Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim was looking for aliens when he found the weird radio signal. 

It was one in the morning, hours after Mrs. Mac had told him to lock up the house and go to bed. He’d followed half her instructions, checking every door and window in the three-story manor even though most of the rooms hadn’t been used since his parents had left on their latest expedition two months earlier. Then he hunkered down in front of the TV with a giant bowl of microwave popcorn and a stack of alien movies that Nathan had said he 'just had to watch.' 

He was pretty sure the older boy was trying to either scare him or get him in trouble, but he was going to be disappointed either way. Gotham had way scarier things than some bad puppet tentacles flopping around like dying fish. He’d seen plants with better acting skills. Just last week, actually. He’d photographed an epic showdown between Batman and what he was pretty sure was a genetically modified Venus Flytrap. That was awesome. This was—he watched the hero on screen do a handstand to try to make it look like the piece of fabric wrapped around his leg was holding him upside down—embarrassing. 

Maybe his parents would have been mad at him for watching R-rated movies if they weren’t off gallivanting through South America, but he doubted it. They’d have to notice him to get mad. He was more likely to get in trouble with Mrs. Mac for eating popcorn after his bedtime. 

He was halfway through the second movie, watching the latest two-dimensional hero try to hack into an alien transmission, when he thought, I could do that. I could do that better than him.

After all, aliens did exist. Everyone knew that. There was one flying around saving people in Metropolis just an hour away. There had to be a lot more than just him. Interesting ones. Covert ones talking in secret radio signals that human technology didn’t notice. Maybe planning to take over the planet right at this very moment. That sounded way more interesting than some guy getting eviscerated in a movie Tim couldn’t even remember the plot of. 

Ten minutes later he was writing a program to locate and flag unusual radio signals. The government probably had a whole department dedicated to deciphering alien messages, but Tim was still pretty sure he could beat them. He was a genius. Everyone said so. Even at ten, he was way better at computers than any of his teachers, so he was confident that if anyone was going to discover their secret alien overlords, it was going to be him. 

It took him thirty minutes to find the signal. It thrummed like air conditioning in a crowded store, like light bulbs buzzing overhead, like a heartbeat while curled up in bed. Like background noise. Always there, but rarely noticed. He was sure it had been there the whole time he was looking, whirling away with a constant, almost indistinguishable hum. This, he thought, was exactly what aliens would do. Hide in plain sight, using human nature to blind people to their presence. 

It wasn’t just that, he realized as he looked closer. The signal wasn’t just hiding under and behind existing signals; it was interacting with them, piggybacking on them, using them both to increase its own power and to hide its activity. It was more sophisticated than any radio technology he’d ever heard of, and undeniably alien. 

Excitement bubbled up in him like a soda exploding on a hot day. Now that he’d tagged the signal, it was easier to follow, but even then, it weaved in and out of view, sometimes disappearing for several long, anxiety-ridden minutes before he could track it down again. Every time he found it, he improved his tracker a little more until it was perfectly in sync with the signal. 

Now he just needed to turn the transmission into words. He couldn’t immediately tell if it was an audio or digital transmission, but he suspected audio. There were ciphers on it, encoding the signal so that even if you found it, you couldn’t listen to it, but he didn’t expect anything less from the lurking alien army.

Every piece of the signal he unlocked revealed more locks, and by the time he broke through the last one he was already mentally rehearsing his many upcoming talk show appearances. 'Yes,' he told the interviewer, 'it was difficult for me, a ten-year-old genius, to break open the worldwide alien conspiracy. That’s why it took a whole hour.'

When the crackling audio started, he expected some weird alien language. Maybe squawks and high-pitched squeals mixed with musical woofs. Maybe they wouldn’t talk at all, and images would beam directly into his mind. Maybe they’d talk in practiced English with a Midwestern drawl like their other resident alien. 

Instead he heard a low, guttural voice growling out of his computer speakers. “Robin,” it said. “Are you in position?”

Robin walked on his hands back and forth across the ledge, waiting for the go-ahead from Batman. He was bored. Two weeks ago, he'd been fighting an intergalactic war aboard an alien spaceship, and now he was waiting to thwart a couple of everyday bank robbers. Not even that, he was waiting to play backup to the thwarting of everyday bank robbers. What did Batman even need him there for? Sure, this was exciting when he was eleven, but he'd been leading his own team for years now. Call him for the next giant robot attack.

His earpiece crackled to life. "Robin, are you in position?" 

"Sure thing, B," he said, flipping backwards onto the balls of his feet and looking down at the bank. He hadn't noticed any activity, but the silent alarm had been tripped five minutes earlier. The police were probably already on their way. 

There was another idea. Let the police handle the bank robbers. Gotham police might be a corrupt group of poorly trained, underfunded rookies, but he was pretty sure even they could handle a couple of crooks in ski masks.

"Are you taking this seriously, Robin?" Batman's growl terrified even the most hardened career criminals, but Robin had been immune to it ever since he was twelve and Batman had gotten dosed with some concoction of the Joker's that had made his voice all high-pitched and squeaky. He’d still tried to do the patented Batman voice, but had just sounded like a growling chihuahua.

The memory still made Robin giggle, usually at inappropriate times, and he barely suppressed it now. "Very seriously."

Judging from the long silence that followed, B wasn't buying it, but that was his problem. There was nothing to take seriously. They'd be in and out in two minutes, before the red and blue lights starting to appear on the horizon could make it even halfway there.

"Move in."

This was the best thing that had ever happened to Tim. He was pretty sure it was the best thing that had ever happened to anyone. Sure, every once in a while people got married or had babies or were cured of terminal diseases, and he was sure most of those people thought that they were very happy, but none of them had ever accidentally hacked into Batman and Robin's communicators. This was true joy.

He sat transfixed listening to the short conversation, staring at the speakers like they were Batman himself, but the second it ended he jumped into action. He was absolutely certain that he shouldn’t be listening to Batman’s top-secret transmissions out loud through his computer speakers. Someone could hear it. The aliens could hear it, and their secret government takeover had enough of a head start without giving them the additional advantage of being able to hear Batman’s transmissions. He needed headphones. Maybe cordless headphones that he could reprogram to listen to the signal even when he wasn’t near his computer. That had to be possible. Batman and Robin did it.  

And, oh my god, that reminded him that he was listening to the same exact radio transmission that Batman and Robin listened to and he had to clamp down on his squeal of glee. 

He found an old pair of Bluetooth gaming headphones in a drawer of video game crud his parents had given him over years of birthdays and Christmases. Probably because they read somewhere that boys loved video games, not because he’d ever shown any particular interest in them. For now he connected the headphones to his computer, but he made a mental note to reconfigure them later. 

He bounced in his seat waiting for the next transmission, but they were taking way too long. How long had it been? One minute? Two? Twenty? He glanced at the clock but couldn't concentrate on it. What were they doing, anyway? He tabbed through a couple of news sites, but nothing about Batman yet. 

He hadn’t lost the signal, had he? He checked the code to make sure. It was still there, waxing and waning like a streetlight through watery eyes. Maybe he could track its location. That would give him a better idea of what they were doing. 

He almost had a GPS and mapping system set up when Robin’s voice made him jump. With the headphones, it sounded like Robin was standing right behind him. 

“I’ve got nothing, B. You?” 

“No, but something set off the alarm.”

“Maybe it was a cat.”

“It wasn’t a cat.”

He finished the last few lines of code and two overlapping dots popped up on his map. They were in the Lower Eastside, at the corner of Carmen Street and Dalawa Avenue. A quick cross reference with Google showed that it was a bank. A bank robbery then, or something that looked like a bank robbery but wasn’t, judging from their conversation. He felt a flare of pride at figuring it out so quickly. 

“It could be a cat.”

“Robin.” 

“Have you seen any evidence that it wasn’t a cat?”

He couldn’t believe Robin was talking back to Batman like that. He’d met Batman a couple of times over the last year of following them across rooftops, and he hadn’t even managed to speak in Batman’s presence, let alone consider talking back to him. His voice just got stuck in his throat. He’d barely even been able to speak in Bruce Wayne’s presence since he'd made the connection, but he needed to get over that because his parents told him that he’d been staring so much that he was ‘making a scene’ and ‘people were starting to talk.’ 

Then again, if anyone could talk back to Batman, it would be Robin. He thought about Dick Grayson, perfectly at ease wherever he went. He had the same confidence waltzing through a crowded gala as flying across the roofs of Gotham. It had been almost a year since Tim had figured out his identity, and realizing that his childhood hero was his other childhood hero was as natural as knowing that a poodle was a dog. He honestly couldn't believe he was the only one who had figured it out. Sometimes he wondered if everyone knew who Batman and Robin were and they just weren't saying anything to be polite, the way Tim's mother insisted that it was rude to talk about the giant stain on Ms. Kozlowski’s dress even though everyone at the party had noticed. 

Tim zoomed in on the bank until the two dots separated. The blue one was closer to the front, near the entrance, and the red one was in the back, probably by the vault. 

"Hey, B, I think I've got something,” Robin said in his ear, a hint of humor in his tinny voice. 

"What is it?"

"A cat."

The cops arrived quicker than Robin had expected. He watched them from an over-sized window at the front of the bank, carefully blending into the shadows behind a curtain. It was harder for him in his bright yellows and greens than for Batman in his black bodysuit, but really, that just made it all the more impressive how good at it he was. Score one for Robin. 

Four cops hunched behind their open car doors, using them as shields while they surveyed the building. It looked like they were going to take their sweet time entering. He couldn’t blame them. It was Gotham, after all. He wondered if they would be as disappointed as him that there wasn’t anyone to fight or if they actually preferred the quiet nights.

Something squeaked behind him and he twirled on his toes, falling immediately into a crouch and palming a birdarang. It sounded like the scuff of tennis shoes against linoleum or like unoiled wheels. His eyes scoured the darkness, looking for anything he might have missed. If someone managed to get the jump on him, he was going to have to sit through another one of B’s lectures on being aware of his surroundings, and he’d been over those since he was twelve.

He heard the sound again, louder and clearer this time, and had to suppress a laugh.

“Hey, B, I think I’ve got something,” he said, doing a roundoff back handspring across the lobby because he could and vaulting to the top of the safety glass that separated the teller desks from the rest of the room. 

“What is it?” 

There, nestled below him between the spindly legs of a rolling chair, was a tiny and absolutely adorable orange and black fluffball. It looked straight up at him, making eye contact with its giant blue eyes, and meowed again. "A cat," he said, this time letting himself laugh.

Batman's silence said it all. He was going to be grumpy for the rest of the night, Robin just knew it. He always got like this when he was wrong. Robin couldn’t concentrate on that right now though because the kitten stood up on its hind legs and tried to climb up the chair towards him, only to fall off and do a perfect front somersault. 

“Awwwwwww,” he cooed. It reminded him of the kittens that occasionally popped up in the circus’s animal trailers like they’d been spontaneously generated from hay and wood shavings. 

Now that the little guy had seen him, its meowing became more insistent. When was the last time it had eaten? Where was its mother? Robin hopped down to take a closer look. 

“Is it one of Catwoman’s?” Batman asked from immediately behind him as he landed.

“You’d know better than I would,” Robin said. “It doesn’t seem like her M.O. though.” He crouched and wiggled his fingers at the tiny baby. It crept forward and sniffed his fingers. Its features were hard to make out in the dim light shining through the front window, but its eyes were wide and bright. “Look at you, you little cutie,” he said gently, slowly coaxing it closer.

Batman’s penlight flicked on and shined straight at the kitten, who hissed and backed up at the sudden bright light in its eyes. Good job, B. Perfect animal handling skills. 

He was going to say something to that effect, but then he got a good look at the illuminated kitten. It looked like two cats smashed together, one side pure black and the other orange and striped. There was a perfect line down the middle of its face dividing the two sides. His breath caught in his throat.

“It’s not cute,” Batman said. “It’s a warning.” 

“Two-Face?” Robin asked, eyes immediately scanning the room again. Two-Face was one of their more unpredictable villains. Even the Joker was predictable in his chaos. Two-Face’s decisions could vary dramatically depending on what the coin said.

Batman didn’t respond; the answer was obvious. 

Robin reached for the kitten, but it was spooked now and swiped at him, clumsily falling over as it missed and immediately scrambling back up and away. It was wearing a collar, Robin realized as it turned to run. A black box was strapped to the side of the leather band, with a flashing red light signaling urgency. “B,” he said.

“I saw it,” Batman replied.

Robin lunged forward to grab the cat, and it took off running as fast as it could on its tiny legs. “No, kitty!” he called, trying to keep his voice gentle and approachable even as it raced under the desk and scrambled between chair legs and tangled cords. “Come back! You have a bomb!” 

Batman appeared on the other side of the row of desks—it was times like these that Robin still genuinely wondered if B had superpowers he’d never admitted to—and the cat slid to a stop and started running back towards Robin. He barely managed to scoop it up before it ran between his legs. 

“Got you!” he said, holding it against his chest and going for the collar. The kitten scratched at him with everything it had, its tiny claws digging into the bare skin of his arm, but he just hugged it closer. “It’s okay, kitty. It’s okay. We’re friends.” He couldn’t feel the collar’s latch so he gently turned the kitten to look closer. There was a tiny lock preventing him from unhooking it. 

“Give me the cat,” Batman said.

“I’ve got it, B,” he replied, pulling out his lockpicks and trying to pick the lock one-handed while holding the cat tight against the crook of his arm with his other hand. It wriggled its full body like a snake and meowed plaintively. 

“That thing could blow at any moment.”

“I’ve got it, B,” he repeated, irritated. The lock unhooked. He yanked off the collar and flung it over the bullet proof glass. As it arced through the air, the device beeped a single, high-pitched tone. 

For a split second, there was silence. 

Then a roar, loud and angry as a lion, echoed through the large room. Light seared his eyes, and he turned his back on it, folding protectively over the suddenly still kitten. He squeezed his eyes shut, but fireworks still danced on his eyelids. 

Sweat broke out on the back of his neck and boiled instantly. He gasped for breath in the thin air, fighting the dizziness that threatened to unbalance him.

When the roar quieted to only a ringing in his ears and the heat on his back felt more like a sunburn than a broiler against his skin, he turned. 

The front wall of the bank was completely gone. A couple of bricks dangled from the top of the arch and fell, crinkling as they hit the broken glass below. The lounge chairs and tables that had decorated the lobby were now unrecognizable, twisted, black hulks. A few small fires sputtered for breath, but mostly the explosion had incinerated anything flammable too quickly for them to find anything to cling to.

The glass that still stood between them and the lobby had only a few cracks squiggling across its surface.

“That is some good safety glass,” he said. 

The cops stared at them through the open wall of the bank. Only one of them had a look of shock. The other three just looked resigned, like this was a normal day in the office and they were frankly ready for their lunch break. One lazily picked up the car's radio mic and started speaking into it. 

“Roof. Now,” Batman said. 

He didn’t bother replying. By the time he turned around, Batman was already gone. Of course. Robin took his time, emptying one of the pockets of his utility belt and carefully placing the still quiet kitten inside it. Poor thing was probably in shock. 

“You ready to go?” he asked, scritching its head. “We’ve got a bad guy to catch.”

Chapter Text

A shrill screech, like holding a microphone too close to a speaker, shrieked through the headphones. Tim yanked them off, tossing them halfway across the room. 

What was that? Did the bomb go off? The last thing he heard was Batman saying it could blow at any second and Robin saying he had it. 

Tim’s heart was beating hard enough to lead a whole drum corps. Did Robin not have it? What if he didn’t? What if…

He stared at the dots on his screen. They wouldn’t still be there if Batman and Robin had exploded, right? That would destroy the signal. He was mostly pretty sure that was definitely true. Slowly, cautiously, he picked up the headphones and put them back on. There were no voices, but it had the staticky sound of an open signal. That was good. Probably. 

He gnawed on his lip so hard he tasted blood. The dots were moving. He was almost positive they were moving. Not much, but enough that it probably wasn’t just Batman and Robin’s bodies being dramatically flung about by the wind, like in the movie right before the aliens reanimated them. 

It probably also wasn’t because they were reanimated corpses, even though all he could see now were zombie Batman and Robin shambling towards the police, their arms outstretched, and then disappearing into shadows probably, because they were still Batman and Robin even if they were zombies.

He couldn’t handle this. He needed to be able to see what was happening. It had to be possible. There were security cameras everywhere in Gotham. In the bank or on street corners or on the dashboards of cop cars. He was sure he could hack into them, given enough time, but that could take hours. He needed to know what was happening now. 

He checked the local news feeds, but they were as useless as always. The news was always slow to report these things. Instead he opened Twitter to the #FuckGotham feed. Anything bad happening in Gotham showed up there first. It was his favorite way to figure out where Batman and Robin would be going next so he could get there in time to take pictures.

In less than a minute, he found what he was looking for. A tweet near the top read, 'Bank across the street from my apartment just blew up. Guess I need to find a new branch, preferably in another city #FuckGotham'

His heart stopped completely. Oh, no. That meant… Did they really..?

“Let me look at the cat,” Batman’s gruff voice said in his headphones and he almost fell out of his chair in relief. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until it left him all at once and he could barely sit up. 

“Careful,” Robin said. “I think he’s traumatized.” 

During the silence that followed, Tim tried to piece together what had happened. The bomb had clearly gone off, but the cat was fine. He’d been pretty sure the bomb was on the cat from what Robin had said, but a lot had happened all at once. 

Security cameras. He was going to figure out a way to hack them and then this would never happen to him again. He’d make something repeatable, that would let him pull up the footage quickly. 

“It appears uninjured and there are no obvious implants” Batman said. “I’m calling the Batmobile so that we can do a more complete check.”

“Do you think there’s a clue on him?”

“It’s possible, but unlikely. The cat itself is the clue. It’s a chimera. Two cats in one.”

Tim googled “chimera cat” and immediately understood why they suspected Two-Face. He’d seen Two-Face in person once, while precariously perched on a beam high above a warehouse floor. He’d been sure he was going to get caught that time, probably literally when he fell off, but he’d kept his balance and nobody noticed him. No picture of Two-Face had ever done him justice. The left side of his face looked like a pulsing, open wound, even years after the injury. It hadn't ever really healed. Tim didn't think it could heal.

He’d spent so long zooming in on Two-Face, adjusting the focus, trying to get the lighting just right to really catch his essence, that they’d ended up leaving before he took a single picture.

“So this was just, what?” Robin asked. “A distraction? An attempt to kill us?”

“Probably both.” Tim thought he heard a note of actual amusement in Batman's voice. Wow. He didn’t know the Batman voice could do amusement.

“Of course it was.” He could practically hear Robin rolling in his eyes. In his mind it was Dick, standing just behind Bruce and rolling his eyes at something stupid a socialite had said before their attention turned to him and he immediately revved up the charm. “So where is he now?”

“That’s what we need to figure out.”

Tim switched back to his Twitter tab. Even on slow nights, the #FuckGotham hashtag averaged a tweet a minute—people complaining about muggings, smog, assholes on the subway, vigilantes causing traffic jams, and obnoxious one-percenters. During the last Arkham breakout, it had increased to hundreds a minute, and Tim had needed to write a script to filter out people who hadn’t actually seen the heroes or villains in person. 

While Batman and Robin talked about where Two-Face might have gone, Tim scrolled down the feed. A few more people mentioned the explosion and a couple complained about sirens keeping them awake. One person, who clearly didn't know the purpose of the hashtag, wrote, 'Three lovely ladies in one night and more bars to hit! #FuckGotham' 

He almost scrolled past another bank tweet before realizing this one was different. '#FuckGotham Stupid drunk me jjsut walked pastk a bank robbery in progremss flm' 

Bank robbery? There were never any actual robbers at the bank Batman and Robin were at. The location under the tweet put it in the Coventry, at the opposite side of Gotham from where Batman and Robin's dots still lingered. 

Okay! Okay. That was something. He pulled up his script and changed the filter to only include tweets from the Coventry. 

There was another bank one fifteen minutes earlier. 'Lights on in the bank. Called the police and they said it was probably the cleaning crew. Sure it is. Incompetent idiots #fuckgotham' 

This was good! Well, not good, it was a bank robbery, but good for him. No, wait, not that either.

He shook it off. Neither of the tweets named the bank, but that was fine. How many banks could there be? He opened a map and searched for banks in the Coventry. Over two dozen icons popped up. Why were there so many banks? Didn’t they know how much crime was in Gotham? 

He almost growled in frustration. Why couldn’t people be considerate and include their location, full name, and any other pertinent information in their tweets? 

He scrolled back to the top, but the only new tweet was complaining about potholes from all the bombs dropped in last week’s car chase. 

He jerked the scroll bar up and down the feed, hand shaking with nervous energy, before finally clicking on the drunk guy’s account to see if it had any more information about where he'd be. 

'am i seeing dobule or do they have too getaway—'

Tim jumped to his feet before he even reached the end of the tweet. That was Two-Face! It had to be! He started over from the beginning. 'am i seeing dobule or do they have too getaway cars why would uneed that #fuckkgotham.' That was posted only a minute after the original tweet! He could have had this information five minutes ago but the guy spelled the hashtag wrong. If Tim was going to have to account for every drunk typo in the future, he was going to need much better scripts. 

But that still didn’t give him the name of the bank. He tapped his fingers on the keys without typing any letters for a full minute while he thought. Then he dropped the #FuckGotham hashtag and searched instead for tweets in the Coventry that said two. He tried two cars, two trucks, and then finally got a hit on two vans. 'I was crossing Dunster and almost got hit by two vans running a red light. Learn to drive, assholes'

Dunster at least narrowed his search. He went back to the map and looked for banks that were on or near Dunster Street. Three different branches of Bank of Gotham, a Coventry Savings, a United Trust Company, and an Ashvins Capital. He googled Ashvins and let out a whoop at the description on the first search result. 

'The Ashvins or Ashwini Kumaras in Hindu mythology, are two Vedic gods, divine twin horsemen in the Rigveda, sons of Saranyu, a goddess of the clouds and…' 

That was it. That had to be it. 

Just to confirm, he changed his Twitter filter to Ashvins and the very top tweet said, 'Large vans parked outside Ashvins. Might want to move your money before someone else does'

He'd done it. He'd found Two-Face before Batman and Robin. He was amazing.

Only problem was, Batman and Robin weren't heading that way. Their dots were on Second Street, which was an obvious theory, sure, but nobody on Twitter was saying anything about Second Street. 

He forced himself to breathe. He was sure they'd figure it out soon. Really soon. Any minute now. He stared at the screen and waited.

Batman sped down Second Street, dodging around the occasional vehicle like it was standing still. Robin had been involved in a few car chases outside of Gotham, and the civilian drivers were never so composed. One driver had even swerved right in front of him. He’d crashed his bike into the passenger side and gone flying. It was pure luck no one had gotten seriously injured. 

Not in Gotham, though. Gothamites didn’t even blink at cars swerving around them at a hundred miles-per-hour. It was like racing through a parking lot. 

He watched out the window for anything suspicious, mindlessly wiggling his fingers at the cat in his lap. They hadn’t found any evidence on him, and he was finally starting to act like a normal kitten again. He pounced Robin’s hand and gnawed on his index finger. Robin could barely feel his tiny teeth through the heavy kevlar glove.

Now they were just working their way down Batman’s list of number-two themed places in Gotham. Batman had put it together years ago, because of course he had. Second Street was at the top of the list, followed by the Second National Bank of Gotham, the Twin Spires, and the Snake Eyes Casino. At the bottom was the No. 2 pencil factory on the river. They’d never gotten that far, and he certainly hoped they wouldn’t tonight. That would take hours. 

“I don’t think he’s here, B,” Robin said as they reached the end of the street and the Batmobile swerved in a tight circle to face the direction they’d come from. “Do we want to try the casino? Ooh, or we could skip to the Double Shot Espresso Cafe. They have great muffins.”

“Focus, Robin.”

“Yeah, yeah. You know you love the muffins too. I’ll pick some up for breakfast later.”

Batman stared intently at the list on his dashboard computer. In another minute he’d announce some amazing revelation that completely explained the connection between the bank, the cat, and Two-Face’s ultimate plan, and then they’d be off to his current location. Batman had taught him deductive reasoning, and he’d learned enough to regularly impress his team, but here in Gotham he preferred to let Batman do the heavy thinking. 

He scrolled, paused. Scrolled a little further, paused. “The Second Chance Animal Shelter,” he finally announced with a tone of finality.

“Of course!” Robin exclaimed, feeling the urge to slap his face at how obvious it was. “But what would Two-Face want with an animal shelter?”

“I have no idea,” Batman said. “But I’m sure we’ll find out.”

They were idiots. Batman and Robin were idiots. How was that even possible? They solved so many crimes.

Okay, maybe the Second Chance Animal Shelter had something to do with this. Maybe that was where Two-Face got the cat from. But it wasn't where he was now, Tim was sure of it.

He pulled up Twitter and filtered for Second Chance in Gotham. His feed immediately filled with cute animals and tweets like, 'Got this adorable boy at Second Chance.' There were a few tweets from what looked like Second Chance’s official account too. He paused on one that showed a litter of kittens up for adoption just a few days earlier. One had the black and orange split face of a chimera cat. Okay, so maybe Batman wasn’t an idiot. He was still wrong. 

Had Two-Face seriously just walked into an animal shelter and said, “I want that one because it looks like me?” Tim wasted a minute trying to imagine it—Two-Face in his dapper suit, smiling as he picked up a cat and rubbed it against his face—before deciding, no, he must have sent a henchman. 

He tried a few more searches, but couldn’t find any evidence that anything had happened at or near the Second Chance Animal Shelter that night. Batman was wrong. Batman was wrong and he was right. Wow, how many people had ever had the opportunity to think that? Batman was wrong and he was right. It gave him a feeling of power. 

And of duty. He looked at the dots that represented Batman and Robin going in the wrong direction and felt the heavy weight of responsibility settle in his gut. 

His hand raised to the Bluetooth headset, touching the mouthpiece currently pushed down to his chest. It was made for speaking to other players in a game. If he could hear them, he could make them hear him. He only hesitated a few seconds before pulling up his code.

The Batmobile swerved to avoid a bike heading the opposite direction. Robin smiled and waved out the window in apology. He doubted the rider saw him, but he still considered it his job to make nice with the public. Batman certainly wasn’t going to do it. 

According to the dashboard computer, they were less than a minute from the animal shelter. He frowned at the kitten in his lap. Would he get into trouble by himself in the Batmobile if Robin left him here while they fought Two-Face? He was wondering if he could convince him to go to sleep in a cup holder when a voice spoke in his ear. 

“Hi? Hello? Um, hi?” The voice was young. High-pitched. Prepubescent male, probably. Robin’s gaze shot to the side, trying to meet Batman’s eyes, but B stayed stiff as a board, staring straight ahead at the road. “Hi? I know where Two-Face is, and it’s not at Second Chance. Or where he was. Um. Eight and a half minutes ago.” Robin thought he heard the sound of a keyboard in the background. “Okay, yeah, he should still be there. At least according to InfluentialLemon forty-two seconds ago. Forty-six seconds ago.” 

The comm went silent, even the background noise disappearing. Robin tried again to meet Batman’s eyes. The voice sounded more uncertain when it spoke again. “Can you hear me? I can’t tell if you can hear me when you don’t speak.”

Well, if Batman wasn’t going to tell him what to do, Robin would take charge. “We hear you.”

Batman immediately veered to the side of the road and glared at him. Oh, now he had an opinion, did he? Robin turned to look out the window so Batman couldn’t meet his eyes. Two could play that game.

“Oh! Good! Hi!” The voice paused. “How are you?”

“You said you had information on Two-Face?”

“Oh, right, haha, sorry. I just. Hi. I love your work.” The voice dropped to a hush. “Oh my god, I’m talking to Robin.” There was a muffled noise that might have been a squeal and Robin’s lips quirked up into a smile. Batman’s hand gripped his arm, but he ignored it. 

“Right, so,” he continued. Robin immediately recognized the voice kids used when they were trying to sound professional, with its lowered octave and stiff cadence. He’d heard it often enough from the younger members of his team. “He’s at Ashvins Capital on Dunster Street in the Coventry. It looks like he arrived about half an hour ago. I have witnesses stating that two vans were heading that direction at 1:41 AM, that there were lights on in the bank at 1:49 AM, and that there were two vans sitting outside the bank at 2:02 AM. The last witness also stated that there was a bank robbery in progress.”

That was surprisingly thorough. “Where are you getting your information?” he asked. Batman’s hand squeezed his arm tighter and he waved it away without looking. 

“Twitter.” Twitter? “Mostly the, um—” The voice lowered and Robin could imagine him looking furtively around himself before continuing. “—fudge Gotham hashtag.”

“Fudge Gotham?” Robin repeated.

“I mean.” He sounded embarrassed. “It doesn’t say fudge.”

Robin slapped a hand over his mouth, barely containing a laugh. “How old are you?”

“Ten.”

“What are you doing up at—” He glanced at the clock, and Batman took the opportunity to hold up his hand in a clear cease and desist signal. Robin ignored him. ”—2:13 in the morning?”

“I was watching alien movies, and then I decided to look for aliens, and then I found your signal.”

“...you just found our signal? While looking for aliens?” This time Batman went for the cat in his lap and Robin whipped around to glare at him, holding the cat closer protectively. Batman held up a hand with his index finger and thumb pressed together and pointing up. He separated them and pressed them back together twice. What are you doing?

Robin held up four spread fingers and touched his index finger to his mouth. Talking

Batman held his hand up with his palm facing Robin. He didn’t need to be trained in ASL to understand that one. Stop

“Well, it did take me an hour,” the kid said like that was explanation enough. “Shouldn’t you be going after Two-Face? You’ve just been sitting in the same spot for three minutes. That’s not Second Chance or Ashvins.”

He and Batman both stiffened at that. “How do you know that?”

“I told you. I’m tracking your signal.” Robin was sure that wasn’t what he’d said before. At least not how he’d said it. 

Could work for Two-Face, Batman signed. Robin didn’t think so. The kid sounded young. Not just his voice, but the way he spoke. That would be hard to fake. Still, he was more wary than he’d been before. He pulled up Twitter on his phone to check the intel for himself.

“Hello?” the voice asked when they didn’t respond.

“What’s your name?” Robin asked to stall. He typed #fuckgotham into Twitter and was surprised at the number of results. Were people really this mad at Gotham?

Actually, he thought, pausing mid-swipe. Nevermind. He wasn’t surprised. 

“Oh, uh…”  Batman’s mouth twisted suspiciously at the kid’s hesitation, but it just made Robin believe him more. He would have been suspicious if the ten-year-old did immediately tell them his name. “It’s, um… Chirp.”

Robin raised his eyebrows, mask stretching against his face, and glanced at Batman. “Chirp?”

“Yeah!” the kid said, sounding more confident. “Like the sound a bird makes. Chirp.”

Tim nervously watched the dots on his screen. Why weren’t they moving? The whole reason he was talking to them was to point them in the right direction quicker. At this rate, they could have already gotten to Second Chance, realized it was wrong, and started considering other possibilities if he hadn’t spoken to them. They’d stopped talking too. What were they doing? He really needed to figure out this camera thing. 

“Hello?” he asked, pulling up a separate window and thinking about how to hack the cameras. First thing he needed was a script that could recognize, locate, and map any cameras in the area. He just wasn’t sure how to start something like that. 

“What’s your name?” 

He stilled, hands hovering over the keyboard. “Oh, uh…” He shouldn’t tell them his real name. That much he knew. Superheroes never shared their real names, and he was totally a superhero now. He was talking to Robin. He’d figured out Two-Face’s plan before Batman. If that didn’t make him a superhero, he wasn’t sure what did. 

“It’s um…” He should have a bird theme, like Robin, and maybe something to do with the radio? His eyes caught on the Twitter tab and he thought, Tweet, but he was not going to have a Twitter themed name, oh my god. Think of the memes. They wouldn’t be nice memes. He liked the idea of a bird sound though. Caw? Cluck? Quack? Chirp? “Chirp,” he said, the moment the name occurred to him. 

“Chirp?” Robin repeated. 

“Yeah!” he said. That was good. That was great, actually. “Like the sound a bird makes. Chirp.”

Robin didn’t immediately respond, probably because he was also admiring how great the name was. 

“Well, Chirp, your intel looks good. Thank you for giving us a heads up.” Tim felt a thrill of pride, but then the dots started moving, and it wasn’t towards the bank. 

“Where are you going?”

“We’re still going to do a quick run by Second Chance, just to make sure.”

“But Two-Face is going to get away!” He cut himself off as soon as he recognized the whiny tone his parents had told him to never use again if he wanted to be taken seriously. They meant around their rich friends, but he was sure it applied here too. He took a deep breath and tried to sound more adult and logical. “I mean he’s already been there for over half an hour so he probably won’t stay much longer. You should focus your attention on the most likely target.”

“Already here. We’ll be in and out.” 

Tim resisted the urge to whine again. Superheroes didn’t whine, and he was a superhero.

“Why is the cat in your utility belt?” Batman asked as they entered a second-floor window of the animal shelter. 

Robin looked down at the cat sticking his head out of one of the big yellow pockets. He seemed perfectly content, head swivelling back and forth to observe their surroundings.

“You know, I’m not sure?” Robin said. “I got distracted.”

“Hm.” Batman opened a door to a room full of cats. Most of them glanced up lazily from perches on cat towers or where they were curled up in beds, but a couple stretched and walked towards them. “Perhaps we should drop it off as long as we’re here.”

“No way, B. I’m keeping him.” He scratched the top of his cat’s head and he purred, vibrating against his stomach.

“Robin.” B’s voice had a low tone of warning that Robin was well-versed at ignoring.

“I’ve already named him so there are no takebacks,” he said cheerfully. “His name is Chimichanga.” 

“Robin,” Batman repeated, voice dropping lower. This was the voice he used for particularly dangerous rogues and disobedient children.

“Chimichanga the Chimera Cat,” he said, grinning widely at Batman’s glare.

Batman turned and walked out of the room. A cat rubbed against Robin’s leg and he knelt down to pet it. “Sorry, but I can’t take you home. I already have a cat.” 

“You know, according to Wikipedia all chimera cats are female, so Chimichanga is probably a girl,” the kid, Chirp, said in his ear. 

"This is exactly the kind of important, hard-hitting intel we pay you for," Robin quipped. Batman scowled, but he could practically hear the kid beaming.

The hallway walls were lined with pictures of happy, adopted animals—dogs playing fetch, cats sprawling in sunbeams. Many of them had pictures of people with them, probably their new owners. Batman inspected them as they passed, pausing to look closer at pictures of orange and black cats before moving on. 

The hallway ended in a small but friendly reception area. Tables with colorful, mismatched chairs and plastic bins of blank adoption forms were scattered throughout the room. A sign to their left said, “Our Team.” A dozen framed, professionally taken photographs hung underneath. It could be the partners wall in a law firm, except all of the pictures were of people acting silly with animals. One person was completely covered in kittens—seven in her arms, two on her shoulders, and one on top of her head. Another looked like it was just a picture of a St. Bernard, except for the shoulders and tufts of red hair just barely peeking out behind the large animal. 

To their right, a bulletin board exclaimed in large, comic sans print, “FIND A NEW FRIEND!” Over a hundred polaroid pictures, clearly taken in the shelter, were pinned to it. Batman and Robin approached the board. Stickers with cute cartoon animals playing on top of the word “Adopted!” were stuck to several of them. 

“There’s your cat,” Batman said, pointing to a picture near the center. 

“So you admit she’s mine,” Robin said.

Batman ignored him. “It doesn’t say adopted. She wasn’t taken through legal means.” 

Robin continued looking at the picture while Batman moved on to search the reception desk. In it, Chimichanga was standing on her hind legs, batting at the camera. “That’s you,” he said to the cat in his pouch, scritching her head. She purred again. He looked around but didn’t see the stickers, so he grabbed the next best thing—a sticky note and a pen. 

“Two-Face has clearly moved on,” Batman said, walking up behind him. “Let’s go.” 

“One second, B,” Robin replied. He quickly scribbled “ADOPTED!” on the sticky note, complete with a doodle of a cat. He stuck it to Chimichanga’s picture and turned around. Batman was watching him, stone-faced as ever. Robin smiled back.  

“You can’t leave that there,” Batman said. 

“Just letting them know Chimi was adopted so they don’t worry.” He lifted Chimichanga out of his pouch and held her towards Batman. “Wouldn’t you worry about this pretty face if it went missing?”

“That very recognizable face is part of the issue.”

“Oh calm down, B. You don’t always need to be so paranoid.” He put Chimi back in her pouch and started towards the door. “Don’t we have a supervillain to catch? He still at Ashvins Capital, Chirp?”

Chirp made a startled noise, like he thought they’d forgotten he was there. “Oh, um, let me check.” There was less than a second’s pause. “I don’t have anything saying he’s left, but I’ll try a few more filters to see if anything else comes up.”

“Thanks!” 

Batman strode past Robin towards the window they’d entered through. Robin glanced back at the reception area. Chances were good Batman had removed the sticky note while he was talking to Chirp. When he didn’t see the bright yellow square, he started to sigh in familiar resignation. Then his eyes caught on Chimichanga’s picture. An official “Adopted!” sticker was now stuck to the top right corner. He smiled, and turned to follow Batman out the window. 

Chapter Text

Tim prayed his parents weren’t coming home anytime soon, because his room was a complete disaster. Equipment from the closet was flung all over the floor, he’d completely dismantled a handheld game console for its parts, and most of the books and pencils that were normally on his desk were now under it. Maybe he should clean while Batman and Robin were busy investigating the totally wrong location. He was hesitant to leave the computer though, and his fingers itched to continue working on his surveillance code. The room could wait. If his parents even came back this month, he’d be surprised. 

“...Chirp?” 

Oh, shoot, that was Robin. Robin asked him something, and he wasn’t paying attention. He forced his mind to replay the last few seconds and found that it did, in fact, contain the question he was looking for. Two-Face. Was Two-Face still at Ashvins Capital. “Oh, um, let me check.” He refreshed the Twitter feed and nothing changed. “I don’t have anything saying he left, but I’ll try a few more filters and see if anything else comes up.” He winced at how stupid he sounded. 

“Thanks!” Robin didn’t seem to care, and that’s all that mattered. Warmth spread through his cheeks and he felt the urge to hide his face even though no one could see him. 

Focus. Robin gave him a task.  

He ran through search terms, keeping the location focused on Gotham. Ashvins, Two-Face, bank robbery, two vans. By the time he had something, the little dots representing Batman and Robin were speeding up Taylor Boulevard. 

“Hi, Robin?” he asked, hating how uncertain his voice sounded. He needed to sound confident and maybe a little commanding. He imagined commanding Batman and Robin and his whole body tensed up. Okay, just confident then.

“What do you have?” Robin asked. Batman stayed completely silent. It made him nervous. Batman clearly didn’t want anything to do with him, and that broke the heart of the little kid inside him that idolized Batman. It was okay. He’d win Batman over eventually. 

“It sounds like they’re starting to evacuate the bank.” Evacuate was a good word, he thought. Big and strong sounding. “With their illicitly gained goods.” Even better. The more big words he could sprinkle into his vocabulary, the smarter he sounded and the more they’d trust him. “I’ve got witnesses testifying that hooligans are bundling banknotes in the posterior of a vehicle.” 

A long silence followed his statement. Then Robin asked, “What were their exact words?”

“Uh. 'Just saw a couple bank robbers stuff a years worth of my salary in their trunk. I need a new job'.”

“Great! Thanks!” Robin said cheerfully.

“You’re welcome!” he replied quickly, then winced again. How did he even manage to make ‘you’re welcome’ sound dumb?

Tim tapped his fingers anxiously while he watched their dots slowly move across Gotham. Everything took so long. There had to be more he could do to help right now. The surveillance code wouldn’t be done in time. The thought of going out there in person flashed across his mind, but that was even less useful. There was no way he’d get there before Batman and Robin, and this was more likely to turn into a high speed chase than to stay in one location anyway. 

His fingers stopped tapping. It was more likely to turn into a high speed chase. He opened his Twitter code so quickly he accidentally clicked it closed and had to open it again. He forced himself to stop and just think. Location services on Twitter weren’t exact enough for what he needed, but if he could track a moving radio signal, he could track where someone was tweeting from. Their phones knew where they were. Their IP addresses knew where they were. He just needed them to tell him where they were. 

Once that was done, he set up an alert, a high-pitched ping, for every time one of his terms was hit within the city limits of Gotham. 'Van', 'Vans', 'Speed', 'Speeding', 'Chase'. What else? The woman earlier had complained about a van almost hitting her, but 'hit' was too vague. 'Ran over'? 'Red light' and 'Stop sign', as in running them. 'Curb', as in going over the curb. 'Crosswalk'? He tried to put himself in the mindset of an angry civilian ranting about bad drivers, and just imagined an old man standing in the middle of a crosswalk shaking his fist at disappearing headlights.

The first ping on his new system sounded before he even finished coming up with terms. He pulled up the tweet. 'A van drove straight over the curb and nearly hit my poor Delilah!!! She’s traumatized for life! Now she’ll never be able to pee without looking over her shoulder'

Location put them two blocks from Ashvins. Tim’s heart jumped. This was going to work. 

“Heads up. They’re on the move. I’ve got them at the corner of Chambers Avenue and West 20th.”

A long silence followed his proclamation. Those silences made him nervous. He was always sure there was some communication going on between Batman and Robin that he couldn’t see. 

“Where are you getting this?” Robin asked.

“Twitter,” Tim said, distracted by a second ping. He pulled up the new tweet.

'Fuck Gotham—' Use the tag, Tim thought. '—and fuck the colorblind assholes that don’t recognize a red light when they see it. I’m lucky to be alive'

“You can’t possibly be getting all of this from Twitter.”

“I added some of my own programming,” Tim said, zooming in on his map. “They’re on Carol Street now, heading towards Wayne Tower.” 

“Which you can tell from Twitter.”

“Yes! Now are you going to go after them or not?” He gasped and covered his mouth, eyes wide. He just yelled at Robin. What was wrong with him? Why would he do that? “Sorry,” he squeaked.

Robin glanced sidelong at Batman. He believed the kid, really he did, but even he was starting to have some doubts. Chirp was either some kind of mad scientist, or he was lying. But why would he claim to get his information from Twitter if he was lying? It made no sense. 

They were almost to the bank, but Carol Street was between them and Ashvins. If they trusted the kid, then they should swerve off to intercept the van. If they didn’t trust the kid, then why were they heading to Ashvins at all?

He raised his hand in question, and saw Batman’s eyes barely flick towards him. B’s hands tightened on the wheel. Then he swerved towards Carol Street. 

“We’re on our way,” Robin said. “Where are they now?”

“I’ll tell you when I know.” 

When he knew? When would he know? “So, Twitter?” he tried again.

“Yes.” Well, that didn’t answer anything. “Okay, they’re on Van Brundt Street, by Saint Mary’s.”

B swerved onto a parallel street, going close to 200 miles per hour. He should be able to cut them off easily. Assuming they were actually there. 

“Wait,” Chirp said. He sounded confused. 

When he didn’t continue, Robin prompted, “What?”

“I’ve got another spotting on the other side of the city, in the Bowery. I think the vans split up.”

“A spotting?”

“Yes,” Chirp said impatiently. “On Twitter.”

Ohhhhhh. It finally clicked what Chirp was doing. Robin still had no idea how the kid was making it work, but at least he wasn’t so confused anymore. 

“Got it. Focus on the van we’re after for now, but track where the other one is going.” 

B’s head tilted towards him, probably noticing his change in tone. Then he swerved hard past the Gotham Opera House and onto Van Brundt. Headlights disappeared around a corner two blocks ahead of them. Robin hadn’t seen them long enough to tell if it was a van, but he still felt a rush of relief. He’d been right to trust the kid. They swerved around the corner seconds later.

The van—and it was a van, thank god—lurched onto one of the thin, one-lane bridges crossing into the narrows. As they followed, Robin spotted a disgruntled looking woman standing up and dusting herself off. The van must have barely missed her. 

The bridge rattled as they sped over it. These were some of the oldest bridges in Gotham, and they weren’t made for two-hundred-mile-per-hour speeds. They were barely made for morning traffic. 

The van in front of them was driving erratically, aimed a little off center towards the railing instead of the other side. Dick wondered if it was because the driver was looking over their shoulder at the Batmobile quickly catching up. 

And then the van exploded. 

A fireball erupted where the van had been, completely consuming it. B slammed on the breaks, swerving the Batmobile in a tight circle. Robin watched out the window, twisting his neck to keep the fireball in view as it plummeted in a way that didn’t quite make sense, like it was passing through the bridge, and then it was gone and Robin could see the gaping hole it left behind just as the Batmobile’s back wheels squealed against the neighboring pavement. The whole car tipped backwards for a dangerously slow few seconds before Batman slammed on the rocket propulsion igniter and the car shot forward like it was taking flight. 

Robin half stood in his seat, scanning the road for the poor woman from before to make sure they didn’t accidentally run her over, but she was gone. 

“What happened?” Chirp asked. “Why are you going backwards?”

Robin didn’t immediately answer. The Batmobile squealed to a stop a few yards from where the bridge used to be. He had a feeling that, come next rush hour, the #fuckgotham hashtag was going to be busy.  

“Why did you stop?” Chirp asked. “Did you lose the van? I… I don’t have anything new on that one yet, but I’ve been tracking the other one. It’s up by the Botanical Gardens right now, heading towards the stadium.” Batman climbed out of the car and went to the back. Probably getting flares to block off the road. “Robin?” Chirp asked, voice small.

“The van exploded,” Robin said.

“W-what?” Chirp stuttered. “It... It must have been a decoy. I can direct you to the other one. Um. It… looks like it’s almost to the Lincoln Bridge.” He sounded uncertain. Robin knew why. The moment the van left city limits, his crowdsourcing system wasn’t going to work. There weren’t a lot of people complaining about traffic in the woods across the river. 

“Hold on a sec, okay?” 

Chirp made an affirmative noise as Robin climbed out of the car. Batman was igniting flares and spreading them across the road. The unnaturally bright light against his dark suit made him look more like a demon than the darkness ever did. Hopefully it would be enough to keep anyone from driving straight off the road into the river until the police could set up a proper roadblock. 

When Robin approached, Batman turned to face him and raised a hand to his communicator. Robin mirrored his actions as he took it out of his ear and turned it off. 

“This isn’t Chirp’s fault,” Robin said before Batman could start. He’d been a jerk about Chirp all night, and Robin didn’t expect that to end now.

“He could have been leading us into a trap,” Batman said.

Robin snorted derisively. “You can’t really believe that. You heard his reaction when I told him the van exploded.”

“He could be a talented actor.” 

“B, trust me on this. I know people.” He tried to repress the swell of frustration bubbling beneath his skin. Outside of Gotham, he was a leader, a great detective, a hero in his own right. But in Gotham, he was a sidekick. He let Batman lead, investigate, be the hero, and B couldn’t even trust him on the things that he was best at. 

"There are only two options here," Batman said, tone flat and not revealing any of what he was thinking. "Either he's lying and he's a threat to us. A villain disguising his voice. A reporter trying to get information about who we are and our activities."

The bubbling threatened to become a volcano. He could feel it like spurts of lava preparing to spew out. “I really don't think—" 

Batman held up a hand to stop him and continued, "Or. He's telling the truth and he's a ten-year-old child."

The volcano abruptly calmed back to a simmer. Even in the sidekick biz, ten was really young. It didn’t matter if he was only on the radio; he’d be in danger. A villain could find him and use him, or just outright kill him to hurt them. And even if that didn't happen, he would be staying up too late, ignoring studies, not sleeping enough, pursuing them on a path he never should have been on. He wasn’t a member of their family. He wasn’t an orphan looking for revenge. He was just a kid messing around on his computer. They could ruin his life.

He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Right. You're right. I'm sorry. I’ll talk to him."

Batman nodded and didn't say anything else as Robin turned his comm back on. 

"Hey, Chirp?" he asked, walking away from Batman into the weeds at the side of the road. He heard the tone change in his own voice. He was sure Chirp did too.

"Yeah? I mean, yes?" he replied. Robin had to smile. Even as uncertain as Chirp’s voice was, he was still trying to sound professional. Another sign of him trying to act older than he was.

"Thank you for your help tonight." He meant it. Even if it didn’t work out, Chirp had provided them with valuable intel.

"Oh! Yes, of course." He sounded so happy that Robin just felt worse. This must be what firing someone felt like. 

He crouched, inspecting the weeds with way more concentration than they deserved. He brushed his hand over where they looked recently flattened. "But I think it's better if we don't speak to you again."

"...what?" Chirp asked quietly, stuttering. Robin bunched his hand in the grass. 

"I'm sorry. You're just really young, and there are other things you should be doing."

“I… I’m really sorry about the van.” The longer he spoke the more his words sped up, like he wanted to make sure he said as much as he could before Robin cut him off. “I didn’t know it was a decoy. I’m working on some scripts that will help me see what’s going on better.” 

“It’s not that,” Robin said firmly. “You should focus on school. Friends.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “Trust me, this life isn’t all it’s made out to be.”

"You can't stop me from helping." Chirp’s voice took on a sharper edge. 

Robin smiled. He was sure he’d said the same exact thing to Batman more than a few times. It was weird being on this side of the argument. "Yes, we can. We'll change the signal."

"Then I'll hack it again."

Robin laughed. "You can try. Bye, Chirp." Chirp started to reply, and Robin was damned sure it wasn’t to say goodbye, but he didn’t hear it. He turned off the comm and took it out of his ear. 

Batman was waiting at the edge of the cliff, looking down into the dark river when Robin approached. Probably looking for clues. Or survivors. Someone must have been driving the van at some point. 

"Well, I feel like shit," Robin said.

"It's for the best." Batman held his hand towards Robin, his comm in his open palm. Robin put his own comm beside it, and Batman threw them both out into the darkness. There were two soft plops in the water far below.

"Yeah," Robin said, taking a slow breath. "For the best."

The dots were no longer on his map. The shape of Gotham blurred as tears welled in his eyes and he angrily brushed them away. He replayed everything that had happened, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. Maybe he shouldn't have told them his age. Maybe if he had been a little better, a little more professional. 

Tears stung the corners of his eyes and he tried to blink them back. Maybe he did mess up, but this wasn't over. Robin had given him an out. You can try.

He would try. He would try over and over again, and eventually they would accept him. 

He breathed slow, deep breaths until his eyes stopped burning. Then he opened the window for his surveillance code. He didn't think he could finish it tonight, but he could at least complete a significant chunk before Mrs. Mac came back to get him up for school. He didn't need to sleep. Sleep was for the weak, and he was a superhero. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Two Years Later

It was only Jason’s third night wearing the mask. He couldn’t quite think of himself as Robin yet. Robin was a legend. The fantasy he had on cold nights curled up in a box hoping whatever was causing those screams wouldn’t find him next. It wasn’t a reality. Not for him. 

He practiced introducing himself while loitering on a roof, waiting for Bruce—Batman—to return from whatever top secret mission he’d decided was too dangerous for Jason. Jason had to clamp down on his instinctive disgust at some rich idiot with a silver spoon up his ass thinking anything was too dangerous for a kid who’d spent the last three years on the street. This wasn’t an overbearing prick who'd taken a wrong turn into Crime Alley. It was Batman. It still rankled, though. 

“I’m Robin,” he told the chimney sternly. Okay, that wasn’t right at all. He’d hesitated before saying Robin. And wasn’t he supposed to be smiling? The old Robin had always smiled. Bruce had gone through all the trouble of dyeing his hair black to look like the old Robin. He must want him to act like the old Robin too. 

“I’m Robin,” he repeated, this time with his mouth twisted into the facsimile of a smile. He was out of practice. There wasn’t much reason to smile on the street, and smiling at strangers just made you look like an easy target. 

He took a deep breath. Forced himself to relax. Tried to make the smile more natural. “I’m Robin,” he said.

“I was wondering,” a voice replied and he twirled to look behind him. That wasn’t Batman’s voice. It sounded like a little kid. He scoured the roof but couldn’t find any trace of the speaker. He knew better than to think that made him safe.

“Who’s there?” he asked, and winced. He’d defaulted to his street voice. Too deep and intimidating. Not Robin enough.

“Chirp,” the voice replied, without further explanation. Like he was supposed to know who that was. A repeat offender maybe? “And you aren’t Robin.” 

“Yes, I am.” He tried grinning the patented Robin grin. He couldn’t see it, but it felt wrong. Everything about him was wrong, and he was already going up against a villain. The whole Arkham crowd was gonna know before the end of his first week that he wasn’t the real Robin.

That he was a different Robin. He was real. 

“No, you’re not,” Chirp said, and Jason scowled. “Robin’s a lot taller and looks less like a starving puppy.”

Jason whipped around again, searching the shadows for where this guy was hiding. 

“I’m not there,” Chirp said. “I’m watching you through the cameras.” 

Jason’s eyes rose to a security camera in the corner of the roof, then darted quickly to another one on a different building. He’d been so aware of security cameras on the streets, staying out of their sight anytime he did anything he didn’t want recorded, but he hadn’t even thought to look for them up here. He’d felt safe on the rooftops. 

Feeling safe was always a mistake.

Then his hand rose to his ear, to the comm he still wasn’t used to. It was so perfectly shaped to fit in his ear, he kept forgetting it was there. His first night out, he accidentally went to sleep with it still in. His second night, Alfred pointedly took it from him as soon as he got back to the cave. 

He was so dumb. How had he not noticed the voice was coming from the comm? He scrambled to take it out.

“Wait, wait, don’t,” Chirp said, breaking his calm veneer for the first time.

Jason already had the comm out, but he held it close enough to hear. “I’m not going to be a pawn to some two-bit villain.” 

“Vi—I’m not—why do people always think I’m a villain?” Chirp whined. He sounded genuinely flustered, but Jason wasn’t ready to give him a pass yet. 

“I don’t know,” he said sarcastically. “Maybe it’s the whole creepy ‘I’m watching you through the cameras’ thing.” The more he looked around, the more cameras he saw. Jesus. He was not going to sleep tonight. 

“I thought that was neat,” Chirp said, sounding every bit like one of the younger street kids when they’d done something that was gonna get them all in trouble but was still insisting it was a good idea. Jason suppressed a smile. He hoped those kids were doing okay without him there. He should sneak out to check on them. “Do you know how hard it is to program a script that will work on every camera in Gotham? I do. ‘Cause I did it.” 

“I’m sure I could do it too,” Jason said, just to get a rise out of him. Truth was, computers were his weakest link in the Robin training. Even before being homeless, he hadn’t had many opportunities to use computers, let alone do the kind of incredible shit Bruce wanted from him. Alfred had assured him that Dick had been bad at computers when he started too, but Jason didn’t believe Mr. Perfect had ever been less than amazing at anything he tried. 

“You could not,” Chirp said, affronted. Jason’s smile grew. Actually, he felt like he could pull off the Robin grin now. He pushed it a little wider, a little more mischievous. That felt right.

“Of course, I could. I’m Robin.” It felt real that time, sending a flutter down his spine. He was Robin. “I can do anything.” 

“That’s not even true of Batman,” Chirp muttered. He was sulking. Good.

“So what’s your villainous plan?” Jason asked, popping the comm back into his ear. He didn’t really think this kid was a villain anymore. If he was, he certainly wasn’t one of the heavy hitters. It was more fun to keep prodding him though. 

“I’m not a villain!” he exclaimed. “I’ve worked with Batman and Robin! Multiple times!”

“Funny, they never mentioned you.” 

Chirp didn’t immediately respond. Maybe that was too mean. It was true, though. Jason had to do six months of training before being let out in the pixie boots, including an extensive review of their enemies and allies, and Chirp had never come up. 

“They don’t trust me either,” he eventually muttered, each word like pulling teeth. “Or they think I’m too young. Or something.”

“How old are you?” Jason asked. He thought of the littler kids that he’d tried to protect on the streets. The ones he actually tried to convince to go to a home, ‘cause yeah, foster homes sucked, no doubt about that, but the little ones would never make it through a winter outdoors without resorting to much worse. 

“Twelve.” 

“Pft,” Jason snorted. “That’s plenty old.” Only a year younger than him.

“I know, right!” Chirp said. “I mean, I was ten when I started.”

“Still plenty old,” Jason said. “At ten I was already jacking tires to make rent.” He realized belatedly that was probably too much information to give a stranger about his identity, but whatever. Wasn’t like there weren’t plenty of kids in the same situation as him, and maybe it would turn Chirp’s attention away from rich boy Brucie, who acted like he didn’t even know how to change a tire. He grimaced at the memory of Bruce’s second, less enjoyable, alter ego. 

“I can do a lot of neat stuff too. Wanna see?”

Jason scanned the rooftops for Bruce. No sign of him yet. Whatever he was occupied with sure was taking a long time. If B had turned down Chirp’s help before then he probably wouldn’t like Jason talking to him now, but whatever. Jason wasn’t about to let some billionaire dictate what he could or couldn’t do, even if that billionaire was Batman. “Sure.”

“See that window in front of you, two down and three to the right?” Before Jason could respond, a light flickered on in the window.

“Are you in that apartment?” Jason asked, body already tensing in anticipation of a fight he didn’t actually think was coming. His body often jumped the gun on that kind of thing. 

“No. They have Hue lights, you know the ones that you can control with your phone and change colors?” Jason had never heard of them, but he got the idea.

“You can hack into them?” he asked. 

“Yes!” Chirp said gleefully, sounding very proud of himself. Three other lights in the building popped on at once. Not a lot in the grand scheme of things, but certainly something. All four lights transitioned from yellow to red, then green, before shutting off. Robin colors. “People put lots of things online. That first apartment? I can control their lights, their thermostat, their security system, their roomba, even their locks.”

The thermostat one he knew. He couldn’t think of what it was called, but he’d seen one at the house of a kid he’d been partnered with for a school project. “I am never, ever using one of those things,” Jason said. 

“Probably for the best,” Chirp agreed. “If I can do it, other people can.”

“Like me,” Jason replied automatically.

“You cannot!” Chirp said. “I meant older people! With degrees! Who are almost as smart as me.” 

Jason laughed. Chirp was a fucking dweeb. “So, this shit do anything useful? Other than put on light shows and convince people their homes are haunted?” Actually, now that he thought about it, he might sick Chirp on that kid he’d been partnered with. The asshole had gone and left him to do all the work while he’d played video games. 

“Well, not as of yet exactly, but I’m sure…” he trailed off. Jason waited a few seconds, but Chirp didn’t finish his sentence.

“Circuit break, robot boy?” 

“Hm? Oh, no, I just... think there’s a break-in across the street from you? I was messing with some cameras for my next demonstration and—”

Jason was already running as Chirp finished his explanation with something about masked men with crowbars. He jumped off the roof with only a small hesitation. This was his first time using the grapple without Bru—Batman right there, and most of his practice was still in the cave. The grapple found its target without issue though. “Where are they exactly?” he asked as he swung smoothly towards the opposite building. 

“First floor, right side of the building, jewelry store,” Chirp said, voice all business. “They’re already inside. They set off a silent alarm opening the window. And… several more silent alarms smashing jewelry cases. They’re not exactly master criminals.”

“Can you see them?” Jason asked. He landed on his tiptoes on the crown molding between the first and second floors rather than landing on the ground. The Robin uniform wasn’t made for stealth, but Batman had taught him all the ways to avoid notice before, you know, painting a giant target on himself. He crept along the molding until he was directly above the already open jewelry store window. 

“Yes,” Chirp said. “There are three of them. Two of them are holding crowbars. The third just has a bag. I don’t see any guns but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. One time—”

“Got it,” Jason said, interrupting whatever unimportant story Chirp was about to tell. He gripped the edge of the molding and swung down through the window. His feet hit one of the thugs, slamming him facedown on the ground. Jason landed on his back and struck his best devil-may-care hero pose. “Hey, boys.”

The two upright criminals stared at him. “The fuck?” one said. The other threw his crowbar at him, missing by a mile. Chirp was right, these guys weren’t exactly the cream of the crop. He knew nine-year-olds that could pull off better heists. It would probably be good for his first solo bust if it weren’t so embarrassing for everyone involved.  

The guy under him groaned, so Jason kicked him in the head before doing a totally sick front flip off of him. Yeah, the flying Dickhead probably would have added a couple dozen twists and turns and maybe a light show, but he was an over-the-top moron. Jason was being efficient. 

He spread three birdarangs between his fingers and said, “Tell you what. Give up now and I’ll go easy on you.” Both men rushed him like the idiots they were. “Warned you,” Jason said, before throwing all three birdarangs in a single, smooth motion. One hit the first man’s hand, causing him to scream and drop the bag of goods he was swinging like a bola. Another embedded in the second guy’s shoulder, sending him to the ground yelling like he’d been shot. The third shaved an inch off a display case and disappeared into the shadows behind it. Oh well. It was still an awesome shot. 

“Behind you,” Chirp said urgently, and Jason twirled. The man he’d landed on was up, his crowbar raised. 

Red emergency lights flickered on and off behind him, and the man flinched, turning with the word ‘Batman’ forming on his lips. When nothing happened, he hesitated, and Jason took the opportunity to kick the crowbar out of his hand. 

“Was that good?” Chirp asked.

Jason—no, Robin. He was Robin—punched the guy in the face just like Batman had shown him, and he collapsed like a sack of potatoes. “That was great,” he said. 

“Robin, where are you?” He froze at Batman’s voice in his ear. He hadn’t thought about it before, but shouldn’t Batman have heard him talking to Chirp? Why didn’t he say anything earlier?

“Just cleaning up some scum, B,” he said as he stepped over to zip-tie Bag Guy’s wrists behind his back. He looked the most likely to attack, despite not having a weapon. 

“You were supposed to stay on the roof,” Batman said. He really hadn’t heard the whole Chirp thing, had he? Chirp must have done something to the comm. He certainly wasn’t talking now.

“You really expect me to stand by while crime is happening?” He finished zip-tying the three guys, kicking the one who threw the crowbar at him again for good measure. 

“I expect you to follow orders.” 

Robin tried to gauge how angry he sounded. Was this a ‘you’re being pulled from patrol until you learn to follow orders’ level of angry or an ‘I’m impressed with your initiative but still need to emphasize the importance of listening to me’ level of angry? He was pretty sure he could push it into the latter group with the right prodding. 

“What are you training me for if not doing the right thing when I see bad shit happening?” 

Batman didn’t immediately respond. As far as Robin was concerned, that was a victory.

Sirens were approaching, probably in response to the many silent alarms Chirp had mentioned earlier. “Well, boys, it was fun, but it’s time for me to take off. Kick your asses later!” He flipped them off, which probably wasn’t the most Robin move, but whatever. Robin was his now. He got to give it his own flare. 

He grappled back up to the roof. He didn’t immediately see Batman, but knew that was just because B had a thing for theatrics. He waited patiently until Batman stepped out from the shadow of a large air conditioning unit. 

“Ooh, scary,” he said, grinning at B’s responding glare. 

“I… appreciate your desire to help,” B started slowly. Yes. Robin had totally won this round. “But orders exist for your safety. Next time you see a robbery happening, and I’m not here, contact me.” 

There was a lot he could have said to that. That he didn’t want to interrupt Batman’s important solo mission, or it was too urgent to wait, or he was distracted by a certain voice in his head. Instead he said, “Sure thing, B.” 

That seemed to satisfy him, at least for now. He turned with a dramatic swish of his cape and said, “Let’s move.”

Definitely a win. Robin fought down a grin as he started to follow. 

Something flickered in the corner of his eye. He turned to scan the closest windows, looking for what had caught his attention, and it happened again. Two windows down, and three to the right, a green-tinged light flicked on and off.

He barely lifted a hand in response, knowing that wherever Chirp was, he would see. Then he followed Batman into the night.

Chapter Text

The new Robin was funny. Not like ‘haha, great joke’ funny. More like ‘completely disorienting and a little disturbing to see someone other than Dick Grayson in the costume’ funny. Tim watched him run across rooftops after Batman. He didn’t have Dick’s natural grace—he winced as Robin tripped over a parapet but caught himself before Batman could notice—or Dick’s acrobatic ability, or Dick’s glowing personality, or Dick’s anything really. Despite that, it was nice to have Robin back. The city had felt wrong without him. 

A sharp knock and rattling of his doorknob startled Tim and his fingers immediately landed on Alt P. All of his tabs switched out with bland social media accounts. It was a necessary precaution when his parents were in town. The knock was just a pretense of privacy. Half the time they only knocked after the door was already open.

“Facebook, again?” his mother said with obvious disdain. She didn’t approve of Facebook, but she’d approve of what he was actually doing even less. 

“All my friends are on it, Mom.” It wasn’t true. He only had one friend on Facebook. But he wanted his mom to see his actual social media accounts even less than he wanted her to find out about Chirp. 

“If all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you?” she asked. He had to resist rolling his eyes. She wouldn’t appreciate it. 

“Can I see why they’re jumping?” he asked logically. “Is there danger?”

His mom gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look, but moved on to why she was actually invading his room. She held up a cream colored envelope with a red seal. Even with most of the envelope obscured by her hand, he immediately recognized Bruce Wayne’s family crest. “Did you RSVP to the gala for the new Children’s Wing dedication?”

He had. He’d actually expected his parents to be traveling in the Middle East for another month, but their excavation hadn’t gone well and they’d both come back in foul moods, barely speaking to each other. He’d been hoping to use it as an opportunity to get a better read on the new Robin. All he knew about him was what he’d been able to find in government and police records, which wasn’t much. His mom had died of an overdose. His dad was in prison. He’d been arrested a few times himself for minor crimes. Nothing serious enough for jail time. He’d been sent to a number of foster homes that he ran away from. By the time Bruce Wayne found him, there hadn’t been any record of him in over a year. 

Tim opened his mouth to lie before realizing that, for once, he didn’t have to. “I wanted to meet Bruce Wayne’s new kid. This will be his first major public appearance.”

His mom clicked her tongue. “I am curious how he’ll hold up myself. I doubt it will be well, but I thought that of his other child too.” Tim remembered Jason practicing to be Robin. He wondered if Jason was practicing to be a socialite too. His mom pointed the envelope at him. “I appreciate your initiative, but in the future don’t RSVP without confirming with us first. It would be humiliating if you showed up without us.”

“Yes, Mom,” Tim said immediately. He’d have to think about the best way to get around that rule in the future without outright breaking it. 

She gave him another look like she knew exactly what he was thinking and he tried to look as innocent as possible. Eventually she just said, “Dinner will be in ten minutes. Do try to look respectable.” 

Tim looked down at himself. He was wearing sweats and a t-shirt, which was his normal around-the-house outfit when they were out of town. “Yes, Mom,” he said, getting up to change into khakis.

She nodded and left, presumably to direct Mrs. Mac on the final touches for dinner, because she certainly wasn’t cooking it herself. 

Before heading downstairs, he switched back to his surveillance. Batman and Robin were long gone, but it was easy enough to check where their dots were on the map and switch to cameras focused on that area. He found them near the docks, looking over the edge of a roof at what looked like a drug deal happening below them. Robin straightened as Batman gave him orders that Tim couldn’t hear. 

This Robin was a mystery. Sometimes he was a soldier. Sometimes he was a rebel. Sometimes he was a puppy. Tim hoped to get a better bead on him at the gala, but if it was anything like Brucie, Tim might just find another persona that he’d have to look past to find the real Jason. 

So far, the real Jason appeared to mostly consist of endless fidgeting and checking the time. It had only been twenty minutes since he and Mr. Wayne had arrived, but he was acting like a student five minutes away from summer vacation. 

“Do try not to stare, darling,” Tim’s mother said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s unbecoming.”

Tim turned his gaze a few degrees and tried to look like he’d been studying one of the ornate columns behind Jason. The gala was being held in the grand ballroom of the International Renaissance Hotel, so there was an overabundance of ornate columns. There were also two ornate staircases lining the far walls of the large room, ornate archways that led into ornate little cubby holes, and ornate floors that looked like someone had sprinkled gold dust in geometric patterns. Even his mom’s friend Cynthia, who wore her diamonds to brunch, thought the International Renaissance Hotel was a little over the top. His mom said it was a mediocre hotel at best and catered to tourists with what poor people thought it looked like to be rich. He was pretty sure he’d heard similar things said about Cynthia. 

He nodded and held his hand to his mouth thoughtfully. “Interesting architecture. Very Greek-inspired. Corinthian, I’d say.” Judging from the ensuing silence, his mother wasn’t buying it. He quickly changed tracks and plastered on his best future-leader-of-industry smile. “I was thinking about introducing myself to Jason.”

“Don’t be the first,” she said disdainfully. “Let one of the working families’ children make the first move.”

Since the gala was celebrating a new hospital wing Wayne Enterprises had funded, a number of the hospital’s employees and their families had been invited. That was probably why Mr. Wayne had chosen this gala to debut Jason at. More people Jason could relate to. His mother had already pointed out multiple women wearing department store dresses. 

Mostly, the rich donors and lower class workers were keeping to their own, but Tim had seen a guy who didn’t even have a suit on doing a hilariously bad job of starting a conversation with a woman holding a cat that was better dressed than him in its natural tuxedo and jewel-encrusted collar. One of the Délicatesse heiresses, probably. They were always carrying around one of their purebreds, as if to remind people of the luxury pet products they’d made their fortune from.

“Don’t you think it would be beneficial for me to network with the latest Wayne heir?” Tim asked in the boardroom voice he’d been perfecting for future use. 

“You do know I can tell when you’re trying to manipulate me, Timothy.” She gave him a pointed look, but he kept his expression as genuine and professional as he could. “You are getting better at it though.” He beamed at the compliment, but quickly toned it back down to pleasantly businesslike at her raised eyebrow. “Don’t talk to him first, don’t stare, and please try not to seem like you’re mocking the Little Orphan Annie. You do not want to know how much smoothing over the Dumphreys had to do before Wayne Enterprises would do business with them again after Walter Junior called Richard a circus freak.”

“Should I start with not calling Jason Little Orphan Annie?” Tim asked.

“Not to his face, certainly.” Her eyes caught on something across the room. “Oh, the Nelsons decided to show up after all. I need to speak with Tabitha before she drinks too much.” She checked her watch and pursed her lips. “It may already be too late.” She strode off without a goodbye. 

Tim glanced back towards Jason, making sure not to stare this time. No one else was even close to him. If he was going to be allowed to talk to Jason anytime soon, he needed to take matters into his own hands. He looked for one of the poorer-looking kids, zeroing in on a pretty blonde girl wearing what was clearly a second-hand dress. He put on his best friendly smile and approached. 

“Hello!” he said. The girl gave him a once over, and Tim straightened his posture at the attention. His mom had ensured he’d make the best impression in a fitted Armani tux, so he wasn’t too concerned. “You look like you don’t come to many of these.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, crossing her arms and jutting her hip out to one side. 

Tim replayed what he’d said in his mind, looking for anything she might have taken offense to, but it all sounded fine to him. He plowed forward. “I just thought you might appreciate someone showing you the ropes. Like how to get all the best food.” 

She was still giving him an odd look and Tim tried not to wilt. This wasn’t like at school, where he always had to make sure to reflect well on his family. His parents wouldn’t care if some random middle-class kid thought he was weird. And he was on a mission. He could do this. 

“Have you already talked to Jason?” Tim asked, deciding not to drag the conversation out any longer than necessary.

“What?” She glanced towards where Jason was still awkwardly standing alone. “No. Should I have?” 

Tim gave her a practiced surprised look. “He’s the guest of honor. Everyone’s supposed to at least say hi.”

Her mouth twisted in doubt. “They’re celebrating the hospital, not him.”

“They are, but this is also the first gala Jason’s attended. It’s very important.” Tim turned away, trying to strike just the right level of skepticism. “I’m sure it’s fine though. It’s not like your parents work at the hospital. That would be really insulting to Bruce Wayne, after all the money he gave them.” 

The girl still looked doubtful, but a bit of uncertainty started to leak in. “My mom does work for the hospital.”

“Oh,” Tim said. Just that. He thought he really nailed the tone of dismay.

“Fine!” she said. “I’ll say hi.” 

As she stalked away, Tim noticed his mother giving him a thoroughly unimpressed look from across the room. He smiled back. He thought he was doing a great job of abiding to her rules. 

Then his eyes caught on something else, someone who didn’t look like they belonged. Tim couldn’t figure out why the man stood out at first. He wasn’t wearing a tux, but a lot of people weren’t tonight, and he was dressed nicely enough. It was more the way he moved, with purpose. Not heading towards anyone or anything in particular, but walking around the edges of the room, eyeing the crowd with a determined, almost hungry look. Then Tim saw the gun holster beneath his jacket. 

His breath caught in his throat, but he forced himself to keep a bland smile on his face as the man’s gaze turned his way. What was this? A hold-up? An assassination? He knew his mom’s eyes were still on him, so he couldn’t react as quickly as he wanted to. Instead he very calmly walked towards a hallway that he knew led to a bathroom, making sure to glance towards Jason on the way because that’s what his mom expected him to do. He’d bunker in, find a good way to warn people.

A second man stepped in front of the door as Tim approached. He didn’t see a gun, but the man moved with the same sense of purpose as the first and stood by the door like a security guard. Except Tim knew he couldn’t be one of Mr. Wayne’s detail because he memorized the roster of Wayne employees before every major event. He turned towards the buffet table at the last minute, trying to make it look natural. 'Yes, I need to pee, but not more than I need to try one of those delicious looking pastries.'

The buffet had simple hors d'oeuvres and punch, the types of things waiters usually carried around at these events. He wasn’t sure why they were just sitting out. Maybe it was a budget thing? He was pretty sure poor people had waiters too, though. 

He munched on a pastry, casually scanning the room like he wasn’t looking for anything in particular. There were at least two more men. Maybe four. A couple of them were either better at blending in or were actual guests doing a really bad job of socializing. 

As soon as he was sure nobody was looking, he ducked under the table. It had a long enough tablecloth that he should be able to stay there unnoticed for as long as he needed to. Getting out without embarrassing his family into ruin might be difficult though. 

Now he just needed a way to alert Batman and Robin. His mind went blank. His only real way of contacting them was through the comms, and they wouldn’t have comms in while they were Mr. Wayne and Jason, would they? No, he would have noticed. Honestly, he probably should have just walked straight up to Mr. Wayne and told him that he thought he saw a guy with a gun. He wished he’d thought of that before trapping himself under a table. 

What about the #FuckGotham tag? Were they following that? He knew Dick had been, at least for awhile, but he didn’t know if Mr. Wayne ever had or if Jason even knew about it. 

It was worth a shot. He signed into one of his sockpuppet accounts and typed out a quick tweet. '#fuckgotham there are men with guns at the rachel dawes children’s wing dedication gala' 

Inelegant, but it would do. He wondered if writing out the whole name made it sound fake. Probably. Even his mom had never said the whole thing, and she was a stickler for formality. He needed people to know what event he was talking about, though, or this was all for nothing. It wasn’t his fault the gala had a stupidly long name. At least he didn’t capitalize it. 

Oh well. At the very least, if none of the Bats saw it, maybe the police would.

Oh, right, or he could call the police. That would be a good idea. 

As he dialed 911, a loud thunk hit the ground right outside his table. He leaned down, and could just barely see in the inch between the tablecloth and floor the pointed end of a fancy umbrella. 

A voice on the phone said hello and he scrambled to mute the call. At the second hello, he just pressed the end call button. He stayed very still, with his phone to his chest and his breath held, waiting. 

“Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen,” a nasally voice said from directly above him and he breathed again, as quietly as he could. He hadn’t been heard. “Well, for me it’s a good evening. The same may not be true for you. Gentlemen?”

Shrieks sounded from around the room. A wave of desire to see what was going on washed over him so powerfully that it was almost nostalgic. Now, though, he had a solution for that. 

He swiped through to the second to last screen on his phone and opened a folder labeled “old games.” A number of generic block matching games popped up. He picked a boring looking one from the middle of the pack. A few keystrokes later and the game screen switched out with a map marking the location of cameras. 

Time to see how good the International Renaissance Hotel’s cybersecurity was.

Jason wasn't sure why this girl was talking to him, but he was pretty sure the boy in the ridiculous tux had put her up to it. He'd seen them talking and glancing his way when they thought he wouldn't notice. They were probably trying to play some kind of prank on him. 

He puffed up in a way he knew made him look less like a target, but didn’t go so far as to actually threaten the girl. He wouldn’t want to disappoint Alfie. 

This whole thing was a nightmare. He didn’t know why he had to be here at all. Bruce had assured him that this was one of the “less elaborate” galas. They were wearing suits in a gold-lined castle eating fancy French finger food. What the hell were the elaborate galas like? 

“Anyway, welcome or whatever,” the girl said.

“Thanks?” Jason asked. He didn’t know how this was going to transform into a prank, but he was pretty damn sure it was. The girl was acting so awkward, and clearly didn’t want to be talking to him. Was she stalling while tux boy snuck up behind him? Jason quickly scanned the room. He didn’t see tux boy anywhere. Great. 

“Hey, can I ask you something?” the girl asked. Here we go. He braced himself for whatever stupid joke this was going to be. “Has anyone else said hi to you?” 

“What?” Jason asked. This was a weird-ass prank. Was she trying to make him feel bad? “No? Barely anyone’s said a word to me. I’m starting to think I’m some kind of leper.” 

“I knew it!” she exclaimed. “That weird kid said…” She trailed off as she looked around, probably for tux boy, and Jason suddenly realized that this was indeed a prank, but it wasn’t on him. “Well, he basically implied your new dad would get my mom fired if I didn’t say hi.” 

“What?” Jason asked, indignant on Bruce’s behalf. “Bruce would never… What the hell? Why would he even say that?”

“Probably thought it was funny.” She crossed his arms and fumed. “Freakin’ rich kids.” She startled and shot a look at Jason. “No offense.” 

“Oh, please,” Jason snorted. “I’m Alley trash. Having money won’t change that.” 

She grinned. “Cheers to that. I’m Steph, by the way.” 

“Jason. Which you already know. Of course.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying not to feel dumb. “Why do you think everyone’s avoiding me?” 

“I don’t think they’re avoiding you, exactly,” Steph said. “At least, I wasn’t. But, I mean, what do you say to a guy that went from living on the street to being a billionaire overnight? I can’t even imagine.”

“I don’t know,” Jason said. “Catch the game last night?” 

“Uhhhhh...” She drew out the sound for almost half a minute. “What sport?” 

“No idea. It just seemed like the kind of thing people say to each other.”

She grinned wider. “Maybe you should follow sports if you want to use that.” 

He shrugged. “I was thinking about getting into baseball. You know, for the conversation starter.” 

She snorted so loudly he almost didn’t hear the ping from his phone. He pulled it out and frowned at the text message notification from Dick. “Sorry,” he said, distracted. Since when did Dick text him? Where did Dick even get his number? Probably Alfred, which meant he couldn’t even be mad about it. “It’s my… actually, I don’t really know what he is to me.” 

“Dick?” Steph asked. It was weird hearing someone he was pretty sure had never met Dick call him by his nickname so casually, like they were old friends, but he guessed he’d get used to it. Everyone in this town knew who Dick was. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact they’d all know who he was soon, too. Being Robin was cool. Even living with Bruce was cool, when it was just the two of them and Alfred. Being Brucie Wayne’s latest pet project? That he wasn’t so hot on. 

“Yeah,” he muttered as he opened the text. 

Dick: are there people with guns at the gala??? 😨😨😱 

Jason stared at the message, trying to figure out how much the multiple question marks and emoticons were Dick and how much they were a persona he was putting on for some imagined audience. He didn’t register the actual message until Steph asked, “People with guns? What the heckie?” 

Jason mentally cursed himself for not thinking to turn the phone screen away before opening the message. If Dick was putting on a persona, this was exactly why. 

He quickly scanned the room and typed back: what no

“Why would he think there were people with guns?” Steph asked, turning in full circles as she searched the room. “Do you think there was a threat on the party? Should we say something?” 

“I’m sure it’s just—” He was cut off by a loud gasp from Steph, and he quickly twirled to follow her gaze.

Jason had never seen the Penguin in person, and he doubted Steph had either, but the man who stepped in front of the buffet table was instantly recognizable. He was bulbous, body puffing out in almost unnatural bulges that were mostly hidden by the floor length fur coat he wore over his tuxedo. A long cigarette stuck out of his mouth, and he held an umbrella that Jason knew from the files could either shoot bullets or gas. 

He instinctively took a step in front of Steph, then debated whether or not he should have. He was Robin. It was his job to protect people. But he was also Brucie Wayne’s something or another and shouldn’t he act more scared in his public persona? He couldn’t just not protect people so they wouldn’t figure out he was Robin, though. But wasn’t he also protecting Bruce by not protecting people? He hated this part of the job. Steph didn’t even have the good grace to stay protected. She stepped out from behind Jason to better stare at the Penguin.

“Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen,” the Penguin announced. Anyone who hadn’t already been looking turned. A glass of Champagne slipped from a woman’s hand, shattering on the floor. “Well, for me it’s a good evening. The same may not be true for you.” He raised his hand in some kind of signal. “Gentlemen?”

Around the room, seven men pulled out guns and trained them on the crowd. Jason quickly texted “nvm” to Dick and put his phone away.

Chapter Text

The picture on Tim’s phone was too small. It took him forever to find Jason among the tiny figures, even knowing where he’d just been. There were two cameras, but the angles were weird and Tim had to keep switching between them to search the whole room. It would be a lot easier with his tablet, but his mom had said bringing it to a party would be “a breach of common etiquette and mark him as a social pariah.” 

He wondered if that was better or worse than being caught hiding under a table. 

Jason was still with that girl Tim had sent over, and he felt a bewildering surge of jealousy. It wasn’t like Jason was going to be friends with her now. They just happened to be standing next to each other when the Penguin showed up. It didn’t mean anything. 

Jason stepped protectively in front of her and Tim had to swallow down another completely ridiculous, unfounded wave of bitterness. What, did he want to be protected by Robin? He could take care of himself, thank you very much. It was stupid he was even thinking about this. He had a job to do.

He carefully searched the ballroom three times before deciding that Mr. Wayne definitely wasn’t there. That was good, right? Did he already get out? Did he have, like, some magic bat precognition that told him when danger was coming, like how animals sensed earthquakes before they happened? 

That would explain a lot really. 

When he was younger, he thought Batman probably had all kinds of bat-themed powers like sonar and flying and blood drinking, but he’d methodically ruled them out, one after another. Precognition could still on the table though. 

He slowly flipped through the cameras starting with the garage and working his way back towards the ballroom, taking extra care to check every single shadow. He hadn’t completely ruled out shadow camouflage as a super power but he was preeetty sure by now that Batman was just sneaky. 

He’d almost convinced himself that Batman had just completely left the building, probably for some super elaborate plan, when he found Mr. Wayne just one room over in the dining hall. He was with a few members of the planning committee, surrounded by the full array of charity auction items. They were probably making sure everything was ready for later. 

He also had one of Penguin’s thugs pointing a gun at him. So much for precognition. 

This was worse than being in the ballroom, actually. Fewer people meant it would be way too obvious if Mr. Wayne tried to make his escape. Jason was in a much better position to sneak out.

Except for that stupid, annoying cling-on he’d picked up. She was still there when Tim switched back to Jason’s view, standing way too close to Jason in Tim’s humble opinion.

He switched back to the dining hall. Mr. Wayne had maybe inched a little closer to a large arched window. He wasn’t actually looking at it, but Tim imagined him flinging himself out the window and changing into the Batman suit mid-fall.

Did they even have their suits with them? This wasn’t the manor, and it wasn’t like the Batsuit would fit under Mr. Wayne’s tuxedo. 

In the ballroom, Penguin’s men were taking out bags out and collecting jewelry and wallets. His mom made a show of removing her earrings and necklace to drop in the bag, but didn’t remove her bracelet, which he knew was easily worth three times as much as her other jewelry combined. Tim’s heart caught in his throat, but the men didn’t seem to notice. 

His mom's expression didn’t change as they walked away, but he could already hear her bragging at the next gala about how she’d gotten one over on the dumb criminals. 

Where was Jason? Tim scanned the tiny faces. Had he already managed to sneak out or had he moved into one of the groups? People were so crowded together, it was hard to see individuals. He found the Nelsons, not far from his mom. The Alcocks, the Davilas. Prince Vinson, who was Tim’s age and had parents with apparently very high hopes for him. The heiress had her phone raised, brazenly recording the Penguin. Stupid. She should hold the phone naturally by her side, turned just enough to face them. That was just basics. 

He spotted Jason’s groupie before he saw Jason. He had blended back into the crowd, probably preparing to escape unnoticed. Except that stupid girl was still with him with her vibrant purple dress and bright yellow hair. Jason was never going to be able to slip away as long as she was following him around like a lost duckling. 

He flipped back to Mr. Wayne. His mission to throw himself out the window didn’t look like it was going very well. Had he gotten closer? Maybe. Maybe not. It was hard to tell. One of the Penguin’s lackeys was collecting wallets and jewelry in there too, while another aimed his gun at the huddled guests. 

There were only two bad guys. Mr. Wayne could easily take them out before they could even react. But he just dropped his watch, wallet, and cufflinks into the bag with a little apologetic smile, like he was sorry he couldn’t give them more. 

Back to Jason. He was so close to a door, but that girl was still right there beside him, practically touching shoulders. Tim pressed his face against his knees to muffle a groan. 

This was so frustrating. There had to be something he could do. He could turn off the power, but he didn’t want these guys panicking and shooting blindly into the crowd. He just needed to distract them long enough for Jason to get away. Then he’d come back as Robin, free Mr. Wayne, and Batman and Robin would kick Penguin butt. 

He considering his options, gnawing on his bottom lip as he scrolled through his program. The hotel didn’t have digital locks or lights or even thermometers because apparently they were barbarians. 

They did have a security system, which should have been the first thing he thought of. Well, third thing. Telling Mr. Wayne, calling the police, then setting off the alarms. The point was there were like a dozen things he should have done before hiding under a table. 

Better late than never. He set off the silent alarm. If the police weren’t already on their way, they would be now. That didn’t get Jason out though, and Gotham police weren’t always the best at hostage situations. Or holdups. Or anything else, really. Maybe their presence could at least cause enough of a distraction to let Jason and Mr. Wayne slip out. It could be a while before they got here though. 

Tim scrunched his brow. It could be a while, but it didn’t have to be. Not if their only purpose was to be a distraction for the real heroes. 

Bland classical music was playing out of a speaker in a corner of the room, because apparently this gala couldn’t afford musicians either. Music had to be controlled somewhere. 

It took him less than a minute to find the Bluetooth signal being used. He couldn’t even justify using the word hack for this one. He literally just paired his phone to it. Anyone under 80 could have done the same thing. He found a YouTube video of police cars, set his audio to “IntRenSpeak”, and pressed play. Immediately, the room filled with the sound of sirens. 

This could actually work. He breathed out a laugh. Maybe it was a little loud for sirens that were supposed to be outside, but it should cause some confusion at least.

He switched to the cameras to see how the bad guys were reacting, but the sound stopped. There was a split second where he couldn’t figure out what happened, and then he realized… Stupid, freakin’ YouTube. 

He scrambled to reopen the app, almost dropping his phone as he swiped a little too hard, and the sirens started again. They’d only stopped for a second, maybe two. Hopefully people just thought the sirens glitched or something. Did sirens do that? God, he hoped so.

The bigger problem was he couldn’t see what was happening. He had no idea if it was working, if Jason had already gotten out, if all the criminals were just laughing at his pitiful attempt. 

Actually, he’d probably hear laughing. He focused on the sound under the sirens. There was some shuffling and angry voices, but he couldn’t tell what they were saying. 

He flopped backwards onto the floor and stared at the underside of the table. He couldn’t see anything, there were no comms for him to listen to, and he couldn’t even hear what was happening in the room he was in. This was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. 

He counted slowly to sixty, grit his teeth, and forced himself to do it again despite really wanting to just look at what was happening already. It was all for nothing if he stopped too early.

Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven. At forty-eight, there was a loud crash and the sirens stopped. Apparently the lackeys had figured him out. 

“Find who did it!” one voice yelled. His heart jumped to his throat. He wasn’t too worried they’d find him, but criminals were nothing if not generous with blame. He remembered the heiress with her phone up. She’d be the obvious scapegoat. 

He brought the cameras up as quickly as he could, holding his breath as he searched the room for her. Not seeing her immediately was good, right? If they were ritual-murdering her it would make a scene. 

His breath released in a whoosh when he found her near the back of the room. She was fine. She’d put her phone away and blended back into the crowd, both arms wrapped around her clearly unhappy cat. 

Then he looked for Jason. He wasn’t by the door anymore! The distraction had worked! 

Maybe. Probably. Before he could get ahead of himself, he very carefully scanned all of the faces in the room. No Jason, no Jason, no Jason. He wasn’t there. He’d finally escaped that girl and gotten out of the room. Yes!

Except... he didn’t see the girl either. He scanned the room one more time, but yeah, she was definitely gone. What the heck?

Jason really needed to lose Steph. How was this happening to him?

“I can’t believe we were able to sneak out,” Steph said, following a few steps behind him and looking over her shoulder. She turned so much she was almost walking backwards. “Do you think anyone saw us? I don’t think they did. No one’s following, and they’d be following if they saw us, right? What are we going to do? Call the police? Or do you think the police were already called?”

His Robin suit was in the car, but he couldn’t exactly take Steph down to the garage and say hold on a second while I hide in the car by myself. Robin will be here any second to take care of you. These two things are completely unrelated. 

“Call the police,” Jason said. “Yes. We should call the police and also…” He grasped for a second thing they could be doing. “Warn the hotel guests that there are criminals here. Why don’t you find a phone to call the police and I’ll warn as many people as I can.”

“I have my phone right here,” Steph said, pulling out a cell phone. 

“Right,” Jason said. “Of course you do.” 

“Don’t you have your phone too?” Steph asked. “You did a few minutes ago.” 

“Right,” Jason said again. He forced himself to laugh. “Grew up in poverty. Always forget that cell phones exist.” Which was an outright lie because most the people he knew had cheap knockoff phones even if they couldn’t afford the latest tech. Even on the street, people prioritized buying a few extra minutes over eating. Hard to make money if no one could contact you.

“I get that,” Steph said as she pulled out her phone and started dialing. “Sometimes my dad’s all, whoo! We hit the windfall! Have all the things! And sometimes he’s like, we have to sell everything or we’ll be living on the street. Uh.” She tilted her head to look at him while putting the phone to her ear. “No offense to the street, I guess?” 

The last sentence broke through Jason’s frantic attempts to come up with a subtle way to escape and he laughed for real this time. “None taken. The street sucks.”

“Okay, yeah, I figured, but I was like, he used to live on the street, don’t insult his, uh, past home. Oh, yes, hi.” She turned away from him, saying the last part into the phone. “We’re at the International Renaissance Hotel and there are… oh, good, you already know.”

Jason thought about trying to just sneak away while her back was turned. He could probably get to the hallway without her noticing and just take off. God, though, he’d never live it down. And he was just starting to maybe make a friend. He was pretty sure running away and abandoning her in the middle of a holdup would ruin that. 

Or he could just knock her out and claim the bad guys did it. No, wait, that was worse.

“Um, is there anything we should do? The boy I’m with, Jason Wayne, you know—” His stomach twisted at Jason Wayne. He wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad twist. That wasn’t really his name, and it sounded weird, but also kind of nice? “He thought we should warn people? Oh, okay.” 

That wasn’t a good sign. He knew before she even hung up what she was going to say.

“The 911 lady said we should find a safe place and stay put.”

“Okay,” Jason said, and then added because it was the only thing he could think of, “I need to pee.” 

“Me too!” Steph said. “Do you think it’s the fear or the punch because I have never needed to pee more in my life.” 

Jason led the way down the hallway in search of a bathroom. He was pretty sure there was one around here somewhere. Bruce had mentioned it earlier. “What ingredient do you think turns punch into pee juice?”

“Peanuts!” she exclaimed immediately. “Wait, no, that’s gross. Urrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii—” She held out the syllables as they walked through two hallways until they found the doors marked ‘Men’ and ‘Women’. “I’ve got nothing. Meet back out here?”

“Yes,” he lied. The moment the bathroom door closed behind him he started looking for a window he could escape out of. There wasn’t one. Okay. That was fine. He just needed to go back out the way he came in. She couldn’t possibly be done yet. 

He opened the door a crack and peeked out. Thank Christ. She wasn’t there. He slipped out and sprinted for the elevator to the garage. He just needed to get to the car, get his costume, kick some butt, and then… what? Go back to the bathroom and pretend he’d been hiding in the stall the whole time?

He groaned. He’d been Robin for less than a month and he already wanted to reveal his identity to the world just so he didn’t have to deal with shit like this. He didn’t know how Bruce could stand it. 

His suit was in the floorboards, right where Bruce had shown him. The Batsuit was still there too, which meant Bruce hadn’t managed to get out. He’d been hoping… but this was fine. He’d handle the criminals, he’d somehow salvage his maybe-friendship with Steph, and he’d do it all without giving away the whole Bat secret. 

He was Robin, and Robin could do anything. 

Steph was surprised when she came out and Jason wasn’t already there. Boys usually peed faster. Maybe he wasn’t peeing? 

She rocked on the balls of her feet, ready to run back into the bathroom if anyone came down the hall. 

