What? Dick was not going to get close enough to figure out.

He took a deliberate, slow step backwards; and then another. His eyes remained locked on the rodent, which didn’t move from its spot; but its head followed his movement. Dick slowly grabbed for his escrima; not one above using the rodent as batting practice if it decided to lunge at him.

“Nice place you have here.. very homey. Loved what you did with the place.” Dick spoke up; not sure why talking to the rodent was the decision he decided upon. It’s not like the thing could understand him. “ I’m guessing you weren’t a fan of the people in here” the rodent could have been a test subject for all he knew; it wouldn’t be a stretch by any means. Scientists sure did love their unethical animal testing. “ but I’m not one of them; I was just taking a look around. I won’t bother you anymore.” 

Yes; try to reason with a rat infected with some sort of unknown disease—

Dick was only a few feet away from the door when the rat started to move; convulse. It fell to its side writhing as more of whatever was oozing from its mouth began to puddle around its body in a black mass. 

The whole ordeal lasted only about twenty seconds; but now it was silent again. And while Dick was literally about smack the rat across the room if it had approached him; he now felt almost bad for it. It didn't choose thIs; it was probably just struggling to survive; and now it’s dead in some underground hellhole.

“ Sorry,” he shakily breathed out; feeling the need to acknowledge the loss. To acknowledge its death so it would know it did not die alone. ” I’m sorry…” it felt hollow even to his own ears.

Dick doubted he was going to be able to stomach anything for a while after this…He was tired of looking at death, of witnessing it. He winced and turned his eyes away from the unmoving corpse of the rat; as if he was staring at the sun.

He needed to get out of here. He couldn’t breathe— his chest felt like it was hammering inside of his chest relentlessly. 

The black puddle moved; slowly spreading out at first. Soundlessly reaching out across the ground in web like tendrils. 

It launched itself at the vigilante.

Chapter Text

Dick was no stranger to headaches. 

But right now; stumbling through back alleyways felt like a Herculean task. He leaned against a brick wall; the cool stone only faintly alleviating his clammy feverish skin.

Whatever flung itself at him— he didn’t react fast enough— landed on his chest but then disappeared like nothing happened. Dick had checked his suit, checked his body underneath it; but came up with nothing. No blemishes; no scratches; no weird markings; at the time..no pain. He was beginning to wonder if it was a hallucination from his less than favorable sleeping habits. 

Now; he was beginning to curse his past self for being too optimistic, as a fever was wrecking his body with each step. Aches and chills never made anything easier in this line of work— any work really.

There were protocols for this— he ignored them. He’s still ignoring them as he is infected with who knows what that rat had.

Dick gently raised a hand to his face as ugly memories of that rat reeled its way back into the front of his mind.  The vigilante wiped his face with baited breath then brought his hands  to his line of sight to examine his gloves. 

Clean.

 No blood; no black ooze.

A good sign all things considered, but he doesn’t know how long that rat had been infected before showing those symptoms; he could very well be already fighting a clock. But right now, he was just exhausted, too tired to be phased by another death timer.

That should concern him more; shouldn’t it? Or should he acknowledge that this wasn’t even a drop in the bucket of how many times he had experienced life or death situations? He had died once, even if just for a few minutes. Maybe he just became desensitized by it at this point.

His mind wandered back to the rat, which he really hated that it kept popping up so much for something so small. It’s not like he hasn’t seen death before; he's seen plenty, caused plenty…why did that rodent phase him more than the thought of his own demise. The shrill squeaking, the desperate gasps for breath as it writhed and squirmed as if choking on the very breath it needed to survive. How it laid motionless and filled the room with a silence that was so heavy that it took air out of Dick’s own lungs; made his heart shudder in an empathy he thought he shoved down and compartmentalized. 

Was that how he looked when Luthor made his heart stop? Did he look that desperate? 

It doesn't matter.. He is alive now; and the rat in the laboratory was dead. It is that simple, he needs to stop dwelling on it and get back to the task at hand. 

Thoughts of the ordeal linger, despite trying to distract himself with something else. It is hard to focus on other things when his brain is muddled with fever…Should he not be writhing in pain rather than just a little disoriented with a fever? Should he not be drowning on an unknown substance? There was no sign of blood or ooze on the rat afterwards; like it had just died of natural causes.  Did he imagine the black ooze? It was a pretty messed up hallucination if that was the case— why would he hallucinate an animal being tortured? Was the screeching just ringing in his ears? 

 For all he knows; he could have gotten some brain eating bacteria from stepping in areas that had stillwater. Death by puddle would be probably more embarrassing than death by rodent; but Dick could not count it out of the list of possibilities. 

He really should have gotten to a computer down there and downloaded as much data as he could have from that lab so that he could at least get some hint on what they were working on, but it was hard enough just trying to think clearly and crawl out of there. He probably wasn't in the right headspace at the very start of this mess.. Bruce would have quite a few words to express how much he screwed up if he ever finds out about this…and being a man of very few words, Dick knows that each one will be a devastatingly harsh blow. If he survives the night of— whatever this is..he will have to go back to that hellhole and actually do what he had originally intended —to somehow redeem himself for something Bruce hasn’t even known he had done.

Maybe the bat already knows; it would not surprise Dick in the slightest to find the man lurking in the corner of his apartment; demanding a debrief before he could even set one foot into his window. 

