Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

How could things go so bad so quickly?

Twenty-four hours ago everything was business as usual. Twenty-four hours ago, everyone was alive. Now? Now, Tim and Jason are the only ones left. The last of their family hiding out in a derelict building from a Joker who’s somehow become a nearly omnipotent monster. Everyone’s dead. All of them. A thought that’s bringing Tim closer and closer to a complete breakdown with every second that passes. He’s trying to fight it, he doesn’t want to do that to Jason, who’s already at his wits’ end, but…

Dammit, this can’t be happening. Why is this happening?

Tim runs a hand through his hair as he sits down on a crate and just breathes. Forcing down the hysterical sobs that want to rip apart his composure. God, he was just sitting on the couch in the manor with all of them two days ago. He can’t remember what the last thing he said to any of them was. Can’t remember if he gave them a hug before he left. When was the last time he’d told them he loved them? Fuck.

He curls in on himself pulling the jacket Jason had given him that morning closer around his shoulders. How can this be happening? How can they all be… How can he be losing another family like this? It’s all so fucking wrong. This is--

A rustle of fabric and the rattle of a gun makes Tim look up quick and he can only stare in surprise at the sight before him. Jason has one of his guns pointed directly at Klarion’s head. All things considered, Klarion doesn’t seem particularly perturbed by this situation. He just places a finger on the muzzle of the gun and turns it away from his face. “Honestly, I would appreciate you not attempting to shoot at me. After all, I didn’t come here to injure you with your own damned weaponry.”

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” Jason snaps, irritable and tired. So tired. Still he does lower the gun without arguing.

Klarion smirks as Teekl jumps down from his shoulders and slinks over to Tim. “I didn’t come here for you at all. Teekl has something of a fondness for Tim, so we decided to come to the rescue. Think of me as your chaotic savior, here to do all I can to rid us of our mutual problem.”

“Great. Then why don’t you just zap the motherfucker into space and let him die, already?” Jason grumbles, holstering is gun and leaning, sullenly, against the nearest wall.

That only gets him a deeply unimpressed look from Klarion, who responds, “If I could have done that I would have already. You severely overestimate the capabilities of magic and underestimate the power of our foe. Not surprising honestly, he has been taking his sweet time. If anyone else had found that damned thing we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“What do you mean?” Tim finally finds his voice, hollow and strained as it sounds to his own ear. “Do you know what happened to to Joker?”

With a sharp laugh, Klarion nods. “Oh yes. You would too, but for the nature of the beast.”

“Just cut the cagey shit and fill us in already,” Jason growls, obviously growing short on patience. Tim can’t really blame him. Klarion can be a pain in the ass to deal with on the best of days.

Klarion raises an eyebrow slightly, but deigns to explain nonetheless. “It doesn’t have a name, but it is an immensely powerful and ancient, magic weapon. Supposedly it was created to destroy what it deems to be redundant universes by granting godlike powers to those who meet certain qualifications.”

“And Joker meets those qualifications?” Tim asks.

“Probably.” Klarion shrugs. “I never bothered to learn them for myself. A dead universe wouldn’t be much fun to play in after all. Regardless, thanks to its power, I can’t even begin to use my magic against Joker. That’s why I’m here. To offer my assistance to you.”

“Sounds like there’s not much you can do, blue boy.” Jason pauses, turns to look at Tim with a look on his face that Tim’s not real sure about. “Unless I’m missing something?”

Tim grimaces, allowing himself to absently scratch Teekl behind the ears, which feels a little weird knowing they’re not a real cat, but it’s comforting nonetheless. “There might be one way, but… it’s not exactly a good one.”

“Good isn’t what I do anyhow, so do tell.” The grin that spreads across Klarion’s face is more than a little unnerving.

“We need…” Tim hesitates, glancing at Jason. “We need to go back in time… and kill the Joker.”

“Delightful!” Klarion croons and Teekl lets out a purr that makes Tim’s stomach turn.

Jason is already shaking his head though. “Baby bird, you know I’m always down for killing Joker, but… messing with fucking time travel? That shit never goes the way you want it to.”

“I know.” Tim agrees. He’s well aware of the risks, having met two future versions of himself who were both murderous assholes despite his vows to change that future. “But as it stands I can’t think of any other way to stop this. If Klarion’s right--”

“I am.”

“-- then what are we supposed to do on our own, Jay? Even Clark couldn’t stand up to that monster! He’s just going to keep hunting us down like it’s some sick game until he gets bored and finishes us off. It’s hopeless right now, but… two months ago? When we know where Joker would be? Where we know what to do? We can stop all of this from ever happening.”

“And then what?” Jason gestures, angrily, with on hand. “Bam! Kill the Joker. Then what, kid?”

Tim stares back at Jason, levelly, because they both know what would need to happen after that, but neither of them really want to voice it.

“Besides—” Jason avoids Tim’s gaze. “—Isn’t the universe fucked anyway? Even if we kill Joker, some other fucker will just grab the artifact and that’s it for the universe. If we’re so determined to go back and bust something, why not the damn thing itself? I mean if it’s not even supposed to exist in the world it shouldn’t cause a problem, right? So why don’t we do that?”

That’s Jason for you always asking the exact right questions, but any hope Tim had that Jason could be right disappears when Klarion giggles. “Are you serious? Honestly, don’t make me laugh. It has the power to grant someone all the abilities of a god and you think you can destroy it? You’d never even find it. You already forgot it existed, even though you knew all about it two weeks ago. It doesn’t want you to stop it, as much as an object ‘wants’ anything. It’s a machine that will keep repeating this process until the universe is either destroyed or changed enough to sate it.”

That’s what Tim was afraid of. Klarion had said that the nature of the beast was that people who should know about it, didn’t. Something powerful enough to rewrite the memories of an entire universe wasn’t something easy to destroy or defeat.

“Jesus.” Jason hisses, low and with feeling. “Just how powerful is this thing?”

“Apparently its creation devoured an entire universe of magic users… but that might just be a legend.” Klarion hums as he studies his fingernails. “Sufficed to say, destroying the artifact is not an option. Killing Joker, though, that has distinct possibilities. If nothing else it might make this universe unique and not worth erasing.”

“How the fuck do you even know any of this?” Jason obviously isn’t liking being outnumbered here.

Klarion rolls his eyes. “I do read books after all. Now that that’s solved! Shall we put this plan in motion? Your universe destroyer might be taking his time playing his cat and mouse game, but I don’t fancy a battle with someone who makes my magic look like parlor tricks.”

A shudder runs through Tim’s body as he breathes in. “July twenty-fifth is the last time we knew where Joker was before all this. He was in--”

“You don’t need to tell me all that.” Klarion waves off Tim’s explanation as he walks by on his way to the other side of the room. Teekl leaps up, joining their witch. “Only whichever of you is going needs to know where. I just need to know when.”

Jason scowls. “You can only send one of us?”

“You’re lucky I can do that much.” Klarion kicks a few things out of the way and begins setting up his circle. “That choice is for the two of you to make, but it’s not as if it really matters. Once your mission is complete this instance will cease to be. Probably. Time isn’t really my forte. Chaos is.”

“We know,” Tim mutters, then turns to Jason. “Jay, you should go.”

“Why?” Jason gives him the most incredulous glare Tim has ever gotten in his life.

“Haven’t you always wanted to kill Joker? Here’s your chance. Besides you’re just the better person for the job.” Tim lies. Mostly lies. It’s true Jason, who’s killed before, is more prepared to deal with this job, but that’s not why Tim wants him to go. He’s being selfish. He’s… “It’s just better if it’s you.”

Jason narrows his eyes, like he’s seen straight through Tim’s bullshit and opens his mouth to probably say so, when there’s a loud crash from somewhere else in the building. An eerie giggle echoes through the hallway beyond the room they’re hiding in.

Klarion, now hunched over the circle with his eyes closed, lifts his head slightly and opens one eye. “No more time for chatter, birdies. Let’s go.”

Tim stands up, ignoring the incredibly disturbing sight of Teekl transforming into their more humanoid form. He fishes in the pocket of the jacket for his collapsed bo staff as he starts for the door. “Go, Jay, I’ll hold him off until--”

Jason grabs Tim before he can walk passed him and pulls him into a tight hug. For a moment Tim is half crushed against his brother’s chest and everything is still. Then Jason whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’m sorry, Li’l Red.”

In that second, Tim feels his heart sink into his stomach, but he can’t even speak before the wall of the room comes crashing down, debris falling like a curtain to the floor revealing the figure of Joker grinning at them more wild-eyed than ever before. Jason shoves Tim away and immediately Tim feels something with fur and claws grab him by the arms from behind. Heedless of Teekl’s warning growl, Tim struggles against their grip. “Wait! Jason! Please! Please don’t!”

He doesn’t listen. He never listens. Please this can’t be happening!

Jason pulls his guns out and shots ring out. Bullets stop, seconds before hitting Joker’s head, falling harmlessly to the floor. Jason keeps shooting.

Joker laughs with hysterical glee as a crowbar appears in his hand. “Oh! I nearly forgot that I’d get to kill you all over again! This is going to be such a joy for me, you don't even know!”

“Jason!” Tim screeches as Teekl drags him backwards, their claws digging in deeper and deeper as he struggles to get free.

Vaguely he hears Klarion say something that might be, “Oh that does sound much more interesting!”

But he’s not paying attention, because at that moment Jason runs out of bullets and Joker’s grin widens impossibly. “All done now? Is it my turn already?”

“Fuck you!” Defiant to the end, Jason chucks both guns at Joker’s head. It only buys him a second more. Joker shrugs them off and lunges forward. He grabs Jason’s face and drives him down into the tiled floor. The crowbar falls towards Jason’s skull and Tim wails for his brother. He can’t save him. He can’t save anyone. Angry at the world, at Jason, at himself, Tim screams his throat raw as time slows down.

Abruptly Teekl’s gone. Nothing’s holding Tim in place any longer, but the world around him is rushing by in a blur of color and movement like a video rewinding. Then everything stops so suddenly that Tim’s caught off balance and falls against a crate. Bewildered, he looks around and realization sets in alongside a building dread. He’s nowhere near Gotham. There’s a steady beeping sound coming from a small device in the middle of a dirt floor. A woman sobbing as she fights with a padlock on a pair of iron doors. And a badly beaten teen in the old Robin suit laying on the floor by her feet.

Klarion severely overshot.

Tim breathes. He needs to get out of here right now. Break a window above him and crawl out. Just go. He can still accomplish his goal in this time period, he shouldn’t screw up the timeline any more than he absolutely has to. He can’t know what that will cause.

But… Jason’s right there. He couldn’t save his brother in the future. Couldn’t stop him from dying. Again. But here…

Shaking himself into action, Tim stands upright. He doesn’t have time for this. This building is going to go up in less than two minutes. He needs to act now. Without giving it anymore thought, Tim steps out from behind the stack of crates and heads for the doors.

Sheila jumps at his sudden appearance, looking at him with fear and hope in her eyes, pleading, “Please, help us. Please…”

Tim spares her a brief glance, but doesn’t speak. He ignores the bomb, he knows he can’t disarm it in time, it’s a Joker special. Too convoluted to solve. Instead he takes a lock pick set from his boot – Always, always be prepared – and goes to work on the padlock. It takes longer than he’d like and by the time he finishes the annoying beeping that’s counting down to their doom is getting louder. They don’t have much more time. He looks up at Sheila as he pulls the chain away from the doors. “Get them open, I’ve got Jason.”

Sheila nods, unquestioning, not even seeming to register that this complete stranger knows Robin’s identity. Well so much the better for him. As she pushes the doors open as wide as possible, Tim lifts Jason gently by his less damaged arm, hooking an arm around his back. Jason groans, weakly. “B?”

“No,” Tim answers, softly. “But I’ve got you, Jay. It’ll be okay.”

Sheila returns and supports Jason’s other side. Between the two of them, they manage to put some distance between them and the building. Tim pushes them down behind a rock seconds before the blast sends red hot shrapnel flying past their hiding spot. Holding Sheila’s head down, Tim silently laments that the rock is really too small of a shield, but it does it’s job well enough.

Slowly, the commotion dies down and Sheila, shaking like a leaf, her arms wrapped tight around Jason, looks up at Tim. “I-is it over? Are we really still alive?”

“Yeah.” For better or worse. Tim shakes off the wave of anxieties rising in his chest as he stands up. “Yeah, we’re alive.”

She turns her attention to Jason. “…He tried to save me. Even after…”

“… That’s what Robin does.” Tim coughs to try and hide the sadness in his voice.

There’s a silence between them as Sheila starts patching up Jason’s injuries. Then she glances at Tim again, stops, and stares at him. “Who-Who are you?”

“I’m…” He trails off, uncertain, and just then he hears the sound of a jeep growing closer. He sighs. “Nobody important. Stay here.”

She nods, hesitantly, and Tim steps away from the rock heading back towards the smoldering remains pile of rubble that was once a warehouse. He watches as the jeep slides to a halt and Batman jumps out and runs to the wreckage. Everything about this is a goddamn mess.

“Batman!” Tim yells as he gets close enough to be heard.

Bruce doesn’t seem to hear him.

“Over here! Hey!” Tim tries again, but that doesn’t work either. Dammit. “Bruce!”

That does it. Probably because no one in the area but Jason should know to call him that when he’s in the Batsuit. Bruce whips around and looks straight down at Tim panic turning to suspicion. Looks like he’s about to demand Tim’s identity immediately, Tim ignores it and jerks his head towards Jason and Sheila. The tension bleeds out of Bruce just a bit as he spots the pair. In the end he doesn’t speak to Tim, just rushes past him to where Sheila and Jason are.

Sheila looks up at Bruce as he approaches, saying, with some trepidation, “He needs some serious treatment, but… I-I think he’ll be okay. I hope he will. We can take back to the camp and I’ll treat him there.”

Without really responding, Bruce gathers Jason into his arms with intense care. Tim watches in silence as Sheila runs ahead to the jeep with Robin’s cape spreading it out in the back and climbing in, waiting for Bruce to lay Jason there. His job here is done. It’s time to leave. Jason will be okay. It will all--

“Come on.” Bruce’s voice rumbles beside him.

“I—” Tim starts to shy away, but Bruce, dexterous as ever, manages to grab him by the elbow while still holding Jason firmly.

“You need treatment too.” Bruce indicates Tim’s left arm with a tilt of his head.

Tim looks down and frowns at the blood soaking into his sleeve. Teekl had really dug their claws in it seems. “…Okay.”

Meekly, he follows Bruce back to the jeep, jumping into the passenger seat while Sheila and Bruce situate Jason in the back. Some part of Tim is screaming that he should run. Now. While they’re distracted. Leave. Don’t give Bruce anymore chances to figure him out.

He doesn’t.

He’s tired, drained beyond even his normal capacity, and, Bruce is right, he needs his injuries treated. So he just closes his eyes and leans back as the car starts and they speed away to save the boy who should have died.

Chapter Text

The rest of the journey is mostly a blur for Tim. He half doses as the wind blows through his hair, opening his eyes every so often to catch Bruce glancing at him. Never quite catching him with enough time to tell him to keep his eyes on the road. Jesus, this is the guy wouldn’t even let Tim look at the Batmobile like he wanted to drive it, right? This is the same guy? It’s a thought that almost makes Tim laugh. He can’t find the energy though.

Eventually the Jeep comes to a stop and Bruce is gone in a moment, carrying Jason into a tent, Sheila right behind him, barking orders to her assistants. They all seem confused and scared but immediately scramble to do what she asked.

One of them, a small young lady approaches Tim. “Um, Dr Haywood said you’re hurt?”

Tim hops out of the jeep and takes off Jason’s jacket, pulling off his shirt too for good measure. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

“Oh my god, are those claw marks?”

Tim looks at the injuries himself, nasty looking puncture wounds. Not quite slashes but there’s a little bit of a trail from where Tim tried to pull away. Worse on his left arm than his right. “No. I think some of the shrapnel from the explosion hit me… I didn’t even notice.”

“Oh, um, that’s probably the shock.” She carefully looks him over for other injuries. “You’ve got a nasty bruise here.”

Tim nods. “I tripped and fell onto a crate.”

“I see.” She takes out some supplies from the bag she’s carrying. “I’m sorry this might hurt a bit.”

With as much of a smile as he can muster Tim says, “It’ll hardly be the worst pain I’ve ever been in.”

She frowns sadly as she looks across his torso. “No… I guess not.”

With that she sets to work. The disinfectant, the poking and prodding to make sure there isn’t any shrapnel stuck in his injuries, the stitches, it all stings like hell, but it’s nothing Tim’s not used to. Tim smiles when the woman asks him a question, answers when he can. But quickly he loses himself in his own thoughts, hardly noticing when she finishes wrapping a bandage around his arm and only nodding when she tells him to make sure he gets the bandages changed regularly.

She leaves and Tim’s left alone, staring at the holes in Jason’s jacket. He pulls his mangled shirt back over his head – making a mental note to just take the sleeves off the shirt, they’re beyond repair – before he picks up the jacket and assesses the damage. It’s not as bad as the shirt, probably because it’s leather and a bit too big for Tim, he could patch it. Not like it’d be the first patching and bloodstains that this jacket’s endured. Tim runs a finger across some stitching in the hem, recognizing Jason’s needlework. He always used the same work for stitching injuries as he did for mending his clothes. Neat, tight, precise.

Tim exhales softly, slowly, carefully.

He shakes himself and puts the jacket on, feeling in the pockets and finding his bo staff still there. At least there’s that. His fingers brush against something else as he starts to withdraw his hand from the pocket. He pulls out the pack of cigarettes. Jason’s favorite brand.

God, he’s such a mess.

Swallowing all his feelings he shoves the pack back into the pocket with his bo staff and decides that’s their home for now. At least that means there’s probably a lighter somewhere in one of these pockets, that could be useful sometime in the future. It’s Jason’s jacket so there’s probably some extra ammunition clips too, if Tim can find the right kind of gun that might be useful.

Now he just needs to find a way to leave. Discretely if possible and soon. Especially soon. If he doesn’t get out of here, he’s screwed. As much as he’d like to stay here with Bruce, the longer he sticks around the more likely it is that Bruce will figure him out if he hasn’t already. That would completely destroy the entire plan.

What is the plan though?

He freezes at that thought. God, everything got so complicated, so quickly.

It was such a simple plan before. Save his family by killing the Joker, then just cut the loose end that is him and be done with it. Now he’s already changed the future beyond repair and yet… there’s more he could do. More he should do. The choices he has to make now are far from easy. He could use Bruce to get back to Gotham. Kill Joker when he comes back.

But that would limit his mobility. Once Joker’s dead, he’ll have too little time to spare before Bruce or Clark catches up to him, when that happens it’s over. There would never be enough time or money for Tim to find a way out of Gotham.

No. It’s better if he stays here. As much as he hates it, this is the best way. Tim looks up at Bruce who came out of the tent a few minutes ago. Standing there, staring at the entrance to the tent, worry written across his face. He deserves to see his kids grow up and be happy. All of them. There’s no salvaging this timeline now anyway. Might as well go big or go home, right?

Tim sighs and scrubs at his face with one hand. Great. What’s the plan for that then? Fuck. Everything sucks. And it sucks twice as much as a large shadow falls over him. Goddammit, Bruce.

“Who are you?” Bruce is breaking out his best intimidating voice, but it’s pretty clear he’s just using this interrogation as a way to distract himself from Jason’s condition.

Unfortunately, Tim’s not going to be much help in that regard. He leans back against the jeep door and looks up at Bruce. “My name’s Alvin.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Bruce growls.

“I know.” Tim says, with a quiet laugh.

The look of pure bewilderment on Bruce’s face when ‘Alvin’ utterly fails to be cowed by the Batman is brilliant. Tim – No, not Tim, he’s Alvin now. Gotta stick to that. – wishes he could record it and send it to Jason. His Jason, who would’ve laughed until he fell off a rooftop over something like this.

Alvin shakes away the pain from that loss as it starts creeping back into his chest. This isn’t the time for a breakdown. Save it for later.

Bruce switches tactics. “You’re… you’re not one of Joker’s men. Why were you in that warehouse?”

“You think I’m not one of Joker’s men.” Alvin crosses his arms. Fuck, how does he get out of this. “I might be.”

There’s little hesitation in Bruce’s voice as he says, “You never would have saved Robin.”

Alvin sighs, letting his exhaustion bleed into his voice. “God, I don’t have time for this.”

“Make time.”

That deserves a laugh, and yeah maybe it comes out just barely this side of hysterical. “You know, I really wish I could, but I’ve got just so much to do and you… You have a little bird to look after. Don’t you? That’s pretty important.”

Bruce sets his jaw, but it’s not going to work this time.

Shoving himself away from the jeep, Alvin sticks his hands into the pockets of Jason’s… the jacket. “Tell the kid I hope he gets well soon. Batman’s kinda crap without a Robin, just for the record.”

“Where do you--” Bruce is interrupted as Sheila steps out of the tent.

Alvin seizes the opportunity, moving away from the jeep and into the shadows of the nearby tents. Hiding behind a stack of boxes and bags, listening from a distance.

“He’ll be okay.” Sheila says, looking distant, guilty. “His injuries weren’t nearly as bad as I was afraid of.”

Bruce looks like he might cry with the relief. “Thank god.”

“It’s a relief for certain.” Sheila looks back at the tent. “It might still be a long time before he’s fully healed though.”

“He…” Suddenly Bruce goes very still as though he just realized something that’s leaving a sour taste in his mouth. “I’m… I’m sure he’ll have a very attentive doctor.”

Sheila doesn’t answer, her shoulders trembling ever so slightly. Alvin can already tell what she’s thinking, but Bruce isn’t looking at her anymore. He’s staring down at the ground. Finally Sheila starts to say something before pausing, looking past Bruce towards the jeep. “Wait… wasn’t he just here?

Turning around quick, Bruce stares at the empty space where Alvin had been. “What in the…”

Alvin’s kinda glad he stuck around long enough to see that, but he needs to go now. He doesn’t have time to stick around and get interrogated by Bruce again. He creeps away around the back corner of the tent and strikes out into the desert, heading for civilization. It’s time to prepare for phase two of his new, sorta impromptu plan. If he’s going to survive this next stretch and get what he wants he needs to approach it with extreme caution.

Ra’s and Talia are not easy opponents.

Damn. The next few months are going to be hell on Earth.

.

Bruce lingers in the corner of the tent where Jason is sleeping, his life no longer in danger. It’ll take some time for him to heal completely though. Bruce can’t help but be concerned about all the work that will go into his recovery, even as he thinks about that though he realizes that… it’s no longer his place to worry about that.

He watches, warily, as Sheila takes Jason’s vitals, professionally, her face betraying none of her thoughts. Whatever’s on her mind, Bruce has a feeling he’s not going to like it when she finally speaks. He can only imagine. She knows now. She knows her son is Robin. How will she react to that? Will she expose their identities? Will she demand something for her silence? What kind of person… what kind of mother is she really?

“He needs a hospital if he’s going to recover quicker.” She sighs, suddenly, startling him. “We’re lucky though. It could’ve been… so much worse.”

He feels like there’s something left unspoken there. As though she blames herself. Bruce can’t really say she shouldn’t, he still hasn’t heard the entire story. “I can arrange for a good hospital… the best.”

“Yeah… yeah, I guess you can. You should take him back to Gotham as soon as possible. Gotham needs Batman. The world needs Batman.” She give him a sad smile. “And so does he.”

Bruce frowns. “Dr Haywood, I--”

“It’s horrible, right? How desperation makes demons of us?” Sheila stares down at Jason, stroking the side of his face gently. “That’s all I am now… a demon of my own making. Look what I did to a boy who’s only ever tried to help me. And he still tried to save me…”

“Sheila.”

She shakes her head and turns to him, speaking with more conviction. “Tell him I lied. Tell him… I’m not his mother. I was just using him. Please.”

