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bowditch · 5 years ago

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day six: dragged away dick grayson & bruce wayne general canon, Pre-N52 tw: drugging, blood, vomit

***

The moon cast pale gray light on the building spires and then the city was plunged into darkness by swiftly moving cloud cover. Nightwing glanced up, looking for a break in the inky sky, and saw miles of storm system spread out over the bay and moving in.

He’d been hoping the forecast would be off by a few hours, at least. No such luck.

At least Robin wasn’t out with him tonight. Damian still had a penchant for leaning into things that made him uncomfortable— habit or defense mechanism or both. If he was freezing in the rain, he’d insist on stay out longer than a normal patrol, just to prove that he could. Dick had spent more than one night as Batman surreptitiously finding ways to warm Damian up after a cold night, while the kid pretended he wasn’t visibly shivering.

Nightwing had been watching Gotham for five days now, and Damian had been out for three of those. Tonight, he’d insisted Damian stay in, and had left the cave to angry stomping going up the stairs into the house. He’d cool down, Dick knew, and probably crash and sleep within thirty minutes of furiously flinging himself into bed to sulk.

Five days of Bruce being undercover with hardly a word, and Damian was wired, on edge, and exhausted. Nightwing had that deep current of worry he always did when Bruce was out of contact, but that was undercover work, and he was used to it.

Overhead, the sky rumbled ominously. Nightwing leapt from the edge of the First National building and let the free fall carry him down ten stories before throwing a grapple line and curving into the arc of its catch. He landed in a roll and the second he was back on his feet, his comm beeped. He froze. That pattern, that tone— that was the emergency beacon signal.

“O,” he said, into the comm.

“Osborne and St. Mark,” she said, immediately. “It’s not Robin. A’s confirming now that he’s at home. It’s a warehouse, one of Roman Sionis’ frozen assets in federal holding. Should be empty.”

“I’ll be there in seven,” he said. “Cycle’s two blocks from me. Any visual?”

“I’ve got a camera a block down St. Mark’s that shows an empty lot. No in-building security online to use. Deploying a recon drone.” Oracle sounded purely businesslike, not a hint of stress present in her voice. Nightwing knew that meant she was masking, work-focused, and frustrated without enough information.

Nightwing made it to his parked and cloaked cycle in record time and ate up asphalt speeding through the streets as it started to rain.

“Heat scan shows three bodies inside,” Oracle said when he was close. “Hand to hand, one against two. One of the two down.”

Nightwing gunned the engine. He could see the warehouse now.

“Second is down,” Oracle said. “One man standing. Bottom floor.”

“I’m here,” Nightwing said.

The cycle skidded and squealed to a stop and Nightwing leapt from it and took the first double doors with a kick. He had a suspicion— a hope— who the one man left on his feet was, and there wasn’t much reach to proceed with caution or strategy at that point.

“You’ve got a car enroute,” Oracle said. “I’ve got A on standby for emergency response prep orders.”

The emergency beacon probably meant blood, and lots of it.

Nightwing went through the dark building at a dead sprint, frantically scanning for any sign of Bruce. The interior was lit with warming fluorescent lights, the faint hum above head a clue that they’d been turned on very recently. He rounded the abandoned machinery just in time to see a hunched figure stumble backward and fall.

“B!” Nightwing flew across the room on a burst of extra speed and slid to a stop on his knees in front of the sitting figure.

The ragged coat, the moth-eaten wool hat, the graying new beard, the colored contacts— all would have been remarkably effective disguises if he hadn’t already known who he was going to find. Bruce swayed, even sitting. There was blood trickling from his lip, and his pupils were blown.

Nightwing glanced up and down, hunting for seeping bloodstains. “B. What happened?”

“Drug,” Bruce slurred. “Organ...chop shop.”

The two men on the floor didn’t stir and Nightwing wished they would so he could kick them both in the teeth, and watch their faces while he did it. He put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder to steady him.

