Chapter Text
Even after all these years, Nightwing never grew tired of patrolling. The adrenaline of leaping from the edge of a building, followed by the familiar shooting of the grapple. The whole-body jolt he felt as the grappling hook caught with a thunk, the wind tousling his hair as he swung. It was still exhilarating, no matter how many times Nightwing did it.
Retracting the grapple, Nightwing pulled his body into a roll as he hit the next roof, transitioning into a run. He grinned. As Nightwing reached the roof’s edge and repeated the process, he kept his ears open and scanned the streets and alleyways below for activity.
He had been patrolling for about an hour and a half at this point, and he still found himself surprised at how calm Fawcett City was at night. It experienced the usual hustle and bustle one would expect from a city, of course—even one as weird as Fawcett—but still. Nightwing had only had to stop two muggings so far, a pittance compared to what he usually dealt with in Blüdhaven. And the trafficking ring still had yet to make their move.
The paranoid part of Nightwing’s mind, the one that sounded too much like Batman, kept whispering that he was already too late, that the trafficking ring had already kidnapped another victim, that they’d disappear again before Nightwing could find them. Pushing those thoughts to the side took effort, but he’d dealt with that part of his mind his entire career. Nightwing had faith in himself, and he had faith in Oracle. They’d find the kidnapped people and free them. There was no alternative worth considering.
Nightwing was so focused on his own search that when Oracle’s voice came through the comm, he almost missed what she said.
“Nightwing. I’ve got visual on two of Capaldi’s men on the corner of Rowan Street and Senna Avenue. Acknowledge.”
Suck it, paranoia. Nightwing grinned as he changed direction. That location was about nine minutes away, due north by northwest. “Acknowledged. Can you see what they’re doing?”
The response came a moment later. “Not much. Right now, they’re just loitering outside a coffee shop.”
“Do you think they’re waiting for something?” Nightwing queried. He scanned the gravel road below for a moment, spotting a bus heading the same direction as him.
Bingo. Stepping off the roof, Nightwing let his grapple line reel out further, controlling the speed of his descent. He landed on the roof of the bus in a crouch. Given the lack of traffic, hitching a ride should save him a minute or two.
Oracle hummed. “Or someone. The feed I’m pulling isn’t very high quality, but they seem to be keeping an eye on the nearby alleyway. My guess? They’re waiting for someone to enter it alone.”
“You’re probably right. I’m a few minutes from their location, hitching a ride on top of a bus. Can you do something about the traffic?”
“Way ahead of you, Nightwing,” Oracle answered. “I’ll keep the red lights out of your way. Enjoy the ride.”
Nightwing grinned. “Have I ever told you that you’re the best, Oracle?”
“On occasion,” Oracle laughed, “though you could always stand to do it more often.”
Now it was Nightwing’s turn to laugh. “Orders received loud and clear.” As they approached the next intersection, Nightwing’s bus shifted into the right turn lane.
Time to get off. Aiming for a high-up grotesque that seemed a better fit for Gotham than Fawcett, Nightwing shot a line from one of his escrimas. The line wrapped around the grotesque’s neck and pulled Nightwing upwards.
When his grapple line had reeled in about halfway, Nightwing released the catch mechanism and dropped a few feet onto the roof below. Then he was off again.
The bus ride had indeed saved Nightwing some time, and given the relatively consistent roof heights in this part of the city, he should be able to reach his destination in the next couple of minutes.
Oracle’s voice sounded in his ear again, her tone urgent. “Nightwing, Capaldi’s men are on the move.”
Nightwing doubled his pace. “Do you have eyes on their target?”
“I think so. A kid—small, young, wearing red—just walked into the alley I mentioned earlier, and now Capaldi’s men are walking towards it. Tell me you’re almost there.” He was always impressed that Oracle managed to stay so professional at times like these. Whenever Nightwing had been stuck in the cave running comms, he’d always felt like he was going to go crazy, not being able to physically step in and help.
“I’m less than a minute away,” Nightwing responded. Something about the kid’s description set off an itch in the back of Nightwing’s mind, but he didn’t have time to consider it.
