No Pulse
Batman fanfic, Dick Grayson-centric, whumpy, fear toxin, mistaken for dead, mistaken for enemies
Posted on AO3 and under the cut here.
Dick hadn't anticipated this night getting so messy, but when did he ever? He'd hit his emergency alert the second he'd realized that there was fear toxin on the premises, but his comms unit had gotten knocked off him in an earlier fight, so he had no idea when backup might be arriving. Too late, that was sure. Dick knew he'd already inhaled too much for his liking and the clock was ticking before his brain started seeing things that weren't there. It rarely effected him as bad as it could, but Dick wasn't a fan of even the toxins mildest of effects.
With no backup and less time, Dick did what he was best at. Improvise.
Actually, everyone in his family would probably disagree with that statement. Dick kicked over the last can of gasoline and flicked the lighter.
"Nightwing?"
Dick froze when Damian's voice came from the doorway, but it was too late. The sparks caught and Dick chucked the lighter in favor of barreling towards the bright suit.
"Damian!" Dick screamed. "Get away from here!"
Damian backed up, but not fast enough. Dick was crashing into him, scooping him into his arms as the flames grew and an explosion sounded. They were both thrown to the ground and Dick rolled, losing his grip on Damian.
"Ah, shit." Dick muttered, laying in the rubble. Okay, maybe that wasn't a great idea. He raised his head and ignored the pounding in it as he scanned for Damian. There. Limp and quiet, not too far away.
"Damian?" Dick shuffled closer, pulling Damian closer to him. The boy flopped limply in his arms and Dick fought off a wave of guilt induced nausea. This was his fault. He should have known that someone was looking for him and would get caught in the mess.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
Dick was running out of time. Every moment he hesitated getting back to the cave was a moment the toxin could seep into his body and warp his judgement. Dick tried to focus on the things he knew were real. The building was in flames. There were still baddies on the loose, and close. Damian was unconscious.
There was a fast approaching screech and Dick winced. The toxin was making him more sensitive to noise. He wondered if the goons knew that, and were trying to weaponize the sound against him. Distract him. He wouldn't let it work. Setting Damian gently on the ground, Dick surveyed the scene. He'd hesitated too long and he was surrounded. It was a large group, at least half a dozen people approaching him as their awful siren screamed in the background. They were coming closer. Dick wouldn't let them.
Rising, Dick drew an escrima stick and held it out. He flicked the electricity on, gratified to see the goons look towards the light. With his other hand, he snapped his wrist out and sent a smoke bomb tumbling through the air. The goons yelled and stumbled back, but they were far too late. Dick was already moving. Both sticks were in his hands now and the goons crumbled under him. He jabbed one goon in the neck, clocked the other over the head with the back of a stick, he sent one guy down so hard the force of the impact itself knocked him out.
Within a minute, they were down.
Dick slipped his sticks back into their holsters, breathing heavily. He needed to get moving before the gas really started affecting him. There could be more goons on the way, it wasn't safe. He didn't even think before he was scooping Damian's limp body into his arms. Then he was running.
Up on the rooftops, he felt safer. He was stumbling a bit, from the toxin or an injury he wasn't sure. But it was hard for most people to get to the roofs, and even harder for them to leap from roof to roof like he was. It was the fastest way to get anywhere. Where they were going Dick wasn't sure. He just clung to Damian as he pulled out his grappling hook and pulled them up higher onto another building. Higher. Higher was safer. He needed to get somewhere safe, then he could figure out what to do.
Finally, Dick stopped running. He landed on the highest roof he could find, dropping his grappling gun carelessly as he knelt. He cradled Damian gently, turning his face towards him. Please be okay. He fumbled against Damian's wrist, holding it for a moment. No pulse. Dick shook himself and pressed his fingers against Damian's neck. No pulse. "Damian!" Dick tried the other wrist. Please please please. No pulse.