“Can you stand? O’s sending a car. We gotta get you back to the Manor.”

“No,” Bruce said, trying to shake his hand off. “No, not...Robin…”

“Robin’s fine, B,” Nightwing said, frowning.

Bruce twisted clumsily and vomited on the floor. It splattered one of the unconscious men. “No,” he said again, staring at the mess.

“He probably deserved that,” Nightwing said.

“DN...din...A,” Bruce mumbled, tugging uselessly at the man’s zippered jacket. His fingers struggled to grasp the zipper pull while he leaned and Nightwing braced him and sat him back upright, tugging him a foot across the floor.

“Oof. You’re as heavy as a freighter, B. Nobody’s gonna run DNA here. Don’t move.” Nightwing patted the unconscious man’s face to check for response and whistled when there wasn’t even a groan. “Holy right hook, Batman. You knocked him out colder than Mr. Freeze. Listen, A’s going to be ready for us. Robin will be fine.”

“Drugs,” Bruce protested, sounding far more upset than he should have been. He didn’t usually let much seep into his tone, ever, so this was downright unsettling. “He’s...will...drugs scare ‘im.”

Nightwing went as still as a startled animal, and then slowly, he turned back to Bruce and crouched in front of him.

“B,” he said, softly. “Just what’d they give you, anyway? This Robin isn’t going to be upset like that.”

“No,” Bruce insisted, his head bobbing forward like he was having trouble controlling it. “No. Jay can’t...he’s...he’ll see...”

The comm beeped softly in his ear when he activated an open channel. “O, is the penthouse clear tonight? The big guy’s gonna need to sleep something off.”

“No janitorial scheduled. Back elevator’s still programmed with your access code.” There was a significant, but brief, pause. “He’s okay? A’s waiting.”

“The only blood out here isn’t his. He was drugged but he’s conscious. I will take that car, though. I don’t think he could stay on a cycle right now. Tell A I’ve got him and to keep Robin at home.”

“I’ll send Black Bat,” Oracle said. “Keep me updated.”

Nightwing glanced at the men and sighed. “Hold on, B.” He pulled ties out of his cuff pockets and rolled them both, tying their hands behind them. He’d call it in, or have Oracle do it, when they were far enough away, but at least they wouldn’t get too far or choke on their own puke if the police were slow.

“Is not...” Bruce said, his brow knitted in confusion. He blinked slowly and tried to focus on Nightwing. “Is not Jay anymore.”

“No, B,” Nightwing said quietly. “It’s not. Do you know what they gave you?”

“Somethin’...fuckin’..._strong_,” Bruce spat out, sounding profoundly annoyed. Nightwing grabbed his arm and counterpressured with the heels of his boots when he stood, and fortunately, Bruce cooperated. He leaned heavily on Nightwing as they walked, but he was managing his own feet well enough.

“Organ chop shop, huh,” Nightwing commented. “How long have you known? I’m guessing it wasn’t long before they drugged you, or they never would have gotten that close.”

“Drug me,” Bruce repeated, and his arm slung around Nightwing’s shoulders tightened.

“So you said,” Nightwing answered. “Here’s the car. Come on, in you go, and if you try to take the wheel from me or open the door while we’re driving, I’m going to knock you out for your own good.”

“Brat,” Bruce said. As soon as Nightwing closed the car door, he was tearing out the colored contacts and dropping them on the floor.

The ride to the penthouse was mostly silence that Nightwing filled with chatter. Bruce didn’t normally contribute much in the way of actual words, but the drugs disrupted his ability to grunt or move at the right times, so Nightwing felt a bit like he was talking to an actual brick wall. It made Dick uneasy, even knowing it was drugs, to feel like Bruce was beside him and very, very far away.

It took some maneuvering to get Bruce onto the elevator but they made it into the penthouse without incident. As soon as they were there, inside, with the door locked, Nightwing peeled off his mask and Bruce shrugged awkwardly out of the beaten coat and hat. He dropped them on the floor and stumbled into the living room, and past the couch.