Nightwing slid to a stop at the edge of the roof overlooking the alley Oracle had mentioned and crouched down, mostly out of sight. Looking over the lip of the roof, he spotted the kid.
With a start, Nightwing recognized him: the kid from outside the café. What the hell was he doing here? At this time of night, a kid his age should be asleep in bed, not wandering down dark alleyways.
With one eye still trained on the kid, Nightwing spotted Capaldi’s men walk into the alley. For thugs, they moved surprisingly quietly. Nightwing might not have noticed the two men if he were an average person and unaware of their presence. Unfortunately, the kid was both of those things. He was rooting through a stack of deteriorating cardboard boxes, apparently unaware of the approaching thugs.
Every inch of Nightwing’s body burned with the urge to leap down there and take out Capaldi’s men. If he did that, though, he’d lose the chance to follow them back to the rest of the kidnapping victims. Worse, it’d alert Capaldi to Nightwing’s presence in Fawcett, and he might decide to go underground, taking his victims with him.
So, as much as it physically pained him to do so, Nightwing forced himself to watch as Capaldi’s men snuck up behind the red-sweatered boy, grabbed him, and forced a cloth—presumably soaked with chloroform—over his mouth and nose. The boy immediately started struggling. He even managed to land a kick in one man’s crotch, but the chloroform worked quickly, and the boy soon went limp as he fell unconscious.
As Capaldi’s men set to tying the boy’s ankles and wrists, together, Nightwing flipped a toggle on his wristguard and took aim, firing a pin-sized needle at the back of one of the men. Nightwing couldn’t make out the projectile in the darkness, but given the way the man swatted at the back of his shoulder, Nightwing assumed the tracker had hit its mark.
After placing the red-sweatered boy’s limp form in a conspicuously large duffel bag, Capaldi’s men exited the alley. Careful to stay out of sight, Nightwing followed them from the rooftops as they reached a nondescript gray SUV, which they loaded the duffel bag into.
Once Capaldi’s men had gotten into the SUV and closed the doors, Nightwing spoke to Oracle over comms. “Oracle, Capaldi’s men grabbed the kid. They’re in a gray SUV now,” he said, “I tagged one of them with a tracker. I’m going to tail them, but keep an eye on the tracker’s signal in case they manage to lose me.”
Nightwing could faintly hear the sound of clicking a keyboard as Oracle presumably pulled up the tracker’s signal. “I’d be severely disappointed if you couldn’t track a couple of rent-a-thugs, Nightwing, but will do. For your peace of mind, at least.”
Nightwing rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Oracle.”
“Mmhmm. And don’t roll your eyes at me.”
Surprised, Nightwing glanced around him, but there didn’t seem to be any cameras with a line of sight on him. “How—?”
Oracle laughed. “I have my ways, birdbrain.”
Nightwing made a disagreeing noise, but before he could argue further, the SUV started moving. “Capaldi’s men are on the move,” he informed Oracle.
It was surprisingly easy to tail the SUV, especially considering Capaldi’s men were carrying a kidnapped kid in the back. Granted, they had no reason to suspect a hero like Captain Marvel might be following them, much less Nightwing. Regardless, it was a small mercy for Nightwing, though he hoped the kid in the SUV wouldn’t wake up to find himself trapped in a duffel bag in a moving vehicle.
About twenty minutes later, Capaldi’s men slowed to a stop in front of an unassuming building that could have come from the 1960s. They exited the vehicle, duffel bag in hand, and walked into the building.
“Oracle, I’ve got eyes on what might be where Capaldi’s holding the kidnapping victims. Can you disable the security on the second floor of the building?”
“On it,” Oracle responded, “Give me half a minute.”
“Acknowledged. I’ll be radio silent once I enter the building,” Nightwing continued, “If I need help, I’ll hit my panic button. If I do, contact Fawcett's police department and give them my location.”
“Understood, Nightwing,” Oracle said.
Nightwing waited for a count of forty, then slipped into the building through one of the second-story windows.