Dick sucked in a breath, willing himself to calm down. No, no, no. He scolded himself. The toxin played with fear. He needed to calm down. He needed to not think about it. Not think about Damian being dead in his arms. Not look as the lifeless body- oh gods he was going to have to explain this to Bruce. How in the world was Dick going to tell Bruce that he'd gotten his son killed?
No. Not thinking about that one. If he could get Damian back to the cave . . . stranger things had happened.
His panic was broken by an arrival to the roof. A dark figure pulled itself up and stood for a moment, staring at them. Then it said, "Nightwing. Give Robin to me." It moved closer, but Dick was faster. He was on his feet and standing between the figure and Damian in an instant. The escrima sticks crackled in his hands. He didn't even remember pulling them out.
The figure stopped short, staring at him. "Nightwing," it said slowly. "Stand down."
"No." Dick shook his head, cursing his thoughts as they sloshed in his brain. He was getting worse. He needed to end this quickly. "Back off."
"Not gonna happen." The figure said. "Give me Robin."
"Over my dead body." Dick snarled and leapt at the figure. It dodged him easily enough, Dick blamed the toxin for slowing him down. Fine, fine. Fight smarter. Not harder.
They exchanged blows. One of Dicks sticks went skidding across the roof, but he just used the opportunity and the free hand to strike the figure in the face. It gasped and stumbled backwards. Dick was about to attack again when he realized his mistake. He'd been so caught up in fighting this figure that he hadn't noticed the others. One was standing above them, watching. The other was kneeling by Damian's body.
"No!" Dick screamed. He hurled his escrima stick at the figure beside Damian, not even waiting to see it before he was running towards them. It didn't hit. Yet another figure appeared and knocked the stick off course. Dick growled and feigned like he was going for a punch to the face. When the figure ducked, Dick leapt and used the figure as a springboard, flying up and over them and swinging a leg down to hit the figure that was kneeling. His heel connected with the figures face and it cried out, scrambling away as Dick landed beside him.
Behind him, the other figure was already turning. Dick quickly swept out a leg and sent the figure crashing to the ground. He pulled a batarang and hurled it at the first figure who was trying to get back in the fight. Dick dove for his escrima stick, rolling elegantly as he swept it up, and crouched beside Damian at the edge of the roof. The first figure was recovering from the batarang, and the second one hadn't gotten off the floor, nor had it moved closer to Damian. It seemed to be watching him. The third was getting to its feet, cussing. The one above them was still watching.
Dick growled again. Four against one, when Dick had a brother to protect. Or at least a body to hold onto. That was the least he could do for Bruce, bring his sons body home. This wasn't a fight he could win. Not with the toxin creeping into his system and slowing his judgement.
Holding the stick out as a warning, Dick slid his free arm under Damian and started to pull his body up.
Suddenly, the click of a gun brought Dicks attention sharply to the figure on the roof.
"Stand down," the figure said. Sure enough, it had a gun pointed at him. "Or I shoot the kid."
"Do not shoot Robin!" The second figure protested, but the gunman didn't back down. He just stared down Dick. At least, that's what Dick assumed was happening. The toxin was already started to warp his vision. The gunman didn't have a face. He didn't have a face. Just a plain black sheen and voice that grated at Dicks ears.
Dick took a breath, weighting his options. Damian was already dead, which apparently they didn't know. That didn't mean he wanted this lunatic to shoot his brother. He thought about covering Damian's body with his own. Then he thought about how pissed Damian would be if he knew that Dick had taken a bullet for his dead body and banished the idea.
"Jokes on you," Dick snarled. "He's already dead." Gods his voice sounded rough. Was he breathing alright? He didn't know if he was breathing alright. It could be the fight or it could be the toxin at this point. Someone else was speaking, but Dick interrupted them. "You want Robin?" Dick asked. "Come and get us." Dick stood suddenly, dropping his stick in favor of scooping up Damian, then pitched himself back off the roof.