Maybe he was hiding in the bathroom? That didn’t seem like him though. Yeah, she’d only known him for like twenty minutes, but she was pretty sure that the type of guy who jumped in front of her at the first sign of danger wasn’t the same type of guy who hid in a bathroom. Not that she needed protecting, but it was a nice gesture. 

She gasped as a more likely possibility occurred to her. This was Jason’s first public appearance. Maybe those guys weren’t actually here for jewelry. Maybe they were here for him. 

She knocked on the boys bathroom door and listened carefully in case he actually was holed up in a stall. When she didn’t hear anything, she pushed the door open. “Jason?” Nothing. She crouched to look under the stall walls. He wasn’t there. She knew it. They had him. 

Should she call the police back? She might be the only one who knew. She pressed redial and anxiously twisted her skirt while she waited for an answer. 

Wait, she shouldn’t do that. They were going to return this dress after the party. She smoothed out the creases, trying to ignore the constant itch of the tag on the back of her neck.

“911, what’s your emergency?” It was a guy this time, not the girl she’d talked to before. 

“Hi, I called before. I’m at the International Renaissance Hotel.” 

“Police are in route,” the guy said, a little too rudely for someone whose whole job was to talk to victims, she thought. 

“Right, yeah, I know. But I was with Jason Wayne and he’s gone now and I’m pretty sure the bad guys nabbed him.”

“Police are already in route,” the guy repeated, sounding impatient this time.

“Gee, thanks, I know. But the people who took Jason could be going anywhere and I thought you should know.” 

“The police will be there soon,” the guy said. “Is there anything else I can assist with?” 

“I guess not!” she exclaimed and hung up. Police were useless. She already knew that from all the times she’d called them after her dad hit her or her mom and nothing happened, but Jason was rich. The police were supposed to care about rich kids.

Well, if they weren’t gonna do anything, then it was up to her. She snuck back towards the ballroom, darting from doorway to doorway so she could easily hide if anyone came her way.

Chapter Text

Tim adjusted his earbuds again. He’d made sure they were in and positioned right and working at least fifteen times now, but he was still paranoid he’d messed something up. They were just normal headphones connected to his phone, but he’d picked them specifically because no one could see he had them in when his hair covered his ears. It was like having communicators, but without the actual technology for communicators. He was still working on it. 

“B, you there?” 

Tim jumped at the voice even though he’d been waiting for it. He checked the dining hall. Bruce was still standing there, smiling blandly. He hadn’t reacted to Jason’s voice, so it looked like he didn’t have a comm in. Tim waited a few more seconds just to make sure. Nothing. 

The Penguin had moved away from Tim’s table, now chatting up some ladies by the look of it. None of the lackeys were within a few feet of him. He worried his lip between teeth. It was still a risk, but one he’d have to take. He keyed into Robin’s communicator so he’d be the only one to hear Tim, even if Bruce did have a comm in. “Robin, good,” he whispered.

“Uh, you’re not B.” 

It had only been a few days. Jason couldn’t have forgotten him already. Tim frowned. “It’s Chirp.”

“Oh. Why are you whispering? You sound like you’re trying to do a bad Batman imitation.”

“I do not,” Tim said, offended. He could do a great Batman imitation if he was trying. 

“Do too.” 

“You know what, it doesn’t matter right now. Are you working the hotel hostage situation?” He flipped through cameras, trying to find where Robin had gone. He wasn’t in the garage or hallways. The only person he saw was some blonde—actually, wasn’t that the girl Jason had been with earlier? He squinted at a girl creeping through one of the nearby halls. He was pretty sure it was. What was she doing?

“Yes. What do you have?” 

She’d have to wait. He flipped back to the action. “The Penguin is in the ballroom with seven obvious accomplices, five with guns currently out. There are two in the dining hall too. I think they’ve finished collecting jewelry from the guests, so they might just leave?”

“Or they might blow up the hotel,” Robin said grimly. Tim didn’t think the Penguin had a history of unnecessary explosions, but he was pretty sure every criminal in Gotham was one wrong look away from setting fire to the world. 

“Okay, what’s your plan?” Tim asked. 

“I smash through the window and beat these guys up.”

“Smash the—” He was interrupted by a loud crash. He switched cameras just in time to see Robin soaring into the room, surrounded by shards from the window he’d just crashed through.  He let go of the grapple and it swung back outside, which Tim was pretty sure was a big Bat no no—don’t leave equipment where other people might find it—but Robin was too busy punching the nearest criminal to worry about that.

“It’s the bird!” someone yelled, which, yeah, okay, was clear from context clues, but they were also working for the Penguin so maybe they should be more specific. 

Robin kicked a guy in the head, then used him as a springboard to tackle another man. It was eight against one, which Tim knew Batman or the old Robin could handle, but this Robin was new and there were a lot of guns. A lot of guns. Even the three guys who hadn’t previously had guns were pulling them out now. 

Even if Robin could avoid getting shot himself, that didn’t mean the bullets wouldn’t hit anyone else. Why didn’t Robin go to the other room and free Batman first? That would have been a way better solution. He should have told… no, wait, he couldn’t have. Not without revealing what he knew. 

Something hard knocked Tim’s table back a foot. Tim’s hand shot out and yanked down on the tablecloth before his brain even registered why. The whole table had nearly toppled over and revealed Tim’s humiliating position to the world. He flushed red imagining everyone staring at him crouched on all fours where the table used to be. Even the criminals and Robin would stop fighting to stare at him. Okay, he needed to look way cooler in case anything happened to the table. He adjusted so he was sitting cross legged, casually leaning on one hand—a loud oof sounded as someone bounced off the table. Right, the fight. He was supposed to be helping with the fight. 

He scanned the room, trying to take in as many details as he could. If he had his computer, he’d open multiple camera feeds at once, but on the phone even one was hard to follow. 

“Dive right,” Tim hissed urgently as a man behind Robin raised a gun. Robin followed his order without question and the bullet meant for Robin went into the guy he’d been fighting seconds earlier. Tim felt a mix of glee and guilt. He was helping Robin. Robin was actually listening. But someone got shot because of what he said.

No, not because of what he said. Because of the guys shooting guns. And if it hadn’t been him, it would have been Robin. And he was a bad guy anyway, and he was probably fine judging from the amount of cursing he was doing. Fine-ish. As fine as a guy with a bullet in him could be. 

Robin rolled out of his dive next to a group of uptight partygoers who looked just as offended by his presence as they’d been of the criminals. Mrs. Davila sniffed in disdain, and the heiress pulled her cat away like she thought Robin might give it rabies. Mrs. Nelson took a long gulp from a glass that she had to have refilled since the robbery started. His mom was right. She had a problem.

"Careful," Tim said mildly as the heiress’s cat hissed at Robin, apparently just as offended as its owner. "Last time there was a cat at one of these it had a bomb strapped to it." 

"It what?" Robin asked, jerking away from the cat with such an alarmed expression Tim had to stifle a laugh. Then another gunshot sent the group scattering and Tim’s smile fell. This wasn't a joke. People could get hurt, and it was his job to make sure they didn't.

“Okay,” he said, analyzing the room. “Move to the right before you attack. These guys aren’t being careful where they shoot. You don’t want any guests behind you where they could get hit.”

Robin made a grunt of acknowledgement as he somersaulted across the room to a mostly unoccupied corner. 

“Okay. Now you just…” He trailed off as his screen went black. Screams sounded around his table. What was happening? He shook his phone even though there was no logical reason why that would help. 

“Was that you?” Robin asked.

“What?” Tim asked. “No?” Then he noticed how dark it was. There hadn’t been much light under his table to begin with, but now there was none. “Did the power go out?”

“You can’t tell?” 

Tim tried to flip through his feed but all of the screens were black. Too black. Blacker than the room itself. He could see the faint red gleam of emergency lights under the tablecloth. “I think it took out the security cameras too.” He was starting to feel like he couldn’t get enough air in his cramped hiding spot. He couldn’t do anything without the security cameras. What if another guy tried to take a shot at Robin? He’d be useless. Without his cameras, he really was just a kid hiding under a table. 

No. No, that wasn’t true. He wasn’t in a different part of town unable to see. He was literally in the same room. He could still help. 

He very slowly lifted the tablecloth enough to see under it. He doubted anyone would be paying that close of attention to the table, and it was probably too dark to see anyway. A loud fwoosh drew his eyes to a short rotund silhouette in the window Robin had broken. The silhouette had an open umbrella propped on his shoulder and an overstuffed bag gripped in his other hand. 

“My esteemed guests, it has been a lovely evening, but I’m afraid I must fly. Ta ta!” The whole room was still as he jumped out of the window and gently wafted away like a blow-up Mary Poppins. 

“Did he take all of the jewels?” one of the lackeys asked. 

The others looked around and the one who had been shot said, with his hand tightly clenched against his blood soaked side, “What an asshole.” 

Steph barely suppressed a yelp as the lights went out. She pressed into the closest doorway, hands clamped over her mouth. It was pitch black for half a second before the emergency lights flickered on, casting the hallway in a deeply disturbing red glow that looked like it had been pulled straight from a horror movie. The gaudy, plaster-cast doorframes and painted portraits lining the hallway really didn’t help. 

When no one came barreling around the corner with a knife she crept forward. She was almost to the ballroom now. She could hear shrieks and deep voices from just around the corner. 

She stopped by the door and just breathed for a few seconds before slowly peeking in. She didn’t see the Penguin anywhere, and he was really noticeable so that probably meant he was gone. No Jason either. 

Oh no. The Penguin had already taken him somewhere else. He could already be tied up in some hidden room in the Iceberg Lounge, right now. 

She definitely needed Batman’s help with this, but she didn’t see Batman. Just a short Robin impersonator jumping all over the room. 

Was that the actual Robin? She’d been pretty sure he was like two feet taller.  

“Let’s just get out of here!” yelled a crook so close to Steph that she jumped. Holy moly, how had she missed him? He was like half a foot away, next to the wall she was peeking around. She shrunk back so she’d be less noticeable if he looked her way.

“The boss might be gone, but this is still a holdup,” someone growled back.

 “Oh, screw off. We already took everything valuable, and it’s gone out the window now.”

“Hey, guys,” Robin said, waving his hand. “I don’t know if you noticed but you’re under arrest.”

“Adults are talking right now,” the growler growled. He raised a gun to Robin and shot. Robin jumped easily out of the way of that bullet, and the next, but Steph’s eyes were on the woman behind Robin who didn’t even react before there was a bullet lodged into the wall beside her head. Jeepers Creepers. Someone was gonna die if this kept up. 

She crept a little closer. The guy nearest to her was guarding the door, his back to her. Nobody was looking her way. They were all too focused on Robin and the guy shooting with wild abandon. There was a vase right beside her, because this was the type of place that put random vases all over the place. There weren’t even flowers in any of them. It was probably worth a couple thou, but Steph was sure the hotel could afford it. She carefully hefted the vase and, before she could think better of it, smashed it into the back of the guy's head. 

She managed to time it perfectly with a gun firing, the loud bang covering up the crash. She wished she could claim it was on purpose because that would have been awesome, but it was a complete accident. A very lucky complete accident. A few nearby guests turned to look as the guy crumpled to the ground, but none of the crooks seemed to notice. She raised a finger to her lips, hoping the guests could see her well enough in the low red light to get the meaning. And that nobody started screaming about axe murderers. 

Jeez, if she were in the room and someone came out of the dark hallway to attack a guy, she’d assume axe murderer. It didn’t matter that they were already dealing with the Penguin. Gotham be like that. 

Nobody screamed and the criminals were still too distracted by maybe Robin to notice. Probably Robin. She didn’t think a Robin impersonator would be that good at backflipping into a flying kick. 

She frantically waved the closest guests towards the door, keeping her eyes on the nearby crooks to make sure they didn’t notice.  A very snotty looking older woman, like totally the type to be the grand matron of a historically noble family that had been recently disgraced but was fighting its way back to power, looked back and forth between her and the fight several times before huffily walking her way. 

“Quickly,” Steph hissed. “There’s a bathroom down that way you can hide in.”

“I am not going to hide in a bathroom,” the woman spat. Well, excuuuuuse her. Steph was sorry she didn’t arrange a garden tea party for her to hide out in while waiting for the police. 

“Bathroom that way you can hide in,” Steph whispered to the next guy, who seemed way more grateful. He tried to shake her hand with both of his, but she escaped his grasp. “Go, go. Lead the others.”

She turned her gaze back to Robin. He was still flipping around like he was trying out for the Olympics and didn’t want to sit still long enough for them to tell him the results.

“Stephanie!” Steph was enveloped in a hug. She stiffened before she recognized her mom’s lilac perfume. “Thank God. I couldn’t see you anywhere and I was so worried.” 

“Mom!” Steph gave her a quick hug before pulling back. “You need to go hide. There’s a bathroom that way you can hide in.” 

Her mom’s expression crumpled in confusion as she spoke. “You’re coming with me.” 

“No, I—”

“That’s not a question, young lady. It’s too dangerous here.” 

“Mom, no. Someone kidnapped Jason Wayne. I have to tell Robin. I promise I’ll stay out of sight until it’s safe.”

“Someone else ca—”

“I was the only one there, and I already tried calling the police. They didn’t listen. I have to tell Robin. I can’t let Jason get hurt because I went and hid.”

Her mom held tight to her arm, clearly ready to keep arguing, or maybe even just drag her out, but then her grip loosened. “You’re so good. Too good. I don’t know where you got it from. Heaven knows it wasn’t your dad and me.” 

Steph leaned in and gave her another quick hug. “Go hide. I promise I’ll stay out of sight.”

Her mom tightly squeezed her before pulling away and disappearing with the rest of the guests. Most of them were out now, and miraculously, the crooks still didn’t seem to have noticed. She was starting to think the Penguin had picked all the most oblivious criminals on purpose. 

Jesus fucking Christ on a bike, someone was going to die and it was going to be all his fault. A woman behind him shrieked as a bullet whizzed past and his heart stopped. He did a quick flip during his next dodge and didn’t see any blood, but that didn’t mean she was okay. He needed to lead the shots somewhere nobody would get hurt. 

Why didn’t he get B first? He’d wanted to prove that he could handle this by himself, but all he was proving was that he was great at endangering citizens. It was only his second week on the job. What was he thinking?

During the next gunshot, his eyes caught on something behind the guy shooting at him. Not great to get distracted but… was that Steph? What was she doing back here? Why did she have an unconscious goon at her feet? Had she… Had she knocked that guy out? Holy shit. That was so awesome. She was motioning to the guests and a few of them started sneaking out the door. 

Okay. Okay. This was good. When the guests were safe, he’d be able to pull out all the stops and take these guys down. He just had to distract them long enough for the guests to escape. He’d watched Dick enough that he knew exactly how to do that. Puns and unnecessary flips. 

“You’re a terrible shot. Sure you weren’t meant to be a bartender?” Ugh. That was awful. Judging by the look a couple of the goons shared, they didn’t even get it. “Sure you’re not trying to hug me instead of thug me?” That. Was not better. More guys were aiming guns at him now and he was pretty sure it was just so they could shut him up. He couldn’t even blame them. He was pretty sure he was going to give himself a brain aneurysm with another one of those. At least their attention was definitely on him. 

He kept flipping, handspringing, roundoffing, even somersaulting. Every little bit of gymnastics he’d learned when training to be Robin. His thighs and stomach were burning, but he just had to keep this up for another minute before everyone was out and he could attack.

“Wha… Wait, where is everyone?” 

Change of plans. He sprang out of a front handspring feet first and kicked the guy who spoke in the face. The guns followed him and several of the goons exclaimed when they realized how empty the room was. There were only a few guests left. One woman lingered just inside the door, scanning the clearly empty room like she was looking for someone. 

Robin didn’t give them time to think, not that they seemed very good at it anyway. He punched one guy, kicked another, followed through to land on a third’s shoulders. The guy bucked and threw him towards the buffet table, but he easily spun through the air to get his feet under him, remembering all the lessons B had given him on fighting people bigger than him. 

As his toes touched the ground in a point, he saw the gun aimed at him. Everything slowed as his weight lowered onto his feet, giving him plenty of time to realize that he didn’t have enough time. He wasn’t going to be able complete his landing and jump again before the shot. He saw the guy’s finger tightening on the trigger and tried to twist out of the way.

“No!” a voice yelled from out of nowhere. For a second he thought it was Chirp, but then a small figure flung past him and slammed into the guy’s gut just as the gun fired, sending the shot wildly into a far wall. The gunman grunted, but quickly got his hand wrapped around the kid’s arm and yanked him up. Robin would recognize that ridiculous outfit anywhere. It was Tux Boy. Where the heck had he come from?

“Tim!” yelled the woman by the door. 

Robin made several realizations at once. Tux Boy—Tim—had hidden when the gunmen showed up. His mom was looking for him. That’s why she hadn’t left. Tim had just saved Robin’s fucking life. And now he was probably going to die. 

The gunman twisted Tim’s arm behind him, pulling him tightly against his chest, and put his gun to Tim’s head. “I think it’s time we cut our losses and run. And hey.” He glanced at the woman by the door. “Maybe this kid’s worth something.”

The crooks he’d already knocked down started rising around them. They were going to leave with Tim, and there was nothing Robin could do to stop them.

Chapter Text

Tim winced at the sound of his mom’s voice. Her seeing him held hostage was way worse than actually being held hostage. At least most of the guests were gone, so he wasn’t embarrassing her in front of her friends. 

Robin looked nervous. That… was not great. He’d much rather be held hostage with Batman there. Batman would probably do some neat trick where he flicked his wrist and knocked the gun away with a batarang. Robin looked like he wanted to dig a hole in the floor. Tim tried to shoot confidence rays at him with his eyes. 

“I think it’s time we cut our losses and run,” the guy holding him hostage said. His hot breath was on the back of Tim’s neck and droplets of spittle splattered on his skin. Tim grimaced. No one mentioned this part of being held hostage. It was disgusting. “And hey, maybe this kid’s worth something.” 

For the first time, fear curdled in his stomach. He knew the statistics. If they took him away from here, his chances of survival went down significantly. His eyes slipped sideways to the door leading to the dining hall. Was Batman still in there? They hadn’t heard anything from that room since the power went out. Maybe Batman slipped away in the dark. Or maybe the guests all rebelled and took out the bad guys. 

Or maybe Superman showed up and shot them all with laser beams. It was stupid to hypothesize. None of that changed his current predicament. 

The guy started dragging him towards the door, his feet scraping uncomfortably against the gilded floor. He forced himself not to resist. Not yet. He wasn’t going to get in a car without any kind of fight, but right now it was better to seem easy. Don’t give the guy any reason to tighten his grip. 

As he stumbled backwards, tripping over the guy’s feet, his eyes found Robin’s face again. Something had changed. His expression was hard, determined. He followed step for step as the guy moved, not getting close enough for him to panic, but not giving him any space to think either. The guy kept backing further from Robin. They weren’t doing a great job of moving towards the door. Actually, they were getting pretty close to the windo—.

A blue-striped hand grabbed the guy’s gun arm and yanked it away before Tim could complete the thought. Robin rushed forward and pulled him to safety. Tim had a split second to see Nightwing crouched in the broken window frame before he moved. 

Nightwing was a dancer in motion. He spun, flipped, kicked like it was a performance that people had paid thousands to watch. The lackeys falling around him felt like part of the elaborate choreography. 

Robin’s hand tightened on his arm. Tim glanced sidelong at him. He looked bitter. And wistful. Tim debated how much he could say. Not much, not without giving himself away. 

“Thank you for saving me,” he settled on. His voice cracked, and he fought down the blush that threatened to rise. Oh, god. His first time talking to Robin as Tim Drake, and his voice cracked. 

Robin didn’t seem to notice. He just huffed, eyes on Nightwing easily laying the last man flat. “I barely did anything.”

“You did so much,” Tim insisted, turning fully towards him. It was physically painful to be this close to Nightwing and not looking at him, but Robin needed him more. “I watched you fight. You were amazing.”

Robin didn’t immediately reply. When his response came, it was muttered under his breath, more determined than confident. “I will be.” 

Footsteps approached, and Tim spun quickly back towards the fight just in case one of the baddies had gotten up and was coming at them with a blunt object, but it was just Nightwing, dusting off his hands as he strode over with a huge grin on his face. “Hey, kiddos.” His voice softened as he turned to Tim. “How you doing?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Tim said, eyes wide in the face of Nightwing right there in front of him. “Why?”

Nightwing’s blank lenses lingered on him a second too long and Tim felt himself starting to sweat. His gaze flicked to Robin, then back to Tim. “The attempted kidnapping?” he asked.

“Oh, right,” Tim said weakly. “That.”

“How did you even know they were here?” Robin asked, scowling beside him.

“Twitter,” Nightwing said, his shit-eating grin returning full-force. 

Tim gasped as Robin said, “What?” 

Nightwing still followed the #FuckGotham tag. Tim was saved by his own tweet. He was never leaving Twitter. Their love story would be told for generations.

“Um, excuse me,” a girl’s voice said. The blonde from earlier crept closer, uncertainty and determination both lining her every movement. Tim could see his mom over her shoulder, her arms crossed and foot tapping. He was going to be in so much trouble. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, voice hesitant but growing stronger as she spoke. “It’s just, I was with Jason, Jason Wayne, earlier and he disappeared and I’m pretty sure he was kidnapped.” Nightwing glanced at Robin, whose face was going through conniptions. “I told the police, but…”

“We’ll find him, I promise,” Nightwing assured her. 

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “Where’s Batman, anyway?” She looked around the room like he might be hiding in one of the shadows. Which was fair. He could have been. 

“Oh!” Robin exclaimed. “I mean, not Batman. That’s completely unrelated. But I just remembered something else. There’s a whole ‘nother room of hostages. We should go.” 

Tim resisted the urge to cover his face as they ran off. How had nobody figured out their identities yet? They were so obvious. Everyone knew and was just pretending they didn’t, he thought again. That had to be it.

“You know,” the girl said when they were gone, her voice much chillier than it had been a few seconds earlier. “It was cool how you risked your life to help Robin, but you’re still a jerk for what you did earlier.” 

“What?” Tim asked, turning towards her. “What did I do?” Why would she be mad at him? They’d barely even talked.

She put her hands on her hips, clearly unimpressed. “Tricked me into going to talk to Jason by claiming my mom would be fired if I didn’t. I mean, Jason’s cool and I’m glad I talked to him, but you’re still a jerk.” 

Tim’s brain stuttered to a stop. “What?” he asked again, flustered. “That’s not what I… I mean, I guess it… but I just wanted to talk to Jason and my mom said I couldn’t until someone else talked to him first and…” Her expression slowly morphed from annoyed to bemused. Tim flushed. It was too late to salvage this. He just had to try to reclaim what little dignity he could. “Anyway,” he said, trying to sound distinguished even as his voice squeaked. “Speaking of my mom, I should go, uh, face the music. It was nice meeting you…”

“Steph,” she said slowly. She looked like she was starting to get the punchline to a joke, and he was pretty sure the joke was him. 

“Tim,” he said. “Right. Bye.” 

He hurried away, face down. God, that was embarrassing. He was glad Nightwing and Robin didn’t see it. 

Oh, no… Was that what Jason thought too? He was never going to live this down. 

His mom was still tapping her foot when he reached her. He risked peeking up at her face. She was definitely annoyed. 

“I’m sorry, Mom. I…” 

She enveloped him in a hug. He gasped and stiffened at the surprise touch. They were not a hugging family. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged. 

Had she been worried? He hadn’t been in that much danger. Sure, there had been a gun and the guy was trying to take him away, but he’d still had plenty of opportunities to escape and Robin was right there and…

His body betrayed him with a sniffle as he relaxed into the hug, burying his face in her shoulder. 

“Never do that again,” she said. “Being held hostage is so uncouth.” 

He choked out a laugh. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

She kissed his forehead before pulling away. “Come along. Catherine was wearing a horribly out-of-season chiffon, and we need to make sure to mention it before going home. Otherwise I will regret it for the rest of my life.” 

Tim smiled as he followed. “Yes, Mom.” 

B had looked thoroughly unimpressed with them both when they finally got around to rescuing him. Those gunshots had been really loud, hadn’t they? Jason thought with a wince. And there had been a lot of them. He was definitely going to get a lecture later.

He thought of the woman screaming as a bullet barely missed her, of Tim with a gun to his head. It was probably the least he deserved.

Nightwing and Robin climbed up to the roof to wait for B while he changed and summoned the car. The Penguin was still out there. They had a long night ahead of them.

While Nightwing surveyed the city, Robin moved to the other side of the roof. 

“Chirp?” he asked softly. “Are you there?” He knew the cameras in the hotel went out, but Chirp might have been able to follow the Penguin after he left the hotel. He should at least know which direction the Penguin went.

“Chirp?” Nightwing asked from right behind him. Robin nearly jumped out of his skin. “You’re working with Chirp?” 

“What? No,” he said a little too loudly. “I mean, what if I am?” He crossed his arms and glared at Nightwing. “It’s none of your business. I know you don’t trust him, but—”

“I didn’t say that,” Nightwing interrupted, and Robin trailed off. 

“You didn’t?” he asked uncertainly, arms falling to his sides. “I thought… I mean, Chirp said…”

“B doesn’t trust him, but B doesn’t trust anyone,” Nightwing said. There was a bitterness in his voice, that Robin didn’t think was about Chirp. "I worked with him once, and honestly? He seemed nice. Smart. Genuine.” A small smile flickered across his face at the memory. “B was suspicious, but B is paranoid and frankly I'm better at reading people than he is. I don't think Chirp was lying.” 

“Then why don’t you work with him?” Robin asked. The way Chirp had told it, Nightwing and Batman had repeatedly shut him out.

Nightwing leaned back against an air conditioning unit and stared up at the few visible stars through Gotham’s ever-present smog. “He was just a kid. This is a hard life, and I didn't want him to fall into it because of hero worship, you know? He found our channel by accident.” He laughed incredulously. “By accident. You and I both know we're not vigilantes because B gave us a suit and some training. We're vigilantes because every day we wake up and we make the choice to keep doing what we do.”  

Robin felt a fire burning in his chest. He’d only been at this for a couple weeks, but he already knew Nightwing was right. He messed up today, but he was going to wake up tomorrow and work harder, do better. He was going to keep doing it as long as they’d let him, and as long as people needed him. 

Nightwing smiled like he could read Robin’s thoughts. “I've seen a lot of people quit, people I didn't even know the secret identities of and never heard from again. I've considered quitting myself. Heck, I practically did once. But this life is a choice I keep making.” He tapped his ear, looking towards Jason’s comm meaningfully. “After two years, it sounds like it's a choice he keeps making too, not just an accident.”

“So, you think I should work with him?” He couldn’t believe he was actually asking. He didn’t care what Nightwing, what Dick, thought. All his talk of waking up every morning and continuing to work, but he gave up on Batman and Robin. He left. 

Still. It didn’t hurt to hear him out, whether he listened or not.

Nightwing reached out to ruffle his hair, and Robin stepped back, offended. Nightwing just laughed. “You trust him? You like him? Then yeah, work with him as much as you want. B isn't always right." The bitterness leaked back into his voice, and Robin wondered again why Nightwing had left. What had really happened? B wouldn’t tell him, and even Alfred had talked around it. 

That was really why he talked to Chirp, he knew. It wasn’t about trusting or liking him. It was about having a backup plan. Because if perfect Dick Grayson, Robin extraordinaire, could fall out of grace with Batman, then what hope was there for him?

A car revved from the street below. “That’s the signal,” Nightwing said. “You go ahead. I think it’s better if I do my own thing.” 

“Yeah,” Robin said quietly. “Thanks for the advice.”

“See you around, little brother,” Nightwing said with a huge grin before jumping off the roof. The sound of a grapple didn’t follow for a full twenty seconds, then he swung away, after something, or nothing. 

Robin jumped down to join Batman. That was where he belonged, at least for now. For as long as they’d keep him. 

Chapter Text

Tim watched Jason climb out of a limo from across the front green. Alfred had already gotten out of the driver’s seat and started to cross to Jason’s side, but Jason didn’t wait for him. He just barged out, and then looked around as if uncertain where to go from there. 

It was Jason’s first day at Gotham Academy. His last official school record was from three years earlier, before he’d run away from foster care. Mr. Wayne had hired all the best tutors to catch him up academically, which Tim knew because he and Jason shared a particularly talkative French tutor. Pierre—his name was actually Steve but he thought putting Pierre on his business cards made people more likely to hire him. He was probably right—was amazed at how well Jason was doing. When he first got the job, he was worried Jason would be a challenge due to his lack of schooling (and lack of good schooling before that, Pierre had added), but he was a delight. Already bilingual just from growing up around Spanish speakers, and learning French at an amazing speed. He was a natural at languages. At this rate, maybe he, too, could be a French tutor when he grew up. 

Tim didn’t think that being a French tutor was most people’s greatest ambition, but Pierre disagreed. 

“Hey! If it isn’t Stares McStarey-Butt!” a loud voice exclaimed from close enough behind him that he jumped.  

“What? No, I’m not,” Tim said, spinning around. He was already halfway through his denial before he saw who had spoken—a familiar blonde girl, wearing, incomprehensibly, a Gotham Academy uniform. “Steph?” He blinked a few times to clear up the confusing image, but she continued standing there, grinning at him like an Arkham escapee planning her next escapade. “What are you doing here?” 

“I mysteriously got a Wayne Enterprises scholarship. Weird, right?” She winked. “No idea why that could be.”

Tim was pretty sure that scholarships weren’t supposed to be handed out willy-nilly to friends of the CEO’s children, but it wasn’t like Mr. Wayne followed the rules in any other areas of his life. 

“So, what’s your deal with Jason?” Steph asked, draping an arm around his shoulders and watching with him as Alfred straightened Jason’s jacket. “You got like a massive crush on him or what?”

“What? No!” He felt his whole body heat up and glanced furtively around to make sure no one had overheard. He really hoped she didn’t get that rumor started. He didn’t want people to think that. He didn’t want his mom to think that. It’s not that he thought she’d be against it. Worse. She’d probably embrace it and try to arrange his and Jason’s future marriage for the good of the company. “I’m just curious,” he said, trying to shrug Steph off of him. “He seems interesting.” 

She didn’t seem to buy it, but he couldn’t exactly tell her the truth, that he’d been working with Jason’s alter ego almost every night for months. Batman still didn’t leave Robin alone very often, but Chirp still managed to give Robin little hints and warnings while they were on patrol.

“You could always try, I dunno, talking to him,” Steph said, pulling away and giving him a pointed look. 

“That’s not… You can’t just be friends with whomever you want to,” Tim said, trying to imbue his voice with calm logic. It wasn’t Steph’s fault she didn’t understand this stuff. She was new to high society. “There’s social etiquette and—”

“Blah blah blah,” Steph said, walking backwards away from him. “That’s just an excuse for how bad you are at talking to people.”

“It is not!” Tim said, offended. “I’m great at talking to people.”

“Sure you are.” Steph rolled her eyes with way more drama than necessary while Tim huffed. “Enjoy your dumb rich boy rules. I’m gonna go be friends with whoever I want to. Byeeee!” She flounced away. Halfway to the limo she yelled, “Jay!” and he looked up with an answering grin. 

“Steph!” he called back, loud enough for Tim to hear all the way across the green. 

Tim felt a bitter weight in his stomach as he watched Steph run up to Jason and hug him. They were only friends because he sent Steph to talk to Jason. He only did that because he wanted to talk to Jason. Maybe if he’d just done what he wanted to from the beginning, he’d be the one calling Jason nicknames and hanging out before school on his first day. 

Both Steph and Jason turned to look at him, and he realized he was still very openly watching them. He quickly lowered his head and walked towards his first class.  

He didn’t need to be friends with Jason. He was friends with Robin, which was way better. And really, it was probably better if he didn’t hang out with Jason anyway because Jason would be much more likely to figure out he was Chirp if they spent time together. 

His gut still burned as he remembered Steph and Jason hugging.

“Come on. I’ll show you around,” Steph said, shrugging off her bag and giving it to Jason. He could definitely handle it. Boy had muscles. 

He laughed, taking the bag without complaint. “Isn’t this your first day too?” he asked, hefting it over a shoulder to hang next to his own bag.

“Yep!” Steph said. She turned to walk backwards in front of him like a tour guide. “Which is exactly why I’m the best person to show you the ropes. Everyone else has already been indoctrinated.” 

“Dick was allowed to go to public school, you know,” Jason grumbled. “I tried to get Bruce to send me to public school and got a big fat no.” 

“Dick was also kidnapped like eight times, if I remember correctly.”

“Nine,” Jason corrected.

“See?” Steph said. “You got the better deal. Now,” she looked around the bustling hallway they’d wandered into, “the intro package said we were supposed to have upperclassmen assigned to show us around.”

“School Ambassadors,” Jason recited, like he’d had it drilled into him.

“Nannies,” Steph corrected. “So, I think our first step is to not do that.” Jason snorted, watching her like he thought she was funny. Funny. Excuse him, she was not funny. She was hilarious. “What are they going to show us? The cafeteria? We can find the cafeteria. What we need to know is where the best nap spots are.”

“Not getting enough sleep?” Jason asked. He sounded amused, and Steph hated to ruin it but, well, he did ask.

“Not really. Not right now.” He noticed her change in tone and the atmosphere sobered. She forced herself to keep grinning even though she didn’t feel it. “Dad’s home from jail. He always says he’s going to turn his act around, but next thing you know he’s holding loud, late night meetings in our living room.” 

Jason didn’t return the grin and she felt her own smile slip off her lips. “Bruce knows all the best child custody lawyers, you know,” he said, way too sincerely. It made her want to pop a joke just so his eyes would stop with all the sympathetic gazing. “And people at CPS. If you wanted to get away.”

A lawyer joke was on the tip of her tongue, but she let it die. Jason deserved at least a little sincerity in return. “I can’t leave my mom,” she said. He looked away, expression grim, but eventually nodded. He understood. 

“If you ever change your mind…” 

He trailed off, and she finished for him, “I’ll let you know.”

He gave her a weak smile. It didn’t completely lift the gloomy atmosphere, but was still a ray of sunshine. “Now let’s go find those nap spots.”

It was a new semester, which meant new classes and new seating charts. Tim had long since calculated the best place to sit to avoid notice while not looking like he was trying to avoid notice, and planned his schedule to get to each class early enough to grab that seat. He got straight A’s because it’s what his parents expected and he was smart enough to skate by, but he had more important things to do than pay attention in class. 

Shannon Cartright sat beside him less than a minute later. He and Shannon weren’t friends, but they had sat next to each other in the same two seats in every class they shared for two years now. He didn’t know if she had also calculated the best place to sit or if it was just habit, but at this point he would be offended if she didn’t sit next to him. 

Shannon quietly pulled her supplies out of her book bag and organized them on her desk, not even looking towards Tim. They didn’t talk. Tim didn’t think they’d ever talked in two years of sitting next to each other. And why not? Tim could talk to people. Tim could be great at talking to people. Steph didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Hello,” he said.

Shannon looked at him like he was crazy, so maybe not. 

It would be more embarrassing to give up at this point though so he tried again. “Looking forward to… whatever this class is?” He hadn’t actually looked at that part of his schedule.

“European History,” Shannon supplied.

“Ugh, that sounds awful,” Tim said automatically, before freezing at how completely inappropriate it was. When he glanced back at Shannon though, her lips were quirking up.

“It was this or Art of the Ancient World, and if I wanted to look at cave paintings and misshapen pottery, I’d go to my brother’s studio.” 

Tim laughed politely. Shannon’s brother was actually a renowned modern artist, but his mom said that was only because his parents had influence and that, while all art was essentially useless beyond a pretty distraction, his art failed at even that. 

The teacher arrived then, so they both pretended to pay attention. At least, Tim pretended to pay attention. Shannon might actually be paying attention. It was hard to tell. Regardless, he had proven that he was great at talking to people. Steph could suck it. 

Their nannies didn’t catch up to them until lunch, and looked downright pissed about it. Jason put on his best innocent look. Years of convincing police that he had somewhere to be, wasn’t sleeping in that alley over there, and had definitely not been involved in that awful tire theft had refined his innocent look into something that wouldn’t look out of place on the face of a newborn baby. 

“Sorry,” he said. “We got lost looking for you. Having someone to show us the way probably would have helped.”

Count Simon Theobald the Third and Duchess Katherine Anne Hanover (at least he and Steph assumed those were their titles based on their ridiculous names) still looked annoyed, but apparently decided it was time to get down to business.  

“This is the cafeteria,” Duchess said, waving her hand at the room they were currently in.

“We did manage to find that one,” Steph said. Jason nodded along wisely. 

“Right,” Duchess said. She took a deep breath, then plastered on a smile that probably better represented her tenure as School Ambassador extraordinaire. “We’re supposed to walk you through your schedules. Did you find your morning classes okay?”

“Got there eventually,” Jason said. Actually, he was late to his second class, so the tour probably would have been a good idea. 

“Your lockers?” she asked, eyeing their bulging book bags.

“Nope, haven’t found those yet,” Steph said. 

“Then we’ll start there.” She lead them out of the cafeteria even though they hadn’t eaten yet. Jason thought about objecting, but figured they’d already ruined her carefully scheduled day enough. She seemed like the type that planned several steps ahead and didn’t take change well. The Count had already relaxed and was following along with the occasional comment, but Duchess continued to mutter like a broken robot trying to reconfigure its programming. “Lockers, then your class schedule, then the important offices, then the cafeteria.” 

“We already found the cafeteria,” Steph reminded her.

“I know that,” Duchess snapped, before plastering her smile back on. “So we’ll skip the cafeteria and go straight to the school clubs and activities. Remember, we’re not just here to show you around, but also to answer any questions you have as you acclimate to your new school.” The last bit sounded like a practiced speech. It was probably a line all of the nannies were supposed to say. Jason glanced at the Count.

“Yeah, that,” he said. “Most of the activities have specific sign-up dates, so if there’s something you’re particularly interested in, let us know and we’ll make sure you know when sign-ups or tryouts are coming up.”

“I have a schedule of all standard sign-up dates prepared already,” Duchess said, stopping and pulling out multi-page packets to hand them.

“Or you can just ask,” the Count said. Duchess sent him a withering glare and he accepted one of her packets despite not even being a new student. 

“Here we go, Stephanie!” she said, turning to a locker. 

“Steph,” Steph corrected, but Duchess continued like she hadn’t spoken. 

“Your locker is number 2356. Remember, it’s near the orchestra room. Rehearsals are fourth and sixth periods, so the hallway is particularly crowded during those times. You’ll want to plan your schedule around that. You wouldn’t want to be late to class because you got caught in the crowd.” 

“Sure, thanks,” Steph said. She tested the combination a couple of times and shoved half her bookbag in.

Duchess turned expectantly to the Count, who stared back for a full thirty seconds before turning and leading the way to another hallway. “This is your locker,” he told Jason. “It’s a good place to put books.”

“Cool,” Jason said.

By the time the tour was winding up, the next period’s bell was about to ring. “Is there a time other than lunch we can get food?” Jason asked.

“Of course,” Duchess said. “The cafeteria sells baked goods and simple breakfast foods in the morning before school, and a full array of snacks after school.”

“What about mid-afternoon, like if you missed lunch while doing a tour?” Steph asked cheerfully. 

Duchess stared at them uncomprehendingly for several seconds before horrified understanding dawned on her face. “I’ll get you lunch!” she said, running off before Jason could object. 

Steph burst out laughing. “Sorry,” she said, covering her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said anything. She seems nice.” 

The bell rang, and students who had been loitering around the hallway all started walking in different directions. 

“Uhhh, should we wait?” Jason asked.

“Probably,” the Count said. He pulled a pad out of his man purse and jotted something on two sheets before tearing them off and handing them to Jason and Steph. Jason squinted at the scribbles. The top said in printed text, “Hall Pass,” but the time, name, and reason fields were illegible. “Nobody looks at them too closely,” the Count said. “Just tell them you had new student orientation if they ask.”

“Are you allowed to have those?” Steph asked with a gleeful smile.

“No,” he said. He started walking away, but said over his shoulder as he left, “Stop by the student council office on Thursday and we’ll go over anything we missed today.”

“This place is rad,” Steph said, exchanging grins with Jason. “I need to get me one of those pads.” 

Shannon, it turned out, was extremely talkative and Tim didn’t know why they’d never spoken before. Was it him? It couldn’t be him, could it?

On Tuesday, she talked about the show her brother was doing that weekend. On Wednesday, she told him that she and some of her friends were going to have a fuck-her-brother party instead of going to the opening Saturday night. On Thursday, she specified that that was an invitation, not a casual mention, because he didn’t seem to get it the first time. 

“Oh,” Tim said.

“Yeah, you seem kind of dumb,” she said. “It’s cool though.”

On Friday, she didn’t come to school so Tim figured he’d missed his chance to go to the party even if he wanted to, which he was pretty sure he didn’t. Probably. He knew his parents definitely wouldn’t approve of him going to a fuck-Shannon’s-brother party. Not because they enjoyed his art or were against bad-mouthing people. They just wouldn’t like him doing it so publicly. 

Of course, his mother did once tell him that people bonded best over dislike of others, so depending on who would be there, it might be prudent to go simply for the connections.

But it also just seemed mean? 

It didn’t matter anyway. He’d lost his chance. Maybe it was for the best. This way he could tell Shannon he would have gone if he’d had a chance to confirm plans with her beforehand, and still be invited to the next thing.

Besides, he had more important things to do with his Saturday night. Batman was letting Robin wander a little further away from him while patrolling, and Tim wanted to make sure Robin was safe. He was improving by leaps and bounds, but he didn’t always think things through. That was fine; Tim would do his thinking for him.

“They were trying to hide something behind that door to the right,” Tim said. The sound of his own, younger voice in his headphones was still a little disorienting. When his voice had started breaking a few months back, he’d used recordings to make a program that automatically transmitted what he was saying with his younger sounding voice. At the time, it had been to avoid embarrassing himself with untimely croaks and squeaks, but it was good for a disguise too. Now that his voice was getting deeper, it meant no one talking to him would connect him to Chirp from sound alone. 

Robin immediately swerved towards the door, and Tim felt as pleased as he always did at being part of the team—albeit a mostly unknown part.

The door opened to a tiny closet stuffed full of crates. He could only get a narrow view of the room on the security footage he was watching. He swiveled the camera head as Robin pried the lid off a crate, but still couldn’t quite see what was inside until Robin held up an assault rifle to show Batman. 

“How did you know to look back here?” Batman asked, taking the gun away from Robin and putting it back in the crate. 

“Just noticed they were trying to hide something,” he said with a casual shrug.

“Good,” Batman said. “Your observation skills are improving.”

Robin preened under the praise, and Tim had to grit his teeth to suppress the sudden wave of jealousy. It was fine. He didn’t need to be acknowledged. It was enough that he was helping. 

“Alarm at the Coup de Foudre Gallery,” Batman said at the same time the alert popped up on Tim’s second screen. He used one for watching security footage and the other for maps and alerts. He wasn’t sure what his parents thought he would use the second monitor for when he asked for it, but they’d bought it without question. 

He furrowed his brow at the alert. Wasn’t that where Shannon’s brother’s show was? He remembered wondering if they were going for the ‘love at first sight’ or the ‘struck by lightning’ meaning.

“Kelsey Cartright’s show premiered there tonight,” Batman said. Of course he knew that. They were probably invited to the opening. “But the gallery closed over an hour ago.”

“You think they’re after his art?” Robin asked as they left the building and grappled to the roof. Tim sent a quick alert to the police about the weapons dealers just in case, but he was sure Batman would remember to stop by a phone booth and leave an anonymous tip as soon as he had a free minute. 

“Given the timing, it’s likely, but his show won’t be the only one there,” Batman replied.

Tim pulled up the gallery’s security footage, flipping through cameras until he found Kelsey’s show. It was easily recognizable, which he supposed was the sign of a good artist? He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting one of Kelsey’s sculptures in their entryway, but maybe that wasn’t what they were for. His eyes scanned up a piece that morphed from a pretty, traditional glass vase at the bottom to a twisted mass of steel at the top. It made him him feel queasy, uncomfortable, like watching a disaster on TV. The plaque beside it said, “Sold,” so somebody liked it. 

Something moved in the corner of the frame. He switched cameras to get a better angle. There. A girl was walking through the show, not even wearing a mask or gloves, like she wasn’t worried about getting caught. She turned and Tim’s breath caught. 

“Chirp, you got something?” Robin asked in his headphones. He must be far enough from Batman to ask without notice. 

“Uh, not yet,” he said, and turned his microphone off. 

He shouldn’t be surprised, really. He knew Shannon disliked her brother’s art, or maybe the attention he got for it, but there was a big difference between disliking it and breaking into the gallery to, what, vandalize it? 

Maybe she would just leave and this could be forgotten. He knew Batman would find the footage whether or not he said anything, but if she just left it would be fine. Batman wouldn’t go after a teenage girl for just being jealous.

She picked up one of the smaller sculptures. Tim held his breath, images of it shattering on the concrete floor of the gallery playing in front of his eyes. Then she carefully wrapped it in what looked like a plain bath towel and placed it in the bag at her side. 

What the… Was she stealing it? Why would she do that? Her family had plenty of money, and he knew she wasn’t being deprived. 

He opened multiple feeds so he could watch Batman and Robin sneak in through a window a floor above where Shannon was now putting a second small sculpture in her bag. He could delay them, give her time to escape. He could wipe the security feed so she wouldn’t be caught, so this wouldn’t ruin her life.

But he knew whose side he was on. Whose side he’d always be on.

He turned his microphone back on. “There’s someone on the first floor, in Le Tonnere. It’s on the right when you go down the stairs.”

“Let’s try this way,” Robin whispered to Batman, leading the way. 

“She...It’s just a kid,” Tim added. “Don’t hurt her.” He saw Robin’s minute nod, acknowledging that he understood.

Shannon would probably just give up the moment they arrived anyway. She wasn’t really a criminal. Just trying to get back at her brother or something. Or maybe it was a prank and she was always planning to give the sculptures back. 

Tim watched Robin creep into the room. “She’s to your—” he started as Robin looked the wrong direction, then barely stuttered out, “DUCK!” as she swung the bag of very heavy sculptures at Robin’s head. He ducked just in time, the bag’s fabric rustling his hair as it swung past. 

Batman’s hand darted out and grabbed the bag. Shannon snarled as she yanked back, hand stubbornly fisted in the bag’s fabric even though she obviously wasn’t going to win a strength contest with Batman. Like a raccoon refusing to let go of a prize. Batman yanked her towards him using the bag and she swiped at him with her other hand as she stumbled forward. What was she doing? It was Batman, and she didn’t even have a weapon. She was just scratching at his armor with her puny little human fingernails like she thought she had claws. 

Batman reached to grab her and she finally let go, barely ducking out of his grasp. She ran for the door, grabbing another small sculpture on her way. 

“Robin,” Batman commanded, and Robin instantly pulled out a birdarang and took aim.

Then he stopped. Why..? 

Oh no. He didn’t want to hurt her. Tim had asked him not to. 

“Robin,” Batman repeated. Robin gripped the birdarang tighter, then lowered it and took off running instead. He skidded around a corner and towards the open window Shannon had already dove out of with little concern for her safety. Sure, it was the first floor, but Tim could see a smear of blood shining in the streetlight where she’d landed. His breath caught and he started rapidly flipping through outside cameras, trying to find where she’d gone. 

“Do you have eyes on her?” Robin asked, and Tim didn’t want to answer because the answer was no. Where was she? She couldn't have gotten that far on foot.

No, she couldn’t have. He flipped back to where Robin was. The window let out next to a road. And he was pretty sure, earlier when they’d gone in, there’d been a car. There wasn’t one now. 

“I think she got in a car, but I didn’t see it leave,” Tim said. “I’m going to try to find it.” Among the hundreds of cars roaming the city this time of night. 

He’d messed up. He should have been following her on the cameras, not Robin. 

“Fuck,” Robin muttered. 

“Language,” Batman said, materializing out of the dark alley. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” Robin said. “I lost her.” He lowered his head, glaring at the ground. Tim was pretty sure it was a stand in for him. “Sorry.”

“We’ll find her,” Batman said, brushing past brusquely. Robin trudged after him. 

Tim kept one camera on them while rotating through others, trying to find anything that could tell him where Shannon had gone, and feeling like a failure on both fronts.

Stephanie was right. He did suck at making friends.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Timbers! Timberly! Timbuktu!” Steph yelled at the passing boy. He didn’t even look up as he trudged past them into the school, which, really, showed impressive restraint. Steph was hard to ignore.

“I don’t know why you bother,” Jason said. For some reason, Steph had decided that Tim was going to be their new best friend even though Jason had seen absolutely no evidence the other boy wanted anything to do with them.

“I like him,” Steph said, twirling towards him with a grin. “You weren’t there when he tried to tackle a guy with a gun. It was awesome. Really ineffective, but awesome.” 

“Yeah, I was busy being kidnapped,” Jason muttered. They’d had to go along with what Steph thought happened. She’d told too many people, and besides, it was ‘good for their cover,’ according to Bruce. Jason thought it made him look like an idiot. Even before he had Bat training, he could have fought off a kidnapping attempt better than that. 

“You got better,” Steph said, like being kidnapped was an illness. If that were true, it would be the common cold for Dick. 

They followed Tim into the school, but he’d already disappeared down one of the hallways. Good. “Did he seem okay to you?” Steph asked. “He looked kind of out of it.”

“How can you tell? That’s basically how he always looks.”

Steph shrugged as they reached the student council door. “It’s the difference between a sleepwalker and a zombie, you know? It’s subtle, but there.” 

She knocked the rhythm of Shave and a Haircut on the door as she opened it. A few people looked up and then immediately ignored them, but the Count trotted right over. 

“Hey, how was your first week?” he asked. 

“Good!” Steph said. “Can I have a few of your hall passes?” It was her third time asking, and the Count just laughed. He was more stingy with those hall passes than the drug dealers in Jason’s old neighborhood were with handing out free drugs. 

Jason scanned the room. Of the almost dozen people in there, nine of them were just messing around on their phones. Were they all student ambassadors waiting around just in case their underclassmen showed up with questions? “Where’s Duchess?” 

“What?” the Count asked. Oh, shit. He said that out loud. “Do you mean Katherine Anne?” he asked with an incredulous laugh. “That’s hilarious. Perfect nickname.” 

Jason and Steph exchanged a look. They probably shouldn’t mention that they called him the Count. 

“I don’t actually know where she is,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the room like he might have missed her. “I don’t think she’s ever been late before. Or absent. I guess everyone has to get sick occasionally.” He shrugged and turned back to them. “What can I help you with?” 

“Jason wants to try out for baseball,” Steph said.

“I’m considering trying out for baseball,” Jason corrected.

“For the conversation starters,” Steph added cheerfully. Jason elbowed her. 

The Count looked amused. “Do you know how to play baseball?”

“I’ve seen a few games,” Jason said. “I get the idea. And I’m pretty athletic.”

“I’ll get you the tryout information. Give me a sec.” He went to a cabinet in the back corner of the room and started shuffling through papers. 

“Did you hear about Shannon Cartright?” a voice to Jason’s right asked. He immediately zeroed in on the conversation without changing his posture. 

They hadn’t found Shannon yet. He’d had no idea who she was, but B had apparently recognized her immediately. Fourteen years old, stinkin’ rich, only obvious motive a grudge against her successful older brother. That’s what B had said anyway. Jason could think of a ton of reasons a kid would turn against their family, and most of them were a lot less pleasant than a little overactive jealousy. 

They’d monitored her house, but she never went home. They didn’t know if it was because she was avoiding them or if that had always been her plan. She’d only gotten away with one statue, but B said it would be worth at least a few G to the right buyer. A good nest egg for someone trying to escape.

“Yeah, crazy right? She always seemed a little off kilter to me.”

Jason tried not to let his mental scowl show on his face. Judgmental asshole. 

“Sure,” the other person said, rolled eyes obvious from their tone of voice. “You’re the crazy person dowsing rod.” 

“Here you go,” the Count said, handing Jason a paper and snapping his attention away from the conversation. “Tryouts aren’t for a few months. I can remind you when they’re coming up. You might want to try throwing a ball a few times before then.”

Jason laughed because it was a joke, but he really hadn’t ever thrown a ball. A birdarang, sure. A ball, no. He wondered if Bruce would be willing to play some toss with him… He immediately dismissed the thought. That was such a dad thing. He didn’t want Bruce to think he was trying to make him be a dad. It was too awkward. 

“I’ll help him train,” Steph said cheerfully as they walked out, which was funny because he was pretty sure Steph also hadn’t had the kind of childhood that included a lot of casual sports. “Between the two of us, I’m sure we can learn at least one kick before then.” 

By Wednesday, they still hadn’t found Shannon and Tim had reached number 17v on his list of things that he’d done wrong. Obviously 1a was not following her with the cameras, and 1b was not writing down the information from that car when he saw it the first time. 2g was not going to the party because maybe if he’d gone he could have prevented this, but by 6r he’d switched to not convincing Shannon that the party wasn’t necessary and they should do something else instead. Followed by 6s, not developing his personality to become the type of person who was capable of convincing people not to have hate parties and to do something else instead. He was pretty sure if he’d tried, she would have laughed in his face and uninvited him. 6t was not starting to talk to Shannon two years earlier when they first started sitting next to each other. 

The 8’s were mostly focused on Robin. Telling Robin not to hurt her had been 1d, but he’d crossed that off. He stood by that, even if it did let her get away. Not telling Robin where to find her earlier had replaced it, but it wasn’t until 8b that he added telling Robin everything about her as soon as he saw her. He could have found a way to explain it without telling Robin he knew her. Facial recognition software, for example (actually he should really have that. He added it to a separate list). 8j was not mapping out the full building and preparing potential escape routes so he could more easily watch them and lead Robin through them. 8m was not running drills with Robin to improve their communication and timing. 8n was not just sitting down and creating plans for every potential scenario. Why hadn’t he ever done that? There couldn’t be that many scenarios. 

By 17v he was on not completely covering his room’s walls with monitors so that he was all knowing and seeing, so he knew he was getting a bit carried away, but there were just too many things that he could have done better. He had to think through everything so that he’d never make a mistake again. 

“Hey, Timpanzee!” A hand slapped his back and he jumped, dropping his notebook. He’d stopped at the side of the hallway to immediately write down his latest failure because it was important that he recorded them all before he forgot. Steph drew her hand slowly away. “Wow, are you okay? You look awful.”

He stared at her wide-eyed and unseeing for several seconds before he remembered how to respond. “I’m… okay. Not sleeping. Parents home so can’t coffee.”

“Wow,” Steph repeated. “You really need sleep. You sound like a caveman. What’s keeping you up?”

Tim’s mind flipped through his full list of failures. Judging from Steph’s expression, she was starting to regret starting this conversation. After fully recalling each and every mistake, he just said, “Worried about friend.”

“You have a friend?” Steph asked.

“I have friends,” Tim said, affronted. His eyes fully focused on her for the first time since she started talking to him, and she smiled. Oh. She was trying to rile him up to get him out of his own head. Which worked, he guessed, but he should be in his head. His head was where all of his ideas were. 

“Your friend sick?” Steph asked.

“Something like that,” Tim muttered. Steph didn’t seem to be going away and he did need to get to… to… whatever his next class was, so he started walking with her. This was probably the right direction. There was a reason his feet had taken him this way. They probably knew what they were doing.

“Maybe something’s going around,” Steph said. “My nanny’s been out for three days too.” 

“Who’d you get?” Tim asked, more on instinct than out of interest. Calculus. That’s what he had. It was in Hallway D. Was he heading to Hallway D? He didn’t even remember where he was.  

“Du…” Steph stopped, and quickly corrected herself. “Katherine Anne Hanover.”

“Katherine Anne?” Tim repeated. Okay, yes. They were in Hallway B. They were heading towards Hallway D. He wasn’t crazy. That was good to know. “She’s never absent. Is she dying?”

“Ha,” Steph said. “How do you even know that?”

“I know people,” Tim said defensively. “I’m very friendly.” More that his parents thought it was important for him to know all potential future networking contacts, but Steph didn’t need to know that.

“Right,” Steph said, with a really insulting laugh. He didn’t have time to be offended though. Something she’d said was caught in her brain. He slowed to a stop before Hallway D, trying to pinpoint what exactly it was. 

“Is something going around?” he asked slowly. 

“What? Oh, I don’t know. It does seem like a few people are absent, but I’m new here. Maybe that’s normal.”

“It’s not.” He tried to picture his classes. He hadn’t been paying much attention the last few days, but he did think he remembered more empty desks than usual. 

“So, yeah,” Steph said with a shrug. “Maybe something’s going around.”

That made sense. The cold or flu could go around anywhere, and even Katherine Anne had to get sick eventually. Even if he was pretty sure her attendance record was spotless for her first five and a half years here. Even if he could remember her once coming to school with puffy red eyes, three boxes of tissues, and a bright smile, insisting all the while that everything was fine. 

But this wasn’t just anywhere. This was Gotham.

Number 17w. He forgot that this was Gotham. 

“Tim,” Steph asked, sounding concerned. 

“I have to go,” he said, turning on his toes and heading back the way he’d come from, mind already racing. 

“You know, if you don’t want to be friends, you could just say so!” she called after him.

“That’s not it! We’ll talk later. Bye!” He ran around a corner before she could reply. 

He didn’t know Shannon that well, but he knew she hadn’t been acting normally at the gallery. Not just for her. She wasn’t acting normally for anyone. She was acting like a trapped animal, her only goal to get the sculptures. 

He holed up in a back corner of the library with his laptop. First things first, he hacked into the school system and marked himself as absent. While he was at it, he filled in information about him going to the nurse with flu symptoms and being sent home. Depending on how things went, he might want to skip the next day too.

Then he started looking up information. There were more absences recorded for this week than the same week the previous year, both excused and unexcused. He made a list of names and switched to the Gotham Police database. Besides Shannon, there was only one other kid reported missing. That wasn’t a lot. Not enough to launch a whole investigation. 

Was it really just the flu? He felt an anxious twist in his stomach at the possibility that he might be wrong. He pulled up records from the CDC and local hospitals. Neither of them reported increased rates of disease, flu or otherwise. It could have just not reached them yet, but it didn’t feel right. There was something else going on. 

He went back to the missing person report. Anderson Powell. New money. His mother’s smartphone design revolutionized the market a few years back. It still wasn’t as high grossing as Wayne Enterprises’ Odyssey Phone, but not much could compete with Wayne Enterprises and for a company that sprung out of nowhere, they were a close second. 

Tim scanned the report. Anderson had run away the previous night after his mother caught him trying to sneak out the latest prototype they had at home for testing purposes. Tim’s heartbeat sped up. His mom said that it wasn’t like him, that he must have been threatened by the mob or something. The police thought the kid just wanted some quick cash. Either way, they hadn’t found him yet. 

Tim left missing persons and started looking up any police reports filed by the parents of absent kids, regardless of who they said had done it, or if they even had a suspect. At the end of it, he had six in the last week. Eight if you counted Anderson and Shannon. Eight different reports of stolen property from the families of absent kids in the same week.

This was something. This was definitely something. There was no way it was a coincidence. 

“Oh,” a voice said and Tim almost dropped his laptop in his hurry to make sure the newcomer couldn’t see his screen. Then he saw who it was and froze. 

Robin was right there.

No, not Robin, not right now. Jason. 

“Hi,” Tim squeaked. 

“Uh, yeah, hey,” Jason said. He was holding a couple of books. Tim’s eyes flicked to the spines. Ancient Civilizations and Global Trade and African Civilizations. A research project. Probably meant his whole class was there. Tim could not afford to be caught by a teacher right now. That would raise way too many questions. “What are you doing here?” Jason asked.

“I have the flu,” Tim answered automatically. 

“Right,” Jason said, looking from Tim to his computer.

“I do,” Tim insisted. “I was sent home sick.”

Jason very slowly turned his head to the right, then to the left. “You’re in the library.”

“I must be more disoriented than I realized.” He sounded like an idiot. Jason’s expression was turning more concerned than suspicious though, which was probably a step up? 

“Didn’t they call your parents?”

“Oh, um, my parents don’t do that,” Tim said.

“Pick you up when you’re sick?” Jason asked, and now his expression was definitely concerned. Too concerned. Telling Batman concerned, and the last thing he needed was Batman investigating why his parents weren’t picking him up when he was fake sick. Backtrack, backtrack. 

“Ha, ha, no, I just remembered I’m supposed to be meeting them out front,” he said. He tried to shove his laptop into his bag, but wasn’t paying attention and completely missed. Before he could try again, Jason took the laptop from him and put it in, his eyes on Tim the whole time. Tim froze under his worried gaze. 

“Do you need someone to walk you out?” he asked. “You, uh, aren’t looking great.”

Tim opened his mouth, and the words on his lips weren’t yes or no. They were everything he couldn’t say. Who he was, what he knew, everything he had uncovered. If he didn’t tell Jason now, it would be hours before he could talk to Robin and who knew what could happen before then. He could just tell Jason here and now and they could start helping people immediately. They could work together for real, face-to-face instead of over a coded radio signal. 

But that wasn’t the relationship they had. He wasn’t sure Jason even liked him, Tim, and if he found out Tim was Chirp, he’d probably just be disappointed. 

“No, thanks, I’m fine,” Tim said, squeezing past. He didn’t look back until he was far enough away that he was sure Jason wasn’t following. 

Now he just needed to find a new place to hole up. He had a lot of work to do before contacting Robin.

Chapter Text

“B, I’ve been thinking,” Robin said when they settled on a roof after a long run. It wasn’t a lie. He’d been trying to figure out the best way to bring this up for the last ten minutes. Chirp had started babbling at him the moment he’d put the comm in, and hadn’t stopped for over half an hour. It was good intel, but he didn’t have a clue how to pass it on to B. He couldn’t exactly claim he’d hacked into police records. 

“Yes?” B asked when he hesitated. 

He mentally reviewed everything Chirp had said again. It was a lot. Start with the basics. “I think there’s something going on at my school. Or, with the kids at my school.” He paused there, but B didn’t respond. Just waited for him to go on. Okay. He had this. “There have been a lot of absences. Like, more than seems normal to me.” B nodded. Really not giving him much to play off of there. “And you know the whole Shannon Cartwright thing? The way she was acting was really weird. Like, not human weird. I thought maybe there might be brain control or something.” B still wasn’t responding. He was screwing this whole thing up wasn’t he? “And!” he added, struck by inspiration. “I overheard some of the kids at my school say something similar happened with another boy. Antonio—”

“Anderson,” Chirp corrected in his ear.

“Anderson, uh..”

“Powell,” Chirp and Batman said at the same time.

“Yeah, Powell,” Robin said. “You know about it?”

“He stole a prototype phone that his mother had brought home to test,” Batman said. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. Robin was still learning how to read his lack of expression when he was Bruce, let alone when he had a cowl hiding half his face. “His mother suspects gang involvement. It might not be related.”

“But it might be,” Robin said.

“Perhaps,” Batman said, and Robin felt a rush of relief. This was working. “Do you have anything else?” 

“Uhhh,” Robin said, stalling. Nothing else that he could really claim to have figured out himself. “I think we should look at the school attendance records, you know, and compare it to police records.”

“That’s good deductive reasoning, Robin,” Batman said. Robin swelled with pride the way he always did when Batman complimented him, immediately followed by the bitterness that Batman’s compliments were rarely actually for him. He hadn’t figured any of this out himself. “We’ll look into it when we get back to the cave later tonight.”

Chirp squeaked in distress, which would be adorable if Robin hadn’t felt his own stomach drop. “Shouldn’t we look into this right away? Kids could be in danger.” 

“Right now, I think the gang angle is more likely for Anderson. The Hammer gang has a history of threatening family members to steal new technology. It fits their MO. If they have Anderson, they’re likely to kill him.”

That made sense. Of course they should follow that lead first, if all they had was Robin’s theory. But that wasn’t all they had. Batman didn’t have all the information. 

“I’ve heard rumors of other things going missing too,” Robin said weakly. “From the families of absent kids.”

Batman nodded. “We’ll investigate that after we check in on the Hammers.”

Robin couldn’t argue with that. Not without telling B the full truth. For a moment, he considered it. Telling him about Chirp, about everything. Technically, B had never told him not to talk to Chirp, but that was a ridiculous fucking excuse. He couldn’t actually claim ignorance. He hadn’t mentioned having a guy whisper clues in his ear for half a year now. He’d very deliberately hidden Chirp from B. Forget the betrayal, the breach of trust. What about all the things B thought Robin had done that had actually been Chirp? How was B going to react when he found out Robin wasn’t half as good as he’d been pretending to be? He’d be lucky to still be Robin at the end of it. He’d be lucky to still have a home.

“Okay, B,” he said as Chirp objected in his ear. “What’s our next step?”

They weren’t going to look into the absent kids. Not yet. Not quickly enough. They were going the wrong way, following the wrong lead, like so many times before when Tim had tried to tell Batman what he knew and been ignored. Things were supposed to be different now. He had Robin on his side. He was supposed to have Robin on his side. 

He took a deep breath to slow his hammering heartbeat. They were still going to look. They were just going to follow this one other lead first, and then look. That wasn’t that long. It had already been four days.

It had already been four days. It had already been four days and it would be at least one more now. And maybe another after that. Six days. Six days that Shannon was missing, and four-hundred and sixty-five reasons why it was all Tim’s fault. If he let this go on another day, he was going to have to add at least fifty more reasons to that list. 

He didn’t need Batman and Robin to solve this. He could solve this. He’d already done seventy percent the work by himself. What was another thirty percent?

He pulled up a map he’d made that afternoon of where all the absent students lived. Over half of them were from the Diamond District, but that wasn’t surprising. It was one of the wealthier parts of town. Other than the scholarship students, almost everyone at Gotham Academy was from the Diamond District, Central Heights, or Bristol. He studied the map again. Probably at least a quarter of Gotham Academy’s students were from Bristol, but only one of the absent students was, and it was possible that she was actually sick. At least some of the absences had to be for normal reasons, and there wasn’t a police report from her family. He filtered the map to only include students whose families had reported stolen items, and suddenly the dots were all bundled together. Not just in the Diamond District, but the northern Diamond District, near Trillium Park. Shannon’s family lived in a penthouse apartment facing the park, and Anderson’s brownstone was only a few blocks away.

He pulled up all of the security cameras he could find facing the park, but none of them could see more than a few yards in. The park itself was a black hole for technology. 

That was where he’d start then. He was already pulling on his coat before he realized that he couldn’t just waltz out the door. It was only 9 o’clock, and his parents were home for once. Winter meant that patrols started earlier, which was good for Tim’s sleep schedule, but not so great for sneaking out.

He debated for a minute, his coat halfway on. Would his parents actually notice if he left? They didn’t usually check on him, but sometimes they seemed to get weird parental urges. He couldn’t risk it. 

He changed into pajamas and trod downstairs, following the sound of a TV. He found his mother watching a movie in the parlor by herself, a sure sign that she and Dad were fighting again. That probably meant they’d be leaving for another long expedition soon. They were always happiest when they were far away. 

From him, a small voice in his head finished, but he shook it away. He knew it wasn’t about him. He was just too young to go to a lot of the places they wanted to explore and he got in the way. Besides, he had school, and it was important to the family that he succeed. It was better if he stayed here. 

“Mom,” he whined in his most miserable voice.

“Shh,” she said without taking her eyes off the movie.

“I’m not feeling good,” he said. “I’m going to bed early.” 

She motioned him over. He tried to act sluggish and pathetic, dragging his feet as he walked and whimpering. Maybe he overplayed it a little. She narrowed her eyes at him and put a hand on his forehead. “You don’t feel warm. This better not be an attempt to get out of school tomorrow.” 

“No, no, I’m sure I’ll be better by then,” Tim said. If he did need to skip tomorrow, he certainly wouldn’t go through her. He’d just mark himself absent. 

“Make sure you are,” she said. She waved him away and turned back to the movie. “Go, sleep.” 

He trudged slowly away with loud, heavy footsteps until he was sure he was out of hearing range, then ran upstairs two steps at a time. It wasn’t his best performance, but it would explain why his room was dark so early and hopefully keep her from checking on him later. Just to be safe, he stuffed some pillows under his blankets. 

He changed back into his clothes at record speeds, this time putting on his thermal underwear and breaking a couple of hand warmers for his pockets. He probably owned more cold weather gear than the average Antarctic explorer. He’d been acting colder than he was for years, ever since the first time he nearly froze to death waiting for Batman and Robin to show up. It had gotten him sent to the doctor a couple of times as a kid, but eventually the doctor just said some people’s bodies ran colder and he should just wear plenty of warm clothes. Sure he’d overheated during a few family outings, but it also meant he had warm enough clothes for even the coldest Gotham night, and he spent way more nights freezing his butt off on Gotham rooftops than with his family, so it was a fair trade. 

It’s been awhile since I snuck out, actually, he thought as he creaked open the window in a way so familiar it was almost muscle memory. He used to sneak out almost every night when his parents were away, but these days he mostly stayed inside on the computer. The cold air hit him and his teeth started chattering before he was even fully outside. He was getting soft. He thought about Robin in his short shorts and cap sleeves. If Robin could do it, Tim could definitely manage in his arctic-grade heavy coat and boots. He crawled out and pulled the window mostly shut behind him, leaving it open just enough to get back in later. 

It may have been awhile, but he still knew all of the best ways to get into the city. Barely half an hour later, he was standing outside Trillium Park, debating his next move. He usually left this kind of thing up to Batman and Robin. Even when he was following on rooftops, he didn’t go into the dark bits of nature that occasionally wound through Gotham. He thought of Poison Ivy and took a step away from the grass. She had mind control powers, didn’t she? He remembered seeing her kiss Robin once, the old Robin, and then he turned on Batman. And a park would be exactly the kind of place she hung out.

But he didn’t think she normally went after children, and he was pretty sure Batman had just caught her a few weeks earlier. She couldn’t be out again already.

He took a calming breath and stepped forward. Once, twice, three times. He kept going until he was standing in the park. Nothing shot out to attack him the second he crossed the threshold, which made him feel a little better, but not safe. Shadows crept off the trees and across the dry, yellow grass in skeletal shapes. There was something wrong with nature in Gotham. It felt rotten in a way it never had when he was a kid playing in the woods around his house (until his parents found him and yelled at him for getting his clothes dirty). In Bristol, the woods might have coyotes or the occasional wolf. In Gotham, much worse things lurked in the dark. 

He avoided the deepest shadows, creeping instead from skeletal fingertip to fingertip. The moon was almost full, but barely lit the park in a blue, ghostly haze. He jumped at a thin, long-limbed monster in the corner of his eye, only to realize it was just a jungle gym. 

He needed to calm down. It was just a park. He’d been in parks before. He’d probably been in parks before. A friend’s parent must have taken him to a park at least once. 

He jumped again at a shadowy creature that ran across his field of vision. It was probably a squirrel. Or a raccoon. Or one of those normal, everyday monsters that doesn’t hurt anyone. 

He crept towards the center of the park, or at least where he thought the center of the park should be. He was already feeling turned around. He looked back where he’d come from, but there were just more shadows and blue mist. Maybe he could see streetlights, but they weren’t quite coming from where he thought the street should be.

He was being ridiculous. Go the center of the park, and if there isn’t an evil lair, spiral outwards to cover more ground. 

He avoided an open field, opting instead to move closer to a clump of trees where the bike path split. There were signs pointing both directions, but he couldn’t make out the words in the dark and didn’t think they’d be useful anyway. It’s not like they’d say, ‘bad guy, that way.’ 

He looked back where he’d come from again. Where he’d maybe come from. Now he couldn’t see any lights at all. 

Something brushed against his leg and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He slapped both hands over his mouth, too late to stop the high-pitched screech that probably let every villain in the park know he was there, and stared down into the shadows. A pair of disembodied yellow eyes blinked back at him.

Oh, god, it was a sentient man-eating shadow. 

The sentient man-eating shadow meowed at him, and he was twenty steps into his escape plan when he realized man-eating shadows probably didn’t meow. 

He forced himself to breathe and take a few steps back. The eyes followed closer to a patch of moonlight and a cat’s body materialized around them. It was just a stray, he told his rebelliously racing heart. There were lots of strays in Gotham, and just because he didn’t particularly like cats didn’t mean they were dangerous. Usually. 

The cat rubbed against his leg again, purring louder than a jet engine. “Hey, there,” he said, awkwardly patting its head. Its fur felt slick. Tim had only touched one cat before, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t right.

He looked at his fingers. They were tinged red. Was it blood? Was the cat bleeding? Or had it found a crime scene? Or was it actually a sentient man-eating shadow cat, because that would justify a lot of future fears if so. 

As he raised his fingers closer to his face to inspect them, he realized that they weren’t red. They were pink. And they smelled like… cake?

He stumbled backwards. His feet didn’t want to lift off the ground, and he tumbled over an upraised root. He grabbed at a branch, but his hand went straight through it. There were two branches, he realized. And two hands. Four hands. He stared at all of his hands, turning them over and trying to understand what it meant.

Robin, he thought. I need to tell Robin. He fumbled for his AirPods, dropping one into the inky darkness beneath his feet, and... yeah, that was definitely gone forever. He shoved the other one in his ear and activated the microphone. 

“Robin,” he croaked. His voice didn’t sound like his own. “I’ve been compromised. Trillium Park.”

The cat meowed and pranced towards him. He was on the ground. How long had he been on the ground? He scooted backwards, away from the approaching cat. He could see now that it was completely covered in pink, and its mouth stretched wide open into an unearthly grin.

Batman knocked out another guy that had refused to tell them anything about Anderson Powell. It was all a waste of time, Robin knew. They were refusing to tell them anything because they didn’t know anything. But he had to wait for B to decide that for himself, so that they could go find out what actually happened. 

“Rrrbun,” a voice slurred in his ear. He raised his hand to the comm in alarm. He glanced at Batman, but he was busy questioning another goon. “Mm comprized. Trimumpk.” What the hell?

“Chirp?” he whispered.

A loud scream echoed through the comm. Jason scrambled to pull it out, but before he could, the scream cut off, leaving behind a much more alarming silence.

“Chirp?” he repeated, barely managing to keep his voice low. “Chirp!” 

Nothing. Fucking nothing. He paced back in forth in front of the door he was supposed to be guarding. Batman was too busy with his own bullshit across the room to notice. He clearly wasn’t getting any further with his questioning, because he was questioning the wrong fucking people, and meanwhile, what? Did Chirp try to take care of it himself? Something had clearly happened, but he didn’t even know for sure if it was connected to this case.

Of course it was. Occam’s Razor. That was the first lesson Batman had drilled into him, not that he really needed it. He already knew that if your grocery cash kept disappearing right before your dad got drunk, it was probably the drunk guy, not the supervillain he told you broke in while you were out.

“You okay, kid?” one of the tied up goons asked. Robin kicked him in the gut and he grunted.

“Robin,” Batman said, all glowering disapproval from the other side of the room. Great. That he noticed.

“Sorry, B.”

Batman went back to his interrogation. Any minute now he was going to realize they were in the wrong place, and then they could go follow some actual leads. 

But what if that was too late? What if it took days to get all of the intel that they could have right now if he just… if he just… told B.

His heart caught in his throat. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to face the consequences of telling Batman the truth. He didn’t want him to take Robin away, but that was the least of what could happen. He didn’t want to be back on the street. He didn’t want to lose this facsimile of a family he’d found. Brucie didn’t need his charity case ward if it wasn’t covering for Robin.

But if he didn’t say anything, Chirp could die. It was already his fault Chirp was in this situation at all. He was only out there probably because Robin was too much of a coward to tell Batman the truth and do it himself.

“B,” he said. He heard the fear in his own voice. Batman swung around immediately, swiveling his head looking for a threat that wasn’t there. He forced his voice to be stronger. “We need to talk.”

“Right now?” B asked, a man dangling from his hand.

“Yes,” Robin said. “Right now.”

Batman growled in the man’s face, “We’re not done here,” then zip tied his arms and left him hanging from a railing. He jerked his head at Robin to follow, went out a window, and grappled up to the roof. Robin followed more slowly, dreading what was about to happen. 

“Don’t worry, kid. I’m sure whatever it is will work out,” the guy on the floor said. Robin kicked him again.

Batman was waiting when he reached the roof, his attention fully on Robin. Somehow that made this worse. Usually, even when B was paying attention to him, he had ten other things taking up his brainspace. All that attention on just him was… daunting. 

“The thing is,” he started. Batman waited when he didn’t immediately continue. “The thing is,” he repeated. “The thing is.” If he said that enough times, he wouldn’t actually have to tell B what the thing was. 

“Yes?”

“The thing is.” Okay, he could do this. “I didn’t. Exactly. Come up with the absent kids thing myself.”

Batman didn’t outwardly react, but Robin flinched anyway. “Who did?”

“Chirp,” he said tensely. His posture tightened, and he realized it was the exact way he used to react when he expected Willis to hit him. He forced himself to relax. B wasn’t going to hit him. He knew that much. 

What B was likely to do was much worse. 

“Chirp,” Batman repeated, his monotone more emotionless than usual. His expression didn’t change. He didn’t move at all for thirty seconds. “How long have you been in contact with Chirp?”

“He, uh, contacted me my third night out,” Robin said. “So, six months? He helps me out. Tells me which way to go. Clues I missed.”

Batman was still for much longer this time. Robin should have told him less time. B would have been less angry. But if he was gonna come clean then he should do it all the way. 

“I know you’re mad.” Robin started pacing back and forth across the roof. The way Batman was so still was making the agitation already dancing under his skin so much worse and he needed a release. “And, uh, I guess we can fully duke that one out later but there’s a reason I’m telling you now.”

“Why?” It was impressive the way he was able to speak so clearly without his jaw moving at all.

“There was a lot more evidence than what I told you earlier, but I couldn’t… couldn’t pass it off as mine if I told you everything.” God, that sounded so wrong. He deserved everything he got. “There are police reports connected with eight of the absent kids. Families reporting things stolen from their houses even when there’s no obvious connection to the kid. Oh, and there’s much higher absent rates right now than the same time last year.” He was messing this all up. He dragged both hands down his face. “I’m not doing this in the right order. The point is, I didn’t tell you. I figured we could run out this other lead, and then we’d look into the absent kids and you’d find all of this yourself, but I just got a message from Chirp and it sounded like he tried to look into it himself and got caught or something.”

“What did he say?” B was still frozen in place. The longer he went without moving, without letting out all the anger he had to feel, the more Robin wanted to claw his own eyes out. He knew it was coming. Just let him have it already.

“It… it was really slurred.” He tried to sound out Chirp’s mumblings. “Muhcanized? Mechanized? Trinum puck? Park!” 

“Trillium Park,” Batman completed. “It’s in the Northern part of the Diamond District.”

“So we should go there!” Robin exclaimed, turning towards the edge of the roof before stalling. He’d gotten caught up in solving a mystery and forgotten, just for a second, the bigger picture.

“You purposely mislead me,” Batman said, and Robin curled in on himself. Even without seeing B’s eyes, he could feel how cold and judgmental his gaze was. “For most of the time we’ve been working together. You let a potential enemy influence your behavior on innumerable cases. For what? To seem smarter? More capable?” Robin glared at the ground, his hands shaking. People always assumed being from Crime Alley meant he was dumb, but B had known better. Had seemed to know better. Now they were back at square one. “And worst of all, you put continuing this ruse ahead of the well-being of children whose lives may be in danger. Did I miss anything?” 

“No, sir,” Robin muttered. “But maybe we should think about those children right now.”

“When this case is over, you are benched until I feel like I can trust you again. That might be a long time.” Robin nodded stiffly. It’s what he expected. And when B decided he’d never be able to trust him again, he’d be back out on the street. “Until then, you are to tell me every time Chirp contacts you and anything he says.” He nodded again, slower this time. That felt like betraying a different trust. Batman didn’t wait for another response. He left with a swish of his cape, just expecting Robin to follow.

A stubborn part of him that said he didn’t need anyone else, never had and never will, told him not to follow. That he should leave while the leaving was good, and while he had his gear, instead of dragging this out for months before B dropped him off back in the alley where he found him with nothing but the clothes on his back.

This wasn’t about him though. If it were about him, he would have stayed quiet and things would still be fine.

By the time he swung into the Batmobile’s passenger seat, the car was revving, tires spinning in place. Already prepared to leave without him, he thought bitterly. He barely clicked his seat belt on before they shot off into the night.

Chapter Text

The drive to Trillium Park was silent. Not that Batman was normally a chatterbox, but it was a different kind of silent. B glared stiffly forward, hands clenching the steering wheel. Robin should get used to it. This was how things were going to be from now on.

“It’s not like I just trusted him for no reason, you know,” Robin said, partly just to break the silence, but partly because he really needed B to know he wasn’t stupid. “I was suspicious when he first contacted me too. Nightwing said I could trust him.”

B’s hands just tightened on the steering wheel.

Robin looked out the window. They were definitely entering the glitzy part of town. There weren’t mansions like in Bristol, because nobody actually had mansions in Gotham’s city limits. But the skyscrapers were taller, and newer. Made of glass and steel. Giant windows and balconies. He knew the apartments here were full floors, or even two or three floors for one family. B had a penthouse not far from here, so he knew what the insides of these places looked like. A far cry from the one-bedroom apartment he’d grown up in. That he’d be lucky to be in again soon, instead of the shoddy dumpster shelters he’d be more likely to find. 

The Batmobile swerved to a stop next to a park. Robin shot out like a rocket, but held back at Batman’s barked command. It felt like his first night out again, B not trusting him to go even a few steps without him. 

This is what you deserve, he reminded himself. This is what you get for putting yourself ahead of those kids.

But it didn’t seem fair. It wasn’t like they were gonna die just because it took Batman a few extra hours to get there. He wasn’t ignoring them completely. He just…

Was it really that wrong to want one good fucking thing in his life?

Batman circled to his side of the car and scanned the park. Robin was antsy to get moving, but he waited for Batman’s go ahead, even if he thought the ridiculous amount of time B was taking to survey the scene was probably some kind of punishment for not talking to him earlier. 

As soon as B gave the hand signal, Robin was off, running from shadow to shadow and watching for anything out of place. He knew Batman was doing the same. They combed the park as a coordinated unit, like two cogs in a well-oiled machine. He was gonna miss this. 

He was so stupid. Why had he let himself get attached? He always knew it was going to end like this.

He ran past a cat calmly licking its paw in the middle of a bike path, before he registered the color and backed up a few steps.

“Uh, B,” he said, stopping a few feet from the cat. “I think I found something weird.”

“What is it?” 

“A pink cat.”

“Don’t touch it.” Batman materialized so quickly that Robin almost wondered if he’d been monitoring him instead of searching his own part of the park.

“I’m not dumb,” he said.

B was quiet and Robin bristled at the silent judgment. 

It wasn’t fair. Just because he let Chirp direct him didn’t mean he couldn’t think on his own.

B slowly approached the cat, and it rose to greet him. Friendly cat. Not a stray someone spray-painted then. Wouldn’t be the first time someone got it in their head to pause while graffitiing a wall to torture a nearby animal. The cat didn’t seem hurt, or even spooked though. It trotted over to Batman as he approached. 

“Careful, B, it could have a bomb,” Robin joked, before remembering that they weren’t exactly in a joking mood right now. He glared down at his feet.

To his surprise, B actually responded. “Nightwing tell you about that?” He held the cat at a distance and scraped a sample of the pink substance off of it. 

“Uh, no.” For a moment he considered correcting himself and just lying, telling him it was Nightwing. He didn’t want to ruin the first lighter moment they’d managed to have. But B catching him in another lie would be worse. “It was Chirp. There was a cat at the hospital gala, you know the one Penguin attacked, and he mentioned it.”

“At the gala?” Batman repeated, face turning towards him. His voice had an odd tone to it. Probably upset that Robin was working with Chirp all the way back at the gala and hadn’t told him. 

“Yeah.” Robin kicked a nearby rock and it went flying into a bush. 

“Hm,” B said. He went back to inspecting the cat. “Go get the hazmat suits and the animal cage from the Batmobile. Line the cage with tarp. I don’t want whatever this is getting on anything else.”

Robin nodded and ran for the car. He didn’t like how quickly he moved to follow B’s orders, more instinct than choice. He scowled as he pulled the cage and suits out. 

When he got back, B was holding the cat in the air, as far from him as he could. The cat, meanwhile, was licking his glove. Geez, was it drugged? Maybe that pink shit was inhibiting its cat gene.

The moment he opened the cage, Batman shoved the cat in. It didn’t fight being put in there, but the second it realized it was trapped, it started yowling and sticking its paw out between the bars. 

“I need to test the chemical it’s coated with,” Batman said. “Comb the rest of the park. Quickly.” Robin winced at the harshness of his tone. “Keep your comm on and tell me the second Chirp tries to contact you.”

“I’ve got it, B. Jeez.” 

“This is serious, Robin. What if this was a trap? For you. You don’t know anything about Chirp. He could have been trying to drug you.” 

“He wouldn’t do that. I trust him.” Batman opened his mouth and Robin interrupted, “Nightwing trusts him.”

“Believe me, I’ll be speaking with him about this too.” His voice was cold, and Robin wondered again, for probably the hundredth time, what had happened between them. “Do your job, Robin.” 

“For as long as I have it,” Robin muttered, loudly enough for B to hear. He didn’t say anything. Of course not. 

It took him ten minutes to comb the park. He thought about doing it again, just to avoid Batman for a few minutes longer, but he didn’t think the results would change. There was nothing.

“I suspected as much,” B said when Robin reported in. He held up a tablet showing Robin chemical results that he couldn’t quite understand. Some of the compounds looked familiar, but he didn’t know what they added up to. “Mind control,” B said, almost accusingly. “This is where they’re catching kids, but not where they’re being kept.”

Bright. Bright something. Bright… colors? Light? Tim groaned, rolling on something… squish? It gave under his hand. He tried to push himself up but his arm just kept sinking. And it was so bright. He squinted at the shape underneath him. Bright, his brain supplied again. Bright what? Red? Bright red. With blinding white polka dots. He closed his eyes against them.

There were sounds around him. Moving. Many legs shuffling along. He thought of the house centipede that had made him scream and scream until his mother told him to stop embarrassing himself, it was just a bug. It was so creepy though. So many legs. He saw it now in his head, giant and slinking around the red and the bright, bright polka dots that were holding him down.

Robin, he remembered. Something about Robin. He talked to Robin? He saw himself standing by a tree with a bright pink cat beside him, talking up to a red breasted bird in the branches. But that wasn’t quite… right? He didn’t think? No, the bird was in his ear, right? Or a bug was in his ear and it took his messages to the bird. 

He slapped at his ear, heartbeat rising at the thought of the bug. It was still there. Oh god, oh god, take it out. He could feel it wriggling against his eardrum and he wanted it out. He clawed at the side of his head until it was lying in his palm. There was red on his fingernails, red like the bright squish. Was that his red? He touched gingerly at the side of his face. There was sensation. Burn? Bright, his brain supplied.

The bug was motionless in his hand. He’d expected it to flee by now. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t that kind of bug. It was a robot bug. He was surprised the bad cat hadn’t taken it away from him. 

“Hello?” he said to the bug. It didn’t reply. It needed something else, didn’t it. A… a… road? A road maker to take its message from Tim to the robin. He pat at his pocket. That seemed like where a road maker would be, but his pockets were empty. Did the cat take his road maker? Why would it do that? It had its own road. He remembered it being on a road. 

He scooted up to look over the edge of the red squish at the giant house centipede. It was weird. Its legs looked so much like people rushing around in disorganized lines. The people legs were curled around a hoard of shiny things. Maybe it wasn’t a centipede. Maybe it was a dragon. A changeling dragon already replacing human children with its young. 

He crept towards the hoard, weaving through the legs. There were road makers there. He didn’t see his, but it didn’t have to be his, did it? They could all make roads. He touched them until one didn’t ask him for numbers or patterns. It didn’t have the pictures he remembered. His road maker showed him maps to Robin. He sat beside the hoard, swiping at the pictures and trying to remember how roads were made. 

That’s right, he could take away the pictures. He just had to put the secret key in the number place. His fingers danced across the numbers to music he couldn’t hear. The pictures disappeared, replaced with black and white, numbers and letters filling the void like a labyrinth he knew by heart. His head mirrored it, white digits filling his vision. There were so many things, but he couldn’t make them all, so he let his fingers decide. Usually he made roads to Robin, but that’s not what he wanted, not this time. He wanted to give Robin a road to him.

He’d barely finished when he heard a voice. He dropped the road maker to investigate. It wasn’t important anymore. The voice was important. It was essential he listened. It led him to a man with a large green hat and a bowtie bigger than him. 

A woman circled behind them as they gathered, blonde with a blue skirt as large as a bell. Tim expected it to start ringing. She was holding her own road maker, but she wasn’t holding it like she was making roads. It was raised in front of her, like a picture catcher. 

The voice started again and Tim’s head snapped back to the front. The voice was more important. The voice would always be more important. It would tell him what to do.

“Good evening, my little mice and mouses!” the voice announced. “It’s time for the sun to go to sleep and all the little micies to come out and play.”

They stopped in at the penthouse’s secret subbasement. It was only a few blocks away and practically a mini-Batcave, complete with a full laboratory. B had immediately started analyzing the substance and creating an antidote. As soon as he'd been sure he had enough samples, he’d ordered Robin to give the cat a chemical bath. Mostly, Robin assumed, because it was the worst job in the world and he was being punished. He had three layers of armor to thank for not being a sliced steak right now. 

“Here, kitty kitty,” he called to the cat now thoroughly hidden under the Batmobile. It hissed back. Either washing it had restored its cat gene or it just really hated him. Probably that one. He needed to make sure there weren’t any leftover traces of the substance on it, but he didn’t think he was gonna get anywhere close without developing meta abilities. 

Batman was thoroughly ignoring his plight, but he was sure there would be words if he didn’t complete his job. 

Dick had a cat. He knew Dick had a cat because he’d been sent more pictures of it since he’d moved in than actual messages with words. He took out his phone and texted Dick.

Jason: How do you get your cat to come out when it’s under something?

Dick responded immediately, despite probably being in the middle of kicking ass as Nightwing.

Dick: kissy noises and finger wiggling

Jason: How do you get it to come out when it hates you because you just gave it a bath?

Dick: 😨🙀💀

Dick: Picture?

Robin took a picture of the angry cat curled up in the middlest part of the area under the Batmobile, perfectly unreachable from every angle, and texted it to Dick. They were on their civilian phones so he had to be careful what he sent, but the bottom of the Batmobile looked the same as any other car.

Dick: oh no its so wet and sad

Dick: put food out away from its hiding place and leave it alone it will come out on its own

“Is that Chirp?” Batman asked from the lab bench.

“Dick,” Robin corrected. “I mean, Nightwing.” Did he mean Nightwing? He was unclear on what the rules were while in costume in a safehouse talking about someone who was probably also in costume but not there. 

“He can’t have the cat,” B said. Robin gave him a good long are-you-insane look that he ignored, but passed on the message.

Jason: B says you can’t have the cat

Dick: I’m an adult!! With my own place!!!

He had still never figured out if Dick texted like that to keep his cover or if it was a genuine part of his personality. At this point, he figured it was probably a bit of both. 

He found some lunch meat in a mini fridge they kept in the subbasement. He had no idea how old it was, but it was probably good enough for a cat. He just dropped it straight on the floor, far from the car. It hit the concrete with a disgusting squelch. 

His wrist computer beeped, which was weird. Considering that half their job was sneaking up on people with guns, their equipment didn’t have a lot of functions that made noise.

“Is that Chirp?” B asked.

“Not everything is Chirp,” Robin grumbled. He inspected the screen. He couldn’t immediately tell why it had beeped. It was just showing a map of Gotham, which was the normal default setting. Then he noticed a small flashing light in the warehouse district. He zoomed in until he could see the blueprints of the building it was smack dab in the middle of. Chirp had never done anything like this, but if he was captured and couldn’t talk… “But, uh, yeah. This might be him.” 

Batman strode over and grabbed Robin’s lower arm to look at the computer. Robin tensed, his breath stuttering to a stop in his throat, but B didn’t do anything else, not even try to pull him, which Willis definitely would have done. He just pressed a few commands on the screen to send the signal to himself before striding away again. He grabbed some vials off the lab bench and started for the car. When Robin followed he snapped, “Stay here.”

“What?” Robin balked. “No way.” 

“I told you: you’re benched.” As he opened the door, the cat scrambled out from under the car and ran across the room. Of course it came out for him. 

“After this case. The case isn’t over,” Robin said. He swung the passenger door open and scrambled in before B could leave without him.

“It is for you. Out.” He pointed out the door. Straight at the cat that was now happily munching on turkey, actually. Probably not on purpose. 

“No. What if Chirp contacts me again? What if something changes?”

“Then you can radio me.”

“No,” Robin said. He buckled his seatbelt and stubbornly crossed his arms. If B wanted to waste time cutting him out and carrying him away kicking and screaming he could, but short of that he wasn’t moving. 

There was a long, stony silence before B finally climbed in and started the car. “We are having a serious talk when this is over.”

“Yeah,” Robin agreed. “When it’s over.”

Chapter Text

It took them less than ten minutes to reach the Warehouse District. The light hadn’t moved, still flashing in the exact same spot. Robin didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad sign. 