His knees decided that now was as good a time as any to stop communicating with his nervous system and buckled underneath him. The vigilante not so gracefully ate the dirty street beneath him.

“ Great..” he hissed through clenched teeth ; the fall increased the pounding in his scull; so much so that black spots were lingering in the corners of his vision. For a moment, Dick thought it was the same substance that poured out of the rat. Shaky fingers brushed against the concrete; they came up relievingly dry and unstained. It barely gave him a sense of reprieve, but he almost wanted to see that there was something physically there..that he wasn't imaging the whole thing and that he was going off the deep end. Maybe there was some sort of fear gas that was in the laboratory; though Dick did not remember there really being any clouds of smoke, and he had the rebreather mask on. Maybe it was the mold…or again rounding back to the idea of the still water.

“Okay..I just need to—“ he pulled himself up off the ground; breathing ragged. “ Get back to the apartment..” 

Now , the real next step should have been getting to a doctor; Leslie probably…

But thinking logically was apparently out of the question. Besides;  whatever was going on– he didn’t know if he was contagious; if whatever this was could endanger more people.

He needed to isolate himself. 

He wanted to be comforted by someone; always did when he was sick.

He needed to access the symptoms and make notations.

He wanted to sleep for a week.

He needed to actually tell someone that he had fucked up monumentally.

He wanted to make sure no one found out; to hide his shame.

He needed help.

He wanted his family. 

He needs his family….

What he needed was a damn miracle to not fall and break his neck when he climbed the fire escape of his apartment. He scolded himself for his internal whining as he glared at the building in front of him. One step at a time; he will figure the rest of this mess at a later time. He needs to prioritize.

Dick jumps for the metal ladder , gripping the last bar of it tightly. He hung there for thirty seconds before dropping to the ground again with a small groan. Pulling himself up clearly was not in the cards today; his muscles were aching just from the brief moment he was holding onto the lower bar of that ladder. 

“ New plan then..” he muttered as he glanced around the alley.

 While in most cases he would probably scold the apartment residents for obstruction of fire safety; he could metaphorically kiss them for leaving piles of boxes and empty crates littered about for him to stack up. Hopefully there won't be a fire before he is well enough to clean the clutter up. The vigilante stacks the crates up just enough to stabilize his weight and reach the height of the ladder. 

Climbing through the window of his apartment left Dick with another side note of needing to actually reinstall a security system. Not that he could actually pick a lock in this state— so it worked out in the end in its own round about way. 

Dick closed the window sluggishly, his breathing strained as if he had just ran a marathon. He made it into his apartment, which was pathetically a high accomplishment in his eyes at the moment.  He was relieved that there was no looming shadow of the bat in any corners of the complex either.. A win indeed. 

What was it that was next on the list? Shower? Sleep? He probably should strip out of his suit and burn it after all the shit he stepped in and rubbed against— but he was going back there.. And it is not like he can easily replace a Nightwing suit these days; with his usual ‘supplier’ likely to question what happened to the old one. 

A heap on the floor it is then, to be thought about at a later time. Dick peeled it all off, not liking the slopped sound it made when it hit the ground. He should shower next; but he really didn't trust himself to keep footing that was already wavering steady on a slippery surface. He should really invest in some shower mats; but they always are too gross to clean after a few too many times cleaning off blood from his injuries. Dick is already grateful that this apartment didn't have carpeting, he knows damn well that he already would not be getting his deposit back on this place; but blood and carpet was always a pain in the ass to clean up.

So instead, he just dragged himself to the bedroom; grabbed the first pair of sweats and sweatshirt he could find and got himself dressed. If you could call stumbling around and smacking his side into the dresser a few times getting dressed. But the sweatshirt was warm; comforting in a way that only lounge clothes can offer. Dick glanced at the mirror that hung near the bed only for a brief moment thinking he should have looked in the mirror to evaluate any injuries before getting dressed,but he was not going to attempt the dressing himself twice.. His side was already throbbing from nailing the corner of the dresser. Besides, he didn't need it to know that he probably looked like shit; so he decided to not bother.

His stomach twisted in a pain that could only be related to hunger. He ate today.. Didn’t he? 

Before Dick could even comprehend that he started walking to his cramped apartment kitchen, he had the fridge door open, glaring at the pathetic excuse of its contents. 

Did it stop him though? Obviously not as he went for a jar of dill pickles that dick could have sworn came with the apartment from the last tenant. Probably not his proudest moment as he shoved his hands in the jar and scarfed down what was left in the jar. Alfred would certainly have disapproved.

Dick didn’t even particularly like dill pickles, but right now it tasted as if it was the best thing he had ever consumed, even drank the juice that they were swimming in.  They did not stop the feeling of starvation though, he moved on to the freezer, just as unsatisfied with his findings. Dick grabbed a package of tater tots, squished into the corner with layers of ice that formed like a protective coating.  He brushed off the ice and reveled in the package as if it was an archaeological discovery.  With how long the package was in there, it very well could have been. He opened the package and shoved the frozen chunks of tater tots into his mouth like popcorn.

In the back of his mind, he knew there was clearly something wrong with him at this point, but his desperation to fill the hunger was dominating over any reason. Now, he was wondering if he was even stopping for air to breathe.

