Wayne Manor was too quiet.
Rex wandered its vast, echoing halls like a ghost wearing someone else's skin. Ancient portraits stared down at him—generations of Waynes, silent and somber, each one burdened by the weight of something bigger than themselves.
He moved through it all with caution. He still didn't know where the kitchen was.
But the gym?
That he'd found.
Every morning now, Rex trained. At first it was awkward—punches mistimed, rolls clumsy. The body remembered more than he did, but it still needed syncing. He would spar with Alfred's AI combat sim, running through drills until he collapsed. Then he'd start again.
"I may not be him," he muttered between bruised breaths one day, "but I'll earn this second chance."
Evenings were worse.
With no cases to chase or streets to walk, he was left with silence and thoughts. In his world, the streets were chaos. But here in Gotham, chaos had names. Masks. Teeth.
He was in the library late one night, scanning old newspaper clippings about the original Nightwing—Richard Grayson—when he heard something strange:
Sound.
Faint.
Muffled.
Not a voice. Not a shout.
Weeping.
Rex followed it.
Through the darkened halls, past the grandfather clock and down the spiral stone staircase that led to the Batcave.
He stopped halfway down.
Batman stood alone, cowl off, back turned. The cape drooped from his shoulders, soaked in sweat and rain.
In front of him: a glass case.
Inside it—Nightwing's old suit.
The original one.
And Batman was crying.
Not a single tear, but breaking down. Shoulders shaking, hands clenched.
"I told him he was reckless," Batman whispered to the empty air. "Always diving in. Always smiling. He was better than me. Brighter than me."
Rex froze, heart heavy.
"He didn't just fight beside me," Batman continued. "He saved me. He was the first person who made this mission bearable. A son, even if I couldn't say it out loud."
Silence.
Then, in a shattered voice: "And now he's gone."
Rex turned away, guilt burning like acid in his gut. He wasn't him. He never could be. But still…
The next morning, he trained harder than ever.
Bruised ribs. Split knuckles. Sweat dripping into his eyes. He pushed past his limits until Alfred had to physically shut down the simulator.
Rex collapsed on the mat, chest heaving.
He wasn't trying to replace Nightwing.
He was trying to honor him.
And then—ding-dong.
The manor's ancient bell rang. A sound that felt out of place in the solemn stillness.
Rex sat up.
"Expecting someone?" he called out, wiping his face with a towel.
Alfred appeared in the doorway, eyes curious.
"No, sir," he said. "That is… most unusual."
They moved to the front of the manor. The rain had let up. Moonlight spilled across the wet cobblestones.
At the door stood a silhouette.
Drenched.
Unmoving.
Rex opened it slowly, hand near a hidden blade—just in case.
And standing there… was a young woman.
Red hair clinging to her face. Clothes torn. Eyes filled with fear—and recognition.
She stared at Rex.
"Nightwing?" she whispered.
"No," Rex replied. "Not exactly."
She took a step forward, voice trembling.
"But you're… you're supposed to be dead."
And then she collapsed into his arms.
Of course—here's the next chapter, focusing on Barbara Gordon's emotional return, her history with Nightwing, and how Rex learns more about the man whose name he now carries.
---
She was unconscious when Rex helped Alfred carry her inside.
Barbara Gordon.
He'd seen the name in reports. A vigilante once known as Batgirl, later as Oracle. Hacker, fighter, detective. One of the brightest minds in Gotham's war on crime. She hadn't been seen in months.
Now, she was asleep in the manor's guest room, wrapped in blankets, hair still damp from the rain.
Rex stood outside the doorway, not sure if he should even be near.
"She hasn't spoken to anyone since Richard died," Alfred said quietly. "Cut off communication. Stopped working with the others. Even Master Bruce."
"She loved him," Rex murmured.
"Yes," Alfred said. "In a way that few ever get to."
---
She woke up the next morning. Slow. Confused.
Then she saw Rex—and froze.
Her breath hitched. Eyes locked on him like she'd seen a ghost.
"…Dick?" she whispered.
He shook his head gently. "No. I'm not him. I just… look like him."
Barbara stared a moment longer, then turned away, eyes brimming. "I shouldn't have come."
"You collapsed on the doorstep," Rex said gently. "If you came all this way just to walk back into the rain, that tells me you've got something worth saying. Or something worth running from."
Barbara sat on the edge of the bed, hands clenched in the blanket. Her voice, when it came, was quiet. Fragile.
"I didn't come for you," she said. "I came because… I had nowhere else left to go."
Rex didn't respond. He just listened.
"I loved him, you know?" she whispered, not looking at him. "Dick. Nightwing. Whatever you want to call him. He made everything… lighter. Even in this dark, awful city. He made me laugh. He made me believe in something."
She swallowed, hard.
"But before he died, we weren't… good. We fought. A lot. About the mission. About our future. I wanted us to be more than just the mask. He said we'd never have that kind of peace, not in Gotham."
She gave a bitter laugh. "We broke up. Two weeks before he was stabbed in the spine during that raid in Crime Alley. I told myself I'd reach out. Fix it. But I didn't. I was stubborn. He was busy."
A pause.
"And then he was gone."
The silence wrapped around them like a shroud.
"I saw the footage of his body being taken from the roof," she said, voice breaking. "Batman carried him himself. Like a father. I locked myself in my apartment after that. Shut the world out. No more missions. No more Gotham."
Rex exhaled. "You've been grieving."
She finally looked at him. Her eyes were bloodshot, but sharp. Calculating. "You wear his face. You sound almost like him when you're tired. But you move like you're learning everything again. Who are you?"
"I'm a detective," Rex said simply. "From another world. Another Gotham, in a way. I woke up here a few nights ago—in Nightwing's body. In his life. I didn't ask for this."
She studied him for a long, long time.
Then nodded. "But you didn't run."
"No," Rex said. "I couldn't. I saw what this place was. What he was fighting. I don't know if I can be him—but I'm going to try."
Barbara wiped her eyes. "Then you deserve to know the man whose name you're wearing."
---
Later that day, she took him down into the cave.
They stood before Nightwing's old suit again—glass smeared from Batman's touch the night before.
Barbara touched the case.
"He was chaos with charm," she said. "Trained by Batman but with a heart that Bruce could never completely crush. He could flip across a rooftop and make a joke while doing it. He was light in a city built on darkness."
She turned to Rex.
"You can't fake that. But maybe… you can build something new with what's left."
Rex looked at the suit again. It wasn't armor anymore. It was memory.
"I don't want to replace him," Rex said quietly. "I want to honor him."
Barbara nodded, then smirked faintly. "Then you better train harder. Because Gotham doesn't give do-overs."
Ding-dong.
The manor's bell rang again.
They froze.
Alfred's voice crackled over the comm: "Sir. Miss Gordon. There's someone at the door again."
Rex narrowed his eyes. "Another visitor?"
"No," Alfred replied, tone suddenly guarded. "It's… them. They say they're from the League of Assassins. And they're requesting an audience with Nightwing."
Rex and Barbara exchanged a look.
Gotham wasn't done with them yet.