They parked in the shadow of a building a few blocks away and traveled the rest of the way by rooftop. All the warehouses around them looked exactly the same. Blocky, metal buildings with bars over the windows. He never would have picked the one they stopped at out of a line-up if it weren’t for the flashing light placed firmly on top of it. 

Batman took out a mini blowtorch and cut through the bars of a second-floor window. Robin kept trying to convince B to give him one of those. He guessed it was never gonna happen now. 

The window looked dark, but Robin realized as B removed the bars and quietly placed them aside that it wasn’t because there weren’t lights. Rather, black paper had been pasted over the inside of the glass. 

With the bars out of the way, Batman quietly pried up the window, and Robin’s eyes were assaulted with color. Way too much color. It was like a funhouse gone wrong. Like a clown had thrown up. Like someone had gone to a party shop and said, just give me all of it. When the initial assault faded, he was able to make out more details—a large red mushroom pillow with white polka dots, a child’s table and tea set, multi-colored croquet mallets. It had an Alice in Wonderland vibe, but cheap, like for a children’s play. 

They silently slipped in, creeping along an upper beam. There were at least twenty people milling below. Children, Robin realized. All children. He saw Duchess, and a guy he recognized from his math class. Adrien, he thought. There was an Adrien on Chirp’s list; he hadn’t realized it was the same one. 

Another familiar face made him stop in place, falling several steps behind Batman. Shit, that was Tim. The realization hit him like a brick wall. Tim hadn’t been on Chirp’s list, maybe because he was too new, but Robin should have figured it out himself. He’d just taken Chirp’s list as gospel and not thought about it further, not tried to use any of his own reasoning, but of course Tim was one of the kids. He remembered the way Tim had been acting at school earlier that day—there, but not there, like something was off in his head. 

B was right. Not about Chirp, but about him. He’d been using Chirp as a crutch, replacing his brain with Chirp’s. He went the direction Chirp gave him, knew the evidence Chirp found, and nothing more. Maybe he had been trying to look smarter or more capable, but he was already smart and capable, and he’d been neglecting his own skills. Who knew what else he’d missed while just accepting that Chirp knew all. 

He concentrated on the action below, forcing himself to think. The kids weren’t just milling around. There was a method to their movement. A rhythm they all followed despite going different directions. There was a pile of loot in the middle, that kids sometimes picked things up from or added to, with no obvious reason why. He didn’t see the stolen sculpture. There were phones, but none of them looked like the missing prototype either. The way the kids moved, in lockstep, picking up and putting down, turning, walking a few paces, and turning again. It was like this was all just…

“A distraction,” Robin said.

Batman nodded. He didn’t need to explain his thoughts any further. B had already seen what he had. “The valuables have already been removed, or they may have never been here. I don’t see all of the children on your list.” Robin didn’t have to ask how he knew. B probably had perfect recollection of all the rich families in Gotham. “They might be out stealing more goods. Regardless, these kids are just here to distract authorities from the people responsible long enough for them to get away.” 

“The people responsible,” Robin repeated. “You mean the Mad Hatter.” Wonderland theme and mind control? It wasn’t that difficult to figure out.

“Hn,” Batman grunted noncommittally. Robin rolled his eyes. He probably wanted to collect all the evidence before naming a suspect, which, yeah, was good procedure, but Wonderland theme and mind control. 

“So what do we do?” Robin asked, creeping along the beam and looking for the Mad Hatter. No giant hats in sight. “Wait for ‘the people responsible’ to come back? They don’t know we know yet. They’ve gotta come here occasionally to get their loot.”

Batman considered it for a minute before saying, “No. The children are at too much risk. We have no idea what their timeframe is, and a child could be hurt or killed in the meantime.” 

Robin thought about Shannon and if a security guard or cop with an itchy trigger finger had found her first instead of them. He nodded. “Block the doors and administer the antidote?”

Batman handed him a dozen doses of the antidote, already drawn into small syringes, and they moved to opposite sides of the room without a word. There were only two doors, one at the front and one at a back. More windows, if people were desperate. He remembered the way Shannon fought and ran. They had no idea what the programming was. They could be completely swarmed the second they landed, or the kids could run brainlessly, with no sense of self-preservation. They’d have to be quick.

At the signal from Batman, he dropped, syringe in hand, ready to inject as many kids as he could as quickly as he could.

Annnnnd nothing happened. No swarming. No running. The kids didn’t even react to two caped figures falling from the sky. They walked, turned, lifted, turned, walked, as if nothing had changed. Robin slowly approached the nearest kid and injected her with the antidote. She continued her walk even as the needle penetrated her skin. Robin had to walk alongside her as he pushed in the plunger. It wasn’t until the antidote was fully injected that she faltered, a look of confusion spreading across her face. 

“It’s okay,” Robin told her as the confusion changed to panic. “You’re safe. We’ll take you home soon.” 

The voice told him to move the phones so Tim was moving the phones. It was an important job. They were all important jobs. The voice said so. He picked up a phone and he moved it to another table across the room. That was a good place for the phone. He liked the phone there. He needed to move it though, so he picked it up and moved it back to the other table. That was also a good place for the phone. There were lots of phones on that table. He picked up another one and moved it to the other table across the room. That was a good place for the phone. He needed to move it though so he carried it back to the first table. That was also a good place for the phone. There were lots of phones there. 

He was moving another phone when he felt a prick in his arm. The prick wasn’t important. It wasn’t a phone. He wasn’t sure why the phone was so important though. He knew he was supposed to move it, but why? He looked at the phone. It had a glittery silver and blue case. Not his. His had a sensible black case with just enough red for him to easily recognize it. Not that he would ever let his phone out of his hand.

Where was his phone? He darted his head around. There was a pile of phones on a table near the center of the room. It was probably there. Hopefully there. He couldn’t let anyone get ahold of his phone. He’d loaded it with as much security as he possibly could, but there were still things on it that he couldn’t risk anyone finding. 

He jumped away as a hand touched his arm, clutching it tightly to his chest where it would be safe from unwanted touches. His heart was beating so loudly in his ears that he couldn’t hear anything coming from the moving lips he saw as he turned, but he recognized the person talking.

“Robin?” he asked. When did Robin get there? Did he… didn’t he call Robin? He vaguely remembered programming a phone to send a signal to him.

Oh god, he hoped it wasn’t his phone. They would figure out who he was. 

“It’s okay,” Robin said. “We’re here to rescue you. You’re safe.” 

Tim slowly took in his surroundings. Cheap, colorful props filled what looked like a warehouse, probably near the harbor. He couldn’t quite reconcile this with the fantasy realm his brain insisted he’d woken up in. 

“How… what… what time is it? What day is it?” Oh god, how long had he been gone? Did his parents know?

“Wednesday night,” Robin said, glancing at his wrist computer. “Actually, Thursday morning. 12:18 am.”

Tim breathed a sigh of relief. They wouldn’t know yet. He had time. 

“We’re just going to finish giving people the antidote, then we’ll call your parents to—”

“No!” Tim exclaimed before he could think better of it. Robin looked shocked and Tim quickly lowered his voice. “No, please, my parents can’t find out about this.” He couldn’t be caught here. Not after telling his mom he was going to bed early. Not when the victims were all caught in a park he never should have been in. They’d put bars on his windows. 

He expected Robin to ask questions, but instead he just looked concerned. Maybe even understanding. Did he know about Chirp? He couldn’t. He’d say something if he did, wouldn’t he?

Robin looked around, eyes finding Batman across the room, busy administering antidotes. He had a gaggle of cured kids following after him. Tim’s lips quirked up.

Cured… He looked around quickly. Was Shannon..? 

He breathed a sigh of relief when he found her. She was leaning against one of the warehouse walls, face pressed into the concrete. She glanced towards a group slowly forming nearby, then back at the wall. She didn’t look like she was in a mood to talk yet, but she was okay, she was alive, and her name would be cleared. That was enough. 

“I think I can get you out,” Robin said. “But we’re in the warehouse district. Can you get home from here? I don’t want to help you sneak away and then find you murdered later.”

“I can,” Tim said, putting every ounce of confidence he had in his voice. “Definitely.” 

“Okay,” Robin said, glancing towards Batman again. “Let’s move.”

There were just two kids left that hadn’t gotten the antidote, in a far corner that B was heading towards now. It would only be a few minutes until he turned his attention to calling the police or parents to collect all these kids and take them home, but for now his back was turned and attention elsewhere. 

Robin led Tim towards the closest door, which was luckily also the one most out of Batman’s line of sight. 

His gut twinged with guilt. He shouldn’t be doing this, especially not right after the whole Chirp fiasco. If Batman found out he was going behind his back again, so quickly after the last time, he’d be worse than fired. 

But he knew that look, that fear in Tim’s eyes when he said his parents couldn’t find out. Robin had begged people not to tell his dad things back when he was living in the Alley, knew what happened when they didn’t listen. When a kid was more willing to brave the streets of Gotham at night than have his parents find out, that meant what was waiting for him at home was worse. 

“My phone,” Tim hissed. 

“What does it look like?” Robin asked. It was riskier to go back for the phone, but there was no way he wanted Tim going out alone without a way to call for help. Besides, if it stayed with the other phones, it would enter evidence and B would figure out Tim was there. 

“Black, in a big case with a red bird on the back,” Tim said. 

“Go to that door,” Robin said, nodding towards it. “Don’t draw attention to yourself. I’ll meet you there.”

Robin kept his eyes on Batman as he went back to the center table, but B was still distracted. He found the phone quickly, and sprint-hopped back to the door. Tim wasn’t there. Why wasn’t Tim there? He hadn’t decided to go out without a phone, had he?

He was about ready to chase Tim into the night and force the phone on him when he saw a couple of boots sticking out from behind an inflatable walrus. Kid was sneakier than he expected. It actually made him feel a little better about trusting him to get home on his own. 

“Here,” he said, handing Tim the phone. Tim confirmed it was his before stuffing it in his pocket. “Be careful. I’ll check on you later to make sure you made it home.” 

“Thank you,” Tim said, with a tone of such relief that Robin knew he was doing the right thing. “Really. Thank you.” 

Robin smiled as he let Tim out and watched him sneak off into the night. B would be mad if he found out, but if there was any lesson he should have learned tonight, it was not to value B’s opinion of him over helping people. 

He joined Batman back at the center table where he’d found Tim’s phone. B was looking at his wrist computer and scanning the pile of phones. Robin checked his own map, zooming in as far as it would go. The flashing dot was directly over this table. Batman sorted through a few phones, checking their screens, then bent to look under the table. He pulled out a bright pink phone with a unicorn charm. Probably not Chirp’s phone, despite the black screen with white code streaked across it. It looked like it belonged to one of the victims. Batman ferreted it away for future analysis.

Speaking of Chirp…

“I’m sorry,” Robin said, quietly enough that only Batman could hear him. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About what I did. And you’re right. I never should have pretended Chirp’s work was mine, and I definitely shouldn’t have waited to tell you information that could have saved lives. I just…” Wanted to be as good as Nightwing. Wanted to impress Batman. Wanted to have a backup plan in case things went south, because things always go south eventually. “Wanted to be good enough for you.”

“You were always good enough for me,” Batman said. Robin remembered B laughing when he stole the tires off the Batmobile, when he tried to attack him with a tire iron. He wouldn’t exactly call that good, but it was what got him hired. Batman watched him for a long, silent minute. Robin wondered what he saw. “You’re still benched,” he said, finally. “But we’ll talk when we get home about the steps to getting you back out in the field.”

It was more than he'd expected. He felt the tension that had been building in his chest all night release. “Thanks, B.” 

“Have you heard from Chirp?” 

He guessed he was going to have to get used to Batman asking about Chirp. It was weird. Chirp had been his secret for so long. 

He scanned the warehouse, but he wasn’t sure what for. Maybe one of these kids could be Chirp, but the idea of trying to match a face to Chirp’s voice felt weird. “Let me try calling him.” He stepped a few feet away and turned on his comm. “Chirp?” he asked. No response. He glanced back at B, who was just watching him. So weird. “Chirp?” he tried again.

“Sorry, I’m here,” Chirp said in his ear. “Everything okay?” 

He looked around the warehouse again, trying to find anyone talking or acting weird. He could see B in the corner of his eye doing the same. “We found the kids. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I got out. Sorry for not telling you earlier. I’ve been distracted.” He sounded distracted. His voice was winded and his tone didn’t quite match his words. 

“It’s fine,” Robin said. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He turned the comm back off. “He says he got out.”

“Hm,” B said. He was thinking loud enough that Robin swore he could almost hear the words, but he decided not to press. It wasn’t the time. “Call the police and tell them to come here. We need to find and administer the antidote to any kids that are still missing.” 

Robin nodded as he moved to follow B’s instructions. It would probably take a few days to find all the victims, especially anyone newly infected enough to not be on Chirp’s list, but they knew what to look for now. They’d rescue everyone.

Tim woke in a sweat from dreams of pure color and sound that still swirled and twisted into grotesque images behind his eyelids. His head was pounding. Don’t do drugs, kids, he thought as he pushed his face into his pillow. He breathed in the lilac scent, letting it calm his mind until the final vestiges of his dreams faded. 

He would have stayed like that if he thought he could get away with it, but he knew his parents wouldn’t accept bad dreams and a headache as an excuse to lounge around in bed all day. He’d rather get up by his own power than be forced up. 

He hauled himself slowly out of the covers, dragging them halfway across the floor with him to the closet. He pat his hand along the hangers until he found what felt like a school uniform and pulled it on without opening his eyes. 

He thought about just leaving, but his mom would expect an appearance. She always took coffee in the parlor when she was around so she could watch the news. He could hear it as he slogged down the hallway, more sound than words, drilling straight into his brain. He slumped against the wall as the pounding in his head almost spilled out of him in a wave of nausea. He gasped in short, aborted breaths until the nausea receded and he was able to continue.

He was going to just poke his head in, say he was leaving, and get as far from the sound as he could, but then he saw who was on the TV and perked up. 

“Shannon Cartright, as well as a number of other brainwashed children, were found by Batman and Robin last night. Earlier this week, Cartright was accused of stealing a sculpture made by her brother, renown artist Kelsey Cartright. Last night it was discovered that she, as well as over a dozen other children from wealthy families, were brainwashed by the Mad Hatter into stealing from their families. We go to the scene.”

The video switched to a shot of the decorated warehouse, which looked even more dilapidated and cheap in the daylight. 

“I’m glad you aren’t foolish enough to get involved in this nonsense,” his mother said, glancing at where Tim stood in the doorway. He had to blink at her a few times before he fully understood what she meant.

“I don’t think this is like a cult that you join willingly, Mom,” he said.

“Regardless.” She waved her finely manicured hand dismissively. “If you’re smart enough, you can avoid most of these horrid situations.”

He supposed that was true. He’d avoided public notice by sneaking away before anyone found out, and that was more important that not being involved at all. 

He stared at the TV as the camera panned across the frankly pitiful decorations. It was so different from what he saw when he closed his eyes. He tried to pay attention to what the reporter was saying, but her words turned back into a mush of noise as his concentration flagged. It took him several minutes to realize his mom was watching him. 

“If you’re really not feeling well, Timothy, you can stay home.”

“No, I’m fine to go,” he said, knowing it was the right answer. 

She nodded, pleased. “Good boy.”

“Now who’s a Stares McStarey-Butt?” Steph asked as she walked up behind Jason. He was gazing across the front green at a miserable looking Tim. He looked like he was dying. Actually, he looked like he’d already died, resurrected, and was now hungry for their brains. Whatever he’d run off to do the day before, it hadn’t been sleep. Jason didn’t even slightly react to her arrival. “Jay?”

He jerked and turned to look at her. “Oh, hey.”

“What’s up?” she asked, nodding towards Tim. 

“Nothing,” he dismissed immediately. Then he hesitated. “No, not nothing. He said something weird yesterday and…” He twisted his bottom lip between his teeth. “Do you know anything about his home life?” 

She blinked. She hadn’t been expecting that at all. “Not really? I mean, I guess he said something about not being able to sleep because his parents were around. Oh, and the reason he was so weird when we first met him was he wasn’t allowed to talk to you until someone else did, which is cray cray but not exactly…” Jason scowled. She lowered her voice. “What, you think he’s, like, being abused?” She thought of her own dad and how much happier she was when he wasn’t around. 

It rang more true than she wanted it to. 

“I don’t know,” Jason said. “But I know if I looked like that, Bruce would never let me out of the house. Alfred either.”

Yeah, Steph thought. Her mom would have put her in bed with a cup of tea and a full stack of magazines. Her dad wouldn’t give a shit, but who cared about him?

Jason’s teeth tugged on his bottom lip until it was white. 

“You know,” Steph said, “and I know this is hard for you boys, but you could just try talking to him instead of staring across the green.” 

Jason snorted. “Yeah, okay.”  

“Wait, really?” She put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been trying to get you two to talk for weeks.”

“Yeah, well,” Jason said quietly. “I’m starting to think I misjudged him.”

They easily caught up to Tim, who was moving about as quickly as a slug through a salt field. “Hey, Tim!” she called. He winced, his shoulders hunching up as he turned. 

“Steph, I’m really not feeli…” He trailed off when he noticed Jason standing beside her, his eyes widening. She scanned him quickly. He looked even worse up close, with dark shadows a raccoon would envy under his bloodshot eyes. He didn’t have any obvious bruises, but she knew that didn’t mean much. 

“Hey,” Jason said. “You look awful.”

“I am,” Tim said. “I mean. Feel. I feel. Awful.”

“Shouldn’t you be home, then?” Steph asked.

“I already marked myse…” He trailed off and scrunched his face, like he was struggling to find the right word. “Called in absent,” he finally finished.

“Then why are you here?” Jason asked.

“Didn’t want my parents to know. They don’t believe in sick days.” Steph and Jason exchanged a look while he continued to mutter, “Just an excuse to slack off. I’ll be fine. I just need to find a place to sleep.” 

“Well,” Steph said, putting an arm around his shoulders and leading him into the building. “We happen to have a list of all the best nap spots.”

“Really?” Tim asked, slumping against her and letting himself be led. Either that or too weak to resist. He really did look awful. 

“Yep! We prioritized.” 

“We ranked them based on comfort, concealment, and absurdity,” Jason said. “The best one is a rarely used storage room behind the kitchen filled with an overabundance of aprons and chef hats.”

“It smells like pie,” Steph added.

“Even though we’ve never been served pie.” 

Tim smiled as he leaned his head on Steph’s shoulder, eyes drifting shut even as they walked. “It’s probably haunted by the spectre of the old pastry chef who was buried alive in the bowels of the school.”

“See, he gets it,” Steph said. That was pretty close to her theory of pie poltergeists. 

“I still think the teachers are eating all the pie before it gets to us,” Jason argued. “That’s what I would do if I were a teacher.”

Despite his feet continuing to move, Steph was pretty sure Tim was fully asleep before they reached the kitchen.

Chapter Text

“So what do you like to do?” Steph asked, sliding into a booth and then quickly spreading out her stuff so neither of them could sit next to her. Jason looked distinctly unimpressed as he and Tim sat on the opposite side.

The three of them were at the cheapest diner they could find near their school, which was hard because their school was in a ritzy area that seemed to think milkshakes should cost at least ten dollars a pop. Jason always paid for her because his new dad gave out twenties like they were quarters, but they both still preferred to eat somewhere the prices didn’t give them gray hairs. 

She hadn’t asked Tim if he liked milkshakes before coming here because of course he did, everyone liked milkshakes, but he was slowly picking up the menu and staring at it like it was in a foreign language he was trying to translate. 

“I don’t know,” Tim said, eyes flitting up to her, then back to the menu. “I like things. Cool kid things.”

Jason snorted and tried to hide it in a cough. Steph put both hands over her heart. “Oh, Tim. You think we’re the cool kids? I’m so sorry.” 

“No, I need to know,” Jason said, holding his hand up in a stop-right-there position. “What are these cool kid things you like?” 

Tim’s eyes flit up and down at the menu again. “Stuff. Skateboarding. Parkour.”

“You do not like parkour,” Steph said while Jason laughed too hard to hide in his second round of coughs. She tried to imagine Tim’s scrawny little butt doing flips over low walls and had to press her lips together to keep from laughing herself. They’d finally gotten Tim to hang out with them. She did not want to immediately scare him away. 

“I do,” Tim insisted, finally putting the menu down. “I used to sneak out every night and climb buildings.”

“You used to sneak out,” Steph repeated. “At night. To do parkour.” He nodded and she leaned forward to put her hand over his. “I think you might be the cool kid, Tim. It’s you.”

He flushed and pulled his hand away, returning his full attention to the menu.

His version of ‘sneaking out to parkour’ was probably more like going into his villa courtyard and walking along the garden walls, but it was cute that he was trying to impress them. 

Jason twirled a salt shaker on the table, catching it before it could tilt over. “Is the menu really that fascinating or are you avoiding us?” he asked, leaning over to look at Tim’s menu like it might say something different from his.

“I’ve never had a milkshake before and the flavors are weird,” Tim said. “Peanut butter, banana, and bacon? What is that?”

“That’s the King’s milkshake,” Jason said. “Don’t diss it.”

“Which king?” Tim asked incredulously.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Steph said, standing up on her bench and raising her arms because this required everyone’s full, undivided attention. “Back up. You’ve never had a milkshake?”

“No?” Tim said. “I mean, they’re kind of a specialty item, right?”

“Nooooooooo?” Steph replied. She and Jason exchanged a look, Jason’s eyebrows raising into his hairline. She was sure her expression was much the same.

Tim looked between them, skin staining a deeper red. “Seems like a specialty item to me,” he muttered, hunkering down behind the menu. Even while standing, she had trouble seeing him.

“You have been horribly deprived,” Steph said. She hopped off the bench and circled the booth so she could hug him, refusing to let go when he tried to escape. “What else haven’t you had? Chocolate? Cake? Chocolate cake? We have to fix this.” 

“Steph, please,” Tim said, voice muffled against her shoulder. 

Jenna—their usual waitress, Steph was pretty sure she was the only one who worked weekday afternoons—cautiously approached. Her lips were twitching, though, so Steph knew she wasn’t really judging them. “Do you kids know what you want?”

“Brownie Galore, please!” she said without releasing Tim. 

“Just a vanilla shake, thank you,” Tim said. 

“Nuh uh, not happening,” Steph said, shaking her head so vehemently it shook Tim too. “He’ll get the S’mores shake with M&M’s, brownie bits, and Oreo topping. And lots of whipped cream! He needs to make up for his lost childhood.”

“Steeeph,” Tim whined. She ignored his pleas. He didn’t know what was good for him.

“And you?” Jenna asked Jason, definitely trying to hide her smile now. 

“I’ll get the plain vanilla shake,” he said. Steph shot him a betrayed look. She thought she knew him better than that, but apparently he was a monster. “Hey,” he said defensively. “Someone needs to make sure Tim has something to eat after he takes one sip of that monstrosity you ordered him and immediately overdoses on sugar.”

“Thanks, Jason,” Tim mumbled. Terrible. Both of them. 

“You’re both awful,” Steph said, finally letting Tim go so he could breathe. She flopped back into her seat. 

“We used to make milkshakes at home when I was a kid,” Jason said after Jenna headed back to the kitchen. “Not often ‘cause it wasn’t a necessity, but you could get a two-buck tub of ice cream and some milk and have milkshakes for days.”

“Is that really all it is?” Tim asked. “Milk and ice cream?”

“What did you think it was?” 

Tim looked like he wanted to hide behind his menu again, but Jenna had taken it with her.

Tim and Jason’s life experiences were about as different as they could get. Steph was still impressed with herself for managing to bring them together. She’d have to give herself a good pat on the back later. 

“I don’t know. I guess I never thought about it,” Tim muttered. He pushed around some grains of salt that had fallen on the table. “Apparently it’s sometimes bananas and bacon.”

“I should have ordered you that one,” Steph said. She laughed his disgusted expression. “It’s good!”

“Steph would know,” Jason said. “She’s working her way through the full menu.”

Tim glanced between them, then around at the diner. She didn’t think he was judging so much as assessing. The place was like an old '50s rock and roll joint, with a soda bar, vinyl booths, and a jukebox. She didn’t know if they were decorating to a theme, or if it was actually built in the '50s and never updated. 

“Do you guys come here a lot?” Tim asked. She expected surprise or distaste, but he just sounded jealous. She wondered if he had any friends. Like actual friends. Not contacts, or whatever network he was working on building. 

“It’s this or the library,” she said. Jason opened his mouth and Steph talked louder. “Which Jason would spend all his time in if he could, but they don’t have food.”

“You like the library?” Tim asked, turning to Jason.

“Who doesn’t?” he asked aggressively. It was his default when he felt self-conscious. 

She thought there were probably a lot of people who didn’t like the library, but she didn’t want to break his adorable little booklover’s heart so she said, “Yeah, Tim, who doesn’t like the library?”

Tim’s pained expression suggested that maybe he didn’t like the library but wasn’t going to say anything about it. 

Jenna came back with their milkshakes and distributed them to the table. She watched Tim with barely suppressed glee as she put his in front of him. He had a completely gobsmacked expression. The diner went all out on their milkshakes. Tim’s had graham crackers glued to the side of the glass with marshmallow fluff. The crackers extended upwards in a cone shape that was filled with more marshmallows, Hershey's chocolate, brownie bits, M&M’s, and Oreos. The whipped cream was piled so high on top of it all that it was almost as tall as Tim. It was awesome.

“Jason,” Tim said weakly. Jason pushed his plain, boring, worst-choice vanilla milkshake towards Tim.

“No, you have to at least try it,” Steph said. “It’s required.”

Tim made a face like he’d rather eat snails. Knowing his rich butt, he probably would. 

“Timmmm,” she whined. 

He leaned forward with a grimace and very slowly sipped from the large pink curly straw sticking out of the milkshake. He immediately started gagging. “What is that?” he asked.

“Heaven,” she replied.

He gave Jason a pleading look, the little wimp. Jason took the beautiful, perfect milkshake away from him and left him with the what-was-he-even-thinking vanilla. It didn’t even have whipped cream. Just a cherry on top. “Drink your vanilla milkshake,” Jason said. “We’ll work you up to the fancy stuff.”

“Goody?” Tim asked. He picked the cherry off and ate it with a pleased look.

“You are so boring,” Steph said. “Don’t worry. We’ll fix it.”

“So, parkour? When are we making this happen?” Steph asked when they were parting ways outside the diner later. Jason wondered if he was allowed to parkour or if that would risk his secret identity. He was pretty sure that if Tim could parkour, he could parkour. He had doubts about Tim’s parkour abilities though. That sounded like something he’d made up to impress them. 

“I can’t until my parents go out of town, but maybe in a few weeks?” Tim said. “They should be gone by then.” 

“Is it us they don’t approve of or parkour?” Steph asked.

She was clearly teasing, but Tim answered in all seriousness, “Oh, no, definitely both.” Steph’s eyebrows shot up and Tim quickly waved his hands in front of himself. “Nothing against you. You just don’t really benefit my future.” Steph’s eyebrows continued to raise higher and Tim, apparently hell-bent on putting his foot in his mouth, kept babbling. “Cause you’re not from an influential family, you know. That’s not your fault.”

“The hell, Tim?” Steph asked, putting her hands on her hips and staring him down. Tim made a sound like a wounded animal. 

Jason was surprised he wasn’t annoyed. He could feel dredges of anger if he pushed at Tim’s words, if he actually tried to be upset about it. Not from an influential family, so not worth the time. But he didn’t really feel it. He knew something was wrong with Tim’s home life, even if he didn’t know quite what yet. 

He’d asked Bruce about the Drakes, subtly of course. According to B, they were new money, trying to fit in with the old. Say the right things, talk to the right people, wear the right clothes. Jason knew from his own experience how much harder you had to work to be accepted by the wealthy elite if you weren’t born into it. He guessed Tim was the Drakes’ best chance of bridging the gap. He’d been born with wealth, even if his parents hadn’t been; he went to the right schools, was raised alongside the richest of the rich. If he befriended the right people, made the right connections, they’d be set. So no, Steph wouldn’t benefit him, but more importantly, she wouldn’t benefit his parents. 

There was the anger he’d been looking for.

“I’m still grounded anyway,” he said, to deflect attention from Tim. He’d tell Steph what he was thinking later. Not that it meant they should just accept Tim’s bullshit—he needed to unlearn that crap—but it never hurt to know where someone was coming from. 

Steph allowed the subject change easily enough. “You never did say why you’re grounded,” she said turning back to him.

“Lying.” It was mostly the truth. Bruce always said it was easier to keep your secret identity if the lies you told didn’t stray too far from reality, something Jason would find easier to accept if Bruce’s “Brucie” act wasn’t so utterly obnoxious.

“Harsh,” Steph said.

“About what?” Tim asked. His look was more canny than the usual dazed expression he walked around school with. 

“Someone I was hanging out with.” Okay, that was vague bullshit they’d definitely call him out on. Maybe the best lies did have a kernel of truth in them, but if he came off sounding like a sphinx spouting riddles, his identity was going to be discovered quicker than Oedipus answering ‘man’. He quickly added, “From my old neighborhood. Bruce didn’t like me putting myself in danger.” Still mostly true.

A spark of realization lit in Tim’s eyes. He probably thought it was gang related, given where Jason grew up. Jason frowned. He didn’t like that, but whatever. At least it meant Tim would buy it.

“Sucks,” Steph said. “But it could be worse. You could be hanging out with riff-raff like us.” 

Tim whined loudly, and Jason laughed. “I am hanging out with riff-raff like you.” 

“Oh no!” Steph exclaimed. “Even though I don’t benefit your future?”

“You’re taking that all wrong,” Tim said. He sounded frustrated. “It’s just an economic thing. I still want to hang out with you.” He said it like it like it was a compliment, like choosing to spend time with her even though it didn’t benefit him was the greatest praise. Maybe to him, it was.

“Tim,” Steph said, putting both hands on his shoulders. He shifted uncomfortably but didn’t pull away. “As your best friend—”

“I barely know you,” he said.

“—I worry about you.” 

“Thanks?” he asked, clearly unsure how to respond. “Um, I should probably go.” He pulled back, rubbing his shoulder uncomfortably. “But… we’re good, right?” He sounded so awkward and sincere, Jason actually felt for him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steph said, waving her hand like she was shooing him away. “Go do important things.”

Tim looked like he wanted to say something else, but eventually just said, “Goodbye,” and walked away. Jason assumed he’d pick up a ride somewhere back to Bristol. 

Steph waited until he was fully out of sight to say, “His parents really did a number on him, didn’t they?” 

Apparently Jason didn’t have to explain anything after all.

“You really hell-bent on doing this parkour thing?” he asked as they started walking towards the bus. It had been a battle to convince Bruce that he didn’t need Alfred chauffeuring him around town, but eventually he’d won out.

“Heck yeah!” Steph said. “I mean, one, it sounds fun, but two, I have to know if Tim can actually parkour or if this is all some sitcom plot where he builds up this false cool guy persona to try to impress us, all culminating in disaster when, rather than admitting to his lies, he jumps off a building and breaks his leg.”

“Jesus,” Jason said.

“Obviously, we won’t actually let him jump off a building if he can’t handle it,” Steph said, rolling her eyes with flourish.

“Want me to teach you all my best running from the law moves?” Jason asked. Might as well start creating an alibi for why he knew this stuff now, and it wasn’t exactly a lie. He’d done his fair share of scrambling over walls back when he was stealing to eat.

Steph grinned at him in that way she had that was half cute-school-girl and half ‘watch out, this girl is going to take over the world some day and it will not be a benevolent reign.’ “What do you think?”

Tim was pretty sure it was his fault Jason was grounded. No one had said it, not even Robin, but Robin also hadn’t been out on patrol since the night Tim was caught by the Mad Hatter. He wished he could remember what happened. Maybe he should already know why Robin was grounded. Maybe he’d been told or had witnessed it, and just didn’t remember. He didn’t even feel like he could ask. Would asking give something away?

Still, he was almost positive it was his fault. Robin had gotten on the radio a few nights, working out of the cave, but his responses to Chirp had been more… stiff. Closed off. 

Maybe Robin wasn’t actually in trouble. Maybe he was injured, and it was Tim’s fault. Maybe Tim had led him astray while brainwashed and gotten him injured so Robin was mad at him. He hadn’t seemed injured when Tim had seen him at the warehouse though, and Tim had looked really hard for any sign of injury on Jason since. If Jason was injured, he was really good at hiding it. Tim guessed he would have to be, after his time on the street, but still, that didn’t seem quite right. 

Tim studied him out of the corner of his eye again while they stretched. Jason and Steph had just arrived, but Tim had been there for a few hours already. His parents’ trip had been delayed a few days, and he was worried if he tried to reschedule on Steph and Jason they’d just go without him and never want to hang out with him again, so he’d told his parents he was meeting a couple of his classmates at the Museum of Modern Art. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Sure, the museum had been closed for an hour now and they were actually meeting at the museum’s mostly empty parking garage, but it was the same basic idea. 

Jason seemed okay. He’d come in sweats and tennis shoes, unlike Tim who’d had to change in a museum bathroom. He was sitting on the ground leaned forward, his fingers stretching far beyond his pointed toes. That would pull on just about any stitches he had if he was injured, but Jason’s face was clear of pain.

Most wounds probably would have healed by now anyway, so that didn’t mean much. 

Steph hooted as Jason stretched even further and he held up a middle finger at her.

“What?” she asked. “I didn’t know you were so flexible.”

“Dick’s been teaching me gymnastics. The way he teaches it, it’s 98% stretching, but that’s probably just because he doesn’t want to actually teach me how to do a backflip.”

“Maybe it’s a trade secret,” Steph said. She stepped up on the curb and hopped off. Tim wondered if that was supposed to be parkour. If so, it was going to be a slow night. 

Which was probably for the best, honestly. He didn’t want to accidentally give anything away. Not that Jason should be able to connect him to Chirp from doing parkour. As far as Jason knew, Chirp never left the computer. He should be able to whatever he wanted without risk.

And a stupidly selfish part of him really wanted to impress Robin. 

“Maybe he just doesn’t want me to break my neck,” Jason grumbled. Something in his tone made Tim look over. He sounded… bitter. But Tim knew that Dick actually had taught Jason how to do backflips, so it couldn’t be that. Was there another move Dick wouldn’t teach him? Something Robin related?

Steph must have caught the tone too, because she groaned dramatically. “Siblings are the worst, am I right? Wanting you to live.” 

“It’s not like that,” Jason spat. “He just doesn’t believe I can do it.” Tim tried not to stare, but his gaze kept finding its way back to Jason. He sounded so… annoyed? Jealous? Hurt? He’d spent months talking to Robin almost every night, and he’d never heard that tone before. Robin was nothing but confident, brash, a little snarky. He didn’t whine that Nightwing refused to teach him backflips. 

Tim realized with a twinge that he wasn’t actually on the inside. He might work with Robin, but he still just saw the act. He wasn’t allowed behind the curtain. 

“He’s not my brother anyway,” Jason muttered. 

“Sure,” Steph said, rolling her eyes. She sounded like this was an argument they’d had before and she didn’t feel like doling out her points again. “We doing this?” she asked. She punched the air a few times, which was also definitely not parkour.

They all turned to look at the three-story parking garage. The sun was low but still provided enough light to see where they were jumping. Tim was more used to running around at night, and he knew Jason was too, but for a normal kid, this would probably be ideal.  

“Why don’t you start us off Tim?” Steph asked. “You’re the expert.” 

Her words were nice enough, but the way her lips twitched when she spoke, like she was trying not to laugh at him, made Tim’s stomach drop. They didn’t think he could do this, he realized. Steph had asked when they were going to go parkouring every few days since he first mentioned it. Why? So they could make fun of him when he failed? 

He actually had considered pretending he wasn’t that good, or at least not as good as he was. Maybe there wasn’t any real risk to his identity, but it seemed like the prudent thing to do. He looked at Jason. His lips were twitching too. 

Tim had kept up with Batman and Robin when he was ten. He wasn’t just good. He was amazing.

He hopped up onto the short concrete wall that lined the ramp into the parking garage. Steph whooped and he felt his skin heat up. Concentrate, he thought. Don’t think about what they think of you. Just do it, like you would if fell behind Batman and Robin and needed to catch up. This used to be instinctual to him. He didn’t go out as much anymore, but it was still in his bones. 

He ran along the wall as it sloped upwards and jumped from it to the outside wall of the parking garage, rebounded, and grabbed the outstretched pole of a street lamp hanging over the road. He had enough momentum from the jump that he could swing in a wide arc around it and land on his feet on top of the bar. The open second floor was only a couple feet away and a few feet up. He jumped for it without hesitation. His hands caught the landing and his feet scraped against the outside wall, pushing him up until he was able to climb onto the second floor parapet. He turned and looked down at where Steph and Jason were still standing, staring up at him. 

“Keep up,” he said, straightening his back and putting his hands on his hips to make sure he had the best superhero silhouette. It might have been the coolest he ever looked. 

“Whooooo!” Steph cheered.

Jason smirked at Steph, and that was all the warning they got before he followed. He was taller and more muscular than Tim, so he didn’t even bother with the pole. He ran straight up the wall, clearing it in just a few seconds.

“Whoooo!” Steph cheered again, louder. 

“You coming?” Tim called down to her. 

“Well, yeah,” she said. “But I’m gonna take the stairs. You guys are definitely going to teach me how to do that though.”

She disappeared into the parking garage, leaving Tim and Jason in awkward silence. They’d never really spent any time together without Steph’s cheerful buffer. Not as Tim and Jason instead of Chirp and Robin. Tim looked down at the wall Jason had just climbed. He wondered what Jason’s cover story was for being able to do that. Probably the Dick gymnastics story again.

“Where’d you learn to parkour?” Jason asked, breaking the silence. Tim thought he sounded impressed, but maybe he was imagining it. Jason had seen way cooler tricks as Robin. He’d done way cooler tricks as Robin. 

“Oh, um.” Tim could feel his skin flushing. It was ruining his cool guy look, but he couldn’t control his capillaries. “YouTube videos, mostly,” he said. “And lots of practice.” Lots and lots of practice. Lots of almost falling off of buildings and losing Batman and Robin because he couldn’t climb fast enough and inching closer over dangerous drops to get the best shots. 

He didn’t have any good pictures of Jason as Robin, he realized. He’d stopped going out as much after he discovered he could track Batman and Robin better from the computer. He’d have to remedy that. 

“What about you?” he asked, a little too late. 

“Running from the cops,” Jason said. 

Oh. That was not the cover story he’d been expecting. He furrowed his brow, thinking about it. Was it true? It could be, if he’d already had some of his Robin skills before Batman started training him. Half of Dick’s abilities were pre-Batman, after all, so it would make sense. It could also just be a cover story, but if so, why choose something illegal? 

Jason must have taken his expression the wrong way because he quickly spat out, “Hey, you see what you’d do if you didn’t have all of mommy and daddy’s money and had to survive a winter on the street.”

“I wasn’t…” Tim said quickly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t... Sorry, I was just... Sorry.” 

Jason’s expression softened, but he didn’t talk again until Steph arrived. 

“Okay!” she exclaimed. “Where to next?”

They spent the next couple of hours running around the parking garage, jumping and climbing on random structures. Steph wasn’t that bad, actually. She knew the basics of climbing and rolling, and was eager to learn. Apparently she’d been taking gymnastics for years, and liked to climb up to the roof from her window when her parents were fighting. Tim and Jason kept giving her tips, and by the time the sun was setting, she was mostly keeping up with them. At least with the civilian-friendly version of them. 

They sat on the top floor of the parking garage to watch the sunset, their legs dangling over the edge. The sun’s last rays cast a red and orange glow over the marble museum roof across the street from them. Tim had actually been on that roof a few times. He almost fell through a skylight when the Penguin had decided he needed some new art for his nightclub. He’d barely caught himself and scrambled back up before being spotted by Robin—Dick-Robin—just a dozen feet below. 

He smiled at the memory. It was amazing he’d never been caught, really. There were a lot of close calls. 

A shadow dashed from one triangular outcropping to another. He squinted at where it had disappeared. A few seconds later, it darted out again. 

“Is that a cat?” he asked. 

Jason stood immediately, scanning the roof. 

“Didn’t know you were such a big fan of cats,” Steph said, laughing at his sudden attention. Tim knew what Jason was thinking though. A cat on a museum roof? It wasn’t exactly a stretch.  

“I’ve got to go,” Jason said. “Uh, curfew. Totally forgot when it was before. Still kind of grounded.” 

“Wha—?” Steph started, but Tim talked over her.

“Sure,” he said. “That makes perfect sense. Go before you get in trouble.”

Jason jumped straight off the roof instead of running down the stairs, grabbing the lamppost a couple floors below and sliding down it the rest of the way. Steph stood to watch him go, then turned on Tim with her arms crossed. “What the heckie? That didn’t make sense at all, Tim. He already told us he’s not grounded anymore.”

Tim shrugged. “He said kind of grounded. You know, like that in-between period where you were grounded and you’re not anymore but you’re still on thin ice? I don’t want him to get in trouble again.” 

“I guess,” she said. He didn’t blame her for doubting him. It was actually a terrible excuse, but he thought he’d done a pretty good job of explaining it away.

“I should probably go too,” he said, standing and stretching. He tried not to act like he was in a hurry. That was Jason’s problem. He needed to slow down. “My parents don’t want me out too late.” He hoped she didn’t question it. He wanted to get a closer look at that cat and pull up the museum’s security cameras. Get on the comms too. At least he knew he had a while before Robin got online, but he still wanted to have as much information as he could ready before then.

“Okay,” Steph said, frowning. He wasn’t sure she completely bought it, but that would have to be enough. 

“Thanks for hanging out with me tonight,” Tim said. He walked towards the exit as he talked, trying to force a quick goodbye. 

“Yeah, it was cool,” Steph said, following him. She winked. “You’re pretty cool, despite all odds.” 

“I try,” he said. The whole walk out felt too slow, but he forced himself not to rush it. Jeez, had they only gone down one floor so far? There were still two more to go. “We should do this again sometime.” 

“Sure!” she said. “I’d like that.”

“Great! Great.” They still had a whole ‘nother floor to go. How was this happening to him?

“You’re good to get home from here?” he asked as they walked down the final few steps and finally, finally exited out onto the street. He was itching to run but didn’t want to leave her if she felt unsafe. He’d be an awful superhero if he did that.

She rolled her eyes so dramatically he was worried they’d fall out of her face. “I’m fine. I actually live near here, unlike you losers.”

“Great, well, later!” he said. Neither of them started walking away. His insides were the physical embodiment of nails on a chalkboard. “Bye!” he tried again. This time he turned and forced himself to do a nice, casual stroll. He didn’t look back until he was all the way to the far side of the museum. She was gone. Thank God. 

He ran for the next building. He didn’t want to set up on the museum itself. Too much of a risk of Batman, Robin, or Catwoman finding him. He didn’t want to go too far either, though. It would take way too long to get home and set up, and besides. This was the perfect opportunity to get some pictures of Jason as Robin. He didn’t have his professional camera with him, but he could get some decent shots with his phone. 

He stopped to look back at the museum before climbing the building’s fire escape. He wasn’t as close as he wanted to be. There was way too much greenery and art outside the museum. Even at the closest building, he was still a four-lane road and half a courtyard away. Not jumping distance, for sure. It was taller than the museum, though, so at least he’d have a decent view. 

He climbed to the roof and crouched behind a air conditioning unit. He had his tablet in his bag. He’d say ‘luckily’, but it wasn’t luck. Ever since the gala, he never went anywhere without it. His phone screen was way too small for Chirp’s work. The tablet screen was smaller than he liked too, but it at least gave him some mobility. 

He pulled up the museum’s cameras and flipped through rooms, looking for any hint of something out of place. A crooked painting, a doorway barely ajar, a shadow where it wasn’t meant to be. What he found instead was a very clear, unobscured image of Catwoman. That was… weird, right? That was definitely weird. Catwoman was the greatest cat burglar in the world, and she was standing right in front of a camera? 

He made sure the tablet was recording, then just watched, flipping through cameras as she moved. It was very recognizably her—skintight catsuit, high heels, little ears on her mask—but she was completely failing to be hidden. She crept through the edges of the rooms, sticking to shadows, like she was trying to hide, but Tim could see every move she made. He could easily predict where she was heading too. There was an exhibit of cat’s eye jewelry, which he guessed was thematically accurate, but that didn’t quite sit right with him either.

He frowned at the screen, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the back of his tablet. Something was off here, but he couldn’t quite figure out what. Brainwashing? Blackmail? A trap? 

Robin should be online by now. He’d run it by him. Tim flipped his headset on. “Robin, you there?”

There was a short pause before Robin said, “Just got on. What’s up?” Tim imagined him walking a few feet away from Batman to where he wouldn’t be heard, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Batman wasn’t paying attention to him. It had happened enough times that he could see it perfectly, even if he couldn’t actually see Robin in the Batcave. It was the only place he didn’t have cameras. It wasn’t just that there was more security there. He was worried pushing too hard would get him caught. 

“I’ve got Catwoman in the Museum of Modern Art,” he said, turning to look past the air conditioner towards the museum. It looked like a normal roof. He couldn’t even see the cat anymore. “Looks like she’s headed for the Cat-Eyed Exhibit.”

“We’re on it,” Robin said. “Anything you can do to delay her?”

“For now, she doesn’t know we know, so it’s better not to alert her, but when she starts leaving I can set off alarms, close gates, that kind of thing. Do you want any maps or footage?” He twisted back to his computer and froze, eyes slowly raising to the figure a few feet beyond his screen. Purple-laced tennis shoes, bedazzled jeans with half the gems missing, an oversized hoodie, and an absolutely gobsmacked expression. 

Time slowed down. Robin seemed to take forever to respond, and his “Sure, thanks” when it came was muffled. 

“One sec,” Tim said, voice strangled. He slowly reached up and turned off his headset, took a breath, and said, “Hi, Steph.”

Her mouth opened and closed several times like a broken ventriloquist doll before she finally managed to say, “What the great gobblygooks is going on? Are you Robin?”

Chapter Text

Jason: On my way home. Meet you downstairs.

Jason reread the message twice before sending it. It was vague enough to be safe on civilian devices, but Bruce wouldn’t mistake it for anything but what it was—an urgent call to the Batcave.

He actually had a couple of costumes stashed closer to the museum, but even if he weren't still benched, Bruce wouldn’t appreciate him grabbing one and going to take Catwoman down on his own. 

“You okay, kid?” the driver asked. Jason had been in such a rush to get in the Uber and get home, that he hadn’t registered a single thing about the guy before getting in. He didn’t even know his hair color. Brown, he noted now, before immediately dismissing the information. It wasn’t even slightly relevant. 

Jason met the guy’s eyes in the rearview mirror and forced himself to relax his expression. He had a reputation to uphold, both in and out of costume. 

“Just so annoyed about homework,” he said. Ugh. That was a little too Dick. Jason Todd (Wayne?) wasn’t annoyed about homework. Jason Todd was great at school. Jason Todd was grateful for second chances and took full advantage of them.

Which was actually true, but something about always having to live the persona made even the true things feel fake. 

The driver laughed and said, “Yeah, childhood is tough,” so apparently he’d pulled it off regardless. 

The moment the car pulled up the long, curved driveway to stop in front of the manor’s perron staircase, he was out like a rocket and running downstairs. Bruce was already in the cave, pulling on his cowl.

“I think Catwoman’s breaking into the Museum of Modern Art,” Jason exclaimed, skidding across the slick stone floor towards the costumes. He got all the way to unlatching his costume case on autopilot before remembering that he was benched. 

Bruce paused to consider him, cape dangling off one shoulder. “Why do you think that?” he asked, in that annoyingly even voice he used when walking Jason through his lessons. ‘How do we know that we know what we know’ and all that bullshit. Sometimes it would be nice to just be believed instead of having to provide a bibliography for every thought he had.

“I saw her cat, Iris, on the roof,” he said impatiently. His fingers itched for his costume. He at least grabbed his comm from the side of the case and stuck it in his ear. He’d be using that regardless of whether he was allowed to go out. 

“Just the cat?” Bruce’s tone was starting to grate on his nerves. This was a lot more interrogation than he’d been expecting from an open-and-shut case.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not normal for Siamese cats to traipse across the museum roof, Bruce,” he snapped.

“Batman,” Bruce corrected because apparently name conventions mattered even when they were by themselves in the cave. “I agree that it’s odd. What was the cat doing?”

“I just saw it running around.”

“Mm,” Batman said, in his annoying little Batman grunt with its typical Batman emotionlessness. “Has Chirp contacted you yet?”

“What?” Jason asked, turning to look at him instead of the uniform. He’d been just about to say fuck it and get dressed like he was coming along until Batman told him to stop. “Why? What does Chirp have to do with anything?” Things with Chirp had been a little weird the last few weeks, with Batman wanting to know every detail of every conversation they had, but this felt different, like how B asked witnesses to confirm things he already suspected.

“It seems like a case he would get involved in,” he said cryptically. Jason watched him stride over to the Batcomputer and start pulling up specs for the Museum of Modern Art, trying to work his brain around whatever implication Batman was making. Was it just because there was a supervillain? Did Chirp get involved more often when there were supervillains?

Not really, no, but B didn’t have the day-to-day experience with Chirp that Jason had. Maybe he’d gotten the wrong idea.

Jason’s stomach roiled beneath his ribs. He should just ask. They were supposed to be able to communicate. They were partners. But he felt like he was on thin ice, one wrong step away from crashing into the freezing water below. 

As if on cue, a voice in Jason’s ear asked, “Robin, you there?”

Jason must have stiffened, because Batman gave him a look like he already knew. Jason hunched and averted his eyes before saying, “Just got on. What’s up?”

Batman waved to get his attention, and then signed, Don’t tell I know. 

Sign language was still new enough to Jason that, even translating the words instantly, it took him a few seconds to understand the meaning. Then his stomach dropped. Batman hadn’t specifically said that before. Yeah, Jason hadn’t quite gotten around to telling Chirp that Batman knew, but that wasn’t because he was hiding it. He just didn’t quite know how to bring it up. And honestly the whole thing was kind of embarrassing. This was different. Batman was asking him to actually lie to Chirp. It felt like betrayal. 

No, not lie. Just… hide the truth. Like what he’d done to Batman by not telling him about Chirp. He shouldn’t be surprised B would ask for the same thing. He’d always known being in this family came with conditions. 

He nodded in acknowledgment, swallowing down the bile in his throat. He shouldn’t be upset about this. He’d known what he was signing up for.

Chirp was saying something about Catwoman at the Museum of Modern Art. Nothing he didn’t already know.

“We’re on it,” he said. It didn’t feel like enough. Normally he would say more, right? This was just like his civilian identity. The moment he was hiding something, even normal behavior felt fake. As an afterthought he added, “Anything you can do to delay her?”

Batman wasn’t even looking at him anymore, his back turned and eyes on the computer. Was that trust? Or dismissal?

Jason barely registered Chirp’s response as he watched Batman. B was still and silent, fingers not moving on the keys, nothing changing on the screen. Was he actually doing anything on there or just spying on Jason while pretending he wasn’t?

Fuck this. He wasn’t going to just sit here and play tinker tailor soldier spy. He was an essential part of this team. He turned and pulled his uniform out of its case. He heard Batman’s chair turn as he yanked the uniform on, right there, out in the open. He waited to twirl around until he was fully dressed, the swish of the cape returning some of his confidence that had been missing the last few weeks, and stared Batman down defiantly. Batman gazed silently back before tapping his ear.

Robin understood the meaning well enough. He said, “Sure, thanks,” to whatever Chirp had asked and took out the comm. He made a show of turning it off before tossing it to Batman. B examined it, then put it in a drawer beside his chair. Probably lead-lined or something. He was pretty sure Batman kept Kryptonite in a similar drawer. 

“I didn’t say that you could come tonight,” B said, staring him down with all the power of Batman. Robin shifted uncomfortably but stood his ground. If he wasn’t scared of Batman as a defenseless street rat, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be scared of him as Robin. 

“I’m sick of this,” he said, trying to push away all of Jason’s insecurities and just be Robin. “I did my time. I passed your test, didn’t I?” He motioned at the closed drawer.

“It wasn’t a test.”

“Then what was it? I’m supposed to be your partner. I deserve to know.” He thought he was Batman’s partner. He hoped he was still Batman’s partner.

Batman was silent and still as a stone gargoyle. Robin’s wrist computer vibrated, notifying him that it had received something, but he refused to look away until he got an answer. Finally, Batman nodded. 

“We need to make a detour on the way to the museum.” 

Which wasn’t an answer, but it did mean he was going out tonight, and that was enough for now. 

He glanced down at his wrist. A red notification said that he’d received a file. No information on where from, but the blank sender was as good as a signature. It looked like videos from the museum’s security cameras. Had he asked for videos? He didn’t remember doing that. “I got some security footage from Chirp,” he said. “Do you want it?” 

“Send it to the Batcomputer.”

Robin complied and B pulled the footage up on the big screen. It was barely on long enough for Robin to see a woman in spandex and cat ears before Bruce nodded, like it confirmed something he already knew, and closed it. More secrets. More things that B knew, or suspected, but wasn’t filling Robin in on. Without another word he stood and strode towards the Batmobile. 

Robin glanced back at the closed drawer as he hurried after Batman. “Aren’t we taking the comms?” he asked.

“No,” B replied shortly. 

Robin climbed into the passenger seat. Even as confusing and uncertain as this whole thing was, it felt good to be back in the car. It settled something inside him. Let him actually think.

He replayed the conversation as they shot out of the cave and towards the city. This was more than just B feeling betrayed or Robin having to rebuild trust. Something was going on, something B hadn’t told him. Why? Because of Chirp?

They stopped in a nicer part of town than Robin was expecting. B pulled into an actual parking lot surrounded by plants. Not a lot of those in the city. He followed B as he silently grappled to the top of a glass high-rise and ran across a few roofs before lowering himself to a penthouse apartment. Was this a safehouse Robin didn’t know about? An ally? A snitch?

B opened a window and a silky voice inside said, “Batman. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Inside, a woman was draped across an expensive-looking chaise lounge, a glass of wine in her hand. One cat lay in her lap and another sat on the arm of the chair. There was something familiar about her, but Robin couldn’t immediately place what. Her eyes caught on him and she said, “And your new bird, too.” 

“Selina,” Batman greeted. Robin froze halfway through the window. Selina Kyle. Catwoman. He’d never met her out of costume before, but he knew who she was. 

But if she was here, so relaxed, like she’d been there all night… He did the mental math, trying to figure out if it was possible for her to steal something and get back in time to act like she hadn’t gone out at all, but other pieces were already falling into place. The footage, which had seemed like incontrovertible proof a minute earlier, was now evidence in her favor. He should have known the second he saw it, like Batman clearly had. She wouldn’t have been so visible on camera. She was too good for that. 

But if that wasn’t Catwoman...

“There was a robbery earlier tonight at the Museum of Modern Art,” Batman said, his voice giving away nothing of what he was thinking.

Selina sniffed. “You don’t think that I—”

“No, I don’t,” Batman said. “Show her the footage.”

It took Robin a second to realize B was talking to him. He was still in the window, his brain trying to catch up. He scrambled forward to play the footage for Selina. They watched it longer this time, and the more they saw, the more it was clearly wrong. He should have known. He should have seen it himself. 

“Amateur,” Selina said.

“Or they want to be seen,” Batman countered. 

“To pin it on me,” Selina said. “Still amateur. No one with any real knowledge of me would think this was me.”

Robin flushed, glad it was mostly hidden by the mask. She didn’t mean it as a jab at him, but that didn’t change the fact that it was.

“The police don’t always look past the costume. This isn’t the first case I’ve seen like this. Two Face, three years ago. Penguin, half a year ago. Mad Hatter, five weeks ago.” A chill climbed Robin’s spine as B spoke, leaving him frozen in place. “All imitating a known rogue’s style. All with a thematically appropriate cat.”

He felt like ice was circulating through his veins, paralyzing his lungs and making his heart beat faster to keep up. He remembered Dick’s two-faced cat, the tuxedo cat at the ball, the pink covered cat in the park. His eyes found Iris stretching in a corner, apparently just waking from a nap. He’d been sure that was the Mad Hatter, sure it was Penguin.

Sure it was Catwoman. 

Had B always known? Why hadn’t he said anything?

“Are the cats hurt?” Selina asked, her languid attitude falling away and a hard glint entering her eyes.

“One had a bomb strapped to it and another was covered in a mind-altering drug.”

Selina hissed and stood, flexing her fingers like they were claws. The cat in her lap easily jumped onto the chaise and resettled. 

“There’s also a hacker that has been involved in all of these cases,” Batman said. “Leading the investigations.”

Robin’s breath stopped as the final piece fell into place. Why Batman had asked if Chirp had contacted him, why they’d left the comms behind, why B hadn’t told him anything. Why B hadn’t trusted him.

He forced himself to breathe, but the ice had solidified and every breath felt like drowning. “Chirp wouldn’t,” he said weakly, barely able to hear his own voice above his heart thudding in his ears. Selina looked at him with something like sympathy and he scowled back with as much ferocity as he could muster, but it didn’t feel like much.

“If someone can impersonate a villain, then there’s no reason for us to think they can’t impersonate a hero,” Batman said, turning his full body to face Robin. His voice was matter-of-fact, but Robin could feel the judgment, the full weight of what he was saying. Batman didn’t just think that he’d betrayed his trust by talking to a vigilante that hadn’t been Bat-approved. He thought he’d allowed a villain into their midst, allowed them to be misled and manipulated. If B was right, this only happened once while Dick was Robin, and three times since Jason had become Robin, starting a couple of days after Jason had first talked to Chirp. 

No. He knew Chirp. He’d been talking to Chirp every night for months. B didn’t know him like he did. “He’s just a kid,” he tried again. 

“Are you sure of that?” Batman asked. “What evidence do you have besides what he’s told you?”

“His voice…” Robin started, but he hesitated. Chirp had said he was twelve the first time Robin talked to him. He should be thirteen by now. But his voice had never cracked, didn’t have the tell-tale squeaks all his classmates had. 

Actually, he sounded too young. 

“I don’t know,” Robin said, voice barely above a whisper. 

He’d trusted Chirp. He hadn’t trusted other kids on the street. He hadn’t trusted Bruce to always have his back. But he’d trusted Chirp.

He should have known better than to ever trust anyone. 

“Do you have a plan?” Selina asked, turning back to B. Judging from her stance, she was with them on this. Probably more for the cats than for them.

“I have several.”

Chapter Text

“I’m not Robin,” Tim said. It was his third time saying it, but Steph still had her doubts. It sounded exactly like something Robin would say. “You know I’m not Robin,” Tim insisted. “You’ve seen me and Robin together.”

“Oh, yeaaaah,” she said, drawing out the yeah as she remembered Tim being held hostage at the gala. She also remembered him flinging himself out from under a table at a criminal, which was a very Robin thing to do.  “There could be more than one Robin.”

Tim looked flustered. Ka-ching! “Well, I mean,” he stuttered. “Okay, yeah, there are, but—”

“Aha!” she exclaimed.

“But I’m not one of them!” He rubbed a hand down his face, stretching out his skin in a way that really showed off its pallor and the dark shadows under his eyes. They’d been there pretty much as long as she’d known him, so she always just kind of assumed it was his natural look, but she was starting to think there might be other reasons. “Okay, look,” he said, scooting to the side and turning his tablet towards her. “I work with Robin sometimes. I’ll show you.” 

She flopped down beside him on the frankly grimy roof. She wouldn’t think Tim would be chill with sitting on it in his designer jeans, but apparently she didn’t know a lot about Tim. 

“Right now I’m sending him footage.” He played a video for her. It looked like it was from a security camera. “See, Catwoman,” he said, as if she wouldn’t notice the very obvious woman in the middle of the frame. “I mostly do this through code.” He quickly typed something that didn’t appear on the screen. “I’m hooked into their signal, but it’s constantly changing so I just have to… It’s not very interesting to watch,” he said apologetically. She snorted. Tim would be embarrassed that sending security footage to superheroes wouldn’t be interesting enough. He was so weird. 

“Here, this is better,” he said when he was done typing. He tapped the screen and it showed a map of the city with a bunch of tiny triangle-shaped icons facing different directions. “I created a program that allows me to look through basically any camera in the city.” He zoomed in to show just the museum, which had at least two dozen of the little icons over it. Tim drew a circle around them and the icons changed from red to green. “Right now I’m monitoring the museum, so I selected all of the museum cameras. I can open all the footage at once or easily swipe through them.” 

As he talked, the screen filled with small, square videos. She recognized the photography exhibit in one, and those big glass sculptures in another. The ones made by Chipotle, or something like that. He poked a video and it expanded to fill the full screen. He swiped right, and different videos flew by. One showed Catwoman breaking into a glass case, but he didn’t even pause on it. 

“But if Catwoman runs away, I can follow her through the city with the cameras.” He switched back to the map and pulled up one on the parking garage they’d been sitting on not long before, then another on a corner a few blocks away, then what looked like a baby monitor pointing at a crib in a dark room. “Well, that one’s not very useful,” he said, quickly exiting out. “I mean, unless she runs through the apartment. Which she could, you never know.” His words stumbled over each other, and she realized he was nervous. 

“It’s cool,” she said, in case he was worried about her judging him. Though really, it was way more likely he was scared of what Batman would think about his identity getting compromised, because how could anyone possibly think this wasn’t cool? And Batman didn’t seem like the forgiving sort. 

“You think so?” he asked, looking up from the screen. “I’ve never actually showed it to anyone. There are a lot of flaws I normally just work around but it probably looks sloppy.” He fidgeted, clicking on an icon, backing out of it, and clicking on another.

“Not anyone?” Steph asked. “Not even Batman and the Robins? Wait, is there more than one Batman too?” That made sense. That made so much sense, actually. Was she being let in on some giant Bat secret that almost no one knew?

“No, just the one,” he said, clearly distracted and not caring about her crushed dreams. “And, uh, they don’t exactly know who I am?”

“Wait, really?” Steph asked, scuffing her jeans on the roof as she swiveled to face him. “Even though you work with them? Do you know who they are?”

He hesitated before saying, “No.” Steph guessed not knowing their identities made it a little less cool, but not much. He seemed embarrassed though, so she changed the subject. 

“Why do all the triangles point in different directions?” she asked as the map flashed up again between cameras. 

“Oh, they point the same directions as the cameras,” Tim said, with hesitant enthusiasm. She nodded encouragingly, and he perked up a little. He pointed at one triangle that had a white plus in the middle of it. “The pluses mean I can move the camera,” he added, enthusiasm growing. He’d clearly put a lot of work into this system. “This, uh, all works a lot better at home where I have two screens. Two very large screens.” He spread his arms out as far as he could. She doubted they were actually that big, but who knew. Rich people were weird sometimes. “I keep the map up on one screen and the footage on the other so I can easily click on cameras and follow movement. So, like, if I wanted to follow Catwoman running away from the museum down Gate Boulevard—” He clicked on a camera a few blocks away and two cop cars sped across the screen, lights flashing. Seconds later they heard sirens. Both of them swiveled their heads towards the sound. 

“Police,” Tim murmured. “That’s weird. It’s not like Catwoman to trigger an alarm.”

“You didn’t alert them?” 

“No.” Tim zoomed in on the museum again and clicked on the camera with the glass case Catwoman had been breaking into. It was empty now and Catwoman wasn’t in sight. “Police can’t catch Catwoman, and I didn’t want to scare her away before Batman and Robin could get here. Be quiet?” He phrased the last part as a question, but didn’t wait for an answer before reaching up to touch an earbud just barely visible in his ear. She hadn’t even noticed it before. 

“Robin?” he asked. Steph couldn’t hear a response. Judging from the way his face scrunched up, there wasn’t one. He swiped through footage until Catwoman popped up on screen, the black of her uniform standing out against a colorful glass sculpture near the entrance. Tim wiggled his fingers above the tablet for a few seconds before typing a quick command. A security gate fell over the entrance, blocking Catwoman’s path.

“Ooh,” Steph said. A finger immediately went to Tim’s mouth and Steph mimed zipping her lips. She could be quiet if she wanted to. 

“Robin?” Tim repeated. This night was a disaster. He couldn’t believe Steph caught him. He thought he was being subtle. He was definitely being more subtle than Jason, and she didn’t even seem to suspect Jason! Which was a good thing, he guessed, but it was still embarrassing. 

He wasn’t too worried about the police, but being on the roof of a building next to the one they were targeting wasn’t the most comfortable feeling. They should stay low just in case one of the cops had an itchy trigger finger. Not that they were likely to get hit up here. He’d seen Gotham cops miss a rogue from less than three feet away. 

Catwoman made a sharp turn into the Abstract Expressionist exhibit. He waited until she was approaching an outer room before dropping another gate in front of her. Most of the rooms had security gates, so he could keep this up all night. He wasn’t actually trying to trap her, though, just delay her. He was pretty sure she and Batman had some kind of agreement ‘cause he didn’t think she’d ever actually gone to jail even though he’d personally witnessed Batman catch her multiple times. 

“Chirp, you there?” 

“Oh, good,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief at Robin’s voice. “I was just debating what to do. Catwoman’s still in the museum but on her way out. The police are here.” He switched feeds to an outside camera as the cop cars screeching to a halt in the courtyard, front wheels fully in the grass. Four cops swarmed out of the cars and started fanning out around the building. That was way more energy than he was used to from Gotham cops. They looked young. Maybe they weren’t jaded yet. 

“Catwoman’s still there?” Robin asked. His voice sounded stiff. And maybe disappointed? Things had been a little awkward while he was benched, but this felt different, like Tim had said something wrong.

He was hyper aware of Steph just a few inches away, her arm brushing his as she leaned over the screen. He didn’t know how much to say in front of her. She might know about him now, but there were much bigger secrets than his identity, and one wrong word could give Jason away. Even mentioning that Robin was benched… she might make the connection to Jason’s grounding. 

“Yes.” He hesitated before adding, “Is everything okay?” That was vague enough. There were any number of reasons things might not be okay. He flipped back to the map and found Robin’s icon moving a hundred miles per hour down the road from Bristol. Wait, was he in the Batmobile? Was he allowed out again? That was great! Maybe that was why he sounded weird.

Except… if he was in the Batmobile, how was he talking to Tim?

They were surprisingly far away, too, for how long it had been. It looked like they’d barely left the manor. 

This was all wrong. He wanted to press it. Ask more questions, or get some cameras on the Batmobile, but Steph was right there. He shouldn’t even be looking at this map. It gave too much information on where the Batmobile was coming from. He quickly switched back to the museum. Catwoman was almost to a room with a window, so he dropped another gate.

“Yeah, sorry,” Robin said distractedly. Was he just distracted because he was trying to hide talking to Chirp from Batman? In the Batmobile? Was that even possible? “We just had to take care of a quick thing. Can you hold her until we get there?”

“I’ll try,” Tim said. “What do you want me to do about the police?”

“Just leave them. They won’t get in our way.”

In Tim’s experience, the police got in their way a lot, but Robin was the authority. He itched to look at Robin’s icon again. He glanced sidelong at Steph. Her eyes were glued to the screen like it was the climax of her favorite movie. Did she really understand the map though? He hadn’t pointed out Robin’s icon. There was no reason she’d know it represented where he was. He switched to the map quickly, just long enough to see Robin’s location, and then switched back. See, that was fine. And anyway, Robin was in the city now, so it didn’t matter. They’d probably be there in another minute or two. Maybe four depending on when they moved to the roofs. 

He watched Catwoman sneak through the shadows. Given a flexible definition of the word ‘sneak.’ He could swear she was actually trying to be sneaky. She was raised on her tiptoes, taking small, quiet strides, but she just wasn’t blending into the shadows the way he was used to Gotham’s rogues and vigilantes doing. Maybe she was sick? He rapped his fingers on the side of his tablet as he contemplated his next steps. He could just trap her in the room. Batman and Robin would get to her before the police, and she didn’t seem capable of getting out in her current state. 

He barely registered Steph poking his arm, but when she started tugging more insistently, her nails digging into his skin, he sent her a sharp look. She silently jerked her head towards the edge of the roof. He followed her gaze and pressed the off button on his tablet before he fully registered why. 

Batman and Robin were bounding across the rooftops towards them. Batman and Robin. Were right there. Running straight at them. This night was not going well. It was not going well at all. He fumbled to turn his headset off too, then forced himself to casually tuck his hair behind his ear, like that’s what he’d been doing all along.

Robin did a double take when he saw them, which Tim didn’t think was justified at all. They weren’t exactly where they’d been the last time he saw them, but they hadn’t moved that far either. It was like half a block away. If anyone had a right to be surprised, it was Batman, and he didn’t react at all. 

“What are you kids doing up here?” Batman’s voice was gruff, but not the angry growl he used on criminals. 

“Parkour,” Steph said easily. “We were over on the parking garage—” She pointed as she spoke. “—but Tim, this is Tim, wanted to try going somewhere higher. Once we got up here though we weren’t sure what to do and then the police showed up.”

“And we didn’t want to get shot,” Tim added. All three pairs of eyes turned to him and he flushed. “It felt like at least a possibility.” 

“You should be safe up here, but don’t leave until we tell you it’s clear,” Batman said. 

While Steph nodded enthusiastically, Tim’s eyes slid over to Robin. He was being conspicuously quiet. Even Steph had to notice. You didn’t need to know Batman and Robin personally to know Robin was the talkative one. 

It was nice to see Robin in the field again though. His hand tightened over his phone as he remembered why he’d originally wanted to stay close. 

“Can I take your picture?” he asked. Oh god, he sounded like such a fanboy. He guessed it was a good cover, but it was embarrassing. He had to see Jason at school tomorrow. “Just real quick. I know you’re busy. Actually, nevermind. Sorry.” He hadn’t meant to apologize, but it tumbled out of his mouth. They were all just watching him.

“Uh, sure,” Robin said in a much too deep voice that was obviously an attempt to disguise his identity. 

Tim very quickly lifted his phone and snapped a picture. A terrible picture. It was blurry because he didn’t hold the phone still long enough before taking it, and even if it hadn’t been blurry, it would still be a boring picture of Robin just standing there. He wasn’t even posed. He’d started to lift his hands to his hips and grin, but neither had quite landed yet. Whatever. Tim shouldn’t have even asked. “There, see? Quick,” he said, trying to get them back on their way. 

“Do you want a selfi—” Robin started, but Batman interrupted.

“We need to go.” He pointed at Tim and Steph. “Stay here.” 

Tim waited until they jumped off the roof to breathe. 

“Oh my god,” Steph said. “Is this your life? That was awesome. Your idiot fan act was amazing by the way.” 

Tim turned his head down to his tablet so she wouldn’t see his blush. He wished it was an act. Why was he always so stupid?

He typed in his password and held his thumb on the fingerprint sensor while waiting for the camera to recognize his face. The whole process always took a lot longer than he wanted, especially the facial recognition part, but considering what he kept on his tablet, lessening the security wasn’t an option. It finally booted up with the same footage as before, but Catwoman wasn’t there. That wasn’t exactly surprising. He’d lost five minutes to Batman and Robin.

He flipped through a few nearby rooms, trying to follow a logical path. When he didn’t see her, he switched to a different direction she might have gone. Less logical, but still possible. It wasn’t until he’d checked half the museum that he felt the dread starting to creep up his throat. He motioned to Steph to be quiet, even though she wasn’t talking, and turned his headset back on.

“—ere’s Catwoman now?” Robin was asking. 

Oh, no. Oh, no. He flipped through a few more cameras. These weren't even logical ones. These weren't on any escape route that Catwoman would consider, but hey, she’d been acting weird. Maybe she took an unorthodox path. Or maybe she wanted to steal something else. “I’m not sure,” he said. His voice was so quiet he wasn’t even sure Steph heard it, and she was sitting right next to him. “I’m not sure,” he repeated, louder. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to find her.” 

Steph’s brow furrowed in concern. She leaned closer to the footage, scouring the screen as he flipped through camera after camera. That was all of the cameras. There were no more cameras. He started back at the beginning, in case he’d missed her. Steph stood up and scanned the surrounding area. He motioned frantically at her to sit back down—there were still over-enthusiastic rookie cops down there—but she just bent her knees a little, like that counted.

“You don’t know,” Robin repeated. He sounded angry. Like he was trying to hide it, his voice more neutral than raging, but Tim could still hear it in the sharp edges of his words. “Are you sure?”

Something was definitely wrong. Was this because of whatever had happened with the Mad Hatter? Had he messed up that badly? 

He pulled up all the cameras simultaneously. They looked like still images checkered across his screen. He let his eyes unfocus and just stared at the collective, waiting for any movement to catch his eye. 

Nothing happened. 

“I was watching you with those kids and I wasn’t paying enough attention.” He winced at his own awful excuse. Robin knew he could watch more than one camera at once. It was like Shannon all over again, but worse, because he’d been specifically asked to watch Catwoman and slow her down while they were on their way. 

Robin was silent way too long. A flicker of movement caught Tim’s eye and his heart raced, hand going immediately to the winning footage… but it was just Batman and Robin entering the museum. He expanded the footage, looking at Robin where he stood a few feet back from Batman, turned slightly to hide his lips. He looked angry, yeah, but he also looked… sad. Disappointed. Tim swallowed and dismissed the museum cameras, switching to the outdoor cameras instead. He looked at the closest cameras first, then further, extending his perimeter with each sweep. 

He had no excuse for letting her get away. Not that he could give Robin. Not that didn’t give away his identity.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Let me know if you find her,” Robin said shortly. He could feel the slamming of the phone as palpably as if the comm actually had a cradle to hang it up in. 

Steph reached down and squeezed his shoulder. It was nice. She hadn’t heard Robin’s side of the conversation, but she didn’t need to to know how badly he’d messed up. At least one person knew it wasn’t completely his fault.

Thirty minutes later when Batman and Robin landed back on their roof to give them the all clear, Catwoman still hadn’t been found. 

Chapter Text

Tim was a superhero. Scrawny little weirdo Tim, sheltered rich boy never-had-a-milkshake Tim, socially-awkward unintentional-asshole Tim, was an actual, literal superhero.

Or vigilante or something. She was pretty sure superheroes had to have powers, but whatever, screw that. Tim was a superhero. 

It was blowing Steph’s mind. But what was worse, what was more unbelievable than all that, was how quickly her brain reviewed the data and said, ‘yeah, that tracks.’

Tim, who threw himself into danger. Tim, who was an expert at parkour. Tim, who said he’d been sneaking out of his house since he was nine. Tim, who didn’t know how to have a normal conversation. She bet no superhero knew how to have a normal conversation. Not knowing how to have a normal conversation was probably one of the prerequisites to being a superhero, because it certainly wasn’t normal people who decided to put on spandex and punch bad guys. 

But still, Tim. 

But also, of course Tim. Who else, if not Tim?

The two thoughts were still warring in her mind when she found Jason at his locker, so much so that she almost blurted out, 'Can you believe Tim’s a superhero?' before catching herself. 

She hadn’t kept any secrets from Jason, not a single one since they first met. Not even what her dad got up to at night before Batman and Robin caught him or what she got up to when she used to sneak out the window to avoid him. But she knew what it meant to be friends with a superhero. So instead she said, “Can you believe Tim’s actually good at parkour?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she wondered if she should be pointing out the skills he clearly had because he was a superhero, but Tim had mentioned parkour first, and she would definitely be talking about this if she didn’t know, so she was pretty sure that meant she should talk about it now that she did. Probably. 

Being a superhero’s friend was hard. She was going to have to work on this. 

“What?” Jason asked, barely glancing at her. He didn’t seem to be doing anything in his locker, just standing there holding some books and staring at the blank far wall. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“You guess so?” she repeated. She’d definitely expected him to be more enthusiastic about this. They’d talked for hours about how Tim was probably making up his parkour skills and how this parkour adventure would go when they were practicing the week before. She’d had Monopoly money on Tim faking a sprained ankle. 

“Or, not. I guess not.” He put down his books and closed the locker with a loud clang. Not quite hard enough to be a slam, but there was definitely some extra oomph there. “Whatever. Rich kids have weird hobbies.”

That was funny coming from the guy that had totally been keeping up with a superhero. She couldn’t say that though.

“Yeah, I guess.” She flopped against the wall of lockers. “So, what’s got you in a mood today?”

“I’m fine,” he said with the exact tone that very-not-fine people always used. She just crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows at him until he relented. He dragged his hands down his face, stretching out his skin like he was imitating that scream painting. “Sorry, I just. Home shit.”

“Did you get in trouble for staying out late?” she asked. She felt kind of guilty for not checking up on him after he left the night before, but she was kind of distracted with learning that she knew a superhero. 

“No,” he said immediately, then winced like maybe he wanted to change that answer but couldn’t because he’d already said it. 

She knew Jason kept more secrets from her than she did from him, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t anything bad. She’d been worried at first ‘cause she’d heard rumors about why Bruce Wayne kept adopting kids, but the one time she’d asked, Jason had told her in no uncertain terms, ‘Fuck, no. Bruce is awesome, and the people who talk shit about him are just self-absorbed assholes who can’t imagine doing anything nice if they’re not getting something out of it.’

Jason was just skittish. She knew the feeling. Always certain the rug was gonna be pulled out from under him ‘cause it always had been before. But she was pretty sure Jason had found an actually pretty good rug with like those two-sided tape things under it sticking it to the floor, but he was still nudging at it with his toes and treading carefully just in case. 

Sometimes she thought she should go yell at Bruce, because ‘awesome’ or not, he clearly needed to hug Jason like fifty percent more often.

Jason scanned the hallway like he was worried their apparently top-secret conversation might be overheard, then said quietly. “I’m not even in trouble, I don’t think. But I feel like I am. You know that friend I mentioned before? The one I got in trouble for lying about hanging out with?” Steph nodded, and Jason looked both ways again and lowered his voice even more before continuing. Shit, was this actually a serious thing? “It turns out the reason Bruce was mad was because he—my friend not Bruce—actually has, like, gang ties and shit. Worse than the standard Crime Alley stuff,” he added before she could say, ‘who doesn’t?’ “And I didn’t know at all, and I’m mad that he lied to me and was maybe using me, and I feel like Bruce is judging me for trusting him.” He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “And I probably shouldn’t be mentioning this at all, but it’s not like I can talk to Bruce about it. Or worse, Dick.” 

“Jeez, that sucks.” It didn’t seem like enough to say. She thought about when she first found out her dad was a full-blooded villain. It’s not that she ever thought he was a good guy, but there was a difference between a shithead father and an actual, literal villain. “I know you don’t always want to talk, but when you do, I promise you can talk to me. I get it. Like, actually for real get it.”

He gave her a weak smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I know you do. Sorry I’m being an asshole.”

“Oh, no, I’ll tell you when you’re being an asshole,” she said, patting his back. “Right now you’re still firmly in grumpy teenager zone.”

He grimaced. “That is so much worse.”

She saw Tim round a corner, see them, and actually back up, like he was considering going down a different hallway just to avoid them. She made her best are-you-kidding-me expression at him, and he hesitantly approached.

In all honesty, it probably wasn’t the best time, but if she said that he’d probably assume they’d talked it over and decided not to be friends with him, and then avoid them until they graduated. He was weird like that.

“Hey!” she said. “We were just talking about you!”

“You were?” he asked. His eyes widened and flicked towards Jason, then quickly away again. Why..?

Oh, wait, shoot. “About how we can’t believe you’re actually good at parkour,” she rushed to add. He thought she meant about the superhero thing. She’d have to get him alone later and make sure he knew that she could absolutely keep a secret. “We had a bet going on how bad you were gonna do.” 

“Oh,” he said, wandering eyes landing on her in surprise. He gave her a wry smile. “Yeah, I kind of suspected. You were treating it like a joke.”

“Well, it seemed like one! You gotta admit you don’t seem like the type.”

He was relaxing slowly, even his shoulders, which were bunched up under his bag like a hunch, smoothing out. The more she realized his apparent snobbery was just anxiety, the easier it was to know how to talk to him. “I wasn’t aware there was a type.”

“Oh, don’t give me that, Mr. You-Can’t-Just-Be-Friends-With-Whoever-You-Want,” she said, shoving his shoulder. It relaxed the rest of the way. “You know there’s a type.”

He smothered a playful smile and gave her a look of such mock innocence it wouldn’t have looked out of place back home on the face of a kid with a dozen candy bars shoved in his hoodie pocket. 

God, he really was a superhero, wasn’t he? Smart, secretive, sneaky. She’d always known he had a good person hiding somewhere deep, deep, so deep beneath his rich kid veneer, ever since she saw him fling himself into danger to save Robin, but she’d thought it was something she’d have to drag out of him kicking and screaming, not the whole of who he was, hiding just beneath his skin.

Wait… Oh, shit, he was already a hero back then, wasn’t he? He wasn’t hiding under a table ‘cause he was scared. He was there to help Robin. She was going to have to reevaluate a lot of what she thought she knew about Tim.

“Did you tell Jason we saw Batman and Robin?” he asked. He was clearly talking to her, but his eyes kept flicking to Jason, like he was gauging the other boy’s reaction. 

What was he doing? She thought they weren't supposed to say anything about the superhero thing.

But wait, this wasn’t actually about the hero thing, was it? They were civilians when they saw Batman and Robin, or at least Batman and Robin saw them as civilians, even if they weren’t. 

Jeez, being friends with a superhero was a lot more complicated than she’d thought. How did Tim keep it all straight?

“Really?” Jason asked, clearly forcing himself to sound just barely interested. He liked to act above Gotham superheroes, but she’d noticed the way he was always listening when people brought up Robin. “How was that?”

“Oh, you know,” she said, waving her hand in easy dismissal. “It’s just Batman and Robin. Didn’t think it was worth mentioning. I mean, who in Gotham hasn’t met them?”

Jason looked so honestly offended she had to smother a laugh. She tried to channel one of those rich society women from the gala.

“I mean, really,” she said. “This is Tim and my second time talking to them this year. Oh, wait…” she said, putting a hand over her heart like it had only just occurred to her. “You just missed them both times, didn’t you?”

“Jason was saved by Batman and Robin,” Tim said, like he thought she actually needed to be reminded.

“Whatever,” Jason muttered, hoisting his bag over his shoulder and turning away. “We should get to class.”

The bell hadn’t even rung yet. She laughed as she sidled up beside him and put an arm through his. “I’ll tell you all about it later, okay? Ooh, and about how we saw Catwoman.”

“You saw Catwoman?” he asked, turning towards her with sudden laser focus. She hadn’t realized he was such a Catwoman fan. 

Tim, behind Jason, shook his head. Just barely, like he was scanning the hall instead of saying no, but it was enough to remind her that they had definitely only seen Catwoman on security footage they weren’t supposed to be looking at.

“Well, we saw a building that Catwoman was robbing, which is basically the same thing,” she said, recovering quickly. 

“Oh.” Jason looked disappointed, but Tim, behind him, breathed a sigh of relief.

This knowing a superhero thing was gonna take some work.

Something was up with Robin. Something had been up since the Mad Hatter incident. Wait, was it possible he’d been brainwashed?

For a few seconds, Tim felt like an absolute genius before realizing, no, that was stupid. Batman would have noticed if Robin had been brainwashed, especially if he’d continued to be brainwashed for the next six weeks.

Something was definitely weird though. Right now, he was standing a little bit away from Batman, like he did when he was talking to Chirp, but he wasn’t talking to Chirp. Hadn’t been all night. Was Robin trying to encourage Chirp to talk to him? 

Tim was debating if he should say something when a notification popped up on his screen. Motion detected at the Museum of Antiquities. This was the twenty-fourth time that particular notification had popped up, so he wasn’t in too much of a hurry as he switched his screen over. After the Catwoman incident, he’d set up motion alerts on all the security cameras at museums and galleries in Gotham. Great idea in theory, but in practice he’d been alerted to every security guard, shifting shadow, and rat in Gotham’s art institutes. 

He didn’t immediately see anything when he pulled up the camera footage, but that didn’t mean much. One time, he swore the detector had been set off by a cloud passing in front of the moon shining through a museum’s window. 

Then he saw the trailing, tail-like whip. 

He flipped through cameras until he found a better angle. A thin figure crept through the shadows of a large Egyptian exhibit. She was being a lot sneakier this time. Still not top form, but maybe she was still recovering from whatever disease she’d had the week before. 

“Robin,” he said, pulling Batman and Robin up on his other monitor. Robin immediately perked up. He could swear Batman was purposefully looking away. He didn’t think he’d seen Batman look at Robin all night. Had they had a fight? Was that why Robin was acting weird? “I’ve got Catwoman at the Museum of Antiquities.” 

“Oh, really? The Museum of Antiquities?” 

Tim frowned. Robin’s tone was weird. Like he was faking interest. Maybe he’d been too quick to dismiss the brainwashing idea. 

“Yeah, so, uh, you should go after her?” He zoomed in on Robin shifting his weight from foot to foot without moving towards anything. He’d expected a bit more urgency.

“Well, I can’t really do much, can I?” Robin asked, and what the hell? What was that supposed to mean? “I can’t just tell Batman that Catwoman’s at the Museum of Antiquities. How would I know that?”

Something was very, very wrong, but Tim didn’t know what it was and it was starting to scare him. 

“I could set off the alarm?” he offered uncertainly.

“Oh, yeah, that would help,” Robin said, but he still wasn’t moving. Tim set off the alarm and watched while, as if in slow motion, Robin looked at the alert on his watch computer and, with all the speed of a glacier, turned towards Batman and said, “Alarm at the Museum of Antiquities.”

They jumped off the roof they were on and grappled towards the museum, but it all felt like it was in slow motion, a casual jog replacing their normal sprint, the grapples taking sixty percent more time to shoot out of their guns. Even the swing from building to building felt like the gentle lift of a child’s playset instead of a death defying stunt. 

On his other screen, Catwoman put a golden statue in her bag and turned back the direction she’d come from. 

“Catwoman is leaving,” he said, trying to inject the missing urgency with his voice. 

Half a swing behind Batman, Robin asked, “Can you hold her?” 

Tim wasn’t sure he could. This museum didn’t have security gates like the other one did. He went through every digital function the museum had while he watched Catwoman creep towards an open window. PA, smoke detectors, sprinklers, air conditioning. Oh, great. Maybe he could set off the sprinklers and turn down the air conditioning until she froze in place. That would probably work. 

“She’s climbing out the window,” he said, trying not to grit his teeth. Why were they being so slow? It was like they wanted Catwoman to escape.

Maybe they did. He already knew Batman had some kind of arrangement with Catwoman. Maybe they didn’t want to get there on time. Maybe they were letting Catwoman get away. Maybe Batman had been on the take this whole time.

He forced himself to take a calming breath. Batman wasn’t on the take. That was ridiculous. They probably weren't even going extra slow. It probably just felt that way because he was still upset about Catwoman getting away before, so his mind was exaggerating things.

But it really, really felt like they were going slower than normal.

Something flashed across the camera he was watching Catwoman on, a black shape, much closer to the camera than Catwoman’s small form. 

“I just saw something,” he said, checking a different angle to see if he could get another shot. “I think it was a person.”

“Focus on Catwoman,” Robin said. 

Robin was right. Tim had let Catwoman get away once already. He couldn’t afford to get distracted. 

He switched to a camera closer to her as she straddled a motorcycle. He took a screenshot of the license plate before it shot away. “She’s on a black and red motorcycle. License plate 3FK 046.”

“It has a license plate?” Robin asked. Now that he mentioned it, yeah, that was weird. 

“Probably stolen,” he said, though that was weird too. Was Catwoman in the habit of stealing motorcycles?

A small, black shape in the corner of the screen drew his eyes before it disappeared again. “I swear there’s something...nevermind, it’s not important,” he said, shaking his head to clear it.

He lined his screen with a series of cameras going down the road, watching as the bike sped from one to another. Two-thirds of the way across the screen, she raced out of one camera but didn’t pop into the next. His eyes, which had kept moving, jerked back in surprise, staring at the line between the two cameras as if he could see her in its inky blackness.

“Wait, she stopped, or turned off,” he said. “Between Soret and West 21st.” He checked his map. He didn’t have any outdoor cameras covering that area, but there were a couple of open bars. He pulled up their security footage. The first two only showed the busy interiors, patrons thoroughly drunk five minutes before close, but the third one had a shot of the windows. He thought he could see the shape of a still motorcycle parked outside. 

“She abandoned the bike,” he said, immediately widening the search perimeter to anywhere that could easily be reached on foot. On the next street over, there was a scrawny guy with a big duffel bag over his shoulder ambling down the sidewalk. He looked like he’d just been to the gym, with black leggings under an oversized sweatshirt, but Tim wasn’t sure what kind of gym was open this time of night.

You know what, it was Gotham. There were probably half-a-dozen twenty-four hour gyms covering for laundering operations. 

He checked the next road, but suddenly the streets filled with drunk people tripping over each other and signaling for cabs that made every effort not to notice them. Tim’s eyes flicked to the clock. Two a.m., when all the Gotham bars closed. 

He grit his teeth, but forced himself to keep looking. She probably wouldn’t be on street level anyway. She was Catwoman. He switched to cameras that were higher, near the top of the surrounding skyscrapers. There were fewer of them up there, but he scanned what he could see.

“Chirp?” Robin asked. He and Batman had finally reached the museum. 

“I’m not seeing her right now, but she’s got to be close,” he said. “Check the roofs.”

“Hm.” The little sound, more grunt than response, made Tim feel like he was being judged for losing Catwoman again, and for a second the grief and guilt threatened to climb up his esophagus, but he stomped it down. This was not his fault. It wasn’t his fault if Robin didn’t act quickly enough on his tips. It wasn’t his fault if Batman and Robin moved like molasses after the threat. It wasn’t his fault if he followed Catwoman as far as the cameras went, but nobody was there to catch her. 

This was not his fault. None of it was his fault.

“Heeee~eeey,” Steph sing-songed when she spotted Tim sitting on one of the white stone walls in front of the school. She was pretty sure those were meant to be more art installation than furniture, but he seemed to have made himself comfortable. He was sitting criss cross applesauce, completely engrossed in his phone. School had ended, like, a minute earlier, so either he had super speed he’d neglected to inform her of, or he’d skipped seventh period. “How’s the nightlife going?”

That got his attention a lot quicker than saying hi had. He darted his eyes about and hissed, “We can’t talk about that kind of thing in public.”

“I can be quiet,” she said in a stage whisper, then added in a real whisper, “But no one’s listening anyway. Do you think they care what we’re talking about?” She motioned at their clearly uninterested peers. They were all caught up in their own conversations, catching rides, or hurrying off to their afterschool clubs and sports

He frowned as he followed her hand. She expected to be told off again, but instead he sighed and looked back at his phone. A video was playing on it, what looked like Batman and Robin. At night, so not live. “I don’t know. Something weird is going on.”

“When isn’t something weird happening?” she asked, successfully, in her humble opinion, hiding how excited she was that he was actually opening up to her about this.

His frown deepened and he closed the video, gazing past her instead. She looked over her shoulder, but nothing was there. “No, this is different. Something weird’s going on with the vigilantes. I considered mind control…”

“Like the Mad Hatter thing?” Steph asked. It had been weeks, but the aftermath of that was still resonating through the school. Duchess had apologized to her six times for not being available while mind controlled, as if Steph cared about that at all, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t actually about her. 

“Yeah, but I think it’s more like—” He cut off quickly and said louder, “I know most people like chocolate chip cookies, but I don’t like things in things, you know?”

“What?” she asked, because even if that hadn’t been an obvious decoy statement, it was still the most asinine thing she had ever heard. 

“You don’t like chocolate chip cookies?” Jason asked, coming up behind her. “Who doesn’t like chocolate chip cookies?” 

“Me. I literally just said that.”

“You’re a monster.” Jason was grinning, but there was something a little off about it. It took her a minute to pinpoint what. It was a little too boisterous, a little too charming, a little too…

Bruce. 

“Are you a pod person right now?” Steph asked. 

Tim sent her a look of pure shock before turning his full attention to Jason. Oh, yeah. He’d just been worrying about mind control, hadn’t he? That wasn’t really how she meant it. There was just this thing Bruce did that was clearly acting for an audience, being what people expected him to be. Something so friendly and fake that Jason was embodying a bit too much right now. 

Jason stared at her, and the facade melted off of him like a cheap mask. “Jeez, no. I just…” He dragged a hand down his face. “I’ve been having a rough week, and I’m not getting much sleep, and worse, I have to deal with my annoying…” He trailed off, searching for the right word in a way that usually meant he was trying to define a member of his oddball family. She waited patiently, but he eventually waved it off. “Nevermind. I’m just frustrated and trying not to take it out on you guys.” 

“Appreciate that,” Steph said, and she did, actually. It was sweet. “But definitely going too far in the other direction.”

“Noted,” he said wryly. “I’ll try to hit a good middle ground.” He pointed at Tim. “But you’re still a monster.”

“It’s a texture thing,” Tim tried to defend himself, but it was no use. It was indefensible. 

“Nope, definitely a monster thing,” Steph said. “But it’s okay. We accept you anyway.” 

Tim scrutinized Robin, following him from camera to camera as he jumped across rooftops, beat up the occasional mugger, and gave thumbs ups to passing civilians. 