For a long moment Bruce lets the quiet rest between them. “And what will you do?”

“I’ll…” She shrugs, helplessly. “I’m going to stay here… work with the refugees… for real this time. I have a lot I need to atone for. More than I ever had before. Maybe the Joker will think I’m dead and finally leave me alone.”

Bruce speaks carefully. “If he doesn’t?”

She closes her eyes. “Then I’ll get what I deserve, won’t I? It’s not like I could do any more damage for him anyway. If he finds out I’m alive, he’ll just come to finish the job. All I can do is hope that won’t happen… But Jason deserves better. So much better than me. Batman… Mr Wayne, I’m asking you, please, take him home to Gotham a-and tell him that all I’ve ever been is a liar.”

“He won’t just accept that.” Bruce tells her. As much as he wants this – wants to just take Jason home, no strings attached – he owes it to Jason to try.

Sheila leans back against an empty cot, dragging a hand down her face. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m asking a lot of you, but after what I did… I-I can’t bear to face him. This… this is for the best.”

“I can’t change your mind?” Bruce tries one last time.

“Go.” She insists softly. “And don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone. Even if I did, I doubt they’d believe me.”

Bruce hesitates a moment longer, then taps a button on his gauntlet to summon the jet. Carefully he gathers Jason up into his arms and carries him outside. Sheila follows, shielding her face from the sun and wind as the jet lands, and watching blankly as Bruce secures Jason in the back.

After everything’s settled, Bruce turns back to her. “That boy who rescued you, do you have any idea who he is?”

“No.” She pauses for a moment, thinking. “It’s… it’s so strange. I could have sworn there was no one else in the warehouse when Joker locked us in. That young man just appeared from nowhere. And he knew Jason’s name from the start, I swear I didn’t tell him.”

“I believe you.” As disturbing as it is, Bruce knows she’s telling the truth. No one gave Alvin Batman and Robin’s identities. He shakes off the unease and glances back at Jason before he speaks again. “Thank you… for helping save Jason.”

Her smile is half-hearted as she answers. “Don’t thank me. Just take care of him.”

“I will.”

Chapter Text

Bruce wakes up every thirty minutes just to reassure himself that reality doesn’t match his nightmares. The horrible feeling of arriving too late. Watching the warehouse going up in a fiery blast. The fear that he’s failed the last person he ever should have. It all lingers like a bad taste even as the dreams fade. Then he opens his eyes and Jason’s there. Sleeping peacefully in the hospital bed. Expected to wake up any day now and make a full recovery.

Dismissing the last of his lingering fears Bruce reaches out and gently holds Jason’s hand in his. As much as he wants Jason to wake up soon, he hopes that he has enough time to prepare. There’s a long road of recovery ahead for Jason when he wakes up and Bruce isn’t exactly chomping at the bit to give him Sheila’s message either. It’ll be hard to come to terms with that. He might feel like he’s been abandoned and Bruce needs time to find a way to make it clear that he’ll always be there for Jason.

For now he can only take the moment to marvel at how much Jason’s grown since he arrived at the manor. There was a time when Jason’s entire hand was only half the size it is now. Back then Jason was barely more than a few muscles on a skeletal frame, surviving on scraps and sass alone. Now his hand’s nearly as big as Bruce’s own. He’s grown so much in only two years. Two years that Bruce would never trade for the entire world.

Smiling slightly to himself and reassured that Jason’s really there – really alive – Bruce closes his eyes and leans back, resting his head against the back of his chair. Until, that is, he hears a familiar sound approaching the room from down the hall.

“Knock knock.” Barbara’s voice is soft as she pushes her wheelchair into the room.

Bruce blinks the sleep from his eyes and sits up a little straighter. “Barbara.”

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” She maneuvers her chair up next to Jason’s bed.

“You didn’t.”

She smiles, oddly amused by his response. “Of course. I, um, I told them I was family. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Never.” She practically is family after all. “I… How did you hear about this?”

“Alfred called me.” Her eyes focus on Jason’s face for a long time before she finally looks up at Bruce, her eyes wet with the tears she’s holding back. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

Bruce nods. “Yes.”

“That’s… that’s good.” She tries out a smile, but it’s weak and slips away so quickly. “God, I’m sorry, I’m such a wreck. I just… Again? He did it again.”

He can’t really say anything to that. Looking down at the floor trying to contain all the rage he feels for the Joker. If he could bring himself to leave Jason’s side right now… he doesn’t know what he’d do. “Has there been any news of him?”

“Clark caught him coming back into the country in Metropolis… but he got away.” Her voice is shaking. “God, the past few months have really been hell...”

Bruce sighs, deeply, exhaustion seeping into his very bones. “It's... frankly hard to believe it's only been months.”

“Tell me about it.” She laughs, bitterly. They sit in silence for a while longer. Then, “I’ll call someone to look after the city until you’re ready to go back on patrol or Dick gets back.”

“I…” Bruce hesitates a moment. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

She looks over at him, tired, grateful, sad, afraid, something else entirely, all of them at once. “It’s the least I can do.”

.

In Dick Grayson’s lauded experience off-planet missions can go only one of two ways; They can be fun, interesting trips to distant parts of the galaxy or they can be complete nightmares. There’s really no in between although occasionally a type one does inexplicably turn into a type two with no warning. The latest one was of the, regrettably far more common lately, type two variety. Everything feels like it just keeps getting more and more fucked up. Maybe that’s just a product of not having Bruce and Alfred as buffers anymore, but… it’s not like he was ever a sheltered kid.

Whether it’s always been that way or not, Dick is too tired to deal with any more of it right now. As he limps into his apartment with Kori almost literally hovering behind him, all Dick wants to do is take as many painkillers as is technically safe and collapse into his bed for the rest of the week. Unfortunately as soon as he’s in the door he hears the familiar sound of silicone rumbling against wood and stops in his tracks. For a long moment he just stares at his cellphone sitting where he’d left it on the coffee table however the fuck long ago. The call is from the manor. Not Alfred’s cellphone. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s Bruce, but the risk is there.

“Are you not going to answer it?” Kori asks, softly, with some trepidation.

Dick takes a deep breath and adjusts his crutch. “I’ll handle it later. After I change. Bruce can wait until then.”

“Are you sure?” She glances back uncertainly as she moves to support him when he goes to take a step. “What if it’s important?”

“If it were important he’d be here in person,” Dick grumbles and, yeah, maybe it’s the bitterness talking, but, hell, after what he’s been through – after what Bruce has put him through – over the past couple of years, he’s earned the right to be a little bitter.

So he hobbles to the bedroom and changes his damned clothes, then returns to the living room. He grabs the cellphone off the coffee table and makes his way over to the fridge, pulling a bottle of water out before he plays his messages. After the announcement that he has one new message, Alfred’s voice begins speaking and Dick feels like a grade A heel before he gets passed the first word. “Master Dick, there’s… Please, call as soon as you can, there’s been a most unfortunate incident.”

Dick drops the water bottle without even thinking, getting out of the voice message menu as fast as he can and opening up his contacts. He finds Alfred’s number as quickly as possible and hits call. His heart is practically in his throat as he waits for Alfred to pick up. He hardly even feels Kori’s hands on his shoulders.

Possibilities race through his mind at light speed. If Bruce were hurt or… or worse, surely Clark or Diana would’ve met him at the tower to tell him. Someone else then. Barbara or… or Jason. Before he can even start to pick through that series of fresh hells, the line clicks and Alfred greets him, “Master Richard.”

God, he sounds so tired. “You said something happened, is everyone okay?”

“I’m afraid not, sir, Master Jason…” Alfred’s voice falters and he pauses. Dick holds his breath, he feels fear rising like ice and fire running through his chest. “Master Jason has been seriously injured and hospitalized.”

Dick lets his breath go, shaky, stuttering. Relief that Jason’s still alive only serving to loosen the tension in his gut a little. “Is… is he going to be okay? God, Alfie, how did this happen?”

“He is expected to pull through alright, however at the moment we are still waiting for him to wake up.” Alfred responds, gently. “He ran afoul of the Joker while abroad.”

Stunned, Dick doesn’t know what to say first, until the words hiss from his throat, unbidden, “Joker again?”

“Yes, sir.” Alfred says, quietly. “It was quite bad from what I understand.”

Dick shakes his head, Alfred’s right, Joker’s not the important part here. “I’m… I’ll come home. Right now.”

“Shall I come get you?”

Dick looks at Kori. She nods without him even needing to ask. “No, I’ll be there in an hour, Kori’s dropping me off.”

“Very well, I will see you then.”

“Yeah,” Dick says and hangs up after Alfred.

Kori hugs his shoulders. “It will be alright.”

Dick really wants to believe that.

.

The flight to the manor goes by quickly and it’s less than an hour before she deposits him on Wayne Manor’s doorstep. She’s disappointed that she can’t join him to visit Jason, but understanding as well. Whether or not the press has gotten wind of this situation already, Dick Grayson showing up to a Gotham hospital with Starfire would be all over the news in seconds. So she gives him a parting kiss and makes him promise to call her when he knows more. Then she flies away as Alfred opens the front door.

“My word, it would seem you’ve been injured yourself, sir.” Alfred says, indicating Dick’s cast and crutch.

Dick adjusts his weight on the crutch. “This is nothing, but I do need a lift to the hospital.”

“Of course, sir.”

Alfred leads the way to the garage and, with some difficulty, Dick situates himself in the passenger seat of Bruce’s most inconspicuous car, before asking, “How’s… How’s Bruce taking it?”

“Hard, I’m afraid.” Alfred fixes the mirror as he continues, “It took both myself and Mr Kent to convince him not to set out to kill the Joker when we first heard he was returning to the country.”

Dick… can’t blame Bruce. It’s a little frightening thinking of Bruce so angry that he’d throw away his code, but Dick kinda feels like he’d like to get his hands on Joker himself. “What happened with Joker?”

Looking at Dick out of the corner of his eye, Alfred says, “Missing. Superman stopped him from unleashing a cloud of his poison at an assembly of the United Nations and destroyed his helicopter before he could make his escape, but Joker fell into the ocean. We haven’t found a body.”

Quietly Dick just hisses, “Fuck.”

Alfred doesn’t say anything to that.

“Where is Bruce now?” He’s a little concerned he might hear that Bruce is down in the cave hunting for the Joker. He can be stupidly obsessive like that.

“At the hospital with Master Jason.” Alfred answers to Dick’s relief. “He hasn’t left the boy’s side for more than a moment since they arrived.”

Good. That’s the way it should be. Even if it makes Dick’s chest sting with jealousy. “Can you… tell me more about what happened?”

Alfred is quiet a moment before nodding. “I shall do my best, sir, though I’m afraid my knowledge is somewhat lacking as I was not present at the time.”

“That’s fine.” Dick leans back in his seat watching the scenery pass by out the window. “Whatever you know is fine.”

“Well… to begin at the beginning as it were--” Alfred explains the entire incident. From Bruce attempting to get Jason to step back from being Robin for a while – as if that would work – to Jason discovering evidence that Catherine Todd wasn’t his birth-mother to Jason meeting Sheila Haywood to the Joker’s plot and finally Jason and Sheila being rescued from the warehouse before it exploded by a mysterious young man. “--And that, young sir, is all I know.”

“God…” Dick pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before letting his head fall back against the headrest so he can stare up at the fuzzy, gray ceiling of the car. “None of us can catch a damned break, can we?”

“It would seem not, sir,” Alfred says, sounding about as tired as Dick feels. The car slows down and turns right. “Here we are.”

As the car comes to a full stop, Dick lifts his head and grabs his crutch. “What room are they in?”

“If you don’t mind, sir, I will simply accompany you.” Alfred removes his seat belt and opens his door. “It will give me a chance to see the boy for myself again.”

Good, old Alfred. He deserves a more peaceful life than the one he’s got as surrogate grandfather to a pair of a reckless vigilantes, but somehow it seems like he wouldn’t trade this family any more than they’d trade him. Dick smiles softly. “Yeah, alright.”

They head up to the top floor in the elevator and then down the hall to stop in front of an open door to a room where Jason is lying on a hospital bed. Sleeping. Peaceful. At Alfred’s silent urging Dick limps into the room, feeling a little trapped when Alfred closes the door behind them. He looks down at Jason and… he doesn’t really know what to think. What to feel.

Dick has always… always struggled with having any kind of real affection for Jason. They’ve never been on what anyone might call ‘good’ terms. He’d like to blame it all on Brother Blood. To say it wasn’t really him, all that anger and jealousy. He knows better. He’s never really thought of Jason as a little brother, just as a usurper, a replacement. Always felt like Bruce adopted Jason just to twist the knife in the already wounded relationship between him and Dick. Even though he knows that’s not why. It might have been the reason Bruce gave Jason the Robin role, but it was never why Bruce adopted him. And even if it were, it’s not like that’s Jason’s fault. Jason is… He’s just a kid.

He’s just a kid that’s lying there covered in bandages and casts after being almost killed by the Joker. More than anything Dick wishes he could just erase every nasty thing he ever said to the kid and start over from the very beginning. So that right now he could feel like he’d have the right to tell Jason he looks like shit when he wakes up and know that they could laugh about it. As it stands he knows that it’d just sound like another unfair criticism in a long long line of them.

Dick shakes his head and blinks away the tears that are blurring his vision. Trying anything just to get out of his own head and his own personal failings, Dick looks over at the person occupying the chair at Jason’s bedside.

Bruce is awake. Despite his restful posture and closed eyes, anyone who knows him well can tell easily. He knows exactly who’s in the room right now and probably knew they were coming before they even got out of the car. That’s just who Bruce is. Dick knows Bruce well enough to be sure of all of that. He also knows that he’ll have to be the one to speak first. Bruce is capable of many things, but extending verbal olive branches is not one of them. Not because he’s holding a grudge. More because he just doesn’t know how. So Dick has to do it for him, which is hard, because Dick is holding a grudge. Even if he’s trying to let it go. It’s hard to swallow the bitterness and anger, but Dick does it. Not really for Bruce. For himself. Maybe someday they’ll actually sit down and find out where they really stand, for now… for now it’s just gotta be one step at a time. For now, Dick takes a deep breath and just says, “Hey.”

Slowly, Bruce opens his eyes and tilts his head down to look at Dick. His expression remains pretty neutral, though Dick kinda hopes he sees a hint of happiness there. Over all he just looks tired. “Dick… You’re injured?”

“Just a sprain, it’ll heal fine.” Dick shrugs off Bruce’s concern, there’s a part of him that finds some joy in the fact that Bruce still worries about him, but that’s not why he’s here. “More importantly--”

Before he can continue, Bruce stands up and gestures to the chair. “Sit.”

Accepting that as an order, not a request, Dick obeys. They’d be fighting over it all day otherwise. Besides, he was getting a little tired. Setting his crutch aside, Dick reaches over and carefully pets Jason’s hair. Something that’d probably earn him a punch to the face if he tried it while the kid was awake. Then he looks up at Bruce and finishes his thought, “As I was saying; More importantly, what did the doctors say about Jason’s condition?”

Bruce leans against the nearest wall, crossing his arms loosely and sighing before he responds, “A few broken ribs, multiple fractures in both his legs, fracture of his right forearm. His injuries are extensive, but they expect he’ll make a full recovery. We were… very lucky.”

“Thank god,” Dick murmurs, then adds almost as a joke, “And, I guess, that guy who saved him.”

At that, Bruce makes a face, frustrated and thoughtful. “Yes. Him.”

Well, that’s… interesting. Dick raises an eyebrow at Bruce. “You really have no idea who he was?”

“None.” Bruce grumbles and that kind of explains it. He’s not fond of mysteries he can’t solve. “He said his name was Alvin, but I’m not sure how much I trust that. More than anything it bothers me that he got away… It’s unnerving to know there’s someone out there who knows our identities and I don’t--”

“Wait wait wait wait wait!” Dick tries to keep his voice down but this is kind of a big deal. “Alfred didn’t say anything about the guy knowing our identities.”

Alfred seems equally surprised and confused when Dick looks to him for confirmation. “I was not informed either.”

Bruce looks from one of them to the other and then sighs, heavily, running a hand through his short hair. “It… It must not have occurred to me to mention it in all the chaos. Yes, somehow Alvin knew Jason and I and referred to us both by name. From what I gathered there’s no way he could have learned our identities from Sheila or Jason and… he seems to have no connection to Joker either. At this point I don’t know how he got that information.”

This could be really bad. Dick hisses on a deep intake of breath. But something doesn’t quite make sense, if Bruce knew that this guy had that information then, “How did he even get away?”

“I was distracted,” Bruce says, a little defensively. “I… I took my eyes off him for a moment to speak with Sheila and when I turned around again, he was gone.”

That sounds awfully familiar. Dick leans forward a bit fighting a grin as he says, “You mean to tell me, he pulled a Batman… on Batman?”

“I’ll admit I was impressed,” Bruce answers wryly.

“Ha!” Now he knows how poor Jim Gordon feels. Still, respect for the disappearing act aside, Dick’s not quite sure what to think of all this. On the one hand the guy did save Jason and that does earn him some ‘benefit of the doubt’ points. On the other though they don’t know anything about him and he knows more than enough about them to cause real damage. God, this could be bad. So Dick brings himself back to a serious attitude. “Have you got any theories about how he could’ve found us out?”

Of course Bruce has theories, theories are Bruce’s element. “Could be someone we’ve met before, he was comfortable enough calling me ‘Bruce’ rather than say ‘Mr Wayne’ though so you would think I would have recognized him. Magic and telepathy are both options but ones that seem… unlikely. I’m not enthused to entertain the ideas of him deciphering our identities for himself or time travel, but I won’t take them off the table either. Clark said he’d stop in later to watch the cowl recording and see if there’s anything he can hear that I might’ve missed. I want you to check the recording too, maybe you’ll recognize him.”

“Well, I can tell you that I don’t know many Alvins.” Dick relaxes in the chair and lets out a soft sigh. “But I’ll take a look.

“Even if you don’t recognize him another pair of eyes on this would be useful.”

Bruce yawns as he finishes speaking and Dick suddenly starts noticing all the little signs of exhaustion in Bruce’s face. It makes sense, Bruce probably hasn’t done much sleeping in the past few days. “B… you know, if you need to go home and get some sleep, I can sit with Jason for--”

“No.” Bruce’s voice is firm and a little sharp, but Dick does his best not to feel offended. He knows why Bruce is so high strung. He gets it. After a second, Bruce’s expression turns guilty. “Thank you… for offering, but… I’d rather be here. I know, it’s selfish of me, but I can’t…”

Dick sits still and silent for a long moment before saying as calmly as he can, “I understand. But call and keep me updated alright? I’m next to useless right now with this ankle so all I can do is sit around worrying.”

Bruce looks incredibly fond as he nods. “Of course, you and Alfred will be the first to know when he wakes up. I promise.”

“Okay.” Dick stretches. “I assume, Babs has already got someone on patrol while you’re out?”

Nodding Bruce answers, “She called in Black Canary, so no need to worry about that.”

“Good.” That takes some of the pressure off, but Dick’s still got things he can do without feeling superfluous. “I’ll handle the Alvin thing and see if Clark can sub for you for few nights so people don’t get suspicious. If you’re not ready to come back by the time my ankle heals, I’ll take over. Sound good?”

“I appreciate it, Dick…” Bruce looks down at the ground. “Really.”

Choosing to ignore that statement for both their sakes, Dick leans over closer to Jason and whispers, softly, “Get better soon, little brother. You gotta help me bully Bruce into taking a nap.”

Having said his farewell to Jason, Dick grabs his crutch and goes to stand. Bruce holds out his hand, for a moment Dick almost considers rejecting the offer, but what the hell. He lets Bruce pull him up and is only a little shocked when that little assistance is turned into a hug. Bruce’s arms wrapped tight around him like he’ll never let go.

Dick leans his head into Bruce’s shoulder and wraps one arm around him. Doesn’t react when Bruce places one hand on the back of Dick’s head and squeezes him tight. Even though he feels like he just wants to collapse into his father’s arms and cry until he has no tears left, he doesn’t. He just holds on.

Finally Bruce murmurs, “It's good to see you.”

“You... It's... good to see you too." Dick answers, feeling a bit awkward.

Bruce puts his hand on Dick’s shoulders and gently pushes him back looking down at him with a serious expression. “And you’re never useless.”

For a second Dick doesn’t know how to react, then he just barks a laugh. “That was a joke!”

“I know.” Bruce smiles gently.

Dick adjusts his crutch carefully and clears his throat. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be at the manor if you need me.”

Bruce nods and almost reluctantly lets go of Dick’s shoulders. “Get some rest.”

That demand is worth nothing more than a scoff and, “I will when you do.”

Chapter Text

There was laughter and pain and blood. His blood. A lot of it. A loud beeping and Sheila sobbing. The pain of dragging himself across the ground to free her, because… because that’s what Robin does. All he could smell was iron and dirt. Sheila had tried to carry him. The doors were locked. Then they were opening. Someone lifting him off the ground. He thought it was Bruce, but the voice that answered him isn’t familiar.

He held on to consciousness as long as he could. Felt Sheila and the stranger carry him for what seemed like forever. Then pain and the smell of dirt again. The explosion’s so loud that he almost can’t hear it. Bruce was there after that. The comfort of being held in Bruce’s arms. He could rest.

Sheila and Bruce were talking somewhere nearby. Voices low. He couldn’t hear what they were saying. Couldn’t understand if he could hear them. He felt floaty. And tired. Just so tired.

Brief snatches of consciousness after that, nothing clear, until now. Now there’s nothing at all and he wonders if this is death. Just drifting in a hazy void for all eternity. Feeling, hearing, seeing, being nothing. Then he hears a beep and his breath catching in fear. Wait. He’s breathing? He’s alive?

Must be on some kind of painkillers. The really good kind. Everything still hurts, but there’s a disconnect between him and the pain. Like it belongs to someone else. His mind feels all muddled he can’t really keep track of his thoughts, but now he has something to focus on he’s able to notice more things. He smells chemicals and medicine. He must be in a hospital. That’d make sense. So the beeping is probably a heart monitor. There’s someone by his side. A weight on his hand. Gotta be Bruce.

He struggles to open his eyes, prying them open takes all the strength he can muster. At first all he sees is a grid of black and white spots. A hospital ceiling. He tilts his head to the right. Bruce is asleep. One of his hands clasping Jason’s loosely. Waking him up will be easy then. Jason wills his fingers to close around Bruce’s hand. It’s almost as hard as opening his eyes and he can’t manage much of a grip, but Bruce comes awake with a start, staring at their hands like he’s looking at a miracle.

It takes a second for Jason to find his voice and it comes out rough, far too quiet. “My eyes… are up here, jackass.”

Bruce blinks and turns his gaze to Jason’s face. There are unshed tears in his eyes that kinda take the edge off his scolding, “Language, Jason.”

“Seriously?” Jason huffs, can’t laugh really. “I’ll… put a quarter in the jar… later.”

A small smile crosses Bruce’s face, but it doesn’t stay long. “How are you feeling?”

“Hmm…” That’s the question of the hour, ain’t it? “Kinda shitty… if you’ll pardon my french.”

“This once.” Bruce sighs, tired, amused, fond.

They sit in silence and Jason’s about to drift off again when a thought strikes him from nowhere. “Hey… where’s… where’s Mom? …Sheila, I mean.”

Bruce closes his eyes like he’s composing himself. Not a good sign. “I… You should get some more sleep, son… I’ll explain everything when you’re feeling a bit more awake, okay?”

Jason scowls. “Bruce.”

“I promise, Jason.” Bruce says. “I promise, I will explain everything then. For now… you need your rest.”

He’s not entirely satisfied with that answer, but he doesn’t really have a choice. He can’t keep his eyes open any longer. So he just nods and lets himself drift off again.