Once the package was basically ravaged, Dick was finally able to take a step back and look at the disaster of ice and hunks of frozen food that missed his mouth that laid at his feet. He hated himself for how tempted he was for a moment to eat those pieces off the floor. He was still hungry, but it was more manageable, enough to feel dread creeping in. 

What was happening to him?

Chapter Text

He woke up with a jolt at the sound of his phone blaring an alarm.

That couldn’t be right— when did he fall asleep?

Waking up when you don’t remember falling asleep is always more disorienting than Dick liked; and even if he did wake up to a familiar ceiling; it wasn't a comforting view.

Did he pass out? He was on his couch, which he had to admit was better than the floor but just by a marginal amount. Again, he knew that this was his apartment, but it did not ease his mind in the slightest.

His heart was pounding in his chest; his body unconsciously tensing for an unknown enemy that more than likely didn’t exist. 

He’s been through this before; he needs to take a few deep breaths, recess his surroundings; do a perimeter check if needed to quell his overactive internal danger awareness.

The feeling of safety was rare in his life and paranoia was embedded pretty much in the vigilante’s soul. Dick supposed he could thank Bruce for that one.

That’s not really fair to Bruce— there were many factors, it wasn’t right to blame Bruce for his own shortcomings…

He did this to himself; he was the one who destroyed his relationship with everyone— and now here he is; waking up alone in an empty apartment.— He isn’t quite sure if he is glad that the place is empty or not. Yes, there is no one trying for his life; but on the other end there is a void of silence that wants to swallow him whole.

Dick feels like the world is crashing down on his chest..but that might be the fever. That could also be why he felt tense in the first place. Passing out on the couch never boded well for his back. 

Yeah; he was just being a little dramatic..the world isn’t ending; he is just —sick. He was sick and he just needed to suck it up and carry on with life because it wasn’t going to wait for him to take a breather…never has.

On the bright side— after his impromptu nap; the feverish chills were gone.

On the not so bright side; they were replaced with heat that festered under his skin. 

Memories of last night flooded back to Dick; pulling him from his state of grogginess. He sat up quickly; which wasn’t the best action for his head, but that wasn’t important. 

He pulled himself up; pulling up his sweatshirt sleeves and inspecting his arms. 

No blemishes still. Dirt and grime; yes— but nothing out of sorts. Again, he could have imagined the whole thing… he did pass out on his couch that sleep deprivation very much could have taken a big role in —  and the fever.

Dirt and grime was manageable; and a cold shower actually sounded amazing. His footing was more stable today; so he is willing to risk it. If he splits his head open at this point slipping in the shower..well; it’s not like his headaches could possibly get any worse.

He probably just jinxed himself, didn’t he?

Dick moved to the bathroom,stumbling a bit before pausing a moment in confusion. At the new sensation of wet socks.

Why was his floor wet?

Right, the frozen tater tots. He still needs to unpack that whole issue… needs to clean his floors too while he’s at it.

Thawed out chunks of potatoes were sporadically dispersed over the entirety of his kitchen floor. Dick tried to push the thoughts of temptation to eat the crumbs off the floor. Why the thought even crossed his mind horrified him, but he needed to ignore it and compartmentalize it. 

Usually when he is sick; he tends to shun food all together. Why was this time so different?

Dick placed a hand on his stomach; which gurgled in protest. The hunger was still there, but it was manageable enough to ignore for the time being. He really needed that shower.

Should he risk going out to get food? He probably should still stick with isolation protocols; just in case this was actually something more than a bug.

His journey to the bathroom continued; the first thing he did was peel off the wet, debris-filled socks on his feet and threw them to the corner of the small bathroom that barely fitted a shower, sink, and toilet. 

After that, Dick took a moment to look into the mirror; again to verify that there was nothing out of the ordinary.

As he predicted; He looked like absolute shit. Despite “sleeping” for a few hours— the dark circles under his eyes were almost dark enough to look like someone had slugged him in both eyes. He wonders if any amount of sleep at this point would ever get rid of them; he highly doubts it. It was just another trait of a vigilante at this point. 

Nonetheless, other than his sickly pallor and desperate need for a shower and a shave, Dick confirmed that there was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Yeah..Absolutely normal; just ignore last night’s fiasco with the expired food..” he muttered to himself, leaning closer towards the mirror that hung over the bathroom sink.

For the briefest of moments, the blue of his irises  disappeared and were replaced with a milky white. 

Dick yelped, jumping backwards in recoil. His footing compromised and tripped over the toilet . And in a domino effect; proceeded to land in the shower tub bluntly grabbing for the shower curtain as he fell; which did little but to snap off the rings from his weight. He nailed his head hard on the porcelain.

“Shit!” his vision was blurred in the corners and his head rang in absolute protest. He really did jinx himself on the comment that his headache couldn't get worse. His hand went to the back of his head, wincing at the already tender spot. Nothing felt wet; so at least he didn't split his head open; but a concussion was still in the possibilities. “ Just perfect” he grumbled as he grabbed the rim of the tub and hoisted himself back up, kicking away the shower curtain that was now draped at his feet. 

It took another moment to steady himself before looking back at the mirror; glaring intensely at the reflection that stared back at him with equal intensity. His eyes were blue; like they always were. Not white, not like the rat in the lab… it was just his fevered brain playing tricks on him. 