Steph had called Jason a pod person earlier that week. The substance wasn’t right, but the feeling was. Jason was playing the part of Robin—not being Robin, not encapsulating Robin like he usually did, but forcibly displaying the persona of Robin. 

For who? Batman? Were things that bad between them? 

His Twitter alert beeped at him, and he dragged his eyes away from Robin to look at the notification. The only alert he’d set up was on the word ‘Catwoman’, but apparently that was enough. 

‘is catwoman robbing the camilla? Why?’

That was a good question. The Camilla Ortin Museum of Rarities, Oddities, and Curiosities was a one-room exhibit positioned perfectly on the border of the two most touristy areas of Gotham. They were known for making extraordinary claims about the rarity and value of their collections, most of which were patently false. They were so blasé, they didn’t even bother with security cameras. Anytime they were robbed, they just submitted an insurance claim and had a new, even rarer and more extraordinary exhibit by the end of the week. Had they actually managed to get ahold of something real for once?

He found a security camera outside a convenience store a few hundred feet away that was angled towards the Camilla and waited until he saw the hint of Catwoman’s shadow through an open window before saying anything. 

Even then he hesitated. It just didn’t feel right. “I think Catwoman’s at the Camilla,” he told Robin.

The right answer would have been, ‘What the hell?’ The second most right answer would have been, ‘That’s really weird.’

What Robin said instead was, “Okay, we’re on it.”

Tim stared as Robin murmured something to Batman he couldn’t hear and started running across rooftops towards the bright lights of downtown Gotham. 

He knew Robin, and he was starting to know Jason. If Robin didn’t know the Camilla was a sham, Jason, who preferred libraries to arcades, Jason, who went to museum free days when he was living on the street, Jason definitely would. 

But Robin didn’t react like there was the slightest thing wrong with this scenario. 

Who was he putting on a show for? The only person even slightly in his vicinity was Batman, and he shouldn’t be able to hear Robin talking to Chirp.

Was he putting on a show… for Chirp?

Catwoman slipped out the open window towards a motorcycle. A different one from the week before, this one dark red with a license plate that started with XJ7. “She’s on the move,” he said, switching cameras to try to get a better angle on the second half.

He almost didn’t see the silhouette, almost switched cameras again before it moved. A figure slipped through the shadows of an HVAC unit and dropped into a nearby alley. Tim knew that building. It was a Wayne Outreach Center, and had always been a favorite of the old Robin’s when Batman had let him patrol alone. Centrally located, close enough to hear the screams of tourists who took a wrong turn, and an easy few swings from where the gangsters liked to set up shop. 

He only saw the figure for a few seconds, but it was dressed all in black, with a blue stripe down its arm.

He didn’t react at first, didn’t know how to react. What was Nightwing doing in Gotham? That was Nightwing, right? He stared at the empty shadows where the figure had been, then switched to his map. Batman and Robin’s signals were running towards downtown, but there was nothing from where he’d seen Nightwing. He could track all of their comms. Even when they updated the signal’s encoding and he couldn’t understand what it was transmitting, he could still see that it was there. Nightwing didn’t have a comm, or at least not one that was on. And Batman and Robin hadn’t mentioned him at all. Nothing to him, nothing about him. Did they not know he was there?

’and worse, I have to deal with my annoying…’ 

’I just saw something.’ ’Focus on Catwoman.’

They knew he was there. They were hiding that he was there. 

They were hiding that he was there from Chirp. 

“Where is she now?” Robin asked.

“I’ve got to go,” he said instead of answering. He turned the headphones off so he wouldn’t hear anything else from Robin and just watched. 

Now that he was looking for it, he saw the flashes of black and blue pursuing Catwoman. He was clearly trying to avoid the cameras, and mostly succeeding, but there was a blur in the top corner of one, a split second swing across the bottom of another. 

And meanwhile, Batman and Robin were, he swore to God, dawdling. A slow trip to the museum, a much too long investigation, wasting time. It wasn’t just because he stopped instructing them, he was sure, because he’d seen them without his input. He knew the rhythm of their investigations like the beating of his heart, and this was cardiac arrest.

Did they want him to think Catwoman wasn’t being followed?

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t Nightwing. Maybe it was… a new vigilante or villain. A partner of Catwoman’s. Someone Batman and Robin didn’t know about.

Tim barely even noticed when Catwoman disappeared between cameras again. He saw a couple more flashes of the black and blue figure circling the area, but then it vanished too. 

He watched Batman and Robin slowly climb out the museum window and look both ways like they had no idea where to go from there, and the shock that had been freezing his system since he first saw Nightwing slowly morphed into an anger that coursed through his veins. 

He didn’t know what was going on, but he was going to find out.

Chapter Text

Tim hesitated at the ornate, arched doorway, finger hovering over a doorbell that was probably rarely used. Most visitors were announced well in advance, when they pulled up to the gate down at the bottom of the twisting driveway, but most visitors didn’t live an easy half-a-mile walk across their mostly unfenced properties. 

This had seemed like a great idea the whole time he was getting dressed and walking over, but now that he was actually here, he had no idea what he’d been thinking. He couldn’t just stop by Wayne Manor. It didn’t matter that he sort of knew Jason from school; it just wasn’t something people did. It was definitely not something society people did. His mother would be horrified if she knew he was here. 

But she was in Kenya, so it didn’t particularly matter what she thought, and he couldn’t give them polite notice that he was coming over because that would give them time to prepare and hide anything they didn’t want him to see. For this to work, it had to be a surprise. 

He pressed the doorbell before he could think better of it, and then nearly turned and ran when he heard the bells ringing out a long, melodic tune. He might have, if he hadn’t known exactly how much security they had and how embarrassing it would be to be caught on camera running away.

He counted the seconds while he waited. He was at 163 when Alfred finally opened the door. Almost three minutes. That meant they didn’t see him coming on the cameras. Or that they were quickly hiding everything. He wondered if Jason and Bruce were even awake yet. His parents would be mad if he slept until ten a.m., even on a Saturday, but he had a feeling things were different in the Wayne household. 

Alfred Pennyworth’s gaze looked straight ahead when the door opened, but quickly lowered to Tim. “Good morning,” he said, tone clearly showing surprise. He raised his eyes again to scan the driveway, maybe looking for a car or Tim’s parents.

“Good morning, Mr. Pennyworth,” Tim said in his best polite society voice. He had more memories of his mom teaching him how to get that tone just right than of her teaching him how to read. “I’m Timothy Drake. I live next door.” He pointed at the house barely visible across their properties. “I go to school with Jason and thought I’d come by. I hope it’s not an inconvenience.”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Drake.” Tim was pleased that Mr. Pennyworth’s voice matched his. He’d chosen the right tone. “Master Jason has mentioned you. Let me check if he’s prepared for visitors. Come in.”

He shouldn’t be surprised that Jason had mentioned him—they’d hung out more than once—but he still felt a rush of pleasure at the idea of Robin talking about him.

No, not Robin. Jason. Jason was a person outside of Robin, something that Tim had to keep reminding himself of. 

Mr. Pennyworth led him to a drawing room just off the foyer. He didn’t think he’d ever been in this room. It was clearly meant for guests—large and airy with multiple couches—but the galas he’d attended at Wayne Manor had mostly been contained to the ballroom and largest dining hall. 

“I’ll be back shortly,” Mr. Pennyworth told him, and Tim nodded with a big smile that fell away as soon as the butler disappeared from sight.

How long should he wait before he started snooping? He shouldn’t move immediately, but if he waited too long, Mr. Pennyworth would return and he’d have missed his chance. 

On his maps, the manor looked like a black hole of technology—no security cameras, no alarm systems—but he knew that wasn’t true. It was just self-contained. Cameras that recorded but weren’t connected to any outside networks, or only to the Cave. He thought he could hack into the Cave if he really tried, but that was way too much unnecessary risk, especially when it had taken him less than fifteen minutes to get into the house. 

Still, he should behave as if he was being constantly watched. As far as he knew, he was. 

He walked in a few circles around the drawing room, checking his phone every couple seconds and trying to look as much like a bored teenager as he could. On his fourth circle, he stopped by the door and stared down the hallway. One second, two seconds. That was enough. He wandered out into the hall, making sure to keep his steps slow and directionless. He didn’t have a purpose. He was just wandering. 

He peeked in a room as he passed. The long dining table and chandelier marked it as a formal dining hall. He was pretty sure he’d been in there before, but a lot of these rooms looked the same. 

The next room was cozier and looked more used. Several couches, like in the drawing room, but these were circled around a large screen TV. A blue sweatshirt was draped over one, and a book sat on the arm of another. The book was probably Jason’s, but the sweatshirt…

He was still studying it when something fluffy rubbed against his leg and he almost pitched forward in surprise. He stumbled a few steps, barely lifting his leg enough to avoid kicking the unexpected obstacle. Instead of getting out of the way, or at least staying put, the obstacle meowed insistently and tried to rub against him again. 

It was a cat. A large gray cat, more fluff than form, with black stripes crisscrossing its body. It wasn’t Dick’s two-faced cat, which would have been surprising but at least made sense. It was…

He saw a flash of a gaping grin spreading across a pink striped face and found himself a few steps back without any memory of moving. 

“Nice kitty,” he said nervously, holding his hand forward in a weak shield. 

Instead of seeing it as the rebuff it was, the cat traipsed closer and stood on its hind legs to rub against his hand. 

What was it doing here? Did they keep every villain cat they found? Jason hadn’t said anything about getting a cat. 

The cat twisted suddenly mid-air to look behind it and trotted off. Tim found himself following even as he was sighing in relief. He didn’t want its attention on him, but he was curious what had caught its interest. 

Near the end of the hall, it squeezed through the gap of a barely open door. Tim glanced in as the door swung open behind it. It looked like an empty study. A desk sat on the far side, and bookshelves lined half the walls. The cat danced back and forth in front of a grandfather clock, meowing happily about something. Tim had just enough time to think, that’s weird, before the clock swung outwards revealing a hidden door.

He froze. He knew he should back up, pretend he didn’t see, look at anything else, but he just stood there as Dick Grayson knelt in the doorway and held his hand out for the cat to rub against.

“Hey, baby,” he cooed. “Did you hear me coming?”

“Uh,” Tim said, eloquently and stupidly when quickly leaving would have been the much better solution.

Act like you’re being watched at all times, he reminded himself. Standing there and being confused was the much less suspicious response. 

“Oh,” Dick said, looking up at him. “Who..?”

“Tim Drake,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand before quickly stepping back again and dropping it, not even giving Dick enough time to respond if he had been inclined to shake hands. “I’m a friend of Jason’s. Sorry, I saw the cat, and…”

“Oh, do you like him?” Dick asked, picking up the giant cat with one easy sweep and stepping forward to offer him to Tim. The clock swung shut behind him. 

Tim didn’t want to admit he was scared of cats, and more specifically this cat, because why the heck would he be following a cat he was scared of, so he reached up and gently pat its head. It purred like that was the best pet it had ever received. “He’s very pretty,” he said, not sure if that was the right response. Dick beamed, so apparently it wasn’t a bad thing to say.

“Isn’t he? His name’s Cheshire.”

Tim barely managed not to slap his forehead. Did they seriously name the cat that the Mad Hatter dyed pink and used for his schemes Cheshire? Were they not even trying to keep the secret? At least a dozen kids had seen that cat, and he wasn’t that unrecognizable just because he was no longer pink.

But Tim just smiled blandly and said, “Oh, cool.”

He glanced at the clock that he was almost positive hid a secret entrance to the Batcave and wondered if he should ask about it. He’d ask if he didn’t know, wouldn’t he? 

“We’ve got secret passages all over this place,” Dick said, saving him from the decision. “That one goes to the kitchen.”

“Like Clue,” Tim said, thinking of the computer game he’d played by himself far more often than he’d ever even seen the physical board.

“Oh, I guess it is.” Dick looked honestly surprised, like he hadn’t made that connection until just this moment. 

“We’ve got some secret passages in Drake Manor too,” Tim said. They did actually have a couple of hidden doors that were meant for servants to use to pass in and out of rooms unnoticed, but mostly he said it because it would excuse a lack of curiosity. 

“Yeah, I guess a lot of these old houses do,” Dick said. 

He didn’t offer to show it to Tim. Tim didn’t ask to see it.

Dick pushed the cat into Tim’s arms and both of them out the door of the study in a smooth motion that would have seemed a lot more clever if it hadn’t been for everything else in this conversation. Tim clung tightly around the cat's chest, certain he was going to break its ribs even as it continued purring like a jet engine. 

“That’s the friendliest cat I’ve ever seen,” Dick told him as he tightly closed the study door behind them. “My cat loves me, but mostly hides when other people come over. This guy thinks everyone he’s ever met is his best friend.”

“Where’s your cat?” Tim asked, expecting back in Dick’s apartment in Bludhaven. He wouldn’t disrupt his cat’s routine for a two-to-three-day visit. 

“Upstairs,” Dick said instead. “She prefers to stay in my suite when we’re visiting the manor.” 

“How long have you been here for?” Tim asked.

“A week and a half. No, wait, two weeks tomorrow.”

Tim squeezed the cat tighter against his chest. Its rumbling purrs were actually strangely comforting. Two weeks ago tomorrow. That was… the day after Catwoman’s first heist. It meant something, but he wasn’t sure what yet. 

He had a terrible idea. A horrible, no good idea. He spoke before he could second think it. “Shoot, I forgot to tell my parents where I am. They’re out of town, but they like to know where I’m going anyway. Can I borrow your phone?”

“You don’t have yours?” Dick asked, already pulling it out. 

“No,” Tim said, painfully aware of the lump in his side pocket and the fact he’d been looking at his phone while pacing around the drawing room just five minutes earlier. It was the worst lie he’d ever told, but this was the only chance he’d get. 

Dick unlocked his phone and handed it to Tim, who awkwardly held it pressed against the giant cat in his arms. Dick took pity on him and took the cat back, draping it over his shoulder like a very happy sack of potatoes. 

“I’ll just send them a text,” he said, turning away from Dick. He angled the phone between his body and the wall so that Dick wouldn’t be able to see it and there shouldn’t be any cameras pointing at its screen. 

The worst part about this is I’m actually going to need to text one of my parents, he thought as he quickly bypassed the phone’s user interface to pull up the background scripts. Dick would notice if there wasn’t a text from Tim on the phone. Maybe not right away, but eventually, and Tim didn’t want to give him any reason to investigate further. 

He had a minute, maybe less, before Dick wondered what was taking so long, so instead of anything fancy, he just programmed in a quick exploit that would let him access the code remotely later. That would give him time to think, and options. 

“Tim?” Dick asked, just as he closed the code and the operating system restarted.

“Sorry,” he said, typing a sloppy message and sending it to his dad as he turned around with an apologetic smile. “Took me a minute to remember my dad’s number.”

Shoot. He should have sent it to the wrong number. That would have been such a good excuse. 

Oh well. His dad was terrible at text messages. Hopefully his phone was off, and he wouldn’t even notice it when he turned it back on. 

“Man, I don’t think I know anyone’s phone number,” Dick said with a ditzy laugh that couldn’t be genuine. Nightwing definitely knew people’s phone numbers.

“I know, right?” Tim said instead of calling him on it, giving him the stupidest smile he could manage. “They’re all programmed in my phone. Why waste the brain space?” 

“Tim?” Jason sounded confused as he approached, Mr. Pennyworth a few steps behind him. Tim wondered if it was because he wasn’t where Alfred had left him, or if Jason was confused he’d come by at all.

“Heylo,” he said, his mind stumbling between formal and casual, and failing at both. “I mean, hi. I was bored and you live right here so I thought I’d stop by. I can go if you’re busy.”

“No, you’re cool,” Jason said, giving Dick a questioning look.

“I have gables to clean. Let me know if you need anything,” Mr. Pennyworth said with a short bow before turning to go.

“Thanks, Alfie!” Jason called after him. Cheshire hopped down from Dick’s shoulder to rub against his legs, and Jason hefted the cat up without any apparent thought. “What are you doing way down here?” he asked Tim. “Alfred said he left you in the drawing room.”

“He was making friends with our cat,” Dick said, reaching out to scratch Cheshire’s head.

“You know we aren’t keeping him,” Jason said. “Bruce said this is temporary.” He turned to Tim to explain. “We’re just holding on to him until we find him a good home.” 

Tim didn’t think it would take two months for them to find a good home for the friendliest cat in the world. But why would they still have him if they weren't keeping him? The only reason he could think of was evidence, but that was a closed case. 

“Do you want him?” Dick asked. “He likes you.”

“He likes everyone,” Jason muttered.

“Oh, no, my parents would never allow it,” Tim said, almost taking a step back at the thought. He was briefly worried that his parents would, in fact, allow it, and he’d be stuck with the monster cat. 

He could swear even now that it was smiling at him.

“Stop harassing him,” Jason said, shoving the cat into Dick’s arms. Neither Dick or Cheshire seemed particularly bothered by this. “Did you have something in particular you wanted to do?”

For a second, Tim’s mind went completely blank. Video games? Would Jason even like video games? He read books. A movie? He could watch a movie by himself at home.

“Will you teach me how to make a milkshake?” he asked, blurting out the first thing that didn’t sound stupid.

That didn’t sound stupid in his brain. It sounded very stupid out loud. 

Jason laughed. “I promise you, it’s really frickin’ easy, but sure. I bet Alfred even has gourmet ingredients.”

Dick waved them off, one arm holding the still purring cat easily at his side. Tim’s eyes flicked to his pocket, mind on the code he’d left on Dick’s phone. He forced his eyes away and smiled at Jason.

“These gourmet ingredients aren’t going to be like entire cheesecakes, are they? Because if this is the diner 2.0, I’m out.”

Tim stared at the code on his computer. At the code for Dick’s phone, on his computer, accessed through the link he’d set up earlier that day. He hadn’t been positive it would work. He’s not sure he’s glad it did.

This was beyond anything he’d done as Chirp. This wasn’t hacking into security feeds to help vigilantes fight crime. This wasn’t even spying on Nightwing. This was using a malicious code to spy on Dick, in his personal life, because he felt left out. 

This was wrong. This was definitely wrong. Right? 

But then he remembered Nightwing purposefully hiding from Chirp’s view. He remembered the cat, kept for some unknown reason. He couldn’t help if he didn’t know what was going on.

He typed the code.

It was a simple, clean code, not even created by him. A spyware regularly used by hackers to hijack a phone’s camera and microphone. It would let him see and hear through Dick’s phone. Dick’s civilian phone. 

Okay, no, this was definitely wrong. It overstepped so many boundaries. 

He submitted the changes anyway. 

And then he paced around his lawn for an hour, trying not to think about it while simultaneously thinking about it way too much. 

It was approaching nightfall by the time he came back in. If he was going to use the spyware, it needed to be now. Dick might not even keep the phone on him when he was out as Nightwing. He probably shouldn’t. And what if he went back to Bludhaven tomorrow? This could be Tim’s only chance to find out. 

He sat at his computer and stared at the code. Added a quick tracker before he could think better of it. Pulled up the phone’s GPS location. He could see it in Wayne Manor, see precisely which room it was in. There wasn’t anything super about this. People did it all the time. WE’s Odyssey phone was known for its security, but even it couldn’t hold up to someone holding the physical device and adding malicious code. Tim could see Dick’s text messages, his photos, his internet history. 

Some of which he very quickly wished he could unsee. 

He focused on Dick’s dot instead. It was moving, getting closer to the study he’d come out of a clock in earlier that day. If Tim was going to do this, it had to be now. It had to be now.

He accessed the microphone, and the muffled sound of walking played in his headphones. Dick’s dot entered the study, and there was a soft whoosh. Tim’s brain replayed the image of the clock swinging open.

A yowl, much louder than anything so far, resonated through the headphones, and Dick said, “I know, baby, but you have to stay up here.” The sound quality wasn’t great, probably because the microphone was muffled by the fabric of Dick’s pocket, but it was clear enough to understand. 

There was another whoosh, and then loud, echoing steps. Tim had never seen the Batcave, but one of the rare times his parents had taken him with them on a trip, they’d gone spelunking. He imagined it now, a long, slow downward spiral with cave walls claustrophobically close, until it suddenly opened into a large, dimly lit crystal cavern.

“Hey, B!” Dick called cheerfully. “We got a plan for tonight?”

Instead of Batman’s gruff voice, a woman’s dulcet tones replied, “Well, if I were stealing something, I’d go after this beauty.” There was a brief silence. Was she pulling something up on a computer? Displaying a newspaper article? “I still might, honestly.”

“Selina,” Batman growled. 

“Calm down, Darling,” the woman, Selina apparently, said. “I’ll wait until after we work together.” 

Who was this woman? Tim did a quick mental review of all of Batman’s known allies, but no one seemed to make sense. 

“Given what our impostor has gone after so far, though, they seem unlikely to do what I would do.”

Impostor?

The conversation continued, but he didn’t hear it. Instead, he saw Catwoman, much too visible in the security footage. 

Impostor. Tim had known. He’d known right from the beginning, but then Steph had found him and he’d gotten distracted and never told them that there was something off about her. 

He was suddenly absolutely certain that the woman talking was Catwoman. They’d gone to Catwoman, an actual villain, about this, but they’d left Chirp in the dark.

Because he was the one to tell Robin about Catwoman, about the impostor. Because he didn’t say anything about how weird she looked, and then he lost her when it should have been so easy to keep her contained. 

They thought he was the impostor. Or at least working with the impostor. They thought he was a villain. 

Robin thought he was a villain.

How did this happen? He thought Robin trusted him. He thought Robin liked him. 

His mind flashed back to Mad Hatter, to the night he couldn’t remember, when everything had changed. Robin had been acting weirdly towards him every since then. Did he say something? Did he do something?

He replayed everything he remembered. Calling Robin for help, telling him to come to Trillium Park. Robin rescuing him, and then contacting him after he’d gotten out. 

No, Robin rescued Tim. He didn’t know he’d rescued Chirp. From his perspective, Chirp had told him to go to Trillium Park, a place where kids were being drugged and kidnapped, and then, when it was over, Chirp was perfectly fine with no explanation of why.

They thought he was trying to kidnap Robin. That he was involved, that he was working with the Mad Hatter.

No, wait, he was so dumb. There was no Mad Hatter. He had hazy memories of someone dressed in a big hat and a bowtie, but that didn’t mean much. Clearly this impostor had no problem dressing up as bad guys. That was why they still had the cat, because this was an ongoing investigation.

This was like the first case he’d tried to help Batman and Robin with all over again. He had flashbacks to Robin telling him that they weren’t going to talk to him anymore after he sent them after the wrong van. The impostor van. This was basically the same thing. 

Instead of seeing Two-Face’s grisly appearance, his mind flashed to Chimichanga’s red and black face.

To the Cheshire cat luring in children.

To the Siamese cat on the museum roof.

He dropped his face into his hands, bending in half until his chest pressed against his knees. Batman had always thought he was a villain. Always. This wasn’t just dismissal because he’d made a few mistakes. It wasn’t vague suspicion. Batman, his hero, had always thought he was a villain.

Fuck him.

The thought came unbidden. Another, calmer voice that sounded more like his internal self rushed to say no, this wasn’t Batman’s fault. Of course he was suspicious. Being suspicious kept him alive. Being suspicious made him a good detective.

Fuck him. 

The second time was louder, with more force. A good detective? Batman wasn’t a good detective. He was wrong. He’d been wrong for years. He’d never tried to find out more about Chirp, never asked him any questions, never gave him a chance. All Chirp had ever done was try to help, and it was so easy for them to dismiss him.

Fuck them all. They didn’t deserve him.

This time no calmer, more logical voice rushed to defend them. 

He should just give up Chirp. Just throw away all of his monitoring equipment and quit hacking and learn a trade or something. He could join college prep classes. His parents would love that. 

But he’d worked too hard for too long to let some useless detectives tear this away from him. If they weren't going to look for the real culprit, then he would. He would find the person behind this, and he would prove his innocence once and for all.

Not for them. Despite them. For himself. Because he was a hero. He’d always been a hero. 

Whether they wanted him to be or not.

Chapter Text

It was easier than he’d expected to get the spyware onto Jason’s phone. Jason was protective of his things, wary of lending them out. He’d gone too long with too little to carelessly let his most expensive possessions out of sight, regardless of how much money he now had to replace them. With all this in mind, Tim didn’t even try asking him to borrow his phone. 

Instead, he did what most modern hackers did and created a fake app. 

He didn’t put much work into it. He found a mobile game that wasn’t popular enough to be recognizable but had good reviews. He downloaded it, changed the name, icon, and opening screen. It wouldn’t hide the plagiarism for long, but it was enough to get the app published. He’d pull it down himself before too many people had time to install it. 

Hidden deep in the game’s code, he added just a couple of lines that would inject upon install. 

After that, he just had to tell Jason and Steph how much fun he was having playing this new game. He wasn’t sure Jason would go for it, but he’d admitted to Tim while they were making milkshakes that he’d been addicted to Angry Birds since getting a smart phone. 

Tim had expected at least a little pushback, but Steph was so enthusiastic about them all getting the app that he’d wondered briefly if she’d realized it was a Chirp thing. But no, she just really liked phone games. 

He thought about all of this later while looking at their locations on his map. He hadn’t actually been trying to get access to Steph’s phone too, but he figured it didn’t hurt. 

He dismissed Steph’s dot and focused on Jason and Dick. Now that he had them, he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He’d been in such a frenzy the night before—ignoring Batman’s patrol for the first time in years in favor of staying up until four a.m. working on his spyware app, and making plans and backup plans for when it inevitably failed—but now that it had worked, on the first try even, he had no idea what to do with it. 

He hesitantly opened Jason’s text messages, trying, and not quite succeeding, to push away the feeling that he was invading Jason’s privacy. This was on them. They didn’t trust him. They’d forced him into this.

He was trying to hold onto the anger that had consumed him the night before. It was the only thing keeping the grief at bay.

He focused on Jason’s messages with Mr. Wayne first. There weren’t many. Jason sent the occasional update if he was staying late at school or going out with Steph. Two weeks earlier, he’d sent a message that just said, “On my way home. Meet you downstairs.” That was clearly code for the cave. 

Tim looked at the date. Wasn’t that when they went parkouring? He’d almost forgotten how quickly Jason had left. He’d clearly thought it was Catwoman at first too. 

It wasn’t much, but it did make Tim feel a little better that he wasn’t the only one fooled. 

He checked Jason’s messages with Dick next. There were a lot more messages there—mostly, at first glance, pictures of cats. Chimichanga curled up on a blanket or asleep with half her body hanging off the bed, Cheshire standing on his hind legs batting at string, occasionally accompanied with messages like, ‘look at this 😻😻’.

Earlier that week, he’d sent a message begging Jason to pick up ‘junk food any junk food i’m dyign in this house this is why i left,’ to which Jason had replied, ‘Pick up your own junk food, Dickface. You have a job.’

There was an unusually large block of text two months earlier. He scanned it twice before realizing—that was the night of the Mad Hatter. The fake Mad Hatter, he quickly corrected his internal voice. 

He read the exchange slowly and carefully, trying to discern any hidden meaning, but it seemed pretty straight forward. Batman and Robin must have captured Cheshire, then washed him, and now he was hiding under a car? He laughed at the message, ‘B says you can’t have the cat.’ That didn’t seem to be working out so far. 

He wished they talked more, that they’d said anything at all about what was going on, but he guessed they couldn’t on insecure personal devices. Someone could hack their phone and read their messages. 

What he really needed was to access the Batcomputer. He’d never tried. It always seemed like too much of a risk.

He leaned back in his computer chair until the front wheels lifted off the ground. Could he do it? He was pretty sure he could hack his way in, but it still seemed too risky, especially right now when they thought he was a villain. There was bound to be significantly more security, not just locking intruders out but also to notice any odd behaviors or attempts at access. He’d be just as likely to reveal his location as to get any useful data, and they’d throw him in Arkham if they figured out who he was.

His stomach twisted at the thought, but he pushed past it.

It would be easier if he could physically access it, like how he was able to quickly override Dick’s phone while actually holding it, but he couldn’t just walk into the Batcave. What he needed was access to a device that already had a trusted relationship with the Batcomputer, like Robin’s wrist computer or…

His mind flashed to the Batmobile, left alone in carefully selected alleys that were hidden from cameras for hours almost every night. 

That was a terrible idea. 

An absolutely awful idea.

He started making plans.

His parents were out of town, so he didn’t bother waiting until nightfall to take a bus into the city. He had a decent idea of where Batman and Robin would park. They had a couple dozen hidden spots they rotated between, mostly in the neighborhoods that straddled the line between Gotham’s nightlife district, with its bars full of people trying to forget the latest rogue attack, and Gotham’s nightlife district, where the next attack was being planned. Batman wouldn’t want to tip Chirp off by deviating from his routine, so, based on where they’d parked recently and what was coming up in the rotation, there were really just two or three spots they’d choose from.

And the sooner he could get to the car, the more time he’d have to get the information he needed before they came back. 

He could wait in a nearby coffee shop or diner, but those places were always filled with too many well-meaning adults. For some reason, nobody liked it when a thirteen-year-old hung out in a coffee shop alone at night. He thought that was ageist, but he couldn’t fix everything.

It would work better if he had a friend, but… wait.

He had a friend. 

He tried to dismiss the thought as soon as it entered his brain, but it kept tugging at his cerebral cortex until he acknowledged it. Steph lived right by the area he was staking out. She’d probably be happy to help with Chirp stuff; she’d been pretty excited about the whole thing. There wasn’t anything inherently dangerous about sitting around a diner until Batman and Robin showed up. He couldn’t exactly tell her he was waiting for the Batmobile so that he could break into it and spy on the Batcomputer, but she probably wouldn’t expect a whole explanation anyway. 

And two teenagers hanging out in a diner at night was way less conspicuous than one. 

He hesitantly opened Steph's contact as the bus slowly ambled from Bristol into the jam-packed Gotham streets. She'd been sending him weird gifs and links to funny posts since she got his phone number, but he'd rarely texted back. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to that stuff. Was a laughing face emoji okay? Lol? Haha? It was better not to say anything. It wasn't like it stopped her from texting him.

Tim: Steph, do you

No, wait, don't type it like it's a letter. That's what grandmothers do. 

Tim: Do you

More casual. More teenager. How did teenagers act?

He had no idea how teenagers acted. What was wrong with him?

He went back and forth between "Do you" and "do u" five times before forcing himself to just pick one. This couldn't possibly matter that much. 

Tim: do u want to 

He couldn't just text that he wanted her to help cover for Chirp stuff. It needed to be casual and nonincriminating. 

Tim: do u want to get a milkshake?

There had to be things kids did other than getting milkshakes, but for the life of him he couldn't think of any. Parkour, he guessed, but he did actually need them to go to a nice casual sit-down place. Dinner would be weird. Coffee would probably also be weird. He knew she liked milkshakes, and it sounded like a normal kid thing to do. Good. Done.

He couldn't just invite her to milkshakes though. He did actually need to somehow signal that this was a Chirp thing and not him weirdly inviting her to hang out late at night. Meet you downstairs, he thought. 

Tim: do u want to get a milkshake? i need to get some stuff done in the city later and i don’t want to hang out alone until then. 

Good. That was good. Almost perfect. He looked at his bookbag, crammed between him and the wall of the bus. 

Tim: do u want to get a milkshake? i need to get some stuff done in the city later and i don’t want to hang out alone until then. we could do homework

He didn’t think she’d actually want to do homework, but he was trying to signal that she should bring homework anyway. Kids working late to finish a school project was way less suspicious than kids plotting together in an isolated booth until the wee hours of the morning. His bookbag had a couple textbooks, his computer, a balaclava supposedly for warmth but actually to hide his face, and a few other things he thought might come in handy. 

He read the message three more times. Should he..?

No, stop, it was fine. He did actually have a time limit. He pressed send before he could second guess himself. 

A message came back almost immediately. 

Steph: right now?

Tim: yes

He sent her a pin of the location he wanted to meet. It was a couple blocks from the alley he thought Batman and Robin were most likely to park in, and not too far from the other two likeliest spots. 

Tim: i’ll pay

Tim: not in a date way i just know i have more money than u

He was starting to regret texting her. He should have just left it. He’d tell any adults who asked that he needed to get homework done and his siblings were making too much noise at home for him to concentrate.

Steph: ok b there in 5

Or not. 

He felt inordinately pleased with himself. This might be the first time he’d ever actually invited someone to do something with him that wasn’t for a group project. Sure, there was still work involved, but it was… nice.

It was less nice when Steph loudly greeted him with, “Hey, weirdo!” when he walked into the rundown diner, but she was grinning widely and didn’t seem to actually mean it so he let it go.

She waved at him over the top cap of a cracked linoleum booth in the far corner of the room. It was a good choice—easy to hide what you’re doing, but just as easy to peek out and see what everyone else was up to. It’s the one he would have picked if he’d gotten there first. He wondered if she did that on purpose or if it was just chance. 

“So what’s actually going on?” she asked as he slid in across from her, quiet enough that someone in the next booth over wouldn’t be able to hear, even though the nearest patrons were half a restaurant away.

“I need to get physical access to a nearby computer,” he said, matching her volume. “I need to wait until it’s unattended, and I’ll have a limited time frame once that happens.”

“But you don’t know exactly when it will be,” Steph finished. She caught on surprisingly quick. It’s not that he’d thought Steph was dumb but… okay, maybe he’d kind of thought Steph was dumb. She embodied that bubbly blonde persona that was usually paired with stupidity in media, and he knew she’d gotten the Wayne Scholarship because she was friends with Jason, not because of merit, but he guessed maybe that didn’t necessarily mean she didn’t still deserve it. “And you don’t want to alert child services by hanging out alone. What would you do without me?” She accompanied the last question with a blinding smile.

He shrugged. “I would have come up with a story or waited on the roofs instead of this nice warm diner.”

“Tragic. So what do you need me to do?”

“Nothing.” He glanced at his phone. Dick and Jason’s phones were still in the manor, and the comms weren’t online yet. He set an alarm to alert him when any of their signals left the property and stuck an earbud in the ear facing the wall so he would hear when they turned on their comms. “We can just hang out for now. Or you can actually do homework, if you want.”

“A year ago, I would have asked who wants to do homework, but you know who does? Jason. He’s such a nerd.” She smiled fondly and Tim mirrored her expression. The more he learned about Jason, the more he realized Jay wasn’t at all the rough and tumble street kid Tim had been expecting. 

“I hacked into the school servers and downloaded all the homework assignments and tests at the beginning of the semester,” he said as he put an open textbook on the table, just to make it look like they were working if anyone checked. “Finished everything I could the first week, and have it waiting in a file to hand in when it’s actually assigned. I don’t have time to deal with schoolwork.”

“I can’t figure out if that’s nerdy or punk as hell,” Steph said, with a tone of awe. “How do you handle group projects?”

“Suffering.”

“See, I just wait until the last minute to do homework, whining and groaning the whole time, like a normal kid.”

“I could send you all my finished assignments if you want.”

“Tempting. Really tempting,” she said, staring into the middle distance like a painting of a legendary warrior. “But no, I probably should actually learn this stuff. You know. For my future.”

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. Jason’s phone was speeding away from the manor. A minute later, Dick’s phone followed. Nothing from the comms yet. He’d noticed they weren't turning the comms on until they were a couple miles away from the Batcave but hadn’t thought much about it. They didn’t actually need them until they reached the city. But now he wondered… were they trying to avoid Nightwing or Catwoman getting caught on the comms where Chirp could hear?

He frowned at the phone, and would have stayed deep in his own head if Steph hadn’t asked, “Everything okay?”

He glanced up sharply. He’d almost forgotten she was there. “No, just… thinking.” He turned off the screen. “It’s going to be at least ten minutes. Maybe more.”

“Then we better get some milkshakes!” Steph waved a waitress over, and Tim put on his best casual smile. It wasn’t as hard as he expected. This was fun, in its own way. It was nice to have someone he could talk to about all of this.

Well, not all of this. He was hiding what he was actually doing from her. But it was still nice, to have someone who knew both sides of him.

They chatted while they waited. Tim alternated between flipping pages in his schoolbook and glancing at his phone. Steph kept messing with her phone too, which Tim thought was to cover for him until he saw her screen. 

“Is that the game I told you about?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s really addictive,” she said, tapping the screen. “I can’t believe it has so few reviews.”

He grinned down at his phone as he checked the map. The comms were on now, even though he hadn’t heard any talking. Now that he was listening for it, he did hear the quiet rumble of the Batmobile’s engine. The two comms and Jason’s phone all slowly pulled to a stop exactly where he’d been hoping. The engine’s rumble quieted. 

“It’s happening,” he said, reaching for his bag. 

“So what’s the plan?” Steph asked. She took a long sip from her milkshake before saying, “Should I wait here?”

He hesitated. He wouldn’t mind being able to leave his extra stuff there. Less weight, less crap to shuffle through in his bag, less chance of accidentally dropping something that could be traced back to him. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take…” he hedged. 

“I can hold down the fort,” Steph said easily. “I’ll tell them you’re an idiot who forgot the most important part of our group project.”

He hefted the bag over his shoulder with a grin. “Thanks, Steph. Really. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“You know you can count on me.” She said it so casually, like it was nothing, like she wasn’t the only one he felt like he could count on right now. He felt tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, and turned away before she could see. 

The waitress watched him leave curiously, but he wasn’t worried. Steph had it handled. 

He glanced at his phone as he walked towards the Batmobile. He’d preplanned his path to all three locations, so he knew when to leave the main road in a blind spot, and how to stay out of view of cameras until he reached the car. 

Batman and Robin’s dots were running away from the spot he knew the Batmobile had stayed. He recognized their slower footpace, their path across the rooftops. Jason’s phone stayed with them. Apparently he did take it on patrol. Weird. That seemed like a security risk to Tim, but he guessed they knew what they were doing.

Well, maybe. He had less confidence in that than he used to. 

He climbed onto a fire escape three buildings away from the Batmobile and waited, watching the dots. He didn’t know where they were going, but he wanted them to get as far away as possible before he went to the car. He needed to give himself plenty of time to escape in case he set off an alarm and they came running back. 

There was a good chance the Batmobile had cameras, but he’d planned for that. He’d worn one of his normal, collared shirts to the diner, but he pulled a ragged jacket on over it, not something he’d normally wear. His jeans were nondescript enough to not stand out. He pulled the balaclava over his head, hiding his hair and face. It would also help ensure that he wouldn’t leave any DNA evidence behind. He put on leather gloves too, so he wouldn’t leave fingerprints. 

He looked equal parts run-of-the-mill-thief and guy-just-out-and-about-in-the—he checked his phone—ten-degree-temperature. He hadn’t even noticed how cold it was, but now that he’d looked he was shivering. He was used to better gear, but anything too expensive would be its own identifying mark. This was safer. 

“Chirp?” Robin asked in his ear, just as he was considering going for the car. For a second, he thought it was an accusation from vigilantes who had already figured out what he was up to, but that was stupid. He was just asking if Chirp was online.

Tim checked the map. Robin was standing a few feet from Batman, the way he always did to hide that he was talking to Chirp. 

It was all fake. Batman knew, and this was just part of a ruse to catch him. His lips wobbled under his mask and he pressed them together to keep them still. 

For a second, he considered responding. He could tell Batman and Robin there was a robbery on the other side of town, to draw them further away from the car. He could even set off an alarm to really sell it.

But they already thought he was a villain trying to fool them. He didn’t want to give them more ammunition to use against him.

He left his earbuds in, but didn’t respond. He set a perimeter alarm for a two mile radius around the Batmobile. That would alert him if they were coming back. He made sure it was on Dick’s phone too, so he’d know if Nightwing was close. He could see Nightwing settled on a rooftop over five miles away, so he should be good.

He climbed the fire escape and walked across the roofs to avoid the main road and cameras. There were a few small jumps but nothing worse than what he used to do when he was following Batman and Robin all over the city. It wasn’t long before he was crouching on a third floor fire escape, staring down at the Batmobile. 

He’d spent the afternoon researching what type of car the Batmobile probably was at its base and how to break into those models, but he knew that research wouldn’t mean much in the face of the highly customized vehicle itself.

Most online forums thought it was a Lamborghini Vision GT or Bugatti La Voiture Noire. One very vocal person kept insisting it was a 1955 Lincoln Futura, but Tim was pretty sure that person had no idea what they were talking about. 

One thing Tim did know with absolute certainty, that most of the people on the forums didn’t seem to know, was that there was more than one Batmobile. He’d seen it enough times in person and through the cameras to recognize the minute differences.

He compared the version below him to the blueprints on his phone. Based on the curves and the number of exhaust pipes at the back (that might have been repurposed for rocket propulsion?), he thought this was the Bugatti. He had done some research into Mr. Wayne’s purchase history, and he did know Mr. Wayne had bought one. Two, actually. “In case one gets wrecked,” he’d joked to a reporter. Given that each car cost nineteen million dollars, this hadn’t gone down great with his stockholders. 

This particular model didn’t have traditional car keys, so there wasn’t even a lock for him to pick. Instead it had a ‘phantom key’ that unlocked the car when the holder was in range. That lined up with Tim’s experience. He’d never seen Batman use a key or even press a button as he approached the Batmobile. He just walked up and opened the door like it had been unlocked the whole time. Tim would guess the key was built into Batman’s suit, so there wasn’t anything to steal. It transmitted a signal that the car recognized and opened for.

Luckily, that was exactly Tim’s specialty. 

He sat criss cross applesauce on the fire escape and opened his laptop. He was sure Batman had customized the lock and key system to be more secure than the average key fob, but the most likely system he would have used was the same changing signal the comms used to avoid detection, and Tim had long since perfected breaking into that. 

It took him ten minutes to isolate the signal. Longer than he’d hoped, but nowhere near as long as he’d feared. He kept an eye on the map on his phone just in case, but all of the dots were far away. 

The signal encryption definitely reminded him of the comms. There were some differences, but they mostly lined up with what he’d read about phantom keys. Hacking keyless locks wasn’t anything new. Rolljam attacks, relay hacks, telematics exploits. He’d read about them all while shifting through car information that afternoon. He was sure Batman had too, had guarded against them, but he would have been protecting against run-of-the-mill hackers, not against Chirp. 

Batman counted on the fact that his signal was ever changing, that you couldn’t just record the phantom key signal and replay it, that the only things in the world that knew the pattern were his key and the car.

It took Tim twenty minutes to duplicate the pattern and create a responding signal.

He waited until he was sure, until it had continued to match for two full minutes, before he lowered himself from the fire escape and tried the handle.

There was still every chance that this wouldn’t work. That there were computer chips in Batman’s gloves that matched the handle, that there was a camera that recognized his visage, that there was nothing Tim could do to fully duplicate every security measure that Batman had implemented.

The door opened. The car turned on. Tim felt like he was going to have a heart attack. He slowly climbed into the driver’s seat of a car awaiting his instructions. He could drive this away right now. He could have his very own Batmobile. 

He wouldn’t of course. That was a terrible idea. It definitely had trackers. 

He started to close the door behind him, then stopped. The last thing he wanted was to be closed in if some security measure kicked in. The doors might be able to be closed remotely too. He put his bag on the ground between the open door and the doorframe so that it would block the door if it tried to close. 

He glanced at the map on his phone as he settled into the seat. Batman and Robin were down by the docks. He hadn’t been paying attention to their occasional conversation, other than to make sure it wasn’t about him, but he’d gotten the idea that there was some kind of weapons deal going down. Nothing he needed to worry about. 

Nightwing was closer to downtown and the museums. Tim bet he was bored. He’d always hated stakeouts, and he couldn’t even talk to anyone during this one. 

Tim propped his computer in his lap. Batman was gigantic, so there was plenty of room between him and the wheel.

His fingers tingled with anticipation. Of everything he’d done all night—heck, of everything he’d ever done—this might be what he was most prepared for. He was ridiculously proud of himself for what was honestly a very mundane solution to what should have been an amazingly difficult problem. 

He’d been listening in on Batman and Robin’s comms for years now, and occasionally, when it seemed relevant to a case or when he just thought it was cool and wanted to relisten later, he’d been recording.

He pulled up an audio recording from three months earlier of Batman, in this car, saying, “Access Batcomputer.”

The dashboard lit up and a database of hundreds of folders appeared on the screen.

It was so stupid. It wasn’t even hacking. He felt amazing.

He hoped the screen was touch sensitive. He touched a folder experimentally, not even looking at what it said, and it opened to dozens of files. The top one appeared to be a profile on someone called ‘Amygdala (Aaron Helzinger)’. He glanced at the folder name and, okay, this entire folder was on Amygdala. So that file probably gave an overview of him. Other files had dates, probably covering individual cases or crimes. It looked like there was DNA information, school records, medical files. There was a lot, and Tim had never even heard of this Amygdala, so he couldn’t be that big a deal.

He backed up into the main database. ‘Amazons’, ‘Anarky (Sam Young)’, ‘Animal Man (Bernhard Baker)’, ‘Artemis’, ‘Aquaman (Arthur Curry)’, ‘Bane’. There were a lot of them, not all criminals, not all even individuals. There was even a folder on Batman. He was really curious what was in that one, but it wasn’t what he was here for and he could easily get lost in all this data if he didn’t guard himself. 

He glanced at the map again, just to make sure he was still safe. So far, so good.

He scrolled down to the C’s. There were folders at the top for ‘Cases (Closed)’ and ‘Cases (Open)’. Those were probably cross referenced with the dated files in the other folders. He was dying to explore and learn all about Batman’s probably amazingly complex organizational system, but he forced himself to keep going.

He noted ‘Catwoman (Selina Kyle)’ as he passed it, but just as a confirmation of what he already knew, that this Selina they were working with was Catwoman.

Wait, didn’t he know Selina Kyle? His mind flashed to a woman with short black hair and a salacious expression at galas he’d attended. Hadn’t she and Mr. Wayne dated? 

There was… a lot to unpack there. He pushed it to the back of his mind to think about later. 

Finally he found what he was looking for: ‘Chirp (Unknown)’. He felt a rush of pleasure at the ‘Unknown’. Almost all these folders had the person’s real name after their alias, but not his. He’d managed to keep his identity secret. 

He opened the folder. It wasn’t as big as he’d expected, but there were files for almost every date for the last two months. Was it every time he’d talked to Robin? Or at least every time that Batman was aware of. There were fewer files before that. One for the first night he contacted Batman and Robin, a few sporadic dates for times he had tried to contact them and they’d turned him away, and then one for the gala the Penguin attacked. That was the first time he’d worked with Robin. Batman must have added it after the fact.

He clicked on it, curious. At first it seemed like a normal case file. Date, location, who was in attendance, what was stolen, people arrested. He saw his own name, and his mom’s. It listed his mom’s stolen jewelry—her earrings, necklace, and bracelet. 

Wait, they didn’t steal her bracelet. Seriously, mom? He wondered if she’d gotten insurance money for that. 

He scanned through a summary of the night’s events and froze on the words, “Someone appearing to be the Penguin.” Someone appearing to be the Penguin. 

This was another impostor case. That had never even occurred to him as a possibility. How many cases that he thought he understood were actually someone playing a part?

He closed the file and clicked on his profile, holding his breath as he read the first words.

‘CHIRP
Designation: Suspected Villain’

He’d known, but it still hurt to see it stated so clearly. He gulped in a short breath and kept reading.

‘Hacker’, ‘can listen to and track comm signals’, ‘extra security measures to protect identities’, well that was useless. Tim wondered how much time Batman had wasted trying to protect identities Tim had already known long before listening in on their conversations.

‘Voice manipulation software used to make his voice sound younger than it is.’

That was… true. But only recently true. Within the last half a year true. Had Batman been using that as evidence against him? There was also ‘intellectual abilities exceed upper limits of eleven-year-olds’. It should be a compliment, but it just felt like another slap in the face.

His shoulders hunched involuntarily as he continued to read. ‘Believed to be imitating criminals or working with someone who is.’ 

He hated this. It was so unfair. Because he kept his secret identity, unlike some people who did very recognizable flips or failed to hide the entrances to their secret bases? Because he was good at what he did? Because he was smart? Maybe if he had acted dumber, or less competent, Batman would have liked him. 

There was a list of cases to cross reference, with links to the files: Two-Face at the bank, the Penguin at the gala, Mad Hatter, Catwoman. Just the four. 

He clicked on Two-Face, opening up the first case he’d ever worked on with Batman and Robin. He’d felt so proud of himself for figuring out where Two-Face was going before they did, but none of it had ever been real. There was no Two-Face. Just some guy with his cats.

Well, not really his cats. He’d stolen at least one of them from that animal shelter. 

His eyes landed on the name further down the file: Second Chance Animal Shelter. He remembered seeing Chimichanga on their Twitter account.

He glanced at the map to make sure Batman and Robin were still by the docks and then switched to Twitter. Second Chance’s whole feed was adorable animals looking for new homes, or those same adorable animals with their new families. There were dozens of tweets in the last two weeks—which didn’t speak well for the state of homeless animals in Gotham, but that really wasn’t his focus right now. 

Finally, he found what he was looking for in a tweet a little over two weeks earlier. A Siamese cat, or a Siamese mix according to the tweet, but very Siamese looking. That couldn’t be a common sight in animal shelters, right? Siamese cats were pretty rare.

He kept going, scrolling quickly through weeks of posts until he got to right around when the Mad Hatter attacks started. He scrolled more slowly through the tweets, studying the animals until he found a huge, fluffy gray striped cat. The tweet read, ‘Friendliest boy we’ve ever had!’

This guy was getting all of his cats from the same place. But he wasn’t adopting them; Tim remembered that from Chimichanga. He was stealing them. Which would be hard to do for multiple cats unless…

He worked there.

Tim was preparing to check employee records for Second Chance when a few words filtered into his brain from Batman and Robin’s conversation. He’d mostly been tuning them out, just keeping one ear open for pertinent information, so he had no idea what the larger conversation was about, but he very clearly heard, “...going to call the car.”

Call the car?

The Batmobile’s engine roared to life, and it accelerated forward without warning. He slammed his hand into the dashboard screen, both because of the forward momentum and because he had to get out now. He managed to close the file and exit to the main database, but there was nothing he could do about the Batcomputer being open. The door flapped in the wind beside him. His brain was trying to do calculations of the best time to act, when the car would slow, momentum versus speed, but his body ignored all of that and pushed out the open door. He rolled onto the grungy pavement just as the car shot out of the alley onto the main road. 

He stood slowly and stared after it until it disappeared into traffic. 

Well that wasn’t… ideal.

He hoped the Batmobile’s 280mph max speed would force the door closed. He hoped they didn’t think too much about the Batcomputer being open on the dash. He hoped Batman had gone blind and deaf because that was really the only way any of this would work out.

He sighed as he trudged back to pick up his bag. It was fine. He’d taken precautions, so even if they did know he’d accessed the computer, even if they had cameras in the car, nothing should trace back to Timothy Drake. 

He climbed back over the rooftops to the alley he’d started in, shoved his mask and coat in his bookbag, smoothed his hair as best he could, and made his way back to the diner. He probably looked like he’d challenged a electrical socket to a death match and lost, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

The waitress perked up when he trudged in and immediately turned into the kitchen. That was… alarming. He scrutinized the open door of the kitchen all the way back to his booth. 

Steph grinned widely at him, which was warning sign number two. “I ordered you an extra special milkshake while you were out.”

Oh no. “Is it going to be disgusting?” he asked, pausing halfway to sitting down. He could still leave. 

“It’s going to be amazing,” she said, putting extra emphasis on the M like she was making the mwah sound chef’s used for delicious food.

“Yeah, okay,” he said tiredly, collapsing into the booth. This might as well happen. He pulled out his computer and stared at the screen as he waited for it to boot up.

“You okay?” she asked. “Did you get everything you needed?”

“I got kicked out earlier than I wanted, but I think I got enough,” he said. “Sorry I’m not great company.”

“Are you kidding? This is fascinating.” She scooted out of her side of the booth and sat next to him just as the waitress appeared in the kitchen door with an absolute monstrosity. Frankenstein hadn’t cobbled together such horrible creations. It had multiple, brightly colored ice creams, and what Tim had to assume was every type of topping. 

“Thanks, Denise!” Steph said as the waitress put it on the table in front of them. Tim just stared, dead inside. This wasn’t actually for eating, right? This was for show?

“Oh, are you getting a pet?” Denise asked. Tim followed her gaze to his screen, where the Second Chance website had finished loading.

“Yep,” he said with a forced smile. “I love cats.”

He turned the screen further away from the open restaurant as she walked away. 

He was ready to hack into Second Chance’s intranet and get their full employee records. Then he saw the tab that said, “Our Team” and just clicked on that instead.

The page was full of cutesy pictures of people covered in puppies and kittens, acting like they were using the animals as dumbbells, or holding up a puppy like it was Yorick’s skull. Tim stopped at one of a man completely hidden behind a large brown and white dog. The bio next to it said, ‘Stanley Kowalski has been with Second Chance for over five years! In addition to being an excellent puppy wrangler, he’s a talented actor. Stanley spends his days with Second Chance and his nights on Broadway.’

Actor. Tim’s heart beat faster as he googled ‘Stanley Kowalski’. He didn’t even have a Wikipedia page so he couldn’t be that big of an actor, but he did have a YouTube channel. 

Tim clicked the link multiple times while waiting for it to load. He didn’t know if the internet was moving slower than usual or if his brain was moving too fast, unwilling to wait for the internet to catch up. 

The channel seemed to be half and half videos of performances and stage makeup tutorials. He clicked on a tutorial for the Phantom of the Opera and fast forwarded through it, sound off, stopping every once in awhile to watch a short clip. The way Stanley created the damaged half of the Phantom’s face, using some kind of plaster, reminded him of Two-Face.

“Not that I’m complaining, but why are we watching makeup tutorials?” Steph asked. 

“Just a second,” Tim said. Steph pushed a straw towards him and he sipped distractedly before realizing it was the monster milkshake. “Steph!” 

“It’s good, right?” she asked with a grin. 

It actually wasn’t terrible, but he wasn’t going to admit that. 

He scrolled down to the comments, scanning through compliments and requests. Stanley seemed to have a decent following. One comment, with almost 40 likes, asked, ‘Why’d you make your villain series private? I loved those!’

Tim reread the phrase ‘villain series’ five times before shooting back to the top of the page. He copied Stanley’s username and clicked login, pasting it into the username field before giving a single thought to how to handle the password. 

If this were a movie, he would guess a couple of passwords based on what he knew about Stanley’s personality and immediately get in, but the only password that came to mind was ‘CatsRUs’ and he was willing to bet that wasn’t it.

He tried it anyway just to check and got a Wrong Password notification.

“Are you hacking YouTube?” Steph asked.

“No,” Tim said because he probably was not hacking YouTube. He could, given enough time, but YouTube was a large, well protected company that had poured millions into user security, and there were usually easier ways to get what you wanted. 

Hacking Second Chance’s employee records might be useful after all. 

He went back to the Second Chance website. They had an employee portal, which meant they had a user database, and there was absolutely no way an inner city animal shelter with a website that looked like it was built in 2001 had bothered encrypting their database. It took him less than two minutes to find a backdoor, and then he could see every user the site had ever had. They didn’t even hide the passwords; they were just there for everyone to see. 

He copied the password next to the username SKowalski and pasted it into YouTube. 

It let him in.

Some people were so stupid about digital security. 

“How did you do that?” Steph asked, like it was difficult and not the hacking equivalent of finding a key under the doormat. 

“Talent,” he said.

Stanley had over two dozen private videos, mostly from two to three years earlier. Tim clicked on one entitled, ‘Becoming Catwoman’. This one had more downvotes than upvotes, which was ridiculous because it was actually really good. Tim fast-forwarded through the video, and by the end Stanley had gone from being a scrawny man in jeans and a t-shirt to a woman with an hourglass shape in a skintight leather bodysuit and heels. 

“What are we looking at?” Steph asked, leaning way over into Tim’s space to watch the screen.

“The Catwoman we saw two weeks ago.”

“This is Catwoman?” Steph asked, turning to give him a wide-eyed expression. “The real Catwoman?”

“No, an impostor, playing the part of Catwoman.” Tim backed out of the video to look down the list. “And the Mad Hatter, and the Penguin.” He clicked on the Penguin video, skipping to the end and staring at the final product. It looked exactly like the Penguin he remembered from the gala. 

“A copycat?” Steph asked, staring at the frozen image. He wondered if she was remembering the same thing as him.

“Yes,” he said, thinking of Chimichanga, of Cheshire, of all the cats he’d used as calling cards for his crimes. “The Copycat.”

A wide grin broke out across her face. “Sweet.”

Chapter Text

It had been a weird night. They hadn’t heard anything from Chirp since he’d suddenly dropped off the comms two days earlier, and Robin didn’t know whether to be angry or worried. His heart said worried. His heart still trusted Chirp. But his brain kept repeating an angry litany of Chirp used him, Chirp betrayed him, he never should have trusted anyone, let alone someone he couldn’t see.

Then someone had broken into the Batmobile. Robin hadn’t even known that was possible.

They’d had to chase after their arms dealer on foot because Batman said the car was ‘compromised’ and they barely caught him. At least they’d gotten a confession out of him easily enough.

Now they were on a roof reviewing the Batmobile’s dashcam footage. Or at least Batman was, standing still as a statue with his wrist computer at an angle that made it hard for Robin to watch. He didn’t think B was purposefully excluding him; he just wasn’t making an effort to include him either.

Robin paced in a tight circle, never more than a few feet from Batman. Part of him just wanted to go sit on the edge of the roof and forget this whole night. Forget this whole week. Two months ago, he’d known where he belonged, what his place was, but now? He didn’t know anything anymore. Even here, back in costume, where he’d been so sure he was meant to be, he just felt wrong.

It was Chirp’s fault, and it was his own fault, and even when he wanted so badly to blame Chirp just to feel better about himself, it all came back to him being stupid enough to trust.

The sound of a door opening in the video echoed across the otherwise silent roof, and Robin shifted to look at B’s computer screen again, standing on his tiptoes to get a better angle. A masked figure entered the car, but only the top of their cloth-covered head was visible. Either they were really short or they were purposefully staying low to avoid being caught on camera. Batman’s voice came out of the speakers, saying, “Access Batcomputer.”

How did they get that recording? Robin glanced up at Batman, but he hadn’t moved.

The next five minute were silent other than the muffled tapping of a gloved hand against the dashboard. They couldn’t see the intruder’s hand, but they could see the lean of their shoulder and the top half of their arm reaching forward. Then the footage bounced as the car started moving, and the person tilted out of frame, apparently out the still jostling door.

They continued watching until the car squealed to a stop at the docks. The passenger door opened and Robin-on-screen started to slide into the seat. He remembered, more than saw, Batman looking at his cracked door and the open Batcomputer and barking at him to get out and stand at least ten feet from the car.

It was still there, waiting for a full inspection before they used it again.

B switched to the Batcomputer’s access logs. Only three files had been accessed in the last hour: Chirp’s profile and two dates Robin didn’t immediately recognize.

Wait, one of those was the gala Fake Penguin robbed, wasn’t it? The other was two years earlier. Given the timing and context clues, probably the Fake Two-Face case.

“What does it mean?” he asked, but Batman shook his head.

That was its own answer. There was only one person Batman refused to talk about when they were on the comms.

His heart hurt and his head hurt. It felt like that time he’d had pneumonia one winter living on the street. He couldn’t breathe, and everything hurt, and there was nothing he could do so he just had to get past it or die.

“Robin,” a voice said in his ear. He immediately turned and started walking away, subtly lifting his index finger to signal to Batman that Chirp was talking to him. Before he got more than two steps, Chirp continued, “Batman.”

Robin looked over his shoulder at Batman. He could tell from B’s stiff shoulders that he was hearing Chirp too.

“What’s up?” Robin asked. “Catwoman?”

Chirp was quiet longer than expected. Normally when Chirp had something to say, he said it right away, all at once, often without waiting for any acknowledgement at all. He always seemed so eager to share everything he knew.

This time, the silence dragged out, so long Robin almost asked again.

“I know it’s not the real Catwoman,” Chirp said, his voice as stiff as B’s shoulders. “I know you’re working with Nightwing and the real Catwoman behind my back because you think I’m involved. I’m not, for whatever it’s worth.”

“Is that why you broke into the Batmobile?”

Batman gave him a sharp look, but Robin thought it was a good question. Take him off guard, get a genuine reaction. You could learn a lot about someone by just throwing the accusation out there.

He expected a long silence or quick denial. He didn’t expect the explosion of emotion, like it was everything Chirp had been suppressing in his earlier, well-rehearsed statement.

“What was I supposed to do? You were keeping me out of the loop! Lying to me!”

“I was lying to you?” Robin was yelling without meaning to, the sickness that had been percolating inside him spewing out. “Because you’ve never lied to me?”

“I haven’t!” Chirp yelled back. “I’m sorry that I don’t act dumb enough for Batman. I’m sorry that I have a secret identity, which is apparently a problem for me, unlike for you guys. But I have never, ever lied to you. Not in any way that wasn’t to keep my identity secret.”

“So you’re really thirteen?” Robin asked, derision dripping from his voice.

“Yes!” Chirp sounded like he was crying, and Robin…

...believed him. He did. Even though his brain was yelling at his heart not to be stupid, not to trust people, not to give people a chance when all they ever did was stab him in the back. He believed him.

“Okay,” he said. He hated the crack in his own voice. “So what did you want to tell us?”

Chirp’s voice also calmed down, but Robin couldn’t tell how much of that was a forceful trampling of his feelings. “I found your Copycat, since you guys clearly weren’t going to do it. It wasn't even that hard. Maybe if you weren’t so busy accusing me, you could have done it yourselves.”

Robin refused to let himself feel guilty, even though the feeling burbled in the pit of his stomach.

“Batman, do you remember Second Chance Animal Shelter? The Two-Face cat came from there.”

Robin glanced at Batman, but he didn’t show any reaction. Even his heavy cape was motionless on the windy roof.

“At least two of the other cats did too, the Catwoman and Mad Hatter cats. I’m sending over the tweets they’re listed in.” Links appeared on Robin’s wrist computer. He could see Batman eyeing at his own computer as well. “There’s a guy who works there—here’s the employee page—named Stanley Kowalski. He’s a struggling actor. He has a YouTube account with makeup tutorials, including a bunch that were made private of him demonstrating how to make villain costumes. I’m sending those too. All of them, not just the relevant ones. I went ahead and got his address for you too.”

The more he talked, the more the guilt bubbled in Robin’s stomach, climbing up his throat like acid reflux.

“I’ll need to confirm all of this,” Batman said. It was the first time Robin had heard Batman talk to Chirp. Given Chirp’s surprised silence, it might be the first time he’d ever talked to Chirp at all.

“I’d expect no less,” Chirp said, which would have sounded better if the tone wasn’t so bitter. “Sorry I broke into your car.”

There was no click like a phone being hung up, but Robin was sure he was gone anyway.

Robin watched Batman instead of the video he was playing, but B was a wall, none of his thoughts or emotions visible in his stony silence. Eventually, Robin just went and sat on the edge of the roof like he’d wanted to for the last half an hour.

Maybe he should have fought for Chirp. Maybe he should have trusted himself more. But Batman had sounded so convincing. Even now, with a few minutes’ distance from Chirp’s emotional appeal, B’s logical arguments came rushing back. He could hear what B would say, that even if this Stanley guy was the one in the costumes, that didn’t mean Chirp wasn’t involved. Criminals turn on their partners all the time, if they think it will benefit them.

Robin was embarrassed to argue, embarrassed at the possibility of fighting for someone who was making a fool of him.

But he believed Chirp. He really did.

It was over an hour before Batman came and sat next to him. Robin didn’t hear him coming, didn’t see him until he was already half-seated, but he was too used to Batman’s sudden appearances to react.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Robin said before Batman could start. “We still can’t trust him. He could still be working with this Stanley guy. He could be turning against his partner to protect himself.”

“That’s all true,” Batman said, and Robin hunched further down in his seat. “Nightwing and Catwoman are on their way. Do you want to know what Nightwing said?”

Robin shrugged, and Batman held his phone out, screen open to a text conversation. The last message said, ‘I told you! You need to learn to listen to your kids’.

A smirk started to twist his lips up, then quickly fell. ‘Your kids’. Even with all their fights, Dick was apparently confident in his place in the family. In Jason’s place too. Jason wasn’t so sure.

“I just want to protect you,” Batman was saying. “You can’t always trust—”

“You think I don’t know that?” Robin interrupted, the question bursting out of him. “You think I don’t know how much the world sucks? That people are bad? My whole life has taught me that lesson.” Batman had stilled, his phone gripped tightly enough that the case was bending inward. “Maybe every once in awhile I want to believe that the world can be okay. That people can be good. That occasionally I can trust people. Not everyone, but a few people who have earned it. But I can’t believe that.”

“Robin,” Batman said slowly, like he was measuring out every syllable. “I’m not saying you should never trust.”

“Aren’t you?” Robin spat back. “And I don’t even think you’re wrong. I just wish you weren’t.”

Batman stayed still, white eyes of his suit on Robin’s face. Slowly he pulled his phone back to himself and looked down at it, Nightwing’s words still on the screen.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” he said, each word still so slow and careful. He probably would have said more, given enough time to think through every syllable, but Nightwing landed on the roof behind them, followed quickly by Catwoman.

“What’s the plan, boys?”

Neither of them moved, caught in a moment that didn’t feel over. Then Batman put a hand on Robin’s shoulder and climbed to his feet. It was probably supposed to be comforting, but Robin just felt the weight of expectations: to be perfect, to make the right choices, to trust the right people, and—even now, as Batman promised to listen—to say the right words.

But he stood, and he followed, and he listened to the plan.

Robin crouched on a parapet across the street from Stanley’s ridiculously large, downtown apartment. It was on the second highest floor of a luxury apartment building in the Diamond District. The apartment took up half the floor with full-length windows on three of the four sides. This was not the apartment of a struggling actor working at an animal shelter. This wasn’t even the apartment of a successful actor in Gotham. Successful actors had decent three-bedroom apartments in the East End. The floor above Stanley was occupied by some fireworks heiress who probably hadn’t worked a day in her life, and the floor below had a mob boss. He was higher on the totem pole than a mob boss. In Gotham. That would be fishy even without everything else.

He caught a glimpse of Catwoman stalking along the far side of the roof before disappearing into shadows. He couldn’t see Batman or Nightwing, but he knew where they were, each positioned on opposite sides of Stanley’s building.

Robin stared down at the windows, watching for any sign of movement. He could only barely see the shapes of furniture through the frosted glass. That must be a rich person thing. Poor people just got curtains.

Chirp would be able to see into the apartment. The whole apartment, not just the outer rooms they could almost make out. Two months ago, Chirp would have told him exactly where Stanley was, and he would have told Batman he saw Stanley passing by a door in that direction so that they could burst in.

He was going for nostalgia, but the thought just came out bitter. He was angry at himself for lying, at Dick for encouraging him to lie, at Bruce for not trusting him despite his lies, and at Chirp for being the cause of it all. Maybe it wasn’t fair to any of them, but life wasn’t fair, so why should he be any different?

Movement caught his eye on the balcony above Stanley’s apartment. A woman with messy blonde hair piled on top of her head leaned against the railing with a lit cigarette dangling from her fingertips. That must be the fireworks heiress. She looked like one of those twenty-something “influencers” Dick claimed he was only following on Instagram (and liking every other post of) because it was good for his cover, but Robin was pretty sure she was closer to Bruce’s age from how he’d spoken about her. A lot of work done, probably. He was pretty sure he recognized her from some gala or another, but all the rich, blonde women with perfect noses blended together after awhile.

She exhaled a plume of smoke, and it wafted towards him across the stretch from her building to his. They were at almost the exact same level—the building he was perched on a floor shorter than hers. For a second, the acrid stench and cold air brought him back to nights huddled behind a dumpster trying to get one good drag out of the cigarette butts he’d scrounged out of a gutter. He mostly smoked when he was hungry or stressed, so all of the time back then, but he hadn’t touched one in months.

He could really use it right now.

Her eyes caught his and she startled backwards, dropping her cigarette over the edge. He had the brief, irrational thought to jump after it, and quickly tamped it down—partially because he didn’t want to break his clean streak, but mostly because he knew just how ridiculous it would look for Robin to fling himself off a roof after a used cigarette.

He forced himself to smile and wave instead. To be Robin. Comforting civilians was the first skill Batman had taught him. It felt good to go back to the basics, like some of the broken pieces inside him were realigning and fitting back together the way they were meant to. He could do this. This was why he did this: to protect people, to make them feel safe.

She slowly relaxed and moved back to the railing, eyes staying on him the whole time. She hesitantly raised her phone in a clear question, and he gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up. Dick had told him once that, while Batman needed to be cloaked in mystery, Robin worked because he was human.

He flashed a piece sign as she turned around to take a selfie with him in the background. She immediately started typing on her phone, probably Instagramming. At least someone was having a good night.

“I see him,” Nightwing said.

Robin’s attention snapped back down to the floor below and he leaned forward on the balls of his feet, preparing to jump. They were going to enter from all three sides at once and block him in.

“What’s he doing?” Batman asked.

“He’s opening a drawer, pulling something out. Is that a weapon?”

“Go,” Batman ordered, and Robin was off the parapet before the word stopped echoing through the comms.

He shot his grapnel and it hooked to the balcony railing, right next to where the heiress had just started to take a drag of a new cigarette. She dropped that one too. He was really going to owe her a pack when this was over.

He swung under the balcony and smashed through a window in a tight ball, unfurling as he rolled across a hardwood floor. He heard echoes of similar crashes from far sides of the building.

“What the—” Nightwing yelped, both on the comms and in a distant echo from one of the unseen rooms. “That’s a freeze gun!”

Robin heard the high-pitched squeal of the freeze gun firing at the same time that Stanley Kowalksi backed into view, a blue beam shooting from the pistol in his hand.

“Nightwing, report,” Batman said as he ran in from a room on the opposite side of the building. His voice was steady, but Robin felt the shift in the tone as strongly as if Batman had screamed. A slip-up with a bullet usually meant some nasty bruising or stitches. A slip-up with Joker toxin or fear gas meant a quick antidote and some bad nights. A slip-up with a freeze gun? He’d seen the shattered remains of ice sculptures that had once been human.

Batman threw a batarang at Stanley as he swung around to shoot the freeze gun in B’s direction. The batarang froze in midair and fell, shattering against the hardwood floor.

“I’m fine.” Robin let himself breathe again as Nightwing’s voice came through the comm. “Door’s blocked. I’m going around.”

Stanley fired again, and Batman blocked it with his cape, ice crystallizing along the cloth. This was Robin’s chance. He ran at Stanley while he was distracted, jumping to kick the gun out of his hand. Stanley twisted while Robin was mid-jump and aimed the gun at him from just a couple feet away. For a second his vision was pure electric blue, and then he was tackled out of midair as the beam shot past and sealed the windows with ice.

“Jeez, B, I had it,” he muttered as Batman rolled off of him and onto his feet. Stanley was already running deeper into the apartment.

Batman pursued, yelling behind him, “Don’t let the beam hit you.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Robin shot back. He stumbled to his feet slower than B had. His leg hurt where he’d landed on it, but he shook it off.

“I’ll cut him off at the pass,” Catwoman said in his ear as he chased after Batman and Stanley. “I need to teach him the proper way to care for cats.” He could see her in his mind’s eye flexing her claws as clearly as if she’d been in the room.

He slid around a corner just in time to see ice blooming out of the front door’s outline like weeds growing from sidewalk cracks. Batman yanked on the door knob, then jerked back like he’d been burned. Ice crystallized on the knob and his glove in mirrored patterns.

Robin didn’t bother with the door. He skidded in a tight turn for the closest outer wall and the windows he knew were there. He heard Batman behind him running for the opposite wall. He slammed into a window—he didn’t have the momentum to crash through it—and wrenched it slowly open. He could hear smashing glass on the far side of the building. Apparently B didn’t have the same problem.

He finally got the window open enough to squeeze through. He shot the grapple towards the roof and swung over a few feet to the hallway window. He could already see through the frosted glass that the stairwell door was iced shut. He made a split-second decision and dropped ten floors.

He swung as far back away from the building as he could before barreling forward and smashing in through the window. This floor had a lot more apartments, the numbered doors lining both sides of the hallway. One of them opened at the crash, then quickly closed again when the resident saw him. He instinctively gave a reassuring wave at the already closed door.

He ran into the stairwell and stopped just inside, listening for movement. He was hoping to block Stanley’s path, but he didn’t hear any footsteps. Not just above him; he didn’t hear anything below him either. No clanging of a desperate escape, no harsh breaths, nothing. Could Stanley have frozen the door and then taken the elevator?

He stepped out just enough to look at the numbers above the elevator doors. One was stopped at floor twelve, another at floor twenty-seven. Neither seemed like a logical place for Stanley to go unless he had friends in the building. He noted the numbers for later, just in case, then returned to the staircase.

Stanley hadn’t had enough time to get below him—not quietly—which only left a few options. He’d taken the elevator, he’d gotten off at a different floor, or he was still hidden in the staircase.

Robin slowly started creeping up the stairs, keeping his eyes and ears peeled.

“Where are you guys? Where is he?” Nightwing asked in his ear, but Robin didn’t respond. He didn’t want to give away his position. Batman’s silence meant he was probably thinking the same thing.

“I’m watching the outer doors,” Catwoman said. “No sign of him.”

“I’ll check the lobby and common areas,” Nightwing said. “Tell me if you need me somewhere else.”

Robin paused at a clatter below him, but it was much too low to be Stanley. A couple of voices wafted up the stairwell, and then disappeared with the click of a door. He waited a beat, then kept going.

He’d just made it back up to Stanley’s floor when Batman asked, “Anyone have eyes on him?” which wasn’t the best sign.

The door to Stanley’s floor was completely frozen over, a thick layer of ice covering both it and the neighboring wall. It looked like he’d shot it from this side, not like the front door, which had ice bleeding through the cracks.

He looked up at the remaining staircase above him. It only went up one more floor. It wouldn’t have been the smartest way for Stanley to go. He couldn’t see anywhere for Stanley to hide. There wasn’t even roof access.

He slowly crept the rest of the way up, just in case there was some nook or cranny he was missing. The door at the top of the staircase was fancier than the others, with a number and a lock. The penthouse. Why did they bother with a fancy door? Nobody was going to climb all this way just to visit when there was a perfectly good elevator. They probably only even had the stairs in case of a fire.

There weren't any other exits. No alcoves or secret passages. He leaned as far as he could over the railing to stare down the deep, square stairwell. There was nothing. No movement, no obvious signs of life. Not even a little ice, which would have at least shown Stanley was there.

Could he have taken the elevator? He’d definitely shot the stairwell door from the inside, but he could have run down just one floor and gotten on the elevator from there. Then what? Gotten off at floor twelve or twenty-seven and hidden until they were gone?

He probably wouldn’t have come this way. It was a dead end. The only escape was through the heiress’s apartment.

Robin pictured the heiress as she’d been on the balcony, already dressed in a nightgown with a robe tightly pulled around her shoulders. Did she live alone? She probably knew better than to open the door to anyone, especially after seeing Robin, but a neighbor claiming he needed refuge from an unknown psycho?

He had to at least check. He rang an ornate, gold doorbell next to the door, his anxiety mounting as minutes ticked by. This was too long, right? It was a big apartment, but how long could it take to get to the door? He was about to ring it again when the door cracked opened and a narrow slit of face peeked out.

“Oh, hello,” she said, sounding surprised. She closed the door and there was the sound of a lock sliding before it opened fully. Robin was already feeling better about her safety.

She leaned against the door frame looking every bit the part of Auburn Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She even had the cigarette perched between her fingertips. All she was missing was the long cigarette holder.

“Hey,” he said, scanning over her shoulder for any sign of an intruder, but all he saw was hardwood floors, a few pieces of minimalistic white and black furniture, and a chandelier almost as big as the one in the manor’s front hall. “We’re looking for your downstairs neighbor. Stanley Kowalski?”

“Darling, I don’t know the name of a single person in this building.” She leaned forward to look at the doorbell with the unsteadiness of someone who’d been drinking, giving him a better view into her apartment. Definitely no one standing just inside the door with a gun. “I didn’t even know this door had a bell. Took me forever to figure out what caused that infernal noise.”

Her manner didn’t seem nervous or threatened either. He’d met plenty of hostages who’d been told to hide their captors, and she wasn’t showing any of the signs.

He pulled a card out of his utility belt, a simple white cardstock with just a number written on it. “If you see anything, or if you feel at all threatened.”

“Thank you,” she said. She took it with the same hand holding the cigarette, the tip burning a black circle at the card’s edge.

“Can I have a drag?” he asked, motioning to the cigarette, and what the fuck, self. He just asked a potential witness for a cigarette, as Robin. She was definitely going to post about this online, B would find out, and there would be words.

She laughed with a little snort that made her seem way more human than the practiced sophistry she’d clearly been going for before. “Aren’t you, like, twelve?”

“I’m eighteen. I’m just short.” In for a penny, in for a pound.

She laughed again and held out the cigarette, turning the butt towards him. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t realize. Please accept my apologies.”

He took the cigarette and drew in a long breath. His nerves settled in a familiar way he hadn’t felt since his early days in the manor, when he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Just the one. He didn’t need it.

“Thanks,” he said, handing the cigarette back. She looked terribly amused. This was definitely going to be all over Twitter tomorrow. “Call if you need anything, Ms…”

“Camilla,” she supplied.

He waved once before flipping backwards into the center of the stairwell, because there wasn’t any point to being Robin if you didn’t make dramatic exits. He shot the grapple at the top railing as he reached where he first started walking upstairs. He doubted Stanley was still on the staircase, if he’d ever been, but better safe than sorry. He dropped slowly through the rest of the stairwell, scanning the stairs for any inhabitants. He saw a couple of alarmed civilians, but no sign of their copycat.

“He’s not in the stairwell,” he said as he released the grapple and dropped to the bottom floor.

“No sign of him in the lobby or bottom floors,” Nightwing said.

“No one’s left the building at all in the time I’ve been watching,” Catwoman said.

“Keep looking,” Batman said, but they already knew they’d lost him.

Chapter Text

“Where did he get all of this?” Nightwing asked, inspecting what looked like one of Bane’s Venom tanks, the green liquid pulsating inside. They’d alerted Commissioner Gordon, and he was organizing a city-wide manhunt for their copycat. He was going to send some officers to the apartment too, but was giving them time to get everything they needed first. Which was a good thing, because the apartment was chock-full of villain gadgets and weird artifacts. Robin wasn’t sure which items were real, which ones were actors’ props, and which ones might actually be haunted ancient relics.

The freeze gun had been real. Had he made that himself or was it an old model Mr. Freeze had lost?

Robin picked up a canopic jar with a jackal’s head, turning it to study the carvings. Didn’t these usually have dead people’s organs in them? He slowly put it back down and reached for a strange, clawed glove he thought might belong to Scarecrow instead. “Is there a black market for villain equipment? There must be, right?” There was a black market for everything else. Kids in his neighborhood used to search for discarded batarangs after Batman had been through. Those were worth a fresh fifty to the right buyer.

“Bag anything you think would be dangerous in the wrong hands,” Batman said, moving aside the Riddler’s cane to eye a glowing, ornate sword. It looked like that god-killing sword Deathstroke sometimes used, at least until Batman flipped a switch and the light turned off. Okay, so that one was definitely fake. “Catwoman,” he snapped.

She shrugged and tossed a large green gem Robin hadn’t even seen her pick up back into the pile. It probably wasn’t real anyway.

“I’m going to check with my sources underground,” she said, slinking past Batman. “I’m not much use for this part.”

“I’ll join you when we’re done combing the apartment,” Batman said.

“I look forward to it,” she purred, stroking his jawline with her fingertips. Batman didn’t even turn his face towards her.

“Gross,” Robin said.

“How did he even sleep here?” Nightwing asked, clearly much more used to ignoring them than Robin was. He was sorting through a pile of props that completely covered the giant bed. It was at least a King size, if not larger. What was that called? Texan? Alaskan? Something like that.

“He might not have,” Batman said. “This could just be a base of operations. He could have other residences, a partner.”

“A lover,” Catwoman added, patting Batman’s cheek before turning and sashaying to the window. The ice encasing the wall of windows had melted enough to uncover the hole Robin had crashed through. “Not everything is some huge conspiracy, Darling. What’s the usual reason a man doesn’t sleep in his own bed?” She didn’t wait for an answer before swandiving out the window.

Nightwing watched until she was out of sight before turning to Batman. “You still think Chirp’s involved, don’t you?”

“I don’t think we should discount the possibility,” B said.

“Unbelievable.” Nightwing threw his arms up in the air, then very slowly lowered them when the orb he was holding lit up. He made sure it was safely back on the bed before continuing. “You get an idea in your head and you just won’t let it go. I told you years ago that I was better at people than you and that he seemed genuine. You ignored me then, and you’re ignoring me now. Nothing’s changed.”

Robin tried to look busy sorting the props, but he just picked up an item, moved it from one hand to the other, and put it down again.

B pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not saying that he was definitely involved, just that we should keep our minds open. Consider all the evidence.”

“Does that evidence include trusting your partners’ abilities, or are you just going to go it on your own like you always do?” Nightwing spat. The orb beside him pulsed with the rhythm of his words. “Just once, I wish you would trust the opinion of someone other than yourself.”

Jason could feel Batman’s gaze on him, and he tried to look busier, keeping his eyes down on the props in front of him.

“You’re right,” B said.

“I can’t belie—wait, what?” Nightwing asked, faltering.

“You’re right,” B repeated. “I haven’t listened as much as I should have, and I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Nightwing said. “Well, good. Thank you.” There was an awkward silence as they all looked at the various artifacts in front of them. The orb slowly faded as the anger in the room ebbed. “So, we’re thinking dangerous pile for this one, right?”

“Yes.”

Tim stared up at his ceiling. He’d put glow-in-the-dark stars up there once, a long time ago. He had no idea where he’d even gotten them. Maybe from his nanny at the time, or from one of the kids at school. They hadn’t lasted long. His mother had taken them down the first time she saw them, calling them unbefitting of a man of his pedigree. He’d been six.

He wished they were there now. Or anything, really. He wished he had something to distract him from the raid he knew was happening, that he’d chosen not to involve himself in.

No, not chosen. Been forced out. Maybe they hadn’t said he wasn’t welcome, but he knew he wouldn’t be. Not on this particular mission. Not when they suspected him of being involved. Cops were kicked off of cases all the time if they had even the slightest connection to it.

On TV, at least. Probably not in Gotham. Gotham police were notoriously bad. And he was pretty sure Batman had a personal connection to like nine-out-of-ten Gotham villains, so it really didn’t apply to vigilantes either, but that wasn't the point.

It was better this way. He wouldn’t give them any reason to think he was feeding them wrong intel. They’d catch Copycat all on their own, see the evidence for themselves, and everything would be fine.

And if they didn’t catch him, well, they’d know who to blame then, wouldn’t they?

He couldn’t take it anymore. He rolled out of bed and turned on his computer. It was later than he’d thought, almost four a.m. Had he fallen asleep, or just gotten so caught up in his own thoughts that hours had passed without him noticing? This was good, though. Whatever had happened, it was over, and they could move on.

He popped in his airpods and pulled up the night’s police reports while he listened. Four am. Jason would be home asleep; it was a school night. Batman and Nightwing might still be out. If it was just one or the other, though, no one would be on the comms. No point with just one person.

There was an all-points bulletin highlighted in red at the top of the police database. He knew before he even clicked on it. There wouldn’t be an all-points bulletin for a successful capture. There would be an arrest report. There would be fingerprints and headshots and a skeletal outline of crimes, to be filled in with more details later. All-points bulletins were for fugitives.

They’d actually failed. They didn’t catch him. Again.

His brain didn’t register most of the bulletin’s details. Name, picture, fled his apartment at 11:21 p.m. Armed with freeze gun. Proceed with extreme caution.

The first time he saw Batman and Robin in person, he felt like he was in the presence of gods. He’d been trying to find them for weeks, sneaking out every night and taking the bus into the city to scour the skies. This was before parkour, before climbing fire escapes, before even taking elevators up to roof access. He was at street level when he saw them swinging from one roof to another and took a hasty picture before they were gone. He still had that picture. It was awful. Blurry, dim, the buildings leaning at an unhealthy angle. You could barely even tell there were people in it. But for years, just looking at it gave him the same sense of awe he felt that night. Batman and Robin were his heroes.

He missed that. He missed being able to have complete faith in something greater than himself, a belief so strong it bordered on doctrine. He missed when his heroes were more than just… human.

But they were, and he already knew that. He should have been there. Even if he didn’t say anything, even if he only watched, he shouldn't have let his anger and hurt get in the way of being ready to help. He knew how slippery the Copycat could be. He should have had all of his cameras ready to follow him if he escaped.

He let himself just breathe for a minute, for two minutes, and then he got to work. He’d already been thinking that he needed to add facial recognition to his programs. He didn’t know how much that would help against someone who could become anyone, but Stanley had to slip up eventually. Tim would be ready.

Steph side-bumped Tim in the school hallway like they were doing roller derby, and he almost went down just as hard. “Oh my gosh,” she said, laughing as she grabbed his arm. “How do you do vigilante stuff, seriously? You don’t even have basic balance.”

“I’m not really an in-the-field kind of vigilante,” he said wryly.

“Mm hmm.” She lowered her voice even though they’d already been talking quietly. “I saw the news. I’m sorry.” She’d watched for almost an hour that morning. She was pretty sure her mom was actually starting to feel concerned with her sudden interest in current events, but she hadn’t said anything.

“Yeah,” Tim said quietly. “Me too.”

They turned a corner towards Jason’s locker. He was standing in front of it, staring like he was looking for something, but the door was closed.

“Hey!” Steph called, putting as much cheer into her voice as she could. He’d been down lately, and she was really starting to worry. “How’s it going with your friend?”

Tim shot her an odd look. Oh, right. He hadn’t really been there for those conversations.

Jason startled at her shout, then slowly relaxed, but not all of the tension left his shoulders. “Complicated,” he said. He looked like he wanted to say more, but his eyes flicked towards Tim and he kept his mouth shut. She got that. Tim was still new to their group, and he didn’t always understand the rougher parts of their lives.

“Yeah, I get that,” Tim said quietly.

“No, you don’t,” she scoffed, redirecting the conversation. A relieved look flashed across Jason’s face as the attention turned away from him.

“I do!” Tim exclaimed. “I have complicated relationships. I am a complicated guy.”

“Uh huh,” she said, turning towards him with crossed arms. “Your biggest complication is hiding your street rat friends from your parents.”

“You don’t know me,” he said primly. “I have hidden depths.”

Steph laughed, because it was true and she wouldn’t have believed it a month ago. “Okay, Mr. Man of Mystery. Tell us all about your complicated relationships.”

Bruce was in the cave when Jason got home from school. He wasn’t sure Bruce had left the cave since getting back the night before. He wasn’t even sure when Bruce had gotten back. When Dick had dropped Jason off around two a.m., Bruce had still been out with Selina. Probably searching for Stanley. Most of the time.

He quieted his steps instinctively as he walked down the stairs to the cave. Something about the stone walls and bats flying overhead always made every slightest sound feel like an intrusion.

The stairwell widened as he reached the bottom and the cave stretched out in front of him. Batman had his back turned, staring up at a computer screen. His hand was stroking a large, gray cat on the computer console who was definitely not supposed to be down here. He kept sneaking down anyway. Kind of like the rest of the family.

His lips quirked upwards as he followed B’s eyes to the screen, then quickly fell again.

“Copycat (Stanley Kowalski)”

He stared at the large picture of the man who had escaped. It was a still from one of his videos, a before image. Who knew what he looked like right now. Probably not that. A number of other, smaller images filled a gallery below his primary image, each showing one of his many looks.

Next were four dated case files. Two of them, Jason recognized as the files Chirp had accessed the night before.

As if reading his mind, a new file filled the screen. “Chirp (Unknown)”. This one had no image, no birthdate, no location even. As he watched, Batman filled in the location with “Gotham, NJ.” Jason guessed they knew that for sure now, after he broke into the Batmobile the night before. Chirp could watch them from anywhere, but you kind of had to be in the city to break into a car.

B highlighted the text beneath Chirp’s name that said “Suspected Villain” and stared up at it for a long time before slowly replacing it with “Unknown”.

Good for Chirp.

It was a bitter thought, and he wasn’t sure who he was bitter at. Batman or Chirp or himself for failing to make so many right choices in a row that it was starting to become a personality trait.

He’d come down here to talk to Bruce. They had a lot they needed to talk about. Unfinished conversations that hung around his throat like a noose. But he didn’t feel like it anymore.

He turned around and went back upstairs.

Chapter Text

Jason tried to settle in the uncomfortable metal chair. Whoever had designed it had put what looked like cushions on the seat and backrest as if to give it the appearance of comfort, but the cushions didn’t seem to have any actual padding. They were just pockets of air that weren’t thick enough to protect from the hard aluminum underneath. He was never going to complain about taking the jet again. Sleeping in alleys was more comfortable than this.

He scowled down at the bookbag he’d hastily packed that morning. If he’d taken the jet, he wouldn’t be sitting around at all. Layovers weren’t necessary when you made the flight plans. If he’d taken the jet, Bruce or Alfred or even Dick would be with him instead of him being stuck replaying arguments in his head. But if he’d been in the position to take the jet, he wouldn’t be doing this in the first place. Probably wouldn’t be doing this.

Christ, he didn’t even know anymore. He buried his face in his arms, his knees pressed to his chest. It had been such a bad month. No, two months. It had been over two months since he’d told Bruce about Chirp and everything had gone to hell.

It wasn’t even fighting; it was this constant tension, a heaviness of guilt and blame and doubt that was making it hard to breathe. He’d gone back to Crime Alley to escape it for an hour, to try to remember who he was and how much he’d survived. To remind himself that he’d survive this too.

And then he’d run into a neighbor who’d saved a box of old stuff from their apartment. Some pictures, a few report cards, and a smudged birth certificate with the wrong name. He thought about the S at the beginning of his mom’s name, the only visible letter. Of the women in his father’s address book. Three potential mothers halfway across the world.

What was he doing? This was so stupid. None of his other parents had been that great. What made him think the one who’d never even bothered to be in his life in the first place would be any better?

He wondered if Bruce had noticed he was missing yet.

He looked out the wall of windows at a plane driving across the tarmac. From here, he couldn’t even tell he’d left the country. It looked like every tarmac at every airport across the world. He could still turn around and go home.

But this wasn’t Gotham; it was Zurich. By the time he could get home, everyone would know he’d been gone. There would be arguments, accusations, even more being grounded. If he was going to have to deal with all that anyway, he might as well let this play out first and see where it led.

His phone rang. Here we go, he thought. Time for the yelling.

It took him a few seconds to fish the phone out of his pocket, around his keys, the small address book he was keeping close, and the snacks he’d grabbed for the trip. He was so deep in debating whether or not he was going to answer Bruce and how he was going to answer if he did, that he almost accepted the call before he realized the Caller ID was blank. Not even a phone number. Fucking spammers.

He took a breath to slow his heart rate, and stared out at the plane pulling into their gate. He’d be on it soon, on his way to Israel. This was better. He shouldn’t answer when Bruce called anyway. After all, Bruce had the jet. He’d be able to intercept Jason and take him home before he even managed to reach his first potential mom.

The phone rang again. He glanced down at it, expecting it to be the same spammer. This time, the Caller ID said, “CHIRP” in all capital letters. Just that. Chirp.

He stared at it, not immediately understanding. Why would Chirp be calling him? Why would Chirp be calling Jason him? He wasn’t Robin right now. How did Chirp even have his number?

Of course Chirp had his number. Chirp could access anything digital. He was tracking them, watching them through the cameras. He…

...knew who they were.

It was obvious the moment he thought it. How could Chirp not know who they were? How could they hide their identities from someone who could see everything?

He hunched down in his chair, jacket collar rising around his ears, and answered with a deep, “Hello?”

“What are you doing?” the familiar, too young voice asked.

“Why is it any of your business?” he shot back.

The line went completely silent. He’d never really noticed on the comms how Chirp’s audio didn’t have any background noise, but the lack of ambient sounds was obvious on a phone. It sounded unnatural.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” Chirp said, tiptoeing through the words one hesitant syllable at a time. Jason used to think Chirp was practically an all-knowing entity, on par with Batman, but now he sounded so uncertain.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, opening his mouth to apologize. He shouldn’t take his anger out on Chirp. He was just…

His mouth snapped shut. No, you know what? He had the right to be mad. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for Chirp. Bruce would still trust him. The manor, which had started to feel like home, wouldn’t have become suffocating. He would still have his life. Maybe Chirp wasn’t the Copycat, but that didn’t make him Jason’s friend.

He almost hung up right then and there, but Chirp spoke, his voice slow and quiet, like he was trying to calm a snarling stray. It only made him angrier. He wasn’t an animal with irrational feelings that needed to be soothed.

“Is something wrong?” Chirp asked.

“Everything’s fine,” he spat. “Why? You gonna tell Batman on me? He doesn’t even like you.” The words tumbled out before he knew what he was saying.

He could hear the answering silence like a gasp. He shouldn’t have said that; he’d only done it to be mean. But it was true. Bruce had always been against Chirp.