*

He doesn’t really know how long he sleeps, but the next time he wakes up he can think more clearly. Feel more clearly too. God, everything hurts. Even before he opens his eyes he can tell that Bruce is still there beside him. The sap. Jason blinks a few times before he looks over at Bruce. “Hey.”

“Good morning.” Bruce says softly. “Feeling any better?”

Jason shrugs his good shoulder. “Kinda sorta… where are we?”

“Gotham.” Bruce gestures to the window and, through the curtains, Jason can see the familiar skyline. “This is a private room in Gotham General. I wanted to make sure you could rest without too much chaos going on around you. Of course that’s not to say there haven’t been any visitors. Clark showed up on the first night looking like a puppy in blue pajamas. Which is a mental image I’m sure you’ll appreciate.”

Trying not to laugh since he’s pretty sure his ribs would wage war on him for that, Jason responds, “So much.”

Bruce smiles, then somewhat hesitantly he adds, “Dick stopped by too… twice actually.”

“I…” Jason bites his lip a bit. He remembers a soft pressure against his forehead and a whispered request he couldn’t make out, but now that he thinks about it that was Dick’s voice. Gentler than Jason’s ever heard it before when directed at him. Jason almost kinda wishes Dick were here right now. “I know… I was sorta awake.”

“He’s been staying at the manor, ostensibly to help Alfred out, but probably just to be close by.” Bruce looks exasperated as he continues, “There’s only so much he can do on a sprained ankle after all.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Come on, really? Damn, B, I’m laid up, he’s sprained his ankle… ever think we’re danger prone?”

“Sometimes.” Bruce sighs, sadly. Well, that joke fell flat.

Jason lifts his head a bit and looks at his casts. “So, um, what’s the good news here?”

It’s never good when Bruce hesitates before answering questions like this. “The doctors say you’ll make a full recovery with physical therapy…”

“But?” Jason prompts after a few seconds of silence.

“…But it will be weeks before you’re able to walk on your own and months before you’ll be able to handle any strenuous activity,” Bruce finally answers.

That’s… not great. Jason lets his head fall back on the pillow and stares up at the ceiling while he rolls that news around in his head. No strenuous activity means no Robin and if his suspicions are correct then Robin might be all he has left. “I… what happened at the warehouse after… after this?”

Bruce looks contemplative. “What do you remember?”

“Besides the… yeah. Uh, I remember I got Sheila free, but the doors were locked… I thought… but then there was somebody else there. I thought it was you for a second, but it wasn’t… B, they knew my name. Like my real name.”

“I know.” Bruce sighs deeply. “His name is Alvin… or so he told me. Beyond that and his appearance, I don’t know a damned thing about him. I’ve had everyone take a look at the cowl footage, nobody’s been able to place him. Sheila said she didn’t recognize him either… that he just seemed to appear out of nowhere. When you’re feeling better I’d like you to take a look as well.”

“Gladly,” Jason answers with determination. “But… what happened to him?”

Bruce grimaces, a little amused, a little rueful. “As Dick put it, he ‘pulled a Batman’ on me. I looked away for a moment and he was gone.”

“Oh my god.” Jason snorts, the pain in his ribs is worth it. “I think I like this guy.”

With a frustrated noise, Bruce grumbles, “I suppose I can respect his skill.”

“We’re gonna find him though right?” Jason asks, tentatively.

“Maybe.”

Sounds like this Alvin guy has thrown even Bruce off his game, if he can’t even answer with confidence. Whatever, Jason’s going to find him. Even if Bruce gives up. But on that note, time to take a bitter pill. “Speaking of finding people… what happened with Mom?”

Bruce runs a hand across his face, staring off into the distance keeping the hand pressed to his mouth for a long moment before he says, “She… She decided to stay in Ethiopia. She wanted me to tell you… that she lied. She said she wasn’t really your mother.”

“Bullshit!” Jason snaps, without thinking. He’d done all that work, trekked halfway across the world, almost gotten killed twice, all for her to say it was all for nothing? Yeah, right! Jason glares at Bruce who doesn’t look away. “You know it is too.”

Calmly, Bruce nods. “I agree, but there wasn’t anything I could do to change her mind. If she feels she’s not cut out to be a parent to her son, I suppose that’s her loss and… I’m happy to make it my gain. If you want to stay.”

“I-Huh?” Jason swallows, the angry tears and cutting loss abruptly interrupted by the warmth that’s always welled up in his chest when Bruce calls him his son. His voice is barely a whisper as he says, “Y-you still want me to stay?”

A look of pain creeps over Bruce’s face as he reaches out and squeezes Jason’s hand, gently. “I never wanted you to leave.”

All the reasons Bruce shouldn’t want him to stay race through Jason’s head, all the arguments he could make for why Bruce should just kick him out, but he looks up at Bruce… at his dad and they all die in silence. “I… I want to stay.”

“Okay.” Bruce looks like he might cry.

Jason turns his head away quick and frees his good hand from Bruce’s grip long enough to scrub the tears from his own eyes. He stares up at the ceiling for a bit, thinking about everything, just sitting with all his feelings. He’s almost dozing off again when he remembers something else he wanted to ask. He hates to ruin the good mood, but it’s going to bug him if he doesn’t ask. “Did you stop the Joker’s attack?”

“Yes.” Bruce doesn’t sound particularly happy for someone who prevented a pretty major catastrophe and he’s glaring at the floor when Jason looks over at him.

“And Joker?”

“He escaped back to the states and tried to launch an attack in New York City. Clark was able to stop him and his helicopter went down in the ocean… no one’s seen or heard from him since.”

“So he’s still alive.” The words taste bitter in Jason’s mouth.

Bruce glances over at him. “Definitely.”

“Shit.” If they’d been lucky Joker’s body would’ve floated to the surface and they could’ve burned it to make double sure the bastard never came back, but Jason’s never been lucky. He thinks about making some smart comment to that effect, but dismisses the idea when he looks up at Bruce to see him staring out the window. There’s an icy rage burning in Bruce’s eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the tension in his shoulders. Everything screaming that Joker had better stay gone for a long long time if he wants to keep on living. Jason’s not sure he likes that thought. Doesn’t really know how to feel about it. “Sorry…”

Bruce blinks and abruptly all the anger is gone. “For what?”

“For…” Jason gestures helplessly. “A lot of things.”

“Jay, you have nothing to be sorry about,” Bruce assures him firmly. “All you need to worry about is getting better.”

“I… yeah.” Jason yawns, he hates to admit it but all this talking has really wiped him out. He’s barely been awake for twenty minutes he figures but damn if he can keep his eyes open any longer.

As his eyes slip closed he hears Bruce murmur, “Sleep well, son.”

.

He dozes pretty easily for the next probably twelve hours, waking up in brief intervals and finding Bruce always there. They don’t really talk much throughout that time, but Jason finds it comforting just to have him there. Sometimes there are doctors to talk to and Jason has to put on the very best ‘scared rich kid’ impression, which takes effort. Thankfully they don’t usually last long. Eventually Jason falls into a deeper sleep and when he wakes up it’s morning again. Something’s changed in the room too. Jason doesn’t know what it is at first, until he opens his eyes just a sliver. Dick Grayson is sitting in the chair instead of Bruce, flipping through an old, battered book. He hasn’t looked up from it yet, but there’s no way he doesn’t know Jason’s awake. Instead of acknowledging him Jason looks around the room for anyone else. It’s just the two of them. Great.

Before he can gather his thoughts enough to ask, Dick answers his question, “He’s outside dealing with the paparazzi. Apparently they got wind of the fact that a Wayne kid is in the hospital and… well, you know how those vultures can be.”

“Yeah…” Jason swallows a bit of fear growing in his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Currently, technically, or existentially?” Dick asks, a glimmer of mischief in his expression as he closes the book with a satisfying clap.

Jason narrows his eyes. This is a trick question, obviously, but he can only eliminate one answer. He’s gonna have to chance it. “Currently?”

“Currently, I’m talking to you, aren’t I? I was reading this book, but then you woke up and--” Oh god, he could go on like this for hours. Abort! Abort!

“I meant technically!” Jason interrupts quickly.

Dick grins and sets his book down on a nearby stand. “Technically, I’m visiting my little brother in the hospital.”

A little stunned Jason mouths the words ‘little brother’ to himself. That… that might be the first time Dick’s called him that.

“I can do that, right?” Dick continues, not seeming to notice Jason’s crisis. “I’m not breaking some age old sibling rivalry rule by caving and saying I’m glad you’re alive, am I?”

Jason glances around again. “Uh… no… just weirding me out a bit. Since when am I you’re little brother?”

“Since I said so.” Dick shrugs. “I mean, you’ve always been, I’m just an idiot.”

“Noooo arguments there.” Jason says, carefully.

Dick seems amused more than anything. Which is kinda a relief. “That’s fair.”

Very very tentatively, Jason watches Dick for a couple of seconds, noting the cane and the bandages still wrapping his ankle. “So… Bruce said you fucked up your ankle?”

“Just a sprain. It’s fine.” Dick waves off the whole thing. “There was a… I was off planet. It’s a long story.”

“Okay.” And it’s quiet again. At least Dick looks just as awkward as Jason feels.

They sit there in silence and stillness for a long time, then Dick pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “I’m bad at this.”

“Bad at what?”

Dick gestures between them. “This. You. Not being an ass. Ectera.”

“Oh…” Jason shrugs. “Can’t help ya.”

“You’re not supposed to,” Dick says, tiredly. He stares off into the middle distance and just shakes his head. Then looks back over at Jason. “I guess… I should start with ‘I’m sorry’.”

“Dick…”

“Because I never said that after the whole Brother Blood thing.” Dick continues. “I’m sorry, for everything. I put you through way too much shit because of my fight with Bruce. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Jason shifts his weight uncomfortably. “It… wasn’t really your fault.”

“It was though. I…” Dick pauses, like he’s struggling with his words. “The cult stuff is not an excuse for not… You’re a kid, dammit. I’m supposed to be responsible for you.”

“I’m not a kid.” Jason snaps. “And I’ve never needed--”

“Little Wing.” Dick gives him a look. “You’re fif-fucking-teen.”

“You’re only twenty, jerk.”

“Yeah, which makes me an adult and therefore responsible for keeping you safe.” Dick reasons. Then all at once he just slumps back into the chair, covering his face one hand. “I’m supposed to keep you safe.”

All the anger rising in the room just evaporates. Jason feels… awkward. This isn’t really the conversation he wanted to have. It’s not even the one he expected. He’d expected jabs about how he wasn’t very good at the job or something. Getting guilt and remorse from Dick wasn’t in the script. But he doesn’t want any of that. He wants… “You know… if you wanna make it up to me, you could start by teaching me some of those cool ass flips.”

Dick laughs. It’s a little strained and kinda quiet, but it’s a start. “Okay, it’s a promise. So you have to work really hard on your physical therapy. I’m not gonna teach you anything if you don’t take care of yourself.”

“Deal.” Jason nods, decisively. Leaning over, abruptly, Dick ruffles Jason’s hair, suddenly making Jason squawk in protest. “Dick!”

“What? Not like I’m ruining your good looks or anything.”

“Oh that is it! I am so kicking your ass the minute these casts come off!”

“You can try, Little Wing.” Dick smiles easily. “You’ll fail but you can try.”

“Pride cometh before the fall, Dickie.” Jason sing-songs. “You’re going down.”

Dick's laugh is much clearer this time. Yeah, none of this was in the script. But fuck the script. This is good. Everything is just good.

Chapter Text

Whining is not something Bruce has ever been particularly good at dealing with, so of course both his sons have perfected their skills in exactly that. He knows he’s been something of an enabler over the years, giving in when they just won’t stop and he feels overwhelmed. Alfred’s always been better at putting his foot down, particularly when they’re injured. God, Bruce wishes Alfred were here right now, but he left an hour ago. So Bruce is stuck dealing with this on his own.

“I want to go home, Bruce.” Jason flails as much as his injuries will allow, which isn’t much but it has the desired effect. “How long are those quacks going to keep me here? It’s been months!”

It’s been two weeks.

“I miss Alfred and Dick and the manor! I miss Dick’s stupid dog jumping right in the middle of me every goddamn morning! I miss my room! …Bruce. Bruce, I miss homework! Get me out of here before I go completely crazy! You’ll have to lock me up in Arkham! I’ll become a new villain to rival the likes of Kite Man and Killer Moth! You’ll have to call me Homework Man or something.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stave off the latest in a series of headaches, Bruce tries, “They want to keep you for a while longer, Jason. It’s only reasonable, son, you almost died. Just… try to bear with it.”

“Like hell.” Jason pouts, crossing his uninjured arm over his chest and looking away. This should be a triumph. It’s the first time since the incident that Jason’s been well enough to pout, but all Bruce can do is groan.

“Wow, you can just feel the cheeriness in this room all the way down the hall, I swear.” The only time Bruce has ever been happier to see Dick was the last time he saved Bruce’s literal life.

Jason seems less enthused. “Great, the cavalry’s arrived.”

“Hey, I heard you say you missed me, kiddo, you don’t get to take that back.” Dick laughs when Jason makes a face.

“Oh, shut up, Dickface.” Jason grumbles as Dick sits on the edge of the hospital bed.

“Don’t talk to your brother like that,” Bruce scolds, knowing it’s useless the moment he opens his mouth. He doesn’t know why he bothers.

Sure enough Jason is disappointingly unfazed. He just raises an eyebrow at Bruce before turning his attention back to Dick. “Convince him I’m well enough to go home.”

“You’re asking the wrong person there, Little Wing,” Dick answers, though there’s a hint of sympathy in his voice despite his refusal. “If it were up to me you wouldn’t be going anywhere for another six months.”

Jason sighs, dramatically, a talent he’s nurtured quite admirably throughout his time as Robin. “Ugh! Get me Babs or Alfred! We need someone with some real sense in here!”

“They’d tell you the same thing, Jay.” Dick says, patiently. “Being homesick doesn’t mean you’d recover any faster at the manor.”

“Doesn’t mean I’d recover any slower, either!”

Bruce mainly tunes them out as they continue their argument. Jason’s not ready to go home yet, no matter how he protests. Worse, Bruce isn’t sure he’ll be properly equipped to care for Jason at home yet. Jason hasn’t shown any hints of psychological trauma from the incident thus far, but he’s regrettably good at hiding such things until they reach a breaking point. He’s been practicing that since long before he came to live with Bruce and it’s something he’s stubbornly clung to despite Bruce and Alfred's best efforts. It’s something that’ll be difficult to navigate around if--

“Why do you even care?” Jason snaps, abruptly, and something in his tone brings Bruce’s attention immediately back to the conversation happening in front of him. There’s a tension in Jason’s shoulders, a set to his jaw, and just an over all air that Bruce is not a fan of. God they do not need Jason and Dick at each other’s throats again. He needs to step in now before it explodes.

But when he looks over at Dick, he pauses. Because Dick is calm. Not calm before the storm. More Dick Grayson with a plan calm. He glances at Bruce for a moment, but just speaks to Jason. “Because that’s what brothers are supposed to do right? Care about each other? So why don’t you tell me why it’s so important to go home right now, instead of say, in a week?”

It takes a moment, Jason’s face going through a range of expressions before it all finally explodes. “Because I hate it here! All I can do is think and think and remember and it’s all driving me over the fucking edge, Dick! I fall asleep and I wake up and there’s… what if… And I just… I…”

Dick is faster to react than Bruce, carefully wrapping his arms around Jason before the tears really start to fall. Letting Jason cling to him and murmuring a gentle, “Shh, it’s okay, Jay, it’s okay. I got you.”

With a strangled sound, somewhere between a sob and a hiccup, Jason buries his face in Dick’s shoulder. Jason never cries, never lets himself show emotions like this at all. Bruce grips Jason’s shoulder with one hand and winces a bit when Jason’s hand leaves Dick’s back to grab Bruce’s wrist tightly. In the silence that follows Bruce finally understands. It’s more than boredom, more than homesickness.

After several hitching breaths, each deeper than the last, Jason mumbles, “Please… Please just take me home.”

“…They might insist on keeping you for a few more days,” Bruce says as softly as he knows how, exchanging a look with Dick over the top of Jason’s head. “But… with Alfred’s medical training, they might allow it. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Okay… okay.” Slowly, bit by bit Jason’s grip on Bruce and Dick loosens until he’s let go entirely.

Reluctantly, Bruce lets go as well and Dick follows suit.

Bruce makes his way to the door slowly watching out of the corner of his eyes as Dick gently ruffles Jason’s hair and says something, low and quiet. Something that makes Jason laugh. Bruce pauses in the doorway, just for a moment. Just to take in the sight of his boys. His sons. He's still not sure what he did right for the universe to bring them into his life. He sighs and leaves the doorway to begin his arduous task. There's going to be a lot of paperwork.

.

The towering face of Wayne Manor has never looked so good. It’s home. Jason’s coming home! He missed it so much. If asked he’d never be able to describe the joy welling up in his chest at seeing Alfred standing in the open door. He can’t wait to get inside, back to his room and his books. He can’t wait to eat Alfred’s cooking again! It’s been forever since he had something that didn’t taste like rubber and grossness. Alfred couldn’t make something as nasty as hospital food if he tried!

A joyful bark announces Ace only seconds before the huge German Shepherd bounds out of the bushes and slides to stop a few feet away. He circles them for a moment, lowering his head, sniffing at the wheelchair. Jason just shakes his head at the antics. This dog is supposed to be a trained guard dog, but he’s always been more of a goof ball. Apparently satisfied that the chair isn’t very interesting, Ace yips happily then, before Bruce can stop him, hooks his front legs over the right side of the chair – Jason’s uninjured side by some coincidence – and starts desperately licking Jason’s face.

Jason can only laugh and scratch the dog’s ears. “Yeah, yeah, love you too, ya silly mutt!”

It’s then that Dick finally intervenes, grabbing Ace’s collar and pulling him off. “Okay, Ace, let the kid breathe.”

Ace whines but otherwise just follows along beside the wheelchair, close enough to pet but not so close as to be in the way as they continue on to the house.

“Welcome home, Master Jason,” Alfred says and somehow his voice doesn’t crack under the weight of all the emotion it contains. Product of a big heart, Jason suspects.

He feels a bit awkward now, not for any good reason, it’s just a little… hard to take those kind of emotions directed at him. So he just smiles sheepishly. “It’s good to be back! You didn’t change anything in my room, right?”

“Perish the thought, young sir!” Alfred’s mustache twitches in such a way that Jason’s long taken to mean he’s terribly amused by the suggestion. “I hardly needed to. It remains as immaculate as the day you left it. Unlike Master Richard’s current room as you can imagine.”

“My room is just the way I like it!” Dick squawks with mock indignation. “I can find everything whenever I want and that’s all that matters!”

Alfred winks knowingly at Jason. “Of course it is.”

“If you all don’t mind--” Bruce sounds like he’s spent all day herding cats, which between Jason and Dick bickering, the paparazzi being bastards as usual, and all the hassle of getting Jason discharged from the hospital isn’t all that far from the truth. Jason’s pretty sure that Bruce would rather deal with the entire population of Arkham than go through any part of this morning again. “--I’d like to get Jason situated in his room.”

“And then you’re going to take a nap right?” Dick prompts lightly. Wrangling Bruce into getting some proper rest has been a trial and a half and Dick’s been doing most of the work.

“If it will get you to stop asking me that, then yes,” Bruce grumbles, only proving that he needs to get some real sleep.

Jason shrugs his good shoulder and decides to back Dick up. “Hey, after all you’ve put up with you deserve an old man nap.”

“I don’t know how to take that…” Bruce sighs, but there’s a deep fondness there suggesting he actually knows exactly how to take it.

Dick still pipes up with a quick. “From Jason? It’s a declaration of affection.”

“Oh, shut it, Dickie.”

“You shut it.”

“I’d like it if you both gave it a rest.” Bruce says, wryly as he pushes the wheelchair into the house.

Something seems different the minute they get passed the door, but it takes a moment before Jason realizes what it is. “You installed an elevator? When—Why?”

“According to the doctors you’ll be in a wheelchair or on crutches for quite a while yet. It seemed like a worthwhile investment.” Bruce shrugs like it’s nothing, which for a guy with literally millions of dollars to his name it probably is, but still…

“Okay but when?”

“I contracted the workers as soon as they told me you’d recover… or rather I asked Alfred to do it.” Bruce smiles a little. “It accesses every level of the house, including the cave, though that requires a special code that I’ll show you later.”

At that Jason leans over closer to Dick and, affecting his most dramatic stage whisper, says, “By which he means he’ll tell me in about six years when I finally convince him that I’m well enough to go back on patrol.”

Dick nods and joins Jason in giving Bruce the stink eye.

“Boys…” Bruce sighs.

“Hey, I’m injured! That totally grants me a free pass to make fun of your paranoid ass, Pops.” Jason probably delights way too much in the way Bruce smiles every time Jason even gets close to calling him ‘Dad’.

With a clap of his hands, Dick starts shooing them all towards the elevator. “Come on, you three, I thought we were taking Jay up to his room, not lollygagging in the lobby! Let’s get a move on!”

“If it was not abundantly clear already, Master Richard has developed something of an infatuation with the manor’s latest renovation.” Alfred informs Jason with a fond smile.

Jason laughs. “Really?”

“There’s a control for speed.” Those are the magic words.

Automatically interested, Jason leans forward a bit. “How fast?”

“It’s not a toy, boys.” Bruce tries, but he has to know they’re not listening.

“Fast.” Dick answers Jason’s question with a mischievous grin.

“Hot damn!” Jason exclaims. “I gotta try this shit out!”

Alfred pats his shoulder. “There will be plenty of time for that later, young sirs. For the time being, why don’t we get Master Jason settled in his room.”

“But, Alfie!” Jason whines, giving Alfred his best puppy-dog eyes and thoroughly upsetting the actual dog in the room that Dick has to hold back from crawling into Jason’s lap.

Unfortunately, Alfred developed an immunity to pleading long before Jason came into the picture. “Next time.”

.

For the first time since he woke up, Jason is alone. Alfred’s preparing dinner, Dick left to go prepare for patrol, and between Jason, Dick, and Alfred they actually did manage to convince Bruce to go take a nap in his own goddamn bed. So Jason has his room, his thoughts, and the laptop linked up with the computer in the cave all to himself. It’d be wrong to say he conned the laptop out of Bruce, but well… he had only managed to get it on the pretense of needing to catch up on homework. Something which he is definitely not going to be doing, at least not right now. Joking around is all fine and good, but knowing Bruce it really will be ages before he lets Jason anywhere near the cave. Longer still before Jason will be able to look in to any theories he might have, but he wants to get a head start any way. The only way he’ll get that is by watching the video of the man who rescued him.

Either the video from Jason’s mask was destroyed by… what happened or someone, probably Dick, buried it deep. Jason can’t find it. He kind of doubts it’d be all that useful anyway so it’s probably for the best. The one from Bruce’s cowl, or at least an edited down version from the looks of it, is sitting out in the open like they’d expected him to do this. Which knowing this family they probably did. Whatever. Jason hits play on the video, no use fussing about it.

The video starts with Bruce digging through the rubble pile apparently not hearing the voice calling for him at least not until the guy shouts his real name. Bruce finally looks up and Jason gets his first real look at Alvin. The video’s a little blurry and there’s so much smoke and dust in the air that it’s difficult to get a good read on him. The best Jason can do is, he looks like a half drunk college student who grabbed someone else’s jacket when he got kicked out of a bar during a fight. That leather jacket really doesn’t look like it fits with the rest of the guy’s aesthetic. There’s blood stains on the sleeves and he’s carrying himself like he’s got a bruised rib. That’s about all he can gather from this clip.

Looks like most of the direct visuals of Jason’s injuries have been cut, which on some level Jason’s kinda grateful for. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t need to be seeing that shit. The next clip is in the jeep, Bruce keeps taking his eyes off where he’s going and glancing at Alvin, which is making Jason want to scream at him, but that can wait, the closer look at Alvin is appreciated.