It was all in his head right?

Dick took a deep breath, his glance lingering at the mirror for another minute before turning on the sink faucet and cupping his hands underneath the running water. He let the water pool over in his hands and then leaned his face over the sink bowl, splashing his face with the cool water.

It felt amazing. It cooled off the heat that was radiating off of his cheeks, dulled the throbbing behind his eyelids ever so slightly. He ran wet fingers through his hair, down the back of his neck— anything to help cool himself down more.

While a shower would definitely have served the purpose better, after whacking his head on its floor; Dick wasn’t all too eager to step inside it. With his luck he would slip and nail his head again; that just seems to be the kind of day it was going to be. He will try again tomorrow with hopefully better luck and coordination on his side. 

He was already testing his luck as he went to grab the razor to shave the stubble that was scratching at his skin. He paused and put it back down; he would deal with it for another day or so, it’s not like he had to look “put together” for anyone today. It was not worth cutting his face accidentally as his vision was slightly doubled and blurry from smacking his head so hard. 

Dick’s phone rang from the other room.

His phone never rang anymore…other than the occasional telemarketer or scam call  here and there, but they don’t really count. He is not quite to the point of loneliness that he would start up a call with someone trying to tell him that the warranty on a car that he has never owned has expired; though some days he will admit that it is tempting.

He slowly made his way back to the couch where he had left his phone, not making any real effort to get there in time. It did not help that things were still spinning a bit either.

The phone stopped ringing by the time Dick reached it, returning to its normal silent state. The missed call notification banner flashed upon the screen with a number that made Dick’s stomach drop.

He knew that number; It was Jason’s  number. Jason called him and he didn’t pick up! But Jason never calls him, how was he supposed to know that it was going to be him that called?

Dick fumbled for the phone, snatching it up and clicking the notification banner, redialling the number at breakneck speeds.

Jason answered on the third ring. “ Finally going to grace me with a call? Do you have any idea how many times we tried to reach you by your com link?”

Dick’s com link? That was turned off for weeks at this point “ I …er..” Wow, after months of not speaking to each other, this conversation was going about as smoothly as sandpaper “ Turned them off?” Why did he just admit that? He could hear the low growl from Jason emitting from the other line.

“ Turned them—  The fuck you mean you turned them off?” he snapped 

Well It wasn’t like any of them reached out to him on the com links before, despite Dick’s attempts to reach out first many times prior. Dick quiet, leaving the bitter thought to fester at the tip of his tongue. There was no point to lash out. This is an opportunity, an olive branch. The olive branch might have barbed wire wrapped around it, but it was an olive branch nonetheless, and Dick would be damned if he didn’t reach out and grab it. “ What’s up Jason? Why the call?” ‘you never call’ is left unsaid, but it was pretty heavily implied in the tone he used—  the concern was not masked in his tone. 

“ Get your com turned on and get on the secure line.” Jason’s tone was short, strained. And without any other indication of saying more, he hung up the phone, the line going dead.

Dick sighed,tossing the phone back on the couch and proceeded to head over to his suit that was still in a heap on the ground where he had left it last night.

He should have figured it was vigilante related. There would have been no other reason for his family to reach out to him. Hell would freeze over the day he would get a call from any family member just asking how his day was.

Though Jason calling instead of Tim or Damian was still putting the hair on the back of his neck to raise. Jason was at the very bottom of the “most likely to call” list. Considering the fact the man slugged him in the face when he returned, Dick just assumed that Jason would rather walk in Crime Alley barefoot than have a conversation with Dick. 

Dick put the com link in his ear, hesitantly turning it on. He knew that more than likely he was going to be the proverbial punching bag of his family’s harsh remarks. “ Nightwing online.” 

“ Mass Arkham breakout. All hands on Deck.” Straight to the point it seems. “ Get your ass over here and do your damn job! Red Robin, Batman, and Robin are already on the scene but with the release of fear-gas bombs, it is a shitshow in regards to crowd control.” Jason bit out, Dick could hear the sound of a motorcycle engine roaring in the background. 

DIck winced at the thought of managing to drive in his current condition, let alone fight in it.. But his family needed him right now, and despite the rough waters he currently was in with them; he wasn’t going to turn his back on them. 

“ I am on my way.”

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Author Note!

Hello everyone!! Just wanted to say thank you again for all the support! I love seeing the comments of what you all think so far and all the kudos!

On that note, sorry that it took so long to update; The irony of it is that I myself was sick with what I am assuming was the flu and am just getting back to feeling normal again. 

Other news, which I realize I never stated in prior chapters...

I do Have a Tumblr !

And I do dabble in art and make doodles! Don't have many for this fic yet, but please do enjoy!

They will probably find themselves in the ongoing chapters here and there from this point onward, but you will likely see them on my tumblr first.

Also, for your enjoyment; I am compiling a few songs into a spotify playlist that go with this Fanfic's vibes:

Feathers Dipped In Pitch Playlist

Hope you all are doing well. See you in the next update! Probably will not be one until next week as Wednesday is my birthday and I am going to treat myself for surviving another lap around the sun!

Till next time!