“I’m not going to tell on you,” Chirp said, stumbling over the words. His voice reminded Jason of the scared kids he’d known on the streets, the ones he’d wanted to protect.

Manipulative, he thought. That’s why he sounds like a child.

Or he was a child. Jason didn’t know anymore. He trusted Chirp, but he didn’t trust Chirp, and it was all jumbled in his brain. He didn’t want to be taken advantage of. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He just wanted Chirp to go away.

“Just, be careful, okay?” Chirp said, starting to ramble in the face of Jason’s silence. “Call me if you need back up.”

With what phone number? Jason thought. Chirp hadn’t even been reliably on the comms lately, and they were going to be half a day apart.

“Actually,” Chirp said, seeming to realize the same thing and laughing nervously to himself. “I’ll program something. Just, uh, say my name. I’ll set up an alert. If you say my name, I’ll know.”

Jesus. Like everything Chirp did, it was one minor chord away from being full-on horror movie, but he was pretty sure Chirp was just trying to help. Probably.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m going to go back to being by myself and not monitored, okay?”

Chirp was quiet long enough to make it clear that request was gonna be ignored, but he finally said, “Okay.”

Jason hung up instead of pushing it. He held the phone in his lap, knuckles white around the dark red case. A few feet away, the flight attendant started calling for passengers in five languages. It didn’t look like Bruce was going to call before his next flight. He should probably be relieved, but it just left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Chirp noticed he was gone before his… before the person who was supposed to be his dad did. Figured.

He turned the phone off as his group was called. In four hours, he’d be in Israel. Bruce would have another chance to yell at him then. If he cared enough to try.

“I might actually go to the opening,” Shannon told Tim, hands behind her head as they trailed after the stream of students leaving their European History class. Everyone else seemed to be in a big hurry to get to their next classes, speedwalking down the long corridors, but Tim and Shannon stopped just outside their door. Tim’s next class was only a few yards away, right beside his locker, and Shannon actually seemed to like being late. According to her, detention was good for her reputation. “I mean, it’s going to suck, obviously, but I’m trying something new.”

“Being supportive?” Tim asked.

“Looking supportive,” Shannon corrected, making a grand, rainbow-shaped gesture in the air in front of her.

Tim muffled a laugh, pressing his fist against his lips. “Some people actually like their siblings, you know.”

“You just think that because you don’t have any,” she said, cocking a hip and curling a hand around the bookbag strap on her shoulder. She turned to join the stream of students flowing towards her next class. “You should come,” she said over her shoulder. “Your parents might even approve.”

“My mom hates your brother’s art,” Tim called after her.

“She has good taste then!” Shannon yelled back before disappearing around a corner.

Tim smiled as he turned towards his own class. His mom actually would approve. Bad art or not, gallery openings were filled with ‘the right kind of people’ and were the perfect opportunity to create connections. Shannon invited him to these kinds of things all the time, but he always found a reason not to go. Maybe this time he’d say yes.

“Aw, is our little Timmy finally making friends?” Steph asked, appearing in front of him.

“Were you waiting for me?” he asked instead of rising to the bait. He sidestepped around her and she flung herself dramatically forward, draping over his shoulders.

“Yes, but only because I’m bored.” Her feet dragged behind them as Tim struggled to keep walking with her weight. “Jay’s been gone foreeever.”

Tim frowned. He’d actually been gone less than a week, all excused absences according to the school records Tim had pulled up the day before. An unplanned vacation, supposedly. Tim knew Bruce had joined Jason somewhere in the Middle East, but not much of what they’d been doing since. The time difference meant he kept missing them.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” he said vaguely as he stopped at his locker. Steph continued hanging off of him, bending with him as he crouched to switch out his books.

“Rich people are crazy, right?” she asked. “I mean, I know you don’t know. You’re one of them, so they seem normal to you. But what kind of person just randomly takes their kid out of school for a week in the middle of the school year? Just like, ‘hey, I suddenly have an urge to go skiing that cannot wait. You can make up that Math test.’”

Tim’s parents had done that a lot when he was younger. Not for skiing, but for trips that they just could not miss. He had a lot of early memories of hotel rooms. Then he’d gotten a B because of too many missed assignments, and suddenly he wasn’t going with his parents on their trips anymore.

“Skiing?” he asked. This was the first he’d heard of that excuse. It hadn’t been in the absence report.

“That’s what Jason said.”

Tim’s head snapped towards her. “You talked to Jason?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, like it was obvious. “Texted, I mean. He said sometimes Bruce just gets an itch to ski that must be scratched.”

It honestly hadn’t occurred to Tim that he could just text Jason. Obviously Jason wouldn’t tell him the truth, but he’d probably still give something away. The Bats tended to speak in half-truths. If you knew what to listen for, you could learn a lot.

Would it be weird if he texted Jason now? He didn’t normally text Jason if they didn’t have immediate plans they were coordinating. How did someone start casually texting someone?

“You’re doing that thing where you overthink something really mundane again, aren’t you?” Steph asked, stretching her neck forward like an inquisitive kitten to get a better look at him.

“No,” he said, but even he had to admit he sounded really unconvincing. He hadn’t been expecting the question. He didn’t think he looked obvious, but Steph could be strangely perceptive when she felt like it.

She snorted loudly right next to his ear. “Text him if you want to. It’s not that hard.”

Tim bit his bottom lip, considering it as he dug through his bag for his phone. “I know it’s not hard for you. You don’t have any social grace.”

“Oh my god,” she said, a huge grin splitting her face. She pulled away to look straight at him with an incredulous expression. “You think you have social grace?”

“I think I have a better understanding of cultural ex...pec…” He trailed off, eyes on the phone he’d just pulled out of his bag. A cluster of notifications from his fake game crowded his lockscreen, exclaiming, ‘🐦 !!!Come back and play!!! 🐦’ That was his Robin alert. Robin had said his name. Robin was actually using his alert system.

Or just talking about him behind his back. That was possible too. He clicked on the cluster of alerts to see the individual notifications. There had been three in the last five minutes. That seemed more like a conversation than a call for backup.

He pushed down his disappointment. He’d told Robin he’d be there if he said his name, so he was going to be there, even if it meant awkwardly interrupting Batman and Robin badmouthing him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said, quickly zipping his bag and swinging it over his shoulder.

“Is it—” Steph hooked her thumbs together and flapped her hands like she was making a shadow puppet of a bird. Tim nodded. “Go. I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks, Steph,” he said, smiling. “You’re awesome.” He thought this was probably where he should hug her. She’d have no problem hugging him. She’d been hanging off of him just seconds earlier. He leaned forward, then just as quickly turned to walk away.

“Overthinking things!” she called after him.

He groaned. Of course she noticed. God, he was so embarrassing.

It was nice, though, having someone who knew, who was on his side, even if she didn’t really understand the situation. She thought he was a real hero, sanctioned by the Batman himself. Lately he wasn’t even sanctioned by Robin.

Sometimes he wondered why he was still trying when they so clearly didn’t want him around, and sometimes he wanted to prove himself so badly it was like a physical pressure beneath his skin.

He still didn’t get what he’d done wrong. He’d only ever tried to help. Maybe not every instruction was perfect, but was it really so bad they’d think he was a villain? Part of him was still holding out hope that if they could just catch Copycat, then everything would go back to normal, but had normal really been that great either? He’d always been shunted to the sidelines, always been left out, and right now he couldn’t imagine a future where that didn’t continue to be true.

Maybe this could be good. Maybe there was an emergency, and Robin was actually calling him for backup. Maybe he was done being mad and wanted to work with Chirp again.

He walked a little faster as he approached the library. Just enough to look like he was rushing to get to class on time; not so much that a teacher would stop him. Getting detention for running would cost him a lot more time than walking would.

He smiled at the librarian as he walked past—no excuses, she’d come up with her own explanation for why he was there—and snuck back to the same corner where Jason had caught him before. It wasn’t the most secure location, but he could check in, figure out the situation, and move if he needed to.

Where were his earbuds? He opened his app one-handed while he searched the front pocket of his bag. They were supposed to be in the small mesh pocket at the front. He swore that’s where he always put them, but somehow they were never actually there when he needed him. If he’d lost a third pair in six months, his parents might actually make him pay for the replacements himself. Probably not, but it was possible.

He glanced at the map on his phone as he unzipped another pocket. Ethiopia? When had that happened? They’d been in Lebanon last he’d checked.

Okay, seriously, where were those earbuds? He put down the phone to dig into his bag. They weren’t in either of the front pockets, or the side pocket that was supposed to be for his phone. He finally found them at the bottom of the main pocket. Jeez. Had he really put them there? He was lucky they hadn’t gotten crushed by his oversized history book. He needed to pay better attention.

He connected to Robin’s normal frequency as he put the headphones in, even though he didn’t see the signal on his app. “Robin?” he asked quietly. Nothing, not even background noise. Was he on a different frequency? Or using a different comm?

As he looked for open lines, another notification popped up on his phone. ‘🐦 !!!Come back and play!!! 🐦’

Something was picking up his name. He pulled up the notification details. Device…

Oh. It was on Jason’s phone, not one of the comms. He’d set the phone’s microphone to listen for ‘Chirp’ too, just in case Jason ran into a problem when he didn’t have the comm with him. He hadn’t mentioned it to Jason because sometimes the Bats could be weird about his perfectly normal surveillance systems, and he guessed that maybe he could see how that could be construed as creepy, but it was a perfectly logical safety measure.

If Jason didn’t have his comm, then he was probably in civilian mode right now. And given the number of times he’d said Chirp…

It was just a conversation.

He’d known it would be, really. It’s why he didn’t bother going somewhere more secure. He’d still hoped…

It didn’t matter. So, they were talking about him. Again. They were probably coming up with another crime to blame on him. He would keep helping, keep doing his best, and eventually they'd see he was on their side. Eventually they’d accept him.

His chest felt hollow. If three years wasn’t long enough, if working closely with Robin—and he thought becoming friends?—wasn’t enough, then what would be? How could anything ever be enough?

He shouldn’t listen to the conversation. It wasn’t any of his business, and even he could see how listening to someone’s civilian conversation through their phone might be overstepping a few bounds.

But he did tell Jason he’d be there if he said Chirp. He didn’t specify only when he was Robin or only when he was on a comm. He should at least check, and then when he confirmed it was just a conversion, he could log off and act like it never happened.

And then probably just stay in the library for the rest of class anyway so he didn’t have to admit to Steph that they didn’t actually need him.

He pulled up the audio from Jason’s phone. It was muffled, the sound of fabric rustling. Probably in a pocket. He turned the volume up as loudly as he could, but didn’t immediately hear any words. A loud crack and grunt interrupted the silence, and then laughter that made chills run down his spine. Beneath it, quietly enough that no one else would be able to hear, a raspy voice whispered, “Chirp.”

Oh, God.

He yanked his laptop out of his bag and started opening the full program, eyes staying on the map on his phone as it loaded. Jason was in the middle of nowhere. There weren’t any major cities nearby, just some smaller towns. Seriously, what were they doing there? Batman and Robin belonged where there were skyscrapers and shadows, not in the middle of a desert.

There weren’t a lot of cameras. He pulled up one that looked like it was on the corner of a building, pointing outward. A warehouse maybe? Or factory? There were larger trucks outside, meant for shipping.

He couldn’t see anything on these. Nothing pointing inside, nothing that showed Robin or Jason. He heard another crack and scrambled to come up with something.

The mask cameras, the newer ones that recorded first-person views. They sent footage back to the cave. He’d managed to hack into the feed once, for just a few minutes before the cipher had changed and he’d been kicked out. The security was similar to what they used on audio feeds, and he’d managed to lock onto that signal so he was sure he could do the same for the video. It just hadn’t been a priority. In Gotham, he could always find nearby cameras.

Stupid. He should have known he’d need this someday and prepared. He’d just been lazy.

He used the same method to break into the signal that he’d used the first time. He knew it wouldn’t be permanent, not like what he needed to do later. But for now it would be enough for him to get a picture.

The footage wavered slowly back and forth. The screen was filled with bare knees on a concrete floor, both splattered with blood. Slowly the camera inched upwards, like weights were pulling it down and each tiny movement was a struggle, showing purple pants, a suit jacket, white skin, and finally the Joker’s unnaturally large grin contorting his face into a poor reproduction of a human. The Joker raised a crowbar above his head, and then the footage went out.

Oh, God. Oh, God. He stared at the blank screen where the afterimage of the Joker still burned. Where was Batman? Why didn’t Jason have his comm in? Maybe the Joker had taken it or destroyed it or...

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting Batman.

He pulled up his map. Batman’s signal was several miles away, traveling quickly in the wrong direction. He was close to a road that seemed to lead from the Warehouse to a nearby town, but not directly over it. The Batjet maybe?

His fingers connected to Batman’s frequency and his mouth started speaking, all without any apparent direction from his brain. His brain was screaming that Batman wouldn’t listen to him, because Batman never listened to him. Batman might not even believe him. Jason was going to die because he hadn’t done a good enough job of getting Batman to trust him, because he didn’t react quickly enough, because he’d walked to the library so he wouldn’t get detention. But his mouth said, “Batman, Robin needs you. The Joker has him.”

Chapter Text

The Joker’s convoy was less than a mile from the refugee camp. Batman had minutes to catch it, to prevent disaster. Minutes to stop them from opening the boxes that would release Joker’s lethal laughing gas in a four-acre radius, onto hundreds of helpless civilians. In Gotham, hospitals stocked the latest antidote. Even when the Joker changed his formula, their stocks would at least slow the symptoms until Batman could make a new antidote. But here, in Ethiopia, the nearest hospital with an antidote was seven-thousand miles away and he only had enough on him for maybe a dozen victims. People would die.

He pushed the mini-copter to fly just a little faster. The difference between rescuing hundreds of people and disaster was seconds, at most. He was worried about Jason, alone so close to the Joker, but that was all the more reason to make this quick. Get in, warn them, and get back before Jason could do anything reckless.

He could see the camp coming into view when a young voice spoke in his ear.

“Batman, Robin needs you. The Joker has him.”

Fear shot down his spine. You can’t trust Chirp, he reminded himself. Chirp had been an unreliable source at best, and purposefully seeding dissonance in his team at worst. He could be working for the Joker, or he could be playing his own game where he drew Batman away from victims and then claimed that he really had believed there was imminent danger at the time.

But he’d known when he left Jason that there was a significant risk of the boy going to save his mother alone. He’d begged him not to, but Jason had always been driven more by emotion than logic.

“Please,” Chirp said, in a convincing facsimile of desperation. “Please. I know you don’t trust me, but please. You have to save him.”

The town was growing as both he and the trucks approached. “The Joker sent boxes full of lethal laughing gas to this town instead of medical supplies. If they unpack it, hundreds of people will die. As soon as I warn them, I’ll return for Robin.”

“I’ll warn them,” Chirp said. Too quick, too eager. Suspicious. And even if he wasn’t lying, there was no guarantee he’d succeed.

“You have no way to contact them.” He mentally calculated the distance to the town, the risk Jason was in. Even if the Joker did have him, which the fear gathering in his chest thought was likely, he had time. It wouldn’t be the first time the Joker had managed to grab a Robin. He was sadistic, cruel, but thought this was part of a fun little game he was playing with the Batman. He didn’t want to leave Jason with the Joker for even a second longer than necessary, but it would take him less than five minutes to warn these people and turn around. Five minutes to save hundreds of lives.

“They have phones, radios. I can do it. I will do it. But if you don’t go now, I think he…” Chirp’s voice broke off with a choked sound. “He might not make it. There was a lot of blood. Please.”

Would Chirp go this far? If hundreds of people died and Jason wasn’t in severe condition, it would blow Chirp’s whole game, and he enjoyed acting like he was on their side. Would he really risk that?

But even if Chirp wasn’t lying about Jason, that didn’t mean he would actually save the town. It would be easy for him to claim that he tried but they just didn’t listen to him. Batman was close enough now to see the shapes of people below. It would take almost no time to warn them before turning around.

A few days earlier, he had chosen to pursue the Joker and his bomb instead of look for Jason when he ran away. For the good of the world.

A few minutes earlier, he’d decided to leave Jason in a place he knew Jason would be in danger to pursue the convoy. For the good of a town.

Was he really willing to choose other people over Jason again, when it wasn’t just the possibility of danger, when there was a very real risk to Jason’s life?

He was close enough to see faces, and to see the guns they raised towards the mini-copter as it approached, probably thinking he was attacking the convoy. People weren’t familiar with Batman here. They wouldn’t trust him any more than they would Chirp. If they shot at him. If they slowed him down. If they damaged the copter. Every extra minute that added. Every delay.

If he turned around now, hundreds of people could die.

If he didn’t, his son could die.

He turned around. He was close enough that he could hear the cheers of people who thought they had scared him away. “If you don’t save them, nothing will stop me from hunting you down,” he growled, putting every ounce of Batman’s threat into his voice.

Chirp didn’t show any hint of intimidation, only relief. “I will. I promise. Thank you.”

The line went silent after that. Probably, he hoped, because Chirp was trying to contact the town.

If he made the wrong decision, he’d never forgive himself, but he thought making the other wrong decision would be much more unforgivable.

When the warehouse appeared out of the desert’s low haze in the distance, it looked exactly the same as Batman had left it. He searched the surrounding hills for a small figure. He didn’t locate one immediately, but that didn’t mean much. Jason would know to stay out-of-sight.

When he was a mile away, Chirp came back on the line, talking so fast his words blended together. It was only because of years of experience dealing with the Flash that Batman was able to parse everything he said.

“Okay, I talked to them and I’m pretty sure they’re going to listen. They didn't believe me at first, but I told them about the Joker and one of the American volunteers had heard of him and said they should wait for the authorities, so that’s what they’re doing now. I can’t actually see them because there aren’t any cameras but I’ll monitor their chatter and step in if it sounds like they’re going to do something stupid. Are you there yet?”

There were too many stipulations. Too many places where Chirp was saying he didn’t have control, that he would be able to point to later and say he tried but they just didn’t listen. Combined with the perfectly intact warehouse, it left a pool of dread in his gut. But he’d made his choice. As soon as he got Jason, the two of them would go back to the refugee camp and either make sure that it was okay or help out as best they could.

“I’m landing now,” he said.

“Okay.” Chirp’s voice was small, quiet, and the background was full of typing. He was always typing when he talked to them, usually without any explanation of what he was doing. Sometimes he was on Twitter (a platform that Batman had monitored much more closely since their first encounter with Chirp), and sometimes he hacked a car.

Despite his reservations, Batman landed the mini-copter right next to the warehouse door instead of in the surrounding hills. If Jason was in danger, the minutes it would take to approach the warehouse on foot could make all the difference. If he wasn’t, then he’d see Batman land and join the fight as quickly as he could.

There wasn’t much point in trying to be sneaky after landing a helicopter right outside, so he kicked the door hard enough that it flew off its hinges instead of trying to sneak around.

Despite Chirp’s warning, despite his own worries, he wasn’t prepared for what he saw inside.

Jason’s mother, Sheila Haywood, stood by a wooden pillar, ropes falling down around her like she’d just been untied. Jason was collapsed on the ground behind her, soaked with blood. It drenched his hair, drizzled down over a black eye that consumed half his face, dripped down his arms and legs from too many wounds to count. One arm was clearly broken, twisted in the wrong direction, despite the fact that Jason must have been using it to untie Sheila.

Dim light scattered across broken asphalt and red, red, so much red. It drowned the alley, soaking into his pantlegs, burning its way into his skin, and pouring out of his eyes like tears. He couldn’t move. He didn’t want to move. He wanted to curl up between his parents and die with them so he never had to feel the moment after this one.

“Jason!” a voice screamed in his ear. The voice was young, familiar.

Chirp. Chirp was yelling in his ear.

He was in a warehouse, hearing Chirp through a communicator in his cowl. Jason was collapsed on the ground, covered in blood. He forced himself to move, even though his limbs felt weighed down, steeped in blood that hadn’t been there for years. Jason needed him now, and needed him at his best. Blood stained the edges of his vision, but he ignored it, focusing only on Jason.

In the back of his mind, he could hear Chirp’s scream. He registered the name use and the fact that Chirp must be seeing what he was seeing, remembered the newly installed cameras in their masks, but he let those thoughts slip away. Later it would matter, but right now he had to save his son.

“There’s a bomb!” Sheila yelled, pointing at a red countdown outside Bruce’s tunnel vision. The numbers flipped from 1:11 to 1:10. Probably enough time for him to disarm it, but not a guarantee, not when Jason hadn’t even turned to look at him, when he barely even seemed conscious.

“Run,” he told Sheila. “As far away from the building as you can get.”

He raced forward—every motion feeling too slow, like running through water—and picked up Jason as gently as he could. There was no telling what internal damage he might have, but they didn’t have time for the caution Jason’s injuries deserved.

Jason’s head lolled against his chest, and his son gave him a bloody grin. One of his front teeth was chipped. “Knew you’d come,” he slurred.

Bruce didn’t have time to think about how he almost didn’t. Banished that thought with the ones about Chirp for future castigation.

They were three-hundred yards from the warehouse when it exploded, the heat still scorching his back. If he hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t listened to Chirp, if he’d wasted even one more minute.

He laid Jason gently on the ground, wishing they had a more sterile environment, or even that he’d put his cape down first, but he didn’t want to spend the time it would take to remove it.

“I’m a doctor,” Sheila said, collapsing to Jason’s other side. Bruce wondered if she knew. Jason’s mask was off, but his face was damaged enough to make him unrecognizable to anyone who didn’t know him well. For all that she was his mother, she’d only met him a few hours earlier.

He handed her half of the medical supplies that he’d pulled out of his utility belt. They’d need so much more than this. Jason was staring straight up at the sky, eyes unfocused. One pupil was giant even in the bright desert sun.

“Robin?” he asked. Jason didn’t react, less responsive than he’d been even a minute before. Cerebral edema, his father’s voice said in his head.

“Concussion,” Sheila said, as if he didn’t already know that. He wanted to snap at her, but forced himself to stay silent. This wasn’t her fault. “He was hit in the head at least…” Her voice broke. “At least three times.”

It was amazing Jason had been awake at all. That he’d been able to move far enough to free Sheila. But Jason had always been driven more by emotion than logic, he thought again, proudly this time. It was incredible what Jason was able to do even in a worst-case scenario.

“Chirp,” he said, surprised at how strong his own voice sounded. Sheila gave him a baffled look. He wondered what this must look like from her perspective. The Batman arrived out of nowhere and started making bird sounds.

“Yes?” Chirp asked weakly.

Bruce raised a hand to his ear to make it clear he was talking to someone through the invisible earpiece. Understanding crossed Sheila’s face and she went back to wrapping Jason’s injuries. Her hands were covered in blood. “We need emergency medical transport ASAP.”

“Right,” Chirp said, weakly enough that Bruce almost reconsidered, but then he said again, stronger, “Right.”

For thirty seconds, there were bursts of typing and clicks before the line went completely silent. Bruce hoped he was contacting someone. Hoped he was actually helping.

Wondered if hope was enough.

His hands moved robotically. Set the bone, wrap the broken skin, focus on the injuries he could fix. Not the intracranial pressure that could cause permanent brain damage. Not the potential of life threatening infection if his kidneys or intestines were injured. Not the very real risk of internal bleeding or a pierced lung from the broken ribs. None of that would matter if Jason bled out before they reached a hospital.

“There’s an air ambulance on the way from Harissa,” Chirp said. There were radio sounds in the background, but it crackled and hummed. “Twenty minutes. That’s the closest…” His voice choked. He swallowed, took a breath, continued. “I gave them your coordinates and am keeping the line open in case they need anything else from me. I… I told them it was for Robin…” He trailed off, waiting for Bruce to fill in whether he’d made the right decision.

He heard the cry of, ‘Jason!’ in the back of his head where he was keeping that information stored. Maybe it would have been better to say Jason Wayne was the injured party. There were witnesses to them being here, Jason’s mother as an explanation for why they would have come. There would be hospital records to explain his injuries. If he went in as Robin, all of that would need to be created for another location that they’d never been in. Hospitals, and doctors, and nurses they never saw. And with a head injury, there was every risk that the hospital would need to remove Robin’s mask, risking their identities anyway.

But the idea of changing Jason’s clothes right now, when they could be aggravating any internal injuries he had… Their secret identities were not worth more than his son’s life.

“You did the right thing,” he said.

He could hear the relief in Chirp’s breath as clearly as he’d heard the anguish in his scream. For the first time, he actually believed that Chirp cared about Jason. That, for right now at least, he was only trying to help.

There was nothing else he could do. His hands lingered on the last bandage, impotent. Sheila inspected Jason’s head injury. He was grateful she was there, that she was a doctor with emergency field experience. If there was anything more that could be done while they waited for the helicopter he was starting to hear in the distance, she would know.

He sat back on his haunches, gently holding Jason’s hand. Two of the fingers were broken. He wondered how that had happened. Had Jason held the hand up to protect himself from one of the Joker’s blows? Or fallen on it after being hit?

Bruce had left him there. Left him in danger. Knowing he was in danger. Knowing he wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t even blame Jason for not listening. If it had been his mother…

His mother in a pool of blood, not much different from what he’d found Jason in.

He’d made mistakes. Too many to count. He was still making mistakes.

It was time to start fixing them.

“Chirp,” he said. “Who are you?” He had never asked. He hadn’t expected Chirp to answer, or for the answer to be true. He didn’t expect it now. But he had to start somewhere.

Sheila gave him a confused look again, but only briefly before returning to what she was doing.

Chirp’s breath rattled on the line. “I… um…” When he spoke again, his voice was different, deeper, but not as deep as Bruce had expected. It still had the high pitch of youth. “It’s Tim. Tim Drake? From next door?”

Bruce’s hand froze around Jason’s. Tim Drake. Jason’s friend. The neighbor kid with parents who didn’t pay nearly enough attention to him. Who had saved Robin’s life at the hospital gala. Who had been on a roof next to the museum Chirp had sent Batman and Robin to. Like all mysteries, the evidence was obvious the moment you knew the answer. He’d been too convinced that Chirp wasn’t a child to see the child at the center of all the cases Chirp had inserted himself in.

“Batman?” he asked weakly. He sounded terrified.

“Call Nightwing,” he said, instead of responding. “I assume you know how.” Chirp made a strangled noise that might have been confirmation. “Fill him in. On everything,” he emphasized. “I want to see both of you, when—” He forced himself to say when, to believe when. “—Robin is stabilized.” Real, actual child he remembered with a wince. “Your parents—”

“Won’t notice,” Chirp interrupted. Bruce didn’t like that response. But for now, it was convenient.

He stood as the helicopter came in for a landing, the propellers blowing the flames of the still burning warehouse sideways. “Do it now,” he said. “I’ll contact you if I need anything else.”

“Yes, sir,” Chirp said before the line went dead.

Then the EMTs were running over and Bruce had no room left for anything in his brain but Jason.

Chapter Text

Tim slowly put his computer back in his bag and sat there, hands folded in his lap. He didn’t know what would happen now. All his planning, and plotting, and micromanaging his life down to the smallest decision, and he couldn’t see more than one step ahead. Go to the corner of Doile and 18th Street. Meet up with Dick. And then… see Bruce? Batman? There was a very big difference between seeing Bruce and seeing Batman.

He didn’t know if he’d made the right choice, telling Batman the truth, but at the time it had seemed like the only choice. Even now, he couldn’t imagine Jason covered in blood, potentially dying, Batman asking him who he was, and him… lying? His brain stuttered to a stop at the thought of it.

He’d watched for a few minutes longer than Batman had wanted him to. Just until Jason was in the helicopter, hooked up to various wires and tubes. He didn’t know what it all did. Blood transfusion, something to release the pressure on his brain. Tim wished he was staying in the library researching it all instead of… of… of going to see Batman?

He covered his face and took a deep, shuddering breath. He felt like his hands were covered in blood, like he was smearing it onto his face, even though he hadn’t been anywhere near the actual scene. Watching through Batman’s mask felt like he was the one desperately trying to save Robin’s life, despite not actually doing anything to help.

No, that wasn’t true. He’d told Batman, convinced him to turn around in time. He’d called the hospital, gotten them to send the ambulance. He’d done everything he could.

Half an hour earlier, he’d been hoping it was an emergency. Hoping for it. What was wrong with him?

He breathed in through his nose until he felt like his lungs couldn’t expand any further, and out, slowly, through his mouth. He needed to calm down before he went out into the hallway. He could hear people out there. People coming into the library too. Was it lunch already? He was lucky the library had been so empty until now. The librarian had come over when he screamed Jason’s name and he’d somehow managed to tell her he was working on a school project about the Argonauts, that they were putting on a play for class. He’d even managed to smile and apologize. And magically, miraculously, she’d believed him. She’d just asked that he keep it down in case there were other students. She had even complimented him on his acting.

He saw Jason again in the darkness behind his eyelids, covered in blood, collapsed in a heap on the ground. In that second, he’d thought Jason was already dead.

His breath was getting faster instead of slower. He swallowed air helplessly, like he was drowning, like he was in the deepest depths of the ocean, the weight of all that water pushing down on him, making it harder to fill his lungs even if there had been oxygen instead of water.

He forced his eyes to open, to look at the books across from him instead of the image inside his brain. Thoreau’s Mock-Heroics and the American Natural History Writers, European Revolutions and the American Literary Renaissance, The Literary History of the American Revolution, Women and Authorship. His breath slowed as he read the titles, until he felt like he’d finished a short jog instead of an Olympic triathlon. Maybe he didn’t know what was going to happen, but he could take one step at a time.

Step 1, stand up. He stood on shaky legs and had to try three times to lift his bookbag over his shoulder. When had he filled it with rocks? When had he lost all his strength? He felt like he’d been sitting there long enough for his muscles to atrophy.

Step 2, leave the library. He’d taken two unsteady steps out of the annex when an uncertain voice asked, “Tim?” so quietly he almost didn’t recognize it as Steph’s. He hadn’t seen her enter the aisle even though his eyes were looking right at her. She must have come looking for him. Her fingers tightened around her purple phone case until her skin turned white. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

He opened his mouth to tell her, the memory of blood more clear in his vision than her standing right in front of him. He could already feel the relief of saying it out loud, of sharing the weight of fear and sorrow and...

His mouth snapped shut. He couldn’t tell her. If Jason survived, if Jason came back with his array of injuries, and he’d told her what happened to Robin… it would be too obvious. She was too smart. She’d figure it out immediately.

And if he didn’t survive… if he didn’t survive and he’d told her what happened to Robin, and she figured it out, he’d be betraying Jason’s memory, betraying Bruce and Dick in the worst of their grief.

He didn’t have someone who knew, he realized. Not really. Because it was never his secret. He was just a… a… a stalker with delusions of grandeur that he’d convinced her were true. This wasn’t about him. It never had been.

He forced his face to relax. For his mouth to form a casual smile. “Sorry,” he said, going for a self-deprecating laugh. “Hard mission. But no, everything’s fine.”

Her face crumpled in confusion. He tried to remember every trick his mom had taught him to look disarming, every practiced lie from years of following the Bats. Weight on one foot, just a bit of a slouch, not enough to look like a bum, hands relaxed at his sides.

“Sorry, just a little tired.” He lowered his voice so she knew what he said was just for her. “The Joker, you know?”

She still looked more confused than convinced. “The Joker? Did he hurt anyone?”

“It was a close one, but no. Everyone’s okay.” He inched around her. He needed to get out of here. He could already feel what little façade he’d been able to build cracking under the weight of blood and Batman’s expectations. “There’s a little bit more I need to do to wrap this up, so I’m sneaking out for the rest of the day.”

“Tim,” she said as he reached the mouth of the aisle. He didn’t wait for her to say more.

“Thanks for covering for me!” He could see her expression in the split second before he left, confused and hurt. His breath caught, but this was what needed to happen. It was the right choice. Not just correct. Right.

But it still felt awful.

He got out as quickly as he could. Looked away from the checkout desk as he walked by so he didn’t have to meet the librarian’s eyes. Dodged around students in the hallway like they were just obstacles in his way, not people who could see him. Who had to be wondering. He tried to smile as he walked, or at least look coolly distant, like he had other things on his mind, but it was all so much work to maintain. He couldn’t even imagine coming up with a plan of escape other than walking straight out the front door. He was a few years too young to eat lunch off campus, but if he looked confident enough maybe no one would question it.

His feet moved without his mind directing them when he got outside. Step 3, go to the corner of Doile and 18th Street. He remembered Nightwing’s voice when Tim told him what had happened. Doubt, anger, fear. He wasn’t sure Nightwing even believed him yet. He hadn’t wanted to send the footage of Jason crumpled in a pool of blood, even if it would have been the easiest way to convince him. Dick shouldn’t ever have to see that. Instead he sent a still image of just Jason’s face from later, after they’d gotten him as clean and bandaged as they could on a desert rock. It was still bloody and bruised, but didn’t look much worse than a bad night on patrol. That image contained hope that Tim’s heart, soaked in memories of blood, couldn’t grasp.

Doile Street, it turned out, wasn’t so much a street as a murder alley. Tim peeked into the narrow crevice between two buildings, wondering if Nightwing was really this mad at him. It was barely wide enough for two dumpsters and a phone booth that looked like it had been out-of-order since before phone booths went obsolete.

Tim scanned the empty alley, pausing on a pile of boxes that looked like they might be someone’s house, then looked up. Nightwing sat crouched on a fire escape just above his line of sight.

“Most people don’t think to do that,” Nightwing said, tone neutral. Tim could feel him looking down at him, literally and figuratively. What must he think of the stupid little boy who’d thought he could be a hero? If he had been better, this never would have happened. If he hadn’t done anything at all, this probably wouldn’t have happened. He was the reason Bruce and Jason were fighting. He’d messed everything up.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Tim mumbled, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear.

“Apparently,” Nightwing said. He jumped down, landing just a foot in front of Tim and giving him a long once-over. Tim didn’t know what he was looking for. He knew there wasn’t much to see. He gave a small shrug, as if to say, yep, it’s really just me.

Nightwing held his arms open. It took Tim a full ten seconds to understand, and then he fell forward—despite his mom’s lectures on etiquette, despite his own discomfort at being touched—and clung to Nightwing. His breath hitched and he felt tears threatening to fall. He couldn’t let himself cry. If he started now, he wasn’t going to stop, and they were supposed to go see Batman, and what right did he have to cry anyway?

“You should have told us,” Nightwing murmured, rubbing his back in small circles.

“When you were telling me to never contact you again or when you were investigating me as a criminal?” Tim asked against his chest.

Nightwing choked on a laugh. “Point taken,” he said, squeezing Tim tighter, his posture tenser than it had been when Tim arrived. He must have been hoping that Chirp was lying, that this was a trap of some kind, because if Tim was really here, was really Chirp, then that meant everything he’d said about Jason was true too. Nightwing had probably been hoping that Chirp really was a villain.

Nightwing pulled away with a deep breath and gave him a fake smile much better than anything Tim had been able to manage. “Okay. I made you a designation. It’s just a probationary thing right now, limited access.” He opened the door to the out-of-order phone booth, and it took Tim several seconds to understand. Jason had mentioned teleporters—zeta-tubes, he’d called them—but the Bats rarely used them from what Tim had seen. Alien technology, Jason had said. B doesn’t trust anything he can’t build himself.

“Do we need to set up a cover story for you?” Nightwing asked. “Call your parents?”

Tim shook his head numbly. “They’re out of town. They won’t notice if I’m gone a few days, and Steph knows to cover for me if she needs to.”

Nightwing jerked in surprise in the middle of pulling something out of his utility belt. “Steph knows?” he asked.

Tim wondered how Nightwing knew that before his own words caught up to him. “About me, not you,” he clarified.

Nightwing laughed, short and incredulous. “Jason’s gonna be furious.”

“I hope so,” Tim whispered. He hoped Jason had a chance to be. Blood was staining the edges of his vision, no matter what he looked at.

Nightwing stilled, hands taut around what looked like a scrap of stiff fabric. “He’s going to be okay,” he said, with a confidence that Tim couldn’t muster.

“I didn’t send you the bad pictures,” he whispered, voice so small he could barely hear it in his own head. He hated saying it, didn’t want to shatter Nightwing’s faith, but he couldn’t let him walk into this thinking it was just an everyday injury, another night on patrol.

He waited for Nightwing’s expression to fall, for his voice to break, but if anything, he just became more stalwart. He stood straight, looked Tim in the eye, and said, “He’s going to be okay,” emphasizing every syllable.

This time, Tim almost believed him.

“Here, put this on,” Nightwing said, handing him the strip of fabric. “And give me your jacket.”

Tim took off his jacket and traded it to him for the fabric. Nightwing turned around and tossed it in the dumpster. Tim stared at him dumbly.

“We’ll buy you a new one,” Nightwing said. “It has your school crest on it. You can’t go in wearing that.”

Tim didn’t understand at first. Then he looked down at the fabric in his hands. It was a domino mask, like what Nightwing and Robin wore.

Jason was in the hospital as Robin. Checked in as Robin, treated as Robin. Tim Drake couldn’t visit Robin in an Ethiopian hospital.

But Chirp could.

He’d always wanted to be a hero. He’d wanted it so badly when he was ten years old, talking to Robin on the radio for the first time. He’d been certain he already was one. Dick had tried to get him to turn away, had tried to tell him how badly things could go, but he’d refused, because he was a hero.

He’d thought, naively, that if something went wrong it would be something that happened to him, not something that happened because of him.

He could turn around now. Dick, more than anyone, would understand. He could go back to his class, pretend he didn’t know any more than his classmates did, actually not know much more than them. He wouldn’t know if Jason was dying, if he was getting better, not until the media reported on Jason Wayne’s condition.

He felt his breath stopping, his heart stuttering, at the idea. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t just sit around not knowing. Not just about Jason, right now, in this situation, but every night when they were putting themselves in danger, when anything could be happening. He couldn’t just not know.

“Tim?” Nightwing asked gently.

Tim put the mask on, pressing the edges to seal them to his skin. It felt weird, like swim goggles that didn’t fit quite right.

Nightwing smiled weakly at him like he knew Tim’s thoughts better than he did. He nodded at the phone booth. “You’ll need to say your name and designation so it can register you. Chirp, B20. After this, it’ll remember you.”

Tim took a long deep breath, in ten seconds, out ten seconds. He stepped in, centering himself as the door closed behind him. “Chirp,” he said, his voice sounding like someone else’s, too steady and assured to belong to the mess churning inside him. “B20.”

He’d always wanted to be a hero. Until right this moment, he hadn’t known what that meant.

Chapter Text

“No,” Bruce said, stalking through the manor halls. Tim didn’t think he had a destination in mind; he was just walking away from Tim.

“Kids at my school are starting to wonder,” Tim said, following behind him. He took two steps for every one Bruce did and was still in danger of falling behind. “At my school. The kids at my school are idiots.”

Bruce turned around, stopping so suddenly that Tim almost ran into him. He scrambled backwards a few steps. “I put a lot of money into your school.”

“I mean, they’re book smart, I guess,” Tim said, rolling his eyes. Bruce’s frown deepened. “But I’ve heard them say—and they were serious, this wasn’t a joke—I’ve heard them say that the Joker and Batman are the same person and that Batman just pretends to fight himself so that he can get away with more crime.”

Bruce’s eyebrows crumpled together into an expression so confused it was almost cartoonish. The Tim of three weeks ago would have found it hilarious. The Tim of three weeks ago was a different person. “That makes no sense,” he said slowly, like he was still expecting a flash of understanding to hit him halfway through.

“I know!” Tim said, throwing his arms into the air. “I tried to tell them that, but Nathan—god, I hate Nathan—he said that I was just—” He made air quotes. “—falling for the romantic image of Batman that the media wanted me to believe, and how did I think the inmates kept getting out of Arkham if it wasn’t Batman letting them out?”

Bruce stared at him for several long seconds, probably, much like Tim, dismayed for the future. When he turned to walk away, it was slower than before, easier for Tim to keep up with. “I need to write a check,” he muttered so low Tim almost couldn’t hear him. “Would a media studies class help?”

“The point is,” Tim said, skipping a few steps to walk beside him, “if they’re wondering, then other people have probably made the connection as well. The longer that Jason’s in a coma and there isn’t a Robin, the more people who will figure it out. If even one article says that Robin’s absence and Jason Wayne’s injuries line up, then it will be out there forever. Jason will never be able to escape it.”

“Plenty of articles have suggested potential Batmans and Robins over the years,” Bruce argued, making a sharp turn towards the most used family room. “They’ve even suggested I was Batman. The accusations never stick.”

Dick barely looked up when they stormed into the room, his eyes glued to a muted TV screen, which either said something about the mood of the household right now, or about how common Tim and Bruce arguing had become over the past two weeks.

“Yeah, well that might change when the articles include the little detail that Bruce Wayne’s kid, who is about Robin’s size and age, went into a coma at the same time that Robin disappeared. It’s gonna be even more suspicious when Jason gets better and all of a sudden Robin is back out on the streets.”

All three of them turned to look towards Jason’s room, the same way they always did when one of them suggested the possibility of Jason getting better. There was no guarantee he would. His body was healing, slowly and steadily, but he hadn’t shown any sign of waking up. The last in the long line of specialists Bruce had flown in had said that the longer he didn’t wake up, the less likely it was that he ever would.

Bruce and Dick had told everyone that Jason had been in a terrible skiing accident. It didn’t line up with the bruises, but Lesley did most of his medical care and the specialists were told that he was kidnapped and beaten within an inch of his life, but that they were keeping it quiet “for obvious reasons.” Bruce always included that “for obvious reasons” line. The reasons weren’t obvious, as far as Tim could tell, but the specialists all nodded and agreed about how obvious and important those reasons were.

Tim swallowed, forcing his gaze down to his feet instead. “Even if you don’t care about the media, what about the Joker? Don’t you think he noticed that after he hit Robin a bunch of times with a crowbar, Bruce Wayne’s kid showed up with head injuries?”

“I’ve kept the details of Jason’s injuries quiet,” Bruce said. “As far as the public is concerned, Jason had an unfortunate accident.”

“I know that,” Tim said. He’d repeated that story dozens of times, made sure it was the story everyone at school knew. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t make the connection.”

“I’m not convinced he doesn’t already know who we are anyway,” Dick said with a helpless shrug. He turned off the TV and fully faced them for the first time since they’d entered.

“What? But then why wouldn’t he just…” Tim petered off. Dick slid a finger across his neck in question and Tim nodded.

“He thinks it’s funny?” Dick said, more of a question than an answer. “I don’t know. We’re more fun alive.”

They all looked towards Jason’s room again, silently asking the one member of their party who couldn’t voice an opinion.

“I’m not going to put another child in danger, Tim,” Bruce said, his voice cracking. Tim didn’t know if he’d cried yet, or yelled, or if he was just holding it all inside where it was slowly burning him alive. “I can’t.”

Tim wiped at his eyes. He’d cried too much. It leaked out of him all day, one long sob that hadn’t stopped. This was his fault. He knew it was, even if no one had said it. There were so many ways he could have gotten help there sooner, or stopped it from happening at all if he’d made better choices. If he’d just been better.

“I’m not saying to put me in danger,” he said quietly. “I know I’m not a fighter. But if people just saw Robin occasionally. Once or twice a week. On rooftops, tying up a mugger, talking to the police. Enough to see that Robin’s still out there. Then there’d be no reason for them to think it was Jason.”

“Dick could do that,” Bruce said, swinging an arm towards his oldest son. Dick raised his eyes to him tiredly.

“I don’t know, B,” he said, rubbing his face. “I’m a foot taller than Jason. People might notice. Could be even more suspicious.”

Bruce turned on him, a spark of rage igniting on his face. “You can’t possibly be agreeing with him.”

Dick barely seemed to react to the sudden anger, his eyes half closed and not quite focused on Bruce’s face. He looked exhausted, but they all did. None of them had been sleeping. “Would he really be at risk if he stood on a roof a few times? Nobody’s saying to send him against Scarecrow or Ivy.” He didn’t mention Joker, but a shudder went through the room anyway. “But stop the rumors before they start? It’s not a bad idea.”

Bruce glared down at him. Dick met his gaze unapologetically, raising his chin in defiance.

“No fighting,” Tim reiterated. “Just standing on a couple of rooftops, being seen. It’s not that different from stuff I’ve been doing since I was nine.”

Bruce’s face pinched in the way it always did when Tim brought up pretty much anything from his past. He doesn’t like you anyway, Jason’s voice said in his head. It didn’t matter. Bruce didn’t need to like him. He just needed to agree. Bruce was emotionally compromised, but Tim was right.

“No fighting,” Bruce repeated. “Never more than an hour in the costume. Never more than five feet away from me.”

“Yes, fine,” Tim agreed immediately. “Just enough to kill the rumors.”

Bruce didn’t look happy, but neither was Tim. It was fine. They didn’t have to be happy. They just had to do what was needed to be done.

They perched on top of the Goslin Building. Tim peered over the edge at the crowds milling below. It was early evening, and this was one of the safer areas of Gotham, full of clubs and stores, so there were plenty of people out and about. The Goslin Building wasn’t one of the taller buildings in Gotham at only ten floors, and the streets were brightly lit. It was perfect.

“You’re just swinging to the next building and waiting for me,” Batman said. “Nothing else. Don’t even move until I get there. Are we clear?”

Tim nodded. The shirt collar felt restrictive around his neck. The whole suit felt too tight, suffocating, even though it had been tailored to fit him exactly. Well, fit his body. There were plenty of other ways it didn’t fit.

“Verbal confirmation,” Batman snapped.

“Yes, I understand,” Tim said tersely. He was pretty sure Batman insisted on verbal confirmation because he didn’t trust him. He didn’t remember Batman doing that with Jason or Dick.

“You’re sure you can—”

“I’ve got it,” Tim said. Truth was, he was a little nervous. They’d practiced with the grapple gun in the safety of the cave and a couple of times on isolated buildings with Batman right beside him in case anything went wrong, but this was his first time going completely alone. It was important that they got as many people as they could talking about seeing Robin, which meant they couldn’t also see Batman. Plenty of people liked Robin, sure, but seeing Batman was a lot rarer and a lot more fun to talk about.

Batman was tense, mouth a thin line beneath his mask, but he took a step back. “If you get in any trouble at all, call for help. I don’t care if it disrupts the plan.”

There was no way Tim would ruin the plan unless he was actually dying, but he didn’t need to tell Batman that. “Understood,” he said instead.

Batman disappeared further into the shadows. Tim waited until he’d fully merged with the darkness before jumping off the roof and shooting the grapple.

It was the jumping then shooting that Tim found nerve-wracking. If he could shoot the grapple first, wait for it to snag something, and tug on it a few times to make sure it was secure, he’d be way more confident, but that’s not how it was done. It wasn’t so much a leap of faith as a leap of practiced confidence, and Tim didn’t have the practice or the confidence. All he had was gritty determination to see this through. So he ground his teeth and trusted that the grapple would catch because he wouldn’t allow any other possibility.

He felt the wire tense and held on tight, trying to look like he did this all the time. Below him, he heard yells and hoped they were talking about him. He could imagine people looking up and pointing, but he didn’t check. Robin never looked down.

For a second, the rush of swinging over the city, wearing the Robin costume, wind blowing by as he sped towards the next roof, was amazing. A grin started to spread across his face. Then he remembered Jason, and it abruptly dropped. This wasn’t fun. This wasn’t a dream. He was only here because Jason was hurt. He was here for Jason. Doing a job, nothing more.

He landed on the next roof with a stumble, but he didn’t think it was at an angle anyone could see. He kept moving until he was sure he was completely hidden. He wanted to stand on the edge of the roof in a hero pose, hands on his hips, chin up, making sure as many people as possible saw him, but Robin wouldn’t do that. Robin would be on his way somewhere, preparing to fight crime, not showboating.

He thought of Dick. Okay, maybe a little showboating. A lot of showboating. Was he not showboating enough?

Batman emerged from the darkness like he’d used the shadows to teleport. It was all Tim could do to not jump. He’d been watching Batman for years, but there was something so much more unnatural about him up close.

Batman didn’t so much as nod in approval. Tim wasn’t expecting a ‘good job,’ but it would have been nice.

You’re not here for his approval, Tim reminded himself. Just getting the job done.

“Where to next?” he asked, all business.

Before Batman could answer, the clouds above them brightened. Tim didn’t even need to look up to know what it was. The Bat-Signal.

“You’re going home,” Batman said.

“No, this is good.” Tim clapped his hands together, already thinking through his next few steps. “I can go with you to talk to Commissioner Gordon.”

Batman frowned the way he always did when Tim said something he wasn’t supposed to know, but it’s not like this was a secret. Tim didn’t need to be spying on them to know that when the Bat-Signal was lit, Batman went and talked to the Commissioner on the GCPD Headquarters roof. That was just public knowledge.

He was pretty sure. Yeah, yeah, it was. Definitely. He thought.

It was hard to keep track of what people were supposed to know sometimes. He had known since he was nine, so if it was a secret, it was a really badly kept one.

“The Bat-Signal means danger. You aren’t going.”

“It’s not going to be dangerous on the police headquarters roof,” Tim said. “I’ll go home right after.” Batman’s frown deepened but he didn’t argue, which meant Tim had already won. “And I’m supposed to be talking to police,” Tim said, trying to hammer the last nail in the coffin before Batman could decide he had an argument after all. “That’s on our list. This is a safe, predetermined location with no surprises. It’s perfect.”

Judging from the way Batman’s lips tightened, perfect was probably a bit strong, but he turned without saying anything else and shot a grapple in the direction of the police headquarters.

Tim hadn’t actually thought about how many times they’d need to grapple between here and there until Batman was already swinging away. Maybe he thought that would be enough to discourage Tim from joining him, but Tim just took a breath and followed his path. Batman never turned to look at him the whole trip, but Tim was sure he was hyperaware of his presence.

Batman stopped on a roof across the street from the police headquarters, and didn’t turn to look at Tim when he landed beside him. Tim could already see three figures on the roof. The Commissioner, who he’d met briefly at a few galas. Nothing substantial, just the standard ‘this is my son,’ ‘nice to meet you,’ ‘are you doing well in school,’ ‘keep up the good work.’ An officer stood beside him, looking uncomfortable. Someone who wasn’t used to meeting the Batman. That would be good for them probably. More likely to talk about the experience. Less professional.

There was also a woman off to the side with her hand on the Signal. Her, he recognized. She was always the one who lit the Bat-Signal, but he wasn’t sure why. Was it an official job? Signal lighter?

“Stay in the shadows,” Batman said, before jumping off the roof without further instruction.

Did he mean these shadows or the shadows on the police headquarters roof? He must mean the headquarters roof. It wouldn’t make sense for him to let Tim come all this way just to block him from the roof now. Which meant he definitely needed to get going because he was taking way too long to follow. Robin would have followed immediately, and the more seconds that ticked by, the weirder it would be when he showed up.

He swung over, hoping to high heaven that he managed to land without stumbling this time. It would be hard to pull off the Robin look if he stumbled right in front of the police. He held his breath as he approached the roof…

...landed perfectly...

...and Commissioner Gordon still looked at him with shocked confusion that quickly turned to judgmental anger when his gaze flicked back to Batman.

He knew. He saw Tim and he knew immediately that he wasn’t Robin, when Tim had barely landed, when he hadn’t even done anything yet. He knew who Batman and Robin were. He had to. And thought, what? That Batman had immediately replaced his comatose son with a new model? Tim would be feeling pretty judgmental too.

Tim had always known he couldn't be the only one who had figured it out and just kept quiet. The Bats were so obvious sometimes.

The other two glanced towards him and didn’t have the same reaction, so he needed to put on a show for them at least. Should he smile? Did Robin smile? Dick had smiled, but did Jason? It was like there was a blur over Jason’s face every time he tried to picture it. He’d been watching Jason every night for almost a year, how did he not know whether or not he smiled?

He should smile. He was pretty sure Jason smiled.

He smiled just as the officer with Commissioner Gordon said, “We found the bodies of sixteen members of the Ivory Pythons just off the docks” and oh no, now they thought he was smiling about dead gangsters. He quickly dropped the smile and tried to look serious and upset. Was it psychopathic to try to look upset about dead people? That seemed kind of psychopathic. He was sure it would be legitimately upsetting if he actually thought about it, but he was too busy thinking about how badly he was failing at being Robin.

He forced himself to take a breath. No one was even looking at him. Just stand there and don’t make any facial expressions. They probably couldn’t even see how serious and upset he looked in the shadows.

“That makes over a hundred from five different gangs this week,” Commissioner Gordon said. “Something’s happening. We suspect Black Mask...”

“But you don’t have evidence,” Batman said, his voice lower and more gruff than it had been when talking to Tim.

“Not yet.”

“We’ll investigate.”

Tim felt a tingle at the word “we” even though he knew he wasn’t actually going to be included in the investigation. Commissioner Gordon’s eyes flicked towards him, and yeah, that was definitely judgment. Tim offered him a small smile, but Commissioner Gordon’s attention was already back on Batman.

“Keep us updated,” Commissioner Gordon said, with the tired tone of someone who knew from experience that wouldn’t be happening.

Batman just grunted and turned to jump off the building. Tim waved at the people on the roof—should he have waved? Was that bad?—and then followed.

The Ivory Pythons were a Crime Alley gang. The docks weren’t in their territory. It was weird they’d be found dead there, unless they’d been invited to a deal and then, what, been betrayed? Or unless they were making their own moves on the territory.

The docks weren’t Black Mask’s territory either. That was… Two-Face, right? It belonged to the Falcones before Two-Face murdered half of them. The Intergang had made a move on it a couple months back, but Tim was pretty sure they’d been beaten.

Over a hundred dead gangsters from five different gangs. Something big was going on.

He almost ran straight into Batman’s armored chest on the next roof, but Batman caught his arm. “Sorry,” he said. “I was thinking. If Black Mask—”

“Home,” Batman said.

“No, I know,” Tim said. “But—”

“Home,” he repeated, voice deepening into a growl.

“I just wanted to—”

“Home.” The tone brooked no room for argument.

Tim scowled, anger flaring in his chest. He didn’t know why he’d expected Batman to listen; he never had before. “Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll get a taxi.”

“I’ll call the Batmobile,” Batman said, but Tim was already stalking to the edge of the roof.

“No need,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to waste your precious time. I’m more than capable of finding my own way home. I’ve done it plenty of times before.” He felt like he was rambling. Filling the space with words until he could make his escape.

“Robin,” Batman commanded, voice hard and uncompromising, but it didn’t have control over Tim the way it would have Jason or Dick. He wasn’t Robin. He was never going to be Robin. He was just doing what needed to be done because someone had to do it. Batman didn’t have any control over him.

“I’ll see you later,” he said just as he reached the edge of the roof.

They were... a lot higher than he’d realized. He hadn’t practiced going straight down with the grapple yet. Should he swing to another building and then swing down? Should he just jump down and grapple the building he was on to lower himself? Should he climb down to the fire escape? He couldn’t ask. That would completely ruin his dramatic exit.

He didn’t let himself think about it and just jumped, using the grapple at the last second to swing through a window on a lower floor.

Batman didn’t follow.

Chapter Text

The more Jason’s bruises faded, the weirder he looked lying there in bed, flat on his back with a blanket neatly tucked around his shoulders. Jason didn’t sleep like that. Jason slept like he’d barely won a battle with the covers and needed to strangle them into submission. Jason slept like he’d been wrestling a crocodile. Most of all, Jason slept so lightly from his time on the streets, that Dick had rarely seen him asleep for more than a split second before he jerked awake at the slightest sound Dick made.

People always said coma victims looked like they were sleeping peacefully, but Jason didn’t look asleep. He looked dead, neatly arranged in a coffin for mourners to pay their respects.

Dick took a deep, slow breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth. He didn’t want to think about how close Jason had been to dying. He didn’t want to think how close they still were to losing him. There were more ways than death for someone to be lost.

Fabric rustled behind him, and he looked over his shoulder at the door. Tim stood there in sweats, his coat draped over one arm.

“Sorry,” he said, before Dick could even think of a greeting. If there was one thing Dick had learned about Tim in the time he’d been haunting the manor like a ghost Jason had left behind, it was that Tim apologized a lot. He apologized for what he was doing, what he was thinking about doing, and for doing nothing at all. It was like he was apologizing for existing, for being there when every meal, every costume fitting, every quick burst of schoolwork between plans should have been done by Jason instead. Dick didn’t know if Tim was always like this or if it was his response to the grief and fear that saturated the manor. “I’m on my way out,” he said quickly, words rushing together. “I just wanted to…” His eyes flicked to Jason, and Dick waved him in.

Tim approached silently, on tiptoes, like a new parent trying not to wake a baby. If all it took to wake Jason up was a loud noise, Dick would be stomping around the room playing drums.

But he guessed he did the same thing. They all did. There was something about entering this room that made them all lighten their steps and lower their voices. Anything else just felt wrong.

“How’d it go tonight?” he asked. He already knew the answer was not well. He also knew that’s not what Tim would say. Dick couldn’t blame him. They all needed to be positive right now. Even Bruce, who was the patron saint of pessimism, had to believe there was a good ending they were working towards.

Dick didn’t want to think about what would have happened if Jason had died. Bruce tore his own life apart after the death of his parents. Dick didn’t think he’d survive the death of his son.

“Good,” Tim said with an almost convincingly positive lilt. “Great. A lot of people saw me as Robin, and I spoke with the police. A few more nights like this, and I’m sure everyone will know Robin’s still out there.”

“Hm,” Dick said. Tim was staring down at Jason’s face. Who knew what he was thinking, his first night out wearing a costume that belonged to someone else. “How’d it really go?” Tim’s gaze snapped to him in surprise, and Dick motioned to the clock. “It’s not even ten. I thought you were planning to come back closer to midnight.”

“Oh, that,” Tim said. His grip around his coat tightened as he stared back down at Jason. “Something came up that Batman needed to handle. Alone.”

His tone was still fighting to be positive, but the cracks were big enough they’d need a grapple to get across.

“A rogue?” Dick asked, sitting up straighter. No, Bruce would have contacted him if it was something major, but he couldn’t stop his thoughts from flashing to the Joker. They hadn’t heard from him since Ethiopia. With any luck, he was dead, but they’d never been particularly lucky.

“No, some kind of gang war,” Tim said. “They think the Black Mask is behind it.” He hesitated, then furrowed his brow at Dick. “Does the Black Mask count as a rogue?”

Dick made a so-so motion with his hand. “Eh. More of a mob boss with a skin condition.”

Tim nodded, his gaze falling back to Jason. Dick watched him stand there, still and silent, for a few minutes before asking, “What’s really wrong?” He winced at his own question. “I mean, besides the obvious?”

Tim’s face scrunched and smoothed, scrunched and smoothed again, like a twitch he was trying to get under control. “It’s nothing.”

Dick had never met someone who was so willing to stand up to Bruce, to Batman, and yet so unwilling to make waves. “Tim, talk to me.”

Tim quietly watched Jason’s face. It didn’t move. No eye twitches under the lids, no parting of the lips. The only motion at all was was the blankets rising with his long breaths. “It’s just,” Tim said finally. “I could help, if he’d let me, but he’s always been so…” Tim squeezed his lips shut, trapping the words inside. Dick could see his own arguments with Bruce, the multitude of issues they had, but Tim didn’t have good memories to balance the years of rejection. Honestly, with their track record, it was amazing Tim hadn’t become one of their supervillains like Bruce had thought he was.

“Gotta say I’m with Bruce on this one,” Dick said, as gently as he could. “You’re nowhere near ready to fight the Black Mask.”

“I don’t want to fight him!” Tim exclaimed, spinning away from Jason so quickly his coat slapped the bed. Dick thought he was angry until his voice broke on the last word and he had to take a choked breath before continuing. “I can help as Chirp!”

Oh. That... hadn’t even occurred to Dick. Which was an embarrassing oversight for someone who was supposed to be a leader. Tim was just filling in as Robin, not trying to be him. Chirp had his own list of skills that Dick hadn’t even started trying to unpack. He still wasn’t used to thinking of Chirp as an ally.

“If there’s some kind of gang war, I should be able to see it,” Tim said, pacing back and forth next to Jason’s bed. “I can make algorithms, create a code that recognizes gang symbols, tattoos, track their movements, see where they’re going, what they’re doing, if they’re outside their normal territories. This is exactly the kind of thing Chirp is good at, but nobody ever…”

He stopped, and looked down at Jason again, face twisted in grief. “Jason listened,” he said. “He’s the only one who ever did.”

The guilt that had settled in his gut since learning who Chirp was rose like a flash flood, quickly taking his heart and lungs, almost choking him as it welled in his throat. Tim had been reaching out to them for years, and they’d ignored him. Another victim of Gotham. Dick had let Bruce convince him it was for the best, and then he’d left and never looked back. Even after he’d told Jason he could talk to Chirp, Dick had never tried to contact him.

“I should have listened,” he said, voice drenched in the guilt that saturated his whole body. “I’m so sorry.” Tim looked at him with wide, vulnerable eyes, unshed tears making them bright in the dim room. Dick swallowed. “I’m listening now. Why don’t you show me what you can do?”

The hope and distrust battling in Tim’s eyes felt like a kick in the gut.

The first time Dick had met Jason, he was like a feral puppy, barking and biting at anyone who got close before they could hurt him. Dick had known what to do with that. Keep your distance but offer him treats and love until he feels comfortable enough to come to you himself.

But Tim… Tim had always seemed so put together the few times Dick had met him. Polite, well-spoken. Genteel, like an old-timey nobleman. But the more he got to know Tim, the more he thought about these abused show dogs the Teen Titans had rescued, back in their early days as a team. Those dogs had looked perfect, behaved perfect, by some bullshit definition of how their breed was supposed to look and act. They’d won over a dozen trophies between them. But they’d shied away from affection like they expected it to hurt. One could barely make even the quietest bark because her vocal chords had been cut, and usually she didn’t try.

Tim was so good at putting on a show that no one had noticed he couldn’t bark.

“Let’s go downstairs,” Dick said, forcing a smile. “Best computer in the house.”

Tim stared up at the Batcomputer with reverie. Had he really not been on it yet? Dick ran through his memories of the last few weeks. Apparently not, which was weird because computers were his whole thing. But he also couldn’t remember Tim asking. If it had been him, that’s the first thing he would have done.

Dick put a baby monitor on the desk while Tim started typing commands. It would alert them if Jason so much as grunted in his sleep. He checked it three times to make sure it was on before turning to the Batcomputer.

Tim had already pulled up multiple camera feeds. Dick recognized the docks in Lower Gotham, Crime Alley, and the edge of Chinatown, where the Ghost Dragons and Steel Unicorns constantly clashed.

“This is so much bigger than what I usually have,” Tim said. “I mean, I have two monitors at home, but that can only fit so many feeds before everything gets too small to follow.”

Another camera popped up, and Dick was surprised to see Batman running across a roof, but Tim clearly wasn’t. He barely glanced at Batman before continuing to pull up footage. One hand switched the camera view whenever B was just about to run out of frame to keep him front and center, but Tim barely seemed to give it any thought. Just a quick tap, and there B was from another angle.

“I never realized how closely you could monitor us,” Dick said, leaning his full weight against the desk and watching Batman as he crashed through a window. Immediately the shot changed to a private security camera inside the building. “Is this how you figured out who we are?”

“No,” Tim said, distracted. He was looking at a large map of Gotham that filled one of the screens and a box of code that took up half of another. “I already knew that, before I ever talked to you.”

Dick’s gaze froze on the screen as B punched… was that Vadik Kotov? He’d been a runner for the Odessa Mob last Dick had seen him but that was over two years ago. He had a few more scars and looked much harder than the teenager Dick remembered.

Before Tim had ever talked to them? But that had been...

“What?” he asked. Tim had been ten when he first talked to them. He was ten, right? That hadn’t been a lie? Dick did some quick math in his head, and yeah, definitely ten. That didn’t make any sense.

“I used to follow you guys around. Or at least use Twitter to predict where you’d be so I could beat you there,” Tim said, glancing up at him. He said it so matter-of-fact, like this wasn’t an absolutely insane thing for him to be saying.

“When you were ten?” Dick asked.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “Well, nine. And then ten.”

Dick couldn’t help it. He laughed, his face falling into his hands. He could feel Tim bristling beside him. He must think Dick was laughing at him, but that wasn’t it. Hindsight wasn’t 20/20. Hindsight was a cringe-filled sitcom that you couldn’t watch without dying of second-hand embarrassment at all the stupid things the main character did.

“When you first contacted us, you said you did it on accident,” Dick said, face still in his hands, shoulders shaking. “You were looking for aliens and you accidentally found our radio signal, and I thought, this is just some normal kid. Smart clearly” he corrected, holding up a hand before Tim could argue, “but normal. I thought we’d ruin your life.”

He peeked at Tim with the one eye not still covered by his hand. His expression was fluxing between offense and confusion, clearly unsure where to land. “Tim,” Dick said, lowering his hands and meeting Tim’s eyes. “I don’t think you’ve ever been normal.”

Tim sputtered in clear offense, but Dick just pat his shoulder. “It’s a compliment. You would have fit right in.”

Tim looked at the hand on his shoulder like he couldn’t understand why it was there. His own hand had formed a fist, but slowly loosened and settled back on the keyboard. He looked at where Batman was interrogating Vadik on the screen. His fingers tapped the keys mindlessly, the little clacks echoing in the quiet cave.

“I would have told you anything, if you’d asked,” he whispered, quieter than the steady percussion of his fingers on the keyboard. “I would have told you everything.” Dick could hear, ‘You never gave me a chance,’ as loudly as if it had been yelled.

Dick pulled a chair over and sat beside Tim, staring up at the code he was typing. He recognized some of the syntax from facial recognition algorithms he’d run in the past, but it was more complicated than anything he could write.

“I snuck out when I was nine too,” he said. Tim’s hand stilled on the keyboard. “Before I was Robin. Bruce tried to keep me home, but I refused, and eventually he agreed to train me. He knew I’d be safer with him than on my own. That’s what we should have done for you.”

Tim didn’t look at him. He resumed typing, but slower than before, hitting backspace every other keystroke.

“You know you’re not the one that messed up, right?” Dick asked.

“I messed up so much!” Tim exclaimed, spinning to face him. His eyes were wide and wet. Dick wondered how many tears he’d kept inside trying to force everything to be okay. He was a lot like Bruce that way. “I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“Of course you have,” Dick said. “You were a kid by yourself. Do you know how many mistakes I’ve made? I’ve only survived this long because I had Bruce, and my friends on the Titans, and so many allies. You should have had that too. We should have been there to catch you when you fell.”

Tim was crying for real now, tears streaming down his face. He kept trying to wipe them away, to pretend they weren’t there, but more replaced them. Dick leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him. Tim didn’t hug him back, but he did lean against Dick’s chest and let himself cry.

“You’re okay,” Dick said, squeezing him tighter. “You’re okay. We’re here now.”

They were still in the cave when Batman pulled in at almost five a.m. There was clearly something wrong with Tim’s home life. That had been obvious from the first night Tim had slept in a chair at the hospital by Jason’s bed and nobody had questioned his absence, and only became more obvious the more time Tim spent in the manor instead of his own home.

“What are you doing up?” Batman asked, striding towards them from the car. Too angry sounding, too rough. Tim didn’t wince beside him the way Dick would have expected, the way Jason always did in the early days. Instead his expression hardened and his shoulders stiffened, preparing for a fight.

“Tim’s really good at this computer stuff,” Dick said before the argument could start. “Which we already knew, of course, but I mean really good. He automated a way to track gang movement in Gotham, and has it writing to a database so that we can review it for patterns later.”

“It’s not perfect,” Tim muttered, slouching as some of the fight left him.

“It’s amazing,” Dick said, putting a hand on Tim’s shoulder and staring Batman down, daring him to say anything negative.

B sighed and pulled off his cowl. He looked exhausted. Not angry. Not upset. Just tired. He looked like he hadn’t slept since Jason was hurt. He probably hadn’t, not more than an hour here or there when his body refused to go further.

Bruce dragged a hand down his face. “You have school in two hours.”

“This was more important,” Tim said, hunched shoulders practically touching his ears. Dick could see the mix of anger and need for approval in his posture. Dick knew that feeling. He remembered being so desperate for Bruce to be proud of him, and also how it felt to realize Bruce never would be.

Which wasn’t fair to Bruce. He knew that now, with the wisdom that came at the ripe old age of twenty. Just because Bruce didn’t show emotions like a normal person, didn’t mean he didn’t feel them. But God, it was like pulling teeth to get him to admit it. It felt like Dick’s job now to make sure that the younger kids knew Bruce cared.

“Bruce thinks you did great,” he told Tim, earning a look from both of them. “Why don’t you go get an hour of sleep before you have to go to school. You can use the guest room.”

The manor had half a dozen guest rooms, but Tim knew which one. He’d stayed there more nights than he’d gone home since Jason’s attack. They’d have to talk about that eventually. Someday, when it felt like the right time. When they all had the strength to face a problem that wasn’t Jason, always asleep a few rooms away.

Tim looked like he wanted to fight, but he let his shoulders lower back to their normal position. He looked at Bruce with tense, tight lips, then sighed. Dick was intimately familiar with that sigh too. Anyone who knew Batman had experienced that particular sigh.

They watched Tim start up the stairway, and listened to his footsteps as they trailed off in the tunnel.

“You shouldn’t encourage him,” Bruce said, after enough time had passed for Tim to reach the clock.

“I think that what Tim needs more than anything else right now is a little encouragement,” Dick said. He’d meant to be calm and logical, to make Bruce see reason, but everything Tim had said built to a yell inside him. “He’s not going to go away just because you didn’t tell him he did a good job. He’s been doing this for years without your encouragement. All you’re doing is making him hate you.” He dragged his fingers through his hair and looked up at the code Tim had spent all night perfecting. “And making him hate himself,” he said, quieter.

Bruce didn’t respond. When Dick looked over his shoulder at him, Bruce was staring up at the code. “He’s really good at this, Bruce,” he said. “Better than me. Maybe better than you.”

Bruce grunted. Which was something, at least.

Dick didn’t want to fight Bruce. Not with Jason asleep upstairs, with no idea when he’d wake up. If he’d wake up. But he’d fight for Tim, if he needed to. Tim was worth fighting for.

He hoped they wouldn’t have to fight. He walked over to Bruce and put a hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t your fault, B. It’s not. But if there’s anything I would hope you’d learn from this awful month, it’s that you need to tell these kids how you feel; you need to give them a chance, or they’re gonna jump to their own conclusions.” He raised both hands up in surrender. “That’s it. Lecture over.”

Bruce was still looking at the code as Dick turned to go upstairs. “And get some sleep!” he called over his shoulder. “You’re not doing Jason any favors if you die of exhaustion before he wakes up.”

He trudged up the stairs towards his own bed. It would be enough or it wouldn’t. Time would tell.

Chapter Text

The student counsel office was quieter than the last time Steph had stopped by. She wondered if that was normal, if it always calmed down mid-semester, or if it had just been that kind of year. Everyone felt more somber, but maybe that was her projecting.

Duchess was seated with a group of upperclassmen reviewing what looked like a yearbook layout, but she looked up at the sound of the door opening.

“Stephanie!” She stood without excusing herself and hurried over.

“Steph,” she corrected immediately.

“How are you doing?” Duchess continued, wrapping arms around Steph in a hug that felt practiced. Steph could imagine her counting out an appropriate number of seconds before pulling back. “I thought you might stop by. I put together a packet of counseling resources. The school counselor is, of course, available as well, and I’m happy to schedule you an appointment.”

It took Steph several seconds to understand. Her brain had been moving slower since she’d found out about Jason’s accident. Dick had sent her a text asking her to call him when she could. She appreciated that. Almost everyone else had found out from the news.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. Yeah, Duchess was kind of ridiculous, but she seemed to genuinely care. “But I’m actually here for…” She trailed off, looking around the room for the Count. Oh God, she couldn’t remember his real name. Her brain just played a chorus of the Count over and over again, and then, when she really pushed it to come up with a name that followed ‘Count’, supplied Count Chocula.

“Oh,” Duchess said. “Simon!” she called, and every person in the office froze.

Simon, right, thank God. She was definitely going to remember it this time.

Simon broke away from a group of guys in the back corner of the room and hurried over.

“Steph, hey,” he said gently. She was starting to hate that gentleness. Everyone had it when they talked to her lately. Teachers, fellow students, the Dean when he called her into his office to make sure she was okay, even her mom. She appreciated it, she did. It was better than people acting like nothing had happened, but it also felt so much like defeat. Like… acceptance. And there was nothing to accept because Jason was going to be fine.

“Hey!” she said, smiling as brightly as she could. It felt fake. She was sure it looked fake too. But fake it till you make it, right? That’s what her dad used to say, and then he became a two-bit criminal, so his advice was probably great. “I saw that baseball sign-ups started, so I wanted to make sure that Jason got on the list.”

They both stared at her for several long seconds. She made sure her smile didn’t falter.

“Um,” the Count said finally. Wait, no, not the Count. What was his name again? Her brain supplied Count Chocula against her will. You know what? It was fine. He didn’t need a name. “Isn’t Jason still in a coma?”

“Well, yeah,” Steph said. “Which is why he needs me to sign him up.”

There was another long silence. It dragged in the already quiet room. She had a feeling most of the nannies were surreptitiously listening in on their conversation.

“Tryouts start in two weeks,” the Count said, in that same oh-so-gentle voice. She kept her smile broad, her fists loose despite the urge to hit things that kept surging up inside her.

“See, plenty of time,” she said. “He’s getting a healthy amount of sleep so by the time he does wake up, he’ll be in tip-top shape.”

Another silence. The whole room participated, even the guys in the corner pausing their conversation.

“I’ll sign him up,” the Count said. “And he can always try out later in the season, too. If he doesn’t make it to these ones.”

Steph felt some of the tension bleed out of her body at the implication that Jason would get better. Even if he didn’t make these tryouts, there was always later. There would be a later.

“Thank you,” she said. “Really.”

He gave her one more smile before walking away, deeper into the room.

Duchess offered her a binder that seemed to have come out of nowhere. When did she get that? Where did she get that?

“Here,” she said. “It’s everything I could find. Resources, advice, breathing exercises, it’s…” She took a deep breath and offered Steph a smile just as bright and fake as Steph’s own. “It will help out, at least until he wakes up.”

Tears welled in Steph’s eyes. At least until he wakes up. “Yeah,” she said, taking the binder. “Just until then. Thank you.”

Steph left the office slowly, scanning the first few pages of the binder as she walked. When the Duchess said something was everything she could find, Steph was pretty sure what she meant was it was everything the world had to offer. The binder was five times as thick as a standard three-ring binder, and the index was four pages long.

She’d barely stepped away when the door swung open again. The Count stuck his head out and looked both ways before spotting her.

“Steph, good,” he said. He looked both ways again as he approached, looking every bit the part of a spy about to pass on a furtive message. He held something out, mostly blocked by his hand.

It was a pad. The pad. The holy grail pad of Hall Passes.

“Really?” she asked, gently taking it like the precious gift it was. The pages were mostly gone, but there were still over two dozen passes left.

He dragged his hand through his perfectly coiffed locks, leaving a noticeable part. “When I first stole that, a few years ago, my little sister had just been diagnosed with cancer.” He looked more awkward than she’d ever seen him, gaze averted. “Sometimes you just need an extra few minutes, you know?”

“She got better?” Steph asked.

He smiled, looking more like the carefree guy she was used to. “Fifteen months cancer-free.”

She surged forward and hugged him with one arm, the other holding the binder and pad awkwardly between them.

He carefully hugged her back, avoiding the sharp edges of her bundle. “Take care of yourself, okay? It’s going to work out.”

“I know it will,” she said, with as much strength and determination and magical sparkly confidence power she could put into the world. “I know it.”

He pat her arm as he pulled away. “And most of all, remember,” he said seriously, eyes boring into hers. “If you get caught with that thing, you didn’t get it from me.”

She barked out a surprised laugh. “Got it,” she said, sneaking the pad into the middle of the binder where no one would ever look. Ever. For any reason. “Thanks again.” He smiled at her before disappearing back into the student council room.

She really should learn his name.

She snuck a look at her brand new pad as she walked. She could get so many uses out of this. Well, like two dozen uses before it ran out of passes, but that was still awesome. She just had to wait for the right opportunities.

Right now, though, she needed to drop this off at her locker before her arm fell off. No offense to Duchess, who was great, but she desperately needed to learn how to edit. This was a first draft binder. A third draft binder would be half the size.

She glanced up to see how far she was from her turn and her eyes landed on Tim. He was standing at the side of the hall staring at a locker. A closed locker. She was pretty sure it wasn’t even his locker. One time when she, Jason, and him were going to get milkshakes after school, he’d insisted he didn’t need to drop his books off before leaving because his locker was much too far away for him to go all that way. She was pretty sure he’d been worried they’d leave without him, which they wouldn’t have, but still this locker was way too close to where they’d been for all that concern.

She stopped walking and another student ran into her with a curse, but she ignored him.

She and Tim hadn’t talked. Not since Dick had texted her to call him and he’d told her what had happened, not since the day before when Tim had acted so weirdly about Robin, when he’d pretended everything was okay when it so clearly wasn’t.

She couldn’t help wondering if he’d known then. She didn’t know why he would—Robin’s fight with the Joker would have been miles away from Jason’s accident—but she just couldn’t believe it was a coincidence either. Maybe something had come up on the police radio, or Batman and Robin had known, or maybe he was just spying on Jason the way he did sometimes. She kept seeing his face, the way he’d been barely holding it together with the fakest smile she’d ever seen, trying to tell her it was all okay.

She swore he was avoiding her the next day, but maybe she was wrong. Tim was weird sometimes. All the times. And she hadn’t really felt like talking to him either, so maybe that was just how he was when she didn’t go out of her way to force him to talk to her. But it had been two weeks and they still hadn’t spoken.

She bit the inside of her cheek. If there was one thing she knew about Tim, it was that he wasn’t going to talk to her first. If they were gonna talk about it, it was up to her. Which wasn’t fair. Jason was her best friend, and they’d invited Tim into their friendship because she thought he was neat and he needed friends, and Jason thought he was probably being abused (and she had to admit she kind of thought he was right). He was the new one that they’d been nice to when they didn’t have to be and when he wasn’t always that nice back and if anyone should take the first step it should be him.

But he wouldn’t. It wasn’t even because he was a jerk. He was just bad at this friendship stuff, which wasn’t even necessarily his fault, but maybe she didn’t want to have to be understanding of his shit right now.

He was still just standing there staring at the locker. It had been a few minutes and he hadn’t moved at all, not even to fidget or scratch his nose or anything.

She sighed, a deep breath in and loud whoosh out. Then she put on her best smile and walked over.

“Hey, Timtom!” she said as cheerfully as she could manage.

He startled and looked at her like he wasn’t just surprised to see her, but was surprised to see anyone at all. Like he was surprised to realize he was in a place with other people. He looked around the hall in a daze before his gaze landed back on her.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. Any sleep.”

“Your parents bothering you again?” Steph asked, before realizing the more obvious answer was Jason. Foot meet mouth.

“What? No, I haven’t seen them in weeks,” Tim said.

Weeks?

“I’ve just been helping out more with—” His eyes flicked back and forth across the hallway. “Night stuff.”

“Ohhhh,” Steph said, lowering her voice. “Why? Is something happening?”

“Nothing’s happening,” he said quickly, barely a space between the words, before correcting himself, “Well, actually there’s probably some kind of gang war.”

“Oh, just a gang war,” she said sarcastically. “Nothing much.”

“It’s not really…” He waved a hand dismissively before lowering his voice. “Robin’s injured and—”

“I thought he was back,” Steph said. The news that morning had gone on about it, as if anyone had really believed the fearmongering stories about his probable death.

“He was injured,” Tim corrected. “But now he’s not. He got better. People do that. They get better.” He sounded almost defensive, like he expected an argument that people didn’t get better. After the last few weeks, she felt that.

“Yeah, they do,” she agreed before really registering the rest of his words. Robin was injured. That must have been why Tim was actually upset in the library. But why wouldn’t he just tell her that? Maybe they’re never supposed to mention injuries? That couldn’t be it. He was talking about injuries right now. Maybe they hadn’t been sure if he was going to make it? That rang more true with the expression he’d had as he rushed out.

Her stomach twisted. Robin horribly injured, and then Jason’s accident the next day. No wonder Tim was a mess.

Not even the next day. Dick texted her at like four in the morning. The actual accident would have been the same day.

Nathan’s latest conspiracy theory floated through her mind and she quickly dismissed it. She hadn’t known Nathan very long, but he was the kind of guy you didn’t have to spend much time with to realize he was an idiot. He’d once told her that Poison Ivy didn’t actually exist; she was just the government’s excuse anytime places got overgrown due to lack of maintenance. And then he told her it was obvious and that she was dumb for not figuring it out herself.

Actually, as far as Nathan’s theories went, ‘Jason Wayne is actually Robin’ was one of the more believable ones. Or would be, if she didn’t know better. Jason was tough and smart and kind. He’d be a great Robin. He’d also been rescued by Robin once, so that would make it pretty hard for him to be Robin.

Not that she’d actually seen him get rescued by Robin, but he was kidnapped and then she told Robin and Nightwing and they went to rescue him.

Not that she saw him get kidnapped, but there were bad guys and then he went missing.

There were bad guys and then he went missing. Right before Robin showed up.

It had never occurred to her to even wonder if she was wrong, if she had misinterpreted things, but now she could feel the puzzle pieces in her brain rearranging, clicking together to form a different image.

But no. No, that still didn’t make sense. Because Robin was back, and Jason was still in a coma.

She looked at Tim. He’d zoned out again, looking through her instead of the locker. The shadows under his eyes, which she’d long accepted as part of his appearance, were deeper and blacker, more like bruises than shadows. He gnawed slowly on his bottom lip.

“Tim,” she said. His eyes widened as they snapped back to her, like he was once again surprised to find her there. “What kind of extra help have you been doing?”

He took a few seconds too long to answer, like a computer on delay. “Maps.” he said. “Of the gangs. For the gang war.”

Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe she was also too tired, from restless nights telling herself it was all going to be okay.

The bell rang over their heads and they both looked up. “Class,” Tim said. “Thanks for… I know I’ve been…” He waved his hand loosely around his head. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“You know you can talk to me about anything,” she said.

He nodded distractedly as he turned away. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Tim,” she said, stopping him before he got more than a couple feet. He looked back at her. “You know you can talk to me about anything,” she repeated, emphasizing the anything.

He hesitated, wavering on his feet between staying and going. His expression had a mix of sadness and longing. “I wish I could,” he said. Then he was gone.

She looked down at the binder in her arms. She needed to get it to her locker before class started. She needed to concentrate on class because she needed to earn that Wayne scholarship so she could still be here when Jason got better.

But after that, when school was over and her time was her own, she needed to find out what happened to Robin.

Chapter Text

“Victim,” Batman said before descending on the attempted mugger with a gun. That meant Batman had determined the situation safe enough for Tim to visibly comfort the victim while Batman took out the criminal. Depending on how busy the night was, they might wait around long enough for the police to see them before they ascended to the rooftops.

They were starting to fall into a pattern. Tim wasn’t helping, not really, but he was being noticeable enough to look like he was. The rumors were already dying down at school, and the latest news headlines were about Nightwing abandoning Bludhaven. Dick wouldn’t be able to stay in Gotham much longer without attracting a different type of unwanted attention.

“Seriously?” the mugger asked, voice shrill, as Batman zip-tied him to a lamppost. The fight was over before Tim even landed. He handed the woman her purse back with what he hoped was an apologetic smile. “Seriously? The meeting of the century is going down ten blocks away, and you’re fighting me? Great priorities, dude. Seriously. Good job.”

Batman loomed over the man and he winced reflexively before glaring back.

“What do you mean ‘meeting of the century?’” he asked in a deep rumble.

“Oh, you didn’t hear? Wow.” He drawled out the last word with an exaggerated eye roll.

Tim watched the guy curiously. Either he wasn’t from Gotham or he’d been in the criminal business long enough to lose his fear of Batman. Tim had noticed a general decrease in fear as Batman had become less of a cryptid over the last few years. Most criminals realized Batman wouldn’t kill them, which was a better deal than they got from the Gotham police half the time.

Batman dragged him up the pole by his collar. “Tell me,” he growled.

The man kicked out, his first kick missing and his second bouncing off of Batman’s body armor. “I was already going to! Geez! Put me down!”

Batman lowered him back to the ground and the guy rolled his shoulders with a dark glare.

“Half the gangs in the city are meeting up at the Alehouse. Sending their top Lieutenants. Everyone knows about it.” He laughed derisively. “Well, almost everyone.”

Batman grappled to the roof without another word.

“Oh, uh, that’s my signal,” Tim said to the woman with an uncertain smile. She was frowning at where the mugger was cursing after Batman’s disappearing figure. “You… might want to get somewhere safe. Sooner rather than later.”

He followed Batman.

“Map, “ Batman said before his feet even settled on the roof.

“On it,” he said, pulling up the gang map on his wrist computer. There didn’t seem to be a large number of gang members currently at the Alehouse, but he quickly rewound half an hour and played the movement footage at 10x speed. From that perspective, it quickly became obvious where they were converging.

“Contact Nightwing and go back to the Batcave.”

Tim nodded as he closed the map and brought up Dick’s number. He wouldn’t be Nightwing right now—he was looking after Jason back in the manor—but at the rate people were moving towards the Alehouse, he should be able to get there before the real action started.

“You can monitor the maps from there,” Batman finished.

Tim faltered so much his finger missed the call button. “Really?” he asked.

“Your analysis of gang movements would be helpful.”

The words were stiff, but Tim had to fight down the smile that was trying to worm its way onto his face. “Yes, sir.”

Tim dialed Dick’s number as he ran across rooftops towards the parked Batmobile.

“What happened?” Dick answered, already in Nightwing mode. Tim patched him into the group comm.

“I’m on my way back. We need you out here. A bunch of the gangs are having a big meeting.”

“It’s probably related to the recent deaths,” Batman added, which Tim was going to say, but whatever. It was probably better to let Batman give the full report.

“Wait,” Nightwing said, voice muffled and line crackling. He was probably rushing to the cave or changing into his suit. “Are they meeting to execute each other or a plan?”

“It’s more likely to be the latt—” Batman broke off with a grunt.

Tim stumbled to a stop inches from the edge of a building, almost tumbling right over the side. Okay, take longer to stop than that, he thought as he quickly backed up a few steps.

“Batman?” he asked at the same time that Nightwing said, “B?”

Tim held his breath. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. At thirty, it burst out of him.

“Robin, do you have—”

“Yes!” Tim exclaimed, a little too loud. “Yes, hold on.” He pulled up the map again, this time focusing it on Batman’s position. “He’s five blocks away, on Jameson, halfway between Ash and Kholer.” Tim waited, staring at the signal, waiting for it to do something, but it didn’t so much as wiggle. “Not moving,” he said weakly.

“Okay,” Nightwing said, all business now. “How close are you to the Batmobile?”

“Still a few blocks,” Tim said, looking towards the neon strip club sign they’d parked two alleys over from.

“Stay where you are. Find a place to hide and don’t move. If someone managed to grab B, they might be on the lookout for you too.”

“Okay,” Tim said, already searching the roof for a safe place. He squeezed between a bulky air conditioning unit and some kind of dome that looked like a water tower.

“I can be there in fifteen minutes,” Nightwing said tensely.

Fifteen minutes. That was a lifetime in vigilantism.

The countdown that almost killed Jason played in front his eyes. He hadn’t seen much of it, just flashes when Batman turned that direction and the feed was connected, but there had been less than two minutes on it when Batman had grabbed Jason and ran. Less than two minutes between being in a coma and being a corpse. Fifteen minutes was the difference between a Jason that cursed like a sailor and told jokes and forced him to try disgusting milkshakes and a Jason who was just a name on a gravestone.

Tim pressed his back and knees against the edges of his hiding place. He was safe here. Batman would want him to be safe. He had been very clear that Tim needed to stay out of it if there was any real danger, and this was definitely real danger.

He looked at his map, overlaying Batman’s position with the gang movements. Half a dozen members of Black Mask’s gang surrounded Batman’s position.

Which Batman could easily handle. Six people was nothing for him. He was Batman.

That was just who the cameras immediately recognized though. People clearly showing their gang symbols. People who weren’t, say, hidden in anticipation of an ambush.

Tim could bring up the cameras and get a better idea of the situation. He should. He should hack into the mask cam again and see what Batman was seeing. Then he could relay that information to Nightwing so he’d be prepared when he got there in, oh god he was still fourteen minutes away.

Tim’s mind played the painstakingly slow walk from his locker to the library, a casual stroll that got slower with every remembered step, the time he wasted, the fifteen minutes between what could have been and what was.

Nightwing was still fourteen minutes away, but Tim could be there in three.

Batman would want him to stay here. He wasn’t Robin, not really. He was a liability. A little kid playing dress up.

He looked down at his outfit, at the bright colors and the R proudly emblazoned on his chest. What was the point of this, of any of it, of every decision he had ever made, if he was going to dress up as Robin and do nothing?

This is why he didn’t want you out here, he thought as he crawled out of his hiding spot and ran for the next roof. He knew it would give you ideas. He knew you couldn’t help but stick your nose where it didn’t belong.

But if he wasn’t going to be a hero. If he was just going to stand aside when people needed help, then what was the point of him? Maybe this would kill him one day, but at least he’d die a hero instead of a coward. At least he’d make a difference with what little time he had.

Batman had never believed in him. Batman had never wanted him involved. Batman had tried to shut him out for years.

That had never stopped him before.

He slowed as he got within a block of Batman’s position, carefully checking alleys before jumping to the next building. Someone had gotten the drop on Batman. That meant they were watching. People maybe, but it could be cameras too. He knew better than anyone how much of this city was under constant surveillance.

Half a block away, he climbed down the building and traveled along ledges, balconies, and fire escapes instead. Most people would think that was more noticeable, but in a city where people had grown used to watching for figures jumping across rooftops, eyes slid right over the rest of the buildings. He’d used this method a lot in the old, retro days of following Batman and Robin around on foot, and it had never let him down.

He eyed his wrist computer as he edged around the heavy lip of a skyscraper. Batman wasn’t beside the building; his dot was just slightly inside it. On the roof maybe, or—

His thoughts cut off at the sound of a voice just above and to the right of him. “You are predictable, aren’t you?” A sound that might have been a laugh followed, but it was too raspy, like wind howling through a grate. “I’ve been watching. A few disposable lackeys placed in strategic locations and your whole ‘patrol route’—” Tim could hear the sneer in those words as he inched closer. “—becomes clear. A child could follow it.”

As a child who had followed Batman, Tim found that insulting. Batman didn’t have just one patrol route, and he changed them often.

But they had been following a simpler path the last few weeks, hadn’t they? On nights when Tim went out, they’d stuck to safer, brighter areas. They’d been trying to be more noticeable too.

In retrospect, he could see how that might not have been the best idea.

He slowly stretched his head up to view the floor above him, careful to keep the rest of his body below the lip. The Robin outfit wasn’t made for subtlety.

A large pane window had been completely blown inward, shards of glass littering the conference room inside. A long table had been flipped over and crumpled against a blackened far wall. The surrounding surfaces were charred. A fire? A missile? He imagined Black Mask shooting Batman with a missile mid-swing, launching him through a nearby window. That would have made more sound though, right? And light. Tim was pretty sure he would have noticed that, even blocks away.

Batman knelt in the middle of the room, two of Black Mask’s goons to his sides, and two more behind him, each with a gun to his head. Black Mask himself stood in front of Batman.

Tim ducked back down at his first view of the villain. ‘Skin condition.’ That failed to even slightly cover Black Mask’s whole… thing. He looked like he’d been in a terrible fire that had burned away his face. The skin of his head flaked away as it climbed his neck until there was nothing left but blackened bone.

Tim had seen some terrible injuries while watching Batman and Robin, but if this wasn’t on a walking, talking person, it would be by far the worst. No chance of survival. But here he was, perfectly fine and gloating about how he’d outsmarted Batman.

“I also noticed that something’s off about your little friend,” Black Mask continued, voice slick as an oil spill. Tim stiffened, fingers digging into the brick. “It’s not hard to see when you’re looking for it. You see, I heard the funniest rumor.” His emphasis on ‘funniest’ immediately brought Joker’s face to mind. Shit. Shit. Just because they hadn’t heard from the clown since he’d attacked Jason didn’t mean nobody else had. “The Joker seems to think he killed Robin. So tell me, Batman—” Tim squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the shoe to drop. “—just how many injuries is your little bird hiding under that uniform?” Tim’s eyes opened in confusion. What? “I figure it has to be at least a few broken ribs. Maybe even nursing a concussion. You have to parade him out to make sure people think the status quo still stands, but you haven’t let him fight for weeks.”

He thought Tim was the real Robin. He just thought Robin was too injured to fight. That was… that was good, actually. That was great, especially if he told other people his theory. An injured but moving Robin was still a Robin that wasn’t in a coma. Jason would be safe. And it explained away any oddities in his behavior that people might question otherwise. They could work with this.

Tim’s fingers scraped across the brick as one hand lost its grip on the molding. There was ledge above the window, barely wide enough for a cat, but it would give him a better vantage point. He climbed slowly, fingers jabbing into holes in the rotting veneer, and lifted himself gingerly onto the thin ledge.