His clothes are scuffed up, though some of them look like they were probably pretty fancy once upon a time. His hair is black and long enough that he’s managed to tie it back, though that seems to be doing nothing to keep some of it from escaping to fall in his face. A bit on the smaller side, both in height and frame – that jacket looks a little big on him. He’s covered in dust and blood, looks like he’s been through hell. Maybe literally, that’s probably possible. They should ask Raven about that or something. Whether he came from hell or not though one thing’s for sure, he definitely looks out of place. Like somebody plucked him out of some college dorm and plopped him right in the middle of the desert. He’s not even well equipped enough to be a kid on taking a trip around the world before college.

He does look a bit familiar though. Jason could swear he’s seen him or someone who looks like him before. It’s like it’s not exact, just some features are the same, but not all of them. A bit like he’s seen someone related to the guy before. He can’t quite place it though so he keeps watching.

They get to the camp and after a few minutes of Bruce looking back and forth between the medical tent and Alvin who’s being patched up by an assistant he finally approaches Alvin and really talks to him. From the moment Alvin opens his mouth the Gotham accent is clear as day. It’s pretty ritzy too. No wonder he seemed familiar, Jason probably has seen someone who looks like him. Probably at one of those godawful parties Bruce made him go to or something. Dammit, why can’t he remember?

Next time he gets dragged to a gala he’s going to pay extra special attention and be on the look out for anyone who looks like Alvin, even just a little bit. Maybe – just maybe – this will lead somewhere.

He hopes.

Chapter Text

It’s cold. Not really something Alvin thought would bother him, but in this moment it commands his attention. Distracting him from the task at hand; Waiting and watching. He sighs and his breath forms a mist, that fades into nothing almost as quickly as it took shape. The frost is making him regret he left the jacket behind in his motel room, it's even making him miss his old cape. The cape was good for keeping warm at times like this, even if he did hate the fact that pretty much everyone dragged him around by it when they got the chance. Heroes, villains, even civilians on occasion. Fun times.

Shaking the reverie from his mind he tries to focus, he’s come too far in the past five months working towards this moment to let something like cold distract him. Bruce would be disappointed in him for the way he’s used Batman’s teachings lately, but Bruce wouldn’t have approved of going back in time at all. What Alvin gets up to in the interests of saving this damn family isn’t bound by Bruce’s opinions anymore. Besides, there’s no real point in worrying about that now. He’ll be disappointing Bruce and probably everyone else he’s ever known a whole heck of a lot more before the year’s out. Hell, before the night’s out if things go even a little wrong. But if that’s what it takes… then that’s what it takes.

Something stirs in the undergrowth on the forest floor below. Alvin tenses and leans out just a little from his perch in a giant evergreen tree careful not to dislodge any of the snow further out on the branch. He waits. Watching intently. Was it just an animal? Is his target running late? He should be here already.

No, wait. The undergrowth parts and a person dressed in thick black winter gear from head to toe, face covered by a mask and goggles, steps into view. About damn time. Operation: Piss Off Ra’s al Ghul is a go.

Without a sound, he drops out of the tree onto his target and knocks him out. Quick as he can, he trades clothes with the assassin and ties him to the tree. Not the most ideal of situations, but it’ll do. He doesn’t have time to do any better and if nothing else the guy can be grateful that Alvin didn’t leave him next to naked as well as unconscious in the snow. The clothes themselves fit nicely, which is a relief, Alvin had to watch for days before he found an assassin who looked to be the right size. He’s none too happy to know that the kid is maybe sixteen at most. Oh well, no use grumbling about lost inches now.

He cuts through the woods in more of a straight line than the usual patrol route and runs most of the way to make up for the time he lost trading clothes with his target. Reaching the last stretch of undergrowth he slows to a more leisurely stroll, adjusting his posture and stride to match the assassin he’s trying to imitate. The forest opens rather abruptly into a large circular field around a concrete building. It’s not a particularly large structure above ground, but Alvin knows he’s walking over decent sized complex just below the surface. It’s not the largest League of Assassin’s facility he’s ever infiltrated but its purposes are mainly storage of resources so it’s certainly not small. Which maybe makes it a terrible choice for a mission like this, but there are other reasons Alvin chose it over any of the bases in say Iran. Very good reasons.

A guard standing just to the right of the only entrance to the building watches Alvin approach. This is the most nerve wracking part of this plan. He’s been counting off the minutes since he left the assassin in the snow but if he’s off by even a little it could ruin the whole plan. Too early and the guard will figure him out before he even gets inside. Too late and he risks the next patrol finding their unfortunate coworker before he can get anything done.

Pushing his worries to the back of his mind Alvin keeps his breathing and movements steady, by his calculations he’s right on time. The guard makes a slight gesture with one hand as he slows to a stop. Asking the assassin if he saw anything on his route. Easier than trying to make out voices muffled by thick cloth. Alvin shakes his head. She nods and waves him on.

Mentally sighing in relief, he walks through the door and down the stone stairs into the base itself. At the bottom of the stairs he starts taking his time, pretending like he’s looking for something in front of the cameras. Not for the person on security duty, but for the recording. Better to not look like he knows exactly where he’s going when the tape gets reviewed later.

But he does know exactly where he’s going. If his meddling with time didn’t somehow manage to change the schematics of the place – the ones he memorized when he was Robin – then his goal should be… Ah, perfect!

He takes a turn down a random hallway walks until he finds a blind spot for the cameras, then doubles back, being especially careful not to get caught on any footage. He slips through the shadows until he gets to the camera just across from the security room. Standing just below it he pulls his bo staff out of the assassin uniform and extends it. Gently peels a panel off the bottom of the camera and sticks one end of the bo staff up against the circuit boards. He hits a button and the circuit’s spark and fizzle. The small red light on the front of the camera goes out.

Immediately Alvin moves over next to the door and waits. A moment later a very confused looking guard pokes his head out and Alvin promptly hits that head with his bo staff. The guard goes down like a sack of bricks. Alvin looks inside the command center, confirming his suspicion that there’s no one else in the room. No one’s really expecting an attack on a completely out of the way storage complex. He pushes the unconscious guard into the room and steps inside, locking the door behind him. Just in case he ties the guard up with a bit of twine he brought with him. The last thing he needs is this guy coming to and causing problems.

Now to do what he does best; fuck with Ra’s al Ghul’s tech.

He pulls the bulky rifle that came with the clothes off his shoulder and leans it against the wall next to the console. Removing the goggles too and leaving them on the floor. Not going to need those anymore, but it does remind him of something important. If the countdown in the back of his mind is right the next patrol is about to find the assassin Alvin left in the snow. They’ll raise the alarm fast as hell if Alvin doesn’t shut down their comms now. So he does, as discretely as possible. Nobody should know their communications are down for a little bit yet.

From there he goes deeper into the system, setting up all the little things that will keep anybody who tries to undo what he’s about to do to the system busy for a good few hours. Ra’s really needs to get techies who know better than to link so many important systems together like this. Oh well, he’s about to learn that lesson soon. Alvin sets up the final touches and checks the cameras. The latest patrol is running up to the door guard. Busted. Too bad… for them that he’s had plenty of time. He cuts power to everything but the cameras. If all goes well they’ll think he left the cameras working to drive home the ‘message’. Really it’s more like sending in a video resume. All part of the plan.

He takes a few moments to prepare himself and watches as the door guard gathers a few people to her. With a small group secured she starts leading them down into the facility, heading directly for the security room. Smart. He’ll have to keep an eye out for her in the next phase of his plan, she could be trouble. Speaking of which, about time he got started on that next phase. He climbs up on the console and starts fiddling with the screws holding the vent cover in place.

This facility was built long before Ra’s had ever encountered Batman and it was built to accommodate a fairly large amount of people. People who would need a lot of air. People who would need a way to escape if part of the building collapsed. So the vents were built large and with the intention that someone would be climbing through them. They haven’t bothered remedying that design flaw because it’s unlikely Bruce would ever take interest in this place. It’s definitely going to work in Alvin’s favor tonight though. He gets the vent open and holds it open with a pen as he carefully hoists himself inside. Safely inside the vent he kicks the pen loose and pulls the hood on the uniform up over his head.

Time to become the boogeyman.

.

The League assassins are well trained. Skilled in the art of killing. Capable of fighting under a vast variety of conditions. Willing to do anything to succeed in whatever mission they’ve been given. But they’re not immune to fear. Fear is a deadly weapon in the right hands, especially against people who don’t think there’s anything left for them to fear.

Alvin, perhaps better than most, knows how to terrify League assassins. Anyone can become unnerved by darkness. To have to fight an enemy they know nothing about who wears that darkness like a second skin is terrifying. Even to trained assassins. This is something Alvin can easily use to his advantage. Unexpected fear of what you’re fighting can lead to mistakes and not being able to see what you’re shooting at can lead to bigger mistakes.

Of course, Alvin himself is no stranger to fighting in conditions where he couldn’t see at all. Taking down enemies who are carrying flashlights and other light sources just in the vague hope of catching a glimpse of him is a piece of cake. There are a few who are capable of fighting in the dark, but they’re hardly King Snake. A few more have equipment – whether thermal or infrared – that allow them to fight like they might’ve if the lights were on, but those have wider blind spots than the ones with flashlights. Anyway it’s barely more than a few so it’s hardly an inconvenience.

Could’ve been a lot more trouble if shutting off the power hadn’t meant he ensured they couldn’t open the locks on their supply vaults. Sure, if he gave them time they could maybe get in manually, but he doesn’t have any intention of giving them time. Most of them go down fast and hard before they ever even see a vault door.

Their numbers are starting to dwindle, Alvin thinks maybe there’s twelve left. Out of the sixty-five in the facility to start with, that’s not bad. He reclines against the wall of the vent above an access point, catching his breath. The last fight was annoying. One of them clipped him with a knife and he’s still assessing the damage there. God, he’s so ready to be done with this. Back to work--

He freezes. There’s a dim semi-circle of light in the hallway below, growing steadily brighter and spreading further as he watches. Someone’s coming. He rearranges himself silently in the vent. Waiting.

A pair of assassins come into view, picking their way down the hall towards where Alvin had left his last group of defeated assassins. They’re walking almost back to back, shining flashlights in any direction they hear a noise from. Much more on their guard than any of the others. There’s something in the hand of one of them. Looks like maybe a transceiver. Someone, it seems, thought ahead for comms going down. Alvin’s willing to bet he knows who it was too. He hasn’t seen her at all since he got started. She’s probably back at the control center trying to get everything back online. It’s what he’d do. Thanks to her these two might be a tad more difficult to take out. Alvin really hopes Ra’s is paying her well, she deserves it. He follows the pair silently, waiting for an opportunity. Anything will do really. Just a distraction is enough.

They come across a group of their allies that Alvin left lying on the ground, mostly unconscious… probably. Slowly the one in front scans the group with his flashlight, less like he’s surprised, more like he’s looking for something. He must find it because he starts cursing when the light stops on a particular assassin and turns on the transceiver. Apparently that assassin was a pivotal part of their plan. Too bad he’s way too unconscious to be of any help. Alvin hears a rough voice respond with disappointment. She orders them to continue on to the vault, warning them that they shouldn’t linger too long or lapse in their guard.

It’s a warning that comes just a little too late. Alvin was ready to move the moment they started paying more attention to the radio than their surroundings. As she finishes speaking, he kicks the grate above the pair open and drops straight down onto the shoulders of the one taking up the rear. He uses his weight and a little momentum to toss this assassin into his companion.

He’s back on his feet before either of them can gather their wits. They’re scrambling for the flashlights they dropped in the collision, but Alvin’s faster. He swipes a knife off an already unconscious assassin and jabs it into the crook of the closest assassin’s arm, pulling it out as he spins to kick the other in the face. Ducking under a swipe of a knife held by the assassin behind him, he elbows the man in the crotch and sweeps his legs out from under him. That’s one down.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees the other assassin finally grab a flashlight off the floor and take aim. Alvin dodges back out of the glow of the flashlight. Staying just out of the light and moving quickly Alvin makes a much less easy target. Flashes of gunfire light up the room in brief intervals, bullets whiz by their mark coming to rest in the walls, the floor, and finally in the skull of the assassin Alvin had just knocked down.

The shock of hitting a friendly must hit the assassin hard, because he hesitates for just a moment and a moment is all Alvin needs. He moves in from the side knocking the gun and flashlight from the assassin’s hands before he can react. Swinging behind him Alvin locks an arm around the assassin’s neck and holds on tight. The assassin struggles, trying in vain to grab on to Alvin or shake him off. Gradually he falls to his knees, grasping at Alvin’s arm, trying to pull it away, struggling for breath. The strength in his desperate pulls slowly fades until his arms fall to his side and his body goes limp.

Releasing his hold on the assassin and letting him fall to the ground Alvin retreats a bit sinking to the floor. He’s just catching his breath, he tells himself. The voice of door guard demands updates from her subordinates somewhere to his right. Alvin turns his head to look at the radio lying in the blood of the dead assassin. This is probably as done as his job is ever going to be here. If this were the League Alvin knew from his original timeline – the Ra’s he knew – he never would’ve made it this far. He knows after this Ra’s will adjust and he’d never survive a second attempt. After all, as much as he hates the man, Alvin will never deny Ra’s is damned good at what he does. Right now though, Alvin is in a unique position of holding all the cards. All the months of playing cat and mouse with lackeys, all the sacrifices he’s had to make, and it’s all amounted to this. He needs to make it count.

Bait for a really dangerous fish.

Ignoring the way the blood soaks through his gloves, Alvin picks up the radio and takes a deep breath. “I’m afraid they can’t come to the phone right now, may I take a message?”

There’s a beat of silence, then the woman speaks in her thick, Russian accent, “You think yourself funny, yes, intruder? But when I catch I swear--”

“Let’s not go making promises we can’t keep.” Alvin cuts off what was sure to be a most gruesome threat against his person. He looks up at the nearest camera. “Listen, we could play this game all night, but I think I’ve already made my point pretty clearly, haven’t I?”

She’s silent.

“You have maybe nine people left with you, right? But you’re not stupid enough to think they’ll be any more difficult for me to take down than the last fifty.”

“…And you are not stupid enough to come hunting me when I know you are coming,” she responds, a bit more sedate now. “So our battle has come to stalemate.”

Alvin laughs ruefully. “Not really, it was never a fight between you and me after all. No… you all know what happens when I’m crossed now. If you’d be so kind as to pass that message along to the Demon’s Head, I’d be most obliged.”

“Bold, little shadow,” she says, slowly. “To know who it is that you trifle with and still do such things? I do not know if you are fool or simply crazy.”

“Well…” Alvin closes his eyes for a moment. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

He drops the transceiver back to the ground and flips the hood of his stolen assassin uniform back up. Time to get the hell out. It’ll be a while before they get the power back on so by the time Ra’s gets his message Alvin will be long gone. It’ll be some time before he knows if he’ll get a bite… or if he’ll get bitten.

.

The Demon’s Head is unreadable in this moment. His eyes flicker from screen to screen as the events of the previous night unfold across them. One of his long fingers taps slowly against the side of his wine glass as if he were deep in thought. What those thoughts might be however is unknowable. He could be enraged at his assassins for failing to defeat one, young, unarmed intruder or perhaps he is angered at the nerve of the intruder himself. Maybe he is assessing the intruder’s work and planning how he will take precautions against such things next time or working on a strategy for revenge. There is also the possibility – however slight – that he is… interested, even impressed.

Rurik does not know. He has only relayed what was told to him by the survivors and has tried not to make any judgments on the intruder for himself. Though he cannot deny that an impression has been made. The intruder made short work of many skilled assassins. Some of them will never fight for the Demon again.

“How long in total?” The master asks, abruptly.

Caught off his guard at being addressed, Rurik does not know the question he is being asked. “My lord?”

Languidly, the Master’s eyes turn towards him, fixing him with that sickly green gaze for a terrifying moment. “From the moment he attacked the patrol to the moment he defeated the last operative, how long was it?”

“T-two hours, twenty-five minutes, and thirteen seconds, my lord.” Rurik answers, dutifully.

“How many casualties?”

“Of the sixty-five operatives in the base… two.” Odd. Potentially quite impressive, considering the damage that had been done to many of them. Twisted limbs, broken bones, some will be discarded as they have become useless to the League. Still the intruder had managed to avoid killing nearly anyone himself.

“I see.” The master leans back in his seat, sinking into the soft cushions and silken cloth that adorn it. He watches as the footage loops on the screens before him in silence for some time. Then he speaks again, almost as if to himself, “He is fascinatingly skilled for one so young… Every move is calculated far beyond what previous reports on him have stated.”

He glances down at the papers that Rurik had brought him, reports of encounters assassins had with this same young man. Encounters that had led to a futile attack against him. Seeming not to find what he was looking for the master lifts his gaze to the screens once more.

“His skills rival the detective’s, perhaps not as refined, but significant in similar fashion.” The master’s eyes narrow abruptly and he hisses, “How did he learn that?”

Rurik blinks and directs his attention to the screens as well. One of the attacks the intruder uses is eerily familiar. To his embarrassment it takes Rurik a moment to realize that it is a League killing technique, though it has been modified to be less lethal there can be no doubt. This man fights as though he were trained alongside members of the League.

“Hm…” The master sighs and sets aside his wine glass. “What information has been discovered about this young man?”

That question has only invited disappointing news. “Not much I fear, my lord.”

“Tell me all that you have uncovered,” the master responds, unbothered, as he leafs through the reports.

“As you command.” Bowing his head his head slightly, Rurik nods to the assassin controlling the screens. “Unfortunately, we have discovered nothing of his origins, we presume he is American, but we have found no documentation relating to him in our searches. In many ways it seems as though before May of this year he did not exist. At that time he began operating as a mercenary in the area of Ethiopia.”

Images of the young man appear on one of the screens. His hair had been shorter then, his clothes had been somewhat out of place. He had looked better suited to playing video games in a college dorm room than mercenary work. As they say though, looks can be deceiving, it is perhaps unfortunate that they had not thought to regard that old saying before last night.

On that thought, Rurik continues, “He carried out his first mercenary job near the border of Ethiopia and Somalia, a group of people were requesting that someone remove a local crime boss from the city. The intruder took this quite literally it seems. He kidnapped the man, took him into the wilderness with no method of returning to civilization, and abandoned him bound hand and foot in the desert just over the border in Somalia. He then proceeded to cut the legs out from under the man’s entire organization, destroying it entirely in less than a week.”

This information earns a raised eyebrow from the master, he seems almost amused by it.

“He took similar contracts as he traveled north. His first encounter with the League was in Yemen, where he stole a kill from one of our top assassins. From there he continued to steal kills or otherwise inhibit our work. He became a minor, but annoying thorn in our side, so we sent a mid level assassin to eliminate him, as this attack happened only days later and we have not heard from that operative, we presume him to be dead. That is all we know of him.”

The reports pass across the screen apparently unheeded, the master seems far more interested in the map of the intruder’s path from Ethiopia. “By what method did he travel?”

“We are uncertain, my lord,” Rurik admits. “We presume as his method of travel is undocumented that he managed through hitchhiking and stowing away.”

“Such an effort.” The master places a hand on his chin, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “He travels in a nearly straight trajectory for five months by the most difficult and dangerous means. I applaud his skill in planning but I do believe he failed to account for what this method of travel would make evident. He was aiming for that facility from the start.”

“M-My lord?” The questioning exclamation slips unbidden from Rurik’s mouth. Normally he would not think of speaking if not asked a question, but what the master has deduced seems near impossible. The thought is ludicrous. For a random young man who has never encountered the League before to not only have wiped out one of their less conspicuous locations but to have known about it this entire time? It is unthinkable. What vendetta could he have against them to warrant such dedication? Or is it perhaps--

Abruptly, a smile spreads across the master’s face and a chill runs down Rurik’s spine. “Find him. At once.”

“Y-yes, my lord.” Rurik bows. Hesitantly he ventures the question, “…and when we find him?”

“Bring him to me.” The master lifts his wine glass and reclines in his seat, his eyes drifting closed, his expression changing to one that resembles a large contented cat that has already caught the rat. “I would be remiss to not welcome such a promising recruit personally.”

Chapter Text

It’s too early in the morning to be functioning.

Alvin yawns as he takes a sip from his coffee and turns a page in the newspaper he’d gotten that morning. Getting by with no more technology than strictly necessary hasn’t been hard really, but it has been incredibly boring. He’s frequently found himself envying his younger self, even the younger self that scrambled over rooftops with nothing but a camera and an old cellphone.

Just as often he’s found himself wondering what Tim Drake is up to right now. He eyes the date and does some mental calculations. In his timeline this would be a few weeks before he became Robin. That’s unlikely to happen now. Thinking back, if Jason had never died in his own timeline then Alvin thinks he’d have been content to just take pictures and watch from afar. Of course the looming of the anniversary as Robin also means another event is fast approaching. One he’s not certain Tim will have as an easy a time with.

When he was younger he used to muse on what might’ve happened if he’d never been Robin, especially during the first few months as Robin. He could never come up with a happy ending to his scenarios. But, hell, who knows though, his meddling has changed the future already, it’s impossible to say what kind of domino effect the simple act of saving Jason will have. He can’t really deny he’s been… curious to know what’s going on in Gotham, but the most he’s been able to discover with limited time at library computers and the occasional newspaper is that Jason’s doing well. If he had a little time he could maybe get a relay of information going, but that’d be difficult to do without potentially broadcasting his location to the Bats. Really there’s only one person who’d be able to help him, but Alvin hasn’t been able to contact him.

He’d hoped that Klarion would’ve wanted to see the results of the chaos he wrought badly enough that he’d have sent himself back too somehow. That doesn’t seem to be the case or at least Alvin’s forward motion through time hasn’t brought him to a point that Klarion sent himself back to… or Klarion is around somewhere watching everything and just ignoring Alvin. That’s possible too.

Well, there’s no use lamenting any of his decisions now. Too late for that. He’s here in the past, he’s saved Jason, and he’s pissed off Ra’s. Only thing to do now is reel the line in slowly and carefully. Ra’s already has assassins on his tail. It’s only a matter of time before they catch up. He hasn’t exactly been trying to outrun them. It’ll maybe be another day or so but they’ll find him.

He stretches and stands. Grabs his burner phone and pen off the table and tucks them into his back pocket. Checking the secret pocket in the jacket just to be sure the stash of money is still there. Safe and sound of course. There’s enough in there he’d be able to pay for the trip to the States. If he makes it that far. It’s at least a weight off his mind that he doesn’t have to worry about that part of the plan. Meaning he can focus on the task at hand and the task at hand is getting out of here before assassins show up. He at least needs to try and look like he doesn’t want to be caught after all.

.

Monitor duty gets more and more frustrating the more Jason gets stuck on it. He doesn’t need to be here watching Bruce flip through files in an old Drake Industries building while he investigates something about the late Judge Drake. Jason’s basically back to one hundred percent, he’s ready to be back out there. Hell, he could be out doing what Bruce is right now while Bruce handles any of the other fifteen cases that could use his attention tonight, but nooooo. Bruce is going to handle them each. One at a time. Over the course of the night. Why? Because he’s an idiot.

Jason huffs loudly and slumps back in the chair.

“Master Jason, you’ll simply ruin your posture sitting like that.” Alfred says, setting a cup of tea down on the desk.

“Let it be ruined…” Jason grumbles, then gestures at the screens. “When’s he gonna let me back out there, Alfred? At this rate I feel like I’m gonna be fighting him until I’m eighteen and can do whatever I want.”

Alfred smiles. “Hardly, sir, I’m certain he’ll come around eventually.”

“’Eventually’ isn’t good enough! You know he’s running himself ragged trying to do all this sh-- stuff alone and there’s only so much I can do to help stuck in here.”

