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nerdpoe · 11 months

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An Example of Courage, part 2 of the To Live with Honor and Bravery Series

Part 1, Ao3

Rook, previously Red Robin, is one of the most effective Bats there is. He is also blind. A look into exactly how Rook fights, given his technology and League of Assassin training.

Damian was displeased.

He refused to admit he was embarrassed.

He had been assisting Todd at Grayson’s insistence, and the bumbling fool had tipped the enemies to their position. They had been overwhelmed, and Damian had been forced to step down when a barely conscious Red Hood had been threatened.

A Red Hood who was also now awake, and judging by the tension in his shoulders, was just as humiliated.

The Comm was full of chatter as Oracle and Nightwing argued uselessly over how to make the four hour journey from a different state shorter, and kept lamenting that Batman was in space.

Damian was about to give up the pretense of having no communications when he heard the last voice he wanted to hear.

“I’ve got it,” Rook's quiet voice said, “Already scoping out the building.”

“Okay; good luck,” Orphan said, before presumably returning to her case.

There was an uncomfortable pause, and Damian could feel even Red Hood’s exasperation at Gordon and Grayson’s reluctance. How was it that he and Todd, who as a rule disliked Drake, understood he was more than capable of handling himself?

It was ridiculous and stupid and Damian could not inform them as such, or he risked alerting his captors that help was on the way.