There were several shouts from the roof, but Dick was already lost in the rush of flying. He was a flying Grayson, after all. It's what he did best. Right? He could fly, couldn't he? No. That was the toxin talking. No flying. Just falling in style. Right. Not going splat. Shit.
Dick was rapidly loosing time to figure out how to turn his out of the frying pan and into the fire situation into a better one when the choice was taken from him. He was tackled roughly and his fall brought to a sudden halt as something wrapped around him and swung him to the side. They crashed gracelessly onto another roof. Dick only had a moment to curl himself around Damian's body - a pointless effort to break Damian's fall - before a boot was connecting with his stomach and driving him away from Damian.
"No!" Dick screamed as someone pulled Damian's body out of his arms. He pushed himself up to follow, but the same figure that had kicked him punched him in the jaw and Dick went down again.
"Stay down, Nightwing." The voice growled. It was that gunman again. The one with no face. At least the others had faces. This one was kind of freaking him out.
"Not gonna happen." Dick snapped, rolling to the side as the figure tried to grab him. Past the goon, Dick could see someone else hoisting Damian's body up. "Let him go!" Dick yelled. He was barely on his feet when a set of arms wrapped around him, holding him back.
"Nightwing," a gruff voice growled in his ear. "Let us give you the antidote."
"What?" Dick shook his head. No. It was the toxin. He misheard that.
"You've been poisoned." The voice said. "You and Robin."
"Leave Robin alone!" Dick snarled, hauling his head back and feeling a satisfying crunch as it connected with the person holding him. The figure grunted, but didn't let go. "Let go! Let me have him!"
In the side of his vision, another one was approaching. Dick vaguely recognized it as the figure that had been kneeling by Damian earlier. The one he'd kicked in the face. It was back up now, a needle glinting in it's hand.
"Hold still." The figure said.
Dick stiffened as the needle got closer. Damn it, damn it, damn it. He'd already been poisoned once this night. What was it the figure holding him had said? They were going to poison him? He seriously didn't need two poisons.
As the figure reached out for him, Dick suddenly went limp in his captors arms. Struggling to adjust to the sudden weight, his captors grip on him slipped and that was all Dick needed. He twisted out of their grasp and barreled towards the figure with the needle. He caught it around the middle, eliciting a cry as he dragged it towards the edge of the roof. The figure tried to break free, but Dick grabbed an arm and twisted it behind him. The figure whined at the tension.
"Nightwing, stop." It begged.
Dick didn't listen. He dragged them both to the edge of the roof, pushing the figure back until its heels just slipped over the ledge.
"Drop him." Dick demanded, pointing at the figure holding Damian. "Or I drop this." He shook the figure in his grip roughly. One of the figures hands came up placatingly at the demand, but the other just growled.
"Nightwing I swear," it was the one that sounded funny, it's head all wrong. Dicks brain was warping it into a monster. "I'm gonna fill you so full of holes."
"Nightwing," the shadowy figure said, hands still raised. Actually, that one looked strange too. It's face too black, it's ears too pointed. "Just breathe for a second, okay? You can have Robin back."
"No," Dick choked suddenly. He could have Robin back? He'd lost that long ago. His vision blurred. "He took him from me. They're all dead now. He took Robin and they're all dead."
The figure started to say something, but then Dick felt a sharp prick in his shoulder. He spun around, hand still grasping the figure, to realize that with its free hand, it had stabbed him with the needle.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The figure tripped over it's words, fear crossing it's face as it looked up at Dick. More startled than intentional, Dick let go and stumbled back. The figure flailed, then tipped, then fell.
A blur rushed past Dick as the shadow leapt off the roof after it. Then a foot was connecting with his knee and Dick dropped heavily to the ground. He wasn't sure what the figure had stabbed him with, but he thought it was making him dizzy.
"Sorry, Dickwing." the figure behind him said. "But not that sorry."
Something cracked over Dicks skull and he was out before his body hit the roof.