“Master Bruce has been doing this a long time, young sir, I’m certain he can manage a while longer.”

“Bull! Didn’t that Alvin guy say it? Batman’s shit without Robin!”

“I don’t believe we should be taking advice from strange, young men who appear randomly in the desert, frankly.” It’s not the joke Alfred tries to make it sound like and they both know it. After a beat of silence Alfred implores, “Perhaps you should consider your situation differently, Master Jason, and enjoy this extra time without so serious a responsibility hanging over your head? You can catch up on your studies? Or perhaps spend time playing a sport? Just take some time to be a normal teenager--”

“I’m not a normal teenager, Alfred.” Jason cuts him off and meets Alfred’s sad eyes with determination. “I’m Robin.”

Alfred’s quiet for a long time, holding Jason's gaze, then he just nods and, like he's accepting some grim truth, says, “So you are.”

With that the conversation just seems to end, leaving Jason feeling incredibly guilty as he watches Alfred enter the elevator in silence. Shit.

With a loud groan Jason puts his head down on the desk and--

Beep! Beep!

--Immediately yanks away, scrambling to find what’s causing the computer to let off an alarm all of a sudden. It stops almost as soon as it started but Jason checks it out anyway. At first he’s a little worried he’d leaned on something in his angsting but he soon notices that a notification had appeared on one of the screens. Looks like the ‘suspicious activity’ alarm for the Martha Wayne Foundation’s account had been triggered. Could’ve been a false alarm… but B’s alarm systems don’t go off for no reason, so he investigates a little more. Well, this is weird.

He almost moves to contact Bruce, then hesitates. If Jason tells him about this alarm he’ll feel obliged to check it out on top of everything else he's doing tonight. If he doesn’t know about the alarm then he doesn’t really have to check it out. Maybe what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him just this once. And maybe if Jason plays this right than he prove to Bruce or, at least, Alfred that it’s safe for him to go back out as Robin. Probably not but it’s worth a shot.

Instead Jason hits a button to contact Oracle. He’s gonna need her help for this and he just hopes she’ll be cool. Bruce will probably be double mad he got Babs in on this but what the hell. “Hey, O, you there?”

“Do you need something, R?”

“Yeah, uh,… I’m not great with this kind of tech, but would you be able to trace a hacker?”

“Maybe. Why?”

Carefully, Jason says, “I might – let me stress might – be going behind Bruce’s back to solve a little mystery… just a little one.”

“Oh reeeeally?” Her tone is one of almost devilish delight and Jason breathes a sigh of relief. She’s so in on this. “What kind of mystery are we talking about?”

“Uh, well, it’s nothing big.” Jason sends her the little bit of info he’s already got. “But since I haven’t even told him about it I figure Bruce won’t even notice I’m working on it.”

“Smart,” she agrees. “Be careful though. Things that seem little have a habit of snowballing out of control incredibly fast in Gotham.”

“Yeah, I know.” Probably better than most, honestly. “Can you tell anything from the stuff I sent you?”

She hums thoughtfully, “Hmm, give me a sec. Fortunately Wayne foundations are pretty meticulous in making sure literally everything is recorded so there’s a lot to work with here. Let’s see… What in the… this is weird.”

“That’s what I thought!” Jason feels a bit vindicated, he’d been a little worried he was overreacting.

“Well you were right!” She sound kind of amused, but also a little fond. “What did you find strange? Just to compare notes.”

He hesitates, feeling a little like he’s being tested, but it’s Babs, it’ll be fine. “It was like they didn’t know what they wanted but they got through one of the toughest security systems in Gotham only to turn around and blunder their way into an alarm? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I’ll tell you why that is,” she says, confidently. “It’s because there were two.”

“Two?”

“Yep, want to know what’s even stranger?”

Jason’s not sure he does. “You’re gonna sit there and tell me that not only did two separate people hack into a security system so tough B would have trouble cracking it if he hadn't made it but there’s something stranger than that?”

“I am.” A file appears on the screen showing a vague timeline. “See here, the first hacker got in around three hours ago, but didn’t do anything. They got through most of the security system and just waited. I can’t find anything changed between then and when the second hacker entered the system.”

Leaning back in Bruce’s chair, Jason tries to wrap his brain around that. “Huh, look at that, the mystery’s already snowballing. I think… I think it’s pretty obvious we’ve got a couple of genius hackers dueling it out with the money people donated to charity as the stakes. Great… Which one set off the alarm?”

“Uh.” There’s a short pause, then, “Looks like the first one… which is even weirder.”

Scowling up into the darkness over the computer Jason grumbles, half to himself, “They break through B’s security and wait there for hours just to set off the alarm when the other guy gets there… Pretty safe to say they did it on purpose then.”

“Almost definitely.”

“So… Why would they do that?” Jason switches his attention back to the monitors. Bruce is leaving the DI building and heading for the next location. “Like were they trying to scare off the other hacker or were they trying to get the other hacker caught?”

She’s quiet for a second. “I’m not sure there’s that big a difference between those two things.”

“There is though.” Jason insists. “If they were just trying to scare the other hacker off they might just be doing this kind of thing for fun, but if they’re trying to get the other hacker caught then they’re probably pissed as hell at them for whatever reason. Basically, we’re talking what’s really at stake. Is it boredom or is it a vendetta?”

“Nice deduction, Robin!” Babs sounds genuinely impressed and Jason sits up a little straighter in pride. “You’re right, it’s important to know how much this game means to the players involved. What do you think?”

Jason takes a deep breath. “Considering the kind of patience it would’ve taken to not just hack in to B’s security system but stay there undetected for three hours and know exactly how to set off a suspicious activity alarm… Sounds to me like the first guy is out for the other one’s blood.”

“The culmination of some kind of hacker’s feud, then?”

Grimacing, Jason swallows a bit of nerves as he says, “I don’t… I don’t think this is the culmination of anything… I don’t think it’s even the start. I think we’re coming in in the middle of something that’s been going on for a while, but isn’t anywhere near over yet.”

“So what do we do about it?”

“We need to get ahead of them somehow. Figure out where they’re going to strike next and be there waiting for them.”

She seems to agree. “Well, they hit a charity, I think it’s safe to assume they’ve done that before.”

“Probably… I guess we could look into charities that have lost money lately?”

“Sounds like a plan.” She says, cheerily. “I’ll do a little hacking of my own and see what we’re dealing with. Maybe you should do some digging on the computer too, B might have records on there that could be useful depending on how long this has been going on.”

Jason nods. “Yeah, I’ll see what I can find and we’ll meet back up when we can.”

With that they exchange good-byes and Jason’s left in silence. Strangely he feels kinda energized, excited, like he always does when he and Bruce are about to start a fight with some thugs. Sure, this isn’t the big case with a good old fashion fight that he’d like it to be, but it feels so damn good to be working a case again at all.

And hell, who knows, like Babs said, things have a way of turning out exponentially bigger than they seem at first in this city.

.

Waking up to the barrel of a gun being shoved in his face is not how Alvin was hoping this day would start. Or any day really, but today of all days? They’re ahead of schedule and that is… workable, but not ideal.

Alvin blinks slowly, trying to shake off the vestiges of sleep, as he slowly follows the line of the gun up to the assassin holding it. She’s around thirty, blonde, and kinda ridiculously tall. Not really taking this seriously from what Alvin can tell. She definitely thinks she’s already won. Over-confident. He sighs and looks up at her, pointing at the gun. “Are you going to remove that from my face or am I going to have to remove your arm?”

She doesn’t even twitch. “The master requires your presence, intruder. We are ordered to bring you to him willingly or not.

‘We’ is not a good word in this context. How many are ‘we’? Are all of ‘we’ here? Or is there only one assassin here while the rest search for him elsewhere in the small Grecian town? Alvin’s going to have to take a big risk here and he doesn’t like his odds. “Or what?”

With a scoff, she cocks her gun. Really doesn’t think much of him it seems. “Try me.”

“Well that’s an invitation if I ever heard one.” Alvin hits the muzzle of the gun to one side and grabs her wrist, twisting until she drops the gun with a cry of pain. He swings out of the bed legs first knocking her to the ground while keeping a tight hold on her wrist. Landing with his knee in the middle of her back, he puts a little weight into twisting her arm back just as far back as it’ll go without dislocating her shoulder. She curses at him in Swedish and tries to wiggle free to no avail. He allows himself a bit of a smug smile as he says, “Is that really all you got?”

“It is not.” A familiar, heavily accented voice responds from behind him. Apparently the door guard wanted her revenge quite badly. Alvin looks up to finally get a good look at the stocky, Russian woman and an even better look at her handgun. She gestures casually with said gun. “We are not so unevenly matched this time, little shadow. Up.”

Alvin stands slowly, letting the trapped assassin go. “So it seems.”

“Now, let us try again.” She takes aim at his knee. “The master only wants you alive, so I suggest you come quietly or else things may go badly for you.”

“You do make a compelling argument.” Alvin stumbles a bit as the Swedish assassin who has apparently found her feet again, prods him in the back with her recovered gun. He grabs the jacket off the hotel bed as he grumbles over his shoulder at her. “Patience is a virtue, ya know?”

“Just move,” she growls rolling her shoulder uncomfortably.

Alvin shrugs on the jacket and follows the door guard out of the room. Really just the worst day.

Chapter Text

Alvin would be mad about the bag over his head – Really? A bag? It’s insulting! – but the material is really expensive so at least he’s being treated like a guest. It’s like when normal people break out the good silverware when company comes over, except it’s Ra’s so it has to be sinister. Ultimately it’s pointless anyway. Fighting King Snake was more than enough practice for assessing his surroundings without his sight.

He can hear gulls crying overhead and smell a brisk sea breeze when they drag him out of the car and make him walk across some kind of dirt path. Likely an island somewhere in the Mediterranean. He thinks he knows this base. It makes sense if it is that one. Good, he knows his way around it already then. He feels the ground turn from dirt to stone and the assassins – Oxana and Lottie are their names, Alvin managed to get them to tell him that much on the way over. – are reluctantly cautious with him as they reach a set of steps.

They descend quite deep under the ground until finally they reach a short corridor that leads to a much bigger, curved hallway. Hanging a left they walk for a while. Alvin notes that they seem to pass a lot of open doors and corridors on the left side, but nothing on the right until abruptly they come to a large doorway that the assassins herd him through. They walk him to the center of the large room beyond and dramatically remove the hood.

In front of Alvin is a series of steps leading up to a landing, bordered by satin curtains, where there’s an elegant and ornate chaise longue covered in silken pillows and fabric, atop which sits Ra’s al Ghul. He’s dressed in a loose fitting, white shirt and black pants along with his usual green cape. It’s an outfit that’s easy to move in quickly and there’s a sword leaning against the chaise near to hand. It seems Alvin’s being taken at lease a little seriously.

Doing his best to seem suitably impressed, Alvin looks around the room, making no attempt to hide the fact that he’s assessing the number of assassins and the room itself. Too many and difficult but not impossible to escape. The only door to the room is behind him and there’s already more than a few well trained assassins with guns between him and it. If escape were something he wanted then he’d have to work for it. Finally he looks up at Ra’s properly. “You know, some people prefer written invitations to kidnapping. Just saying.”

The entire room of assassins bristles with anger at Alvin’s lack of proper respect, but Ra’s gestures for them to stand down casually. He seems somewhat amused, but his tone shows none of that as he begins, “Your confidence is commendable and no doubt well earned, but you would do well to consider your situation before you speak. You are in my house. Mind your tongue.”

That doesn’t require a response from Alvin so for once he takes Ra’s advice and stays silent.

“You’ve caused me a good deal of inconvenience.” Ra’s pours himself a glass of wine as he talks. “Tell me, boy, what do they call you?”

He considers giving out a new fake name, if he’s too free with giving out the name he’s going by now Ra’s might deduce that it isn’t his original name. On the other hand he might take a fake name as a challenge. The last thing Alvin wants to do is give Ra’s any reason to try and investigate Alvin’s past. He’s trying to keep Tim safe too, after all. “… Alvin.”

“And this is all they call you?”

“Most people don’t call me anything.” Alvin thinks for a moment before shrugging one shoulder. “To my face anyhow.”

Ra’s remains impassive, swirling the wine in his glass with a slow languid motion as he stares down at Alvin.

It might be time for Alvin to chance a question of his own. This isn’t the hardest test he has to overcome in this mission of his, but is exceedingly tricky. If he says the wrong thing, the whole game falls apart. He needs to be careful. “I’m curious. Why have me brought here at all? If I’m such an inconvenience to you, why not just have your people kill me?”

“Curiosity, it appears, is a trait we share, child.” Ra’s smiles for the first time in this conversation and Alvin fights the urge to just bolt right now. Pleasant smiles aren’t in the repertoire of Ra’s al Ghul. “Why would a smart, young man go to such lengths to attain my attention? There are far simpler ways to join my league.”

Fuck. “What about the act of infiltrating one of your bases and beating almost everyone there senseless screams ‘requesting a job interview’ to you?”

Leaning on his free hand, Ra’s answers, “You play the game well, child, but you are still young and the young and mortal do tend to get somewhat… overeager. You left your intentions clear as day. However make no mistake this is not the ‘interview’. This is merely an introduction. I wished to see you for myself.”

“And now that you have?” Alvin asks, cautiously.

Ra’s sets aside his glass. “Now… there will be an interview. Tomorrow. At dawn. We shall see how well you fare against an opponent who is more your equal than the unprepared rabble you so handily defeated.”

“Why tomorrow?” He would prefer to get this over with.

It almost seems like Ra’s won’t answer, the wine glass holding his attention for a moment longer, then he fixes Alvin with an unnerving gaze. “I see no reason to rush. Take the rest of the day and rest. Have a proper meal, enjoy the luxury of our bathing facilities–”

What a polite way of telling someone they look like shit.

“—You will wish to be at your very best tomorrow, I assure you.”

With that he waves a hand and Oxana grabs Alvin by the arm, roughly, and Lottie goes to replace the hood.

“Do not waste your time.” Ra’s instructs, suddenly. “The boy could fight our operatives in near pitch darkness, you will hide nothing from him.”

Lottie seems confused. Dammit. Ra’s definitely ordered the hood, which means he planned this moment. It should be an insignificant thing, but this is Ra’s al Ghul. Missing anything could be a death sentence.

Looking up, Alvin meets the sickly, green eyes of the Demon’s Head for a moment and his heart sinks into his stomach. Ra’s learned something from this. Alvin doesn’t know what, but anything could be trouble. Why can’t any of the al Ghuls be easy to deal with for once?

Oxana tugs on his arm with a little of her not inconsiderable strength, all but threatening to drag him away, so he lets her lead him out of the room. Down several corridors of stone and marble until they come to a row of doors. Oxana opens the nearest one and shoves him, none-to-gently, through into his new prison for the next far too few hours.

“Be grateful, shadow, Demon’s Head has decreed that you are to be treated as guest… for now.” Oxana hisses behind him. “Were it up to me, you would not be given such comfortable accommodations.”

Alvin doesn’t respond to her and she closes the door, leaving him alone in the stone carved room to stew in his anxiety. He looks around, it’s a fancier room than he’s gotten used to of late. A soft looking bed, a small vanity in one corner. The lights built into the ceiling don’t flicker. There’s an open door on the right side of the room that he realizes leads to a full bathroom as he approaches it. He steps inside and up to the sink. The mirror above it reflects a very different person than Alvin remembers from only a year ago… well a year for him. Time travel is weird.

The fear that all the work he’s put in over that time creeps up his throat and he splashes some water on his face to try and calm down. Running a wet hand through his too long hair, he sighs. Ra’s is right. He looks like shit. At least the room is nice.

.

For the third time in as many days Bruce returns from patrol much later than normal and injured. Clusters of such days seem to be getting closer and closer together of late. As much as Alfred tries to be the mediator between Jason’s enthusiasm and Bruce’s reticence, it is becoming ever more clear that things cannot go on like this for much longer. Thankfully, even at the distance that Alfred watches Bruce approach the stairs up from the landing where the car is kept, he can tell that the injuries sustained this day were quite minor. “Do you require medical attention, sir?”

Bruce hesitates as his hand comes to rest on the railing of the stairs. His shoulders rise with a deep intake of breath. Pause. And then slowly relax as he lets out a deep sigh then continues upwards. “Not tonight I think, Alfred. Just a few bruises.”

“Very good.” Alfred steps out of Bruce’s path to the computer. “I can assume the situation is as dire as ever?”

Slumping in the chair in front of the computer, Bruce lays a folder on the desk, pushes back his cowl, and runs a hand through his hair. “If anything it’s gotten worse. It’s baffling, Alfred. If it were random desperate people I might be able to understand, but these are regulars. People on mafia payrolls, career criminals, and the sort. A year ago those were some of the least dangerous people to run into on patrol. Something’s changed. Made them bolder. I don’t like it.”

“I see…” Alfred pours coffee from a thermos into a mug and holds it out for Bruce to take. “And you have no clues as to what this ‘something’ might be?”

“If I did I’d be out there fixing it,” Bruce grumbles but takes the mug gratefully before he opens the file. “I don’t know, Alfred, I just feel like I’m missing something.”

Alfred could give him some clues, but it’s not quite time for that argument yet. Instead he decides to change the subject. “I presume that file has something to do with the Drake Industries case?”

“It is,” Bruce says and takes a drink of his coffee, a look of contentment settling over his face before he continues, “Lucius was right, of course. There is something shady going on with their CEO, Nathaniel Chiles.”

“It’s a good thing Mr Fox caught on before the deal went through.” Alfred observes. Drake Industries had reached out to work a deal with Wayne Enterprises some weeks ago over some technology parts. Lucius had called Bruce with concerns the very next day.

Bruce grunts in agreement. “I’ve asked him to stall for as long as he can, give me a little more time to figure out what exactly is going on here. I thought it was simple at first, just a case of embezzlement plain and simple, but looking over it again I think Chiles is connected to something deeper.”

“Oh yes?”

“Chiles has been working at DI for twenty years even though he only became CEO within the last ten.” Bruce explains, tapping a finger on some papers in the file absently. “Before he worked there though he owned his own business in the same field. It seems to have been a promising venture but tanked unexpectedly. Apparently that’s when he visited Judge John Drake. Shortly after that DI bought out his company and he was hired on.”

“You think he asked the judge to buy the company.” Alfred surmises.

Bruce nods. “I’m positive he did. What I don’t know is why in the hell Judge Drake agreed to do it. He obviously didn’t trust Chiles. Chiles never so much as budged from the ‘consultant’ position until after the judge was killed. As usual with things connected to the ‘good’ judge there are a hundred layers to this entire situation and the key to understanding half of them probably died with him.”

“…Well, at least Mr Chiles is still alive, he may yet enlighten you on whatever dealings he had with the judge,” Alfred offers. There’s not much chance of that happening though. Judge Drake was quite good at keeping his many, many cards close to the vest. Alfred suspects the people of Gotham will be tripping over the web left behind by that man for far longer than many of them will live to see.

Reclining in his chair, Bruce seems just as hopeful as Alfred. “We’ll see… With any luck the Gala tonight might yield about Chile’s current dealings. It’s strange that the Drakes are holding another one so soon, honestly. Last I heard their archaeology and historical fund was doing quite well for itself.”

Interesting. “Speaking of the gala, I do hope you haven’t forgotten you promised to take Master Jason this time?”

“Of course.” Bruce says with the beginnings of a fond smile on his face, even as he rolls his eyes ever so slightly. “I’d never hear the end of it if I forgot.”

“Undoubtedly, sir.” Alfred makes no more than a cursory attempt to hide his amusement. “I do believe it will be good for him though, the poor lad does seem to be going a bit stir-crazy of late.”

Bruce grimaces. “He’s been complaining to you too then?”

“…Complaining is one way of putting it, I suppose,” Alfred responds and quickly finds himself the recipient of a wary glare. “I only mean that you must remember, sir, that you cannot instill in a child such a profound desire to help and expect him not to feel at least somewhat… bereft when he’s not allowed to do that.”

That at least seems to make Bruce take pause and think. He’s silent for a bit, then groans and passes a hand over his face, leaving it resting just under his nose as he says, “Fair enough. This gala should give him a chance to work on proving his theory that Alvin has some connection to Gotham’s high society at least.”

“Indeed.” It’s a budge in the right direction if nothing more. It’s going to take more work to get any better. Alfred can only hope that fate will be kind and he’ll have more time to do that work well.

Chapter Text

At home, months and months removed from the last time he’d been forced to dress in his best suit and practice his most plastic smile, Jason had jumped at the chance to go to this glorified shindig. It was a chance, he’d thought, foolishly, to gather information for his active cases. Tragically, Jason had forgotten how much he truly, deeply, viscerally hates galas. As he looks around the vast brightly lit room at all the rich people milling about. Conversing. Schmoozing. He remembers extremely quickly.

Trying to look for someone resembling Alvin is the worst kind of balancing act. He does his best, but he’s trying not to get caught staring too intensely at anyone in particular and not a lot of these people are really willing to stop to talk to him. Those that do actually take the time to give him the time of day are almost always too busy trying to suck up to Bruce by being nice to the ‘street trash’ that it’s near to impossible to talk any information about the charities the hackers might’ve hit out of them. It’s frustrating.

Maybe the only saving grace of the whole damn thing is that Bruce hasn’t been able to hover like a protective, mother hen. He doesn’t have the time. Galas are all about making potential connections and positive publicity after all. It’s all very important for maintaining good relations and helping communities. Jason knows that.

Doesn’t make them any less awful though.

Jason has largely given up trying to get any actual work done and decides to pick over his plate of food. None of which is anywhere near as good as Alfred could make. Still it’s food so he’s only kinda complaining. Out of the corner of his eye he’s been watching Bruce, waiting for him to get out of conversation with the Van Smiths. The conversation is winding down now, Mrs Van Smith has been distracted by Mrs Rutherford and Mr Van Smith is running out of things to discuss with Bruce. For his part Bruce is doing a masterful job of maneuvering so that he’s almost got Mr Van Smith chatting away with Mr Spencer. Soon enough Van Smith and Spencer wander off and Bruce looks relieved. Jason downs the last of his food and makes his way over.

Bruce can almost definitely tell what’s coming already, the amusement is clear in the way he raises an eyebrow as Jason steps up beside him. Jason doesn’t falter, he just takes a deep breath and lets out the most dramatic sigh he can manage while staying restrained enough for public spaces.

“Don’t tell me you’re bored already, tiger?” Bruce asks, with a quiet chuckle.

Jason gives him his best scowl. “Already? We’ve been here for hours!”

“It’s only been about forty minutes, Jay.” Bruce corrects, fondly. “You didn’t have to come, you know? You’re the one who insisted.”

Oh sure. “Only for the chance to get out of the house, since it’s not like you’re gonna let me out any other way for the rest of my natural life.”

Bruce frowns. “We’re not discussing that right now.”

“You’re not stopping Babs, I noticed.”

“Barbara is a grown woman. She can do as she pleases.” He answers with a firmness that says this argument is over. Great.

Crossing his arms and turning a glare on the floor, Jason grumbles, “Awesome. Perfect. So all I gotta do is wait until I’m eighteen to finally do fuck all. Until then, I guess, I’ll just languish in my room like Rapunzel in her stupid tower.”

There’s a short silence, then Bruce sighs and there’s something about it that makes Jason look up just in time to catch the briefest flicker of guilt pass across his face. Bruce meets his gaze and with some hesitance, he says, “You know… the gala might be more tolerable for you if you found someone your own age to talk to.”

“…If they were fun, yeah?” What’s he up to?

“Well, I can’t promise anything, but I think the Drakes brought their son. He’s a few years younger than you, but you might get along. Never know until you try, right?”

The Drakes? Wait… isn’t that--. Jason steps just a bit closer to Bruce and lowers his voice. “Isn’t there something going on at Drake Industries that a certain someone is very interested in?”

“Might be.”