He balanced carefully, leaning just enough to see Black Mask’s legs and chest. If you can’t see their eyes, they can’t see yours, he reminded himself. Right now, his head was protruding the most. If they couldn’t see that, they shouldn’t be able to see any of him.

“Have you figured out what’s happening yet?” Black Mask’s body language was smug, boastful. Tim leaned a little further, just enough to see Batman’s legs, stiff and unmoving on the singed carpet. “The top lieutenants of every Gotham gang are meeting up right now to decide what to do about me.” He wheezed out another raspy laugh that lacked all humanity. “At a place that my plants suggested and my plants agreed to. And in a few minutes it will all go up in flames.” He strode forward until his feet were inches from Batman’s knees. Tim could only see to the curve of his back, but he thought Black Mask was leaning forward to put his face in Batman’s. “I thought about letting you go spy on their futile little meeting. With any luck you would have been caught in the blast with them. Kill two birds with one stone.” He turned and walked back towards the front corner of the room, picking up something outside of Tim’s view. “But you’re like a cockroach. You’d find some way to survive, and I couldn’t risk you rescuing any of those other rats.”

The thing Black Mask had grabbed became visible as he turned and lifted it in a slow arc. He was close enough to the window that Tim could have stretched down and touched the long butt of the bazooka balanced on his shoulder. “Survive this.”

The tone shifted so quickly Tim felt the backlash like a physical slap. A second ago, this was a conversation. A second ago, he was listening and waiting until Nightwing arrived. A second ago, everything was fine, and now Black Mask was aiming a rocket launcher point blank at Batman’s face while his finger tightened on the trigger.

He didn’t even think about it. There was no debate, no second reminder that Batman had told him to stay out of it, no wondering what the right choice was. He just dropped, arms clamping around the back of the bazooka and pulling it with him as he fell.

Chapter Text

Tim’s ears were ringing. There had been a loud noise right by his head, followed quickly by an even louder noise further away, and now he couldn’t hear anything but a constant high-pitched drone. He saw mouths moving, but couldn’t focus on them. They were shaking, moving back and forth rapidly. No, he was moving back and forth rapidly, clinging to the rocket launcher’s back cone as it violently swung through the air. His boots scraped against the jagged glass of the broken window as they flung outward, over mostly empty space above a fifty-floor drop.

He clung tighter as his hands slipped down the rough metal. Black Mask was yelling something. Tim could barely hear the roar of his voice beneath the ringing, but he had no idea what he was saying.

Well, not no idea. He had a pretty good guess.

The ceiling burned above them, but it was a slow burn, eating it from the floor above instead of engulfing it. The rocket hadn’t exploded immediately. It had gone up at least one floor first, maybe more.

Black Mask swung the bazooka again and Tim let his body swing with it, far out of the window until he was almost parallel with the ground. Then he swung forward with all his weight, back through the window and slamming into Black Mask. They both tumbled to the ground, Tim rolling in a somersault like Nightwing had taught him. His head kept spinning like he was doing flip after flip even after his body stopped in a light crouch.

Tim felt more than he saw the bazooka rushing towards him and flung himself to the side just before it swung through the air where his head had been. He was not trained for this. He was definitely not trained for this.

But it was happening whether he was trained or not. He wasn’t a damsel in distress. He wasn’t a civilian for Batman and Robin to save. He was Chirp.

He dove towards the Black Mask instead of away on the next swing, pulling a birdarang out of his utility belt. He didn’t have many, and he’d barely been trained on how to use them, but you didn’t need training to stab someone in the leg with a sharp object.

Black Mask’s shrill shriek finally burst above the ringing and sound flooded back in. Tim could hear fighting behind him, but he didn’t turn to look. The bazooka clattered to the ground beside him and he grabbed it. He braced himself for the weight, but it was lighter than he expected. Lighter than his bookbag, and he carried that around all day.

Black Mask yanked the birdarang out of his thigh and stabbed it wildly at Tim, gripping it tightly enough that Tim could see blood leaking out of his fist. Tim could hear him now, but he was mostly yelling a stream of expletives around threats of death and mangling. Tim took a step back towards the window, swinging the bazooka in defense. He couldn’t believe when it actually made contact, sending the birdarang flying towards the side of the room.

Black Mask cradled his hand. His voice was furious as he yelled, but his expression was stuck in a wide, emotionless grin. “When I’m done with you, you little fucker, you’ll wish the Joker had killed you!”

It kicked Tim in the gut, his mind flashing to Jason, quiet and still in his bed back at the manor, maybe always going to be quiet and still. He clenched his hands around the bazooka, holding it like a baseball bat. “I think you’re the one who’s going to wish I died,” he said, bracing himself for the coming attack. A piece of flaming plaster crashed to the ground inches away, but he held his ground, boring his eyes into Black Mask’s too wide eye sockets. In that moment, Black Mask looked like the visage of death itself, and Tim was more than willing to fight it.

A hand closed around Black Mask’s throat before Tim’s mind could even recognize that the shadow growing behind him was Batman, not a weird trick of the flickering light. Black Mask’s body flew past him into the open air outside the window, and for a terrifying moment Tim thought Batman had actually thrown a man to his death before he registered the thick wire pulling taut beside him. Tim risked a glance out the window. Black Mask was hanging by his ankle almost ten floors beneath them, alongside his four men.

“What were you thinking?” Batman yelled with enough anger that Tim took a step back, his boots crunching in the glass shards that still lined the window.

“That you were going to die?” he yelled back, matching Batman’s tone before he could even feel his own bubbling emotions. It wasn’t true. He hadn’t thought anything at all, but if he had paused long enough to think, that’s what it would have been. And now, as grief and rage and fear crashed together, he didn’t think he was wrong. Batman wasn’t invincible any more than Robin was.

“I had it handled,” Batman said.

“No, you didn’t!” Tim yelled, another piece of burning plaster crashing to the floor in emphases. “Don’t lie to me!”

A black and blue figure swung through the window to land lightly beside them, but Batman didn’t spare it even the slightest glance.

“You shouldn’t have been here regardless!” he shouted. “It was needlessly reckless.”

“Uh, guys?” Nightwing asked, looking between them in confusion, then around the burning room.

“Needlessly?” Tim asked. “You were literally about to be shot with a rocket launcher! How much more need could there be?”

“Uh,” Nightwing said again.

“So you threw yourself off a building at the rocket launcher?” Batman asked. “You could have died!”

Nightwing shot Tim a quick, unreadable look, then turned to Batman. “B, maybe—”

“Of course you’d react like this!” Tim yelled, tears trying to escape the mask sealed over his face. “I’m never going to be good enough for you! I could save the entire city from a nuclear strike, and you’d still be mad at me!”

“Robin,” Nightwing tried instead, turning towards him.

“I’m not mad!” Batman roared. “I’m terrified!”

Tim choked out an incredulous laugh at the absurdity of it, but no one else was laughing. Nightwing’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “...what?” Tim asked.

“I can’t lose… I can’t risk… I can’t.” The sight of Batman stuttering, failing at his words, almost took away Tim’s own ability to speak.

“You don’t even like me,” he said weakly. “You’ve never liked me.”

Two pairs of white lenses focused on him. Around them, the walls burned as the fire consumed its way downwards. He could hear the distant wail of sirens approaching.

Batman’s shoulders slowly slumped, the anger draining out of them. “What makes you think that?” he asked. All emotion was gone, leaving a void behind. Words as sanitized as letters carved in stone.

A high-pitched laugh escaped Tim. He sounded delirious to his own ears. “You mean besides every interaction we’ve ever had? You’ve never wanted me around; you’ve always tried to get rid of me. Even Jason said so.”

Any fight still in Batman’s posture left at Jason’s name. He looked smaller, more human. “When did Jay say that?”

“At the airport,” Tim said. “On the way to Israel.”

Batman dragged a hand down his face, and in that moment Tim could see him as clearly as if he’d taken off the cowl. The shadows under his eyes as deep as bruises, the wrinkles and gray hair that had become more pronounced the last few weeks. He wasn’t Batman. He was a father who had almost lost his son, who had just watched another black-haired kid dressed as Robin fighting for his life.

Nightwing lifted a hand so, so slowly and reached for Bruce’s arm cautiously, like he was expecting to be bit. The moment he made contact, Bruce straightened, becoming Batman again.

“We have to go,” he said, talking to Nightwing instead of Tim. “Alehouse is rigged to explode. Black Mask is trying to take out the competition.”

Nightwing stood at alert immediately, giving a sharp nod. “We should move Black Mask and his men down to street level first. I don’t think this building’s structure is sound enough to leave them hanging.” He gave the burning room a pointed glance.

“Quickly,” Batman said.

Nightwing clamped a hand briefly on Tim’s shoulder before jumping out the window. Tim felt a lump in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to demand appreciation for everything he did. He wanted to disappear and start a new life so he never had to look either of them in the face again.

Even through the white lenses, Tim could tell Batman wasn’t meeting his eyes as he strode to follow Nightwing. He stopped beside Tim, looking outward while Tim looked in. “We’ll talk later,” he said. “Go home.”

This time, Tim didn’t argue.

He also didn’t go home.

To be fair, he wasn’t sure Batman had meant his home home or just the cave. He wasn’t entirely sure Bruce remembered Tim didn’t live here half the time. He’d spent more time here than his own home the last few weeks.

He also wasn’t entirely sure Bruce remembered he didn’t live down here, in this cave instead of the manor above with its luxuries and worldly comforts. Tim had gone days without ever seeing Bruce leave the cave except to check on Jason and then immediately get back to work with even more fervor than he’d had before.

Tim sipped on the hot chocolate Alfred had given him while he watched Batman and Nightwing’s dots on the Batcomputer. Alfred had suggested Tim get some sleep, but he’d done so with the weary acceptance of someone who didn’t expect anyone to listen to him about reasonable bedtimes.

Batman and Nightwing had gotten everyone out of Alehouse and even managed to disable the bombs before the timer ran out. Tim had just watched quietly. He would have said something if he’d really thought they needed him, but for right now, at least, he didn’t feel like butting in where he wasn’t wanted.

He watched their dots speeding back to the cave. They’d turned off their comms for the drive back. He could have still listened, if he’d really wanted to—he could activate the sound on their comms even when they were off, he could listen through Dick’s phone, he could even listen through the Batmobile itself—but they deserved to be able to talk about him in private.

He had no illusions that they were talking about anything else.

He turned in the oversized chair when they arrived, only now worrying that he’d done the wrong thing. Maybe they didn’t want to see him right now. Maybe he should have just gone home and waited for their next call.

But neither of them looked surprised to see him. Nightwing gave him a small smile and clasped Batman on the shoulder.

“I’m going to go check on Jason,” he said, heading for the stairs. It was about as obvious of an ‘I’m going to leave you guys to talk’ as it could be without him actually saying the words.

Batman pulled off the cowl as he approached. He looked older than Tim remembered, from even just a few hours earlier.

Tim shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m not sorry,” he blurted.

Bruce huffed a tired laugh. “Of course, you aren’t.”

“I’m not going to just stand by and do nothing when someone could die,” Tim said, words tumbling over each other. “I don’t want to be that person. And you can say that you had it under control, and maybe you would have pulled off some amazing move ‘cause you’re Batman, but that’s not what it looked like from my perspective, and do you really expect me to just sit there and watch when I can do something? What if—”

“Tim,” Bruce said, a single, quiet word, barely above a breath, but it was enough for Tim’s mouth to snap shut. “I understand.”

“You do?” Tim asked, wringing his hands in his lap.

Bruce looked down at the cowl in his hands, then pointedly back at Tim. Oh. Of course, he did.

Bruce sat on a medical cot that had been set up in the cave for as long as Tim had had access to it. He didn’t know if it was a regular fixture or if it was just because Bruce had taken to napping in the cave instead of actually sleeping these past few weeks.

“I don’t dislike you, Tim,” he said. “I’ve never disliked you.”

Tim made a small, doubtful noise.

“I didn’t trust you,” Bruce specified. “I thought you were a risk to me and my family, especially when I found out you were talking to Jason behind my back.” Bruce rubbed the corners of his eyes tiredly. “Finding out a suspicious stranger was encouraging my fourteen-year-old to keep secrets from me and do things I didn’t know about? I thought you were manipulating him, trying to get to me, or trying to get to him.” It was clear from Bruce’s emphasis which one he thought was worse.

Tim had seen enough afterschool specials to know the kinds of things Bruce was worried about.

“If you had just talked to me,” Tim said weakly. “I idolized you. I would have told you anything.”

“You wouldn’t even tell us your name.”

“I was a ten-year-old talking to Batman and Robin! I thought I was a superhero. Superheroes have code names. I thought I was smart and clever and—”

“You are smart and clever,” Batman interrupted.

“Not enough!” Tim exclaimed. “Never enough.”

“Tim,” Bruce said, voice as serious as when he was debriefing the Police Commissioner on a case. “I failed you. I’ve failed you for years. I’m still failing you.”

Tim breathed heavily, not fully comprehending the words.

“I made an incorrect assumption and never re-examined it. I knew that someone was impersonating other criminals, and you were right there from the beginning. It just seemed… obvious. I should have known better than to leave it at that.”

The phrase ‘from the beginning’ stuck in his brain, confirming the suspicion he’d had since reading his file. “You knew. You knew it wasn’t Two-Face, that it was a copycat, right from the beginning.”

“I suspected,” Bruce said, gaze distant. “I’ve know Harvey for a long time. There was something off about the whole night. When I later confirmed it wasn’t him, I thought it also confirmed my suspicions about you.”

“You didn’t tell Dick,” he said. Not a question. Dick wouldn’t have told Jason it was okay to work with him if he had known. He wouldn’t have hid Chirp and Robin’s relationship from Bruce.

“We were fighting a lot, at the time. I didn’t want to cause another argument. He was happy enough to cut ties with you thinking you were a ten-year-old kid he was protecting.”

“But I was a ten-year-old kid,” Tim said.

Bruce smiled, a small, self-depreciating thing. “I guess I should have listened to Dick. Things would have been a lot better.”

“Maybe,” Tim said. He’d spent a lot of time wondering what could have been if he’d just told them his name from the beginning, but even his fantasies rarely turned out well. “Or maybe you would have come to my house and made me stop. Or maybe I would have insisted on becoming Robin after Dick left and you never would have found Jason.” Which was the worst possible outcome, Tim thought. Jason deserved so much more than he would have found in Crime Alley. “We can’t change the past, and even if we could, it probably still wouldn’t turn out like we wanted.”

“What about the future?” Bruce asked.

Tim raised his face to look at Bruce. It sounded like an offer. A promise.

A peace treaty.

“We can try,” he said.

Bruce took a long, deep breath. “I’m going to train you, if you want,” he said, meeting Tim’s eyes. “Not to be Robin. To be safe. I’d rather you didn’t fight at all, but…” He looked towards the stairs—to where Dick had left, to where Jason still slept—then down at his own cowl. “Some people are always going to put themselves in danger. I want you to know how to protect yourself when those situations arise.”

“Thank you.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. It wasn’t the training, even if the idea of being trained by Batman himself was amazing. And Nightwing too. He was sure Nightwing would help

It was the show of faith. It was the step forward. It was the feeling that maybe he could belong here, with these people, not just be an interloper forcing his way in.

Bruce offered him a hand and he took it. There was no telling where any of this would lead, but at least these first few steps they were taking together.

Chapter Text

Jason opened his eyes. He wasn’t in pain. He thought he should be in pain, but he didn’t know why. His mind was strangely still, like the eye of a hurricane. He could feel that there was something raging just outside his thoughts, but all he saw of the storm was the occasional image whipping through and vanishing again. The Joker with a crowbar. Forehand or backhand. A countdown. Pain. So much pain that he didn’t feel.

He turned his head, a simple movement that left him exhausted. God, he was so tired. Maybe he should just go back to sleep. Things would make more sense when he woke up again.

There was an IV and a heart monitor, slowly sounding out sixty-seven beats per minute. He didn’t know how long he watched it, eyes bouncing with the line. His mind reached for a thought it couldn’t grasp. He was injured, right? He didn’t feel injured, but the IV, the heart monitor, the crowbar.

He turned his head further, to the chair beside his bed. No one was there. Someone was always there when he was injured. Bruce, usually, reading a book out loud, or asleep sitting up with just his slumped shoulders and closed eyes showing he wasn’t fully alert. Sometimes Alfred, who would tell him with a wink that he’d barely managed to convince Bruce to go sleep in his bed. “He doesn’t want to admit he’s getting too old to sleep in chairs,” he’d say. Once Dick, who had let his cat sleep on his broken ribs and insisted that the purring was helping them heal.

But there was no one. A roar in his brain, loud and deafening, abruptly stilled, so suddenly it left him trying to catch his breath. The storm was closing in around him, making the stillness feel suffocating and claustrophobic. He felt like he was being crushed, the heavy weight of cement and metal pressing down on him. For a second, he was certain he was covered in rubble that he couldn’t escape, but then it was gone.

Gone like his family, like the bruises he knew should be covering the bits of spotless skin he could see above the covers gently draped over him.

A thought drifted across his mind, unbidden, unconsidered until just that second when it became his every thought. How long has it been?

He struggled for breath, his mind grasping for any tendril of memory, anything to ground him in why he was here, what happened, where everyone had gone. The heart monitor beside him jumped to 80 bpm, 90 bpm, 100 bpm.

There was a baby monitor next to it, on the nightstand. They hadn’t abandoned him. They just couldn’t keep waiting. It had been long enough that they couldn’t keep waiting.

“Hello,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He sounded like a flattened squeaky toy, barely more than a high-pitched wheeze.

He took a deep breath, trying to get enough air to try again, but then he heard footsteps thundering down the hall. Not abandoned. Not alone.

The door slammed open. He couldn’t tell who was in the doorway, could barely turn his head enough to see the silhouette, but he recognized the voice that choked out, “Jason?”

“Dick,” he replied, barely more than a click of the tongue, but it was enough that Dick rushed forward and draped himself over where Jason lay, careful not to put too much weight on him.

“Little Wing, you’re awake.”

“Not long if you suffocate me,” he tried to say. He didn’t think the words sounded at all like they were supposed to, but Dick seemed to get the meaning. He pulled back and sat in the chair, eyes wet. Jason felt like he could breathe so much better now that someone was sitting there. It felt like the world was falling back into place, like things were making sense again.

“How long?” he croaked. His voice was starting to have some sound to it, like he was clearing out the cobwebs enough for the wind to flow freely.

Dick didn’t answer immediately, and Jason’s chest tightened again with a pressure that felt like a memory. Dick clasped his hands in his lap. “Two months.”

Two months. Jason tried to understand, but the numbers couldn’t quite calculate. “I missed my English test,” he said.

Dick laughed, a wet, rough sound. “You missed midterms. And spring break.”

He was behind in school again. It had taken months to catch up on all the time he’d missed while homeless, and now he was going to have to do it all over again.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. More studying by himself in the manor and tutors who didn’t care about anything but Bruce’s money. He tried to remember his last tutor but just saw his mom, her eyes too glazed to see him while he tugged on her sleeve trying to ask a question about his math homework. His dad had yanked him so hard it hurt and told him to stop being a bother.

Then it was a different mom ignoring his pleas and a different man hurting him, a wicked grin painted red.

It drifted away before he could catch the details, like a gentle breeze instead of the hurricane he could feel just beyond his fingertips.

“Bruce?” he asked. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been thinking about Bruce, but now that was the only thing he could think about. Where was Bruce?

“He’s on patrol. I texted him, but it might be awhile before he sees. I could go down and get on the radio. I’m sure he’d come straight home.” Dick didn’t look like he wanted to move, his hands white around the arms of the chair.

“You’re not?” he asked. If Bruce was on patrol, shouldn’t Dick be too? Bruce shouldn’t be by himself.

“We didn’t want to leave you alone in the house, just in case, and thank God.” He laughed breathily. “It’s Alfred’s night off, and we insisted he take it. He’s been doing so much lately.”

“Alone?” Jason asked about Bruce. He loved Alfred, but thoughts of him slipped out of his mind as quickly as Dick finished speaking. Bruce shouldn’t be alone. No one on patrol with him. No one even on the radio, watching his back.

“Tim’s with him,” Dick said. There was something in his tone, something hesitant or… It was gone and Jason didn’t care enough to try to get it back.

Tim. He knew three Tims. It wouldn’t be his friend Tim, scrawny awkward perpetually-kidnapped Tim. Why would Tim ever be with Batman? There was a Tim in Biology with him, but he was pretty sure that Tim was failing three subjects. Tim Sanders? He was on the track team and once stopped Craig from bulling kids a few years younger than him. It still didn’t make sense though. He imagined Tim Sanders on a roof with Batman, wearing his track suit and grinning the wickedly sharp grin he always had when he’d just won a meet. That was ridiculous. Why would he be there?

“Who?” he asked, a few minutes too late, he knew.

Dick started. “Tim? You remember Tim.” Jason shook his head. “Tim Drake?”

Jason scrunched his brow. The image of Tim Sanders was replaced with Tim Drake, still wearing Sanders’s oversized track suit and ill-fitting smile. “No Tim,” he said confidently.

“No Tim?” Dick repeated with an incredulous laugh. “Yes Tim.”

Jason kept shaking his head. He was now seeing Tim in last place in a track meet, the too long legs of Sanders’s track suit tripping him and sending him crashing into a hurdle almost as tall as him.

That isn’t fair, Jason’s brain countered, providing an image of Tim running up a wall at the parking garage. But then Tim reached for a railing to lift himself over the edge and the too long track suit sleeves flapped over his hands, preventing him from getting a good grip and sending him careening back towards the ground. Tim should really wear his own clothes.

“Ha, well, uh. I’ll let Tim explain it when they get back,” Dick said.

Jason’s lids were too heavy to keep opening his eyes after blinking. He tried creaking them open just a slit for a few blinks, before giving up completely and letting them stay closed. Tim in his head was wearing a too large Robin costume now, his Robin costume, with one sleeve hanging over his scrawny shoulder and extra fabric bunching around his waist.

“No,” he mumbled, before letting the darkness that was beckoning take him.

“What do you see?”

Tim focused his binoculars on the window across the road from them. Nothing was currently happening, but they were expecting trouble later. One man paced back and forth, gnawing on a pencil like he was mad it wasn’t a cigarette. The other man was calmer, watching him from a loose sprawl in a wooden chair that didn’t look comfortable enough for that level of relaxation.

“Green Shirt is anxious. He’s expecting problems. Blue Shirt is…” He concentrated on the man another few seconds, studying the tight curl of his fingers in the material of his shirt. “Not as calm as he’s acting. He wants Green Shirt to think he’s calm. If they’re on the same side, maybe he’s trying to reassure Green Shirt. If they’re not, maybe he’s trying to give Green Shirt a false sense of calm before things go bad.”

“Good,” Batman said, and Tim preened. Of all the things Batman had been teaching him, this was his favorite. He was never going to be a bruiser, but being able to study a scene and understand what was going on? It was perfect for him. It was perfect for Chirp. It made him feel like maybe there could still be a place for him when he was no longer filling in for Robin.

“B!” an urgent voice exclaimed in their ears. Dick had disappeared to get hot chocolate over an hour ago and never come back. Tim had thought maybe he’d fallen asleep. None of them had been sleeping enough. He kept coming across people half-asleep, leaning against a wall or sitting up in the Batcomputer chair.

“Report,” Batman said immediately, all business.

“He’s awake! Or, was awake. He’s sleeping again now.”

Batman was already running across rooftops before Tim could fully registered what Dick was saying. Jason.

He jumped up too, but hesitated before following. He looked back at the window. Blue Shirt’s fingers tapped his leg in… anticipation, Tim thought. Not nerves, anticipation. As he watched Green Shirt pace past, a small smile curled the corners of his lips.

This was important. Something was going to happen. Something was going to happen soon, and they should be here. But when he turned to look, Batman was already gone, without even a sharp, “Robin,” commanding him to follow. It was like he’d already forgotten about Tim.

Of course, he did, Tim thought. Don’t be ridiculous. His son just woke up after a months-long coma, one they weren’t sure he was ever going to wake up from. Of course he’d forget about the unimportant details.

Tim gave the room one more quick glance before following. He jumped off a roof and barely slid into the Batmobile’s passenger seat before it squealed away.

Tim could see the way Batman was itching to ask questions, his hands squeezing and unsqueezing around the steering wheel like a drumbeat urging him to go faster. They’d been careful not to say too much about Jason or his condition on the radio. If there was one thing Chirp had proven, it was that unauthorized people could find ways to access their transmissions. Tim had actually worked with Bruce a few weeks back to improve the security on the radio, but that wasn’t a guarantee. He’d been a little worried they’d try to use the upgraded security (or at least the extra information he’d given them about how he’d been hacking their signal) to lock him out, but instead they’d been upgrading his home equipment and adding special ciphers to integrate it with the Batsystems. It was… reassuring. A little, at least.

So instead of asking, they drove in tight silence, the anticipation barely distinguishable from fear. Tim’s own throat felt swollen shut. This was good. This was definitely good. He was happy. But his body’s response didn’t feel like happiness. It felt like panic.

Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself again. This is what was always going to happen. Jason would get better and he’d… he’d go home and stop pretending to be something he wasn’t. It was for the best. For everyone.

Dick was waiting for the car when it pulled into the cave, still wearing the loose Superman pajama pants and blue tank top he’d had on for days. Every time Tim saw him, he was either in superhero pajamas or the Nightwing costume. Tim wasn’t sure if he actually drove here from Bludhaven after every shift already in pajamas or if he changed the second he got to the manor into the most comfortable clothing he owned. Maybe the only clothing he kept at the manor was pajamas, optimized for ultimate comfort.

He started talking the second Batman opened the door, following him as he strode straight to the lockers to change out of his suit. Tim missed the first bit, still fumbling with his seatbelt and climbing out his own door, but caught up at, “—twenty minutes. He seemed confused and disoriented, but it was him, B. He recognized me, made snarky comments, worried about missing a test. It was him.”

The stark relief on both their faces was painful. Tim held back, letting them have their moment.

“Why didn’t you call earlier?” Bruce asked, because he was Bruce now, shedding his suit quickly in favor of sweats.

“I didn’t know how long he’d be awake,” Dick said. “I didn’t want to leave him alone to run down to the cave.”

Bruce was already nodding before Dick finished talking, eyes not on Dick but past him, on the stairs leading up to the manor. To Jason. He didn’t even wait until he was finished changing to head for the stairs, his head popping out of the t-shirt he was pulling on just as he reached the first steps.

Tim started to follow, his smaller steps lagging behind their long strides, then stopped, alone in the cave as they walked up the stairs without even noticing his absence. This was a family moment, and he wasn’t family.

Instead he stuffed his suit into his bookbag. He wasn’t supposed to take the suit out of the Batcave, but Dick and Bruce were going to be busy. He thought of Blue Shirt and Green Shirt, of the crimes that they were already failing to prevent. Somebody was going to need to take care of the city.

Chapter Text

Bruce wouldn’t want him to go out alone. Tim knew this, not because of some deep, spiritual bond that he shared with Batman, but because Bruce had literally told him to never, under any circumstances, go out alone.

Which was why he was really hoping nobody noticed he was missing.

The problem with being good and staying home, he thought as he attempted to jimmy a particularly stubborn window lock, was that not everywhere you wanted to see had cameras.

He had tried to be good. He really had. He had gone home, hid his costume in the back of his closet, and checked his camera feeds instead of immediately rushing out to take care of things by himself. He should be nominated for sainthood for the frankly astronomical levels of self-restraint he showed. But none of the security cameras on the surrounding block could see into the apartment they’d been watching and he had no way of knowing what was happening inside. He’d watched the doors all night, and eventually Blue Shirt had come out looking mighty pleased with himself, but Green Shirt never did. The next night, Blue Shirt had come back with a girl in a purple blouse. The night after that, it was a beefy guy wearing a Sailor Moon t-shirt. Both nights, Blue Shirt left a few hours later, but there were no signs of the people he’d brought with him.

Was he... murdering them? And sneaking out their body parts in the lining of his clothes?

Probably not. There didn’t seem to be any weird lumps in his clothing, and Tim was pretty sure that even a chopped up body wouldn’t fit in a few pockets. But something was happening, and he needed to figure out what before more people got hurt.

He knew he should talk to Bruce, but Batman hadn’t been out since Jason had woken up, and Tim didn’t want to get in the way. Jason needed his family right now. If Tim could take care of this without disturbing them, he would.

Hence why he was on a fire escape dealing with the world’s most annoying lock.

The last pin finally clicked. That had taken him way longer than expected. It wasn’t a particularly complicated lock, but it was rusted over and resistant to movement. He told himself it probably would have been just as hard to unlock from the inside, but he was also pretty sure it wouldn’t have taken Batman ten minutes.

The window squealed as he tried to wrench it open and he stopped with it barely more than an inch open, waiting for any response from inside before continuing to slide it up. He was pretty sure the place was empty. Blue Shirt had been here every night since Tim had started watching him the week before, but never this early. He should have at least an hour before anyone showed up.

He glanced over at Steph’s building half a block away as he strained to lift the stiff window. The skyscraper rose like a lighthouse above the surrounding mid-rise apartment buildings, a lit window near the top shining brightly in the night. He thought that might be Steph’s bedroom. He’d never been in it, but it looked about where her dot usually appeared on his GPS.

He didn’t like how close it was. If this was something big, a rogue or even another budding gang war, her building could very easily get caught up in it. He could try warning her that there was danger, tell her she should stay inside, but he didn’t know how much she would listen. Her neighborhood was dangerous in general. If she stayed inside any time there might be danger, she’d never be able to do anything. It wasn’t like he could just give her a bunch of money and tell her to move to the suburbs.

Well, he probably could. Maybe hack one of those big giveaways and make her mom the winner. He’d look into it later.

He managed to drag the window up a foot before it stopped completely. He tried yanking it further, but it was completely jammed. Maybe Batman could have gotten it up the rest of the way, but Tim didn’t exactly have Batman’s arm strength. Which was fine. What he lacked in muscles, he more than made up for with being less than half Batman’s size. It was a tight squeeze, but he slipped in the window with barely more than a whisper of fabric.

Muted moonlight shone through the windows, coloring everything a light blue. He remembered the couch being a faded yellow floral print when they were observing through the window, but now the print looked almost oceanic, like dappled water. The room was set up like the typical living room of a lower-middle-class couple. Besides the couch, there were a couple of chairs, a TV, and a coffee table, all reasonable quality but definitely well-used.

Tim had looked up the names on the lease earlier that week. Tyler and Lily Frielin. Paid their rent every month on time, nothing of note on their record, clearly aliases. They had no jobs, no credit scores, no bank accounts. The landlord had to know, but not many landlords in Gotham would turn down regular rent payments, no matter who they came from.

He slipped one of the bugs he’d brought out of his utility belt and looked for a good place to leave it. It was Bat tech, but Tim had fiddled around with it to make the signal more secure. More importantly, it took 180 degree video, so it didn’t really matter where he left it as long as nothing blocked its view and it was out of sight.

He clambered up onto the back of the couch, nearly falling as his foot sank into the too soft cushion. He lurched forward, catching himself with both hands on the wall—one flat palm and one fist as he tried to keep the bug safely caged in his hand. When he felt like it was safe to move again, he carefully stepped forward, getting more of his foot on the hard frame instead of the surrounding cushioning. He stretched up on his toes and pressed the bug into the corner where two walls met the ceiling. It should be shadowed there, even with the lights on. He scanned the room from his perch just to make sure. Yes, that should have a good angle of just about everything.

Okay. He’d done what he came here for, easy peasy. If he headed back now, Bruce would never know he’d gone out, and he could watch the video from the safety of his home.

But... there were three more rooms in the apartment, and if Blue Shirt was killing people and lining his clothes with their body parts, he probably wasn’t doing it right in front of the window.

Tim could almost hear the angel and demon debating on his shoulder, but he wasn’t sure which was which. Not disappointing Bruce was good, of course, but so was doing everything he could to protect people despite potential danger to himself.

It wasn’t that dangerous. No one was even there.

He crept into the narrow hallway that bisected the apartment. A small kitchen was across from the living room, next to the only other window. It looked unused, but Tim snuck a bug into the narrow crevice next to the refrigerator just in case.

He knocked into something when he turned out of the kitchen, glasses clinking together as it rattled. He reached to settle it, and his hand met bottles. A liquor cabinet? He kept his hand pressed against it until the sloshing stopped and he was certain no one was coming to investigate. Then he carefully skirted around the side, avoiding the necks of bottles sticking out of small cubbyholes.

He tiptoed down the hallway. The light filtered out the further from the windows he traveled, coloring the hallway a gradient of light blue to black. He flipped the night vision in his mask on and the outlines of four doors materialized in a sickly green.

Only one of the doors was open. He glanced in. Tiled floor, porcelain sink, tub. Bathroom. Decent quality for an apartment in this area. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to see what happened in the bathroom, even if it did involve cutting up bodies in the bathtub, so he didn’t leave a bug.

That left three closed doors. One was clearly the exit. He carefully leaned against another, putting his ear to it and listening closely. One minute, two. Nothing. He very slowly turned the doorknob, keeping his ear close as he inched it gingerly open.

“What are we looking at?” a voice asked from the opposite direction of what he’d been expecting. He jumped a foot in the air and turned, raising his hands in one of the defensive positions Batman had taught him.

A girl, barely taller than him, stood there in a sweater dress that hung to her mid-thighs, a belt, leggings, a leather jacket that had seen some wear and tear, and what looked like a Zorro mask, or at least like a scarf with some holes cut in it. The giant poof of hair sticking out of a large headband was a familiar blond.

“Steph?” he hissed.

“It’s Robin,” she corrected.

“Wha..? I… You’re not Robin!” Was this a dream? Was this some really weird Canadian bacon, onion, and artichoke pizza dream caused by the guilt of too many nights wearing someone else’s costume? The green glow cast over everything certainly added to the dream-like feel. He turned off his night vision and flicked on a flashlight instead. The leggings and jacket stayed green, but the sweater dress changed to red and the belt was yellow. It was a painfully familiar color scheme.

“I think I would know better than you whether or not I’m Robin,” the fever dream standing in front of him said.

His mouth flopped open and closed like a dead fish. What was she..? How was she..? Why?

A grin broke out across her face, serious facade dropping. “Oh my god, you look so stupid right now. Close your mouth before you swallow a bug.”

“I… I don’t understand…” He realized a minute too late that he was supposed to be Robin right now, and that Robin definitely should not know who Stephanie Brown was.

Well, he did, but Steph wasn’t supposed to know that.

He lowered his voice the same way Jason had when they’d seen him on the museum roof. “I’m sorry, citizen, but you shouldn’t be here right now. This is a potential crime scene.”

He could very clearly see her rolling her blue eyes through her mask holes. That was not a disguise. It was the opposite of a disguise. It was a hey-let-me-show-off-my-features-so-you-can-recognize-me-more-easily-later outfit. “I know it’s you, Tim.”

“It’s Robin,” he said weakly.

“That’s the spirit!” She peeked in the open door behind him. “So what are we looking for? ‘Cause this looks like a closet.”

He followed her gaze. It was, indeed, a closet, but instead of coats, there were large tanks, like what you’d use to fill helium balloons. It stank of a scheme in progress. Scarecrow maybe? If so, they definitely shouldn’t stick around long. Each of the tanks had a label, but instead of words they were stamped with card suits: a heart, a diamond, a club, and a spade.

“I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “I’m just leaving cameras to watch later. Something’s been happening, but I’m not—what are you doing here?” he cut himself off. She might have briefly distracted him, but that was still the most pertinent question.

“I saw you sneaking around by yourself and thought you could use some help.”

“I’m not by myself,” he said immediately. It’s what he’d planned to tell any bad guys that caught him, but blurted out like that, he had to admit it didn’t sound particularly believable.

She pointedly turned her head to look up and down the hallway.

“Okay, fine,” he said, frustrated, “but that doesn’t mean you should be here. It’s dangerous.”

“Exactly,” she said. “It’s dangerous, and I know Batman’s distracted right now, so someone needs to keep you from doing something stupid.”

“I’m not…” He stopped, replaying her words. “You know Batman’s distracted right now?” he asked slowly.

She hesitated, tugging on the sleeves of her jacket. It looked a little too small for her, probably why he’d never seen her wearing it. “I heavily suspect Batman’s distracted right now,” she said. Something about the way her eyes were peering at him through the mask felt surgical, like she was waiting for the answer to a question that hadn’t been asked.

He looked away, at the still closed door. It would be easy to agree that Batman was distracted, to confirm without confirming, but he couldn’t. “Sometimes he’s busy,” he said instead. “He has a lot of cases.”

She turned her face, and he couldn’t seen her expression in the shadows. He remembered the angry hurt splashed across her face when he pushed her away after Jason’s attack. He didn’t want that, but he couldn’t just give away all of the Bats’ secrets because he didn’t want to hurt his friend’s feelings.

“So that’s why you need me!” she said, turning back to him with an enthusiastic smile, like the emotions she’d felt in the shadows had never existed.

“Look, Steph.” He rubbed at his mask, grinding the lenses painfully against his face. “You know I like you—”

“You do? Wow!”

“—but this isn’t up to me.” He flicked his hand in the air like he was throwing something away. “Like, at all. I have no power here.”

“You’re literally wearing the Robin costume right now,” she said, deadpan.

“I know, but it’s all pretend. I’m not Robin any more than you are.”

“Then I have very good news for you,” she said, leaning forward and putting her hands on his shoulders, “because I am totally Robin.”

He pulled away, taking a few steps backwards towards the door he hadn’t opened yet. “You can’t just show up in someone else’s uniform and claim to be them.”

“You did.” She said it so matter-of-factly, hands on her cocked hips, that for a second it almost felt real. He shook it off.

“I had to argue with Batman for weeks before he let me do this, and even then, there are a lot of rules and regulations and clear assertions about not real it is.” He knew it was temporary. Just like his training, and his place in the family, and his very short tenure as an actual member of the team.

“You’re just jealous I skipped that part.”

He was pretty sure she was teasing him, but it hurt in a way she couldn’t possibly understand because, to her, he’d always been a real superhero. He turned away to stop the conversation more than anything else and leaned his ear against the closed door. He didn’t bother waiting this time before turning the knob. If anyone had been in there, they would have long since heard their argument and come out with guns blazing.

The door opened on what was supposed to be a bedroom, but instead of a bed and dresser, it was lined with glass cages. His eyes snapped immediately to Green Shirt in a cage directly across from the door. He was laughing in weak bursts, like a lingering cough he couldn’t quite get rid of. A grin stretched painfully across his face, his lips cracked and bleeding from the strain.

Purple Blouse was sitting in the cage next to his, arms wrapped around her legs as she rocked back and forth, a constant stream of giggles following the movement. The guy in the Sailor Moon shirt was lying still enough to be dead except for the occasional burst of laughter that expanded his chest.

There were others. Tim stepped slowly into the room, eyes scanning and categorizing all of the cages. They were pressed against every wall, blocking the closet doors. Four more prisoners, and three more empty cages. There was tubing connected to each cage, and Tim’s mind flashed to the gas tanks in the coat closet.

“What do we do?” Steph asked weakly, a step behind him as he circled the room. “Do we let them out?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He didn’t know who these people were before their imprisonment, and he certainly didn’t know who they were now. Did the gas just paralyze them with laughter like some of the Joker’s concoctions, or did it send them into violent rages? Would releasing them put people at risk?

Because there was no question whose work this was. Batman had been trying to track the Joker ever since Ethiopia, but somehow they’d missed his return.

Like Steph said, he was kind of distracted right now.

He took a deep breath. This wasn’t something he could handle on his own. That realization cleared his mind, made all of his decisions much easier. He should document what he could in a few minutes, spending as little time here as possible, and take it straight to Batman. He’d know what to do.

He pulled a miniature camera out of his utility belt and started snapping pictures, one of each cage. Steph followed him quietly, hand tightly gripping his bicep. He should get a picture of the gas tanks before they left too.

Actually, he should leave one of his bugs, but there wasn’t anywhere good to put it. He couldn’t exactly attach it to a tank. Maybe the ceiling, but there wasn’t anything he could climb on to reach it. The only empty wall space was behind the open door. He pushed it closed to check. That would be the easiest place to leave one, but if the door was open, it would block the view, and if the door was closed it would be completely exposed.

The apartment’s front door clicked, and Tim grabbed Steph without thinking, yanking her against the bare wall and covering her mouth. She didn’t even try to speak, but he kept his hand there, frozen in place as the outer door creaked open.

It was going to be okay. Blue Shirt wouldn’t bring his guests straight to this room. He must drug them, or knock them out somehow first. Otherwise they’d run. He’d lead his latest victim to the living room, and then he and Steph could sneak out the front door.

Shit, could he? Should he? That was a person he could save. Was he really going to just leave them to this? His eyes tracked around the room, taking in all of the weakly laughing prisoners. One of them was staring straight at them, mouth stretched in a creepy grin as he banged on the glass of his cage. He looked like a serial killer, but it wasn’t his fault he was smiling. Maybe he was just asking for help.

Tim knew he couldn’t let them out right now. Not without a cure, not without knowing what they would do when freed, but he could still save the new one before any of this happened.

Steph squeezed his arm as footsteps entered the apartment behind them. He had to think of Steph first. He couldn’t get into a fight that he wasn’t sure he could win when Steph needed him to get her to safety. He’d get her out, and then he’d get help as quickly as possible.

Nerve resolving, he waited for the footsteps to pass by so they could sneak out.

A loud clap rang through the thin walls of the apartment. “I just cannot wait to see how your little experiments are going,” a high pitched male voice said, a cackle in every word. “You better hope they don’t disappoint!”

They were so screwed.

Steph tensed beside him, but he tried to keep his body loose and ready to move, the way Batman taught him. He couldn’t risk locking up when, if, the opportunity to escape arose.

“Don’t worry,” another voice said, Blue Shirt he assumed. He’d never actually heard him speak. “I think you’ll be very pleased.”

The door to their room swung open, stopping so close to Steph that her arm hair, standing on end, brushed against the wood. The door completely blocked the wall, like Tim thought it would, but it also blocked them in. There was barely an inch between the door and the glass cage to their left. He wished there was less. They weren’t going to be able to sneak out. Their best hope right now was the Joker leaving without noticing them, and that one little crack was going to give them away.

He watched, unable to do anything else, as the Joker inspected his prisoners with barely contained glee. Tim could only see him from behind, which he was glad for. If he had to stare into the Joker’s face… He held his breath to contain the rasps threatening to escape his throat, mind playing the memory of the Joker’s wide, red grin in broken footage as the crowbar swung down.

He had to keep it together. If he gave them away because he couldn’t breathe properly in that monster’s presence... He wanted to rub his face. He wanted to drop into a crouch. He wanted to run. But he stayed as still as humanly possible, breathing slow, forced breaths in through his nose as he bit his lips hard enough that his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.

The Joker stopped at Purple Blouse’s cage, across the room from their hiding spot. Tim could see her clearly through the crack. He watched as she raised her eyes to meet his, and he knew seconds before it happened. Purple Blouse started laughing harder and her finger rose to point directly at them.

He didn’t wait for their heads to turn, for the realization to hit; he just grabbed Steph’s arm and ran. One hand held the door knob as he swung them both around the barrier, and he was already in the hallway when the shouting started.

He ran through the apartment instead of out the front door because he didn’t know what was out there and didn’t have time to chart out all the pros and cons. Maybe it would have been better to get more doors between them, more potential witnesses, but maybe they’d be putting those witnesses in danger or it would turn out this whole building worked for the Joker. The known option had to be better.

“What are you doing? Shoot them!” rang through the air like an alarm before a shot sent plaster ricocheting out of the wall beside them.

“Come on, come on,” Tim said, dragging Steph towards the living room.

At the end of the hallway, she yanked her arm out of his grip and twisted around, reaching for something he couldn’t see.

“S—” He cut himself off before the sound was more than a hiss, but then he didn’t know what to say, how to ask what the heck she was doing. He grabbed for her again as her hand wrapped around what looked a bottle of whiskey and threw.

It hit Blue Shirt’s hand just as the gun fired again, and the bottle and gun clattered to the ground together. Tim had no idea where the bullet went, and he didn’t take the time to look. Steph was already running into the living room and he followed, the sound of laughter chasing them as they darted around furniture towards the window.

He didn’t look back. He didn’t want to know how close they were, didn’t want to know if they’d already grabbed the gun and reached the doorway, aiming at the easy targets the two of them must be while squeezing through the barely open window. Knowing wouldn’t help.

As soon as his foot hit the fire escape, before he even fully stood up, he wrapped an arm tightly around Steph’s waist and shot his grapple gun at the closest roof. He heard the bang of a gun and the crash of glass as the line tightened and yanked them upward.

His shoulder felt like it was being wrenched out of place, and the leather of Steph’s jacket slipped under his hand, even as he tried to tighten his grip. He’d never carried another person before. It suddenly seemed like a terrible idea, but he barely had half a second to worry before they tumbled head over heels onto the concrete roof.

He rolled roughly to his feet and reached to help Steph, but she was already standing up and eyeing the nearest ledge. They took off running as a coordinated unit and jumped for the next roof, and then the one after. They were going in the complete opposite direction of the safety of Steph’s apartment, but maybe that was better. Definitely that was better. The last thing he wanted was for the Joker to figure out where Steph lived.

It wasn’t until they were half a mile away with no sign of pursuit that he let himself collapse to his knees and gasp in heavy breaths that were from more than exertion. Steph dropped next to him, sitting cross-legged with her head bent so far forward that loose hair from her headband touched the roof.

“Holy shit,” she breathed. “Holy shit.” She started laughing, and he looked sharply at her—had she breathed in some of the Joker toxin?—but it died off quickly. “Wow. Do this a lot?”

“I try not to.” It was an understatement. He hadn’t ever. Batman went out of his way to keep Tim out of situations dangerous enough to run from. Even as Chirp, he was usually dealing with things from a distance.

Or getting held hostage. Getting held hostage had happened a lot.

“Good.” Steph flopped sideways, bones like jelly as she molded against his side.

“I need to go,” he said. His voice sounded flat to his own ears, but he wasn’t sure what emotion should be in it. “I need to tell Batman.” She nodded against his arm. He didn’t move. He would. Soon. He just needed a minute. He had his clothes stashed nearby. He’d change and catch a cab. Go straight to the manor. Just as soon as his heart stopped leading a grandstand performance of the Percussion Concerto.

With each beat, he replayed the finger pointing at them, the explosion of plaster, the crash of a bottle against the gun. He saw Jason in a pool of blood, an explosion he barely wasn’t in. “Steph, you can’t do this again.”

“Oh, so I should just let you get shot?” she retorted immediately, like she’d been preparing for the argument.

“I would have been fine,” he insisted, pulling away so he could face her. Her hair was a mess, half in the hairband, half out. There was a tear in the seam of her sweater vest, and he could see skin underneath. A bullet would have gone through her outfit like air.

“Would you have?” she asked, meeting his gaze, her way-too-visible eyes narrowing.

“Yes!” he said, throwing his arms in the air. “Probably.”

“Probably,” she repeated flatly.

“It doesn’t matter. Look at you. You have no protective gear. You don’t even have a real mask. If I got shot, it would hurt but I’d probably be fine. A bullet could pass through you and still hit me with the same amount of force.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “That’s just equipment. Bring me a bulletproof vest or a mask or whatever if you think it’s so important.”

“It’s not about that,” he spat. He yanked away completely and stood to pace around the frozen rooftop garden they’d found themselves in. His ankles twinged from the series of sharp landings. “You never should have been in danger at all. It was a stupid risk. You—” He was slammed with the memory of him and Batman yelling at each other in a burning building like a semi truck speeding out of control. Of Dick when he was still Robin telling him they were cutting him off to keep him safe. He stopped mid-step and stared at the skyline in growing horror. “Oh my god, I’ve become the bad guy.”

“What?” she asked with an incredulous laugh, some of the tension falling out of her stance.

The terror pulsing through his body was being quickly replaced with an existential dread that prickled across his skin. How did this happen? A few nights in a costume and suddenly he was telling people to leave crime fighting to the professionals? “Do you know how many times Batman and Nightwing tried to make me quit? For my safety?” he asked in a daze.

“A lot?” she guessed.

“So many.” They all flashed through his brain, so many moments of him being angry that they didn’t trust him or want him, of being so sure that he knew better than them.

“And I’m guessing it never worked?” she asked with a much too knowing smirk.

He buried his face in his hands. He didn’t want to be the haughty establishment hero deciding what was best for the newbie trying to catch a break in the hero business. He didn’t want to be the person who denied someone help and got them killed in the name of doing what was best for them. “I’ll bring you some safety gear,” he muttered.

“Yesssss.” He could imagine her pumping her fist in victory.

“But I’m serious,” he said, peeking up at her. “This isn’t… It’s not fun. It’s not a fantasy or an adventure or whatever you might be thinking. People get hurt. People die.”

Her grin slowly dropped. He was sure they were thinking of the same person. “I know that,” she said softly. “I just don’t want my friends to die when I could have done something to prevent it.”

“I get that. I do.” He dragged his hands down his face and took a deep breath. “Just, do me a favor. I’m not going to try to convince you to stay home because it certainly never worked on me, but I want you to try to convince yourself. If there are any arguments that could get you to stop—fear of death, or not wanting to put your mom in danger or upset her, or whatever might work—make them. Because if you can imagine a life doing anything else, you should.”

He was worried she’d make a joke or tell him he was being overdramatic, but she nodded solemnly. “Okay, I will. But you’ll bring me the gear?”

“I’ll bring it tomorrow,” he said, a wry smile stretching across his lips. Now he just had to figure out how to get it past Batman, because there was no way he’d approve.

Chapter Text

Jason was done being hurt, he decided as he leaned heavily against the bathroom sink, staring at himself in the mirror. His skin was too pale and clammy from sweat at the exertion of going to the bathroom by himself. It should not be this fucking difficult to pee. Dick had offered to help him, but if there was one thing worse than the risk of falling and cracking his head open on a toilet because he couldn’t stand long enough to piss, it was his pseudo-brother holding his hand while he had his dick out.

He carefully balanced himself against the sink, marble counter digging into his thighs, as he washed his hands. This was ridiculous. Bruce had called a physical therapist in the second he was coherent enough to even consider standing up, but apparently this was a ‘process’ that would take ‘time’. Fuck that. He hadn’t been this weak since he was a toddler and he wasn’t going to deal with it. It was time to be better.

Dick was sitting by his bed messing with a deck of cards when he opened the bathroom door, but he jumped up the second he saw Jason. “Wait there; let me help you,” he said, hurrying across Jason’s sitting room towards the bathroom.

Jason scowled and slogged towards the hallway instead.

“Uh, Jay?” Dick asked. Jason stumbled near the door, and Dick reached out to catch his arm, trying to gently lead him back towards the bed.

Jason pulled back, but Dick’s grip was tighter than his currently much too noodly arms could fight. “I’m done being hurt,” he told Dick matter-of-factly. He was, and that was all there was to it.

Dick laughed breathlessly. “I don’t think it works that way, Little Wing.” He tried again to lead Jason back to the bed, but Jason shouldered his way into the hallway.

“Sure it does,” he said. “I’ve decided I’m done, so I’m done. Where’s Bruce? Did he go out?” They weren't supposed to mention Batman in the manor, but Dick would know what he meant.

“No, I think he’s in the study getting your tutoring set up.” Dick had apparently given up on getting him back into bed, but he was still holding tight to Jason’s arm as they walked down the hallway.

“I don’t want tutors,” Jason said. “I want to go back to school.”

“Jay.” Dick had that pitying tone that had already been old the first time he heard it. “You’re probably not going to be well enough to go back this semester. But you’ll be all caught up and ready to go next year!” He said it like it was a good thing, like Jason should be celebrating, but he had just started to fit in and feel like he had a place and he was not going to put all that on hold for four months just because the Joker took a crowbar to his head.

“I told you, I’m not sick anymore,” he said.

“It’s barely been a week. It’s going to take time.”

Jason didn’t bother responding. If Dick was going to ignore what he was saying, he was going to ignore Dick right back.

They finally reached the second-floor landing. It had taken twice as long as usual, but that was fine. At least he made it.

Dick tugged on his elbow, trying to pull him away from the stairs. “We should get you back in bed. I can go get Bruce for you if you want.”

Jason ignored him and carefully lowered himself down the first step. His calf trembled at the pressure of holding all of his weight as he descended, but that was fine. He was doing fine.

Dick gave up on trying to pull him away and wrapped an arm around his waist instead. Jason didn’t bother trying to shake him off, mostly because he knew Dick was too obnoxious to let him.

And also maybe a little because he wasn’t positive he could make it down the stairs without the help. Mostly the obnoxious thing, though.

Both of his legs were shaking by the time they reached the ground floor, but he’d done what he set out to do. The little flame of defiance that had started in the bathroom was growing into a full-blown fire driving him forward. He was done being hurt and he was proving it with every step.

He steered them towards the study. It wasn’t that much further, but it felt like leading an expedition up the Andes. The only time such a short distance had felt longer was…

His mind flashed to dragging a leg that didn’t want to work towards a mother that had never wanted him but who he couldn’t just leave to die.

He didn’t notice his breath quickening until Dick asked, “You doing okay? We can sit down if you need a break.”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, too harshly. He could feel Dick’s gaze heavy on him and quickly followed it up with a flash of a smile. “I’m great,” he corrected. “Never felt better.”

Dick didn’t look convinced.

Jason didn’t know what had happened to Sheila. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Dick had told him she helped save his life. Her field medicine expertise was invaluable, apparently. He wondered how invaluable her medical expertise was when she was dispassionately watching every blow he took. Was she thinking about the broken bones? The way a rib sliced through his lung? The concussion and brain damage and potential of seizures and lifelong complications if he survived, or the fact that none of that was probably going to matter because his odds of survival got lower with every goddamned hit?

“Dick...” he started hesitantly. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say even as he started saying it. He could tell Dick what happened, maybe, and then Dick would… what? He remembered the way Sheila had looked at him like he was worthless when she turned him over to the Joker, the way she’d barely looked at him at all as the Joker beat him. If even the woman who had given birth to him couldn’t find it in herself to care about him, then why would anyone else? Dick was waiting for him to continue, but he shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“You what?” Bruce’s voice echoed down the hall, and both his and Dick’s heads snapped towards the study. That didn’t sound like setting up tutoring. Unless one of his tutors had really fucked up.

Dick’s grip around his waist tightened. “Maybe we should wait,” he said, pulling Jason backwards. He slipped sideways out of Dick’s grip, almost falling when he shifted his balance too quickly, and moved forward instead. He needed to know. Knowing kept him safe. Not that he thought Bruce would… Not like Willis…

He just needed to know.

He could hear quiet murmuring as he approached, nothing else loud enough to break through the thick, manor walls until he was within a few feet of the study door.

“—showed up, so I had to get out,” a voice said, younger and higher pitched than he expected. And familiar. He tried to make the connection, but it was like his brain was a jumble of wires and only some of them were plugged into the right ports. A memory of the voice played in his head but he couldn’t make out the words or the surrounding scenery. And there was something else, a foggy feeling more than a memory, the sound of his own heartbeat playing loudly and much too fast a foot from his ear, wires strung around like a web trapping him on the bed, a door bursting open as someone came through it. Dick. Dick was the one who came through, grinning and looking relieved, and saying something about—but it wasn’t there. He could see Dick talking but the words were static.

He jumped when present-day Dick caught up and put a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped moving, but he was leaning heavily against the wall just outside the study door.

“You shouldn’t have been there.” Bruce sounded angry, but he also sounded spooked in a way that still felt wrong to Jason. Bruce had seemed so much more… vulnerable since he woke up. He didn’t like it.

“Someone needed to look into it and you were busy. Isn’t it better that we know?” The voice stabbed into Jason’s brain like an ice pick, demanding to be recognized. It was clearly another hero. One of the other sidekicks maybe? Who wasn’t supposed to be operating in Gotham? Dick tried to pull him away, but Jason dug in, refusing to be moved.

“A little bit of information isn’t worth your life!”

They both jumped at Bruce’s shout. Dick’s grip went slack, and he stepped forward like he was going to intervene, but Jason beat him to it, stepping into the doorway before him.

Bruce was facing away from them, fists tight at his sides. The door to the cave, normally hidden by the grandfather clock, was open, and in it stood…

Tim.

He could see Tim’s mouth moving, could see the rebellion in his posture as he stood his ground against Bruce, and when had that happened, but instead of Tim’s voice he heard Dick.

“He’s on patrol. Tim’s with him. You remember Tim. Tim Drake?”

The image of Tim in an ill-fitting tracksuit on top of a building filled his brain and, okay, he was pretty sure that wasn’t real, but the rest of it was, right? It had to be. Tim was right there, arguing with Bruce, standing in the goddamn entrance to the Batcave.

“You fucking replaced me?” He didn’t mean for his voice to crack, hadn’t meant to say anything at all, but now they were both staring at him.

“Of course not,” Bruce said, the first to recover. The fight had gone out of Tim, and he was just standing there with his mouth open like a dead fish. That looked more like the Tim he knew.

“It’s only been two months!” He hated the sound of his own voice, too high pitched, like a wail, instead of the anger he wanted to be feeling. “How long did you wait? An hour?” He flung an arm towards Tim. “And with Tim?”

“Hey,” Tim said weakly. Jason ignored him. This had nothing to do with him.

“Did you just grab the first kid you saw? Oh, this one lives next door. That’s convenient.”

“I’m just filling in,” Tim said. “We needed—”

“I’m not talking to you,” Jason spat at him.

Tim’s expression closed off, any uncertainty he had disappearing behind a blank wall that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Bruce’s face. Oh, look. He was learning so many tricks from Bruce already.

“Fine,” he said, a hand closing around the strap of his overstuffed bookbag. What, was he stealing stuff from the cave? “I’ll send the information I gathered to the Batcomputer,” Tim told Bruce as he passed him. Jason clenched his hand into a fist. He wanted to punch something, and for a second that thing was Tim’s smug little face. He forced his hand lax as Tim shouldered past. He wasn’t Willis. He didn’t punch people just because he was upset.

“Wait, Tim,” Dick said. Jason felt Dick pull away and looked up at him, but Dick didn’t look back, already following after Tim instead of paying any attention to him. Fucking figured.

Bruce hadn't moved when he turned back. He looked like one of those time-lapse films where everything changed around him at a rapid pace but he stayed frozen forever in the same position. His expression was…

Jason hated it. He hated the open emotion in Bruce’s eyes that bordered on fear, the way he looked at Jason like he was looking past him at a corpse instead of a living kid, the cracks that were forming up and down Bruce’s once unbreakable facade. He felt like no time had passed, like nothing should have changed, and yet everything had changed and he didn’t understand any of it anymore. People kept looking at him like he was fragile, or like they were fragile, and Bruce couldn’t look at him like that and replace him in the same breath.

“I didn’t replace you, Jason. I would never replace you.” Bruce’s voice actually broke, and Jason couldn’t do this. He couldn’t talk to this man who looked like he cared but acted like he didn’t.

He saw his mother smoking a cigarette while he died.

“Well, that’s not what it looks like from here,” he said. He turned to go before Bruce could draw him back with any more of his fake sincerity, but his balance was off and he tripped over his own feet. He could see Bruce stepping towards him in the corner of his eye like he was going to help, and forced himself to keep going, stumbling through his steps as quickly as he could. He was going to get away before Bruce could help him if he had to crawl.

Light footsteps hurried down the hallway after him and an arm slipped around his shoulders, but it was Dick’s smaller arm, not Bruce’s tree trunk. He didn’t hear any other footsteps. Bruce must have gone back to whatever important things he’d been doing before Jason got there. Good.

The proclamation felt hollow in his gut.

“Did you make sure the replacement’s feeling all good about himself?” he snarled at Dick. He thought about yanking away, but he could see the steps looming in front of them and his legs were trembling.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dick’s voice was harder than he’d expected. They’d talked to him so gently all week. ‘Bout time Dickie showed his true colors.

“No, I don’t, do I?” he asked. “Because you guys didn’t bother telling me anything. Or, wait. You did, once, but then hid it when I was actually awake enough to remember. Were you relieved I’d forgotten?”

Jason could feel how stiff Dick’s muscles were, but his grip was still gentle as he carefully led Jason up the stairs. “We weren’t hiding it. You didn’t seem to remember, and Bruce—we thought it would be best to wait until you were feeling better to discuss it with you.”

“Well, I’m better now.”

“You’re not better!” Dick snapped, making Jason wince at the yell right beside his ear. Dick seemed surprised himself at how loud it had come out and repeated, much quieter, “You’re not better. And that’s okay! Recovery takes time. I know it’s frustrating, but we’re all just so glad you’re getting better at all. We thought…” His voice cracked and Jason turned away, angry tears gathering in his eyes. He hated this.

“I’m fucking fine. You’re all just too obsessed with seeing me as the victim to pay any attention to me.”

“Jason, that’s not true…” Jason could hear the frustration saturating Dick’s voice, but he was obviously trying oh so hard to be patient with the poor little injured boy. Jason wanted to rip the anger out of him just so it would be real.

“It is!” he shouted, too loud even in his own ears, his own volume ramping up his heartbeat. “You barely look at me. You definitely don’t listen to me. You’re so happy I survived, but you’re treating me like I’m dead! You barely waited five minutes to replace me, and why wouldn’t you? Maybe this one will do better than bleeding to death in a warehouse!”

“That’s not… Tim’s just making a few appearances so that nobody connects Robin’s disappearance to you being in a coma.” The anger was bleeding through now. The quick defense of the one who actually mattered.

“That didn’t sound like ‘making a few appearances,’” he snapped back.

“Yeah, well,” Dick said wryly. “Tim’s not the best at following orders and staying out of things. What else is new?”

Dick wasn’t talking like he had a couple of months experience with Tim. He talked like he knew Tim well, like he had for a long time. The wires in Jason’s head fitzed, jacks searching for sockets to slot into, but it was too much of a knotted mess, and none of it made sense.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why Tim?”

Dick hesitated as they reached Jason’s door. Jason could feel his hand tightening into a fist again, his knuckles aching from the pressure. He wanted to punch Dick or Tim or the door or anything just to get that pressure out. “He…” Dick shut his mouth, looking in the direction of Tim’s neighboring manor as if he could see it through all the walls and trees between them. “You really should talk to him about that.”

It echoed something in his head, something he barely remembered Dick saying before.

“Okay, I will.” He slipped out from under Dick’s grip and through the door. He could make it the last few yards to his bed on his own, and he didn’t want to look at Dick’s stupid face anymore.

“Do you want—” Dick started, but Jason slammed the door before he could continue. He was sure Dick was listening with his ear to the door to make sure Jason didn’t collapse halfway there, but at least he didn’t force his way in.

He punched the bed with a frustrated yell, but it didn’t help. It was too soft. Too pliable. He threw the pillow against the wall and it just flopped gracelessly to the ground. He grabbed the next closest thing, arm already winding back to throw before he realized it was his phone.

Jesus fucking Christ that thing cost like a thousand dollars; he couldn’t throw it against a wall.

He slowly lowered his arm, breaths heavy. He realized belatedly how much his legs were shaking and collapsed onto the bed. He’d play a game for a bit. Maybe some shoot-em-up or Angry Birds or… His eyes landed on the game Tim had recommended to him and he snarled, pressing hard on the app to bring up the delete screen.

His thumb was hovering over “Remove App” when a notification dropped down, covering the menu.

Steph: i have so much homework

Steph: this suuuuuuuuucks

Steph: im going to be up til 2 finishing all this istg

Steph: its all stupid tims fault he distracted me when i was trying to do it earlier

Jason scowled, clicking out of the delete screen to his messages instead. Fucking Tim. Why was everything suddenly all about Tim?

Steph had been a godsend in all of this. She was the only one not treating him any differently, like she’d always known he was going to be fine. Tim, he noted, hadn’t sent him any texts since he’d woken up. Not even get well soon.

Steph: i cant even look forward to seeing you at school to save me from the mundanity of it all life suuucks

He hesitated, thumbs over the keyboard. He thought of Tim stealing his job while he slept, of Dick’s pitying expressions, of Bruce treating him like a broken toy. He typed.

Jason: I’ll be there tomorrow.

Steph: Really???? Bruce is letting you come???????

Jason: Yep

After all, if the information Tim was sending Bruce was as big a deal as it sounded, there was no way Bruce would be up early enough to stop him.

Chapter Text

Steph sat on the retaining wall in front of the school, swinging her legs as she watched the cars dropping off students. She was starting to worry.

No, not worry, just… be reasonably concerned. It was perfectly normal and logical to wor—to be reasonably concerned about your friend who has just woken up from a coma and said he was going to be at school but isn’t yet even though the bell was about to ring and Alfred usually dropped him off at least thirty minutes early.

Had something gone wrong? Did Jason relapse or did Bruce decide he wasn’t ready for school yet after all? She looked at her phone again, but there weren’t any new texts. Someone would have texted her if something had gone wrong.

Or at least they would eventually. Not necessarily right now. Not when there was an emergency in progress. If there was an emergency in progress.

It was fine. Jason was fine. Jason was going to be fine. She had always known he would be, and she’d been proven right, so why was she so worri—reasonably concerned?

She wanted to text him a quick smiley face or “eta?” but then he’d know she was worrying, and he’d hate that. She got it, she did. She’d hated it too when he was in a coma and everyone was acting so concerned to the point of pity towards her. She didn’t want to make him feel that way. If he wanted to insist he was fine, then she’d treat him like he was fine. It would be true soon enough anyway.

But that didn’t change the fact that it was only five minutes until the bell and he still wasn’t there.

Maybe they were just delayed. Everything had to take so much longer now with all the extra medical stuff they had to worry about. Or maybe they just forgot what time school started. That was possible. They were definitely the type of disorganized people who would forget what time school started.

Oh, god, he was definitely dying.

She turned towards the drop-off zone again and almost startled straight off the wall at the sight of Tim standing barely a foot in front of her. Jeez, he’d gotten sneaky. Had he always been that sneaky, or was it a new Robin thing?

She forced a smile, pushing her worries so deep inside that they barely existed. “Hey,” she said, pitching her voice low like they were making illicit deals in an alley. “You bring the goods?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, but I can’t pull them out here. I’ll give them to you after school.” She giggled and his lips quirked up. Just a little. He was trying to pretend he didn’t think it was funny, but he totally did. “You know someone’s going to overhear us and try to buy drugs from me,” he said, leaning against the wall next to her and scanning the front green. A lot of kids were heading inside now that the bell was about to ring, but no one gave them a second glance.

“The funniest part will be when you’re too awkward to tell them they misunderstood so instead you have to find some drugs to sell them.”

“I’m not that bad!” he objected.

“You totally are, but it’s okay.” She pat his shoulder sympathetically. “I’ve only taken advantage of it once.”

His brows crumpled together. “When—”

The bell cut him off, and Steph’s smile fell, the worries she’d done a totally great job of burying digging their way back up like zombies. She scanned the drop-off zone again. There weren't many cars left, and none of them looked like the limo Alfred usually drove Jason to school in. She glanced at her phone. Still no texts.

“What’s wrong?” Tim asked. He’d pulled away from the wall to head inside, but stopped when she didn’t follow. She was proud of him for noticing something was wrong, actually. That was new for him.

“Jason said he’d be here.” She noticed that she was biting her nails, and forced herself to stop. It was fine. Everything was fine.

“Really?” Tim asked, in a tone that made her gaze snap to him. She didn’t know whether to call it his polite society voice or his Chirp voice; it was probably a bit of both. A little patronizing, a little leading. He pulled it out when he thought he knew better than the person he was talking to, but still wanted to know what intel they had.

“What do you know?” she asked instead of playing his game.

Surprise shot across his face, then quickly vanished. “Nothing.” She raised her eyebrows as high as she could, making sure to put the full weight of how unimpressed she was in them. “Really, I just…” He looked away, towards the same patch of road she’d been scouring all morning. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

It shouldn’t mean much, but it did. Tim would know. Chirp would know.

“Well, he said he was coming, and I believe him,” she said even as her stomach twisted. “I’m going to wait a few more minutes.” Jason wouldn’t lie to her, not about something as pointless as this. If he told her he was coming, then he’d been planning to come.

Tim looked down at his phone with a small frown, his thumbs moving quickly across the screen. A text? She leaned in to get a closer look. No, it looked like a game—she barely saw the bright colors before it changed and became a map. Another few swipes and she could see a small dot moving on a criss-cross of streets, but she couldn’t tell where it was from her angle. His frown deepened, and he raised his eyes back towards the road. Steph tried to find what he was looking at, but it was just as empty as before.

Tim chewed on his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowing and fingers tapping the phone restlessly. “It’s not my business,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

She followed his gaze again. She thought she could see a small figure emerging from a side street. Not from a limo or sports car. From the direction of the bus stop Jason usually used when heading back to the manor on his own after milkshakes or the library.

He was shuffling towards the school without his usual grace. Even at a distance, she could see he wasn’t walking well, leaning heavily forward on forearm crutches.

“It’s not my business,” Tim repeated. When she looked up at him, he was staring Jason down with the expression of someone who had never once in his life looked at anything and thought, ‘this is not my business.’

He took a deep breath and turned towards the school.

“Don’t you want to see Jason?” she asked, the words stuttering out without her brain’s input.

He hesitated, glancing back at her. “I don’t think Jason wants to see me,” he said. She barely had time to wonder what that meant before he walked away, joining the last stragglers entering the school.

At the speed Jason was going, there was no way they were going to get to class on time, but that was fine. No teacher would mark Jason late on his first day back, and she had her hall passes, if nothing else. It was going to be fine.

She stood up, Tim’s chorus of, ‘It’s not my business,’ echoing in her brain. She wanted to rush over to Jason and offer him an arm or just stand by him to make sure he didn’t fall, but he wouldn’t want to seem weak. He’d want her to act like everything was normal.

But she couldn’t stop seeing visions of him collapsing in the road, being hit by a car that didn’t see him or just… lying there and not getting up again.

He was fine. It would be fine. ‘It’s not my business,’ her mental Tim said.

But she was already rushing down the front green, meeting Jason at the sidewalk. He scowled down at his shoes, clearly annoyed. She wasn’t sure if it was at her for her concern or at himself. He looked exhausted. Had he really come all this way alone? A week after waking up from a coma?

Concerns got stuck on her tongue. She wanted to joke that he looked like he got hit by a car, but it wasn’t funny, not against her memory of him lying in bed surrounded by medical equipment. “No Alfred?” she asked instead.

“He was busy so I took the bus.” He was breathing heavily enough that he had to pause between words.

It was an obvious lie. She wanted to call him on it. That’s what she’d normally do, and he wanted her to treat him like normal, but he also didn’t want to look like he was weak.

She’d thought she could do this, but she had no idea what to say or how to act. She couldn’t treat him like normal, because this wasn’t normal. Was he hurting himself being here? Would it make his recovery longer or cause permanent damage if he wasn’t careful? And he clearly wasn’t being careful. Had anyone realized he was gone? They must be out of their minds with worry. Would texting Dick be a betrayal? She didn’t want to narc on her best friend.

‘It’s not my business,’ Tim said, but it was very much her business. Jason was her best friend, and it was her job to keep him safe, whether he wanted it or not.

“Let’s get you to class,” she said as cheerfully as she could. She could decide what she was going to do after he was already taken care of. If she texted Dick, maybe she could ask to be left out of it when they came to get Jason. Or maybe she could suggest they let Jason try being there for the day, if it wouldn’t hurt him too much. She could go pick him up and drop him off between classes, to make sure he got everywhere okay.

Jason didn’t talk as they walked. He was breathing heavily, most of his weight on the crutches. She heard the second bell ring before they even made it into the building, but she didn’t try to speed them up. Jason looked like he was already struggling, and they were going less than half their normal speed.

Act normal, she told herself. She forced a smile onto her face. “So, I’ve had to keep this place cool while you were gone,” she said. “It’s hard work, but someone has to do it.”

He gave her a small, strained smile. Buoyed, she continued, “Tim tried to help, but he barely manages to balance on the border between cool kid and dweeb at the best of times.”

Jason’s smile dropped dramatically at Tim’s name, and he scowled down at where his hands gripped the crutches. ‘I don’t think Jason wants to see me,’ Tim echoed in her brain. What was that about? Had they had a fight? How had Tim already managed to get into a fight with Jason? He’d only been awake for a week.

Well, you’re about to tattle on Jason to his family, so maybe you don’t have any room to talk, she reminded herself.

It was a long walk to his classroom, but they completed it in silence. She hadn’t meant for it to be so quiet. She just… didn’t know what to say.

She could see his teacher, Ms. Manix, already mid-lecture through the window in his classroom door as they approached. “I’ll come by after class!” she said as cheerfully as she could manage.

She thought it fell flat, but Jason barely seemed to hear her. He was looking at the same scene as her, taking deep breaths. Slowly, the heavy heaving of his chest slowed, and he looked more composed.

“Thanks, Steph,” he said with an almost believably casual smile, like a guy who’d just gotten back from a broken leg instead of a two-month coma. She smiled weakly back, and he took one more deep breath before opening the classroom door. The class went silent. She could feel it, even as the door closed behind him, in the way everyone, including Ms. Manix, stared. He gave a casual smile and wave and headed for his desk without even talking to the teacher first. The whole class watched until he was seated, and then Ms. Manix, hesitance obvious, slowly continued her lecture.

Steph took a deep breath and turned away from the door. Okay, moment of truth. She pulled up her chat history with Dick, scanning the last few messages, little updates that Dick had sent her because he was a good person. This was the right choice. He’d know what to do.

She typed as she walked, detouring towards her locker to grab a hall pass.

Steph: Did you know Jason’s at school?? I think he took the bus 🙀

She added the wailing cat emoji at the end for Dick’s benefit. He’d appreciate that. She paused at her locker as she considered her next message.

Steph: I can keep an eye on him if you want to let him stay for the day

Steph: I think he’d appreciate being given the chance

Okay. At least she put the idea out there. As tired as Jason had looked, he might decide on his own not to come back the next day, but she knew him. If they tried to take the choice away from him, he’d be more likely to sneak out again just to prove he could.

She sighed, dragging her hands slowly down her face. Maybe she should have talked to him instead of going behind his back. Sat him down and said, hey, you don’t really look ready to be here. Maybe we should call your dad.

Yeah, sure, that would have gone over well.

She checked for a response from Dick, but her messages didn’t seem to have gone through yet. The blue bar at the top was stuck at 90% done. That was weird. Her phone wasn’t the best, but it normally didn’t take more than a few seconds for a message to send.

She dug the hall pass pad out from where she’d buried it in the middle of Duchess’s grief counseling binder. She didn’t really need the binder anymore, but it made for a good hiding place. She scribbled out a quick hall pass and started to put the pad back before thinking better of it. She might need a few if she was going to chauffeur Jason around all day. She stuck the pad in her backpack as she glanced at her phone again.

‘Message Failed to Send’

What? Had her mom forgotten to pay the phone bill again? She’d just been texting the night before. Had Dick forgotten to pay his phone bill?

As funny as the idea of a billionaire failing to pay his phone bill was, it didn’t seem likely. She clicked try again as she walked towards her class and watched the progress bar lag. Should she try Bruce? Did she even have Bruce’s number?

A stream of giggles drifted through the hallway, and she froze mid-step, a weird jolt of fear shooting through her. She tried to shake it off. It was probably just someone playing hookie. It wasn’t that weird to hear giggling in the hallways, even during class. Why was her body responding like it was some kind of threat?

It did sound sort of familiar, but she couldn’t immediately place...

A girl in a cage giggling as she rocked back and forth.

Steph flattened herself against the wall even though there wasn’t anything to hide behind. The giggling hadn’t stopped, not even for the few seconds it would take to breathe or for there to be something new to giggle at. It was unnatural. Too constant and repetitive, laughing at nothing except the desire to laugh.

And it was getting louder, echoing out of a hallway just in front of Steph. She knew she should go the other way, but she had to check; she had to be sure.

She crept forward, staying close to the wall. A silver domed mirror was pressed into the corner where the wall met the ceiling. In theory, it was to protect students from running into each other while taking quick turns around the corner, but let’s be real. This was Gotham; it was probably for this exact scenario.

In the curved reflection, she saw the elongated figure of girl with long, black hair in a high ponytail and a purple blouse. Steph couldn’t remember the woman’s face from the day before, but she was pretty sure it hadn’t been covered in white makeup with red circles painted on her nose and cheeks.

The face turned towards the domed mirror, and Steph swore the woman looked straight back at her. Tear marks streaked down her cheeks, but her mouth stretched into a wide, black-lipped grin.

Steph ran. She didn’t even think about it; she just turned and ran, keeping her footsteps as light as she could and twisting down hallways randomly until the giggles faded away.

What the hell? Why was one of the Joker’s prisoners here? Why was she made-up like that? Had he set them free after she and Tim had caught them, or was this something more deliberate? Were they attacking the school?

She had to get Tim. He’d know what to do.

Her mind flashed to Jason. He was Robin. She was almost one hundred percent sure that he was Robin. At least 99.91 percent, but…

She remembered him straining on the walk to class, breathing so heavily he couldn’t talk. Even if he was Robin, he…

He was her best friend. It was her job to keep him safe, whether he wanted it or not.

She turned towards Tim’s class, already yanking the pad out of her backpack to jot out another hall pass.

Chapter Text

Tim couldn’t hear a thing his teacher was saying. European History was boring in the best of times, with Mr. Weston droning on about whatever war had caught his fancy that day, and this was not the best of times.

Jason was here. Jason was definitely not supposed to be here. Tim was almost completely sure that Jason was definitely not supposed to be here. There was no way Bruce would have let Jason out of the house by himself so soon, and definitely not on public transportation. Bruce must be freaking out. The last time Jason ran off on his own, he ended up in a coma.

Maybe he should have said something.

It’s not your business, he reminded himself. Tried to remind himself. He wasn’t sure he’d believed it any of the times he’d said it but...

He could hear Jason’s dismissive, ‘I’m not talking to you,’ as loudly as if he were shouting it in Tim’s ear. ‘You fucking replaced me. And with Tim?’

Jason didn’t even give him a chance to explain. He’d done this to help Jason. He did help Jason. He’d dedicated the last two months of his life, the last year of his life, to helping Jason, and this was just one more example of them assuming the worst of him just because they could. He’d thought Jason…

It didn’t matter what he’d thought. He’d clearly been wrong.

He should have said something, to Bruce if not to Jason.

‘Why? You gonna tell Batman on me?’

Unease pooled in his gut. Jason was already mad at him. He’d only be more mad if Tim went running straight to Bruce the moment he did something wrong.

But if Tim had told on him the last time, maybe Jason wouldn’t have ended up in a coma to begin with.

Uggggh. He dropped his head onto his desk. This wasn’t Ethiopia. There was no Joker. Jason was just at school, the freakin’ nerd. What kind of kid ran away to go to school?

He felt something whap his cheek and turned his head to look at the wadded up paper on the desk next to his face. He could see Shannon past it, looking at him with raised eyebrows. He sat up slowly and unfolded the paper.

‘Did your dog die?’

He muffled a laugh. That was about as close as Shannon got to expressing concern.

He wrote down, ‘Cat, but it has nine lives’ and waited until Mr. Weston was drawing some timeline on the board to toss it back.

It didn’t take long for Shannon to return it to him. This time it said, ‘Ugh, I hate cats.’

He snorted. At least someone got him.

There were two quick knocks on the door and then it opened. He could see a blonde head poking in out of the corner of his eye as he wrote his next note, but didn’t pay it any attention until it spoke.

“Sorry to interrupt.” His head whipped up. Steph? What was Steph doing here? Had something happened to Jason? “I’m here to get Tim Drake? I have a pass.” She didn’t offer any explanation. No reason why Tim would need to leave, or why she’d be there instead of one of the administrators. She just held up a hall pass. Mr. Weston barely glanced at it before nodding at him to go.

Shannon looked worried as he gathered his things. He was sure he looked worried too. It was probably a good cover for whatever Steph was pulling him out for but… why? Could something have really gone horribly wrong with Jason already? It hadn’t even been ten minutes yet.

He left the note and its last message for Shannon on her desk as he headed for the front of the classroom. ‘I don’t blame you. They’re harbingers of doom.’

Mr. Weston offered him a brisk smile as he passed. “Check the portal for your assignment.”

He’d already done the assignment, but he smiled and said, “Thanks,” anyway.

As soon as they reached the hallway, Steph’s expression fell and she started speedwalking away without any explanation, just expecting him to follow. She kept glancing around nervously, her gaze lingering on a safety mirror as they approached an intersection.

“Steph, hold on. What’s going on?” he asked, skipping a step to keep up with her. “Did something happen to Jason?” Please let nothing have happened to Jason. He didn’t think anyone would be able to put Bruce’s pieces back together if something happened to Jason again.

“No, he’s fine,” she said, tone hushed in the empty hallway. He breathed a sigh of relief. “I mean, I think he’s fine? He was fine a few minutes ago.”

Slightly less relief. “Steph what is going on?”

“I saw one of the Joker’s prisoners,” she said. She peeked around a corner, then nervously skittered past the open hallway.

They’d both seen the Joker’s prisoners, and she hadn’t seemed all that upset about it that morning. Actually, he’d kind of thought she was handling it a little too well. Maybe it had only just now caught up with her?

Then she peeked around another corner, and he realized. “Wait, here?” he hissed. “What? How? Why? How?” Did they escape and, what, track them back to their school? That didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t like they came straight here.

“Yes, I don’t know, and I don’t know. I dropped Jason off at class and then I saw her.” Steph twirled suddenly towards him and he had to skid to a stop to keep from running into her. “Wait, do you think they’re after Jason? It’s his first day back, and they just happen to show up?”

They both turned automatically towards Jason’s classroom and were a few steps down the hallway before Tim thought it through. “No, wait,” he said, steps stalling. “That doesn’t make any sense. The Joker couldn’t possibly know that Jason was coming to school today. Bruce didn’t even know Jason was coming to school today. How would he know that?”

“Oh, right, duh,” Steph said. She backtracked a few steps, stepped forward again, then turned around in a tight circle. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” Tim hissed out in frustration. “You were leading.”

“I just thought we needed to do something!” Her voice rose in pitch but not volume, making it sound remarkably like a dog whistle.

“So we were going... where?” He raised his eyes to the sign. “Hallway C? Is that where you saw them?”

“No, that was Hallway F.”

“We’re not even going in that direction!” he hissed.

“I know!”

They stared at each other, huffing out frustrated breaths. A door opened behind Steph, and a teacher Tim didn’t recognize stuck her head out.

“We have a hall pass,” Steph said immediately, brandishing the same hall pass she’d shown Mr. Weston. Where did she even get that?

“Then get to where you’re supposed to be,” the teacher said.

Steph gave her a bright smile and pulled Tim further down the hallway in what was either the wrong direction or the right direction depending on what they were doing, which was apparently nothing at all.

“Okay,” he said, when they were far enough away that the teacher wouldn’t hear. “This is fine. Let me think. We obviously can’t take on the Joker, so we… bring in the calvary.” It was obvious the moment he said it. He pulled out his phone, still walking so they wouldn’t attract attention. “I’ll call Batman.”

“It’s funny how you have no problem calling Batman but work yourself into a tizzy over the possibility of sending Jason a get well soon text,” she said, leaning over to watch his screen. He tilted it away so she wouldn’t be able to see his contacts. He had Bruce in his phone as ‘B’, which protected his identity both ways, but he still didn’t want her looking at the number.

“That’s not at all the same thing,” he said, as he pressed the call button. “I have been given very clear parameters on when to call Batman. I do not have clear parameters on when it’s okay to send people get well soon texts.”

“When they’re sick is normally a good bet.”

Tim frowned, turning down a hallway he knew had fewer classrooms. Why wasn’t the phone ringing? It should be ringing by now. He pulled it away from his ear to look at the screen. ‘Call failed’.

“That’s weird,” he said, pressing the call button again.

“Is it not working?” she asked, pacing around him to peek at the screen again. This time he let her. There was nothing for her to see. “Oh my God, that’s right,” she said, digging her phone out of her pocket. “I couldn’t text Dick earlier. It said, ‘Message failed to send’. I just thought I didn’t have service.”

Tim glanced at his service bar. It looked as strong as ever, but the call still wasn’t going through. Some kind of signal blocker, maybe? “It’s okay. I can work around it.”

He slowed to a stop by an unoccupied computer lab and pulled up his app instead. He’d connect directly to the Batcomputer and send out an alert that way. He quickly swiped into his map and tilted the phone away from Steph again so she wouldn’t see where the Batcave was. He really needed a less visual way of connecting to different communicators, maybe add a couple of shortcuts. This whole actually being allowed into the Batsystem thing was still new to him.

He had navigated the map halfway to Bristol when everything went dark. Not just his screen, but also the hallway around them, the lights above flickering one at a time, like a cloud passing in front of stars. A mix of screams and cheers whooped out of distant classrooms as they went dark.

“What..?” Steph said. He could hear her turning in place next to him, feel the wisp of her sleeve brushing against his arm, but not even slightly see her. They were deep in the bowels of the school, far enough from the nearest windows that there was barely more than a dim glow radiating around corners. He blinked until his eyes adjusted enough to see the ghost of an outline.

“My phone’s not working,” she said.

“Mine either.” Obviously. He held down the power button in case it had just shut down and he could turn it back on. No such luck.

“Some kind of EMP?” she asked.

“EMPs aren’t real,” he muttered, tapping on his watch. He’d invested in a smart watch after getting Robin’s calls for help half an hour too late because of something as stupid as not being allowed to have his phone out during class. It was supposed to keep him connected when the phone couldn’t, but its screen stayed dark. “But, uh, looks like yes.”

Judging from the slow taps of footsteps next to him, Steph was turning in tight circles. “Can’t you do something about this?” she asked. “Aren’t computers kind of your thing?”

“They are, but I sort of need the computer to actually turn on to do something about it.”

A haunting, high-pitched laughter filled the hallway and Tim tensed, twisting around to search the for the silhouette of an evil clown. It would feel like a video game if it wasn’t so damn Gotham. It took him way too many turns back and forth, trying to pinpoint the laughter’s origin, to realize it was coming from above them, crackling out of the school’s PA system.

“Oh,” Steph said. “So we’re screwed then. Cool.”

See, Jason thought, he was fine. He was great even! Screw you, Dick, he was doing amazing.

Actually, he felt sore all over. Worse than his first night training. Worse than that time the Ivory Pythons had beat him up for “encroaching on their territory” when all he did was steal a guy’s wallet to buy some food. Worse even than when he woke up from a two-month coma. Then, he’d felt blissfully numb. Now, every muscle ached with a fire that felt like it was consuming him from the inside. But he’d done it. The hard part was over. Now he just had to limp to a few classes and gloat.

He wouldn’t mention the burning pain while gloating.

He tried to focus on Ms. Manix’s lecture. He hadn’t brought his books or notebooks, but that was more of a day two thing anyway. No-one was going to expect him to answer any questions on his first day back. He just wished he had any idea what she was talking about. He was having trouble remembering what her last lecture had been about, before he’d run off. Equations of some sort. This was definitely not equations. She was talking about box plots and quartiles and whiskers for some reason? What did whiskers have to do with math?

It was fine. It was fine. He’d caught up once before; he’d catch up again.

She was drawing what looked an awfully lot like a blocky zombie face on the board when the lights flickered out with an electronic wheeze. His heart rate rocketed, even as most of the class cheered like the teacher had just announced a pizza party. The student next to him—what was her name? Didn’t he used to know?—slammed her book shut, and turned to chat with the student behind her.

“Quiet, everyone,” Ms. Manix said, rapping on the chalkboard. She was going for commanding, but Jason could hear her nerves rattling. She was new to Gotham and had been jumpy all year. “As long as you can see the chalkboard, you can learn. Don’t put your books away yet.”

A collective groan went through the room, but most of the books didn’t reopen.

Jason stared up at the fizzling light, trying to calm his ratcheting heart rate. Power outages weren’t uncommon in Gotham. This wasn’t the first, or even the fifth, time they’d had a short power outage in school. Sometimes it was because of rampaging villains, but it was just as likely to be poor infrastructure. Honestly, they were lucky to be on an outer wall. Half the classes in this school didn't have windows.

But the crackling of the lightbulb hadn’t feel like a power outage. It felt like an electronic attack.

It was fine. Everything was totally fine.

And then the laughter started.

The crowbar slammed across his face, sending him hurtling towards the ground. He tried to catch himself, but pain shot up his arm and he collapsed on top of it. Above him, the madman just kept laughing and laughing, a high-pitched drone that pierced inside of him. Everything hurt. It burned and it burned and he just kept laughing. Hands grabbed his shoulders to yank him up for another hit and he fought against them, but his muscles weren’t working right and his arm was bending in too many places and—

“Jason!” a voice yelled, right in his face.

“Someone get a nurse!”

“We can’t go out there right now; are you insane?”

Why was everyone just standing around? The Joker was laughing. He just kept laughing and laughing and Jason was dying and all anyone did was watch

His mother standing there, watching in disinterest, as the Joker beat the life out of him.

Someone had his shoulders. He tried to yank away before they could offer him to the Joker, and caught a look at their face. It was the guy who sat behind him in Algebra. What was he doing here? Why would he do this?

“Is he having a seizure?” someone asked. “Aren’t you supposed to, like, make sure he doesn't swallow his tongue?”

“It’s not a seizure. My brother has epilepsy.”

“Well, maybe coma seizures look different, Derek; did you think of that?”

The floor was slick beneath his fingers, not the rough, sandpapery feel of cheap concrete. It was brown. Hardwood.

“Jason,” a soft voice said. A woman crouched in front of him, short blonde hair framing her face. His mom? Was the Joker gone? “Are you okay? Can you breathe?”

No, he couldn’t. His lung was probably punctured. He kept drawing in heavy breaths, but his head felt light, like the oxygen wasn’t reaching it. He’d felt his ribs breaking, and now he was probably dying in a warehouse in the middle of a desert thousands of miles from home.

His fingers scraped against the smooth floor under him again. No, that… that wasn’t right. This wasn’t the warehouse. Dim, gray light filtered in through large, ornate windows, lighting up desks. The air was cool. Not cold like nights spent on the streets, but the slight chill that they could never quite get rid of in drafty, older buildings.

And the woman in front of him wasn’t Sheila. Didn’t look anything like her, really, other than the similarly colored hair.

“Jason?” Ms. Manix asked again, holding her hand out towards him like she wanted to offer comfort, but not willing to touch.

He forced himself to slow his breathing, to follow the rhythm Bruce had taught him to use when meditating. Not that he had ever quite gotten meditation, but he found the rhythm calming.

His lung wasn’t pierced. His ribs weren’t broken. They had been, once, but they’d healed before he’d even woken up. He was fine. He could breathe. He was fine.

Students were surrounding him. Half the class had gotten up to stare at him. He was on the ground. Had he fallen out of his chair? He remembered falling, collapsing on his broken arm, but his arm wasn’t broken.

“I’m okay,” he said, but his voice croaked embarrassingly. God, they’d all seen him freaking out. The whole school would know by the time classes were over.

“Is he dying?” someone asked, and several other students shushed her. Were they trying to protect his fragile psyche? He was well-acquainted with the idea of death by now.

They all thought his coma had come from a terrible skiing accident. He wondered if they thought it had been quick.

Ms. Manix’s gaze kept flicking towards the classroom door, even as she tried to smile comfortingly at him. “How are you feeling, Honey?” she asked, her voice slipping more into the Southern drawl he knew she usually tried to suppress. “Can you stand?”

He could still hear the laughter, but nobody was running or screaming or barricading the doors. Was he hearing things?

“Jason?” she asked, reaching towards him but not touching him.

“Shouldn’t he go to the nurse?” someone asked. Male. He barely recognized the voice.

“What if the Joker’s out there?” asked a student crouched by his head. The girl who sat next to him. Meghan, he thought. That’s right, her name was Meghan.

Then her words caught up to him. Oh. So the laughter was real.

He struggled onto his elbows, searching for an enemy he couldn’t see. He looked at the door nobody was guarding, and then the completely exposed windows, before realizing that it was coming from the PA system. He collapsed back to the floor, the sudden drop in adrenaline leaving him exhausted. A warning then, not an immediate threat.

He tried to slow his galloping heart, but the laughter kept zapping it like an AED. He needed to be doing something. Who knew what the Joker might be up to. He could douse the school with Joker toxin or…

A countdown ticked away, bright red on a bomb he had no chance of defusing in time.

“Nurse,” he said, before he realized he was going to say anything. The way several heads turned towards him, he was sure he was interrupting a discussion he hadn’t heard most of. “I’ve had this reaction before, I thought I was past it, but it’s a, uh, common bad coma reaction and I should have it checked out.” He winced. It wasn’t the smoothest lie he’d ever told, but whatever. Nobody expected him to be articulate right now.

Ms. Manix stared at the door, naked fear on her face. She was going to say no. She was right to say no. Nobody should be out in the hallway with the Joker running around. The right thing to do would be to get him as comfortable as possible and monitor his symptoms until this was all over and it was safe to get a medical professional.

“I’ll take him,” a voice said. Nathan.

Of course it was Nathan.