- Firstaid_Kit

Chapter Text

It could have been because he just recently nailed his head on on the floor of his shower, but the noise that Gotham City provided, felt like it was amplified ten-fold. It had Dick’s head pounding even worse, and made the fact that he even managed to drive to Gotham even more of a miracle.

Today was filled with miracles it seemed-- actually waking up, Jason of all people actually calling him, not flipping his car in a ditch… He hoped he had not used up what little accumulated luck he had managed to scrounge together  in a single day. 

Needless to say, the fact that Dick made it to Gotham in one piece surprised even himself. Surviving the rest of the night may be another story, but he will jump over that hurdle when he gets there. 

“Your suit tracker states you made it. You are needed at the docks, Scarecrow and Killer Croc are in that area, more than likely have shipments of fear gas in one of the warehouse facilities on the docks. We don’t need more out on the streets tonight, distributing antidotes is prolonging cleaning the streets up. ” Tim’s voice rang in his ear. Despite the throbbing of the com sounding in his ear, Dick could not be any more thrilled to hear his brother’s voice. He missed this, concussion be damned. “ Robin and Batman are tailing Ivy and Penguin, Redhood is going after Deadshot. Riddler is unaccounted for but I am tracking him down currently along with doing crowd control with Oracle.”

“ Loud and clear, Red Robin . Heading there now.” Dick responded, despite the dire situation of an Arkham breakout, he had found that the muscles in his shoulders eased ever so slightly. It was wrong of him to wish that this crisis would last longer than tonight, but he could not help himself. There was a selfish joy that tickled in the back of his brain at the actual acknowledgment of a family member, no matter how brief the conversation.

He was wanted.

He was needed.

He was not going to fuck this up, no matter what it took. 

Dick didn’t make any other remarks. No small talk, no quips or jokes; he was not going to break the fragile olive branch presented to him. He wasn’t going to give any of them a reason to pull away today, even if at the end of this his family will return to their estranged distancing. Would they talk to him after this? 

He can’t think about that right now. He needs to focus on the task at hand. He needs to go to the docks.

Killer Croc and Scarecrow… Not a team-up that Dick had really considered going well dynamic-wise; but then again it was really just a typical brains and brawn situation if one looked at it objectively. Though, Dick was highly doubtful he could take on Killer Croc in his current state. Hell, Scarecrow isn’t known for combative prowess-- but just a few hours ago Dick could barely stand.

Task one: take down Crane before more fear gas is released. Task two: don’t get eaten by a giant lizard man with a bite force that can rip him in two.

Easy. He’s got this. He has one more miracle in him today…he hopes.

Reaching the docks was a mild affair all things considered. Despite the chaos surrounding everything else in the city, the docks almost seemed a stark contrast with the eerie silence that was almost as thick as the fog that surrounded its murky water. 

Dick put his rebreather mask on, not needing to be dosed with fear gas in addition to all of his other ailments that already plagued him. The fever was still causing his body to be uncomfortably hot, his suit encasing his bodyheat in an almost insufferable greenhouse effect. Was it better than the chills prior? Dick was beginning to doubt it.

The desperate temptation to take a dip into Gotham harbor flooded his mind as he warily glanced at the polluted water. 

For all he knows, Killer Croc could be wading just underneath the surface. He would be absolutely a dead man if that were the case. Water is Croc’s element..willingly stepping into it completely ruins the vigilante’s second mental goal for tonight.

So… no water. He will just have to internally cook until this is over, and then have yet another attempt at a shower. 

He probably should do some grocery shopping too before the shower, he knows for a fact that there is now officially nothing left in his apartment. His stomach gurgled in agreement at the thought.

Scouting warehouses first, then he could deal with personal needs. 

Mission is always first.

Dick always appreciated that the dock warehouses were numbered; it made things systematically easier to recon. Of course, there was the fact that some numbered buildings did not exist anymore as abandoned warehouses on docks tend not to have stable foundations. Previous fights on the docks had its fair share of toppling buildings and Dick honestly wonders why villains like to put up operations at the docks. Seriously, it is going to be one of the first places that will be checked by vigilantes and the law; it sometimes feels like the villains are half-assing their schemes. 

Doesn’t seem like the case this time however. No canisters, no Scarecrow, no killer Croc and he was already thirty minutes into his search. Irritation was rising; not because he was itching for a fight by any means, but because he felt that his time could be used elsewhere. His family could be in danger right now, and here he was skulking around, peeling cobwebs off his suit after another empty warehouse. 

So much for being useful. “ Nightwing here, no signs of Crane or Croc; they may have deviated from the docks. O, I know your hands are full, but any sign of them on cams?”

“ You’re right. My hands are full.” Sharp, irritated, exhausted. 

Dick flinched at the tone, but held his tongue. He understood very well that Barbara was just as equally mad at him as the rest of his family. Being pulled in every direction right now was not exactly helping Dick’s case with smoothing things over either. An apology was already forming at the tip of his tongue before Barbara spoke up again.

“ Last seen making their way to the Docks on cams.”

“ Maybe good ‘ol Nightwing needs his eyes checked. Can’t possibly be missing a Giant lizard.” Retorted Jason over the coms. The sarcasm was thick.