Jason narrows his eyes slightly. “Am I getting permission to do a little solo investigating out of pity?”

“Possibly.” Bruce glances away briefly.

“I’ll take it.” He barely contains the urge to bounce on his heels. “What’d you need me to ask?”

Bruce smiles at a passerby before answering, “I doubt Timothy will know too much, he’s only thirteen, but if you can get him to tell you anything about Drake Industries’ CEO I’m sure a ‘certain someone’ would appreciate it.”

“On it, Boss.” Jason spins around to start his quest.

“Mind your manners!” Bruce calls after him.

He gives an awkward salute and just barely manages to avoid a collision with a server carrying a full tray of glasses, employing a little of that grace Dick’s been trying to teach him. Perfect success. No collisions happened today. Dick would be proud.

Alright, chances are a kid’s gonna be wherever his parents are. All the pictures of the Drakes on the Bat Computer are pretty old – they tend to stay out of the spotlight for the most part and Jason suspects Bruce doesn’t like Jack and Janet very much – so Jason’s not really sure what Tim’s gonna look like.

Jack is pretty easy to recognize, he’s gathered a bit of a crowd with whom he’s enthusiastically discussing the Gotham Knights’ recent win. Neither Janet nor Tim seem to be anywhere nearby. Jason goes back to looking.

It’s a little more difficult to locate Janet, she’s nowhere near as conspicuous, but eventually Jason does find her. A full hundred feet from her husband she’s happily chatting with Mr and Mrs Bennings about an art piece. No kids around here either. As he’s leaving he notices that Janet is watching him out of the corner of her eye. It gives him an odd feeling of déjà vu and he’s not quite sure why. Before he can figure it out, she seems to realize he’s caught her and immediately returns her full attention to her conversation. Weird.

Anyway back to the drawing board. Jason heads towards the middle of the room. He’s starting to hate moving through the crowded ballroom. He’s not as small as he once was and the finesse of his Robin training can only keep him from bumping in to so many people. Ducking around yet another pair of people who’re stood in the middle of a choke point jawing away, Jason finally makes it out to where he remembers seeing a gaggle of teens earlier in the night. They’re still there as expected, but most of them are Jason’s age or older and none of them look anything like Jack or Janet. For fuck’s sake.

Back to the search, Jason checks every place he can think of to find a rich kid, twice! Still no Tim Drake. Annoyed with the crowd and getting tired of walking Jason makes his way out to the very outskirts and scans the room over one last time. The kid’s not with either of his parents, he’s not with the other teens, he’s not even hiding under a table somewhere or something. Jason’s about ready to give up. Maybe Bruce was wron--.

Mother… FUCKER!

On the other side of the room, slotted neatly in one of the darkest corners between a large potted plant and the wall, well out of the way, and nearly invisible to anyone that isn’t Robin, is a kid. He’s got enough of Jack and Janet’s features that it’s almost definitely Tim. Weird ass place for the Drake’s kid to be considering it’s their stupid ass party, but, hell, who’s Jason to judge?

Is what he would think if, as he gets close enough to get a good look at the kid, he didn’t start feeling like something’s off. He seems a little patchwork honestly. His hair’s all neat and combed back meticulously, but the cut suggests it isn’t usually quite so put together. His suit jacket and pants are too big but the dress shirt is just ever so slightly too small. The wristwatch he’s absently playing with in one hand is custom made and extremely expensive, but way too big for his wrist, Jason’s willing to bet it was actually made for Jack. The cellphone in the kid’s other hand is worth more than some entire buildings in the East End, but the heavy duty case on it suggests he’s both responsible enough to not want it broken and clumsy enough that that’s an issue. All the sticker of an obscure Warlocks and Warriors symbol on the phone case tells Jason is the kid’s a closet nerd. Not the biggest detail but still pretty significant.

There’s something weirdly familiar about him too, just like with Janet, but Jason doesn’t really have time to examine that more deeply right now. He approaches the kid completely unnoticed of course, he’s feeling proud of his stealth skill right up until he’s leaning against the wall around four feet away watching the kid tap away at something on his phone. Kid’s got tunnel vision, gonna log that away for future reference.

Jason clears his throat. “So--”

The kid jumps – like physically leaves the ground by a couple inches – and his phone goes flying out of his hand. Luckily for him, Jason’s got good reflexes and catches it before it can go soaring off into the crowd. Unluckily for him, Jason can’t stop himself from laughing at that reaction. “Dang, kid, you’re jumpier than a cat!”

“What!? I-I mean, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you, um–” And then the kid actually looks at Jason and goes completely still. Staring like he just realized who he’s talking to and like that means something to him.

Jason just kinda lets him for a bit. The look reminds him a bit of Janet earlier, in that he’s can’t really get a firm read on what the kid thinks of him from it. However where Janet was stoic, Tim looks a bit caught between some kind of awe and a completely other kind of terror. Kinda makes Jason feel powerful. Enough of that though. He holds out the kid’s phone and kinda gestures with it. “You want this back or what?”

Tim snaps out of whatever trance he was stuck in and takes the phone like a small woodland animal tentatively accepting an offer of food. “Y-yes, um, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to talk to me.”

“Why’s that?” Jason shoves his hands in his pockets and leans his shoulder against the wall. Trying to look relaxed and not like he’s trapping the kid.

Tim shrugs. “People just… don’t usually notice me.”

“Oh yeah?” Understatement. “I believe it. I mean I only noticed you because I was wandering about. What’s got you hiding out here anyway?”

With a small, kinda nervous smile Tim puts his phone away and pulls the watch onto his wrist where it hangs far too loosely. “People keep running into me when I try to stay in the middle of crowds, so I thought I’d just stay out of the way altogether.”

“Ah, makes sense.” All at once Jason remember those manners Bruce told him not to forget and offers his hand for Tim to shake. “I’m Jason Todd, by the way. Nice to meet ya.”

“The pleasures mine!” They shake hands like two good rich brats. Kid’s got a surprisingly strong handshake for such a little guy and it probably says something that he didn’t even hesitate to shake Jason’s hand. Eases a few fears Jason had anyway. “I’m Tim Drake.”

Jason fakes his best surprised look. “You know, I thought you looked familiar! You’re Jack Drake’s kid, right?”

“Yeah…” Tim shifts his weight ever so slightly, in a way that Jason thinks seems a little uncomfortable.

“That’s cool,” Jason says, disguising a step back as just readjusting his position. Trying to make sure it’s not him that’s making the kid so nervous. “Your dad organized this whole thing for his, uh, archaeology society’s fund, was it?”

“Yeah…”

Jason affects a thoughtful frown and asks, “But… wasn’t there another one like last month or something? I thought for sure you’d wanna put space between these things?”

“Uh, yes, well,” Tim grimaces, slightly. “Dad’s really hoping to fund a dig in Egypt after he and mom get back from their vacation in the Caribbean. And the fund’s a little low… especially since the whole Moneyspider thing.”

Jason almost misses that last part, it’s muttered so low, like Tim doesn’t even realize he said it. “The Money-what?”

“What? Oh, uh…” Tim cringes like he’s just said something he definitely shouldn’t have. Oh boy. He freezes right up and seems extremely conflicted for a moment. Then, just as Jason’s about to prompt him again, he suddenly brightens. “You know, that hacker that’s been stealing from charities lately? Haven’t you heard about that?”

Oh. Oh fuck! Goddamn, Jason goes in looking for information for Bruce’s case and immediately gets a hook for his own instead. Quickly putting on a confused expression, Jason gives a slow shake of his head like he’s thinking it over real carefully. “I don’t think… wait, maybe? Bruce said something about somebody trying to get into the Martha Wayne Foundation thing… he said they didn’t get anything though.”

“Lucky thing the Wayne foundations have such good security. That hacker completely wiped out the Van Smith’s Care for the Elderly charity in the course of a night! And like I said Dad’s archaeology society’s funds got hit pretty hard too.” Tim lowers his voice a bit and continues with a more conspiratorial tone, “Dad hired a professional to check out the system afterwards and he managed to find out that the money got transferred to an account in Switzerland but after that he couldn’t find out where it went. He said it was probably transferred all over the world and we might never know where it ended up.”

“No kidding?” Jason gives a low impressed whistle.

Tim nods. “He also found a message the hacker left behind, all it said was ‘The Moneyspider wins again!’. That’s all we know right now, but the ‘Moneyspider’ hasn’t tried for the archaeology fund since.”

“That sounds fascinating!” Jason begins, carefully. He’s convinced now, this kid is way more than he seems and he doesn’t want to scare him off if he has more information on the ‘Moneyspider’ case. “You really know a lot about it, huh?”

Sheepishly, Tim smiles and kinda shrinks back a little. “Uh, well, you see… my dad was ranting about it a lot and I picked up a few things I guess.”

Yeah, Jason’ll believe that when the Brooklyn Bridge has a price tag. He needs a plan to work more information out of this kid. If this brat is one of the hackers from the other night then--

“Timmy! Timmy, there you are!” A very, very drunk woman stumbles out of the crowd, almost losing one of her kitten heels as she staggers over towards them.

“Wha—” Tim looks completely baffled as the woman practically falls on top of him. “A-Aunt Edna!”

The woman is blonde, her long hair falling loose about her face and shoulders, her makeup’s so thick it’s almost hard to make out the actual shape of her face. She’s wearing an ungodly amount of jewelry which hardly seems to go with her very tasteful, black velvet dress. Her voice is just a pitch or two this side of whiny as she says, “Timmy, your mom says it’s time to start heading home.”

“I can see why,” Tim mutters, exasperated but clearly still fond.

Edna ruffles Tim’s hair, then finally seems to notice Jason. “Oh hiiii! Are you… Timmy, is this a friend? Timmy has friends?!”

“I-I have plenty of friends!” Tim squawks in protest, he’s blushing furiously now.

In an attempt to spare Tim more embarrassed flailing, Jason offers, “I’m Jason Todd, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ma’am.”

“Charmed, ‘m sure.” She gives him what probably wants to be a firm handshake, then immediately turns her attention back to Tim. “I don’t wanna interrupt your conversation but… I think Janet’s waiting on us?”

“Oh… probably… I guess her and dad do have an early flight tomorrow… and I do have school.” Tim casts an apologetic look at Jason. “I, uh…”

Damn, Jason really wanted to see what else he could learn, but there’s nothing for it. He just shrugs and says, “That’s alright, it is getting pretty late, I should probably go find Bruce. Have a good night and get home safe!”

“You too!” Tim moves to support Edna a bit better and then with some tentative hope in his voice, he says, “Maybe we’ll get to talk again sometimes soon?”

Definitely. “I’ll look forward to it!”

Tim smiles, brightly, and with a quick good-bye, he and Edna disappear into the crowd.

Mulling over the conversation as he sets out to find Bruce, Jason’s disappointed he learned so little from it. The information on the Moneyspider character could be useful and Bruce might like to know that the Drakes are going out of town in the morning. Still Jason feels like that kid at least has connections to one of the hackers. There’s something else too, nagging at the back of Jason’s mind that he hasn’t had time to really ruminate on yet.

Something about the kid’s voice, his… accent…

Jason stops dead in his tracks. God, he feels like kicking himself straight off one of the landings in the Bat Cave. Why the hell hadn’t he noticed it sooner!? He was so focused on looking for Drake traits he’d entirely missed it! The look Janet gave him, the features he’d noticed in Tim, the accent.

It’s Alvin! It’s all Alvin! Alvin’s related to the fucking Drakes!

Fuck!

Chapter Text

Technically, Alvin supposes, a shower and the most comfortable bed he’s slept on in six months isn’t the worst way to spend what might be the last night of his life. Technically. He found it rather difficult to enjoy it, being as he’s surrounded by reminders that he’s in the belly of the beast. Most of his night was spent considering who Ra’s would pick to be his opponent instead of sleeping.

Well, actually, it was more spent hoping and praying that the answer isn’t Lady Shiva.

Or Deathstroke.

Anyone else and he’s at least got a shot. Either of those two without plenty of time to prepare beforehand and he’s screwed. Incredibly, horribly screwed beyond measure. Thankfully they’re not technically part of the League. He can’t imagine Ra’s would put him anywhere near their level, at least not enough to call in a favor from them. However it’s been pretty well established at this point that Ra’s can still surprise him.

He takes a breath as he shrugs on the leather jacket and shoves his hands in the pockets. The change of clothes provided by the assassins isn’t bad, though he does feel it’s not really his style. Just a sensible, black turtleneck and a pair of black jeans. Pretty typical for the League honestly. He guesses it’s a bit like how nobody’s supposed to outshine the bride at a wedding, nobody in the League can be more fashionable and extravagant than Ra’s.

A loud knock at the door makes Alvin jump and it opens without him even answering. Oxana glares like she’s disappointed he even exists. Fair enough. “Time is come, shadow. Follow me.”

And just like that the end draws near. He catches himself looking around the room like he’d spent years of fond memories here rather than just one night of anxiety. It’s almost funny how the threat of failure and death can make every little thing so significant.

He shakes his head and leaves the room behind. Tension builds in his chest as he follows Oxana down corridors and up a flight of stairs into the open air. The smell of salt water washes over him as he blinks against the harsh light of the morning sun. He pauses for a moment to look out over the Mediterranean Sea. Taking in everything. The way the sunlight plays across the water, the sound of waves crashing against the sheer cliffs of the island, the gulls crying overhead.

Depending on who he faces today and Ra’s’ mood this could be the last sunrise he ever sees.

With a sigh he starts walking again, following Oxana until she stops before an archway set into a white stone wall. She steps to one side and gestures for him to continue onward. So be it. He walks under the ancient looking arch into a large dirt floored arena. It almost looks like a mini Coliseum. Not much of a surprise considering the Demon Head’s penchant for spectacle.

Speaking of, Alvin lets his gaze fall on Ra’s who is standing under a sunshade on a raised platform at the other end of the arena. Almost more importantly, to his left already seated on an ornate chair, is Talia. Shit. Alvin doesn’t know if this is good or bad for his plans. Frankly it might not be either just yet. There’s a hundred ways he could fuck this up and make it harder to accomplish his goal. If he can impress her enough though then that might expedite things just a bit. No point in worrying about it too much. He’s here and he’s going to have to deal with every challenge as it comes. All he can do is hope this goes as smoothly as possible.

“I do hope the accommodations were to your liking,” Ra’s says, his voice echoing with unpleasant sharpness around the arena.

Small talk to start things off. Of course. Alvin pulls his collapsed bo staff out of his pocket and glances around. No sign of anyone else. It’s… probably not a trap. “They were fine.”

“Good.” Ra’s takes his seat. “I have chosen your ‘interviewer’ from among the very best my organization has to offer. May he prove a proper challenge for you.”

‘He’, so good news, his opponent’s not Shiva. Which means things could definitely be wors--

Alvin instinctively jumps back as a figure lands in the center of the arena. As the settling dust reveals the figure that disturbed it Alvin’s grip on his bo staff tightens involuntarily. He hadn’t forgotten exactly that David Cain was with the League. No, but he hadn’t considered him an option. Cain’s talents aren’t the sort you’d usually assign to this kind of task. He’s the person you send when you want someone dead. Just dead.

Some part of Alvin wishes it had been Deathstroke instead. Not because Cain will be any more difficult to beat. Not really anyway. Alvin has some chance of beating Cain in a fight where he can see him coming. If only because he was trained by Shiva and with Cass. No, the greatest struggle of this fight is going to be staying calm. Cass suffered so much at this man’s hands. There’s not a whole lot of people Alvin would like to kill more in this world than David Cain.

He needs to not think about that and keep a cool head though, because Cain certainly doesn’t need any more advantages over him. A distinct weight advantage, years of assassin training, and who knows how many tricks – and weapons – up his sleeves are quite enough, thanks. Worse. This is the man who personally trained Cass. Alvin never beat her in a sparring match and she held back on him. Her father’s not likely to do the same. On the other hand it’s not like Alvin is entirely fucked here. He has fought Cass and Shiva, both of whom did beat Cain. With that, luck, and being ever so slightly more agile, maybe he can at least not get killed in this fight.

“This is the intruder that defeated so many of our assassins?” Cain scoffs as he looks Alvin over. “I’m ashamed to have not killed them myself. Tell me, Master, how badly do you wish this child beaten?”

“You may kill him.” Ra’s responds, casually. “If you can.”

Cain smirks and takes a knife from his belt. “Prepare yourself, boy.”

Great.

With a flick of his wrist Alvin extends his bo staff and moves. He barely manages to swat away the knife thrown at his head. Too obvious. From the right! Alvin swings around and blocks the much larger knife in Cain’s hand. Cain doesn’t even wince as his hand collides with the staff and immediately switches his weight to bear down on it. Shit. The last thing Alvin needs in the fight is to get into a shoving match with a man twice his size. This is a contest he will lose sooner rather than later.

Out if the corner of his eye, Alvin sees Cain’s left shoulder move ever so slightly. Shit shit shit! Alvin throws all his weight into spinning his staff, using the angle of Cain’s wrist to his advantage. With hardly any time to spare he manages to shove the larger knife away and slam the other end of his staff into Cain’s left forearm with enough force to actually make Cain flinch.

Before Alvin can follow up Cain jumps back out of range. He stands at a distance, glaring at Alvin and adjusting his grips on his knives. If Alvin had been even a tick slower the smaller of those knives would be making a nice little home for itself between his ribs. Not a pleasant thought.

Cain rolls his shoulders and frowns like he’s confused. Like he’s learned something he didn’t expect to. He gives the larger knife an experimental slash and looks Alvin over once more. “Who trained you?”

Interesting, that’s not a question Alvin really expected so soon. “A lot of people.”

“Oh, not interested in sharing then?” Cain takes a step to the left.

“Certainly not with you.” Alvin tries to keep his voice level, not as easy as he’d hoped.

Cain seems to take that as a cue that chat time is over and falls into a ready stance. He moves left. A feint. Alvin ducks under the inevitable attack from the right and slips around Cain’s side trying to catch Cain in the side with his staff. Cain throws himself sideways and forward rolls out of striking distance again. In seconds he’s back up on one knee with his knives held out defensively.

Stepping back Alvin watches for any clues to the next attack. Then Cain glances towards Ra’s as if asking for permission for something. He must get it, because all at once he puts his knives on the ground. They’re still within easy reach, but that he set them down at all is… weird. “How about we finish this fight without weapons?”

“Seems an unfair fight where I’m at even more of disadvantage frankly,” Alvin answers, keeping his guard up. “Considering there’s literally no way I can be sure you don’t have more weapons on you.”

“I swear, no weapons.” Cain assures him, watching Alvin carefully.

Oh. So that’s it. Cain’s trying to gauge how well Alvin can read him. Dammit. Alvin tries to ignore all the potential reasons for that and focus on the facts. The facts are that Cain’s not lying right now. Now can he beat Cain without a weapon… Alvin collapses his bo staff and stores it back in the pocket of his jeans, before shrugging off the jacket. He tosses it off to one side. “Fine.”

Cain stands up and starts to circle. Alvin follows suit. He can tell that Cain is studying his stances more closely now. No doubt looking for Lady Shiva’s training in him. It won’t be hard to find. He’s not hiding it. He can’t. Not if he wants to survive this fight. Especially now. He needs to rely on everything she and Cass taught him.

So he watches Cain just as carefully as Cain watches him. Every tense of a muscle, every sway, the shift in weight that tells on Cain before he moves. A strike from the left.

Alvin leans back as Cain throws a punch at his face. Uses the split second of time he has to judge the best course of action, drops into a crouch, and tries to kick Cain’s feet out from under him.

Cain jumps back just in time. Damn. Alvin gets straight back to his feet and almost immediately has to block another punch. This time he moves to trap Cain’s arm and tries to strike Cain’s chin with his palm. Cain blocks the strike with his own free hand and Alvin slams his knee into Cain’s side as hard as he can.

The satisfaction Alvin gets from hearing Cain his in pain is, unfortunately, short lived when Cain lifts with his trapped arm. Alvin barely hears himself say, “Shit!” as he barrels towards the ground.

He hears the thud before he feels the breath knocked entirely out of his lungs, it takes everything he has to maintain the wherewithal just to let go of Cain’s arm and roll away. He manages to get back to his feet on sheer autopilot. God, that hurts. Fuck. He can hear Cain already covering the distance he put between them far too quickly for his liking. But this could be an opportunity as much as it’s a problem. Alvin feigns being worse off than he is, he barely dodges a kick from Cain and falls backwards, kicking both legs straight into Cain’s sternum.

Cain stumbles back, coughing from the impact and Alvin manages to catch himself from another nasty fall by letting his momentum carry him into a handstand. He easily pushes off the ground and lands a couple steps back. Without taking even a second to breathe, he moves, he needs to use the time Cain needs to recover wisely. Slipping around Cain’s left, Alvin pivots and launches his full weight into Cain’s back. It’s just enough to do what Alvin’s been hoping to accomplish this whole time, knocking Cain off his feet. Even luckier Alvin lands on top of him. Wasting no time thinking too hard about his next course of action, Alvin grabs Cain’s left arm and wrenches it back.

For once Alvin’s weight is just enough to keep Cain on the ground and for all his struggling Cain can’t wrench his arm free of Alvin’s grasp. Which gives Alvin a… maybe cruel idea. He shifts his position until he’s sitting on Cain’s back, calmly wrapping one leg around Cain’s shoulder and tightening his grip on Cain’s wrist. Cain seems to maybe catch on to where he’s going with this because he tries to get his knees under him, but it’s way too late. Alvin takes a deep breath and throws himself backwards at full force. He feels the shoulder dislocate against his leg, the bone popping out of socket, the collarbone snapping like a twig. It’s honestly pretty gruesome.

“Fuck!” Cain growls, his voice betraying the amount of pain he’s in despite it all.

“I’ve seen enough.” Ra’s declares, without emotion. It’s a sound judgment.

The fight could continue. Cain could figure out how to roll Alvin off him and fight around a dislocated arm and shattered collarbone. He could do it very well, but he’d only be giving Alvin a chance to cause more damage. Alvin’s effectively halved his attacking power and given him a massive weak point to be exploited. It’d only lead to Cain being killed in this fight or rendering his arm permanently useless, making him effectively dead to the League. Ra’s is a master tactician, he’s not about to entirely lose a good operative in a random fight like this.

Alvin lets go of Cain’s arm and gets up, showing what he thinks is incredible restraint by not standing on Cain’s injured shoulder. Cain has a much more difficult getting to his feet. He manages it though. How good for him.

“Damn you.” Cain spits as he holds his limp arm at his side, breathing heavily.

“Get in line.” Alvin huffs, as he walks over and grabs the jacket off the ground.

Before Cain can come up with a witty response to that, Ra’s speaks again, “Tell me, Cain, has the boy impressed you?”

For a long moment Cain only glares at Alvin. Finally, begrudgingly, he responds, “He has, my lord.”

Alvin turns to face Ra’s, who looks satisfied. Almost smug. Alvin’s not sure how to take that. Then Talia says something and draws Ra’s attention away from the arena.

“You’ve stepped in it now, boy.” Cain sounds like he might laugh, despite the pain. “Lady Talia’s pissed.”

Pulling the jacket on over his arms, Alvin just shrugs.

“I’m not going to be available for her little project anymore because of you,” Cain continues, he doesn’t know it but he’s only given Alvin a plethora of good news. “Bit of… friendly advice, if you’ve made her your enemy, it won’t matter if that woman trained you, you’d best watch your back.”

Talia stands up and Cain goes quiet as she approaches. She doesn’t look at Cain, fixing her gaze squarely on Alvin. It’s abundantly clears she’s not happy with the outcome of this test. Stopping in front of him she looks him over with disgust and says, “You have cost me a valuable asset, boy.”