He was, however, ready to admit that he was embarrassed that Drake would be the one to perform the rescue.

~~~~~~

Tim ignored Oracle and Nightwing’s pleading that he call on Kon for assistance, and tuned in on the robotic voice of his Seeing Eye Program.

He cleared his mind and focused on the picture it was painting for him.

There were fourteen working cameras in the warehouse.

There were twenty-one goons.

Their boss had already fled, as no one was there currently that matched his description, and the previous footage the cameras had indicated he’d gone for one of the exits.

Sixteen goons were in sight of the cameras.

Robin and Red Hood were in the break room, separated from what Tim knew he was going to have to do. Good.

All the goons had guns; the guns were identified as AK-47s, 30 rounds per gun, rapid fire and single shot possible. High probability that all goons had at least one extra magazine, leading to at minimum 60 rounds per goon, leading to at minimum 1,260 rounds of ammunition.

Best course of action was to ensure that they could not use those guns at all, and the second best course was to make them think they could not.

There were crates full of unknown items, although given the criminal element it was likely it was drugs or explosives. Ergo, highly reinforced and unlikely to break or detonate unless extreme force was used. A few stray bullets would be an acceptable risk, provided the projected outcome.

Tim could work with that.

The time taken between advising he would rescue his brothers and accumulating that information was approximately one minute and twenty seconds.

No time to waste.

Tim gave two sharp, short bird calls, followed by five clicks.

His Program immediately expanded its range of footage it was utilizing, and he listened until it mentioned what he wanted to hear.

The warehouse was on the docks, so underground electrical service wouldn’t be possible. He would have to find the connection on the roof and move from there.

He nodded as the Program finally mentioned where that point was, and moved.

Timing his movements with the patrol he’d already memorized, he leveled his grappler at the direction of the warehouse until the clicks ran together in a soft, continuous noise. He fired, swiftly jumping from the roof at the same time.

The Program immediately switched to prioritizing his mask footage and gave exact calculations for the best landing. It told him where the wall was, at what angle he had to shift himself, his estimated arrival to the other building, and where his estimated landing point would be in relation to the roof of it.

It did all of this in extreme shorthand he himself had designed, based on musical notes.

Tim, as he usually did barring extraneous circumstances, nailed the landing.

It had been one minute and forty-seven seconds.

Using his bo staff to ensure he did not trip on small hazards, Tim maneuvered to where the-yes. There it was.

The Program gave a small chirp of warning, alerting him to an environmental hazard directly in front of him, looking through the eyes of his mask for him.

He gently placed the small charge on the weatherhead, and used a super-glue based adhesive to anchor the service drop lines. That done, he carefully and quietly moved to the other side of the warehouse and hunkered down.

Then he detonated the charge.

A small pop, easily mistaken for faulty wiring.

Power was immediately cut to the warehouse, and he could feel the charge in the air as the electricity angrily searched for somewhere else to go. The adhesive forced the lines to stay in the weatherhead, but by their violent crackling and humming, that metal would absolutely heat up.

The only end result would be a fire; the Program confirmed Tim’s estimation of around twelve minutes for the metal to heat beyond the temperatures that the surroundings could handle.

The goons below him were shouting at each other, a few pot shots going off before the ones that had fired those were ordered to holster their weapons.

Two minutes and thirty-two seconds.

He caught his grapple on the edge of the skylight, and gently opened it.

And jumped down.

“Fuck, is that a grap-?”

Tim’s Bo staff caught the man in his throat and threw him against one of the many crates.

The Program happily informed him that the cameras had a night vision mode.

Well, well.

The sensor between his shoulder blades gave two sharp bursts and he ducked, half turning and bringing his staff up where he knew that the goon’s chin would be.

He heard the garbled shout and the cracking of teeth.

The one he’d hit upon his entrance hadn’t gotten up. Two down.

The Program directed him through the warehouse and around the stacks of crates, allowing him to sneak up on five more and take them down quietly before he was spotted.

Gunfire rang out and Tim dodged in the direction of other goons, resulting in a short yelling match as they tried to figure out if the shooter had actually seen a vigilante or if she’d just spooked and fired at friendlies.

Tim interrupted the woman who had shot at him by sweeping her legs out from under her and introducing her skull to his staff.

She did not get up.

Thirteen left.

The Program advised him that the remaining goons were all in view of the cameras, and the idiots had left Robin and Red Hood alone.

They were already attempting to escape their bonds.

Tim ducked behind a crate, shot his grapple at one of the ceiling joists and dropped down in the middle of the group of three that had been arguing with the previous woman.

Their surprise granted him enough time to lay into one of them and take her out before her friends managed to fumble a flashlight onto Tim.

“Shit, it’s Rook-!”

Tim jumped up and grabbed onto the edge of another crate, hauling himself on top of it as he dodged the gunfire that had been aimed at him from the one behind him, allowing his assailant to hit his own ally, and dropped down again on the one that had fired at him.

Using a flashy move that Lady Shiva would have absolutely disapproved of, he locked his legs around the goon’s neck and threw himself backwards. The goon dropped his gun, forced to fall, as Tim used his momentum to twist around to force the goon to land face first in the concrete.

Three down. Ten left. They had split into two groups of five.

Tim moved quickly, relying on the Program and his Bo Staff to avoid tripping hazards, and flanked the first group. His Program had informed him that his brothers had successfully escaped and were already converging on the second group.

He watched them through his program as he laid flat on one of the crates.

He inhaled.

Held it.

He exhaled.

He dropped a small, specialized EMP over the edge and shorted out their electronics, and then tossed himself over the edge and into the middle of the group.

Their flashlights and cell phones were just as dead as his Program.

They were just as blind as he was, at that moment.

From there, it was his skill and hearing that dictated the fight.

He heard them begin to move, and swept out his Bo staff in a wide arc, knocking three of them off balance. He heard them hit the ground.

He turned towards the two behind him he could hear starting to move forward and dove at them, relying on grappling to take them both down.

He focused on the two, bouncing between them as he kept an ear out on the three picking themselves up from the ground.

Just as they managed to stand, he broke one of his current opponent’s legs and slammed the other’s head into the wall.

Turning his attention on the three, he danced around them and used them as shields against the others.

He redirected a punch to where he’d heard another goon, hooked his foot in one of their knees and shoved at their sternum, turned and taken a punch to the face so he could grab their wrist and throw them over his shoulder.

He was so caught up, he didn’t hear the one he had counted out drag himself up. He didn’t realize until, as he vaulted over one of the last fighters, there was a deafening bang and a flair of pain in his leg.

Fuck.

He finished the vault and grabbed the man he’d been about to take out, using the surprise to force him along as he charged where the shooter was.

“Wait, Dave, don’t shoot-!”

“What the fuck-?”

Tim threw the goon at his friend. Then he swept their legs from under them with his handy-dandy Bo staff, whipped around to land a semi-accidental throat shot at the goon he heard sneaking up behind him (he’d been aiming for where their face should have been, but apparently the man had been a bit tall), and dropped said staff to grab both goons by their hair and slam their heads into the ground until they stopped moving.

He heard the goon he’d gotten his throat shot in on coughing and stepping closer.

Tim waited, pretending like he didn’t notice, and turned around when he was close enough.

He gripped the man’s shoulder and drove a knee into his gut.

“Rook, cease this! That is Red Hood!”

Tim froze, and the person he’d just tried to take out gently patted his shoulder. Tim frowned and reached out, tracing the familiar helmet.

“Whoops. I dropped an EMP, so-”

“Yeah dumbass, we know,” Red Hood wheezed, voice muffled by the helmet, “Our electronics went out too.”

They’d been in range? Shit. He’d miscalculated.

“...Ah. I would imagine that is massively inconvenient to you right now.”

“To us all, Rook. Tt. We lost communication with Oracle.”

Fuck.

Dick was going to be a nightmare to deal with.

