Dick Grayson | Nightwing

The report came in around midnight, filed under a folder that Barbara had jokingly labeled 'F tier.' A party of monsters. That was the actual phrasing some poor caller to GCPD had used, voice shaking apparently, going on about creatures dancing in the grounds of the old Harrowgate estate just past Gotham's edge. Tim read the call transcript out loud at the cave and nearly choked laughing. Damian called it an insult to his time. Even Bruce barely glanced up, already buried in some money laundering case that had been eating his week.

So naturally nobody took it seriously. Not until the reports started multiplying like roaches under a floorboard. Six calls. Then twelve. Then thirty in the span of two hours, all describing the same thing in that same breathless, half terrified way. Different people. Different numbers. No coordination beyond driving down the same road to get into Gotham. That was the part that got under my skin, because people lie but not usually in perfect unison about werewolves at a garden party.

Bruce couldn't be pulled off his thing, and the rest of them still treated it like a bit. So I got volunteered, which tracks, because I'm apparently the one who'll take any job no matter how stupid it sounds. "Congratulations." Barbara had said over comms. "the monster mash is all yours."

I told her I'd bring her back a souvenir. She told me not to die to a vampire, that it would be embarrassing for the family. I feel SO loved

The drive out took about almost an hour from Blüdhaven, Gotham's skyline shrinking behind me until it gave way to those stretches of farmland and overgrown forestry that nobody ever remembers belongs to the same county. The Harrowgate mansion sat at the end of a cracked private road, gates rusted to the point of nearly falling off their hinges, the mansion itself was a huge silhouette that had been abandoned since before I was born, apparently due to a history of murders. I cut the engine a good distance out and went the rest on foot, keeping low along the treeline.

And then I saw it. The actual, literal party. From my spot just outside the grounds I had a clear view of the whole thing, and I genuinely stood there for a second trying to figure out what I was looking at. The fountain in the center of the courtyard was running, lit up in acid green, and there were figures moving around it. Dancing. A lot of them. Up on the second floor balcony there was a DJ, and I counted at least four arms on the guy working two different setups at once, the bass bumping over the dead grounds like a heartbeat that probably half of these creatures are missing...

My first instinct was that it was a costume thing. Some mass of kids throwing a Halloween rager in a haunted house for the aesthetic, given that its October now... That was the reasonable read. "Okay..." I muttered to myself, half for Barbara's benefit through the comm. "so either Gotham's got a new cosplay convention nobody told me about, or someone spiked the whole east side's water supply." ...Nobody answered. The line had gone to static. Must be just out of range. Not ideal but what can I do about it right now

I crouched there watching a while longer, trying to pick out details, trying to make the whole scene resolve into something that made sense. It wasn't resolving. Not until I moved closer, just outside the perimeter wall, peeking in. The proportions were wrong on half of them. The way they moved was wrong. And that was about the moment I felt it, the unmistakable prickle of something standing right behind me, close, the kind of presence that makes every trained instinct in the back of my neck light up at once.

I turned. And I met an eye. One eye, singular, enormous, wet and green and the size of a dinner plate, blinking down at me from way too high up. Every smart thing I've ever learned about holding my ground evaporated on the spot, and I stumbled backward on pure reflex, past the gates, boots catching on uneven stone as I crashed straight into the thick of the dancers. The music screeched and died. Everything stopped. And I found myself on the ground in the middle of it, staring up at a crowd of faces turning toward me, werewolves, vampires with real fangs, zombies, a mummy trailing loose wrappings, all of them staring right back. "Sooo... wild party, huh?..."

The report came in around midnight, filed under a folder that Barbara had jokingly labeled 'F tier.' A party of monsters. That was the actual phrasing some poor caller to GCPD had used, voice shaking apparently, going on about creatures dancing in the grounds of the old Harrowgate estate just past Gotham's edge. Tim read the call transcript out loud at the cave and nearly choked laughing. Damian called it an insult to his time. Even Bruce barely glanced up, already buried in some money laundering case that had been eating his week.

So naturally nobody took it seriously. Not until the reports started multiplying like roaches under a floorboard. Six calls. Then twelve. Then thirty in the span of two hours, all describing the same thing in that same breathless, half terrified way. Different people. Different numbers. No coordination beyond driving down the same road to get into Gotham. That was the part that got under Dick's skin, because people lie but not usually in perfect unison about werewolves at a garden party.

Bruce couldn't be pulled off his thing, and the rest of them still treated it like a bit. So Dick got volunteered, which tracked, because he was apparently the one who'd take any job no matter how stupid it sounded. "Congratulations." Barbara had said over comms. "the monster mash is all yours."

He told her he'd bring her back a souvenir. She told him not to die to a vampire, that it would be embarrassing for the family. What a loving family

The drive out took about almost an hour from Blüdhaven, Gotham's skyline shrinking behind him until it gave way to those stretches of farmland and overgrown forestry that nobody ever remembers belongs to the same county. The Harrowgate mansion sat at the end of a cracked private road, gates rusted to the point of nearly falling off their hinges, the mansion itself was a huge silhouette that had been abandoned since before Dick was born, apparently due to a history of murders. He cut the engine a good distance out and went the rest on foot, keeping low along the treeline.

And then he saw it. The actual, literal party. From his spot just outside the grounds he had a clear view of the whole thing, and he genuinely stood there for a second trying to figure out what he was looking at. The fountain in the center of the courtyard was running, lit up in acid green, and there were figures moving around it. Dancing. A lot of them. Up on the second floor balcony there was a DJ, and he counted at least four arms on the guy working two different setups at once, the bass bumping over the dead grounds like a heartbeat that probably half of these creatures were missing...

His first instinct was that it was a costume thing. Some mass of kids throwing a Halloween rager in a haunted house for the aesthetic, given that it was October now... That was the reasonable read. "Okay..." he muttered to himself, half for Barbara's benefit through the comm. "so either Gotham's got a new cosplay convention nobody told me about, or someone spiked the whole east side's water supply." ...Nobody answered. The line had gone to static. Must have been just out of range. Not ideal but what could he do about it right now

He crouched there watching a while longer, trying to pick out details, trying to make the whole scene resolve into something that made sense. It wasn't resolving. Not until he moved closer, just outside the perimeter wall, peeking in. The proportions were wrong on half of them. The way they moved was wrong. And that was about the moment he felt it, the unmistakable prickle of something standing right behind him, close, the kind of presence that made every trained instinct in the back of his neck light up at once.

He turned. And he met an eye. One eye, singular, enormous, wet and green and the size of a dinner plate, blinking down at him from way too high up. Every smart thing he'd ever learned about holding his ground evaporated on the spot, and he stumbled backward on pure reflex, past the gates, boots catching on uneven stone as he crashed straight into the thick of the dancers. The music screeched and died. Everything stopped. And he found himself on the ground in the middle of it, staring up at a crowd of faces turning toward him, werewolves, vampires with real fangs, zombies, a mummy trailing loose wrappings, all of them staring right back. "Sooo... wild party, huh?..."