“So he’s eager to tell me.” Alvin tries not to act intimidated, the fact that the last time Talia almost killed him keeps playing on loop in the back of his mind is not helping. He’s never handled interactions with her well and this Talia? In the middle of her plan to seize power from her father and guarding her every move with care she should have afforded her son? The most important piece in Alvin’s current plan? This Talia terrifies him. “I’d argue I did you a favor.”

She narrows her eyes slightly. “Oh, yes?”

“If he’s so inattentive as to underestimate an opponent over nothing but appearances, then what good could he be to you, really?” He can practically hear Cain’s teeth grinding together somewhere behind him.

Slowly, Talia’s expression changes from irritation to contemplation. She looks over him again, slower this time. Assessing. Calculating. “…A wise observation. Still, be mindful, boy, one day I may yet seek recompense for this setback.”

“I’ll endeavor to make it up to you whenever you wish.” Alvin answers dipping his head slightly.

“See that you do.” Talia sweeps away with her usual elegance and Alvin fights to not visibly relax now that he’s away from her scrutiny.

This is good. He has Talia’s attention and she doesn’t seem to want him dead… yet. That’s a huge step in the right direction. She’s still an obstacle, but she can be reasoned with. It’s a bit more difficult to know for sure if things will go quite so smoothly with the more immediate obstacle who’s watching impassively as his daughter walks by him and through a back exit to the arena.

Ra’s gestures for Alvin to come closer and speaks to Cain as Alvin obeys, “Cain, you are dismissed.”

“Yes, my lord.”

It’s tempting to try and watch Cain slink away, but Alvin thinks it’s far more important to keep his undivided attention on Ra’s. Alvin waits for Ra’s to speak. And waits. And waits. It’s starting to get hot standing under the morning sun in mostly black and a leather jacket. He’s kind of certain that this is as much a test as anything else, though he’s not sure of what. How long Alvin can handle irritation? “So what now?”

“Patience – as you once opined to my assassins – is indeed a virtue,” Ra’s says as he picks up his glass of wine. He takes a long drink and then contemplates the remaining liquid looking distinctly uninterested. “I have seen now that you’re an effective and clever strategist as well as a skilled fighter even in unexpected situations. I am impressed.”

Potentially very good if it’s not a ruse for some reason.

“Consider this ‘interview’ a success. I am certain you will make a…” Ra’s seems to give his next word a great deal of thought before he speaks again. “Valuable addition to my League. Do not take it as an insult that I have you guarded for some time yet… You understand that trust must be earned with time.”

“Of course.”

“Then go. I will summon you in due time.”

Alvin acknowledges that with a slight nod and walks back to the entrance he used earlier. Oxana is waiting there for him. She seems a bit different. Her expression isn’t nearly as harsh as he approaches her. When he’s within a reasonable distance she speaks, quietly, “You fought well… I thank you for not dishonoring my comrades further with a loss.”

Oh. He stops and stares at her. “I wasn’t fighting for them, you know.”

“I know.”

“…Okay.” He can work with this.

Chapter Text

“A pity that your visit must be so short, my daughter.” Father laments as he enters the room. He is not unwelcome – Never unwelcome – but Talia can not deny that she is still somewhat angry with him.

She does not turn away from the window, through which she can view the training arena and the pair occupying it this morning. Only two days since the latest setback. “It can not be helped, Father, Damian’s training must take precedent.”

“Indeed.” Father steps up beside her. “You have not yet told me, what do you think of the latest recruit?”

Unusual that he would ask her such a question. It is his League. His dominion. Not hers. Never to be hers as it stands. He is rarely interested in her opinion on such things. “What would you have me say of him? He is skilled, he is driven. Is there more I should say?”

She is careful not to tense when he reaches over and gently takes her chin in his hand turning her head to face him. Reluctantly she looks up into his eyes and resists the urge to shiver. He is her father, she adores him. Yet he frightens even her. There is no unkindness in his voice though, as he answers, “Your honest thoughts.”

“I… I do not understand why you have allowed him into our midst,” she admits with caution. “I can see that he is after something that I can not yet fathom. Surely you see this too. He is dangerous.”

Father nods, his hand leaving her face and coming to rest on her shoulder as he steps around behind her. “Look at him. Tell me what you see.”

She obliges. Down in the arena, Alvin trains with one of the few survivors of his attack on the Russian storage facility. “I see a skilled strategist and fighter.”

“Indeed. Now I will tell you what I see.” Father begins, a delight in his voice that Talia has not heard since last they faced her Beloved. “I see a desperate beast grasping for that which is still only just out of reach. Take this lesson to heart, dear daughter, There is no greater asset than a man who wants something so badly he is willing to throw away everything to get it. They are by far the easiest people to use.”

A hard lesson to learn from the other side, she knows. “I will remember it, Father.”

Father steps away but Talia remains where she is, her interest somewhat renewed as she watches the Russian assassin to throw Alvin to the ground where he lays laughing. Somehow she feels as though there is much her father is missing. That Alvin was able to build an almost easy camaraderie with an assassin personally disgraced by him not so long ago in only three days is a feat not many could manage. Perhaps… just perhaps, Talia thinks she can see in this boy something she has only seen a very few times before. That people are drawn to him. That they will listen to him. Follow him. Dangerous. But there are possibilities here. He is a solid strategist and a fighter nearly equal to Cain. She can work with this. “Father?”

“Yes?”

“I will be allowed some command over him, correct?” She turns her head to look over her shoulder.

Father frowns, thoughtfully. “Is this what you demand as recompense for the loss of Cain?”

“It is.”

“Very well,” he answers, graciously. “Than it is what you shall have.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She bows to him by way of a farewell. “Now, I apologize, but I must return to Damian.”

He tilts his head in acceptance. “Farewell, my daughter.”

“Farewell, Father. I will return when I have need of your new assassin.” She leaves the room. Walking down the hallway towards the underground portion of the compound and the port where a ship is waiting to take her back to her son. Truly she must give this all more thought. After all her Alexander deserves only the very best of teachers. She had intended Cain to be one of them, but if he is unavailable then perhaps the one who bested him could prove an adequate replacement.

.

As Bruce walks down the stairs into the cave he takes particular note of the look Jason gives him. It’s a look that Bruce has, in the past few months, come to identify as meaning that Jason is up to something he knows Bruce wouldn’t approve of. Typically this has been spending extra time on the exercise equipment when he knew he wasn’t ready for that much work. However, Bruce hasn’t regulated Jason’s training time in weeks and Jason doesn’t look like he just came from a work out. He’s sitting quite comfortably in the chair in front of the computer with nothing but a list of known Drake relatives open on one screen.

Bruce is far from being upset about that. If Jason’s right and Alvin is some relation to the Drakes then they may be one step closer to finding him. Besides the search for Alvin can easily keep Jason distracted from returning to Robin until Bruce is certain he’s ready. “Any luck?”

“Nah.” Jason gives a rueful smile. “Babs and I’ve been through everything but it’s a lot harder than I thought it’d be. The old judge wasn’t exactly the most public person. Gossip rags don’t even mention him for the most part so if he had a mistress or something we’re outta luck.”

“And Janet’s family all but doesn’t exist, I haven’t found a single Alvin. Even records of her second cousin, Edna, are pretty spotty and Jay actually met her so we know she exists,” Barbara chimes in from the computer, then greets, “Hi, Bruce.”

Bruce grunts a response then thinks better of it and responds properly, “Hello, Barbara.”

“So, while we’re all tied up in this, what’s on the agenda for the Big Bad Bat tonight?”

Stepping up to the computer, Bruce brings up the file on on his latest case. “With any luck I’ll finish the Drake Industries case.”

“Right, Jason mentioned that earlier. Something about the CEO being suspicious?”

“Something like that.” Bruce shrugs. “I’m going to talk with Chiles’s secretary and then the manager of Gotham South Bank and Trust. If I’m right they’ll have the last pieces of information I need to prove Chiles’s guilt.”

Barbara seems slightly amused as she surmises, “So if all goes right tonight the Drakes will come back from their trip to the news their CEO being arrested and that they have an estranged family member. Eventful.”

“Possibly.” Bruce answers with a sigh.

Jason sits up a little straighter. “Need some help?”

“No.” Bruce says, firmly, as he turns away to head for the lockers. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Stay out of trouble.”

“No promises!” Barbara replies, cheerily.

While Jason just grumbles, “Whatever.”

.

Jason leans back and watches as the Batmobile screeches out of the cave. He waits, bouncing one of his legs, impatiently, until the sound fades entirely into the distance. “Okay, he’s gone, did you set everything up?”

“Who do you take me for?” Babs scoffs. “Of course I did. You’re real lucky I’m good at multi-tasking by the way, you know that right?”

“And I’m very grateful that you’ve decided to exercise that skill on this.” Jason answers rolling his eyes but smiling anyway. He reclines in the chair and puts his feet up on the desk. “Besides it’ll probably be the same as every other night so far. We’ll just sit here scrolling through old census data looking for Alvin, waiting for something to happen on the Moneyspider front, and nothing will like the last three days.”

Babs hums in agreement. “True enough, but it’s got to happen eventually. Moneyspider’s hit every other well known charity or fund in the city, the Kane’s Veterans’ Welfare charity and the Martha Wayne Foundation are the only ones left.”

“Eventually, but the longer it takes the more likely Bruce is gonna catch me doing this and throw a fit about me not being careful or something.” Jason sighs.

He almost jumps when abruptly Alfred appears on his right and sets a cup of tea on the desk, nudging Jason’s feet in a silent request for him to take them off the furniture. “You are being careful, I hope, Master Jason?”

Jason puts his feet on the floor and gives Alfred his cheekiest grin. “Oh, come on, Alfie. I’m always careful! It’s fine.”

“Hm.” Alfred responds, noncommittally.

“Don’t worry, Alfred, I’m keeping a close eye on the scoundrel,” Babs assures him.

That does make Alfred smile, slightly. “Indeed. Well, should you two need me, I will be just over yonder.”

“Right, later, Alfie!” Jason watches him go, curiously. Alfred’s been up to something lately over by the lockers. It’s one of a very long list of mysteries on Jason’s to-investigate list lately and it’s unfortunately not really as pressing as the others so he can’t justify leaving to figure it out. Right now he just needs to focus on this Moneyspider thing. Frankly Babs has been doing more than just keeping an eye on him, she’s been doing all the work. In frustration he digs his fingers into his hair and ruffles his hair. “Urgh, I feel so fucking useless!”

“Don’t give me that.” Babs says, a gentle threat of a waiting lecture in her voice. “We wouldn’t even be doing this if you hadn’t caught on to something weird.”

Jason tosses his hands into the air. “Yeah, but besides that and the stuff we learned from Tim Drake what the fuck have I done but sit around? I keep trying to at least come up with a suspect, but like… the best I got is Tim Drake was definitely one of the hackers, but probably not Moneyspider!”

“Hey, that’s a step in the right direction.” She points out firmly. “Besides we can’t come up with a suspect without evidence and we don’t have too much of that.”

Gesturing, irritably, with one hand Jason leans his chin heavily into the other one. “I mean, we can eliminate some I guess. Like Tim, he’s probably the other hacker – which is damned stupid, he’s like what? Thirteen? – but I didn’t get any indication that he was interested in stealing from his own dad’s charity. And there’s not a lot of tech based villains in Gotham, ya know… Maybe Riddler?”

“No, Riddler would’ve started sending out riddles by now.”

“Yeah… And most of everyone else only really has tech guys to hack broadcast equipment or they’d go straight for a bank instead of…” Jason frowns. “Why charities?”

Babs seems a little surprised. “What?”

“Better yet, why these charities in particular?” He pulls up the list of charities hit again. “Look! The only ones they’ve hit have been ones created by local rich people. The Van Smith’s elderly care foundation, the Drake’s archaeology fund, the Martha Wayne Foundation.”

“It is November, hitting charities when they’re getting their biggest donations makes sense.”

“Yeah, but it’s still a long way off from peak charity season and only like two of these are charities that benefit from this time of year.”

She’s only quiet for a second before she says, “And if they waited for another two weeks they’d get so much more money… This is calculated and they’re not doing it to get the maximum amount of money. They need the money now and they’re targeting rich people’s funds out of some kind of vengeance. But… why? Penguin has backed off on overt criminal activity for a while and this isn’t Catwoman’s MO, who else would try something like this?”

“Maybe—” Before Jason can finish that thought a light starts flashing on the screen. “We’ve got a hit!”

“On it!” For a long time there’s only the clacking of Babs’s keyboard as Jason sits, literally, on the edge of his seat. He’s starting to get antsy when finally she starts talking again. “I’ve got an origin point. It’s… Gotham Juvenile Detention Center?”

Juvie? It’s a kid? It’s… a kid who’d target charities. Specifically charities founded by rich people. Jason’s mind goes back a few months and he has his suspect. He jumps to his feet. “It’s Lonnie!”

“What?”

Over his shoulder as he’s making his way around the chair and towards the lockers, Jason still manages to answer, “It’s Lonnie Machin! Anarky! That kid B put away in July, the one who incited a riot.”

“Oh! I--” Babs interrupts herself. “Wait… isn’t… Jason, this money’s going through an account in Gotham South Bank and Trust. Isn’t that the bank Bruce said he was investigating tonight?”

Jason freezes. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? His mouth feels dry as he asks, “What are the chances that this isn’t related to B’s case?”

She doesn’t answer. The clacking continues through the silence and then stops abruptly. “Jason. We need to call Bruce.”

“Why?”

“Call him now!”

.

Most of the windows of the office building are dark, with one dim exception. On the third floor a lamp is just visible through a single window, its light struggling against Gotham’s usual oppressive darkness. A shadow occasionally passes across the window showing that the light isn’t just for show. Thankfully the building is an old one so the climb isn’t particularly daunting, there are numerous footholds and handholds to take advantage of as Bruce scales his way up to the window.

Crouching on the ledge just outside the window Bruce checks just to make sure the secretary is indeed the figure he saw through the window. Sure enough there’s an elderly woman sorting files into their proper places at a large filing cabinet. Her hair, wispy and thinning, held back in an ever loosening bun, still has some streaks of a dark brown amidst the gray. The gentle curve of her face and resting smile gives her a gentle air. From what Bruce has learned of her that is an accurate assumption. He doesn’t want to startle her so he gently taps on the window until she looks up.

She seems somewhat surprised by him, but not frightened. That’s good. He opens the window carefully and steps inside. “Mrs Roberts?”

“That’s me, Mr Batman.” She shuffles towards him a few steps as she continues, “Goodness, but you’re a scary sight! You’ll have to forgive me, I don’t know how to properly greet a vigilante. If I were at home I’d offer you a cup of tea, but I’m afraid I don’t have any to hand.”

“Quite unnecessary.” Bruce says, a little off his game. “I only need to trouble you for a moment. Could you tell me what you know about Mr Chiles’s bank account in South Gotham Bank and Trust?”

“South Gotham?” She tilts her head slightly to one side and rests a finger against her chin. Slowly her eyes widen and she covers her mouth with the hand. “Oh! Mercy, yes! That’s the account he set up for that poor boy!”

“What?”

As she lowers her hand her expression turns very concerned. “Oh dear, I do hope nothing’s happened to it! You see, Mr Chiles – He’s such a good egg, Mr Batman – he heard about a boy in Juvenile Detention whose such a genius with computers! Can’t get the hang of the things myself, I’m afraid to say. Anyway, Mr Chiles thought it was such a shame that a boy’s entire future and potential could be ruined by just one mistake, so he set up this bank account for him. He said it’ll accumulate money until the boy’s released back into society or something like that.”

“I-I see.” Bruce is starting to see why Chiles keeps Mrs Roberts as a secretary. She’s… charmingly optimistic, perhaps to the point of naivety. “Can--”

The comm in Bruce’s ear abruptly crackles to life. “B?”

What could Jason want? Has he found out who Alvin is? It’ll have to wait. Bruce taps the earpiece in as casual a motion as he can manage. Signalling that he can't talk right now.

“Right. Got it. But, uh, hurry it along maybe? Babs and I have something… big.” He sounds... concerned.

Interesting. Bruce refocuses on Mrs Roberts who only seems a little perplexed. “Can you tell me who Mr Chiles set this account up for?”

“Oh! Of course! Now… oh dear, what was his name…” Her brow knits together as she thinks it over.

Jason has the answer apparently. “It’s Lonnie Machin.”

“I think it was, um, Machin? Yes! That was it! Lonnie Machin.” Mrs Roberts says with certainty. “You remember?”

Bruce scowls. Anarky? How did Jason--

“That’s part of what we need to tell you.” Jason hisses with urgency in his voice.

“I see,” Bruce says, both to Jason and Mrs Roberts. Then to Mrs Roberts alone, “That’s all I need to know. Thank you, Mrs Roberts.”

She shakes her head. “No no, I only hope I’ve been of some help. Please, Mr Batman, I hope you’ll do everything you can to protect that poor boy’s future.”

Ignoring the muffled scoff from Jason in his ear, Bruce nods to Mrs Roberts. “I’ll do what I can.”

He slips back out the window and steps off into the air, using his cape to soar safely back to the Batmobile. As he drops into the driver’s seat he orders, “Speak.”

“The bank account Chiles set up is being used to funnel money out of charities around Gotham,” Jason explains, quickly and efficiently. Then he pauses for a second before saying, “It’s being relayed out of Gotham and into the hands of a mercenary group. O has confirmation of them getting it.”

Mercenaries? Why would Chiles need mercenaries? Unless… Shit! Bruce starts the car and spins it around, tires screeching louder than the apparatus designed to make a similar sound. He floors the gas pedal and heads for the nearest hidden entrance to the caves. “Tell me everything you know.”

Chapter Text

Throughout Jason’s explanation of the Moneyspider case, Bruce is very quiet. He’s taking in the information and thinking it over for sure that’s part of it. But… Jason can already tell he’s irritated before the car comes to a stop in the cave. This sucks. Alfred pats his shoulder reassuringly and, well, at least he’s got Alfred and Babs here to back him up. Still he really doesn’t think he’s ready for this argument.

Bruce gets out of the car and walks up the stairs to the landing with purpose. “I’m extremely disappointed in you.”

“Big surprise.” Jason slumps back in the chair and crosses his arms, very deliberately not looking Bruce in the eye.

Still he can see as Bruce looks over at Alfred for a moment. He must not get what he’s looking for because he sounds a little more uncertain as he continues scolding, “What in the world were you thinking? All of you! If--”

“I was thinking ‘Hey, B’s running himself into the ground and the doesn’t need to be dealing with some shit as little as some hackers feuding over charity money, Babs and I can handle it’.” Jason interrupts before Bruce can continue his rant. “And we were handling it.”

Distantly Jason hears Babs say something.

But Bruce doesn’t seem to hear her and just argues back. “If you hadn’t tried to go against my orders and just told me in the first place I could’ve caught this sooner!”

“Fat chance!” Jason snaps as he stands up to properly face Bruce. “If I told you, you woulda just put it on the back burner behind the six other cases you’ve been working on and you’d still be wondering why Chiles set up an account for Lonnie!”

“Guys—” Babs says a little louder.

Jason just has one thing left to say, so he plows ahead as he hears Babs call for Alfred distantly. “At least this way half the work’s already done!”

“I’m not--”

“—ill no word--,” the excruciatingly loud voice of a local news anchor nearly makes Jason jump out of his skin as it echoes around the cave. He spins around to look up at the TV above the computer while the news anchor continues, “–from the plane carrying Gotham Industrialist Jack Drake and his wife, Janet. Contact was lost with the plane shortly after it left Nassau, Bahamas. It was expected in Kingston, Jamaica nearly twelve hours ago, but hasn’t been spotted. We will keep you abreast of this story as and if we receive more information.”

Alfred turns the TV off as Babs says, “Are you listening now?”

“Shit.” Jason hisses, stepping back as Bruce moves for the computer.

Bruce doesn’t waste any time. “Oracle--”

“I don’t have any more information than the news.” She responds before the question is asked. “The Drake’s plane disappeared en route. All means of tracking it were disabled shortly after they left Nassau. No one’s heard from them in thirteen hours.”

“Damn.” Bruce growls as he starts typing something. “The news only mentioned Jack and Janet, where’s Tim?”

“School.” Jason answers quickly. “He mentioned he had school the next day when I talked to him. It’s a fancy boarding school in the north of Bristol county.

Bruce sighs with some slight relief. “Alright. So it’s Jack, Janet--.”

“The pilot and one other person.” Babs finishes. “I’m looking at the airport security footage right now. The other person is a blond, white man with glasses?”

“Jeffries.” Bruce says. “He’s Jack’s PA. Either the pilot or Jeffries is likely working for Chiles or the mercenaries. Jeffries has been working for Jack since before Judge Drake died.”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t have been bought.” Babs cautions.

With a nod Bruce goes back to typing, a map of the Caribbean pops up on the screen. “Dammit… there’s too many places they could’ve gone on the amount of fuel they would’ve had after leaving.”

“If the mercenaries already have them then is there really a point finding out where they are.” Jason can’t help feeling pessimistic at this point. “They’ll just kill them outright and be done with it.”

Bruce shakes his head. “If the Drakes just disappear there will be questions. There can’t be any question of who killed them. He’ll want to make it look like they were kidnapped. The mercenaries are probably waiting for a signal from Chiles to kill them.”

“So then do we go grab Chiles now?”

“No…” He sounds frustrated now. “If Chiles is arrested it might spook the mercenaries and they could act without his input.”

Jason groans. “So we just have to wait?”

Sitting down heavily in the chair Bruce puts a hand over his eyes. “Unfortunately…”

“I’ll try and get into DI’s system and keep an eye out for them to be sent any kind of ransom note.” Babs says, tiredly. “Hopefully we’ll have some good news by morning.”

“Hopefully.”

.

It’s early in the morning when Jason makes his way down into the cave next. Alfred had forced him to go to bed only an hour after Babs signed off. Technically he was right that there wasn’t really anything for Jason to do, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t see this case through to the very end. So he barely took time to change out of his sleepwear, still pulling his shirt on over his torso as he enters the elevator. He hits the code for the cave then the highest speed setting. He grabs the bar nearest to him as the brief feeling of weightlessness takes over and braces himself for the sudden stop. It’s not the worst jolt Jason’s ever experienced by a long shot but he’s still ended up knocked onto his ass a couple of times because he wasn’t ready for it.

As the door opens Jason hears the voice of the news presenter again, “And we now go live to where the Drake Industries CEO is about to make a statement.”

Bruce is sitting exactly where Jason left him the night before, watching the news on the largest of the computer’s monitors, slouched down in the chair with his fingers steepled in front of his chin. He acknowledges Jason with a slight tilt of his head as the footage on screen focuses on a small man in a business suit standing at a podium who Jason presumes is Nathaniel Chiles.

He’s a thin and wiry man, what’s left of his hair long gone gray, his expression very serious. Straightening his tie with confidence Chiles starts talking, “Ladies and gentlemen of the press. I regret to confirm to you all that Mr and Mrs Drake have indeed been abducted. We have received a video ransom demand, however… it is Drake Industries policy the under no circumstances are we to pay any amount of ransom for any employee or shareholder.”

Jason curls his lip as Chiles pauses. The creep’s doing a damn good job of looking remorseful, Jason has no doubt he has most of the press fooled.

“Unfortunately the ransom they’re asking for is… beyond my means to pay out of pockets, so I’m afraid all I can do is appeal to the kidnappers on behalf of the Drake’s young son--”

“What a load of shit.” Jason growls.

Bruce grunts in agreement.

At almost the exact same moment one of the side monitors turns to Oracle’s symbol. “DI turned the ransom demand over to the police. I got it out of their files… It’s not pretty.”

“Send it.” Bruce closes the news tab and sits up straighter.