Dick was about to actually consider jumping into the harbor now and use himself as live bait if that is what his family wanted him to do in order to find them. “ Have a few more warehouses , will report back once all are cleared.” He ground out, a flicker of anger rising at both Jason’s and Barbara’s tone. It wasn’t like he was out here twiddling his thumbs and doing nothing.

He pushed the anger down as fast as it had surfaced. Usually such remarks were brushed off easily and without any fanfare. The spike of emotion threw Dick off guard; but the vigilante summed it up as just being exhausted. 

And hungry.

That hunger still did not seem to ease up any bit on the ride to Gotham. But with his luck, one of his family would swoop in when he was grabbing a snack for the road and berate him for not taking this job seriously. He could imagine the livid look on Oracle’s face if he stopped at a food cart or convenience store to grab a bite.

Now, his insides felt like they were eating themselves and he was in the middle of an empty warehouse with no food in the vicinity. Dick chewed the inside of his cheek in frustration. Scarecrow better show themselves soon, because Dick is finding out rather quickly that “hangry” is an actual thing and he might take it out on the rogue with a few extra punches to the face. 

He needed to take a deep breath. He needed to remain collected. Anger makes missing things. Missing things makes for big mistakes.

Deep breath in…hold.. Let it out… repeat.

And now to the next warehouse.

Same results; absolutely nothing. Killer croc has the entire sewer system to their disposal, It really would not be surprising to not be here at the docks. Not that Dick could express this over coms. He would just have his head bitten off again.

There was a hum however. Faint, muffled; something that might be looked over as electrical if Dick wasn’t confident that the power in Warehouse 46 was out of the question by the looks of its deteriorating fuse box that had probably one of the largest undisturbed bundle of cobwebs he has seen in quite some time. It was something new at least to look into. He shifted his direction to follow the sound.

“ New surveillance of Scarecrow Spotted at Grant Park.” Oracle imputed. “ Dock’s were a false lead.”

Dick felt his eye twitch. He should not be expecting an apology on Barbara’s end, but a little acknowledgment that he was actually right would have been nice. 

Then there was the unaccounted for humming sound coming from deeper in the current building he was in. While Crane wasn’t at the docks; Killer croc may still be , and not investigating could lead to more trouble later down the road if it actually ended up being something. 

“Suspicious activity in the warehouse I’m in. Doubt there are any visuals due to the electrical being out of commission.”  Not that he was really in the mood now to have Oracle in his ear at this point.

“ Report findings once you’re done. Penguin and Poison Ivy are detained. En route for Scarecrow.”

Dick did not recoil  at the sound of Bruce’s voice. He didn’t… He ignored how is mouth went completely dry and how now his hands were twitching in a nervous energy that he could not willingly quell.

He needed to respond. He needed to act like everything was normal. Just another patrol; just another night…

But it wasn’t normal; he made that clear the last time..that things would never be the same between the two of them.

Deep breath in…hold.. Let it out… repeat…

He needed to think about the rest of his family. Lashing out now would not keep them safe. It would make things worse…way worse. He needed to swallow his pride, stomp out the internal anxiety and fear-- it is not important right now.

Was it ever?...

“ Going silent, I will report back in fifteen.” He hoped that his voice was even. He cannot let his distress slip through his tone.

He turned off the com-link. His ears felt like they were ringing and his chest felt tight. 

Deep breath in…hold.. Let it out… repeat.

He needed to get a hold of himself. How is he supposed to do anything if just the sound of Bruce’s voice was causing him to completely spiral?

Deep breath in…hold.. Let it out… 

Deep breath in…hold.. Let it out… 

Deep breath in…hold.. Let it out… 

The ringing stopped. His chest was still aching and his heart was pounding against his ribcage ruthlessly; but the initial disorientation went away.

Dick took a shaky step forward, the ones that came after slowly became more anchored to reality. The humming noise got louder as he approached, enough so that it could be identified and better categorized as singing. Opera music to be more specific. Passionate, enthusiastic, and overall disturbing to hear in the middle of the night in a deserted warehouse.

Dick let an irked groan escape his lips. He really did not need this right now.

The vigilante slunk over to a stack of large crates and made sure that he was shrouded from view, turning back on his com-link. “ It’s not Killer Croc at the docks.” he muttered quietly into the link. “ Why didn’t anyone report that Pyg was out of his pen?”

______________________________________________________________________

Author Note!:

Thanks again for all the feedback. This chapter is a little bit of a filler chapter; but note that the next chapter is most likely where the  "descriptive violence" is gonna start to happen. Never wrote a fight in my life really, but I used to dabble in gore; so be warned? I never really posted any of those works so I actually do not know if they are any good haha. I also feel like Professor Pyg, while a less known Gotham rogue— feels like would go with the vibes I wanna go for— especially with a variable like Venom.

Anywayysssss

Again here is my Tumblr

And here is some Chapter 3 doodles:

Hope that everyone is doing well and hope to see y'all soon!

-Firstaid_Kit

Chapter Text

Of all the interactions that Dick had to encounter; it just had to be Lazlo Valentin of all people.

There was just something that was about the man that left Dick disquietly itchy under his skin. 

Perhaps that it was because in a sick and twisted way; Both he and Pyg were cut from the same cloth. Well, maybe not the same cloth.. But perhaps the same clothing line.