“Wait, wait up,” Dick called, hopping on one foot and then the other as he tugged off the suit boots. He left them on the floor and followed Bruce as he bumped into one item after another like some sort of human pinball, until he swerved hard left and into the bathroom.

Bruce hugged the toilet and puked more, while Nightwing stood beside him, feeling helpless, while wrestling the suit off of himself. He waited, hovering nearby, trying to decide what to do. Bruce’s shoulders stopped heaving and he leaned there, forehead on forearm, trembling faintly.

“Uh, I’m gonna, I’m gonna grab some water and some clothes for both of us,” Dick said. “I’ll be right back.”

It only took him under a minute but he still expected to see Bruce on the couch or climbing into a bed after. It was a surprise to find him still in the bathroom, shaking. Dick crouched down beside him, a worn t-shirt on, and offered the glass of water.

“Shit,” Bruce said, a word that was more low groan than speech.

“You were not kidding when you said they gave you something strong,” Dick said, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder after the glass was transferred.

Bruce gulped half of the water, set the glass down, and exhaled roughly. He staggered to his feet again. He braced himself on the wall and a desperate little gasp escaped him.

“B,” Dick said, unable to keep the alarm out of his voice. “Are you crying? Bruce. What did they do, exactly?”

“No,” Bruce said, stumbling past him. He went for the nearest bedroom and all but collapsed face down on the bed, turning his head just enough to get the pillow off his mouth and nose. There were tear streaks on his face and Dick climbed onto the bed next to him, his face pinched in worry.

“B. It’s me. You gotta tell me what’s going on. Is this just the drugs?”

“No,” Bruce said again, and a sob tore from his chest. It was the only one— he sucked in a lungful of air and sniffled, and rubbed at his eyes with the tips of his fingers. “S’not...something else.”

Dick elbowed him in the side, gently, and scooted closer. “Yeah? It is something else or it’s not?”

“Tired,” Bruce said, closing his eyes. He threw an arm around Dick and dragged him that much closer, trapping Dick in a warm cuddle. He buried his face in Dick’s hair and Dick relaxed incrementally, as the arm around him did.

“You big oaf,” Dick muttered fondly. “You could have just called and said you wanted to see me. You didn’t have to go get yourself kidnapped for your kidneys.”

Bruce snorted a laugh that ghosted across Dick’s scalp.

“Feeling more you yet? I should get you some more water,” Dick said, without struggling to get away. Bruce didn’t let him go.

“After sleep,” Bruce said, firmly. “Wanna. Sleep. S’been cold.”

“I bet you just loved that,” Dick said. “Undercover means no blankets and fancy mattress. Why don’t you ever do white collar stuff? Seems like that’d be a more comfy gig.”

“Batman...doesn’t…he doesn’t...I don’t..._need_ comfy,” Bruce managed, with several stops and starts. “M’fine.”

More of the tension slipped out of Dick’s muscles and he laughed, and laughed, until his eyes filled with tears. He pressed his face into Bruce’s shoulder and laughed harder at the grumpy little snort of indignation.

“Chum,” Bruce said, and that was enough for Dick to know. He started telling him about a case he’d worked the week before, involving smuggling swans, and one of them attacking him in the suit.

The non-verbal or quiet responses grew more Bruce-like and less slurred as Dick talked, until they were mostly normal. Dick felt the yawn Bruce tried to stifle and then the tell-tale deep breathing of Bruce truly out, the way he slept if he had been sedated.

Dick wriggled enough to fish the comm out of his pocket, where he’d left it.

“O,” he said. “He’s fine.”

“You done for the night?” Oracle asked.

Dick scrunched closer into Bruce’s furnace-like warmth and smiled at the pleased hum.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m staying in.”

#nightwing #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #whumptober #dragged away

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