The video starts playing as soon as Bruce opens the file Babs sent. Three people tied to chairs in a dingy, rundown shack, the Drakes and what looks like the assistant that Bruce mentioned last night. Jeffries looks to be in rough shape, only partially in frame and barely conscious with a nasty wound on his forehead. The Drakes themselves look okay for the most part. Janet especially seems pretty calm. Scared, for sure, but like she’s keeping her wits about her. Her eyes darting about as though she’s looking for something. Jack is glaring at someone off screen and speaking very loudly as the audio kicks in. “--ake Industries will never bow to the demands of thugs and--”

A distorted voice starts talking over him. “Gentlemen of the Drake Industries board of directors, as you can see, Jack Drake and his lovely wife are being diligently cared for by my men. However I’m afraid their stay with us cannot be a long one. If our demands are not met within the next forty-eight hours of receiving this message I cannot ensure their safety.”

A map of Gotham appears on screen with an old abandoned lot in downtown circled. “Deliver the money to this location. Leave it there and await further instructions. Do not attempt to find us. It will do you no good anyhow. Follow these simple rules and the Drakes may yet be delivered to you alive and well. Disobey and…”

Jeffries is grabbed by a masked man, who drags him closer to the camera. Janet seems to realize what’s going on as her eyes go wide and she screams, “No!”

The mercenary pulls out a huge knife and presses it to Jeffries’s throat. Blood sprays across the screen making it difficult to see anything more and the distorted voice begins speaking again, “I reiterate; You have forty-eight hours…”

And the screen goes dark.

In the moments that follow Jason’s quiet, “Fuck,” sounds strained even to his own ears.

“Do you think they’ll wait the full forty-eight hours?” Babs asks. “Or was Chiles’s press conference the signal?”

Bruce runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “We have to work under the assumption that they’re alive… They didn’t direct him not to contact the police.”

“Yeah.” Jason leans on the back of Bruce’s chair. “They basically challenged the police right? ‘Don’t attempt to find us’ is all but saying ‘come get us’.”

“Basically.” Bruce agrees, glancing over at Jason. “Which could mean that the signal to kill the Drakes could be that they want police to show up at the pick up site.”

With a quiet sigh, Babs says, “Alright. If that’s the case then what now?”

“We find out where they actually are.” Bruce restarts the video. “There’s a clue in here we just need to find it.”

Hearing that ‘we’ in there is pretty nice even if Jason’s pretty sure Bruce is referring more to himself and Babs than including Jason. He tries to focus on the video anyway. Between the monologues from the distorted voice and Jack’s ranting it’s difficult to catch anything, until… Jason stands up straight from his slouched position when he hears it. Just as the masked man grabs Jeffries. “Wait! Pause it!”

Bruce does. “What?”

“Loop this bit here. I heard a bird!”

Obliging, Bruce isolates the section Jason pointed to and they listen. Sure enough, there’s a sharp, quick bird call that sounds a bit like a ‘peee-u’.

“See! Can we use that?” Jason can’t help feeling a bit hopeful as he looks over at Bruce.

Bruce nods. “If it’s what I think it is then maybe.”

“Good catch, Jay!” Babs says, then she goes quiet for a second. “...Shit. Something just went down at Gotham Juvie. My contact is trying to get ahold of me. I'll let you know what happened as soon as I know more.”

“Understood.” Bruce responds as he starts isolating the sound.

Babs signs off and Jason is left watching Bruce work in silence. He feels antsy. And he knows what’s going to happen next. When Bruce has a good idea where the Drakes are he’s going to leave and tell Jason to stay behind. Jason’s so fucking done with staying behind. He grits his teeth preparing to say something when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Startled he turns around quick and looks up at Alfred who nods towards the lockers.

Jason frowns in confusion but doesn’t hesitate to follow Alfred around the small wall blocking the view from the computer. Alfred pulls something out of the furthest locker. Something with familiar colors. Without taking his eyes off Alfred Jason takes the folded Robin suit when it’s offered to him.

Alfred smiles. “Lucky thing I finished it this morning… Be careful, Master Jason.”

The elation of knowing that not only does he have back up but that it’s Alfred gets the better of Jason and he hugs Alfred as tightly as he dares. “Thank you… Believe in me, Alfred.”

“Always, sir.” Alfred pats his back softly, then gently pushes him back. “Now, get prepared. I’m afraid Master Bruce won’t be an easy obstacle.”

Jason smiles slightly. “Leave him to me, Alfie.”

Bowing his head, Alfred seems to accept that before he walks away.

The new suit fits like a dream and strange as it feels to be wearing the kevlar and spandex again… it feels good. It’s comfortable. Like coming home.

When he’s fully dressed he takes a deep breath and walks back to stand behind Bruce at the computer. Watching as a program sorts through birds trying to match the isolated audio to a bird species. He only waits a few more moments before the program gets a hit! It’s a small gray and white bird with a yellow green back. Jason tilts his head at the name. “Grey-crowned palm-tanager? Is that a good thing?”

“Incredibly. The Grey-crowned palm-tanager is exclusively found in one place in the entire world,” Bruce says without looking back, there’s relief in his voice. He pulls up a map on the computer and zooms in on the Caribbean. “The island of Hispaniola. Mainly around the Tiburon peninsula in the southern portion of Haiti.”

“So that’s where we’ll find them then?” Jason asks, excitement and maybe a little apprehension bleeding into his voice despite himself.

“That’s where I’ll…” Bruce trails off as he turns the chair around and finally sees Jason. He looks Jason over then his eyes flick towards Alfred who’s calmly standing by the stairs to the manor. For a few moments longer he’s quiet and it’s difficult to even try to read his expression. Then his jaw sets and he stands up. “No.”

Too bad for him Jason’s not backing down. “Fuck you, you need me.”

“Jason,” Bruce growls, firmly, as he walks around Jason towards the Batmobile. “This isn’t the time--”

“No, this is the perfect time!” Jason answers with conviction, following close behind Bruce.

Without so much as looking over his shoulder as he starts down the stairs, Bruce orders, “Stay in the cave.”

Yeah, not this time. “What’re you even going to do? If you go rescue the Drakes right away, Chiles will have flown the coop long before you get back!”

“I’m going to deal with Chiles immediately.” The fact that he responds at all means he knows that argument is shaky as hell.

With a running start, Jason hops up onto the stair railing and launches off. He does a front flip and twists in midair so he lands facing Bruce at the bottom of the steps. “You know damn well that by the time you get enough solid evidence against him to send him to jail the Drakes will be dead!”

“That’s enough, Jason.” Bruce calmly pushes past him to keep walking. “You’re staying and that’s final.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Jason dodges around to get in front of Bruce again, forcing him to stop, and shoves him hard in the chest. “Listen to me! We’re wasting time just fucking arguing about this! You will never forgive yourself if you don’t put everything you’ve got into saving the Drakes and if Chiles escapes he might try something even more fucked up to get whatever revenge he thinks he deserves. So just let me do this, Bruce!”

Bruce’s expression tightens with worry and he looks around like he’s trying to find any reason he shouldn’t just give in. Then at last he sighs and closes his eyes. Running a hand over his face he says, “…Call Dick. If he can make it, wait for him and then go after Chiles. Understood?”

There’s a loophole the size of a freight train in that command, but Bruce is probably too distracted to notice it and there’s no way in hell Jason’s going to let him know about it. He schools his expression into a serious one very carefully and responds, “Understood.”

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Bruce doesn’t move. He probably thinks Jason accepted that way too easily.

“God.” Jason groans pulling his cellphone out of his utility belt and scrolling through his contacts until he finds Dick. He shows the screen to Bruce. “Look, I’m calling him right now. Go!”

Bruce waits until Jason actually hits the call button before he turns and heads for the Batplane.

Luckily he’s well situated in the pilot seat and taking off through the runway tunnel by the time Jason inevitably gets Dick’s answering machine. “Hey, Dick, Bruce wanted me to call you to see if you could come be my babysitter on a mission. Oh, you can’t? That’s too bad. But really, don’t worry about this I’ve got it. I’ll call you and let you know what happened later. Thanks for being my alibi, dude.”

Jason hangs up. Dick’s been busy with his own shit for weeks now. He hardly ever has the time to actually answer his phone. Bruce never said Jason couldn’t go out without Dick tagging along. Loophole.

“Very clever, young sir.” Alfred sounds halfway between scolding and impressed as he walks down the stairs.

Jason shrugs. “Hey, whatever works to make him accept the help, right?”

“Indeed. And now?”

Taking a deep breath, Jason turns around to give Alfred his most confident grin. “Now, it’s time to get back to work!”

Chapter Text

Of the few things Bruce hasn’t been too much of a worrywart to let Jason do in the last few months, Jason’s probably most grateful that he’s had time to get used to the new motorcycles. It makes things just that much easier that he can use Bruce’s network of shortcut tunnels normally reserved for the Batmobile. The sound of the motorcycle’s engine echoes off the rock walls as he speeds towards the hidden exit behind one of Bruce’s safe houses.

As he zips out of the opening and the wall starts to lower behind him, Babs contacts him. “Welcome back, boy wonder.

He smiles. “Thanks, O.”

“I’ve got some news that’ll probably interest you.” She jumps straight to business, exactly what Jason wanted. “Lonnie Machin tried to break out of Juvie last night. Sounds like he would’ve gotten away with it too, nobody noticed he was gone until one of the guards found him tied up just outside the main entrance. In the security footage of them taking him back in you can hear him yelling about how he swears he didn’t know. He hasn’t told anyone one what exactly it is that he didn’t know yet though.”

“Shit.” That sucks. That sucks ass. Makes Jason feel pretty bad for Lonnie. Sure the kid needs to work some shit out, but his heart’s in the right place. Bruce even said as much, he tried to work out something better for Lonnie but some fucked up bureaucracy kept getting in the way. Now the kid’s gotten wrapped up in something so much worse than inciting a riot. It’s really not fair. Maybe Robin can help with that. “Hey, you’ve got contacts in the Juvie staff, right? Could you set up a meeting with him for me?”

“Easy.” She must set to work right away because Jason can hear the clack of her keyboard and a moment later she continues, “He’ll be waiting for you in the main office on the second floor. Security on first window on the north side of the building is disabled. Be prepared, he might not want to talk to anyone, especially not someone associated with Batman.”

Sliding the motorcycle around a tight turn to head in the direction of Juvie, Jason smirks. “Of course he won’t! But he’s not stupid either. It won’t take much to get him to talk to me.”

“Good luck then. I’ll keep an eye on Chiles and let you know if he makes a move.” And the line goes quiet.

Jason slows his bike to a stop in the alley across from the Juvie building and takes a deep breath as he lifts his helmet off his head. With his nerves suitably calmed he steals across the empty street and up to the building. Climbing to the second story is easy, he it barely feels like he was away from this at all. Makes him feel a little more confident as he opens the window and slips inside silently.

Lonnie is seated in front of a huge desk all alone in a folding chair. His head bowed, his left hand gripping his right forearm so tightly it’s definitely going to leave a mark. Deep in his own thoughts apparently, he doesn’t even notice when Jason closes the window only a few feet behind him. Keeps glancing at the door opposite the window like he expects it to explode.

At least that gives Jason a little more time to compose himself. He’s got something of a plan and he knows he has to approach this a bit more delicately than a lot of other interrogations he’s done in the past. It shouldn’t be too hard to work this out though, as long as Lonnie’s smart enough to have some self preservation instincts. Jason starts making his way around the room to the desk. “Hiya, Lonnie.”

With a startled yelp, Lonnie spins half around in his chair and stares at Jason. He looks about as confused as he does surprised.

“Listen, we don’t got a lot of time and I don’t got much patience.” Jason stops behind the desk, resting his hands flat on the wooden surface and leaning over ever so slightly. “I need your help.”

Lonnie’s eyes dart towards the door again then back to Jason. “Wh-what’re you talking about?”

“Look,” Jason sits down on the chair, heavily. “I need Nathaniel Chiles to go to jail for what he’s done and so do you. We both know he’d not the type to let a loose end just hanging there for too long and he’s gonna do everything in his power to pin everything on you. So you can help me put him away for good or you can put faith in Gotham’s legal system and hope you don’t get charged with conspiracy to commit murder.”

Biting his lip Lonnie looks down at his hands and doesn’t respond.

Dammit. Jason softens his tone a bit and tries again. “Lonnie, you don’t deserve to go be stuck in here ‘til you’re eighteen because some asshole lied to you.”

“…I really didn’t know,” he says at last, quietly. “He said if I helped him he’d get me out sooner. That he was trying to get DI shut down from the inside for a long time because they were exploiting people in third world nations. Which that last part was true.”

“Yeah, usually is.”

Lonnie shakes his head almost ruefully. “The money… he told me it was all going to local businesses around one of the factories that makes the parts that DI sells so the small businesses could employ more people and out compete the factory. I thought… I don’t know… he seemed like a good guy. And this place sucks so much, I just wanted to get out.”

With a nod Jason starts--

“I swear, if I’d known he was using the money to kill anybody – even the Drakes – I wouldn’t have touched it!” Lonnie insists, suddenly lifting his head to look right at Jason. Then the fire seeps out of him and he slumps back in the chair. “I don’t want to be a murderer.”

“I believe you, kid.” Jason tries to assure him, a little taken aback.

Lonnie’s expression twists slightly as he grumbles, “Then could you tell her that?!”

“Her?” Who the fuck is he talking about?

“Catwoman!” Lonnie answers, his voice cracking with frustration.

Jason can only stare for a couple of seconds before he finally manages to say, “What?”

“She’s the one who tied me up outside!”

That makes no sense. “Why the hell would Catwoman do that?”

Lonnie gestures irritably with his hands. “How should I know!? All she did was ask me who I got all the money for, then she tied me up and dumped back here.”

“O…kay.” Weird. Really fucking weird. Jason stands up and takes a business card out of his utility belt. “Call this lawyer, tell her, Robin said it’s paid, got it? Listen to her and don’t talk to cops! And don’t ever let me catch you getting in trouble again.”

That seems to confuse Lonnie even more, but he does pick up the card at least.

Jason doesn’t wait for thanks or response, he just heads back out through the window. He waits until he’s back on solid ground before he contacts Babs. “O, where’s Chiles?”

“He just left DI headquarters heading north,” she answers immediately. “Looks like he’s heading for his Penthouse in Gotham Heights. He booked the next flight to Russia out of Gotham International just before he left. He’s acting like something spooked him.”

“Yeah, probably Catwoman.” Jason says as he reaches the bike and grabs his helmet. “Lonnie says that’s who dumped him back in Juvie.”

She sounds just as confused as Jason was as she says, “Why would Catwoman…?

“I don’t know either and it doesn’t seem like she gave Lonnie any reason.” He starts up the bike and guns it back out onto the road. “But I got a feeling if I don’t get to Chiles first it ain’t the law that’ll get him out of our hair for good. Lonnie sounded pretty shook up by the whole thing.”

Babs’s laugh sounds half-hearted. “Yeah, I’d be pretty shook up if I pissed of Catwoman that bad too. I don’t envy you a collision course with her either. Be careful, Robin.”

“Will do.”

.

Jason doesn’t think Catwoman would be crazy enough to try anything while Chiles is on the road – Gotham traffic is fucked up on the best of days and they do not stop for god nor villain attacks – so he focuses on getting to Chiles’s penthouse ahead of both of them. Better than trying to find one car in the mess that is the main streets. He takes the backstreets and maybe a few unsanctioned shortcuts to reach the ritzy residential area of the city proper. All fancy apartment buildings and expensive cafes.

He’s sure Chiles isn’t too far behind as he parks the bike in a hidden space. It’s not as close as he’d like but, what the hell, it’s a decent chance to get back into the swing of… well, swinging. He checks to make sure the coast is clear then makes he heads for the rooftops. The climb is more difficult than he expected after scaling the Juvie building. Not too surprising he supposes, since it’s significantly further and training in an underground cave could only prepare him for so much. Still he’s not terribly winded when he hauls himself over the parapet and onto the rooftop. From here things get easier. There’s only two buildings between him and the penthouse now.

He shoots his grapple gun at the top of a nearby taller building. When he’s sure the claw opened properly and the line is secured around the neck of a sturdy gargoyle he takes a deep breath. Giving himself no time to second guess he takes a running leap out into thin air. The familiar rush of wind fills his ears as he swings in an arc over an entire building to the next rooftop. A wave of exhilaration washes over him in the same moment. Damn. It’s good to be back out here. He lands expertly and presses the button that recalls the grapple line.

As the line reels back in he scouts his next jump. Should be easy enough just hook the parapet and climb up to the penthouse. Piece of cake.

Except Jason just saw something fly across from another nearby building to a balcony lower down on the same building as the penthouse. Fuck. Jason moves as quickly as he can because that ‘something’ was way too big to be a bird and Jason’s the only rooftop hero in the city right now. He shoots a line and it hooks around a balcony railing as he takes another leap, swinging out just right. Momentum carries him around the building at thankfully the perfect time.

“Fuck off, Cat!” Is all the warning Jason gives before slamming into Catwoman’s side knocking her off the side of the building towards the rooftop she came from. The angle was perfect and he sees her grip slip from the wall. Everything should go fine, she’s skilled enough to catch herse--

An abrupt yank on his cape and with a startled yelp his grip on his grapple gun slips. All at once he’s tumbling through the air with Catwoman. Shit. He can’t get at his spare line fast enough. This is gonna hurt!

She wraps an arm around him suddenly and to his surprise their fall slows to a graceful swing. They touch down softly on the rooftop and Jason stumbles as Catwoman lets go of him. He turns quick and watches warily as she pulls the claws of her gloves free from the hem of his cape. Explains the yank at least.

For a long moment she just stares at him a look that might be awe on her face then before he can react she wraps her arms around him and squeezing him tightly to her. “You’re alive! Oh my god, he was right! You’re really alive!”

“Wha—” Jason freezes. How the fuck is he supposed to deal with this? What is she-- A hug? Why is she hugging him? Why would she? Doesn’t she not like him? He thought that was their whole thing. Wait… Fuck! He squirms free of her embrace and quickly checks his utility belt. Kinda surprised to find everything still there. Was that a real hug? This doesn’t make any sense. He glares at her though he knows he can’t look any less confused than he feels. “Of course I’m alive. Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”

With a sad smile she crosses her arms across her body and replies, “You were gone a long time, little bird. And Joker…”

As she falls silent and looks away, Jason feels his blood turn to ice at Joker’s name. Is he really alive then? Is he back already? Shit, Jason isn’t… he’s not--

“Joker’s men have been bragging that he killed you before he disappeared.” Catwoman says quietly as she seems to compose herself.

Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding Jason runs a hand through his hair and tries to at least sound confident. “Yeah, well, what do they know? Joker didn’t do shit!”

“Thank goodness.” She looks like she might cry.

Feeling awkward, Jason tries a cocky smirk. “What? You really that worried about me?”

“We may not always be on the same side, little bird,” she begins as she steps a bit closer. “But I would never wish you harm.”

Fuck… she really means that, huh?

“Inconvenience? Yes. But never harm.” She continues with a smile as she reaches out and ruffles his hair fondly.

Embarrassed, Jason pushes her hand away and steps back. “Oh fuck you! Nevermind that! Why are you after Chiles?”

“Oh…” Catwoman looks up at the penthouse high above them. “Is that why you’re here? To protect that murderer from me?”

“He’s not a murderer yet!” Jason answers firmly, as he adjusts his cape. “And neither are you. Neither of those statements are going to change today if I have anything to say about it.”

With a laugh she rests a hand against the side of her face and tilts her head into it slightly. “Aw, are you worried about me crossing Batman’s line? You’re so sweet.”

“I…” Yet again Jason is thrown for a loop. “This is serious!”

“Deadly.” She agrees. “And you know as well as I do that Chiles is entirely capable of getting out of facing any consequences for what he’s… tried to do.”

Jason grimaces. Yeah, he knows that, but, “If he dies then all the blame for this could fall on the kid he tricked into this. Lonnie’s a brat but he doesn’t deserve that.”

The sunlight reflects off her goggle lenses and makes her expression a bit more difficult to read. Time feels like it stretches out impossibly long as Jason prepares himself to have to fight over this. She moves and Jason almost jumps out of his skin, but she just puts her hands on her hips. With a deep sigh, she says with resignation, “You’re a good kid, Robin.”

“No shit. That’s the job description.” Jason snorts incredulously, then puts up his arms in a tentative ready stance. “So are you gonna let me handle this or are we gonna have to brawl about it?”

She shakes her head and spreads her hands in surrender. “No brawls. We’ll do this Bat’s way. You handle Chiles and I’ll watch your back. Deal?”

“Deal.” Probably as good as it’s gonna get. Jason glances up at the penthouse and notes that there’s a light on in a window that was dark before. “Come on, I’ve got an idea.”

.

With more speed than care Nathaniel Chiles shovels belongings into his suitcases as he tries to maintain his composure. Shit. Shit shit shit. All his careful plans are going to hell. Calm down. Calm down. Just stay calm. The secretary said Batman was nosing around last night asking about Machin, but that doesn’t mean he’s put it all together yet. It’ll be fine. It’s fine.

It won’t be long before he does figure it all out though. If he knows that brat is up to something and goes to talk with him… Machin can’t keep his damned mouth shut. Fuck. He never should’ve relied on someone else for any part of this. He’d just needed to throw her off the scent at first. If she hadn’t… Yes! It’s all that bitch’s fault. None of this would’ve had to happen if she’d just kept her nose out of his fucking business. If she’d just kept to herself and stayed out of the way of his revenge then everything would’ve gone smoothly and maybe he’d even have left her and her bumbling husband and their stupid brat some of their fortune.

He slams the suitcase closed and zips it shut. Taking a deep breath he smooths his hair with trembling hand. Calm down, Nathaniel. There’s still a chance for this to work out alright. Besides he might’ve been just being paranoid about that shadow earlier. After all the Batman’s plane was seen leaving Gotham heading south only a few hours ago. Robin hasn’t been seen in months. No other vigilantes have been seen in Gotham for nearly as long. Even if Batman knows he’s prioritizing rescuing the bitch and her husband. There’s time. He can get away. Like they promised the mercenaries will wait until they spot authorities to finish their grisly job.

By the time anyone gets evidence enough against him to prove anything he’ll be thousands of miles away in Montenegro living in luxury off the rest of the money he stole – No, the money he earned – from that bastard judge’s company.

How dare that old man treat him so poorly after Nathaniel had gone to such trouble to keep the judge’s mafia connections a secret for him. God, it’s a wonder Jack’s the old fucker’s child and not that woman. Doesn’t matter. None of this matters. He’s got everything he needs.

On his way to the elevator he sneers at the view from his window. He won’t be missing this horrid view any time soon. For all that he’d rather have had more time to take his vengeance at least he won’t have to look at this disgusting city ever again. At long last he steps into the elevator and begins his journey to a new life. Just a little longer.

Ground floor, through the luxurious entry, a nod to the doorman. Once he’s en route to the airport he’ll know everything’s worked out perfectly. Just a little longer now. Down to the street where his car is waiting, the bodyguard spots him and opens the door. It figures right at the end of his employment this lout would finally start doing some part of his damned job. Can’t even wear his goddamn hat properly. No time for that.

Nathaniel bundles himself into the backseat, clutching his suitcase to his chest, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. The bodyguard takes his sweet time getting in the other side of course. Doesn’t matter to that boar that they’re on a deadline. Finally the lout is seated and Nathaniel jumps a little when the doors lock. The driver asks, “Where to now?”

An answer dies in Nathaniel’s throat as a realization strikes him. That was not his driver’s voice. Looking up quick he finds a masked woman staring back at him. He sits in stunned silence opening and closing his mouth in a futile attempt to form words.

“Damn, seems like the cat’s got your tongue, Mr Chiles.” The unfamiliar voice makes Nathaniel jerks his head to the right so fast he’s certain he’s given himself whiplash. Casually the person Nathaniel had mistaken for his bodyguard takes off his hat and spins it expertly on one finger. His face adorned with a cocky grin and a very recognizable domino mask. Robin leans back resting one arm over the back of the seat. “Can I make a suggestion?”