The cave was heavy with silence.

Tim’s fingers flew over the Batcomputer, scanning every street camera in Blüdhaven, every trace of Nightwing’s comm. Bruce stood behind him, jaw tight, his cape brushing the floor. Damian leaned against the console, his scowl deeper than usual. Jason paced.

Dick was gone.

He hadn’t checked in after patrol, and when Tim tracked his last location, the feed cut abruptly. That wasn’t Dick. That wasn’t Nightwing. He didn’t just vanish.

And they all knew who was capable of making him disappear.

⸻

Far from the cave, in a dark and empty facility, Dick hung by his wrists from thick chains, boots just grazing the floor. His body ached, bruises littering his skin, but the physical pain wasn’t the worst of it. No, it was the voice.

Slade’s voice.

Deep, steady, crawling into his head like smoke.

“You don’t need them,” Slade murmured, standing close enough that Dick could see the glint of his single eye through the mask. “They’ve abandoned you before. They’ll do it again. You were made for more, Richard. With me, you’ll have purpose.”

The words wrapped around him, digging in like claws. His mind—normally sharp, unshakable—felt fogged. He tried to pull up memories: Bruce’s rare but firm “I’m proud of you.” Jason’s teasing laugh. Tim looking at him like a big brother. Damian’s grudging respect. Kory’s warmth. Wally’s grin. His family. His friends.

But Slade’s voice drowned them out, pressing, twisting.

“They don’t respect you. They see you as a shadow, nothing more. But with me? You’ll be unstoppable. You’ll be mine.”

Dick shuddered. The words sank deeper. The chains rattled as he struggled, but his strength was waning. His breath came shallow, his thoughts unraveling. Slade’s hand pressed to his shoulder, firm, steady, like an anchor pulling him under.

“You know it’s true,” Slade whispered. “You’ve always been meant to stand at my side.”

And for a terrifying heartbeat, Dick almost believed him.