“Everyone knows the Joker’s not a real threat anyway,” Nathan continued with a casual shrug that made Jason want to punch him in the face. “That’s all just sensationalist bullshit designed to improve ratings. I’m pretty sure he’s never actually killed anyone.”

Jason might have actually tried to strangle him if he were a few feet closer and Jason’s arms hadn’t felt like Jello, but poor Ms. Manix, from down where they had more plantations than supervillains, was starting to look confused instead of scared.

“My cousin’s husband was killed by the Joker,” Meghan said, her voice dripping with disdain.

“I’ve met your cousin, and I’m pretty sure her husband just faked his death to get away from her,” Nathan replied with just as much scorn. “Seriously, I can’t believe you buy into those tabloid lies. Haven’t you ever taken an English class? Learn some critical thinking skills.”

God, he hated Nathan. He couldn’t understand how anyone didn’t hate Nathan, but half the class was nodding along like they, too, had always known that the Joker was just a media sham. He was absolutely certain that someday Nathan was going to be a cult leader, and nobody could convince him otherwise.

“If you’re sure,” Ms. Manix said hesitantly, her brow furrowed. She looked like she was questioning everything she thought she knew about Gotham. Jason wanted to correct Nathan, to make sure everyone knew exactly how many people the Joker had killed so they didn’t do anything stupid later, but… he needed to get help, to call Bruce or Dick, and this was his ticket out of there.

“I really don’t feel well,” Jason said instead, hunching over. The motion made the pain in his muscles flare up and he gave a real wince.

“We’ll be fine,” Nathan said. He offered Jason a hand and Jason took it with all the caution touching a snake deserved.

Nathan yanked him upwards, more painful than helpful, and he stumbled shakily to his feet. Meghan held out his crutches when he was mostly standing. She didn’t look happy. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but it transformed quickly to a grimace when Nathan let go of his arm and too much of his weight landed on his unsteady legs.

Meghan’s gaze flicked to Ms. Manix, who was looking towards the door with open worry again, and she grabbed Jason’s hand like she was helping to steady him. There was something hard in her hand that she pushed into his palm and left there when she pulled back. “Don’t be stupid,” she said. He snuck a glance down at what she’d given him as everyone shuffled out of the way. A Swiss Army knife.

Oh, that was right. He knew Meghan because he’d helped herd people out of the restaurant her cousin’s husband was killed in while Batman fought the Joker. She was there.

The Joker’s laughter echoed in his brain. He wondered if it echoed in her’s too.

He quickly shoved the knife into his pocket and gave her a sharp nod.

Nathan draped an arm over his shoulders. Jason suspected it was meant to be ‘helping’ but the pressure hurt his already sore muscles more than it helped.

“Go straight to the nurse’s office,” Ms. Manix said, leading them towards the door and searching the hallway outside the classroom before turning to them, eyes wide and worried. “And stay there. You too, Nathan. I don’t want either of you alone in the hallway.”

“Seriously, Ms. Manix, we’ll be alright. Don’t worry,” Nathan said, all smarmy charm. Jason could see her concern melting away. He wanted to yell at her, ‘No, seriously, worry. Don’t let anyone else out. Hide in the closet. Keep everyone safe and quiet,’ but instead he gave her his best comforting smile as he passed.

If anyone got killed because they got complacent, he’d never fucking forgive himself.

Before the door closed behind them, he met Meghan’s steely gaze and tried to parrot her message back to her with just his eyes. ‘Don’t be stupid. Don’t let anyone else be stupid.’ She nodded at him before disappearing from sight, so at least she got something out it. Hopefully it would be enough.

The Joker’s laughter echoed eerily down the dark hallway. As they walked, red emergency lights flickered on overhead. That was quite the delay, Jason thought, looking up at them. Maybe they were just malfunctioning, but Jason was willing to bet the Joker had purposefully turned them on to help set the mood.

“You know, if you massage essential oils into your skin, it’ll help your muscles heal quicker,” Nathan said.

“That so,” Jason replied, willing his muscles to heal quicker right now so he could get out of this conversation.

“There’s this Eucalyptus and Helichrysum mix I use when I work out that does wonders.”

Jason took a slow breath to prevent himself from beating Nathan to death here and now. He had him alone. He could do it. “And you think that sore muscles from working out and sore muscles from muscle degeneration during a coma are the same thing?”

Nathan gave him a long cool look, like he was the one being stupid. “Weightlifting works by damaging your muscles and building them back stronger,” he said, like he was explaining a simple concept to a particularly dumb child. “It’s exactly the same thing.”

A high-pitched giggle interrupted the scathing retort Jason had definitely been prepared to give. It was different from the laugher still broadcasting through the PA system. Jason was intimately familiar with the Joker’s laugh, and despite being the same type of manic laughter lacking all joy, this one wasn’t his. He stopped in place, trying to gauge where it was coming from, and Nathan dragged him stumbling forward.

“Stop,” Jason hissed. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Nathan asked, sounding bored.

Jason turned his head, listening closely. He heard it again, but he couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from with the Joker laugh cackling all around them. “Giggling,” he said.

“You mean that?” Nathan asked, pointing up at the nearest speaker. “It’s been going for ten minutes. You really need to work on your observation skills.”

Jason scowled at him. “No, I do not mean that. There was different laughter. Higher pitched. Feminine.”

“You’re hearing things. All the more reason to go to the nurse,” Nathan said, trying to pull him forward again.

The giggling sounded again, closer, behind them. Jason hesitated. It could be Harley, but last he’d heard she and the Joker were on the outs.

Granted, last he’d heard was over two months ago, but from what little Dick and Bruce had told him, the Joker had gone underground since Ethiopia and… and whatever else Harley might be, he didn’t think she’d be thrilled about the Robin murder part of why the Joker had been in hiding.

If it wasn’t the Joker and it wasn’t Harley, then that meant Joker toxin. It meant victims, and Robin helped victims. But he wasn’t in a position to help anyone right now. He didn’t have the antidote. He didn’t even have a way to restrain someone.

And being a victim didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous.

“Let’s move,” Jason said. He kept his head turned with one ear towards the giggling and pushed Nathan forward.

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” Nathan asked. “I think maybe you need psychological help more than you need a nurse.”

Jason ignored him, listening for the laughter as he pushed himself to move faster. He breathed a sigh of relief when they turned the corner towards the nurse’s office and the hallway was clear. There was even a soft glow shining from the office window.

“Why do they have lights?” Nathan asked. “I bet all the offices have secret emergency lights that they keep from the students.”

“Mm hmm,” Jason agreed mindlessly as they approached, all of his focus on waiting for just the right moment. He couldn’t actually go to the nurse’s office. He couldn’t let himself get trapped when people were in danger, when there were victims that needed help, when there were so many kids that could become victims.

He was still Robin, no matter what else had happened.

He waited until they were a couple of feet from the door, then stopped quickly enough that Nathan’s forward momentum caused him to pivot towards Jason, his arm still over Jason’s shoulders.

“What is it n—” Nathan started, but his voice broke off as Jason struck at his pressure points, just like Bruce had taught him. Forehead, neck, chest. Jason felt vindictive glee as Nathan dropped. Not quite as satisfying as punching him in the face, but, God, did it still feel good.

He caught Nathan around the waist with a pained grunt, his other hand grabbing at the arm still over his shoulders. His crutches clattered to the ground, and he quickly kicked them out of the way to where they wouldn’t be seen through the doorway. His muscles burned, but he just needed to manage for a couple of minutes. He’d survived far worse pain than this.

He pushed into the nurse’s office, putting on his best frantic expression. The nurse startled from where she’d been sitting on a cot, a lit flashlight propped up on the desk beside her.

“He just collapsed!” he exclaimed as the nurse hurried over and took Nathan from him. “I don’t know what happened!”

The nurse dragged Nathan to the cot and lay him out on it, checking his vitals. She was barely paying any attention to Jason. Perfect. Maybe she wouldn’t realize who he was.

“I should get back to class,” he said, backing towards the door.

The nurse’s head jerked sharply to him. “You should stay here,” she said. “It’s not safe out there.”

He shook his head frantically, still backing up and trying to stay in the shadows so she wouldn’t get a good look at his face. “I can go quickly. They’ll worry if I don’t come back.”

The nurse frowned, but didn’t argue. The last thing they needed was anyone sending a rescue party out into the hallways to look for him. “At least take this,” she said, pulling a drawer open. Jason could barely see the glint of flashlights rolling around in it before she grabbed one and held it out towards him. At least one person in this school was prepared for their regular power outages.

“Thanks,” he said, stretching to take it even as he kept his face in the shadows. “Be careful.”

He left before she could reply, closing the door behind him and moving out of view of the small window embedded in the door.

He shoved the flashlight into his pocket with the knife before picking up his crutches. He didn’t think it was a good idea to swing around a glowing beam of light when who-knows-what enemies were lurking in the hallways, but it might be useful later.

Another burst of giggles sounded behind him, louder than before. He swung his head around but couldn’t see anything in the red glow. Move first, then plan.

He leaned heavily on the crutches and pushed himself as fast as he could towards the closest hallway, feeling uncomfortably like an injured antelope being stalked by a lioness as the giggles followed closely behind.

Chapter Text

Laughter echoed through the hallways with the tinny cadence of a recording, and in the darkness, Tim’s mind filled in images that weren’t there. Flashes of the Joker coming in and out of focus as he desperately tried to get the video feed to stay up, of a warehouse much more sprawling than the narrow hallways he couldn’t see, of too much blood splattered across a concrete floor, metal shelves, and boxes that should be too far away to be hit by the spray.

Tim bit his lip hard and tried to focus on the here and now. He didn’t have any right to be upset. He’d never even been in the warehouse he was having flashbacks to. This wasn’t his trauma.

“What do we do?” Steph asked, staying close to the wall like it would protect her. Tim didn’t bother. They were just as exposed next to a wall as they were in the middle of the hallway, and extra space meant more directions to dodge if danger did arrive. “Look for the signal blocker? Go after the source of the laughter?”

“No,” Tim said sharply. Absolutely not. The source of the laughter was the Joker and they weren’t equipped to fight the Joker. “The plan hasn’t changed. We need to contact Batman.”

“Uhhhhh,” Steph said, dragging the single syllable out and looking pointedly at his phone.

“We need to find a working phone,” he said, plan forming as he spoke. “There won’t be any in here, but we can run for the closest convenience store or restaurant. That diner you and Jason always go to. Use their phone.” They could do it. It wouldn’t take more than five minutes if they ran, and it was probably out of the range of the signal blocker or fake EMP or whatever the Joker was using. If not, they’d just run further. There were options.

“We can’t just run away,” Steph argued, her voice catching. “What about everyone here? We’d be leaving them in danger.” The outline of her face turned towards the abandoned computer lab, and Tim was sure she was remembering all of the packed classrooms they’d come down this hallway to avoid.

Tim saw Jason, broken and bleeding on the floor of a warehouse. Saw the explosion he barely wasn’t in.

Jason was in a classroom a hundred yards away, and the Joker could be rigging the whole place to explode right now.

But a surprise explosion wasn’t his style. He wanted people to suffer first.

Tim took a deep breath. “We’d be bringing in help to get them out of that danger. Being a hero isn’t always throwing yourself into battles you can’t win,” he said, knowing exactly how much of a hypocrite he was being. “Sometimes it’s getting the people who can.”

Her face turned towards his and stayed there for a long time. He wasn’t sure how much she saw, but he kept his expression as determined and confident as he could just in case she could make it out in the dark. “Okay,” she finally said, audibly swallowing. “Okay, let’s go. We can always come back after.”

Tim nodded. They were on the same page there. Their first priority had to be contacting Batman, but he wasn’t going to just stand around twiddling his thumbs as soon as help was on the way.

He turned in a tight circle, getting his bearings. The closest exit was down Hallway G, but that was through the gym, which just seemed like a terrible idea. If the Joker had a base of operations, it was probably in the gym, the auditorium, or the cafeteria.

He turned instead towards Hallway D. It wasn’t the closest exit, but it was the safest.

He led the way in silence, practicing the techniques Batman had taught him to move through shadows. Steph followed with more grace than he would have expected. She did gymnastics, right? Maybe she’d learned nimbleness from that, though it certainly wasn’t obvious from the way she usually tromped around everywhere.

They slowed as they approached Hallway D. He could see daylight around one corner, in stark relief against the dark permeating from the opposite side. He glanced up at the safety mirror. Even in the dim light, the reflection was too shadowed to see if there was any danger.

As he watched, the light in the reflection changed from soft white to ominous red.

“What..?” He looked up in confusion as the red emergency lights flickered to life.

“Should those be working?” Steph asked. “Shouldn’t the EMP have knocked them out?”

“EMP’s aren’t real,” he repeated distractedly, looking up at the flickering red lights. They made the hallways feel even more like a horror movie than bef—

Oh.

He scowled as he turned the corner towards the exit. “I think it’s meant to scare us,” he said. “Joke’s on them. It just makes it easier for us to se—” His voice cut off in a sharp gasp as something slammed into him from the dark side of Hallway D, knocking him to the ground. A deep throated chuckle started softly, growing into a shriek as Tim tried to throw the figure off.

He could hear Steph yelling, but he couldn’t see her with his face shoved into the cold wooden floor. Something snapped painfully onto his shoulder like a bear trap and he had to swallow a scream.

“Get off of him!”

The grip tore painfully away and the weight lessened enough for him to twist in place. A manic face was inches from his, the eyes wide and glassy like a creepy doll’s and mouth stretched into a wide grin of gleaming, red teeth. Had the teeth actually been sharpened into points? That was not what human teeth looked like.

He could see Steph now, pulling at an arm that seemed twisted in an unnatural direction, but the guy wasn’t reacting at all. Not to her, not to the pain that he should be in. He just pulled against her hold like a rabid dog against a chain, straining towards Tim with his jaws stretched wide open and snapping.

Tim managed to squeeze his legs between his chest and the one pinning him and kicked hard enough to shove the man away. Only then did he see the torn, bloody green shirt dangling from his form.

“Christ,” Tim breathed.

“Run, run, run!” Steph yelled, breaking him out of his shock. He clambered backwards, barely getting out from under Green Shirt before he lunged again.

He scrambled to his feet, tripping forward into an awkward run. His shoulder burned. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and forced his brain to re-categorize it as a problem for later. Steph yelped and he looked back as Green Shirt broke from her grasp. The man laughed as he ran after Tim, but the discordant cackling sounded more like a toy’s broken voicebox than anything a human would make.

Tim slammed into the door injured shoulder first and gasped. He grasped blindly for the handle, trying to keep Green Shirt in sight, but the whole thing was flat and unyielding. Where the heck was it? He turned and all he saw was a large expanse of gleaming, solid steel. The security gate. Fuck. Fuck. It was part of the school’s latest multi-million dollar security upgrade. It was supposed to keep Gotham’s monsters out of the school during an emergency.

So much for that.

He shoved uselessly at the unyielding metal, not even sure what he was trying to accomplish. Something.

“Tim!” Steph shrieked behind him, and he dove to the side without stopping to look. Green Shirt ran headlong into the gate where he’d just been standing and turned towards him without slowing.

“What is that?” Steph yelled, shortly behind. “Why is the door blocked?”

Tim scrambled back to his feet and ran towards Steph, grabbing her arm as he passed and yanking her behind him. He could hear Green Shirt snapping at them in the way his broken laughter paused just long enough for his mouth to clamp shut.

“Security gate,” he gasped out. “It’s top of the line, military grade equipment. We’re not going to get through it.”

“Well, that was a great investment!” Steph yelled. “I’m so glad the school has our safety in mind!”

They turned down the next hallway. Tim had no idea where they were going. He couldn’t even think of what was in this direction. Away.

He risked a glance down at his aching shoulder. There were jagged cuts in his school uniform that looked red in the glowing emergency lights. He gingerly touched it with his free hand, and his fingers came away wet. Didn’t just look red then. Was red.

“Is this going to be on every exit?” Steph asked after they passed their third dimly lit hallway, escape just barely out of reach behind solid steel. The anger had leaked out of her voice, leaving resignation behind.

“Yes,” he replied shortly.

She didn’t reply. They both knew what that meant. No phone, no Batman, no backup.

They were on their own.

Jason’s head shot up at the sound of distant screams and he was running towards them before his brain caught up.

Or more accurately, before his stupid, broken body caught up.

He barely made it ten steps before his knees gave out and he had to lean his weight back onto his crutches. He was going to be useless like this. He couldn’t rely on reckless bravado like he normally did; he had to be smart.

He kept moving towards the now faded screams, but much more slowly, at a speed he could maintain. He needed a plan. There was at least one Joker victim. Probably at least two, considering the screams had come from a different direction than the high-pitched giggling. Were the Joker victims attacking people or had someone just been scared? He had to assume the former, even if it wasn’t true. He’d long-since learned to err on the side of more danger.

He cocked his head to listen for the giggles that had been stalking him. It took a few seconds, but he eventually heard a couple between the constant, loud Joker guffaws. They were getting softer. Moving away, maybe. Good. That gave him a little bit of breathing room.

He paused long enough to fish his phone out of his pocket. He wasn’t exactly surprised no one had called to demand where he was yet. He had managed to make it to Israel without anyone noticing he was gone after all. But they’d been strangely clingy since he woke up, so he’d kind of thought someone might notice this time.

It was… disappointing, he guessed. As much as Bruce kept trying to act like things had changed, it was clear at least one thing had stayed the same.

Maybe he’d rub it in when he called, he thought. ‘Didn’t even notice me missing. Again.’ He didn’t feel particularly triumphant though.

His phone didn’t respond like it normally did when he lifted it. He tapped the black screen, then the power button when that had no effect. Had he accidentally turned it off? It couldn’t be out of batteries; he’d barely taken it off the charger for the last week. He held down the button, counting the seconds tick away, but it didn’t turn on.

He slowly raised his gaze to the darkened lights, remembering the way they fizzled when they went out. Of course. Nothing could ever be easy, could it?

It was fine. There was a CB radio in the front office for emergencies. Batman had made sure all the local schools and at risk buildings in Gotham had one to call for help. He just had to get to it.

He listened to the Joker’s laughter as he walked. The PA System was also controlled from the front office, but there was no way that was where the Joker would be. The laughter was clearly recorded. He could hear where the pattern stopped and repeated. It did a lot to calm his nerves to listen for that little catch in the recording. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t current. It was just a trick to rile people up, and he wasn’t going to let it work on him.

The Joker probably just set the recording up and went to do other things. Hell, he probably didn’t even do that much. He probably got one of his henchmen to set it up. There would be a guard, but even at his worst, Jason could handle some low-tier thug. He was injured, not dead.

He slowed as he approached Hallway D. He was near a corner of the school. He could see light shining in through distant windows. The screaming had to have come from around here.

No sign of the screamers now though. He scanned the floor, looking for… there. In the intersection closest to the door, the usually gleaming floor was discolored. As he crutched closer, he could see the spots were stained a dark red. Blood.

Smaller drops continued towards the door. He could see now that he was closer that it was covered with a thick security gate. Bruce had told the school board that was a bad idea when they proposed it, but nooooo, everyone said. Think of the children. It looked like at least one of the children had tried to escape out of one of their oh so safe doors and found themselves trapped. Good job, everyone involved.

No sign of anyone now, though, so at least the student hadn’t gotten torn to shreds at a blocked exit.

The droplets got smaller and more distant as they turned down a hallway parallel to the one Jason had come from and traveled deeper into the school. Not too injured, then. They weren’t gushing blood, and they could clearly move a lot faster than Jason could right now.

He’d just have to hope they found somewhere safe to bunker down. He wasn't going to be able to catch up with them, and it wasn’t clear if they still needed help. The best thing Jason could do for them right now was bring Batman down on this place.

His shoulders were aching. His legs were aching. His back was aching. Hell, even his armpits were aching. His knees felt like if he stopped walking for even a few seconds they’d lock up and refuse to move again. This fucking sucked. But he couldn’t let it slow him down, so he turned slowly back towards the front office and started the glacial trek there.

Chapter Text

Jason peeked around a corner at the single guard standing vigil at the office door. The guy was huge. He was built like one of those annoying pricks who spent all their time at the gym just to show off how pretty their muscles were. Jason hated him already.

At least he could be sure the Joker wasn’t there. The Joker wouldn’t post a guard if he was actually in the office. He’d want people to walk in on him just for the glee he’d feel at their shocked horror.

Jason rotated his shoulders in painfully tight circles, trying to loosen his muscles. He knew he wasn’t in the best shape right now. Even without the pain, it had been months since he’d trained, and this guy didn’t exactly look like the pushover he’d been hoping for.

No, don’t think like that. He had this. The Joker would never hire someone who would show him up, so he couldn’t be that capable. Hell, it looked like his shirt had some cartoon character on it. This wasn’t Bane; it was just some jock with a side gig. Probably dumb too. Had to be if he thought working for the Joker would end in anything but his own death.

Jason buried the pain and exhaustion as deep as a coffin. He’d been fighting through every form of discomfort since long before he met Bruce. This was just another annoyance to ignore until he had the resources to deal with it.

He wasn’t going to be able to sneak up on Cartoon Jock with crutches, so he didn’t bother trying. He turned the corner like he was an everyday student just casually wandering down the hallway. During class. While the Joker’s laughter blasted through the PA system.

He’s probably not very smart, he reminded himself, keeping the unassuming smile on his face. And definitely not going to expect much from a kid on crutches.

He expected the usual henchman threats the moment he turned towards the office. Get outta here if you know what’s good for ya’ or the boss wouldn’t like you coming this way. Instead, Cartoon Jock was completely, eerily silent as just his head slowly rotated to face Jason. His grin grew painfully large, with what looked like blood dripping down his lips from the cracked corners of his mouth, and his eyes widened to almost inhuman proportions.

Oh. This wasn’t a henchman; it was a victim.

The laughter, if you could even call it that, started softly and grew painfully loud, beating against his eardrums. It didn’t sound even slightly like real laughter, more like someone sarcastically saying “ha ha ha,” but the ha’s never stopped.

Jason faltered, but forced himself to keep going. This didn’t change anything. He still had to get into that office, and in the end that would help everyone, including ol’ CJ here. The good news was that CJ definitely wasn’t smart enough right now to realize that the kid on crutches should be running in terror, not walking straight at him.

CJ was deathly still as Jason approached. Was he actually a threat at all or was he just supposed to scare away anyone who got close? Jason might be able to walk right past him into the office.

He shifted his angle towards the door instead of the powerhouse standing in front of it. Jason could feel the eyes laser-focused on him with each step, but there was still no other movement. This was going to work.

Then CJ’s meaty fist shot out at his face, just as he got within punching distance.

Jason dropped to a crouch like he had in hundreds of fights out as Robin, but the popping back up part was a lot harder than normal. When his knees refused to quickly straighten, he dropped further instead, using one of his crutches to swipe at CJ’s legs. Most people would jump or try to step aside, or at the very least wince and stumble when it hit. The crutch slammed into CJ’s leg and stopped with a sharp jolt. CJ didn’t react at all. No movement. No cry of pain. No little grunt as he stoically took the hit. Nothing.

This wasn’t like any version of Joker toxin he’d seen, but it sure as hell wasn’t natural.

CJ leaned forward to grab him, but his movements were too slow and robotic to come anywhere close, even with Jason’s less than stellar health. Jason scrambled backwards and swung a crutch at one of the arms reaching for him. It hit with a solid thud and did nothing at all to stop the forward momentum.

Fuck. He couldn’t treat this guy like he was human. He was more like a creepy mannequin come to life.

But one that might still have a person inside, so he couldn’t hit too hard. Just ‘cause nothing was stopping him now didn’t mean he wouldn’t feel it later.

He backed up until he was out of punching range, and CJ slowly straightened, his arms falling back to his sides. It was like he reset. Jason couldn’t just walk past him, but if he got inside, the guy might forget all about him and go back to guarding the door like nothing had happened.

He was like a brick wall, though. Jason wasn’t going to be able to just knock him over and run past. Not at his current speed.

Think smart, not strong.

He circled slowly around CJ, keeping him more than an arm’s distance away, until he was right next to the wall. He could see the outline of the door behind CJ. The handle was barely over three feet away from him. He looked up at CJ’s face. His too wide eyes were still burning into Jason like he thought he had heat vision.

Jason waited a breath, then darted forward, holding up one crutch to block the expected punch. He grabbed the handle and yanked, leaping back in the same sharp movement. The door swung open, and CJ’s arms fell back to his side. Even with the open door touching CJ’s back, he didn’t react to it at all. He just resumed his creepy vigil.

Perfect.

Jason waited another few breaths, letting his heartbeat settle and flexing his sore muscles. He raised the crutch back to its protective position, keeping his eyes on CJ the whole time. No change. He took a few steps back to get more of a running start, then raced forward, leaping from a few inches outside of arm’s length like he was a fucking track star doing a long jump. CJ’s fist hit his crutch with a crunch, and then Jason was through the door, slamming it shut behind him. He locked it for good measure and moved out of sight of the window, pressing against the wall. Moment of truth.

He stood motionless for one second, another, another, waiting for the pounding on the door, but it didn’t come.

After thirty seconds, he finally released the breath he’d been holding and moved away from the wall. He glanced carefully out the window, expecting to meet CJ’s haunting stare, but instead all he saw were back muscles through a tight, white shirt.

Holy fuck, he was a genius. Eat shit, Dick.

The laughter was louder in here. He focused on the fakeness of the repetition as he navigated through the empty office. It was still grating at his nerves, especially so close. He could see a red timer, a crowbar, blood sprayed across a warehouse floor every time he blinked. He forced himself to breathe and focus. The digital clock on someone’s desk had black numbers, not red, and it just showed the time. The spots of color on the bulletin board were smiling faces, not splatters of blood. There was no one here to try and kill him.

He just needed to get the CB radio and get out. He knew where it was supposed to be stored. Out of sight, out of the way, but quick and easy to access. He went straight to the furthest right filing cabinet and pulled out the bottom drawer with its hidden compartment. He expected to need to jimmy the lock, but the drawer opened easily.

Inside, the CB radio was smashed, obvious cracks zigzagging across its chassis and the words ‘HA HA’ spray-painted on it in acid green.

He grit his teeth to keep from yelling. How did the Joker even know about this? Bruce went to great pains to keep it as secret as possible. It was supposed to be a last emergency measure against rogues. Who the hell fucked this one up?

A little on the nose too, wasn’t it. ‘Ha Ha’? Was he running out of ideas? Or was he just in an extra pissy mood because he didn’t manage to off Robin?

Fucking asshole.

Jason took a deep breath in through his gritted teeth. Maybe just the casing was broken. Or maybe it was something easy to fix. He wasn’t an electronics expert, but Bruce had made sure he had at least enough basic knowledge to fix broken equipment in the field. He should get somewhere safe, with tools, and see what he could do. Maybe the metal shop. It only had classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so it should be empty.

He should have brought his bookbag. Strangely enough, when he was sneaking out that morning, he didn’t exactly plan for lugging gear around while running from knock-off Jokers.

He scanned the room. There were a couple of purses tucked up next to desks. A twinge of worry twisted in his gut. Where were all the people who were supposed to be working in this office? There were coats over chairs and he spotted a few abandoned cell phones. Wherever they went, they didn’t take anything with them. He hoped they just ran away too fast to grab their stuff, not… not the obvious alternative.

The room wasn’t splattered in blood, he reminded himself. At least there was that.

He spotted the Lost and Found box in a corner by the PA system and crutched awkwardly over. There was a red scarf on top. He grabbed it and wrapped it around the bottom half of his face. He’d been doing way too much without a disguise. He doubted CJ was going to remember much of this experience even if he did come fully back to himself, but he still needed to be more careful.

Under the scarf was a nice leather coat. A really nice leather coat. Way too nice to be in the Lost and Found. Freakin’ rich people. If they couldn’t keep track of their expensive shit, then they didn’t deserve to keep it. He grabbed that too and quickly slipped it on. The outside was black with gunmetal gray patches, and the inside liner and hood were bright red. He zipped it up and flipped the hood up over his hair. Nice.

He shifted through the rest of the box. No bookbags. No bags of any kind. He scowled at it. People managed to lose thousand-dollar leather jackets and couldn’t do him the favor of losing a single twenty-dollar bag? Fuck them.

The laughter felt like it was getting louder. He knew it wasn’t. He could see the tape recorder it was playing out of, could watch the spinning of the tape, but he felt it building inside him like a dam about to break anyway.

Left hand or right hand?

He heard the tape recorder crashing to the floor before he realized he’d hit it off the desk. The fake laughter wheezed to a slow stop and he felt like he could breathe again. Maybe not the best move. The Joker was going to be pissed, and it told all his people exactly where Jason was right now, but you know what? That was fine. He’d be out of here soon anyway, and the whole school would feel better with the laughter gone. Actually, he was feeling great about this.

He jumped at the sudden sound of banging and turned to see CJ staring in with his wide eyes and wider grin as he slammed his whole weight against the door. The frame was already starting to show cracks.

Breaking the tape recorder might have been a mistake.

He bent down and grabbed it, jabbing at the play button like that was going to accomplish anything, but it was already stuck down. He tried pressing stop—the play button popping up in response—and pressing play again. Nothing. He shook it in frustration, which unsurprisingly had absolutely no effect. It was a cheap old thing and apparently made to frustrate him.

CJ slammed against the door again, and this time the door bent inwards, the metal of the lock visible through the widening crack.

He dropped the tape recorder. He had a minute at most, and that didn’t include time to mess with ancient technology. He grabbed a purse off the closest desk and dumped its contents as he ran back for the cabinet. Sorry to whoever that belonged to. He grabbed the CB radio and shoved it into the purse. He should probably be more careful with it, but he didn’t have time.

The door slammed inwards again, the whole frame bending with it. He had nowhere to go. CJ was blocking the only way out. There were no other doors. No windows. No…

He looked up at the ceiling. It looked like stone, but hadn’t Duchess said that was fake? He remembered that from her whole spiel while she was giving them the tour. The school was hundreds of years old, but was upgraded to add heating and air conditioning fifty years ago. To keep the aesthetics, they’d built a faux drop ceiling designed to match the original stone.

He had no way of knowing if it was true, but if anyone knew their useless school trivia, he trusted it would be Duchess. He climbed painfully onto a desk and jabbed one of his crutches up into the closest stone tile.

It moved.

He pulled a chair up onto the desk and climbed onto it just as the door behind him broke open, shards of wood ricocheting into the room. He couldn’t focus on that. He pushed the fake stone tile up and over, revealing a cramped crawl space above. He tossed his crutches through the hole and used what little strength was left in his atrophied muscles to pull himself up.

Two months ago, he could do thirty pull-ups in a minute. Today he could barely lift his useless lump of a body up four feet. He strained against his shaking limbs and managed to flop forward into the crawl space just as CJ rammed into the desk below him, pushing it back a foot and toppling the chair to the ground.

Now that he was up here, he could see that there was a sturdier metal frame surrounding flimsy-looking tiles. He carefully balanced on one of the metal beams and grabbed the fake stone tile he’d displaced. He pushed it back into place, hoping that would be enough to make CJ forget where he was.

He stayed still, barely breathing, not making any noise, waiting for CJ to reset and go back to the door. He was dumb, remember? Barely more than an automaton.

A fist punched up through the tile next to him, shattering the flimsy fake stone.

Breaking the tape recorder was a fucking awful idea.

Tim darted around a corner without warning and Steph skidded after him. He acted like he knew where he was going, but she was pretty sure he was just making it up as he went along. Tim was always weirdly confident about the wildest shit, and then unable to handle the most basic, everyday scenarios. Steph guessed being chased by a clown zombie while trapped in their school during a blackout qualified as the wildest shit. Of course he was acting like he knew exactly what he was doing. This was where he thrived.

They twisted around another corner. A classroom door opened just a crack and she could see a pair of eyes peek out before it slammed shut again. Rude. Guess she couldn’t count on those people in the zombie apocalypse. She hadn’t been expecting anyone to run out and fight the zombie exactly, but trying to usher them into safety would have been nice.

Tim took a sharp left down another dark hallway. She slid, her sneakers squeaking on the slick floor, as she swung to follow him. Did he actually have a plan or was he just hoping enough quick twists and turns would leave their pursuer behind? She glanced over her shoulder at the zombie still hot on their heels. No luck so far.

She guessed he wasn’t really a zombie. Zombies were supposed to be slow and have, like, pieces dangling off of them. He was more like a wild animal that had tasted blood and wasn’t going to let go until he got the rest.

Literally tasted blood. Ew. Even in the low light, she could see the blood smeared across his chin.

She almost missed Tim’s next left turn, and definitely would have missed the one that came immediately after if he hadn’t grabbed her arm to pull her along. It took her a second to place where they were. It was that weird loop by the library that felt like the builders had misread the blueprints and accidentally made the library smaller than they’d planned, so they’d shoved a couple classes in the middle of a hallway to fill the extra room. It barely took twenty seconds to run the length of the classrooms, turn, and run it again. They circled through the loop enough times to make her start feeling dizzy, so she focused on Tim instead of the hallways speeding past. She was pretty sure she knew his plan now and she was going to be ready.

Tim was watching over his shoulder instead of where they were running, seemingly taking the turns on instinct or, more likely for him, pure memory. Steph had lost track of the number of loops when he suddenly turned right instead of left. He reached for her but she’d been waiting for it and didn’t need the prompting. They only went a few feet before pressing against the wall in the deepest available shadows. Steph held her breath, and she was pretty sure Tim did too from how completely silent he was next to her. The zombie ran past at full speed, continuing the loop.

She let out a low, wheezy breath. Tim silently inclined his head towards the other side of the hallway, and they slowly crept that direction. She could hear the zombie noisily run through the loop at least twice more before they turned into the next hallway over. He’d probably notice they weren’t there eventually, but with any luck it would take awhile. Predator zombie clowns didn’t seem particularly bright.

Tim sighed and rubbed at his shoulder like he thought it was hurting from muscle strain. His hand came away red.

“We should get the gear,” she said. “It’s in your locker, right?”

To her surprise, he didn’t immediately agree. He’d been the one who was all, ‘you shouldn’t be out here without gear, Stephanie.’ This was exactly why he’d said it, so they wouldn’t get hurt without Kevlar to protect them. But instead of being like, ‘you’re absolutely right, Steph, let’s go straight there,’ he frowned at his hand, shaking it and sending drips of blood spattering across the floor.

“I don’t have full costumes,” he finally said, voice slow and considering. “Just vests and masks. We’d still have to wear our school uniforms. There’s too much of a risk of people connecting them to our identities.”

“So we’ll switch jackets and pretend we’re in disguise,” Steph said.

Tim very slowly turned to face her, a bemused expression wiping away the grim scowl that had settled there. “What?”

“‘Cause then your jacket will be too big and mine will be too small and at some point we’ll loudly exclaim, ‘Ah ha! We fooled you into thinking we were students with our ill-fitted uniforms!’”

He choked on a sharp laugh. “‘Don’t you look foolish for thinking we go here!’”

“‘You really thought these knockoff uniforms could pass as belonging to a billionaire? You certainly have egg on your face!’”

“That’s so dumb,” he said, a smile twitching at the edges of his lips.

“It’s brilliant. You’re just mad you didn’t come up with it.”

A sudden crash and silence cut off whatever retort he had. Tim furrowed his brow up at the PA, which was no longer broadcasting. Something had happened, and Steph doubted it was the Joker deciding the school’d had enough of his laughter.

She was about to ask what Tim thought when he twisted sharply to look back the way they’d come. She heard it a second after him, the slowly building laughter and quick steps. Sounded like the good old zombie clown had finally noticed their escape.

Tim jerked his head at the closest hallway and they quickly turned down it before the zombie could see them loitering around arguing about uniforms. They waited in the shadowed alcove of an indented doorway, ready to run the moment the laughter approached. Instead it slowly quieted, moving further away down the hallway they’d come from.

They let out a collective breath as the last giggles disappeared in the distance. “We’ll get the gear,” Tim whispered, any amusement from earlier vanished with the eerie laughter. “Let’s go quickly before anything else finds us.”

She nodded, and together they tiptoed through hallways that were now silent as the grave.

Chapter Text

It turned out Tim’s locker actually was as out of the way as he always made it sound. Steph had always kind of assumed that was just Tim being his usual oh-no-don’t-worry-about-me-I-don’t-want-to-be-a-bother self, but the hallway he led her to was a narrow stretch behind the auditorium, pressed against an outer wall and leading to a dead end. The only way to get to it was a long, empty hallway between the cafeteria and the auditorium. It must be a nightmare during lunch.

Unlike now, when it was just a clown music murder corridor. Tim held her hand as they crept down it, eyes flicking nervously towards the thin wall between them and the auditorium. They could hear the quiet chimes of organ music drifting through the wall, and fuuuuuuck that. She had no idea what was going on in there, and she didn’t want to know, thank you very much.

There weren’t even classes back here. What evil architect had decided this was a good spot for lockers? How did Tim get to any of his classes on time?

The music crescendoed as they approached the end of the corridor. A door was propped open just enough for her to see bright, colorful lights flickering against dark curtains. Tim leaned forward to check it, his fingers tapping against her hand with nervous energy, before leading them quickly past to the dead end they’d decided to willingly trap themselves in for some unknowable reason.

Tim led the way to one of ten whole lockers between the kitchen and the rarely used metal shop. His hands moved automatically to put in the combination while his eyes stayed on another backstage door directly behind them. At least this one was closed, the music muffled behind thick wood.

She was surprised Tim would allow this, either as Timothy Drake or as Chirp. She’d think either his social standing or his hacking skills could get him a better locker. This was where you stuck the scholarship kids, not the scion of a wealthy family.

Or maybe this was exactly where he wanted to be, she thought as he pulled out the lumpy bag containing his Robin equipment. There were probably some advantages to keeping your stuff in a place no one ever went.

He dug through the bag and pulled out a small cylinder, about the size of a tube of lipstick. Some kind of fancy Batman gadget, she thought excitedly. A laser gun or electric shield. She itched to ask, but just because they didn’t have anyone actively chasing them right now didn’t mean there wasn’t a whole army of zombie clowns just behind the theatre door.

Tim shut the locker door as slowly and quietly as he could, but the soft clang of the metal latching still made her wince. She started to step back towards the main hallway, but Tim inclined his head in the opposite direct, towards a door on the other side of the stretch of lockers.

He clicked a switch on the small tube as he pushed the door open and a beam barely larger than a penlight extended from it.

Oh, it was just a flashlight. That was disappointing.

She glanced at the sign on the door as they walked in. It just said, ‘GIRLS’, with the typical silhouette of someone wearing a dress. She turned to raise an eyebrow at Tim, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was busy shining the light around the room, crouching to look under stalls and checking dark corners. The narrow light didn’t do much to illuminate the otherwise pitch black room, but it was better than nothing.

She waited until the door was closed to say, “Really? You can’t text someone, ‘cause, God, that could break so many rules of etiquette, but going into the girls’ bathroom is totally okay?”

“Steph,” he said, looking up at her from where he was digging through his bag like she was the one being weird. “It’s an emergency.”

“I will never understand you.”

He pulled out something small that she couldn’t make out in the dim light. “Put this on first,” he said, holding it out towards her. “Press it over your eyes, making sure you can see out, and then push around the edges. It’ll stick.”

Oh, she realized as her hand closed around the strip of fabric. A mask. It was stiffer and smoother than she expected, with hard glass lenses. It took her a few seconds to get the angle right, but once she pressed down, it stuck like it was always meant to be there.

“Okay, now double tap to the right of your right eye,” Tim said as soon as she had the mask in place. How did he even know she was ready? She could barely see him. His flashlight was lying on the floor, barely illuminating anything. She double tapped the spot, and suddenly everything went green-tinged and way more visible. She could clearly see Tim looking up at her wearing his own mask.

“Niiice,” she said, turning to look around the small room. Sinks, check. Toilets, check. It wasn’t as good as having actual light, but it was still pretty darn impressive.

She saw Tim search the clearly empty room one more time before pulling out a couple of vests. They looked green-tinged, like everything else, but she could see the distinctive R patches on the chests. “Luckily, I brought two,” Tim said. “I wasn’t sure what size you’d wear. I wear the smaller one but you, uh...” He trailed off awkwardly. His gaze flicked down to her chest and quickly away.

“Have boobs?” she offered, pointing at them.

His face flushed a dark green in the weird light, his head turned away from where she was pointing. “So you might need the bigger one,” he said quickly, shoving it in her direction.

She inspected the vest. It was thin and flexible, but felt solid in her hands. There were seams, but she couldn’t figure out how to open them. “Does this go over my head?” She looked up to see him with his vest open at one of the sides. “Oh. How..?” She looked back down at the vest in her hands, tugging lightly at one of the seams. No change.

“Here,” he said, hopping up beside her. “It’s made to look like it can’t open. Extra protection in case Robin gets nabbed.” He shifted the fabric in a way she didn’t quite follow, revealing the clasps. She was going to have to get him to show her that again later, when they had time to practice.

He shrugged out of his jacket. The white of his shirt was bright in the night vision, except for a dark stain on his shoulder. She winced at the sight of it.

“Shouldn’t we, like, I don’t know, treat that or something?” It was too big for the Band-Aids she kept in her purse, but he was Robin. He probably had gauze.

“I don’t have any medical supplies,” he said, ruining that train of thought immediately.

“Really? Nothing? Isn’t the whole Bat motto like, ‘Be Prepared'?”

“That’s the Boy Scouts,” he said, rotating his shoulder with a grimace. “But if I were actually out as Robin, of course I’d have medical supplies. And also a few dozen other useful tools I don’t have right now. I don’t have birdarangs or smoke bombs or my utility belt. I just have the vest and masks, and it’s pure luck I have that much. I usually wouldn’t.”

“Wait, wait,” she said, holding up her hands. “Did you say birdarangs?”

“That’s what they’re called,” he defended, despite the name being indefensible. She muffled a laugh at his offended huff. “I think my shoulder’s mostly clotted anyway,” he said, pulling up his collar to look under the shirt. It stuck to the wound and he didn’t try to force it away. “I should definitely take an antibiotic later, because gross, but I’m not going to bleed to death.”

“You’d better not.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but it didn’t feel like one. Her mind jumped to Jason. She hoped he was doing okay. Why did he have to come to school today of all days? He had to have heard the laughter. Was he still in his classroom? He’d better still be in his classroom; he could barely walk.

Tim pulled the vest on with a wince. It had cap sleeves that fully covered the shoulders, so at least they’d be protected from another surprise bite attack. She was pretty sure another shirt normally went under it, but Tim hadn’t brought that part, so it was just over his uniform shirt instead. She followed suit, pulling her vest on. When she glanced back at Tim, his vest’s seams were fully sealed again. “Okay, how?” she asked, looking down at her own very separated vest. There was a row of clasps so she started hooking them together one at a time. It felt strangely like that time she wore a corset for a costume party.

“Here,” he said. He hooked the last few clasps for her, much quicker than she’d been managing them, and traced his finger down the edge of the seam. The clasps yanked inward until the seam was barely visible.

“Oh, it’s a robot thing,” she said, twisting to get a better look.

“Not robot,” he said. She rolled her eyes. He was smart enough to get what she meant, but if he was gonna be all pedantic about it.

“You know what I mean,” she said. “Little tiny robot people who live inside the vest and pull on it when they’re pet.”

“Steph,” Tim said flatly. She was sure he was trying to give her his usual judgmental stare, but one advantage of the Robin mask covering his eyes was that she couldn’t see it at all.

She made a show of putting a finger thoughtfully to her lips. “I guess they must like the affection since they’re stuck inside Kevlar all day. That’s so sad.”

“Steph.”

“Or is the right term cyborg?”

He looked like he was going to have a hernia, so she gave him the most innocent, naive expression she could manage.

He huffed dramatically and let it go. Good choice.

“We should get moving,” he said. She held her jacket out to him and he rolled his eyes but took it, handing her his in return. Operation Disguise was a go.

“Where are we even going?” she asked as she pulled on his jacket. It was definitely a little tight, especially with the vest underneath, and the shoulder was sticky. She hadn’t thought about that part when volunteering to wear his clothes. “What’s our plan?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, pausing at the door. “Find a way to disable the security gate or find a working phone. Let’s get away from the auditorium first; then we can figure it out.”

She nodded, clamping her mouth shut as he opened the door. The music sounded louder when they stepped out into the hallway. Tim held a finger to his lips, but she didn’t need the warning.

He pulled her jacket tight around his chest and kept his face down so his hair partially covered the mask. She copied him, trying to look as much like a superhero pretending to be a normal student as she could.

They had to circle around two sides of the auditorium to get back to the main thoroughfare. She kept an eye on the closest backstage door their entire trek down the short hallway, and didn’t breathe until they turned the corner. So far, so good.

The open door was in front of them, the music blasting out of it like they were in the front row of a rock show. A very, very alternative rock show.

Tim held an arm out to motion for her to stop and carefully leaned forward just enough to see through the door. A broom handle was shoved into the door’s crack to keep it from closing, the wood chipping where the sharp edge of the door dug into it. He waited a pause before taking one step, and then another, his eyes staying on the room as he passed. As soon as he reached the other side he motioned for her to follow.

She tried to see into the auditorium as they passed, but it was just the same dark curtains and flashing lights. She watched carefully for any sign of life, but if there were people in there, she couldn’t see them.

“Well, well, well.”

The voice, on the other hand, came from the cafeteria.

They both jumped, twisting mid-air to turn towards where the hallway wall fell away into the cafeteria entrance. That was the Joker. That was definitely the Joker. White skin? Check. Red lips, check. Psychopathic grin, triple-fucking-check. They were yards away from the Joker in a tiny dead end hallway. Where were they going to go? The metal shop? The kitchen?

Actually, they should have stopped by the kitchen. It probably had weapons. Her hands itched to tighten around a butcher’s knife she didn’t have.

The Joker’s grin grew wider and crueler as he took in their frozen forms, his eyes tracking from their masks to the insignia visible through their now open jackets. “If it isn’t my little birds. I thought I was going to have to go bird hunting, but you came straight to me. How thoughtful! Don’t you think that’s thoughtful, Harley dear?”

A blonde woman with twin ponytails stepped out beside him, licking a lollipop that had probably been stolen from the school store. “It really is, Shnookums! What should we do with them?”

The Joker stepped forward, pulling what would normally be a comically oversized syringe out from his bottomless pockets. “It’s their lucky day! I’ve prepared an extra special formula just for them.”

Jason crawled as quickly as he could along the metal bar, pulling his crutches awkwardly behind him and cursing every fucking decision he’d made that day. Coming to school? Fucking great idea. Good job. He was certainly going to achieve his goal of upsetting Bruce when he got himself fucking killed again. Trying to take on the Joker’s goons while already injured? Fighting the Joker by himself had worked out so great when he was at the top of his game; why the hell wouldn’t it go great when he could barely walk even with support? He was a fucking genius.

A tile less than a foot behind him cracked in half as CJ’s hand slammed through it. How was he even doing this? Was he climbing on things? Jumping? Was he actually tall enough to jump up and slam his hands through the tiles? Tall people sucked ass.

The crutches were weighing him down. His instinct was to abandon them, but he was going to have to walk again eventually. Sooner rather than later. This crawlspace wasn’t exactly a get-out-of-jail-free card. The office walls didn’t magically disappear just because he went into the ceiling, and they were approaching fast.

Another fist slammed through a tile slightly in front of Jason and he scrambled backwards before it could grab at him. He had to be standing on something. Maybe another desk. Sticky, red blood poured down the knuckles, leaving dark streaks on the tile, but CJ didn’t seem to notice at all.

Jason backed up a few tiles and went sideways across the metal frame, trying to circle far enough away that CJ wouldn’t be able to punch through another tile to get to him. He just had to get to the door before CJ did. And then… what? Run faster than him? Fat chance of that.

Maybe he actually wasn’t well enough to go to school yet. Silly him. He’d assumed that school just meant sitting around doing worksheets, but he’d forgotten that this was Gotham, where school meant running for your fucking life every other week.

He forced himself to breathe. Getting angry wasn’t helping anything. He was Robin. He needed to think.

He couldn’t be quiet enough to get to the door without CJ hearing him, and he wasn’t fast enough to outrun him right now, but he didn’t have to be a sitting duck either. It had to be awkward for CJ to get close enough to reach him, standing on chairs or desks, reaching his full length. Jason had a lot more range of movement.

He tried to picture the layout of the room below. He hadn’t been paying close attention while running around, but B had taught him to always be aware of his surroundings. He thought he had a pretty good sense of where all the desks were. He scrambled towards the closest one, but stayed far enough away that CJ wouldn’t be able to reach him from it.

He stopped on a sturdy metal cross, carefully placing one of the crutches behind him where it wouldn’t fall. He reached the other crutch forward and tapped on a tile that he was pretty sure was right over the desk and pulled it back. Less than a minute later, a fist slammed through the tile.

Sorry, CJ.

He swung the crutch as hard as he could, hitting CJ’s wrist with as much strength as his aching body could manage. He heard the bone break, a grotesque snap as the crutch made contact.

And CJ didn’t react at all. His hand, which hung floppily from his wrist, felt around the crawlspace for Jason like nothing had happened. Fucking hell.

He couldn’t keep doing this. If there was still a person inside there, he could do serious damage without realizing it because whatever fucking drugs CJ was on were keeping him from reacting to pain.

Jason backed up until he was just above another desk. He stayed by it this time, closer than he was really comfortable with, if he was being honest with himself, but he had to take risks if he wanted to get out of there.

He tapped the tile again, and waited.

There were multiple bumps on the tile before the hand came up this time. It wasn’t balled into a fist anymore, and it drooped sideways at an unnatural angle. Jason thought he saw the white of bone peeking through. Fuck.

Bones heal, he reminded himself, but, God, that was gonna suck.

He tapped another tile, a couple over, and the hand pulled back down. The second it disappeared beneath the ceiling, Jason followed, dropping through the broken tile onto CJ’s back. He pulled the crutches with him, but let them clatter to the floor as he wrapped his legs and arms around CJ’s throat.

He doesn’t know when he’s hurt, he reminded himself, being careful how much pressure he used. It was less than he normally would when fighting someone this size, but normal people shied away from the pain and wouldn’t somehow manage to accidentally snap their own necks while fighting back.

CJ stumbled sideways, both of his hands trying to pull Jason off, even though one of them was just pawing lightly at him like Dick’s cat looking for pets.

The world tilted sideways. Jason had a split second to realize CJ’s foot had missed the desk before they started to fall. He loosened his grip, wrapping his body around CJ’s head to protect it instead seconds before his side hit the ground. Pain exploded through his hip, radiating up his side and down his leg in a sparkly array of awful. Fucking hell.

He gasped as he rolled away, aiming for his closest crutch. He didn’t have time to be hurt. He could hear CJ moving behind him, probably preparing for another attack. He grabbed the crutch and spun on his butt, aiming it at the sound like it was a machine gun instead of a decent at best blunt force weapon.

CJ was still in the same spot. As Jason watched, he tried to push himself up with his broken arm and it collapsed under him, sending him crashing back to the ground. Undeterred, he tried again. And again.

That could not possibly be good for the arm, but frankly it was great for Jason right now, so he wasn’t going to question it.

He crawled—too slow, limbs moving like half-congealed molasses—over to his second crutch and hobbled unsteadily to his feet. He gave himself just enough time for one slow, steadying breath before starting for the hallway, each step accompanied with a fresh thump from behind him.

He glanced back at CJ one more time before leaving. He wished he could do more to help… but no, the best thing he could do for CJ was the same thing he was doing for everyone else. Contact Batman, bring in the cavalry.

He locked the office door from the inside before pulling it shut. With any luck, if CJ did manage to get himself up, he’d be stymied by the lock. At the very least it would keep anyone from stumbling into the room and getting themselves hurt.

He turned painfully towards the metal shop. Now that the adrenaline was dying down, he could feel every bone and muscle and tendon in his body screaming at once to stop doing whatever he was doing and lie down where he was for a long nap instead. Or maybe just death. Death was starting to sound kind of appealing, actually.

He wasn’t done yet though. Metal shop, call Batman, then death. He was pretty sure the metal shop should have all the equipment he needed to fix the CB radio. He glanced over his shoulder at the purse still looped around his back like a quiver. Hopefully it didn’t get rattled too much in the fight. At least he hadn’t landed on his back when they fell.

He tried to focus through the fog slowly overtaking his thoughts. If he remembered right, the metal shop was in that little hallway behind the auditorium. They used it to make all the set pieces.

Step one, get to the metal shop. Step two, inspect the damage to the radio. Step three, figure out if any pieces need to be replaced. With any luck, the damage would be minimal, and he’d just need to reconnect a wire or something.

He turned into the hallway just past the cafeteria and stopped.

He saw the green hair first, then the purple coat, then the figure decked in red and black beside him. The Joker. That was the Joker, right there. Barely a few feet away. That was the Joker and he was laughing, hand wrapped around a weapon Jason’s eyes couldn’t focus on. Next to him was Harley, but that wasn’t right. Harley wasn’t there. Hadn’t been there. Shouldn’t be there?

He took a stumbling step backwards. They weren’t facing him. He could still get out. He followed their gaze to what was distracting them, giving him the chance to escape. Further down the hall, stiff and defiant in the face of certain death was…

Robin?

“What hurts more, A or B? Forehand or backhand?”

His knees hit the hard concrete floor, and his shoulder followed shortly after, slamming into the ground with an unforgiving jolt. He should have put his hands down to catch himself, but he couldn’t, because they were handcuffed, right? He felt like he could move them, but that couldn’t be right because he could feel the tight, grip of the metal cutting into the skin around his wrists.

He tried to push himself to his feet, but everything hurt, and the Joker was right there, staring down at him with his bloodstained grin, laughing, and laughing, and laughing.

All he could hear was laughter and the distant sound of screams.

Chapter Text

“I’ve been preparing an extra special formula just for them.” The words fell out of the Joker’s mouth like the punchline to a joke with no setup, the expectant pause that followed meant for laughter that wouldn’t come.

Tim kept the rest of his body as still as he could while shifting his weight to his back foot. The open stage door was right behind him. He had no idea what was in there—nothing good, he was sure—but it was still guaranteed to be better than the Joker himself. If they could just get through the door and run… It wasn’t that far to go from backstage, through the audience, and out into the main hallway. They’d at least have a chance.

He brushed his hand against Steph’s, trying to signal her without alerting the Joker or Harley.

What was Harley even doing here? Wasn’t she on the outs with the Joker right now? Last he’d heard, she was running around with Poison Ivy. The whole thing felt wrong. Even her hair seemed off. The coloring felt too even, too well-done, instead of haphazardly dyed by someone more interested in drama than style.

“It’s not quite as finalized as I wanted it to be,” the Joker said, flicking the tip of his oversized needle. Tim hoped he accidentally stabbed himself in the finger. “Unfortunately, a couple of birds mucked up my experiments and I had to accelerate my plans. I can’t say I’m too disappointed though. The early stages are when the most fun surprise results happen.” His grin looked as unnatural as the ones on any of his victims. Tim grasped Steph’s hand and squeezed. He thought he saw the minute lowering of her head, a subtle nod.

“What’s your plan?” Tim asked, more to distract him than to actually get an answer. The Joker always had the same plan. Cause as much chaos and pain as possible.

“You mean besides turning you into a couple of cuckoo birds? Isn’t it obvious?” the Joker asked. “There are oh so many wonderfully valuable children here, just waiting to be shook open for change.”

Ransom? Tim hesitated, his hand around Steph’s stilling. That didn’t really seem like the Joker’s MO, but Tim guessed he would try anything once.

The colors at the end of the hallway shifted, but Tim kept his eyes on the Joker. He was just mocking them right now, but Tim knew how quickly any of his cutting remarks could veer towards deadly.

The Joker’s gaze drifted off of them, for just a moment, and Tim yanked Steph backwards towards the door. He expected her to follow—she’d clearly been ready to follow a second earlier—but instead her posture went rigid. Tim registered the sound of quick, heavy breathing just before Steph whispered, “Jay?”

His eyes snapped to the hallway’s mouth at the same time the Joker’s did. He saw a red hood first, then a scarf covering most of a face, then finally crutches clattering to the ground as the figure collapsed to its knees.

“What’s this?” the Joker asked. “Another wannabe hero?”

The Joker’s face flickered in and out, the broken laughter rising in pitch as he raised a crowbar Tim had no power to stop above his head. Tim couldn’t do anything because he was thousands of miles away and he was useless and—

No. This wasn’t the library, he wasn’t miles away, and he wasn’t useless. Not this time.

He released Steph’s hand with a push. “Get him,” he hissed. “Get him and get out of here.”

“What?” Steph asked, looking over her shoulder at him with wide eyes.

Tim stepped back and wrenched the broom out from where it had been wedged between the stage door and its frame. The door swung shut, probably locking them out of their only possible escape, but that wasn’t an option anymore. It hadn’t been since Jason stepped into the hallway.

Tim was never going to watch helplessly ever again.

“Go!” he hissed, and then he ran past her at the Joker, swinging the closest approximation to a weapon he had.

“What?” Steph repeated, but Tim was already running at the Joker. At the Joker. What was he thinking?

Her instinct was to chase after him, to pull him back and convince him not to be an idiot, but that wouldn’t help anyone. It wouldn’t help Jason, who was hyperventilating in the doorway; it wouldn’t help her; and it probably wouldn’t even help Tim. She’d just distract him and put all three of them in more danger.

It took too many seconds for her stuttering thoughts to drive her towards Jason. She expected some kind of resistance, but the Joker and Harley actually seemed caught off guard by Tim’s attack. She guessed not many people had the balls to take them head on.

She skidded to the floor beside where Jason had fallen. He was on his hands and knees, staring straight down, breathing too quickly to get any oxygen. She barely stopped herself from saying ‘Jason,’ her throat contracting around the word. The Joker was right there, distracted or not. “Robin,” she hissed instead. “Robin, can you hear me?”

She touched his shoulder and he yanked back, staring up at her with wide, unfocused eyes. He suddenly flinched, even though she hadn’t moved or spoken at all. She looked over her shoulder in case Harley was about to hit her with a mallet or something, but both of the clowns were paying far more attention to Tim than to them.

She turned back to Jason with slow, deliberate movements. Was this a panic attack? Flashback? He was Robin. The real, actual, not-quite-original Robin. He was supposed to be able to handle this stuff.

‘The Joker, you know?’ Tim had said in the library, looking devastated even as he tried to tell her everyone was okay. She still didn’t know what had actually happened to Jason, but she could make an educated guess.

She shifted sideways so her body was between Jason and the Joker while she ran through all the things her mom had told her about how to help someone having a panic attack. Make them focus on the here and now. Touch, smell, sight.

“It’s okay, Robin,” she said as reassuringly as she could. “Focus on me—” She almost said Steph, but stopped at the last moment. “—second Robin. Third Robin? Fourth Robin? That one, I think. I’m pretty sure you’re second Robin.”

It didn’t seem to be helping for some reason. She changed tracks. “ Do you feel the floor? It’s, uh, wood, and, uh, splintery?” She felt the floor herself and it was actually annoyingly smooth. “You know what, we don’t have time for this.” She pulled him up, best practices be damned. She doubted the sounds of fighting or the sight of the Joker and Harley was going to be conducive to him calming down regardless, and they really needed to get out of there before any of that evil clown energy turned on them.

Jason struggled against her grip as she tried to drag him out into the hallway. His elbow slammed into her chin and a purse she hadn’t noticed hanging from his arm followed up with a solid whump against her shoulder. Why the heck did he have a purse filled with what felt like jagged metal? Was this the new cool kid weapon? All the popular Robins were using brooms and DIY purse flails, apparently.

“Cut it out,” she hissed, as the purse came dangerously close to her face. She took a random turn, trying to escape the sounds of thumps and laughter behind her, and almost tripped when Jason managed to hook one of his legs under hers. “I’m trying to help you, you idiot!”

They weren’t nearly far enough away, but she was also scared to go too far. Tim would be coming soon, and if he didn’t, then she was damn well going back for him. She scanned the hallway for any kind of hideyhole and her eyes stopped on the school darkroom. There. A couple of classes used it occasionally, but mostly it sat empty until after school.

She slammed harder than she meant to into the door when Jason’s fist connected with her temple. “Jesus F’ing Cracker, Jay!” she yelped as they stumbled into the room. She dropped him unceremoniously to the floor and barely resisted slamming the door behind her. Instead, she closed it as quietly as she could and hoped that made up for practically yelling a few seconds earlier.

She leaned heavily against the door, ear pressed against the metal. Ostensibly she was listening for anyone who might have followed them. Realistically, she was trying to catch her breath. She breathed in deeply and wrinkled her nose at the stench of the fumes clinging to the room.

“Smell that, Jay?” she asked, voice hoarse. “Bet wherever you think you are didn’t smell like this.”

Jason’s fingernails scraped across the floor, and his head slowly turned towards her. It took her several seconds in the dark to realize his eyes were actually focusing on her instead of something past her.

“Steph?” he asked.

Tim’s first hit had definitely taken the Joker off guard, pushing him back further into the kitchen instead of the hallway Steph was running down behind him. Unfortunately, Tim hadn’t actually hit him very hard. He’d trained a bit with a staff, but the broom was terribly off balance with a long, flat head that slowed his swings.

He didn’t give himself time to think about how little training he had or how much better he’d do with a weapon that was actually a weapon instead of a cleaning implement and swung again. He kind of expected Harley to pull her ridiculous mallet out of nowhere and block him, but instead she said, “Ooh, this is good,” and held up a phone.

Was she… recording him? Was it streaming? God, he hoped it wasn’t streaming. They’d had to deal with enough identity concerns with Robin disappearing at the same time as Jason’s coma. They did not need everyone wondering where Robin had gotten a Gotham Academy uniform.

He swung the broom at her next, barely grazing the phone with the broom’s bristles. He desperately needed better balance. At least it was enough to send the phone clattering to the floor. Harley put her hands on her hips, her posture the twisted parody of a disappointed teacher. “Well, that was rude.”

He could hear Steph talking to Jason behind him, so he didn’t wait before swinging again, this time towards the syringe the Joker was still holding. He missed, the broom head too low, and the Joker cackled.

“Aim a bit off, little Tweety? Still recovering from my last beating?”

Tim saw red, but instead of swinging wildly again, he slammed the broom head to the floor and stomped on it as he spun the handle to unscrew it. The second it came loose, he swung again, this time hitting the Joker’s hand square on. He kept his grip on the syringe, but his wide grin morphed into a snarl.

“As I recall, this fight didn’t go well for you last time.”

“Which time was that?” Tim asked. “The time when I escaped your attempts to kill me or the time before that when I escaped your attempts to kill me?”

“You are very good at running away, aren’t you?” the Joker drawled. Which… was a weird thing to say. Jason hadn’t exactly run away from their last fight. “Maybe I should clip your wings.”

The Joker lunged forward, stretching the syringe towards him, and Tim stumbled backwards. He swung the broom handle, this time making contact with the syringe and sending it flying. Yes! He held his breath in gleeful anticipation as it arced through the air, but then it hit the ground with a tinkle and skittered a little further into the kitchen, still in one piece. Why couldn’t medical equipment be a bit more crap?

“I’ve got it!” Harley said, diving after where it had landed. Tim risked a glance towards the main hallway. No Steph or Jason. He had no idea how far they’d gone. Was it enough? It was going to have to be.

He jabbed the sharper end of the broom handle towards the Joker’s stomach, wishing it were more of a spear. The Joker jumped backwards, easily avoiding the hit, but Tim didn’t wait for his crack about how broken the Joker had left him. Instead he turned and ran.

Jason’s crutches were still on the ground near the doorway, so Tim leaned down to grab them as he ran past. His brain hadn’t fully settled on why—whether it was because Jason would need them or because Tim didn’t want to there to be any identifying evidence for the Joker to pick up—but he was absolutely certain he shouldn’t leave them behind.

“That’s right. Fly away, little birdy!” the Joker yelled after him. “It’s the only thing you’re good at, after all.”

The sound of laughter faded behind him as he ran.

What. The. Hell.

“Oh, hey, there you are,” Steph said, because that was definitely Steph. That was one hundred percent Steph. Except she was wearing a vigilante mask and… was that the Robin symbol? What the hell?!

And, hadn’t they just… he swore he saw the Joker, but now they were... He pushed himself up and looked around the room, trying to orient himself. The room was dark other than a dim red light. He dug the flashlight the nurse had given him out of his pocket and flicked it on. They were surrounded by plastic tubs on counters, pictures strung up on strings, and containers of chemicals he didn’t know the names of. Had he imagined seeing the Joker? He didn’t think he’d imagine something like that, but he also didn’t remember anything about how he’d gotten into what was apparently the school’s darkroom, so clearly his mind wasn’t as great as he’d thought.

“Jason?”

“Why are we here?” Jason asked carefully. The flashlight beam shook as his arm trembled. It wasn’t even that large of a flashlight, but his arm strained with the weight. “How did we get here? Why are you wearing that?”

Steph pushed away from the door. “That is a lot of questions with a lot of answer, and we don’t really have a lot of time to just hang out and chat.” She cracked the door open an inch and peeked out before closing it again. “The Joker is here, the school is in lockdown, Tim gave me some Robin gear to protect myself after he got bit by a zombie clown, we ran into the Joker, you showed up and had some kind of mental breakdown, and Tim told me to get you away while he fought the Joker.”

“Tim is fighting the Joker?” Jason asked, trying to push himself to his feet and slipping back down when his legs failed to support him. Where were his crutches? He scanned the darkroom again, but didn’t see them. Fucking great. “We need to go help him.” What the hell was Tim thinking? He’d been Robin for all of ten minutes. Did he really think he was so much better than Jason that he could face the Joker all by himself when Jason had nearly been killed by the asshole just a few months earlier?

“Oh, ho, no,” Steph said. She quietly peeked out the door and closed it again. “I might go try to rescue Tim if the idiot doesn’t get here soon, but you took one look at the Joker and collapsed, so there is no freakin’ way I’m letting you go anywhere near him.”

Jason was about ready to start throwing canisters of chemicals on the ground out of sheer frustration, but with his luck, and Gotham being the way it was, that would just turn him into a photography-themed villain.

“I am not letting you go fight the Joker!” There were actual fucking tears in his eyes. He refused to acknowledge them enough to wipe them away. With any luck it was too dark for Steph to notice.

“I’m not planning on fighting the Joker either,” Steph said. “Tim probably isn’t even fighting the Joker anymore. He was just distracting him long enough for us to get away.”

She opened the door to peek out again. He waited until it was closed to hiss, “Why do you keep doing that? Someone’s going to see us.”

“I’m looking for Tim,” she said. “We didn’t exactly make a plan of where to meet up. For all we know he’s long since escaped the Joker but we just can’t tell.”

Jason pulled on his hair hard enough that he could feel a few strands breaking lose. Why was this happening? Did Bruce know that Steph was running around in Robin gear? Did Tim just hand out Robin stuff to anyone willy nilly? Did he, what, just immediately tell Steph he was Robin the moment he put on the costume? It wasn’t fair. Jason had had to keep this secret from his best friend for over a year, and Tim just gave it all away in two seconds? And immediately put her in danger? What was wrong with him?

And he couldn’t even be that angry at Tim right now because he was too damn worried about the idiot!

His traitorous heart missed Chirp. Chirp would be able to see where Tim was. Chirp would be able to tell them if he was okay, if he’d gotten away from the Joker, where to find him. Sure, all their tech was down right now, but Chirp would probably be able to fix that.

But he knew damn well not to count on Chirp anymore. Jason had called for him when he was dying, after Chirp had promised he’d be there for him if he was in trouble, and he hadn’t gotten a single response.

“I’m going after him,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could manage. “I don’t care whether or not you think it’s safe.”

“Jason,” Steph said, frustration leaking into her voice.

“Robin,” he corrected stiffly.

“Second Robin,” she amended with rolled eyes. He bristled. Second? Because Tim was First Robin? Tim had no freakin’ right to the title at all, let alone the number one. “Tim only attacked the Joker so I could get you away safely. You going back out there completely ruins the point!”

“I’m not going to let him die for me!” Jason yelled, his frustration exploding outward.

“Neither am I!” Steph yelled back.

A small, hesitant knock interrupted them and both of their heads snapped to the door. Steph very slowly reached out and creaked the door open while Jason groped the counter behind him for a weapon. The best he could find was an old fashioned camera.

The door opened to Tim standing there like an uncomfortable door-to-door salesman who’d accidentally interrupted a murder. Jason’s crutches and what looked like a long, wooden pole were under one arm. “You guys are kind of being really loud,” he said.

“Tim!” Steph exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into the room. Tim kicked the door shut behind him once he was in. “How’d you get away?”

“I just ran as soon as you guys were gone,” he said, face looking bright red in the dim light. “I don’t think they even tried to chase me. It was kind of weird.”

That was weird. It wasn’t like the Joker to let anyone dressed as Robin go so easily. Robins were his favorite cannon fodder. “He must have something big planned,” Jason muttered. It was the only explanation.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, his brow creased in thought, and Jason’s anger flared. Like Tim knew anything. Like he could act like he was some kind of expert when he became Robin yesterday.

“What do you know?” he spat out. He hadn’t actually meant to say anything. He’d meant to let it go so they could focus on more important things like the villain holding the school hostage, but apparently his mind and mouth had different ideas.

Tim crossed his arms, hunching defensively. “I have a decent understanding of how the Joker works.”

“You think you know better than me?” Jason asked. He was shaking, and he wasn’t sure if it was anger or exhaustion. His body wasn’t used to all this strain, and that just made him more angry. He’d lost months of his life to the Joker’s madness, and here Tim was acting like his little stint as an understudy made him all knowing.

“I didn’t say that,” Tim ground out. “I’m sure you also know a lot about the Joker.”

Jason might actually punch him. His hand curled into a fist at his side.

“Hey, hey,” Steph said, inserting herself between them. He’d almost forgotten she was there. “What are we fighting about? Shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, trying to stop the Joker or something?”

Jason let his fist relax and took a step away from Tim, looking further into the darkened room. “Did you two actually have a plan or were you just running around in costume like idiots looking to be murdered?”

“We were trying to get out of the building to call Batman, but the doors are locked,” Tim said tightly. “We put on the body armor because a rabid clown bit me.”

“Zombie clown,” Steph… corrected? Confirmed? They must have run into another victim like CJ. CJ hadn’t exactly tried to bite him, but Jason honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if he had.

“What are you wearing?” Tim asked.

“Unlike some people,” Jason spat, “I didn’t break protocol and bring equipment to school.”

Tim had the grace to at least look abashed, turning his reddened face away from Jason.

“I made a makeshift costume from some stuff I found in the office,” he finished.

“Oh!” Steph said, perking up suddenly. “You’re the one who stopped the broadcast.”

Something clicked in Jason’s mind at the same time. “And you’re the ones who bled all over Hallway D.”

“Yep!” Steph agreed, way too cheerfully.

“What the hell, even?” Jason asked, motioning to Steph but looking at Tim. “You put on the costume for a few days and immediately give away all our secrets? It wasn’t your business to tell her my identity.”

“I didn’t,” Tim said stiffly, arms tightly crossed over his chest.

“He didn’t,” Steph agreed, looking at Jason. “You did.”

Jason’s thoughts stuttered to a stop. What? But…

“A few minutes ago,” Steph clarified. “I mean, I already suspected ‘cause of the whole you-getting-injured-at-the-same-time-as-Robin-disappearing thing, plus some rumors that were going around, and I started to put together some other pieces like how maybe you weren’t actually kidnapped when we first met, but Tim refused to tell me anything. Even though I asked. A lot.”

Jason lowered his face into his hands, remembering how he corrected her with ‘Robin’ a few minutes earlier. He was an idiot. He just assumed she knew. She was wearing half a Robin costume, for Christ’s sake. “But,” he stuttered, trying to regain his dignity, “he did tell you about him.”

“Tim didn’t tell me nothin’,” Steph said. “I caught him in the act.”

“Twice,” Tim muttered.

“Yeah, he’s, like, really bad at keeping his identity secret.”

“Only from you!” Tim exclaimed. “Nobody else ever figured me out.”

Jason felt a rush of vicious vindication. He’d kept his identity secret for over a year, and Tim couldn’t even manage a couple of months. He was way better at being Robin than Tim. Not that he’d actually thought Tim could easily replace him, but… Still.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “Steph’s right. We need to get moving.”

“Do you have a way out?” Tim asked.

“I have something better,” Jason replied, swinging the purse around from his back so that it faced them and unzipping it. “A broken radio.” Which didn’t actually sound that much better when he said it out loud, but he soldiered on. “We just need to find some equipment to fix it.”

Tim was already stepping forward and inspecting the cracked metal before he finished speaking.

“Can you fix it?” Steph asked. Jason was annoyed to see she was asking Tim, not him. He could fix a radio. Why would she think Tim was better at fixing radios than him?

“Yes,” Tim said, with a certainty that Jason found just as annoying. “It’s a Cobra 29 LTD. These things are extremely durable. It probably looks worse than it is.” Okay, so maybe Tim knew a few things about CB radios. That still didn’t mean he’d be better at fixing them than Jason. Jason had thought basically the same thing, just without the model name.

“I was trying to get to the metal shop, but I guess that’s out,” Jason muttered. Even if the Joker had moved, it would be suicidal to attempt going down that hallway again. He was pretty sure the whole thing was a dead end. Emphasis on the dead.

“Computer lab?” Tim suggested. “We’re more likely to need wiring than table saws anyway.”

Jason scowled at him and Tim frowned back, but Steph just clapped her hands and cheerfully said “Great!” like the room wasn’t full of aggression. “Computer lab it is. Assuming you can both stop being dumb for a few minutes.”

The staredown continued a couple more seconds, but Tim broke first. “I’m not the one upset about nothing,” he muttered as he turned away, leaving Jason’s crutches propped up against a table.

Jason’s hand curled into a fist again, but he forced it to relax. “Let’s just get this done so we can radio for help.” He could see Steph’s concerned glance, but he ignored it. The sooner they could contact Batman, the sooner he could stop working with Tim.

Chapter Text

The trip to the computer lab was eerily silent. It wasn’t that Steph missed the creepy laughter, because she definitely did not, but the absence just illustrated how terrified the school was. She knew it was terror because she knew that all the dark classrooms with closed doors they were passing weren’t nearly as empty as they seemed. She wondered if the people inside could hear them walking by, and if they were holding their breaths, hoping beyond hope that whatever was in the hallway wouldn’t attack.

She kind of wanted to cheerfully whistle, to reassure the people in the classrooms as much as themselves, but they couldn’t risk drawing attention. Also, now that she thought about it, someone cheerfully whistling in the hallway during a power outage and villain attack probably wouldn’t actually be all that reassuring.

The computer lab was empty, thankfully. Tim had assured them that this particular lab would be because Tim claimed to have the schedule of ‘useful areas of the school’ memorized. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him, but it was absolutely insane if true.

They snuck in and quietly closed the door behind them. There were no windows, and the single red emergency light was flickering like the bulb was about to go out. It was definitely haunted.

Jason switched on his powerful, industrial flashlight as soon as they were out of the hallway, and Tim, not to be outdone, responded by switching on his tiny penlight. She wasn’t sure what was going on with those two, but she hoped they’d be done with their testosterone-fueled flexing soon.

Tim led the way through the aisles of computers to the furthest back corner of the room. “Okay,” he said, when he seemed satisfied. He reached for Jason’s purse, but Jason just scowled back, clutching the purse tighter to his side. Tim frowned and the two of them stared at each other for a good twenty seconds before Jason finally relented and handed it over.

“What makes you think I can’t fix it?” Jason asked as Tim pulled out the radio and started removing large pieces of broken metal. He was muttering something about not needing the casing.

“Electronics were never your strong suit,” Tim said, and ouch. Jason actually winced at that. Tim didn’t seem to notice, but that wasn’t surprising because Tim had absolutely no social skills.

Under the metal was what looked like a circuit board. Steph leaned in to get a closer look. It made sense now why Tim had wanted to come to the computer lab. She might not know a lot about computers, but she knew their insides looked a lot like that.

“Do you think you could take apart a modem?” Tim asked, glancing up at Jason. She’d almost think he was throwing Jason a bone, except that he was definitely too dumb to realize he’d hurt Jason’s feelings in the first place.

“Of course I can,” Jason spat, his voice full of venom.

“Great,” Tim said. “Then I’d appreciate your help.”

Steph winced. It could have been an olive branch, if his voice hadn’t sounded so darn sarcastic. She knew he was just mirroring Jason’s aggression. She got that; really she did. But it was not helping things right now.

Jason pulled over the closest modem and glared at it like he was hoping it would explode as he attempted to twist the case’s screws off with his bare hands.

“I’m going to check if there’s a toolbox,” Steph said. Tim gave her a stiff nod. Jason didn’t respond at all, just twisting the screw harder like he thought the very suggestion of a toolbox insulted his abilities.

Boys.

She made sure they both clearly heard her dramatic sigh before walking back to the teacher’s desk. She started rifling through drawers, looking for anything useful. She didn’t really expect there to be a toolbox in there. If they were lucky, maybe she’d find a stray screwdriver, but that seemed unlikely too. The school probably wasn’t fixing computers in house. Heck, the school probably wasn’t fixing computers at all. They had enough money. They probably just bought new computers every time one so much as froze.

She thought maybe she was starting to understand why Jason was upset. He’d always seemed so sure that Bruce would kick him out the moment adopting a Crime Alley orphan lost its sheen, and he’d woken up from a coma to find that someone else was filling his shoes. She understood how Jason’s mind worked enough to know he must feel easily replaceable or like his spot in the family had been stolen. What he needed was some reassurance, and Tim sure as heck didn’t seem to be giving it to him. Maybe she could corner Tim and spell out exactly what he needed to say before this got too out of hand. She obviously couldn’t count on Tim to figure it out on his own.

“Ha, got it!” Jason said from the other side of the room. She leaned over to see him peeling off the back of the modem.

“Very good,” Tim said, and she wanted to bury her face in her hands. Was it even possible for him to sound more patronizing? She doubted it.

She abandoned her search for a toolbox. Maybe tools would be useful for whatever they were doing to the circuitry, but if so, she had no idea what tools they needed. Weren’t there, like, pliers or something to use on wires? She might be making that up. Her skills would be better utilized keeping Tim and Jason from killing each other.

The tinkling sound of soft giggles drifted through the door, and she froze. It was barely audible, like wind chimes on a distant porch. Was it far away or just quiet? She squinted at the door’s window, but the dark hallway contrasted with all the light in the computer lab made it almost impossible to see out.

The light…

“Turn off the flashlights!” she hissed. It took too many seconds for the flashlights to click off, but at least neither of them asked why.

She slowly crouched behind the desk, keeping her eye on the door the whole way down. None of them should be visible through the window, and the room was completely silent, even the work on the radio paused as they held a collective breath.

The giggling was growing louder, and Steph couldn’t help but compare it to the Jaws music when the shark was approaching. Maybe they hadn’t seen the light. Maybe they’d pass right by.

The giggling sounded like it was right outside the room, and Steph could no longer see the red light streaming in from the hallway. She swallowed. Please, just keep walking.

The door creaked open.

***

Tim cursed enough in his brain that even Jason would have been shocked. Hysterical giggles filled the room as the door opened. He glanced at Jason, worried he was going to freak out again, but he looked fine. Tense, but fine. Maybe it was just the Joker that set him off.

The giggles moved towards them. He couldn’t see who it was from the far corner they’d stuck themselves in. Purple Blouse, maybe? The voice was definitely feminine, and he was pretty sure she was the one Steph had seen earlier.

They’d chosen the deepest part of the room so they’d be less likely to be seen or heard, but now that just meant they’d done an awesome job of trapping themselves in a dead end. Maybe they’d be lucky and she’d turn around before reaching them. Go down one of the aisles and turn straight back out of the room. They couldn’t count on that though.

He eyed the motherboard in the modem Jason had opened. He only needed a few diodes, probably, but there would be some trial and error. It would be better to just take the whole thing. He made an up and down motion at Jason, trying to mime taking the motherboard out, but Jason just stared at him like he was crazy. He moved his fist up and down faster, and then realized that it looked less like he was pulling a motherboard out and more he was making an obscene gesture. His face flushed and he just leaned forward to pull it out himself.

Jason looked ready to stop him—hands held towards Tim’s, teeth gritted, and eyes flicking towards the laughter—but he stilled before actually touching him. Tim liked to think that was him giving his blessing. Yes, it was dangerous to risk making noise, but they both knew they needed this piece, and the laughter wasn’t going anywhere.

He very, very carefully, timing it to the giggles, removed the wires still connected to the motherboard. Jason had already taken out most of the pieces obstructing it.

The giggles were getting closer, moving oh, so slowly. He wondered if she was searching, or if she knew exactly where they were and this was all meant to amp up the terror. If so, it was working.

He gingerly pulled on the motherboard…

And it didn’t move. He tried again, a little less gently, but it stayed in place. He saw Jason make a face that he knew would be a curse if they weren’t trying to be quiet. Jason reached in and started twisting his fingers—oh, there was still a screw attaching it to the case. Tim couldn’t see it past Jason’s fingers, but he could see Jason’s wince when his fingers slipped uselessly against the tight grip.

Suddenly Jason’s head shot up, his face going through a series of pained expressions that couldn’t have said ‘I’m an idiot’ more clearly if he’d actually spoken out loud. He reached into his pocket and pulled out—was that a Swiss Army knife? Jason looked so damn affronted by his own knife as he flipped open one of the metal bits revealing an honest-to-God screwdriver. Tim would have laughed if he didn’t think it would get him punched.

Oh, and the evil clown woman they were hiding from.

Jason carefully aligned the screwdriver and turned. The screw made the slightest squeak as it twisted and both of them shot panicked looks towards the giggles, but if Purple Blouse heard, it didn’t make her move any quicker.

Finally Jason pulled his hand out and Tim tried again. This time the motherboard slowly slipped out. It wasn’t completely silent, the copper edges scraping against the metal case as it moved, but Tim honestly didn’t think he could have done much better.

Jason very carefully put the radio back in his purse. He held it open for Tim to put the motherboard in, but Tim shook his head. It might fit, but it wasn’t guaranteed, and even if it did there was too much of a chance of important pieces getting broken banging against the radio while they ran.

Jason started zipping the purse closed but winced when it made too loud a noise and left it half open. That was probably good enough to keep the radio inside anyway.

Without any communication, they moved as one, creeping slowly down the aisle in the opposite direction of the laughter. At the end of the row, they turned and paused, the long counter a barrier between them and where they could hear Purple Blouse passing by. She turned down the aisle they’d been in seconds earlier, and they turned on the opposite side, keeping her parallel to them as they quietly crawled through the rows of computers.

The laughter increased—in volume, frequency, mania—when it reached the pieces of metal and electronics they’d left strewn across the floor. The pieces crunched as she walked right over them instead of going around.

When they reached the next aisle, Tim leaned forward, squinting towards the front of the classroom. Was Steph down there? She’d been by the teacher’s desk before, right? She was probably just staying hidden and waiting for them. Should they run for it now that they had a clear path towards the exit?

He glanced at Jason, who seemed to be having the same internal debate as him. Jason returned his gaze, then shook his head at the unasked question. Tim’s eyes found the crutches gripped tightly under Jason’s arms. Running probably wasn’t a great option right now. Even if they could get out the door before her, how long could they keep their lead?

They crawled quietly out into the aisle. The laughter was in the far corner of the classroom now. As long as they could stay at least a couple rows ahead of her, even if she was going the same direction as them on the other side of the room, she wouldn’t be able to see them.

He didn’t know how close they were to the door until it was right there beside them, the wood’s lighter shade barely noticeable against the stone wall. Where was Steph? The laughter was still keeping pace on the far side of the room, and he didn’t see Steph anywhere. He frantically scanned the front of the room. Was she behind the teacher’s desk? Should he go check or should they try opening the door? They were being as quiet as they could, so maybe Steph just didn’t know how close they were.

He heard a shift beside him a second before realizing he’d only heard it because the laughter had stopped. He slowly turned to see Purple Blouse grinning at them from the far end of the row. She lunged with a shriek of laughter so loud it was almost a howl. He tried to scramble to his feet, but between the motherboard in one hand and the broom handle under his other arm, he couldn’t quite catch his balance.

A yell echoed Purple Blouse’s laughter and Steph leapt out from behind the teacher’s desk with a bulky business phone held aloft. She slammed it down on Purple Blouse’s head, and the clown collapsed, going straight from mid-lunge to flat on the floor. Tim was still staring at where she landed, his legs half under him, when Steph yelled, “Come on!” and dove for the door.

Jason beat Tim to his feet, which was embarrassing because Jason was still recovering from a coma, but at least Tim could comfort himself with the fact Jason was Robin recovering from a coma and not a civilian. Tim would never live that down, even if only in his own head.

They squeezed out the door, all of them trying to exit at once, and Steph slammed it shut behind them as they ran. They were two hallways away before they realized they hadn’t heard the door opening again behind them.

“Did you kill her?” Tim hissed.

“I can’t have killed her!” Steph said. “That phone was like five pounds! You can’t kill someone with a five-pound plastic phone!”

“We once investigated a murder where the victim was killed with a child’s block set,” Jason said, wheezing on the last words.

“What? How?”

A hyena-like laughter drifted out of the next intersection and they skidded to a stop.

“Zombie clown,” Steph whispered.

They all exchanged a look and turned around, running back for the first hallway that would take them the hell out of dodge.

Chapter Text

“Where are we going?” Steph asked when they were far enough from the laughter that it felt safe to speak.

Jason expected Tim to immediately blurt out an answer and try to take control of the situation, but he stayed quiet.

“I don’t know,” Jason said. It was embarrassing how breathless his voice came out. They’d stopped running because he was falling behind, and now, even at a walk, he could barely get his words out. “I’m not even sure where we are.” He studied the nearest stone wall like it might offer the answers to all of life’s questions, but he couldn’t find a single distinguishing feature. The school was kind of a maze on a normal day. In the dim red light after a series of sharp turns made while running for their lives, it might as well be the Minotaur's Labyrinth.

“We’re pretty close to the library,” Tim said. “It’s just left at the next turn.”

He didn’t say they should go to the library, but it was heavily implied. Jason wanted to suggest anything else just so Tim wasn’t the one making plans, but that was stupid. He was better than that.

“Library it is,” he said, trying not to sound as annoyed as he felt.

He heard a crash from a nearby classroom and what sounded like a dozen voices shushing someone all at once, followed by silence. His stomach turned at the reminder that the building was full of kids who were just hoping to get through this without attracting the Joker’s notice.

This wasn’t the time for his dumb rivalry. He knew he was being petty. He was trying not to be. But then Tim just acted so freakin’ superior about everything, and he couldn’t help it. He’d barely felt like he was good enough to be Robin when he was just Dick’s replacement. He didn’t like knowing it was so easy for someone to fill his shoes, even if it was meant to be only temporary.

Jason went from no idea where they were to familiar territory the second they turned the corner. It was disorienting. He spent so much time around the library, and he hadn’t even known they were close.

Tim motioned for them to stay back as he crept up to the ornate double doors in a low crouch. He slowly stood just high enough to peek through a window. “I don’t see anyone,” he whispered. That didn’t mean much. The library was big, and any students caught inside during the blackout would be hidden in the shelves.

“Let’s be quick and quiet,” Jason whispered. He’d somehow managed to ignore his body’s frantic signaling while they were moving, but now that they were standing still, every inch of him down to the atoms was urging him to collapse.

Just a few more minutes. They were almost done with their part. Then he could rest.

Tim nodded in agreement, pulling his blazer around his chest so the R wasn’t visible. It was surprisingly big on him. Didn’t his parents pay for tailored uniforms?

They inched open one of the doors and looked both ways before slowly sneaking in. The library’s front entrance was a friendly, wide open space with cheerful plants and comfortable reading chairs. Normally it made him smile within a few steps of entering, but right now, dark shadows pervaded every corner and the usually lively expanse felt full of unseen threats. They were halfway up the stairs to the research section when a voice echoed out of one of the shadows, making them jump. It took him a few seconds too long to recognize the familiar, elderly cadence saying, “Hello?” Mrs. Glendower, the librarian.

Jason motioned for Steph and Tim to keep going, and turned towards the voice. He thought about lowering his scarf. Mrs. Glendower knew him, and would probably respond better to Jason Todd than a random student hiding his face, but any number of things could still happen and he didn’t want her to connect him to Robin. She probably couldn’t see him that well in the dim red light anyway.

“We’re just looking for a place to hide,” he said, pitching his voice a little higher than normal. “There are monsters out there!” He didn’t realize until the words were already out of his mouth that he was unconsciously mimicking Tim’s Bristol accent.

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Glendower said, stepping closer. A beam of light swept towards him and he carefully avoided its glow. “You should come down here. I have a flashlight and snacks.”

“Thank you, but I should catch up with my classmates.” He glanced behind him towards where Tim and Steph had disappeared into the shelves. No sign of them now.

“I can come up there,” she said, still approaching. He took a step back.

“Thank you, but we should be good. Stay safe.”

He couldn’t see her expression, but he could still feel the moment she realized this was something a little more Gotham than students looking for a place to hide. And like any good Gothamite, she immediately backed away from the clear and present danger. “Okay,” she said, tone more nervous than it had been a few seconds earlier. “Be careful.”

He watched until she vanished back into her hiding spot, and then turned to track down Tim and Steph. He couldn’t see them, but he had a good idea where they might have gone. He slipped through the shelves towards the back corner he’d found Tim hiding in a few weeks earlier.

No, wait, not weeks. It had been months. His head pounded at the thought of how much time had passed that he hadn’t experienced. It still felt like those things had just happened.

Steph was sitting criss-cross in the armchair he’d found Tim in before, looking down at where Tim was knelt on the ground, inspecting the motherboard. He reached out wordlessly for the radio as Jason approached.

“Any issues?” Steph asked as he handed the purse over. Tim carefully extracted the radio and studied it with a small frown.

“She knows something’s up, and she’s going to stay far away from it,” Jason said. “I don’t think she recognized me.” She probably would have said his name or had a different tone of voice if she had.

Tim was already gingerly removing little electronic components from the radio’s circuit board and replacing them with similar pieces from the motherboard. He was hunched over, eyes narrowed in deep thought as he studied each piece before moving it.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Jason said, instead of asking if Tim wanted help like he’d meant to. His mouth and brain really weren’t on speaking terms today.

“Of course I do,” Tim said, sounding annoyed. “Why would you even ask that?”

“Just making sure,” Jason muttered, trying not to let himself feel bad. It wasn’t an unreasonable question. He didn’t think he and Tim had ever once talked about computers, and now he was supposed to just trust that Tim was apparently some electronics expert?

Even Steph was giving him a scrutinizing look, like she also couldn’t understand why he’d ask. Since when was she so much on Tim’s side? They hadn’t even liked Tim that much a few months ago. He was cool enough sometimes, and starting to grow on them like some kind of symbiotic fungus, but mostly he was a messed up kid they were trying to help. When had Tim and Steph become besties?

While he was sleeping, apparently. Tim had slipped in like a changeling child and taken over his life—his costume, his family, even his friendship with Steph. Tim had looked at everything Jason had, seen his opportunity, and said, ‘mine now.’

Tim turned a knob and the radio crackled to life. Jason hated that it worked, and hated himself for hating that Tim had been the one to fix their only way to contact Batman. He should be glad. He should be cheering. But instead he just felt bitter resentment.

Steph cheered for him, a loud “Whoop!” in the quiet library.

Tim breathed out a long, shallow whoosh of air. “I was worried it wouldn’t be charged,” he said with a chagrined smile. “There’s not much I could have done about that.”

“You didn’t tell us that,” Steph said, good-naturedly slapping Tim’s shoulder. It just made Jason’s stomach twist tighter.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Tim said. “What channel?”

“Nine,” Jason answered automatically. “It should already be set to the right channel. It’s the only thing the school’s supposed to use it for.”

Tim leaned forward to squint at the number display. Several of the lights were out, but Jason could tell even from his angle that it clearly didn’t say nine. “Looks like someone messed with the settings,” Tim muttered, turning another knob. Lines of light flicked on and off, never quite looking like they formed numbers. He stopped briefly on what looked like a backwards ‘c’ with an underline. He turned the knob one further, but the lights didn’t change. Another one, and only two lines in a corner were lit up. He went back up through the identical numbers—eight and nine, Jason realized. They looked the same with the missing lights—and one further to what must be ten with an additional half a line to the left, before settling back on nine. He nodded decisively and picked up the microphone. Jason stiffened, but Tim just held it out towards him with a tight, awkward smile.

Jason slowly sat beside him, his joints aching as they bent, and took the microphone. The three of them exchanged a long look. This was it. They’d made it. He took a breath and said, voice pitched low to avoid recognition, “Batman, this is Gotham Academy calling for assistance.” Anyone could tune into this channel, so he didn’t want to say anything too revealing. Even saying he was Robin was too much of a risk. People might start wondering why Robin was at Gotham Academy.

“Robin!” Dick exclaimed from the radio, immediately screwing that up. “What the hell?”

“This is not a secure line, Nightwing,” Jason said stiffly. He could see Steph’s shoulders shaking, but she’d covered her mouth so the laughter wasn’t audible.

“Do you know how worried we’ve been? You can’t just run off without telling anyone! Why is your phone off?”

