Chapter Text
Matthew hears them first, of course. His hearing is better than Stick’s. The momentary distraction of two sets of footsteps and the buzz of communication devices being activated is enough for Stick to knock Matthew onto the ground. It’s a hard impact. There’s no mat on the ground anymore. Not after eight months of training. Matthew feels the cold cement under his fingertips and smells blood. He scraped his palms.
“Pathetic. Get up and try again. Your daddy didn’t raise a quitter, Matty.”
“Shhhhh” It’s childish, Matthew knows, and he’ll be punished for it later, but he shushes Stick anyway. He needs to concentrate on the sound. The footsteps are only two blocks away on the roof of a building. Clicks and whirrs then a whoosh of air. Some type of mechanical device releases something- a kind of wire by the sound of it. Then there’s no footsteps for a moment but the air nearby whistles as if something is flying. A few seconds later, there’s a thump as boots land on a roof. At this point, Stick hears it too.
“Shit. I knew we should have stayed in New York. Come on, we’re going.” A rustle of clothing at Matthew’s three-o-clock and the sound of Stick’s shoes hitting the ground. He runs after his instructor.
The basement apartment right outside Gotham is pretty big. Stick got a lot for his money thanks to the low rent costs in the area. Usually he says it was well worth moving just over the border into Jersey. Shortly after he took Matthew from the orphanage and they moved in, Stick ensured Matthew had every inch of the place in his mental map. The hidden exit is hot and steamy. It’s a service tunnel for the entire complex. The rushing of water echos in the small space, bouncing off the stone walls and giving Matthew a clear “view” of everything.
The footsteps are on their roof now, and he can hear voices in the comms, but it’s hard to concentrate on what they’re saying at the same time as he navigates the tunnel. The codename Nightwing is mentioned a couple times along with ‘B’. Something about those names is familiar, but Matthew can’t place where he heard them.
Suddenly one of the footsteps above changes course. The lighter set- maybe 170 pounds as opposed to the set belonging to the man over 200 pounds- starts running towards the exit Matthew and Stick were hoping to use. Rubber soles squeak on the ground and a breeze brushes Matthew’s skin. Stick turned around. They’re going back the way they came. This time Matthew leads the way, his pace as quick as he can handle. It’s more than a jog, not quite a run.
Behind them, the exit door opens just as Matthew and Stick arrive at the entrance to their apartment. The scent of leather and a kevlar-type plastic becomes stronger. Whoever found them is wearing a military-grade uniform. The one behind them has a skin-tight suit- there’s no rustling of loose clothing. Something is off, though. He can’t hear the man’s heart. There’s some sort of machine making noises to cover it, disguising the beat. It’s throwing him off. Matthew barely opens the door back into their apartment when the heavier steps get louder. The second man is inside their apartment. Matthew and Stick are cornered.
Stick taps Matthew’s shoulder twice, a sign that he should prepare to fight. Matthew lets his body shift into a defensive stance, but not an obvious one. Nobody expects a kid to be able to fight, much less a blind one. Against trained fighters, Matthew will need the element of surprise.
Behind him, Stick shuts and deadbolts the secret door. They’re not foolish enough to expect the man won’t be able to get through, but it should buy them some needed time. The one in the apartment enters the room Matthew and Stick are in, blocking off their escape. The man has the same heartbeat-hider as his partner, but Matt can tell by the way his footsteps fall and the heat he gives off that the man is large and muscular. Heavy fabric rustles behind the man as he walks. A cape? He’s as noisy as the other man, too. Electronics buzz along the man’s waist and near his head. The white noise machine does nothing to conceal the sound of his breathing, and by the way it whistles slightly Matthew can tell the man’s nose has been broken multiple times.
The man’s breathing falters for a second and there’s a slight gasp. A feminine voice in the comm units asks “ Is that a kid? Nightwing, do what you can to get the kid away from Stick .” Good. They don’t expect anything. ‘Nightwing’ arrives at the door behind them, but the lock is holding him off. The other man takes the first swing at Stick, who ducks then returns it with his own. Matthew backs up, playing the part of terrified blind orphan well. All of Stick’s lessons on how to make people underestimate and pity you come back.
The fight continues. The man has more strength and raw power, but Stick knows his every move before he makes it by the sound of his muscles tensing and bones creaking. Stick is getting in more hits than the man, but the body armor protects him. It’s a vicious fight and Matthew can’t figure out an opening where he could help Stick.
With a loud clang, the door to the service tunnel bursts open, the burst of air ruffling Matthew’s hair. It perhaps only lasts a couple seconds, but the time it takes for ‘Nightwing’ to approach Matthew, it seems like an eternity. Each footstep shakes him to the core, like miniature earthquakes. He had never fought someone other than Stick. His stomach ties itself into knots as he anticipates what he’ll need to do. He doesn’t want to fight, but he can’t lose Stick. Matthew doesn’t have anyone else.