They both in a way were byproducts of Spyral after all. Lazlo was a chemist with them; lost his mind testing chemicals; very on brand with mad scientists. The man’s reality slipped to the point of no return, twisting his mind and morals into a perverted and dark perception of how the world is supposed to function.

But what about him? 

Would Dick have lost his mind if he remained trapped in Spyral? He was no longer Agent 37, he had managed to separated himself from Spyral-- not that the victory of doing so was endorsed in a positive light by the rest of his family-- 

“ Playing spy” they called it. Simplified, watered down with no depth into the madness and desperation the whole ordeal caused.

Dick sometimes wonders if he had already lost it; staring in the mirror sometimes at a face that feels foreign to him despite being his own-- the edges of reality fraying; shadowy hallucinations in the corner of his vision and the mocking whispers of his dead sibling…

No, Jason is alive. Dick had just spoken to him a few hours ago.. That was not a hallucination.  That was real, despite how brief the moment actually was. 

It was an interaction.. It was grounding..

Dick Grayson was alive

And despite not fully recognizing him in the mirror most days-- he was real. 

Nightwing stepped silently closer to the sound of muffled singing and towards suspiciously placed utility shelves and workbenches. The edges surrounding the workbench illuminated in contrast to the dark warehouse-- a thin pale line; exposing the secret room that they were hiding. The dust and debris of the warehouse floor cleared in the familiar arch shape of a hinged door. 

There was simply no way in which Professor Pyg broke out just today. Hidden doorways, despite how unmistakable this one appeared to be, took time to create.

Now all he had to do was find the handle--A single hanging wrench upon the wall of the otherwise empty workbench. 

For Pyg proclaiming to be of higher intellect , Dick found it a little too obvious; but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Again, he turned off his coms; not wanting to listen to Oracle or Red Robin stating that it was impossible for Lazlo Valentin to be out as it was in the records that he had remained in Arkham. 

He didn’t want to risk the chance of empty static when trying to get in contact. The vast silence when Mr. Malone-- when Bruce would not answer his desperate begs to come home.

This is Bird-Watcher… 

He is no longer Bird-Watcher.. He is no longer Agent 37.. He is Richard John Grayson.. He is alive.. He is Dick Grayson and he is alive…

 A shuddering breath escapes his lips as he regains himself.

Dick will turn the coms back on after he drags Professor Pyg out from his little hide-out. Perhaps he should maybe even throw in a “ I told you so “ to make up for the one he held his tongue on for the Scarecrow scenario just a few moments prior. He had felt he earned that right to be a little petty at this point; and the constant ache for validation was not quite helping either…but he was already skating on thin ice as it was and that would be taking a metaphorical ice pick to said analogy. Tim and Barbara will go over Arkham footage soon enough and see that  Pyg was not where he was supposed to be. Will they admit they are wrong? Recent patterns are pointing to no..but Dick knows at the end of it he will forgive his family regardless.

He always does. 

The true question at this point was how long the evil surgeon was actually roaming the streets. 

How many victims was he inevitably going to find when he opened this door? 

How much more blood is going to be on Dick’s conscious by the time this is all over?

Dick grasped the wrench firmly and pulled it downward; the locking mechanism echoed in the warehouse as it unlatched but the vigilante knew that the music within would drown out the sound of the secret door opening. He stepped into the entryway, squinting as his eyes adjusted a bit at the newfound light source.  It was muted, but it made the back of his eyes ache in protest. A result of his concussion probably. 

He hastened his pace inwards, feather-light steps as he walked down a short hallway. The scene in front of him parallels the secret lab and the uncanny resemblance resonates in the back of his mind as his eyes focus on blood splattering on the concrete walls; dulled with age but still vibrant and clashing against monotonous stone. Unlike the lab this was more recognizable, more obviously human. Handprints and footprints that staggered and lead to drag lines stamped into the floors and walls leave little to the imagination as he continues into the opening of the first room. 

Cages. Eight of them to be exact…Currently empty.

 Blood-soaked floors; the crimson smearing on the bars-- previous captives desperately trying to pry the bars for a means to escape. 

Dick squeezed his eyes shut. Screams in his ears that he knew were not there. It was all in his head… he cannot change what had happened here, despite the vehement desire that he could.

Dollotrons… victims of Lazlo who were stripped of their autonomy, tortured and gruesomely experimented on at the whims of a mad man. 

It was a fate worse than death. Once they were altered; there was no way to return them to how they previously were. They will remain the mutilated mindless flesh that Lazlo deemed to be “perfection”.

His fingers trembled with a deep pitted anger. 

Anger at Pyg for committing such heinous acts.

Anger at Arkham for never keeping their shit together and keeping said mad man under wraps.

Anger that it took this long to find out that Lazlo was missing. 

Anger at himself for not being able to do anything for the victims…

But he cannot beat himself up over it..not right now.

He cannot save them, but he can prevent more victims. That was what was important right now. Mission first.

The vigilante walks past the cages, swallowing a bit of bile that rose in his throat. Once again feeling the faintest reprieve that he was wearing his rebreather mask, not wanting to think about the smell that this warehouse of horrors was emitting. 

The music swelled; growing louder and louder with each step. More rooms branched out of the first room with the cages, bloodied  power tools haphazardly thrown to the side and what he had assumed was clothing in tatters in the corner. 

