#please if you're reading this and you have Important Nightwing Characterization please tag me in posts because uhh

[rubythecrimsonwriter]

Flipping Legacies, middle/end part of Chapter 8, yes this is out of order shush

Snacks are churros grabbed from a street vendor, mostly because they smelled divine while passing by. Natasha grabs enough for six, plus a few extra. Between the super soldiers, the immortals, and the growing children, someone will eat them, she’s sure.

Arms full of churros, she lets herself into the apartment and holds the door open for Nightwing. Drakov’s head pops up from the breakfast nook at the second set of footsteps.

“Drakov, Nightwing,” Natasha introduces shortly. “Nightwing, one of my first trainers and the only one left alive, Drakov, also known as the Winter Soldier or Bucky Barnes.”

Nightwing slows for a second and visibly winces. “...how is Captain America taking that?”

“Mm,” Natasha hums with a mouthful of churro, passing a bag to Drakov.

“Badly,” Drakov says dryly.

“He doesn’t know Drakov is here right now,” Natasha says.

Clint exits the bathroom and works his way down the hall. About halfway down the hall, he registers the vigilante that doesn’t live there and starts grinning.

Natasha raises an eyebrow.

Nightwing catches the look and turns around. Natasha edges her way around because she desperately wants to catch this entire interaction.

Sue her. She’s a spy. Nosy is literally her job description.

Nightwing beams. It’s the only proper word for it.

Clint launches himself at the vigilante, and what follows can only be described as a casual roughhouse. It’d be deadly for most anyone else facing either of them. It’s fast, full strength, and utterly silent.

They break apart as fast as they started, grinning, neither out of breath. They’re both grinning like loons.

“Churro?” Nightwing offers.

“Fuck yes,” Clint says.

This is a normal interaction. Alright. Natasha is not asking.

“I gotta know,” Drakov says, amused. “How long have you two known each other?”

Clint smirks, a bit. Oh. Oh no. Bozhe moy.

“Your call, my dude,” Clint says. “I’m not the one with a secret identity.”

Natasha honestly forgot that no one but her and JARVIS had put everything together to then threaten Batman in the daytime.

“I’ve known him,” Nightwing says, with a deliberateness that speaks volumes, “for longer than Batman’s had Robin.”

Natasha very carefully does not choke. Clint does.

She pounds him on the back while watching Drakov, whose eyebrows have nearly hit his hairline.

“You do realize that you can’t be saying that to just anyone, right?” Drakov says.

“He was trained by Batman,” Natasha says dryly. “I’m pretty sure that’s a challenge to say, come discover my secret identity, I dare you.”

Nightwing laughs. “If Clint reported my involvement with his mission, I’ll eat Batman’s cowl after a bad night.”

“Of course I fucking didn’t,” Clint coughed out. “I would have been laughed right back into jail if I reported a fucking nine year old doing anything but flips on a trampoline.”

Natasha exchanges a look of resigned horror with Drakov. Her own words from the previous morning haunt her: Imagine if Clint couldn’t turn off the assassin like us. So lethal, so graceful, so talented, so obvious. So ripe for HYDRA’s picking, way back in 1996. Imagine if Clint didn’t have Coulson as a handler, who was notorious for going back for his agents no matter what and had the Director of SHIELD’s ear.

Coulson would have believed Clint. Which meant Coulson was not his handler.

Oops. Agent Barton had a tragic accident on a mission. We have to bury an empty casket, her own words echo back at her again.

“Where was your handler.” The words basically fall out of her mouth without permission.

Clint does a double take at her. She doesn’t know what she looks like, but based on the fact that she’s swiftly relieved of everything she might drop, she must look like she’s about to pass out.

“I ditched him,” Clint admits, grabbing her by the shoulders and shoving her into a chair. “Considering I later wound up killing the guy they sent me to protect, I’m okay with that mark on my record. Unfortunate failure is better than intentional sabotage.”

That old Winter Soldier has had his fun, but he’s a little too feisty.

Nightwing quirks a smile at her. It looks rueful. “However bad you think it is, I can guarantee it was worse.”

“Dick,” Clint hisses. Natasha knows it’s his name. It’s said as an insult.

Natasha buries her head in her arms. “How close did you come to being serumed up and brainwashed into doing some shadowy underground totalitarian government’s bidding?”

Nightwing rocks back on his heels. “Actually, you’re right on the money. How did you do that?”

Natasha pops her head up so fast her eyesight can’t compensate. “You. Don’t talk.”

She grabs Clint. “Where the fuck was Coulson, and why didn’t you refuse a handler that would deliberately fail to catch you?”

Clint looks like he’s doing complicated math in his head and he’s losing track of the numbers. “I’m definitely missing something,” he finally says.

“She’s talking about the fact that if the Black Widow was willing to run with a normal human, and have the normal human not be dead weight, then the normal human would be utterly spectacular as a super soldier,” Drakov says levelly.

He’s just. Like. Us. But he’d be better if he was serumed up and had all five senses fully working.

Clint and Nightwing exchange a glance. She knows that glance. That’s a, wow, shit was even more fucked than I originally thought it was glance.

“Oh my god,” she says faintly.

“It’s a long story,” Clint admits. “And not one we really have time for, or, uh. Patience. On the plus side, we killed them, their undead serumed monsters, their bosses, and like ninety-five percent of the underlings, too, so unless they reinvent the wheel--”

“They did,” Nightwing says.

“—we’ll be—I’m sorry, what was that?”

“They did.”

“What?”

“They revived the Court of Owls,” Nightwing says patiently. “And Batman and I took care of them. Again.”

“Oh, well--”

“And so did Robin, again.”

Natasha looks at Drakov despairingly.

Clint opens his mouth and shuts it. He looks at the ceiling and mutters something Natasha doesn’t quite catch, but makes Drakov snort.

Nightwing has a smile on his face that’s a threat. It lingers in the corners of his mouth, around the edges of his domino. It’s a smile that Coulson would be envious of. “Gotham’s a little...much for the Mainlanders. But Clint’s welcome to run with the Bats anytime. Birds of a feather flock together, right? Especially the ones that get stalked to be brainwashed assassins.”

Natasha puts her head back onto the table and gives quiet thanks that even Hydra wasn’t willing to fuck around with Gotham’s brand of crazy.

She pushes back from the table and stands up. “You crazy kids have fun. Drakov, don’t enable them. I’m going for a run.”

“Bye!” Nightwing calls after her. “Don’t forget a rebreather!”

She shakes one as she escapes out the door in response. Get her out of here. Now.