~~~~~~

Jason handed his useless helmet to Damian and piggy-backed Tim.

They knew he could walk fine on his own, bleeding leg or not, but a huge part of Tim’s efficiency in battle was his opponents not knowing he was blind.

With his weird nerd-program off, he’d have to use the Bo staff to make sure he didn’t trip or run into a crate. That shit would give him away instantly. So; piggy-back until safehouse.

Tim was grumbling in his ear, but Jason ignored it.

He understood how infuriating it was to have to take help he didn’t need.

After he’d been dipped in the Pits, Talia hadn’t been convinced he’d been completely healed from the brain damage at first. Insisted on servants cutting his food into smaller pieces, reaching out and handing him shit he’d just been about to grab, talking at him slowly and clearly while holding his hand in an iron grip.

It’d been as flattering as it had been annoying. He vaguely remembered getting the same feeling from when he’d still had his brain injury, but unable to vocalize it.

She’d stopped after a few days, but still.

Jason got it.

So he’d let Tim complain, get it out of his system while they got somewhere to change into civvies.

Damian was also complaining, but his was about how unbecoming it was for his rival to be handled like he was delicate.

Jason…didn’t really get that one.

But whatever.

Some kids played dinosaurs with their favorite siblings, Damian tried to fight his to the death. All children were different, or some shit.

They had just stepped out the door when Tim patted his shoulder.

“Also the building is gonna catch on fire in like, four or five minutes. Loose electrical wires heating up metal on the roof.”

Jason dropped Tim on his ass and turned around to drag the criminals out.

“Tell me shit like that sooner!”

~~~~~~

“Yes, Dick, I’m sure I’m fine. Don’t abandon your mission.”

“Are you sure? I can-”

“I’m sure.”

“...Okay. Let me know if a situation comes up.”

“I will,” Tim agreed, signing off from his comm and leaning back against Jason’s mirror.

He twitched from a particularly hard pull of the stitches, and waved off a muttered half-hearted apology.

“...I suppose I should thank you,” Damian said, sounding gruff.

“I suppose you should,” Tim agreed mildly, lifting his leg so that Jason could place the bandage on it properly.

They sat in silence as Damian almost audibly ground his teeth.

“Thanks, Timmers,” Jason filled in, slapping his knee as he stood up and shoved a pair of sweats in Tim’s hands, “Couldn’t have left with as little bloodshed as we did without your help.”

Tim snorted.

“I’ll take Jason’s, Damian, no need to-”

“Thank you,” Damian ground out, “For your assistance. It was invaluable.”

Tim blinked in surprise, facing Damian’s direction.

Holy shit, that was a real show of gratitude.

“Uh…you’re welcome.”

“Do not push your luck, Drake.”

#batman au #an example of courage #to live with honor and bravery series #blind!Tim #BAMF!Tim #tim drake au #Tim drake #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Fanfic #Someone asked how tim fights with his tech #it grew on me and i wrote it #no ragerts

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