Jason felt warmth spreading through his body despite his annoyance. They’d actually noticed he was gone. They cared.

“I’m at Gotham Academy,” he said, without further explanation. He couldn’t exactly say he’d felt well enough to go to school on an open line. “The power is out and an EMP took out all electronics in the building, including cell phones.”

He heard Tim mutter, “EMP’s aren’t real,” while Steph snickered. What was that, some kind of inside joke? He didn’t like them being close enough to have inside jokes.

He soldiered on. Reporting to Nightwing was more important than whatever private conversation Tim and Steph were having, no matter what his rebellious heart thought. “The Joker is here. He’s taken the building and all the children inside hostage. There are at least three Joker toxin victims attacking students on his behalf, but I think two have been neutralized.” He glanced at Steph, who looked guilt-stricken. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She’d done what she needed to do, and he was pretty sure the victim she’d attacked would be fine. Better than CJ, probably.

“What?!” Dick exclaimed, his volume increasing to a near shriek. “Why..? How do you end up in these situations?”

“It’s not his fault,” Tim said. Jason looked up in surprise. He hadn’t expected Tim, of all people, to come to his defense.

Dick spluttered, probably at the realization that Tim was there too. Jason could almost see him starting to call Tim something before realizing there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t tip off potential listeners.

“Get somewhere safe and stay there,” Dick finally said. He didn’t ask where they were now, and Jason wouldn’t have answered if he had. “Do not fight the Joker.”

“We weren’t planning on it,” Jason said, annoyed. They weren’t suicidal.

“Okay. Batman and I will get there as soon as we can. Be safe.”

Jason wanted to be mad at him. The Golden Boy, who expected him to fuck up and probably blamed him for running into danger when all he’d done was go to school.

But he’d sounded so worried. From the first ‘Robin!’ to the last ‘Be safe’, there was an undertone of fear laced through all of his words.

Maybe he shouldn’t have snuck out again, even if they were being asses.

“So that’s it?” Steph asked as he placed the microphone down beside the radio. The hook it normally hung from had broken off. “We just wait here?”

“We did our part,” Tim said, relaxing back against the base of the chair. He looked relieved. Content. Happy enough to let other people take charge. Jason wished he could feel the same, but his bones itched to be doing something—to help, to fight, to protect as many people as he could. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax, to feel the pain he’d been holding back for the last hour. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew he couldn’t fight the Joker like this.

He sighed deeply, feeling it all the way down to his chest, and settled in to wait. He wasn’t happy, but it was the right choice. The safe choice. Tim was right; they’d done their part.

Then he heard the meow.

He saw the realization flash across Tim’s face at the same time as it hit him.

The little inconsistencies, the things that didn’t quite line up with the Joker’s normal modus operandi.

“That fucking asshole,” Tim spat.

Steph giggled nervously at Tim’s uncharacteristic cursing, shooting him a look, but Jason was lost in his own head.

He’d run away. He’d had multiple panic attacks, because of nothing more than a washed-up, failed actor, Copycat.

“That fucking asshole,” he agreed.

Chapter Text

They tiptoed through the stacks, following the plaintive meowing back towards the library’s entrance. When they slipped quietly back into the open lobby, the librarian was nowhere to be seen. Whatever Jay had said to her had apparently sent her into hiding.

Steph scanned the dark edges of the room, looking for any sign of movement. “There,” she whispered. A cat was pacing back and forth by the library’s double doors, apparently asking to be let out. She thought it was probably white, but it was hard to tell through the neon green, orange, and red splotches of color spray-painted all over its body.

Its meows sounded strained, warbled. As they approached, it turned towards them, and it was immediately obvious why. Something was lodged in its mouth, stretching it unnaturally wide into the closest equivalent to a grin that could be forced on a cat.

“Oh,” Steph said, scurrying forward to help the poor thing. Both Tim and Jason grabbed her before she could get more than a few steps.

“Don’t—” Jason said at the same time that Tim said, “It’s—”

They glared at each other until Tim averted his eyes, huffing in annoyance. He’d been doing that a lot. She didn’t know if it was because he thought Jason had seniority or if he just didn’t want Jay to be mad at him.

“It’s hurt,” she insisted. They couldn’t just leave it like that. It was cruel.

“It’s dangerous,” Jason replied. “You don’t know what’s on it. Sometimes these cats have bombs or mind-control drugs.”

“Which isn’t fun, trust me,” Tim muttered.

“Oh, yeah,” Jason said, turning to him with the least unfriendly look he’d given Tim all day. Not completely unfriendly, because Jason had a serious vendetta going on right now, but improvement. “You got hit with that Mad Hatter formula. What was that like?”

“Miserable,” Tim said. “This is why I’m scared of cats.”

Jason’s lips quirked up in a facsimile of a smile. “You seemed okay with Cheshire when you came over.”

“That was self-preservation driven by pure terror,” Tim intoned. The Joker cat took a few steps towards them and Tim scurried backwards, apparently on instinct. He didn’t even seem to realize he’d done it.

“Well, what would you two experts suggest?” Steph asked, planting her hands on her hips. The cat wasn’t getting any more saved while they quipped at each other. Jason’s expression immediately fell into another glare, and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. She didn’t think he’d be upset about her wanting to help the cat. Was it because she called Tim an expert too? He was though. “We can’t just leave it like this,” she insisted, just in case it really was about the cat.

“Gloves, rebreathers,” Tim said. “Things we don’t have.”

“I’ll handle it,” Jason said, taking an emphatic step towards the cat. It was so obvious he was trying to prove something he might as well have written it across the back of his shiny new leather jacket.

“Robin,” Tim said, with obvious disapproval. Steph winced. That was definitely the wrong tactic.

“I said I’ll handle it,” Jason said, voice angrier and more determined than before. Which was exactly why you didn’t try to convince Jason not to do things with disapproval, she thought with a sigh. He crouched, gently placing his crutches to the side, and unraveled the scarf from around his face. He folded the thick fabric over his hands and held it out towards the cat as he crept forward. Tim crossed his arms and frowned but didn’t object again.

The cat skittered backwards, its back arching and fur poofing up as Jason approached. Its lips twisted around the object in its mouth like it was trying to hiss, but the sound came out cracked.

“It’s okay,” Jason soothed. He made a kissy noise and wiggled his fingers under the scarf. The cat slunk backwards a few more steps before slowly lying down, eyes on him the whole time. It still looked defensive but less like it was about to attack or flee.

Jason was less than a foot away when it suddenly leapt to its feet and tried to dart away. Jason lunged forward and caught it in the scarf, wrapping the fabric around its writhing body until it was cocooned like a caterpillar, just its head sticking out. He gripped the back of its neck through the wool, and the cat seemed to calm down.

With his other hand still wrapped in wool, he reached for whatever was lodged in the cat’s mouth. The cat kept turning its head away from his hand, but finally, after a few tries, he managed to grab it and pull it out. He took a moment to inspect it, carefully turning it over in his hand to look at all sides, but apparently it wasn’t a bomb because he tossed it away a few seconds later.

He released the cat, and they watched together as it disentangled itself from the scarf and walked haughtily away. “See?” he said, sounding proud of himself. The cat looked much calmer now that its mouth was free and immediately started licking at its stained fur. “I handled it. No problem.”

“So what are you going to use for a mask now?” Tim asked.

The fiery glare Jason shot at him could have burned down Rome.

“It’s a pertinent question!”

“Here!” Jason exclaimed after a few minutes of rummaging through the Reference Desk’s drawers. Tim glanced over from where he was trying to hail Nightwing on the radio again. No response yet, probably because he was already on the way to save them all. Jason waved what looked like a woman’s shawl. “See, I told you it wouldn’t be that hard to find a replacement mask.”

Tim didn’t think it looked like much of a mask, but Jason just got angry every time Tim tried to help, so he said, “Good job.”

He got another glare for his trouble. What the heck was wrong with saying good job? It was the least offensive thing he could say.

“So, what’s our plan here?” Steph asked as Jason tied the triangle-shaped fabric around his face. It looked more like an oversized outlaw’s mask than anything a vigilante would use, but Tim guessed it did a good enough job of covering the bottom half of his face. He tucked the bundle of fabric draping down his chest into his jacket. “Bunker down, update Nightwing on the sitch, and wait for the cavalry?”

That had been their plan. That should still be their plan, all things considered. Tim met Jason’s eyes across the Reference Desk. Copycat was the reason why Batman hadn’t trusted Tim for so long; hell, he was the reason he and Jason had started fighting in the first place. He didn’t know why they were fighting now, exactly, but he knew the two of them had gotten along much better before Copycat convinced the Bats that Chirp was working against them.

He wanted revenge. He wanted to make sure the asshole didn’t escape again. And Copycat wasn’t nearly as dangerous as the Joker. There weren’t the same risks as before. He didn’t know what was running through Jason’s head, but he could tell from his steely gaze that he felt the same.

“We go after him,” Jason said, and Tim nodded once in sharp agreement.

“Weren’t you both like, ‘oh no, we can’t possibly fight him on our own. We need to wait for backup’ just a few minutes ago?” Steph asked, crossing her arms as she swiveled between them.

“That was when we thought he was the Joker,” Jason said. “Copycat…” Warring emotions flashed across his face. Tim didn’t know what had happened the last time they’d gone after Copycat, but he’d managed to escape somehow so they probably shouldn’t underestimate him. “He’ll have some tricks up his sleeves,” Jason allowed. “Other rogues’ tricks. But he’s nowhere near as dangerous as the Joker.”

“Can you face him without freaking out?” Tim had to ask, he had to, but the pure rage Jason shot at him made him shrink inward.

“I’m not going to let some second-rate pretender get under my skin,” Jason said, and for a few seconds, Tim didn’t know if Jason meant Copycat or him. “Not again.”

“So we, what?” Steph asked. “Find wherever he’s hiding in the school and drop a cage over his head?”

“He’s in the auditorium,” Tim said. He could see the realization hit Steph the moment he said it. Of course, he was in the auditorium, Tim didn’t know what he was setting up, but that was clearly where his big finale was meant to take place. “We could sneak in through the backstage. Try to catch him by surprise.”

“Who’s the chick with him?” Steph asked suddenly, her face scrunching up in confusion. “That can’t really be Harley Quinn, right? Harley wouldn’t be fooled by a fake Joker.”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Tim agreed quietly, mostly to himself. He remembered the girl with the Joker, how her hair wasn’t quite right and how instead of fighting she stopped to film them. He’d never seen Harley up close, but the more he thought about it, the more wrong she seemed.

“So, what, Copycat has a partner?” Jason asked.

“There was…” Tim said slowly, trying to remember through the drug-fueled haze he’d been in when the fake Mad Hatter had captured him. “I think there was a blonde girl with him when he was pretending to be the Mad Hatter too. I don’t… I don’t really remember, but I swear there was a woman dressed as Alice. She… had a phone. I think she was recording.” He shot up ramrod straight as a realization hit him with as much force as a lighting strike. “The woman who was holding the tuxedo cat at the gala he attacked. I assumed she was one of the Délicatesse heirs, but she was recording too. I thought she was an idiot.”

Jason was giving him a strange look that Tim couldn’t quite decipher. Something between anger and hurt and confusion. Like he didn’t understand how, or didn’t like, that Tim was putting together the pieces. Tim didn’t get it. He’d been a part of this case for as long as Jason had. Longer, actually. What was Jason’s deal?

“Okay,” Steph said. “So we’ve got a Copycat Joker and a fake Harley. A Ducati.”

Tim snorted and Jason gave her such an affronted look. “A Ducati isn’t a fake Harley!” he said. “Ducatis are…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steph said. “Close enough.”

Jason huffed, but the tension broke. He barely even looked annoyed when he asked Tim, “So, what kind of gear do you have on you?”

“Not much,” Tim said. “Just the masks and vests. I don’t even have a utility belt. I don’t have…” He shook his head, thinking through all the things they would want. “Handcuffs, birdarangs, grapple hooks. Nothing, really.”

“Why did you bother sneaking out half a uniform?” Jason asked, some of his annoyance creeping back into his voice. Except now he seemed annoyed that Tim hadn’t broken even more rules. “Why bring the vest and not the utility belt?”

“I just wanted to give Steph enough gear to keep her safe,” Tim said, hunching up defensively. “I only have two sets because I wasn’t sure what size she’d need.”

“Why would Steph need Robin gear at all?” Jason asked, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Because she snuck out in a badly made costume and got shot at!” Tim shot back with just as much frustration.

“What?” Jason asked. His hands slowly lowered.

“I saw Tim sneaking around doing dangerous shit by himself last night, so I went to help him,” Steph said.

“And then got shot at,” Tim said.

“We found the Joker’s—well, the fake Joker’s I guess—little, like, experiment chamber, and then he showed up with some henchman, and they chased us off.”

“With guns,” Tim emphasized. That was the most important detail, and she kept insisting on leaving it out. “And she was wearing a sweater.”

“Oh,” Jason said. Most of his steam seemed to have left him. “I guess that’s what you were telling B about last night?”

“The hideout bit,” Tim said. “I didn’t tell him about Steph.” He pulled at the corner of his jacket. Steph’s jacket. “I just… I told her she shouldn’t do it again, but in case she did, I wanted to make sure she’d be safe.”

Jason didn’t respond, but from the way his concerned eyes drifted to Steph, Tim didn’t think he objected. Seconds ticked loudly by on the clock over the entrance.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Where are we going to get some gear?”

Ten minutes later, they let themselves into the empty security office near the school’s entrance. Jason didn’t know if the school’s security guard was doing anything to help defend the school, but judging from the red stain splashed across the monitoring desk, he was gonna guess no. He hoped the lack of a body meant the security guard was still alive—why bother moving a dead body?—but he had no idea what Copycat was up to. The front office had been empty too. Where had everyone gone?

The security office was better stocked than most, but this was the richest school in Gotham. Security was one of the selling points.

There were going to be some angry PTA meetings after this.

“Do you think we could open the security gates from here?” Steph asked, rifling through a cabinet.

Tim and Jason both turned towards the dark monitors, an array of useless controls spread out beneath them.

“Maybe if the power was on,” Tim said.

“This is where the gates are controlled from,” Jason agreed slowly. Bruce had walked him through the school’s security system in case of an emergency months ago. “It was probably their first stop when they came in. Before the power outage or the laughter.” They’d never had a chance to get out. At least he didn’t have to worry about any of the cameras catching his maskless face.

“Ooh!” Steph exclaimed, pulling a taser out of the cabinet and eying it like a pirate appraising her loot. “Nice!”

“Do you know how to use that?” Jason asked.

“Nope!” she said cheerfully. She spun around and aimed it at the security guard’s chair, closing one eye the way terrible marksmen in movies did.

“There’s batons too,” Tim said, pulling one out of the drawer he was rifling through. He pressed a button on the side and it expanded to a little over two feet long.

“Nice!” Steph repeated.

Jason opened another drawer. This place had more storage than room to sit. “A lot of mace,” he said. “Oh, and handcuffs!” He held them up, metal glinting in the light of Tim’s pinlight. “Just the one pair though.”

“We need a strategy,” Steph said, swinging around to aim the taser at the door and nearly hitting Tim with the wide arc.

“Steph!” Tim yelped. “Give me that.” She reluctantly handed it over and swung around the baton he replaced it with instead. Jason held out his hand, and Tim passed the taser to him without hesitation. He was probably the only one actually trained on how to use it.

“Like a baseball strategy,” Steph continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted, winking at Jason.

He felt a small smile flicker across his lips despite the rock in his stomach. “I’m not sure how much baseball strategy applies here.”

“Sure it does!” Steph exclaimed. She started shoving stuff in her pockets, two of the extendable batons in one and as many bottles of mace as could fit in the other. Her pants were bulging out like oversized tumors. “You know, like those ones with all the lines and dots? That’s what we need.”

“That sounds more like football,” Tim muttered. He looked between a baton and the broom handle he was still dragging around and seemed to choose the broom handle.

“Like you know anything about football,” Steph countered. “Name one position.”

“Quarterback,” Tim said immediately.

“Okay, my fault, that was a gimme. Name another position.”

“Goalie,” he said, just as fast.

Jason gave him an incredulous look, but Steph rolled her eyes and said, “Fine. You’re a football genius. Let’s move on.”

“Uh?” Jason said, but they steamrolled over him.

“So tell me, Mr. Sports God, what’s a football strategy we could use?”

Tim looked like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and flicking to the sides like he thought the room might provide him with an answer. “Scatter?” he suggested.

Jason actually did know football. He’d spent way too many Sundays surrounded by his drunk father and his drunk friends all getting drunker and more violent while they told him they were going to make a man of him yet. It hadn’t encouraged him to like the game, but he at least knew this was all complete bullshit.

“That seems a little too straightforward,” Steph said. “Like maybe instead we hunker down, and then we scatter. Throw them off.”

“I think that’s enough strategizing,” Jason said.

“You’re right. We’ve got this.”

They did one more sweep of the room, opening every drawer and cabinet, even checking behind the assorted furniture in case anything had fallen in the cracks, before they had to admit that there wasn’t anything else they could use. Jason felt more nervous than he would have liked. They didn’t even have a full set of body armor between them, and barely had more weapons than the average Gotham civilian walking home after dark. He was pretty sure he was the only one with full training, and he was injured.

Maybe they should wait for Batman and Nightwing.

No. This wasn’t the Joker. This wasn’t even the Riddler. Copycat had only ever been successful because he was building off the fear that other bad guys had earned. He was nothing by himself.

“I hate Copycat,” he muttered as they walked out of the security office into the red-tinted hallways.

“I know, right!” Tim said. “He’s the worst.”

Jason thought angrily about the Mad Hatter case that strained his relationship with Bruce, the Catwoman case that had broken his relationship with Chirp. “That guy’s basically my archnemesis.”

Tim snorted, the soft sound echoing in the empty hallways. “I’m pretty sure he’s my archnemesis.”

“You’ve been Robin for like two months!” Jason exclaimed. He’d been trying to let this shit go, to ignore all the little patronizing, holier-than-thou comments, but this was too much. Tim had no place to claim any archnemesis, let alone someone he’d never even fought. Had there even been a Copycat case the last couple months?

Tim gave him another one of his stupid little condescending looks. “Yeah, but I’ve been Chirp for three years.”

Jason’s feet stopped moving, and he stilled in the middle of the hallway. Steph and Tim didn’t notice, still walking forward.

“I worked the case the very first time he committed a crime,” Tim continued, counting off on his fingers. “Heck, I’m the one who got accused of being him. I’m pretty sure that by itself makes him my archnemesis.” He finally seemed to notice that Jason wasn’t following and turned back. He looked confused for a few seconds before realization flashed across his face. “And I really thought someone would have already told you that I was Chirp,” he said weakly.

Jason tried to get his brain to restart, but it was still feeling sluggish. “You’re Chirp,” he said.

“Yes?” Tim answered cautiously, sounding more like he was the one asking questions.

“You’ve always been Chirp,” Jason said, feeling like he was trying to shove connections in where they didn’t fit.

“Yes?”

That didn’t make sense, did it? Tim couldn’t be Chirp. Tim had been held hostage at the gala while Jason was working with Chirp.

Except, he hadn’t talked to Chirp while Tim was being held hostage, had he? He tried to remember the timeline. Chirp had lost visual because of the power outage, and then Tim had dove out from under a table to push Jason out of the way of the gunshot, and then… No, he didn’t think he’d talked to Chirp at all while Tim was being held.

But the Mad Hatter incident. Jason had definitely been talking to Chirp during that, and Tim was one of the victims, so he couldn’t have been Chirp.

Something had happened to Chirp. He’d sounded sluggish and told Robin a location to go to, where they’d found Cheshire covered in mind-altering drugs. He’d sent a beacon to the location Tim and the other kids were being held. Robin had let Tim leave and then contacted Chirp a few minutes later. He remembered Chirp sounding off, like his audio was different.

Tim had been on the roof across the street from the museum when Chirp was telling Robin that Catwoman was robbing it. Chirp had said he’d lost track of Catwoman because he was distracted by Batman and Robin talking to those kids on the roof. Because Chirp couldn’t look at his security feeds while Batman and Robin were talking to him. Because Chirp was Tim.

Jason was an idiot.

He still felt dazed, his vision not quite focusing on Tim. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

Tim crossed his arms across his chest defensively, not meeting his gaze. “You didn’t exactly tell me you were Robin, either.”

“But you knew,” Jason said. It wasn’t a question. He’d already known Chirp knew their civilian identities. Heat started bubbling under his skin. “You contacted me as Chirp on my civilian phone.”

“I…” Tim hesitated. His eyes flicked nervously to Steph, strangely, before he admitted, “Yes, I did.”

He struggled to keep the emotion out of his voice, to sound flat and uninterested. “For how long?”

Tim hesitated longer this time. The more he waited, fidgeting uncertainly, the angrier the storm in Jason’s chest raged. He opened his mouth, tugged on his lip with his front teeth, turned his face away. Jason’s hands were shaking by the time Tim finally said with a visible wince, “The whole time?”

Jason punched him.

Chapter Text

“Hey, now!” Steph exclaimed, jumping between them. Jason hadn’t hit Tim very hard. Between his weakened muscles, the crutch in the way, and Tim’s decent dodge, he’d barely grazed Tim’s cheek. He felt both better and worse.

“Sorry,” he muttered, but it didn’t have much emotion behind it. He still thought Tim kind of deserved at least one punch. “But what the hell, Tim? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t exactly seem to like me as… me,” Tim said with large, meaningless gestures, “and I thought you’d like Chirp less if you knew who I was. By the time we finally started actually getting along as civilians, the whole Copycat thing happened.”

“The whole Copycat thing wouldn’t have happened if we’d known who you were!” Jason exclaimed. Steph put a finger to her lips, eyes darting nervously around, and Jason lowered his voice. “We wouldn’t have thought you were Copycat if we’d known you were—” He motioned at Tim, hands flicking towards him. “—you.”

“Well, I didn’t know that,” Tim said. “It seemed equally possible you’d just throw me in Arkham!”

“Don’t be stupid.” How could he even think that? Bruce would have reevaluated all his preconceptions about Chirp—clearly had reevaluated all his preconceptions about Chirp—when he found out Chirp actually was the kid he’d claimed to be.

Tim just made an offended noise. He probably hadn’t been called stupid many times in his life.

“But…” Jason hesitated, not sure he wanted to say anything, but he also couldn’t just let it go. Couldn’t go merrily on their way to fight Copycat and pretend it wasn’t a thing. “I called you for help when the Joker had me, the way you told me to, and you didn’t do anything.” It came out uglier than he meant it to, rage and hurt piling into a broken rasp. Steph’s eyes went wide and Tim looked horrified.

“What? No!” he exclaimed, forgetting to be quiet judging from the way his voice echoed through the hallway. “That’s not… Don’t… Didn’t… Why do you think…?” He snapped his mouth shut and seemed to get his words in better order before opening it again. “I got your message.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and held up its dark screen like it was supposed to show Jason something. “And I checked on you and I saw the Joker but I couldn’t talk to you because your comm was broken or missing or something but I contacted Batman and convinced him to turn around and go rescue you.” His voice sounded almost pleading, a desperation threading through the words.

Jason tried to piece together his broken memories. Had he had his comm? He’d certainly been hit in the head enough times that it might have broken even if he’d had one to start, but he thought maybe… maybe he hadn’t put it in at all. That’s why he hadn’t been able to contact Bruce.

“And… and I told the people at the refugee camp not to open the boxes since Batman hadn’t been able to go there and warn them, and I kept an eye on them to make sure they didn’t.” He licked his lips, breath coming out in shallow gasps. “And I contacted the hospital and got them to send an air ambulance to pick you up! I did everything I could.” The last bit broke off in a sob, and Jason realized with a stab that Tim didn't believe ‘everything he could’ had been enough. “I know I could have been faster,” he continued before Jason could respond, not meeting his eyes. “I… I didn’t see the message until I got out of class, and then I took too long to get to the library, but—”

“Wait, just wait,” Jason said, covering his face to block out any stimulation while he tried to think. “Nobody’s explained any of this shit to me. I need a minute.”

Tim waited. Jason could hear his tense, tight breaths while he awaited judgment.

“You got my emergency alert, and somehow convinced Batman to go rescue me,” he said slowly. “Even though Batman had never trusted you.” He peeked at Tim through his fingers, and Tim nodded. “You told him who you were.” It was the only thing that made sense. Batman wouldn’t have trusted Chirp, but he might have trusted Tim. Tim nodded again in confirmation. “So, I’m in a coma and Batman knows who you are now so you start… working together?”

“Mostly we fought,” Tim said weakly with a self-effacing smile. “A lot.” Yeah, that tracked.

“But you’re hearing rumors at school about me being Robin, so you convince him that there needs to be a decoy Robin to throw people off the trail?” Tim nodded again. Jason thought through the series of events one-by-one, making sure he understood it all, before throwing his hands up in the air. “Why didn’t anyone tell me all of this? I wouldn’t have been so mad!”

“I’m not sure?” Tim asked. “I assumed you knew. At least about me being Chirp.”

“I guess Dickface did say that I should ‘talk to you about it,’” Jason said, with the full mockery it deserved. “Idiot.” His eyes shot back to Tim. “It’s not like you’ve even been around for me to talk to. What the hell? You’re wearing my costume but you can’t even stop by to see how I’m doing or send me a get well soon text?”

“See?” Steph exclaimed. He’d almost forgotten she was there. She’d been quietly letting them have it out. “I told you.”

“I don’t know when to send texts!” Tim said, spinning frustratedly in place. “I thought it would be awkward. And… and you’d just woken up from a coma and I didn’t want to be obtrusive and—”

“Oh my God, you are such an idiot,” Jason groaned.

“I am not!” Tim whined, sounding more like a toddler throwing a tantrum than a kid genius who’d been a vigilante longer than Jason had.

Christ. That was gonna take some getting used to.

“Let’s just… put a pin in it,” Jason said, with a large huff of air. “We can talk it out sometime when we’re not being stalked by killer clowns.”

“Rabid,” Tim said at the same time Steph said, “Zombie.” They had a miniature slap fight, their closest hands flicking at each other.

“Rabid, killer zombie clowns,” Jason said. That seemed to satisfy them. He hesitated, and said, more sincerely this time, “I’m sorry I tried to punch you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was Chirp,” Tim said with a weak smile. “I really am. Maybe things wouldn’t have gotten quite so bad.”

Jason nodded. Maybe they wouldn’t have. But he was never much for could-have-beens. Life was shit sometimes. You picked up what pieces you had left and moved forward as best you could. “Let’s go get that clown.”

“You told me you didn’t know who Batman and Robin were,” Steph said, slapping Tim’s shoulder as they started walking towards the auditorium again. She was mostly teasing, but he winced with genuine discomfort.

“I didn’t want to risk their identities,” he said. “If you knew I knew, you might have made other connections.”

“It’s cool,” Steph said. “I’ll just hold it over your head forever.”

“Steeeeph,” he whined, sounding more like his usual self. Good. One boy down, one to go.

Jay still looked uncomfortable. Better than he had been, but still like—well, like he’d missed multiple months and was playing catch up on everything he thought he knew about the world, so… Basically exactly like he was.

“Oh!” Steph said, remembering something that might lighten the mood. “I forgot to tell you; I signed you up for baseball tryouts.”

Jason gave her a bemused look. “I’m not sure I’m in any shape to play baseball, Steph.”

“Maybe not yet, but the Count said you could try out whenever you were feeling better. Maybe you could use the crutches as a bat! You’re good at hitting things with them, right?” Jason’s smile was growing, so she kept going. “And then you’ll be so good at it that everyone will start using crutches and they’ll end up designing a new version of the sport.”

“Maybe,” Jason agreed. He was definitely smiling now, though, so she counted it as a win.

A few notes of discordant music drifted down the hall, and they dropped into silence. This was further away than they’d been able to hear the music before. It was getting louder. Whatever Copycat was doing must be ramping up.

“Let’s go through the cafeteria,” Tim said. “We’re less likely to get boxed in.”

Steph nodded. There was only the one hallway to get back behind the auditorium, but the cafeteria opened into that hallway and had a ton of open space and exits if they needed to run. Plus it was where the fake Joker had ambushed them from last time, so less of a risk of that happening again.

She snuck a glance at Jason. He didn’t have that angry look he’d had the last few times Tim had made suggestions, so that was good. She’d gotten the idea from their little exchange that there was a lot of history there that she’d just completely missed, but at least it looked like they were done being dumb.

They skirted along one wall of the cafeteria, feeling like they were walking through a ghost town. It was almost lunchtime, and the cafeteria should have been bustling with lunch ladies prepping for the rush, if not with students quite yet, but everything was silent and still. It felt like one of those video games where they’d turn a corner and suddenly a zombie would jump out. The existence of actual zombie clowns who could be waiting around a corner did not help with that feeling.

Jason led the way, despite the light tapping of his crutches. The closer they got to the auditorium, the less audible his crutches were, until they were indistinguishable from the beat of the carnival music. He stopped a few inches from the hallway, and leaned forward to peek around the corner. They waited much longer than Steph thought she and Tim would have on their own, but then Jason motioned for them to move forward.

The music swelled as they entered the hallway. Jason inclined his head towards the closest backstage door, but Tim shook his head and motioned for them to continue back to the little stretch of hallway behind the auditorium where his locker was. Jason followed without argument. Tim motioned to the other backstage door at the end of the hallway. Steph hadn’t spent much time in the auditorium, but from its location she surmised it was in more of a back corner than the other door so they’d be more likely to get in without anyone noticing.

Tim tried the handle, but it didn’t move. Jason motioned for him to step aside and knelt in front of it, producing a Swiss Army knife from his pocket. Did he always have a Swiss Army knife on him?

...Honestly, probably a good idea in Gotham. She should get herself one of those.

Steph couldn’t tell if the thin strip of metal he flipped out from the knife was actually a lock pick or if he was just using it that way, but less than a minute later he pulled away and slowly turned the knob.

Music blared from the door as it opened, a garish combination of organ and accordion playing that she hoped to never hear again.

They crept slowly in. A wall was to their left, with silver ropes standing out against the dark stone. To their right was a heavy blue curtain, shifting like it was in a breeze. Jason held the taser tightly against his crutch’s handle as he led the way forward, his index finger hovering beside the trigger. Steph pressed a button to extend the baton clutched in her right hand and gripped a bottle of mace in the left. Tim had kept the broom handle propped against his shoulder on the walk over, but now held it forward with both hands, like a martial artist ready to strike.

Jason slowly reached out and used the taser to push the curtain aside.

The music was deafening, but the stage was dark. Steph could barely see the outline of dim shapes over Jason’s shoulder. He took a quiet step out onto the stage, taser still extended, and she followed behind, trying to be as invisible as possible.

The second they stepped out, spotlights burst to life, bathing the stage in light, with one of them centered directly on them.

All Tim could see was white light. He flung an arm over his eyes, trying to block it out, but he couldn’t see anything beyond its blinding intensity.

The stage filled with laughter. It probably would have been creepier without the blaring carnival music. Honestly, the two noises clashed pretty badly. Bad planning, really.

He squinted out at the stage and it slowly started coming into focus. Large red and yellow curtains and round white circus lights hung from the ceiling in a vaguely tent-like shape. Three patterned rings adorned the stage. Blue Shirt, now in a glittery blue suit and top hat, stood in one and Copycat and Ducati stood in another. Other circus props were littered about—a large animal stand, trapeze equipment, bowling pins… for juggling, he guessed?

Trying too hard, his brain said, unbidden. The Joker had never committed to a theme this much. And had they just been standing in the dark waiting for someone to show up so they could start their show? Overdramatic, much?

“I’m so glad you could join us,” Copycat said in the Joker’s high-pitched voice, clearly ramping up to some theatrical monologue. “For our first act—”

Jason shot him in the chest with the taser.

The electrodes connected on his chest and upper abdomen. Copycat seized up, his mouth clamping shut as the electricity surged through him.

Tim darted forward as he fell to his knees. The effect would only last a few seconds, and they wanted him knocked out before he stopped seizing.

He heard screaming and knew it was Ducati, but he kept his focus forward. He swung the broom handle at Copycat’s head with a two-handed grip that was probably better suited to swinging a baseball bat than an actual bo staff, but Tim had limited training and this was what he knew how to do.

The handle hit with a crack, but the colors were wrong and too close. It wasn’t until he stepped back that he could see Ducati standing between them, her arm upraised and now flaunting a massive welt. She must have jumped in the way at the last second.

A long crack split the handle where it had hit, but it hadn’t broken yet. Tim pulled on what little training he had, spun the handle in a quick circle, and jabbed the tip of it at her neck. She stumbled backwards before it hit, but stayed between him and Copycat, her mouth curving in a snarl that made her look less like Harley and more like the imposter she was.

Steph appeared beside him—the music too loud for him to hear anyone coming—and sprayed her can of mace at Ducati’s face. She shrieked, clawing at her eyes as she staggered backwards. She tripped over where Copycat was starting to climb to his feet, sending both of them to the ground.

Steph yelped beside him, the high-pitched cry barely audible above the music, and Tim turned to see Blue Shirt grabbing her from behind. He wrapped his arms around her waist, the glint of his grin over her shoulder painfully wide.

Tim turned, readying his staff, but before he could do anything else Steph twisted to the side and slammed her baton directly down into Blue Shirt’s crotch. Tim winced instinctively as Blue Shirt stumbled backwards with an inhuman howl. Throughout it, he continued to grin, too many teeth in a too wide mouth. Steph shook the can of mace in her other hand and sprayed what looked like the entire thing into his face, and throughout it he just. Kept. Grinning. He coughed as he breathed in the gas, or… maybe it wasn’t a cough. It sounded more like a ragged laugh.

Tim tore his gaze away and back to the bigger threat. Copycat had gotten one foot under himself and was starting to rise to his feet, an expression that promised retribution twisting his features into an ugly grimace. Jason squeezed the taser’s trigger again, sending a second charge into his chest. He fell again, this time not getting his hands under him before hitting the floor.

Handcuffs. They should handcuff him, but Tim had no actual idea where the handcuffs were. Did Jason still have them? He looked back at where Jason was still standing by the curtain. His eyes were on Copycat, wide and unfocused, and he was shaking so much it was visible from across the stage.

Steph shouted something, but he couldn’t understand the words. He turned back to see Copycat starting to struggle up again, his hands and knees trembling beneath him. No time for handcuffs, then. Tim swung the broom handle at his head, this time hitting him square in the temple. The wood shattered at the impact, shards flying in all directions and probably dampening the blow. Copycat dropped to his elbows, but was clearly still conscious.

Ducati lunged at them, her eyes red with black makeup running in streams down her cheeks. Steph raised her baton, and Tim readied what was left of his staff. It was much shorter now, but probably sharp enough to do damage.

A clap rang from the audience, then another, and another. A slow steady beat that felt terrifyingly out of place. Tim froze, and could see Steph doing the same out of the corner of his eye. Even Ducati stumbled to a stop and Copycat turned his head towards the unexpected sound. They didn’t have any other allies, right? Not that Tim remembered seeing, and they certainly wouldn’t be reacting this way if it was someone on their side.

But the slow, sarcastic clapping didn’t sound like anyone who’d be on the Robins’ side either.

Tim squinted out at the dark audience, searching for the source. He realized with a start that it wasn’t empty. There were dozens of figures in the seats that he hadn’t noticed before. They were hard to make out in the dim light, but he was pretty sure he recognized Headmaster Hammer’s silhouette, and was that Mrs. Felten from the office? Another person looked like they were wearing a security uniform. None of them were clapping. Their hands looked firmly stuck at their sides, probably tied to the armrests, and light glinted off of bits of metal forcing their mouths into wide open grins. It was painfully reminiscent of the cat with its artificial smile. He shuddered. At least it wasn’t Joker toxin.

His eyes finally landed on a figure walking down the aisle. It entered the light slowly—purple pant legs visible first, then a matching, unbuttoned suit jacket, a green shirt, an orange flower on his lapel, a white neck and chin, and red lips stretched into a horrible grin.

Tim had stopped breathing, but he wasn’t sure when.

“What a show!” the Joker—the real Joker—crowed. Seeing him there, Tim couldn’t imagine how they’d ever mistaken Copycat for him. There was an aura of pure evil that nobody would ever be able to fully emulate. “They do say that imitation is the greatest form of flattery, but given this utter failure…” His eyes roamed the stage judgmentally. “I think it might be more of an insult.”

A loud crash sounded from stage left, and Tim jumped, his breath restarting like he’d gotten a shock from a defibrillator. He looked sideways so quickly it wrenched his neck. The taser was now at Jason’s feet. His eyes were wide and panicked, his pupils no longer visible in the bright light, and his chest was rising and falling at an alarming rate.

The Joker’s grin grew wickedly as his gaze moved to Jason. “So many fake birds, but I’d recognize the real one anywhere,” he drawled slowly, cruelly. “Miss me, Sweetheart?”

Jason collapsed to the stage, his crutches skittering out sideways as he fell.

Chapter Text

Steph ran to Jason. She didn’t know if that was really the best thing to be doing right now, but it was the only thing she could do.

She got an arm under his before he hit the ground. He didn’t react at all, barely more responsive than a dead fish as she pulled his arm over her shoulders and tightened her arm around his back. This was like the last time they’d run, but worse somehow. She’d been so scared before—she’d thought she’d been so scared—but it was nothing compared to the absolute terror that shot through her veins at the Joker’s every word. She could believe in that moment that he was a meta, or an actual, evil supernatural clown come to life, like the It monster, instead of a normal, human man with enough cruelty to fill oceans.

They weren’t going to fight him, were they? She tried to catch Tim’s eye, to figure out what the hell they were going to do now, but he was still standing frozen in place in the middle of the stage, wide eyes focused on the Joker.

With one last step, the Joker emerged fully into the light. His green hair should have been comedic. It looked like when you got too much chlorine in bleached hair and it turned a sickly, neon shade. She didn’t feel like laughing.

“Now, you seem to have interrupted my biggest fan’s little speech—” He grinned joylessly at where Copycat had struggled up onto his knees. “—but I can give you the gist. He’s already rambled at length about it to the police, marring my good name. Explosives set in the school, they have two hours to get him his money or the whole place will blow with so many rich children trapped inside.” He pulled out a pocketwatch and made a show of looking at it. “Sorry, that’s fifty-eight minutes, now.” He snapped the pocketwatch shut with a loud snap that made her wince. “Blah, blah, blah, horribly boring stuff, I promise. Especially since he didn’t have the common courtesy—” He shrieked with ear-splitting laughter. “—to set real explosives! What a terrible host.”

The grin he aimed at Copycat grew larger, wickeder. Steph felt her stomach sinking before the next words even left his mouth. “But don’t worry! I couldn’t have his big show disappoint! Not when it has my name attached to it. So I took the liberty of planting some explosives myself.” He stopped at the edge of the stage, his voice low and vicious as he said, “No need to thank me.”

Steph kept pivoting between Tim and Jason, waiting for… for something. They were the real heroes. For a snappy quip or brave retort or even just a look of defiance, but Jason was hyperventilating against her side and Tim stayed the perfect picture of frozen fear.

As the Joker’s gleeful gaze shifted from Copycat to Ducati, his grin dropped into a grimace so severe it could be mistaken for an upside down smile. “What’s this? Are you mocking me?” Steph remembered suddenly Tim saying he was surprised Harley was there. That she and the Joker were on the outs. “Do you think this is funny?!”

He pulled an oversized orange gun from inside his jacket and aimed it at Ducati. She fell backwards, scrambling away on all fours like some twisted crabwalk. Steph didn’t know if she should dive between them or tackle the Joker or do something. A hero was supposed to do something. But he was already pulling the trigger and…

A flag popped out and rustled in a breeze that shouldn’t exist. Maybe the gun made its own breeze for dramatic effect. It took her a few seconds to be able to read the word ‘BANG’ emblazoned across the fabric.

The Joker cackled maniacally as he turned to look at each of them in turn. “Look at your faces,” he said. “Learn to take a joke.”

He turned back towards the door, propping his gun on his shoulder as he strolled away. “I was rather disappointed with myself that the punchline of my last joke didn’t land.” He grinned back at them, teeth bright even as the rest of his face faded into the shadows. Steph hugged Jason closer as the Joker’s gaze landed on him. “But maybe I just needed a bigger crowd. This one will be so much grander.”

“Fifty-six minutes!” he called as he disappeared into the dark audience. “Can’t wait to see how well you perform.” She could hear a door opening in the distance, see a small halo of light around a dark figure, and then the door slammed shut and there was nothing else to see.

Tim snapped out of his position like a marionette doll brought suddenly to life. He swung towards Copycat, who was glaring at all of them from where he was kneeling on the floor. Ducati was crouched beside him with an arm around his shoulders in a position that uncomfortably mirrored her and Jason. “What did you tell the police?”

“I didn’t set any explosives,” Copycat growled back. His voice was lower now, no longer imitating the Joker. There was no reason for him to bother trying anymore. Not when it was so obvious how short he fell.

“I don’t care what you did!” Tim yelled. “I care what you told them you did!”

Because that’s what the Joker had done, Steph realized. He copied the Copycat. Filled in the blanks that Copycat left behind.

“I told them there were explosives in the basement,” Copycat said. That… wasn’t very specific. The basement was probably as big as the school. “And that they would explode unless I got my money.”

Tim spun around, stalking away from Copycat and Ducati without any more fanfare. She could see the way Copycat snarled behind him, his anger at not being considered more of a risk, but he didn’t attack. He didn’t even stand up. And, frankly? They had more important things to worry about.

“The Joker had to have heard that, or heard the police talking about it,” Tim said as he approached. “So the question is… would he have done exactly what Copycat said he did, or something else to mess with us?” He looked at Steph, but she just shrugged. She had no idea. “It could go either way, right?” he asked, sounding uncertain. He turned to Jason and swallowed. Steph followed his gaze. Jason was still hyperventilating, eyes distant and haunted.

Jason would know. Jason was Robin. The real Robin.

Tim crouched in front of them. “Robin,” he said, voice cracking. “Robin, we need you. Please.”

Everything hurt. Everything hurt and he could barely think. He knew he had to save his mom. His mom who had betrayed him. Who had given him to the Joker after he…

His breath caught. He couldn’t think about that right now. He could barely think at all, but he definitely couldn’t think about that.

She was crouched beside him, an arm around his back. He thought he remembered something about a timer. A clock ticking down until everything exploded. Fifty-six minutes? No, no, it was much less than that. Five or six minutes, maybe. That made more sense. Right?

His head hurt. Everything hurt, and there was an inescapable countdown until they all died again.

Again?

“Robin, we need you. Please,” Chirp’s voice said in his ear. In his communicator. Did he have his communicator? He didn’t think he did.

And Chirp had betrayed him anyway. Like his mom. Like everyone did, eventually.

But no, that wasn’t right, was it? Chirp was getting help right now. Calling Batman and the hospital and… how did he know that? Had Chirp told him?

His sight felt hazy. Probably the concussion. The Joker had hit him an awful lot of times. Probably his brain was swelling and he’d end up in a coma for two months.

For...

Why was he thinking that?

“Robin?” Chirp asked in his ear. “Can you hear me?”

His gaze blurred and the concrete beneath him looked less gray. More brown, like wood.

“Chirp?” he asked.

“That’s me. I’m here.”

He raised his gaze, eyes catching on things that didn’t belong in a warehouse. On decorated rings and red and yellow curtains. On too many lights coming from the wrong angles. On a boy that definitely hadn’t been with him in the warehouse.

“I’m here,” he repeated. “I’ll always be here for you. But we need you to be here too. Please.”

Jason took a deep breath, his vision clearing as he focused on Chirp. On Tim. On Robin. “What happened?” he asked, voice raspy. He looked over Tim’s shoulder at where Copycat and Ducati had been last he remembered, but they weren’t there. He only saw the guy in the blue ringmaster outfit, still sprawled out on the stage laughing quietly to himself.

“You had another panic attack,” Tim said. He felt an arm tighten around his waist and turned to see Steph. Not his mom. He leaned heavily against her.

“Because of the Copycat?” he asked, feeling disgusted with himself.

Steph and Tim exchanged a look. That wasn’t a good sign. “No,” Steph said. “The actual Joker showed up. Do you remember..?”

Oh. He did now. The Joker walking down the aisle into the light, and then nothing after that.

He felt his breath shortening again, but forced himself to breathe. To focus on Tim’s face, right in front of his.

“He…” Tim swallowed, looking like he didn’t want to explain, but pressed on. “Copycat told the police that he’d put bombs in the school’s basement, but he didn’t actually. The Joker said he put real bombs there to help Copycat out.” Tim sounded disgusted at the last few words. Jason felt sick. Fifty-six minutes, his brain repeated in the Joker’s voice. Had he actually heard the Joker say that? “We don’t have a lot of time. We need to know if that’s where he’d actually put the bombs or… or if he’d put them somewhere else to mess with us, or…” He trailed off, looking at Jason with uncertainty and pity and guilt, like he was regretting asking and wanted to take it back.

Jason couldn’t stand the idea of him regretting it, of him taking back his request for Jason’s help because Jason couldn’t handle it. Jason was stronger than that. So he forced himself to think. What would the Joker do?

Would he actually set up the bombs? Yes. Definitely. Some people might find humor in people being scared that they were going to die and then discovering that there was never any actual danger, but not the Joker. That wasn’t his style of joke. If he said there were bombs, then there were bombs.

Would he put the bombs where Copycat had claimed they were or only in other locations? He’d put at least a few where Copycat had said. He wanted his victims to have hope. Fighting to save themselves and failing was way funnier than them sitting around despairing because they’d never had a chance.

Would he also put the bombs somewhere else? ...yes, he absolutely would. Letting people scurry around like ants trying to save themselves, thinking they’d succeeded, only to be blown up anyway? That was exactly his kind of joke.

“When—” Jason coughed to clear his throat. “When did Copycat contact the police? It can’t have been that long ago.” Dick hadn’t known about the school yet when they talked to him. Copycat might have already talked to the police then, but it wouldn’t take that long for Dick to find out once the police knew.

“The Joker said Copycat gave them two hours,” Steph said, “and there’s… fifty-eight? Fifty-six?”

“Probably fifty-two by now,” Tim muttered.

“Fifty-two minutes left of that, so a little over an hour ago.”

Jason nodded. That lined up with when they’d talked to Dick.

So the Joker heard Copycat’s call with the police, or more likely heard the police talking about it on the police scanner after the fact. Immediately decided he needed to show up this imposter…

He wouldn’t have known that the Robins, that any Robin, were in the school when he was setting up his bombs. He did this to fuck with Copycat, the guy who dared to steal his shtick, not as a fun game to play with Batman’s little birds.

Would the Joker have set extra explosives? In a limited time-frame to pick up and set the bombs, only to mess with an imposter who he had to assume would run rather than try to save the kids he’d put in danger, when he hadn’t known that Robin would be there?

No, Jason didn’t think so.

If he was wrong…

Well, if he was wrong he’d never have the chance to regret it, would he?

“The bombs will be where Copycat said they are,” he said, injecting a confidence into his voice that he didn’t feel. That he would force himself to feel, because there was no other choice now.

Tim and Steph both nodded, steeling themselves for their next steps. They trusted him, trusted his knowledge and instincts, without question. It was… intimidating and encouraging and utterly, completely terrifying.

He had better not be wrong.

“Do we try to call Nightwing?” Steph asked. “Update him on the situation?”

“There’s no time,” Tim and Jason said simultaneously, exchanging looks before Jason continued, “and Nightwing will know what the police know by now anyway. If he and Batman can get in quickly enough to help, then great. If not…” The doors were locked. There was no power. No way to evacuate the building. Nothing to do except disarm the bombs before they exploded. “Then it’s up to us.”

Chapter Text

“Do we actually know how to get to the basement?” Tim asked. “Oh! We could ask—” He twirled around to look back towards Copycat and Ducati and cut suddenly off. Steph turned to follow his gaze. The spot where they’d had been crouched during the Joker’s speech was empty. She quickly scanned the rest of the stage, but it was deserted except for the ringmaster lying laughing in the middle of the center ring. She was pretty sure that was the same guy who had been doing the Joker toxin experiments at the apartment and who had shot at her and Tim. Had they just abandoned him? Cold. “Shit,” Tim hissed. “Not again.”

“It’s fine,” Jason muttered. He shrugged out of her grip and started slowly pushing himself to his feet with a wince. “We have more important things to worry about. They probably didn’t know where the basement was anyway. They’re not the ones who set the bombs.”

“But we do!” Steph exclaimed, sudden realization hitting her. Both Tim and Jason looked at her in surprise. “Remember when we were looking for all the best places to nap and there was that weird, too narrow door in the kitchen?” she asked Jason. “We thought it was a supply closet at first, but then we found the supply closet. I bet you that was the door to the basement.”

“It’s as good a place to start as any,” Jason said. He tilted a little too far to one side and she caught his arm before he could fall. She didn’t know how he was still standing at all, honestly. She was exhausted and sore, and she hadn’t just woken up from a coma. Jason was made of stronger stuff. He smiled at her in almost an afterthought and said, “Good thinking.”

She beamed back at him. She couldn’t help but feel all warm at Robin giving her a compliment, even if it was just Jason and Jason said nice things about her all the time.

Jason was swaying again, tilting the other direction. Tim caught him this time. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked.

Jason raised his shoulders and pushed them back. He took a deep breath and straightened. Tim and Steph stood to his sides, but he didn’t sway again. “I’m going to force myself to be okay if I have to lobotomize my own fucking brain to make it work correctly,” Jason said, voice steadier than it had been since he he’d come back to himself.

“As our resident medical expert, I have to tell you that’s not how lobotomy works,” Steph said.

“What about them?” Tim asked, looking out at the audience.

“Who—” Steph cut off, a shudder going through her, when she saw the captive audience. Emphasis on captive. “Oh.”

Jason scowled, but it was the kind of anger he had when he was covering up being upset. “We don’t have time,” he said quietly. “We can’t…” He raised his voice, talking to the audience in the deeper voice he always used when he was pretending not to be Jason. “Batman and Nightwing will be here soon. Just… hang tight.” He winced at the probably unintentional pun and turned quickly towards the curtain. Jason and Tim slipped backstage quickly, but Steph paused before following, giving the audience one more look. She wasn’t sure how aware they were right now. She hoped they understood enough to know they weren’t being abandoned. She hoped they didn’t understand that they were less than an hour from an explosion that they had no way to run from. She wished she could free at least one of them, so they could free the rest… but they now had less than fifty minutes and they didn’t even know for sure that door did lead to the basement, and maybe one of those people knew where the basement was but what if they chose wrong or they were all too drugged to help and they lost time with nothing to show for it… She took a deep breath and gave them her most apologetic look, if they could even see her well enough to see it, and then followed after Tim and Jason.

Instead of exiting out of the door they’d entered, they went around back to the door Tim had stolen the broom from earlier. It felt like they should be running. Like they should be sprinting at top speed, skidding around corners, searching for the bomb that was ticking away twice as fast as a normal clock in her brain. But Jason was limping, hunched over, gasping for breaths. They weren’t going to leave him. They couldn’t leave him. He was probably the only one who knew how to stop a bomb. But each step—twice, three times, ten times more slow than the situation called for—felt like a stab straight up her foot, and her thigh, and her heart, straight into her brain.

Tim opened the door and peeked out, but he was barely even sneaky about it, just sticking his whole head out into the hallway for a few seconds before motioning them forward. She guessed they were giving up on stealth. There weren’t that many villains left to hide from. There was no way Copycat or Ducati or the Joker were just hanging around in the school waiting for the bomb to go off.

She shuddered as an image jumped into her mind unbidden of the Joker attacking them just as they were about to defuse the bomb, but no. No. That didn’t make sense. Right?

God, she’d feel much more confident if not making sense wasn’t the Joker’s calling card.

They cut across the hallway to the cafeteria. They’d been there less than ten minutes earlier, but it felt different. Less like a ghost town and more like a prelude, the drawn-out second before the bell rang and it was filled to bursting with all the kids still in the school, kids that would die if they weren’t able to stop the bomb.

She stole a page from Jason’s book and took a long, deep breath, stiffening her shoulders and back. She couldn’t get caught up thinking about potential victims. She felt like she should be warning people, racing from classroom to classroom telling people to run, but there wasn’t anywhere to run to. They were doing far more good trying to find and disable the bomb, no matter how useless the slow trek across the cafeteria felt.

The kitchen was filled with stainless steel appliances her mom could only dream of. There were multiple microwaves, stoves, ovens, a large sink next to an industrial dishwasher. Four silver islands—two with pots and pans hanging from bars overhead—were between them and the narrow door.

It was surprisingly empty. She would have expected the cafeteria staff to be hiding… but no, if they were right about the basement door, then the Joker had already been through here. No one would stick around after that, if they’d even been here to begin with. Odds were they were in Copycat’s audience.

The door was smaller than the rest of the doors in the kitchen, both shorter and narrower. It was metal instead of the heavy oak of the rest of the school’s doors, and sealed almost perfectly at the edges. Tim tried the knob, but the door didn’t budge. The lock was large and embedded in the door itself instead of the knob. It looked like one of those antique locks that needed a large metal key.

The three of them turned in almost perfect unison to search the nearby counters. Steph was starting to pull open drawers when Tim said, “Oh.” She turned to see him pointing at a hook on the wall. An empty hook. Of course. If this was the way the Joker went, he wouldn’t have left the key for them. It was stupid to even look.

Jason knelt slowly, wincing as his knees bent. Tim grabbed his elbow to help ease him down. He was definitely getting worse, but there wasn’t anything Steph could do to help. It wasn’t like she could make him rest and recover, not right now.

Jason flipped open his Swiss Army knife. From this angle, Steph could see that it did appear to have legitimate lock picks—one that stayed connected to the knife while the other detached. Jason inserted both pieces into the lock and started slowly moving them. One slipped sharply in a way she was sure wasn’t intentional. He took a deep breath and righted it. God. The whole thing was painful to watch. She was definitely going to learn how to lockpick after this. Across from her, Tim gnawed on his lip. He looked about ready to say something, but then his head snapped up, eyes searching the far end of the kitchen.

Steph very slowly followed his gaze. There was nothing there, the room as empty as it had been when they entered.

Something clattered just beyond her view, on the other side of the wall separating them from the cafeteria. It was followed by a plasticky crunch.

Beside them, Jason started struggling to his feet. Tim put a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place.

They all stayed perfectly still as a figure stepped into the doorway, his green shirt splattered with red. Blood-soaked teeth gleamed in a wide, unnatural smile.

“Get the door open,” Tim said to Jason, his fingers tightening around Jason’s shoulder. “We’ve got this.”

Tim lunged forward to meet Green Shirt before he could make it more than halfway across the kitchen. They needed to keep him away from Jason while he worked. Time was ticking away, and every second they wasted here was a second they wouldn’t have to stop the bomb.

He reached for a weapon, grabbing blindly at the neighboring counter as he ran. His hand passed over a large kitchen knife—he didn’t want to actually kill the guy—and grabbed a pan off the stove instead. It was heavier than he’d expected, pulling his arm down as he swung. It crashed into Green Shirt’s shoulder with a sickening crunch and his outstretched arm dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

He ducked beneath Green Shirt’s other arm as it grabbed for him and ran behind him, trying to lure him back towards the cafeteria instead of towards Jason. He caught a glimpse of Steph as he twisted around, but he couldn’t focus on her and avoid Green Shirt’s insistent grasping at the same time. He had much better gear this time, but that didn’t mean he had any interest in getting bit again.

Steph reached around to spray her second bottle of mace at Green Shirt’s face, hitting him straight in the eyes, but he didn’t react at all. He didn’t even blink. Even Tim’s eyes were watering from the close proximity of the spray, but Green Shirt seemed fine.

Well, ‘fine’ was probably a bit too strong for what Green Shirt was.

Tim stepped back to get a better angle and swung the pan at Green Shirt’s knee. If they could get him down to the ground… But the hit doesn’t send him to one knee like it should. It struck him perfectly on the kneecap, bending his knee in an unnatural direction, but Green Shirt just took another step forward.

We’re going about this all wrong, Tim thought as he darted a few steps back to avoid Green Shirt’s bloody teeth snapping towards him. He didn’t feel pain. They weren’t going to be able to beat him into submission if they wanted him to have any chance of recovering from this.

But his brain clearly wasn’t all there.

Tim watched the way Green Shirt ignored Steph’s proximity in favor of continuing to lunge after Tim’s every step. He didn’t know if it was just because he’d had a taste of Tim’s blood, but he certainly didn’t seem interested in anyone else.

Tim turned and ran. He could hear Steph’s surprised squeak and the heavy steps of Green Shirt’s pursuit. He aimed for one of the counters with pots and pans hanging overhead and vaulted over it. His shoulder knocked into one of the pans, sending it crashing to the counter behind him as he landed on the other side.

“Good?” Jason called. Tim couldn’t see him anymore behind the counters.

“Good,” he called back as he twisted to watch Green Shirt slam into the counter behind him. “Do you have the handcuffs?”

Jason didn’t reply, but handcuffs arced through the air towards them. Steph caught them as she came up behind Green Shirt, who ignored her in favor of trying to go through the counter instead of around. His one good arm reached across the expanse, fingers flexing in a grasping motion. Tim tried to grab the arm, and Green Shirt swiped at him, slicing his hand deeply enough to leave a line of blood. Tim winced, but grabbed for the arm again, this time managing to get a tight grip on his wrist.

“Steph,” he said tensely. He didn’t need to give her any more instruction than that. She was already leaning forward to snap one side of the handcuffs around Green Shirt’s wrist. Tim tried to lift the struggling limb higher as Steph scrambled up onto the counter. Green Shirt lunged forward, stomach pressing sharply into the edge of the counter, to bite at Tim’s arm and he barely yanked back in time to avoid it.

Steph grabbed Green Shirt’s hand, and together they pulled it up towards the metal bar the pots and pans were hanging from. More crashed to the counter like a broken percussion line as Green Shirt struggled. Steph missed once, twice, before finally snapping the other side of the handcuffs around the bar. They both leapt backwards the second it clicked shut. Green Shirt strained towards Tim so hard he worried the metal would cut his wrist, but the handcuffs held tight.

Tim watched him struggle, like a guard dog choking himself against a metal leash. He wanted to help. To put something inside the handcuffs to protect Green Shirt’s wrist, or at least tell him it was all going to be okay even if the man inside couldn’t hear him. He heard the sound of a door opening behind him, and only allowed himself to watch a few more seconds before turning away. The sooner they saved the school, the better off everyone would be.

Jason was struggling way too slowly to his feet, his weight heavy against the counter next to him, when Tim and Steph reached him. Beyond the open door was a dark, narrow staircase. Jason pulled out his flashlight and shone it through the doorway, but even the bright light barely reached the bottom of the staircase.

Jason stepped towards the door, looking seconds from collapsing. Tim dashed forward and got an arm around Jason’s waist before his legs could crumple beneath him. Jason gave him an annoyed look, but Tim was getting plenty of experience ignoring those. Steph reached forward, holding her hand out for the flashlight.

“Ladies first, am I right?” She was grinning, but her tone left no room for argument. Jason turned his glare to her, and she grinned right back until he huffed and handed her the flashlight. “That’s what I thought,” she said.

She turned back to the stairway, and together, they slowly descended.

Chapter Text

Jason had wanted to go down the stairs first. It had felt like his right to go first. His duty as the real Robin.

It was also stupid.

Everything hurt, more than it had when he’d woken up from a coma. Hell, more than it had when he’d been put in a coma. He could barely walk a few steps without help, and every narrow stair felt like a gasp, even with Tim right there keeping him steady.

There were three of them. It was time for him to stop being a self-centered ass and start acting like part of a team.

There weren’t any emergency lights in the basement. Jason hadn’t realized how much the dim red light had started to feel normal until it was gone. His eyes tracked across the dark hallway, trying to see more than the bright glow from the flashlight. The ceiling felt low. Not so low a normal person would have to duck, but he thought Bruce might.

It was warmer than he expected. Much warmer than the school above, and humid. He could hear the low hum of running machinery.

He didn’t see the door until they were at it. It was as dark as the wall it was embedded in. Steph slowly pushed it open and shone the light inside. It appeared to be a laundry room. Half a dozen machines sat still and silent against the wall and laundry baskets were filled with linens and school uniforms.

“What’s our plan?” Steph whispered. “Should we be opening the machines and checking inside? How hidden do we expect this bomb to be?”

Not very, Jason thought, but he didn’t say that. He didn’t know, not really. He knew the Joker would want to scare them, that a visible bomb was scarier than a hidden one, but there were too many variables to be sure. If he knew they’d be looking for the bomb, then he’d be thrilled at the idea of them searching fruitlessly for something they couldn’t find.

“Let’s…” Tim hesitated and looked at Jason like he expected him to interrupt with his own plan. He probably deserved that. He motioned for Tim to continue. “Let’s look in every room first, see if there’s anything obvious. We can do a more thorough search if we don’t find it.”

Jason nodded. It was a good plan. He thought he could see Steph nodding too, but it was hard to tell in the dim light.

The next door opened to a room full of janitorial supplies that smelled like chemicals. They scanned it more thoroughly than the laundry room, but nothing stood out. Jason wasn’t sure what the room after was supposed to be. It looked like it had an old fashioned switchboard, but otherwise was empty enough that they were able to do one quick scan and move on.

It was getting hotter the further down the hallway they went. Jason thought they were almost to the center of the school when the light shone on a sudden dead end. The hallway ended in a set of large, metal doors. Comically large chains draped across them with a padlock hanging in the center.

“I think we found it,” Jason said. He sighed as he reached for his lockpicks, preparing himself to painfully kneel again. Kneeling hurt more than standing, and the process of getting to his knees was way worse than either position.

Tim’s arm was still tight around him when he started bending his knees, making it hard to descend. He glanced questioningly at Tim to see him frowning at the doors. Tim slowly reached out, past the chains to the doorknob, and turned it, pushing the door easily open.

Steph barked out a startled laugh and ducked under the chain to go inside. “What the heck?”

Jason could feel Tim shrug against his shoulder. “All the other doors opened inward.”

Jason could barely see the hint of a grin on Steph’s face as she turned to scan the room, but clearly saw when it dropped off. The flashlight beam landed on a group of explosives strung around a large pipe. They looked like old fashioned dynamite, even down to the muddy red color. The beam kept moving, landing on another set of explosives further in, and then another, and another. The room was filled with them. Every pipe, every surface, revealed another small bundle. This was… way more than Jason had expected the Joker to be able to get on short notice. Maybe he’d already been stockpiling them. Bruce had said he’d been missing for as long as Jason had been in the coma. Maybe he’d been building up to something big.

The center of the room was dominated by a large boiler, with a timer smack dab in the middle of its circular face, slowly counting down.

26:54. 53. 52. Everything around Jason faded except for the numbers, which shone with a searing light. An arm tightened painfully around his shoulders, but he couldn’t remember… Who..?

“It’s okay,” Steph’s voice said from his other side, and his gaze snapped to her. Her face was a blurry smear in the murky room, everything in him screaming to look back at the timer. How much time had passed? It felt like both seconds and hours. “Jason,” she said, pulling his eyes back to her again. He hadn’t even realized they were drifting away. “We’re here,” she said, her hand finding and squeezing his, “and we’re going to make it okay.” She sounded so confident that he couldn’t find it in him to doubt her. They were there. They were all there. And they were going to make it okay.

The grip around his shoulders was still tight, and he could feel it trembling. He turned to see Tim staring at the bomb with the same wide, vacant gaze Jason was sure he’d had seconds earlier. Tim, who was Chirp. Who had been able to see the same countdown in a warehouse he’d been thousands of miles away from, with no way to stop it. Who hadn’t known if he’d be able to convince Batman, a man who had never trusted him, to come back in time.

Tim, who’d almost watched him die.

Jason reached out the hand Steph wasn’t holding to cover Tim’s hand where it curled tightly against his shoulder. Tim’s wide eyes snapped to him, and slowly the fear fell away, replaced with something far more determined. Jason nodded at him, not quite sure what he was trying to say or how much of that meaning got through, but Tim nodded back. They turned as one to look at the latest danger threatening them.

Jason scanned the room. His emotions were strangely muffled, like they were behind frosted glass. He knew they were there, could see the vague shape of them, but couldn’t feel anything. Instead, he performed each step Bruce had taught him like an AI following its most basic programming.

“The time bomb is the only one that matters,” he said, stepping forward to get a better look and dragging Tim and Steph along with him. Despite the overwhelming number of explosives surrounding them, most of them had no trigger. There was just the one small bundle of dynamite attached to a timer. Barely enough to take down a heavy metal door. But it would only take one spark to set them all off. “Most of these won’t go off on their own, but if one explodes they’ll all explode.”

Tim and Steph slowly lowered him to eye level with the bomb. It looked simple. His heart had been racing since before they even entered the room, but he could feel it slowing. He had twenty-five minutes, plenty of bomb defusal training, and a bomb that wouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes to defuse, even at his most careful. This wasn’t like the warehouse at all. He was in control here.

“Check the rest of the room,” he said as Steph placed the flashlight face-up beside him. It filled the small room with light like a lantern. “Make sure there’s nothing else that could set the explosives off. But don’t touch anything.”

Steph hesitated, still crouched beside him, but Tim immediately stood to search the room. Jason could see his penlight darting towards dark crevices in the corner of his eye.

Jason took a deep breath, mentally replaying Bruce’s lessons. He checked the area around the bomb first, making sure there wasn’t anything that could be triggered if he moved it. When he didn’t find anything, he gradually lifted it one centimeter at a time, carefully listening for the damning click of any unseen mechanisms.

Nothing. Good.

He slowly turned the timer over. It wasn’t plugged into anything, so it had to have a battery. He found a panel on the back, small screws keeping it in place. He actually remembered he had a screwdriver this time, so he didn’t have to try to unscrew it with his fingers like an idiot. He carefully pulled out the tool, making sure not to brush any of the metal pieces together. The last thing they needed was an accidental spark. He held his breath as he unscrewed the panel, one delicate turn at a time. He was pretty sure it would take a lot more than a slipped screwdriver to set this place alight, but he wasn’t going to take the risk.

Once all four screws were placed gently on the floor beside him, he gingerly lifted the panel. The battery was obvious, front and center with two wires going from it into the timer. He lifted it without disconnecting it to check the rest of the device. Disconnecting it might stop the timer. Or it might tell the explosives that the timer had hit zero and it was time to explode. Behind the battery were more wires. He followed their paths, finally settling on the one that appeared to connect to the countdown. He pulled it away from the other wires and held his breath as he sliced the Swiss Army knife through it.

Nothing. No explosion. No sudden laughter. No burst of confetti as the Joker’s voice told them they’d fallen right into his trap. Just the sound of Steph’s haggard breaths beside him and Tim’s footsteps on the other side of the room. He carefully turned the timer over, checking the clock. It was still on, but the numbers were frozen at 25:07. He slowly released his held breath. Good. Great. Perfect.

Now that the timer was stopped, he should be able to disconnect the battery safely. He sliced the two wires, feeling more confident as he placed the battery aside.

That should do it, really, but as one last step, just to be safe, he cut all of the wires connecting the timer to the explosive. He breathed out a soft laugh when he was done. This was… it was easy. All that stress, and panic, and running around, and they disarmed the bomb with over twenty minutes to go. He took a long, slow breath, relaxing backwards and just letting himself feel the relief coursing through his veins.

“Robin?” Tim’s voice sounded strangled, and Jason’s body immediately tensed up again. Steph had an arm around him in seconds, helping him struggle to his feet. They limped far too slowly to the other side of the room. Jason felt like he was leaving pieces behind him as they went, like he was one of the zombies, slowly shedding a toe here, a scrap of skin there. His whole arm felt ready to fall off at the shoulder, and he’d long since lost large chunks of his mind, but his body kept going. Tim stood in a far corner of the room, pointing his pinlight at a pile of explosives. Half-buried under bundles of TNT, much harder to disentangle without the risk of everything exploding, was another timer. Jason watched as it clicked from 4:01, to 4:00, to 3:59. He didn’t know if he was still breathing. He didn’t know if he still existed at all. If he’d even been alive since the Joker had beaten him with a crowbar or if this was all some sick purgatory replaying his every failure.

Of course the Joker wouldn’t have only set one time bomb. Of course the Joker wouldn’t bother sticking to the timeframe that Copycat had set. Why had Jason ever thought otherwise? His life was one big joke, just waiting for the Joker to give the final punchline.

He could feel his mind slipping away again, and this time he didn’t think he’d be able to stop it.

Chapter Text

3:58

3:57

3:56

The bomb that almost killed Jason had been at 1:11 the first time Tim had seen it. The numbers were burned into his eyelids, like the aftereffect of an explosion. Batman hadn’t even tried to stop it. He’d taken one look at the bomb, grabbed Jason, yelled at Sheila to get out, and ran.

They didn’t have that option. Tim didn’t think they’d be able to get out of the school from where they were in under four minutes, even if the doors weren’t locked, and they definitely couldn’t get hundreds of kids out.

3:50

3:49

3:48

Three times the amount of time Batman had. Three times the people. Less than a third the skill.

3:42

3:41

3:40

Tim could hear harsh breathing behind him. He could hear Steph talking, but not what she was saying. He remembered, suddenly, when she found him in the library and he tried so hard to be more than he was. He’d failed even then to convince her.

3:34

3:33

3:32

“Tim!” He snapped back to himself, eyes finally managing to break away from the countdown as Steph grabbed his arm. “Robin,” she said, her gaze just as determinedly focused on him. “Do you know how to defuse a bomb?”

“No,” he said. Why hadn’t he learned how to defuse a bomb? Why hadn’t that been the first thing he’d asked Batman to teach him after Jason had almost died in an explosion? Why hadn’t he looked it up in his own time? Studied every resource he could find?

All his planning and preparation and attempts at being the all-knowing voice in superheroes’ ears, and he was still missing the obvious.

Steph cringed, hands going to tangle in the fully unkempt hair that framed her face.

“Jason…” Tim offered weakly. Then he saw Jason, crumpled at their feet, hands over his head like he was shielding himself. His breaths sounded like a broken air conditioning unit on its last few fatal gasps.

Tim slowly lowered himself to his knees, not sure what he was doing until his arms wrapped around Jason. For a few seconds, he held Jason without any acknowledgement, some ridiculous, tiny voice in his brain, even in the middle of all of this, telling him how socially unacceptable this behavior was. How embarrassing it was all going to be later. Then, Jason’s arms slowly rose to return the hug.

“I don’t think I can do it,” Jason said, his voice breaking in a sob halfway through.

“It’s okay,” Tim said. “Can you tell me what to do? You can be my Chirp.”

Jason laughed, a rough, ragged noise that sounded like it cut his throat on the way out. “I can try.”

“That’s enough,” Tim said.

He slowly disentangled himself and stood. Steph quickly took his place, putting an arm over Jason’s shoulders. The timer now said 2:53. They’d wasted a whole minute on their mental breakdowns. He wanted to deride himself for how stupid they were, how weak. But he… he didn’t believe Jason was weak. And if Jason wasn’t, well, then maybe he wasn’t either.

“You need to remove it from the surrounding explosives,” Jason mumbled. His hands were over his face now, and his voice came out hollow and muffled, but it was enough for Tim. “You might need to shift some of them, but be careful not to disconnect anything.”

Tim eyed the set-up. The timer was half buried. He very carefully picked up one explosive that partially covered the last digit and shifted it just a few inches over. He could see the shape of the bomb underneath now. It looked similar to the one Jason had already disarmed, which was good. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he had to try to defuse something more complicated.

He shifted a couple other explosives, then very carefully lifted the bomb out of the pile. A few wires extended down into the surrounding explosives, but he stayed close enough that they wouldn’t go taut.

“Okay,” he said.

“There’s a panel on the back. Probably a panel on the back.”

Tim turned the timer over to find a panel with four small screws. “I see it.”

“Remove the panel. I, uh. I used my Swiss Army knife. Meghan’s Swiss Army knife.” Tim had no idea who Meghan was, but if they survived this, he was going to buy her a gift basket.

Steph reached into Jason’s pocket and pulled the knife out for Tim. Jason kept his hands over his face the whole time, but he did shift his weight to make the access easier for her.

Tim carefully turned the screws, wincing every time the screwdriver slipped. It wasn’t quite the right size and the screws were so tightly wound he could see plastic shavings around the edges. He was going to keep a full toolbox in his locker after this. And get his own Swiss Army knife. Maybe a—

Focus. He took a deep calming breath before removing the panel to look at the wires inside. “Okay,” he said.

“Don’t clip any of the wires connected to the battery yet,” Jason said. His voice still had a wispy, almost ethereal quality, but it was getting a little louder, a little easier to hear. “Move the battery to the side without disconnecting it.”

Tim followed the instructions in perfect time with Jason’s voice. He spoke slowly, seeming to have an idea of how long it would take even without Tim’s input.

“There should be a bundle of wires behind the battery, going from the timer to a circuit board. You need to cut the… the, uh…” Jason’s voice faltered, but Tim barely noticed. He followed the wires from the LED display to the simple circuit board, eyes roaming over the familiar power diodes and quartz clock mechanism.

“What are we trying to do?” he asked.

Jason was silent for a few seconds too long, but he finally said, “Stop the timer without resetting it or disconnecting the battery.”

Tim laughed. It must have sounded insane to Steph and Jason, like the beginnings of a nervous breakdown. He could feel Steph’s worried gaze on him, but it didn’t matter because everything in his brain was rearranging, resetting, like a rubix cube when you suddenly realized you were only a few moves from solving it.

“It’s just a clock,” he said. “I know how clocks work.”

“Oh.”

When Tim glanced down, Jason had raised his head just enough for his eyes to peek out above his hands. Tim gave him his most confident smile. It was a little shaky, but he’d take what he could get.

“Stop the timer,” he repeated. He studied the circuit board, working outwards from the quartz, through the capacitors and diodes until he found the section dictating the timer. He found the right wire, and didn’t let himself hesitate before disconnecting it.

He gave himself just enough time for one long breath before checking the display. It was paused on 1:11. He choked out a delirious laugh. Of course it was. Of course. Why not?

“Okay,” he said, when he could speak again. “Now what?”

Jason was fully watching him now, his arms settled down in his lap. His breath was still unsteady and his eyes were too wide, but he was much more present than he had been.

“Cut the wires to the battery,” he said, eyes flicking down to the device and back up to Tim’s face.

“Right,” Tim said. “I mean, I can just disconnect the power supply but I get the idea.” He pulled the socket out from where it was plugged in next to the power diodes and glanced at the screen again. The 1:11 was still burned into his brain, reflecting on the timer like an afterimage, but the screen was blank.

When he glanced down again, Jason was smiling. Weakly, but it was there. “You just have to be a know-it-all about everything, don’t you?”

Tim smiled back, something broken in his chest settling back into place. “Well, it is kind of my job.”

“Cut the wires connected to the explosives,” Jason said, nodding to the wires extending from the timer to the surrounding bombs. “We should be safe now, but…”

“Just in case,” Tim said. “Actually, Steph?” He glanced at her. “Can you look around one more time?”

“Make sure there aren’t any more surprises?” she asked. “On it.”

Tim didn’t think there would be more. He hoped there wouldn’t be. If there was another bomb set to go off at the same time as this one, then, well, they were already dead. But there could be another one set to go off in ten minutes, or in thirty. More jokes left by the Joker.

Tim slowly cut through the remaining wires, until all he was holding was a stand-alone, broken clock. He stared at the blank screen, the afterimage of 1:11 glaring up at him, the memory of a different clock counting down.

“Can you just… check?” he asked Jason. He knew it was stupid. There was nothing left to check. But Jason didn’t tell him he was being dumb. He didn’t question Tim at all. He just stood up, slowly, unsteadily, and took the timer from Tim. He slowly turned it over, checking all of the wires for much longer than it took to see that nothing was connected.

Steph rounded the corner and Tim half expected her to scream that there was another bomb, seconds from exploding, but she flashed them a smile instead. “I don’t see anything. I think we’re good. We are good, right?”

“We’re good,” Jason said, carefully placing the timer down. He sat so suddenly Tim thought he was collapsing, but he didn’t look any more hurt than he had all day, just exhausted. He leaned back against a small segment of wall between two large pipes covered in explosives. “I mean, we’re still surrounded by enough barely-steady dynamite to level a city block, so maybe don’t light a match.”

Tim laughed shrilly. He knew he must sound like a crazy person, but for once he didn’t care. He slowly sat beside Jason and a few seconds later Steph joined them. “Should we go somewhere else?” she asked.

“No,” Jason said. “One, where would we even go? And two, we need to make sure no one comes in and does anything stupid before the bomb squad arrives.”

She nodded. The space wasn’t very big, so they were all squeezed together, shoulder to shoulder. She leaned her head against Jason’s arm.

Tim slowly counted down from 1:11 in his brain, willing the afterimage on his eyelids to tick down with the numbers. The actual bomb would have passed 1:11 a long time ago, would have exploded a long time ago, but he still didn’t fully relax until he reached 0:00 and nothing happened.

It was safe. They were safe. They’d done it.

“My mom betrayed me,” Jason said, his voice barely audible above the steady hum of the boiler. It seemed to come out of nowhere, and it took Tim several seconds to understand the context.

“You mean Sheila?” he asked. “She helped save your life.” Was this another Chirp situation? Did Jason just not know what had happened?

Jason shook his head, the steady back and forth movement seeming discordant with his words. “I know. Dick told me what happened after, and…” He broke off in slightly hysterical laughter. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to think about her. I… I told her I was Robin. That I could help her. We’d seen the Joker threatening her, and I thought… I thought if she knew I could protect her, but…” He took a long breath, staring down at the stone floor like it held all the answers he was looking for. “She told me that the Joker was gone, that it was safe now, told me to come into the warehouse, and then she just—” He laughed again. It sounded painful, like broken glass scraping against concrete. “She just handed me over to him. She was doing her own illegal shit, and she didn’t want to risk being found out, and then she just watched while he beat me and she didn’t do anything to try to stop him and…” He took a deep breath that didn’t do anything to calm the wild look in his eyes.

Tim put a hand on Jason’s knee. He saw that Steph was already holding one of his hands between both of hers, and Jason was squeezing back so hard the skin around his grip was turning white.

“Only to, what? Try to save my life? The life that she had put at risk? I never would have been dying if she hadn’t handed me over in the first place! It doesn’t make any sense. Am I supposed to thank her? Be grateful? Dick told me like he thought I was going to be so happy about my life-saving mother.”

“We didn’t know,” Tim said. “Dick didn’t know.”

“I know that!” Jason scrubbed his face with his free hand, pressing white streaks into the skin. “I know. I just… She betrayed me, and I thought Chirp had betrayed me, and I was already fighting with Bruce over the whole Chirp thing, and then I woke up to find you wearing my costume for some inexplicable reason.” Steph squeezed the hand she was holding. Tim hesitantly took the other one as it settled back into Jason’s lap. He half expected Jason to yank it away, but he returned the grip. “And then it turned out even Steph knew about you and was apparently on your side and I… I just felt like I couldn’t trust anyone anymore.” Jason’s voice choked on broken off sobs, even as the tears didn’t fall.

“I’m sorry,” Steph said, even though Tim was pretty sure she was the only one with absolutely nothing to apologize for in this whole mess.

“I should have told you,” Tim said. “About Chirp, about… about everything. You were my best friend, my only real friend, and I was scared to lose you.” He laughed humorlessly. “And then I almost did anyway.” He felt Jason squeeze his fingers, and looked down at their joined hands instead of at Jason’s face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I’m sorry you were fighting with Bruce because of me, and I’m… I’m just sorry.”

Jason was quiet for a long time. Tim watched his index finger drum arrhythmically against Tim’s hand. “It’s okay,” he said eventually. “Nobody expects you to have any social skills.”

Tim made an affronted noise while Steph laughed, and some of the tension broke. Tim met Jason’s gaze, and Jason gave him a slow, uncertain smile. Tim found himself smiling back. It wasn’t absolution—he wasn’t sure anything could be—but Tim thought that it just might be forgiveness.

Chapter Text

They heard footsteps running towards them through the open door long before they saw the figures they belonged to. Clearly more concerned with time than stealth right now, then. Jason wondered how long the three of them had been sitting there, how much time would have been left on the main countdown if they hadn’t already stopped it.

Even without the second bomb, he thought Nightwing and Batman might have been too late.

Tim and Steph were still holding his hands, one on each side. He didn’t like the burst of embarrassment he felt at the idea of Nightwing and Batman seeing them like that, the shame that immediately rushed over him at the idea of being seen as not being able to handle things on his own.

He hadn’t been able to handle things on his own. And that was okay. It was okay to need help.

He still let go of their hands as the three of them started slowly pushing themselves to their feet, but only because he needed the use of his hands to keep from falling over where he stood.

Nightwing and Batman burst in, all pizazz and frantic energy that quickly fizzled out as they stared at Jason’s little group in confusion. Jason leaned heavily against Tim, and Steph wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

“You’re a little late,” he said.

Batman looked from the darkened screen of the disabled bomb directly in front of him, to the full room of explosives while Nightwing just stared at them in utter bafflement.

“Oh, sorry,” Jason said casually, like they were at a gala and he’d just realized he’d forgotten to introduce his guests. “Let me introduce you to Robin—” He motioned at Tim, who stayed still. “—and Robin.” He motioned to Steph, who waved cheerfully. “We already took care of it.”

Nightwing's eyebrows slowly raised above his mask as Jason talked. Batman was stiff in a way that Jason could recognize by now as uncertainty. “What happened?”

Jason rolled his shoulders. God, that hurt... well, everything really. Pain shot through his shoulders as they moved, but also his back, and his neck, and he could feel a burgeoning headache, but there was something of a release too. He felt like he’d stretched and all of his bones had cracked, but now the tension that had settled there was gone. “Turns out Copycat was just pretending to be the Joker, but then the real Joker showed up to make his life miserable, set two different time bombs, and a whole lot of explosives.” He motioned around the room at the explosives that were still there, even if they weren’t in immediate danger of going off. “It’s fine. We got it.”

Batman’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Jason braced himself for the anger. For the berating that was sure to come for not following orders, for putting himself in danger, for running off to school when he’d been forbidden from doing so.

Batman stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jason in a suffocating hug. Oh. He… didn’t know how to handle that. His shoulders went stiff, arms motionless at his sides as both Steph and Tim moved aside to give them room. He still wasn’t used to this new, more emotionally open Batman. Bruce. It was… weird.

...he guessed the warehouse had left them all with scars. Maybe a slightly more emotive Bruce wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

He haltingly raised his arms to hug back and let himself be comforted, if only for a few minutes.

Batman pulled slowly back, but left a hand on Jason’s shoulder as he surveyed the three of them. He pointedly looked from Jason’s makeshift costume, the shawl now hanging under his chin, to Tim and Steph’s vests and masks. It clearly didn’t take him long to put together the dots. He turned towards Tim with a posture that promised a lecture.

Guilt flashed across Tim’s face, but he straightened under Batman’s gaze. “I take full responsibility for—”

“Like hell you do,” Steph interrupted. She gave Batman a steely gaze, her chin jutting out. “Tim needed someone to watch his back, so I did, and I’m not sorry.” Batman loomed a full foot over her, but Steph just crossed her arms and glared up at him, daring him to fight her.

Neither of them moved for an entire minute, but amazingly, shockingly, Batman broke first. He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “We will discuss this later.” Steph opened her mouth to argue, but Batman raised his voice, talking over her, “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned my lesson on, it’s not to push away children who insist on putting themselves in danger.” All three of them were staring at him now with held breaths. “If you insist on doing this, I will provide training and equipment.”

“Whoo hoo!” Steph exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air.

Batman continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “But I want it to be clear that I am not endorsing this behavior. This is not a game. It is very dangerous and—”

“Yeah yeah,” Steph interrupted. “Tim already gave me the whole speech. Can we skip to the whoo hoos now?”

Batman’s hand slipped off Jason’s shoulder as he continued what would undoubtedly be a long and fruitless attempt to discourage Steph. Jason smiled as he watched them. He was pretty sure the girl that knocked out a masked gunman and rescued dozens of civilians the first time they met wasn’t going to be discouraged from helping people just because it was dangerous.

He felt more than saw Nightwing shuffle up beside him. “You were supposed to stay in the library,” he said.

Jason thought he would normally bristle at that, but he was too tired and he wasn’t sure it was an accusation anyway. Nightwing’s voice was weirdly off, but Jason didn’t recognize his tone. So instead of getting defensive, he answered in a deadpan voice, “The Joker set a time bomb that would have gone off twenty minutes ago and triggered all these explosives.”

Nightwing didn’t respond for a long, drawn-out few seconds. “...Some rules are made to be broken,” he said finally.

Jason barked out a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He felt an arm go around his shoulders, and then Nightwing was pulling him in for a tight, one-armed hug, his nose buried in Jason’s hair. “We’re just worried. You get that, right?” His voice lowered, so quiet that Jason almost missed it under Steph and Batman’s continuing argument. “We almost lost you.”

Jason swallowed. He turned to lean into the hug, his face pressing against Nightwing’s chest. “Yeah,” he said. “I get it. I’m sorry.”

“I love you, little brother.”

Jason had to bite down on the laugh that threatened to come out, and almost lost to the tears instead. “Yeah, okay, I guess,” he muttered.

Nightwing did laugh, the traitor. He released Jason and ruffled his hair as he pulled back.

Batman and Steph seemed to have resolved their argument for now, and judging from how happy Steph looked, B wasn’t the winner. Jason caught Tim’s gaze and Tim shot him an amused smile. Steph definitely won then. Good for her.

“Nightwing, take the three of them to the car,” Batman said, his usual authoritative tone back. Everyone snapped to attention except Jason, who felt like if he did he’d snap something literally. “I want them out of sight before anyone questions why there are so many Robins in the school. I’ll coordinate with police.”

“Shouldn’t we go back to class and act normal?” Tim asked immediately. Jason could hear Chirp in the question. The planner, thinking through all the angles.

“No,” Batman said sharply. Tim looked ready to argue, but B softened his voice. “It would be more suspicious if you went back to class at this point. Most people will assume you got trapped somewhere outside the classroom and got picked up by authorities. We can discuss your cover stories later.”

Tim considered this for a few seconds before nodding. Jason was pretty sure B just didn’t want them out of his and Nightwing’s sight just yet, but he was okay with that.

“We left Joker victims in the kitchen, computer lab, and auditorium,” Tim called back to Batman as Nightwing started herding them out of the boiler room.

“And the hallway between the main office and auditorium,” Jason added.

“At least four of them will need antitoxin,” Tim continued, increasing his volume as Nightwing pushed them out the door. “I don’t know if the formulation is the same as the Joker’s normal toxin though, since this one was made by Copycat.”

“Got it, Robin,” B said, voice amused as they moved out of sight.

“Blue Shirt should know though; he was in charge of the testing,” Tim practically yelled back as they continued down the hallway. “He’s the one in—” He faltered as Nightwing held out his own comm to him. “Oh, thanks,” he said, putting it in. He continued much more quietly, relaying information to B as they climbed up the stairs from the basement back into the kitchen. He remembered way more pertinent details than Jason would have thought to share. The thought didn’t make him feel as bitter as it would have even just an hour earlier. Tim had skills that he didn’t. That was fine. Jason had skills Tim didn’t, too. Maybe they could learn from each other. He hoped they would.

The Joker victim was still handcuffed in the kitchen, and he strained towards them as they walked through, his jaws gnashing.

“It’s weird,” Nightwing said, voice hushed and disturbed as he hustled them across the room. “He was barely moving when we came through before.”

“Of course he was,” Tim muttered.

“Why is he so obsessed with you?” Steph asked.

“I swear it’s because he tasted my blood.”

“He what?” Nightwing asked, sounding scandalized.

All three Robins burst out laughing. It wasn’t funny, really, not at all, and at the same time the absurdity of it was finally hitting him.

“We’ll tell you later,” Jason said.

Nightwing hushed them before they left the kitchen, and they crept quietly through the cafeteria towards the back hallway. Jason caught a glimpse of a police officer leading a stream of children towards the front entrance, but nobody looked their way.

A few minutes later, the three of them were settling into the backseat of the Batmobile while Nightwing knelt on the passenger seat, facing them with his crossed arms on the headrest.

“Can I..?” Jason asked, holding his hand out to Tim for his comm.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Tim said, handing it to him.

Jason took a deep breath as he put it in. He knew it wasn’t the best time, far from it, but he wanted to get this done with before he lost his nerve. It was easier too, with Dick wearing a mask and Bruce where he couldn’t see his reaction. Keeping his eyes down on his hands instead of on where he could feel Dick watching him with concern, he said, “I need to tell you what actually happened with Sheila.”

Jason slowly made his way down the stairs to the cave, one hand trailing along the stone wall beside him. It was still a bit of a struggle, but physical therapy was helping a lot. Bruce and Dick were finally letting him wander around the manor on his own without one of them stalking his every step to make sure he didn’t fall.

Or make sure he didn’t disappear. He wasn’t completely sure which one they were more worried about.

It was getting better. Bruce’s expression was slowly growing less haunted every time they talked, and he’d finally, finally, agreed to let Jason go back to school when it reopened. Assuming it ever did. It had been three weeks at this point, and all the silver-spooned parents that expected to be above Gotham’s crime rate were still throwing a collective hissy fit about just how badly the fancy security system had failed them. Apparently Tim and Steph weren’t the only ones who tried to get out only to find the security gates trapping them inside with the bad guys.

At least it was giving Jason an opportunity to catch up on all the schoolwork he’d missed. And hey, maybe by the time school reopened he’d be doing well enough to try out for baseball. He could dream.

He stopped at the bottom of the staircase to catch his breath. Dick and Steph were on the training mats, practicing a high kick meant to disable larger opponents. It was a classic Robin move. Steph had been coming over every day while school was closed. She’d already surpassed Tim’s fighting skills, but that was mostly because Tim didn’t seem to care that much about being a good Robin. He’d been focusing far more on improving their digital security and backup power sources in case of another EMP—despite those being completely fictional, as he kept insisting.

Tim was on the Batcomputer, but the large screens didn’t show their usual code. Jason studied the medical records splashed across the middle monitor as he walked over. In the front center was a discharge summary for someone named Adam Perugia. He didn’t recognize the name.

“Green Shirt,” Tim said before he could ask, glancing over his shoulder at Jason with a soft smile. “He’s still pretty messed up, but they think he’s going to fully recover. Thankfully.”

“Physically, at least,” Jason muttered. The guy had literally tried to tear Tim’s throat open with his teeth.

“I don’t think they remember much of what happened,” Tim said. He pulled up two more records, these ones for Jared Stanton and Alexis Kaye. Those names he recognized. Alexis had been released first, which a very relieved Steph had woken him up in the middle of the night to tell him. She’d ended up with only a minor concussion.

Jason had done a few of his own guilt-ridden checks on Jared, but he seemed to be healing fine. He’d been out of the hospital for almost a week now.

Jason scanned the records, taking in the most important details. All three had memory loss listed in their symptoms—probable cause being the frankly overwhelming amount of drugs in their systems when they were brought in. For the best, really.

The cursor circled tightly over Adam’s record. Tim didn’t seem to be indicating anything, just fidgeting, his hand tight on the mouse. “I keep thinking,” he said, voice hushed. “I knew something had happened to him that first night, when Blue Shirt, Ripley—” Ripley Vaughn. He was in jail awaiting trial. The only one in jail for a plot that he’d had the smallest part in, but they hadn’t caught any of the other players. “—left and he didn’t. I knew it. If I’d done something sooner...”

“It all worked out,” Jason said. He knew where those threads of guilt led. It was better not to encourage it. He draped himself over the chair and changed the subject. “Are you keeping an eye on B?”

Tim pulled up a different window, this one with a map. Small rectangles of live video surveillance were smattered across it, but nothing exciting seemed to be happening. Not surprising, considering the bright sunlight shining in all of them. “He’s in Guatemala right now. Probably resting.” B was trying to track down where Sheila had disappeared to. He seemed way more determined to make her pay for what she’d done than Jason was. Jason had thought about telling him to let it go, but honestly, it felt good to see he cared.

“Okay, then!” Jason grabbed Tim’s arm as he pulled away from the chair, dragging Tim stumbling behind him. “Time for you to train.”

Tim pulled back, trying to sit back down even as Jason pulled him out of range of his chair. “Jason,” he whined. “I’m working.”

“No, you’re not,” Jason said, dragging him over to the training mats. “You’re sulking about people you think you didn’t help enough and waiting for nightfall in Guatemala, which, for the record, is not for another couple hours. Maybe you’re not planning to hit the streets as much as me and Steph, but you’ve been held hostage three times in the last half a year alone. You need to train.”

Tim continued to whine, but Jason knew it was mostly for show. He could see the hint of a smile as Tim let himself be pulled along.

“Timmy!” Dick called as they approached. “And Jay,” he added like it was an afterthought. Jason flipped him off and Dick winked in return. “Come on, you should learn this kick too.”

Tim huffed in annoyance, but Jason didn’t miss how closely he paid attention to the instructions and how much he tried to impress Dick as he followed along. They’d make a fighter out of him yet.

Jason smiled as he settled on the sidelines to watch. It was still a couple of months until he’d be allowed to train again, but that was okay. He didn’t need to train to know that this was exactly where he belonged.