The air shifts. ‘Nightwing’ reaches out and puts a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. It’s warm where it touches, but the warmth isn’t from body heat. It’s been a long time since someone touched Matthew for a reason other than to hurt him. “Come on, we need to get out of here.” ‘Nightwing’s’ voice is kind, but urgent. Matthew doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want the warmth to go away. But he reacts like Stick trained him to.
Before ‘Nightwing’ can react, Matthew flips him. He hits the ground with a thud and a grunt. The noise must have drawn the other man’s attention, because moments later Stick is able to shove the cape to the ground. Matthew runs after the familiar footsteps of his sensei up the stairs and into the streets. The two fighters are running after them- faster than Matthew can flee. They pass two, three alleyways. The scent of a dumpster gets stronger then weaker. A subway train rumbles beneath their feet. Stick is starting to pull ahead of Matthew.
“Stick,” He gasps, “They’re going to catch us! I can’t outrun them!” Matthew’s chest is already starting to burn, and his heart is pounding. They need to hide instead of run. Stick falters for a second, his steps off beat. He reaches out a hand and Matthew thinks it’s to grab him to pull him to safety.
Matthew is horrified when the hand pushes him. The heat of Stick’s palm feels so different from ‘Nightwing’s’. There’s no kindness, just a selfish desire. Matthew falls, too shocked to catch himself, and crashes into the ground. Cold concrete, the scent of a cigarette butt. Pain like he hasn’t felt in years shoots up in his left wrist when he lands on it.
The mind controls the body, Matty
He uses his right wrist to push himself back up. The footsteps are louder. The two people are almost on him. He won’t be able to run fast enough to escape. They’re going to get him. And Stick…
The taste of salt fills the air. Matthew realizes he’s crying. He stumbles as he gets to his feet, using the side of a building to pull himself up. He uses the wall to push himself off, using the momentum to give him a small burst of speed. Stick ran straight, so Matthew runs left.
The two sets of footsteps split. The heavier runs after Stick, cape flapping behind him. The man who Matthew flipped is running after him.
Adrenaline hits, letting Matthew put on another burst of speed and numbing the pain in his left wrist. The echo of his steps barely alert him to a trash can in time to sidestep and continue. Those moments cost Matthew, though, and ‘Nightwing’ is only a couple yards behind. It’s hard to breathe through his sobs, but if he gets caught now the government might take him. He’s heard stories. Kids get superpowers and suddenly they’re a ‘danger to society’. They disappear overnight, never to be seen again.
His fear distracts him, just like Stick always warned him it would. Clear your mind. Filter out the distractions. His shoulder clips a lamp post and he stumbles a bit. It’s not much, but it’s enough for ‘Nightwing’ to catch up. Suddenly there’s warm arms around him, holding him tightly against ‘Nightwing’s’ chest. Matthew struggles, trying to break free. It’s no use. He’s stuck.
“Stop struggling. You’re okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”
“Let me-” A sob interrupts Matthew, his chest heaving, “Let me go. Please.”
“Deep breaths, kiddo. It’s okay.”
Matthew cries harder. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that the closest thing he’s had to a hug in two years is from someone who’s about to destroy his life. ‘Nightwing’ pulls him a little closer, and Matthew hates how comforting he finds it. He hadn’t realized how much he missed affection until he had it. And now… now he’s going to jail or juvie or whatever.
The white noise machine is still keeping Matthew from hearing ‘Nightwing’s’ heartbeat, but Matthew can feel it. The rise and fall of ‘Nightwing’s’ chest, the flutter of his heart. ‘Nightwing’ runs his hand up and down Matthew’s arm in a way that reminds him of his dad.
“It’s okay. Deep breaths.” ‘Nightwing’s’ hand slowly traces his arm then stops as it gets close to his left wrist. His breath catches. “You’re hurt. What happened?”
“What does it matter?” Matthew bites out, forcing back sobs. “It’s not like you care.”
When ‘Nightwing’ speaks, his voice is strained. “I do care. You have to understand, what that man was doing to you? It wasn’t right. He was training you to kill people.”
“I don’t care about that!” It’s a lie. Matthew would never kill anyone. The very idea horrifies him. “Stick cares about me! He just wants me strong.”
“He broke your wrist to distract us so he could escape. That’s not caring about you” ‘Nightwing’ is right. And it hurts. The other man approaches, his footsteps echoing in Matthew’s chest and cape rustling behind him.
“The old man got away. How’s the kid?” His voice is gruff, and he’s speaking quietly to ‘Nightwing’. Matthew, of course, hears anyway.
“Broken arm. We should take him to Leslie’s before we talk to him.”
The air shifts, a miniscule breeze as the one with a gruff voice nods slightly. ‘Nightwing’ removes his arms from around Matthew, but continues holding his right upper arm tightly.
“Come on, kid. We need to get that arm looked at.”