An operation suite with a heavyset man in butcher attire and a pig mask hunched over the operating table, scalpel in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other. A severed leg tossed aside to the floor with a squelching gurgle and a splat as it hit the ground.

“ No no no no--” Squeal “ Failure. Pyg will fix you. Pyg will make perfect! Perfect Dollotron! Pyg will make you better, much better! Pyg promises!”  Lazlo hums giddily as grab a different leg,one that was graying with necrosis. The man stared at the newly acquired limb before shaking his head in dismay. “ No no no! This will not do. Pyg cannot use THIS!” The bloodied meat cleaver  was gingerly placed onto a tray that was on a wheeled cart to the man’s left. The tool was replaced with a crude suture needle in one hand and a pile of gauze trimmings in the other. “ Need to find better parts. Pyg will find you the most perfect parts! “

There was no screaming roars of agony; just the singing and squealing blubbering that escaped from Pyg’s mouth.

Dick had hoped that the person on the table was just unconscious. Not lobotomized.

He however, did not move from his spot. Despite the grotesque scene… Lazlo was a surgeon. They would stop the bleeding in their leg. Coming out of the woodwork now could very well leave the victim on the table to bleed out before Nightwing could subdue the rogue and make a tourniquet for the leg. He hated waiting, but he needed to put the priority of the victim’s life first. If there was any way to increase the survival rate; he needed to take it.

Instead, Dick stared at the leg that was laying on the ground, blood sluggishly pooling from the severed limb.

His stomach churned in protest; but not in the normal response of nausea. No; it was churning in anticipation, a hunger that terrified Dick more than he wanted to admit. 

It wasn’t normal; something was clearly wrong with him. He should not have come here. He moved his hand and clenched at his stomach, glaring at it as once again the hunger pains rippled through his body. He needed it to stop; he needed to focus on the life in front of him!

“Please..” he whispered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “ I promise after this I will go and buy mounds of food to eat… please.. Just..stop..” a faint gasp rattled through his teeth as he desperately tried to do everything he could from making himself compromised, biting his tongue to the point of a flood of iron filling his tastebuds.

The stabbing sensation, like it never happened, abruptly stops. Appealing to Dick’s pleas to stop.

It was concerning that it stopped; that he had somehow willed the pain away. But he cannot take the time to contemplate it. Pyg was finishing sewing and wrapping the now amputee. 

There was no option at this point to stay hidden; Dick bolted into action, grabbing a wing-ding and hurling it into the direction of Lazlo, landing its mark and embedding itself into the mad surgeon’s forearm.

The cleaver fell to the ground and the opera was drowned out by pained wailing mixed with rasped squealing.

Dick rushed them, grabbing his escrima sticks and jabbed it into the man’s flank, twisting and pressing the button that released the electricity. 

The wails grew louder as Pyg convulsed and collapsed to the floor in a heap of dead weight. It was over before Pyg could even acknowledge that Dick was there. The efficiency was welcomed. Dick did not need things to go more awry than they already were.

He grabbed handcuffs and kicked Lazlo with more than needed force to get the unconscious man onto their portly stomach. Dick pushed back the satisfying feeling that welled up in him looking at the charred circle on the fabric of the butcher jacket. He should have increased the voltage more; he heard that shock therapy was all the rage these days. Dick sneered at the unconscious rogue in absolute disgust; the anger flaring up inside him again. He shifted his weight and pivoted on his back leg before following through and kicking their head like a soccer ball. There was a gratifying snapping sound and a groan; proof that the poor excuse of a man was still alive; but there was a part of Dick that wished that it had gone flying like a real sport ball. He shoved the dark thought down, trying to ignore the lack of guilt he should definitely have felt for it even crossing his mind.

He got onto his knee and handcuffed the man behind his back, the metal clasping around the wrists and the flesh surrounding it a darkening red from lack of circulation. But Pyg’s comfort wasn’t what Dick needed to focus on; he whirled around to face the operation table, checking on the victim. He placed his index and middle fingers into the side of the man’s  neck, just below the  jawline to check for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. Dick let out a breath he was not aware he was holding. He would not be sure of the mental state of the victim until they woke up; but they were alive… Dick probably should grab the leg; there might be a chance, slim as it may be, for real surgeons to re-attach it.. But it wasn’t like there was a giant bucket of ice just hanging around in an abandoned warehouse… 

Dick turned away from the man, going to grab the leg with hopefully something that wasn’t his own gloves.

“G--gahhh” a groan followed by a shrill shreik “ D..Dollotrons!!”

The sound of scraping metal on metal, Swift movement out of the corner of his eye as he watched the man on the table jerkily sit up and grab the meatcleaver.

The sound of cracking bones as the cleaver broke into Dick’s clavicle with the downward swing. 

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Author's Note!: 

Hello again Everyone! Hope you are all doing well!

On ta side note of this lovely cliff hanger that I had left, I just wanted to once again let you all know that it makes me incredibly happy to see all the positive comments in response to this fic! So much so that I have recieved my first fanart.

Nightstar2009 Fanart [X]

Like I stated on my tumblr, I welcome all fanart and will hang it on the fridge like a proud parent on this fic.

Also; as I feel I need to add some of my own fic related art to the end of this: Here is the very first concept art I made that started this whole thing:

 until next time!,

~ Firstaid_Kit