Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim never knew a year could feel so long and yet so short at the same time. He supposed it came down to how busy you were during that year. In his case, he was extremely busy.

Getting beaten to a pulp by Slade Wilson every day for 8 months under the guise of “training” certainly helped contribute to the fast feeling, while experiencing the worst and lowest week of his life (oh boy what a bar that was to clear) and getting dumped off to train with Lady Shiva contributed to the incredibly slow feeling. All this to say, Tim was not the same teenager that had left Gotham a year ago. For better or worse. 

(Definitely worse. Absolutely worse.)

Luckily, Tim got what he wanted out of his year abroad besides the trauma: he was a certified vigilante, trained by two assassins. Which meant he could finally hold his own in a fight. He probably wouldn’t go so far as to say he could go toe to toe with Batman or anything, (he would have to train a lot longer than a year for that) but common goons or even the occasional assassin shouldn’t be an issue for him now. 

Tim had worked hard to get to the level he was at. He had pushed himself to his limits and beyond. He had been beaten to an inch of his life on more than one occasion. He had sentenced himself to hell. All for one purpose and one goal: save Jason Todd and reunite him with his family.

He wanted to believe the hard part was over. That everything would be smooth sailing from here. But he knew that was wishful thinking. He had a feeling the last year would be a cakewalk compared to the next few months back in Gotham. But he would face it with the same raw determination he had become dependent on.

~

Tim took the bus into Gotham, too distracted by nostalgia and the overwhelming onslaught of memories to bother driving in himself (he wasn’t old enough for his license yet anyway and with his luck one of the half dozen cops that actually gave a shit about their jobs would pull him over before he got a mile into the city). He drank in every rooftop and alleyway they passed, remembering each one clearly.

I took a picture of Batman grappling from that roof , he thought. I fell off the fire escape in that alley. Oh look! That’s the building with the slick roof that I slipped off of when I was 10 while trying to get a photo of Batman eating Batburger!

Eventually the bus got to his stop just outside of Bristol and Tim started the long walk up to his empty house. He had debated whether he would actually return to his parent’s home when he got back to the city, but eventually he had come to the conclusion that it was too valuable to abandon completely. It wasn’t that it had any sentimental value to it. Tim was pretty sure the thing could burn to the ground and he wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. No, the house was valuable because of its location and the space it provided. For one, the proximity to the Bat cave and Wayne Manor by extension would be very important in the coming months. Second, Tim had learned that vigilantism required a lot of equipment. He could feasibly keep his stuff at an apartment (and he would to some extent. He had already rented 4 different locations in preparation for his return), but it would be more convenient to use his parents’ garage for his bike and his bedroom for extra storage.

Tim was so busy wondering if he could convert his closet into a weapons cache, that he didn’t realize he was passing by Wayne Manor (Slade would have him doing push ups until his arms shook for the lapse in concentration)  until he heard someone call out to him.

“Hey!” The voice called again. Tim had no choice but to turn around, and immediately his heart leapt into his throat when he saw Dick Grayson standing behind the gate to the driveway. 

Oh my god. That is Dick Grayson. I did not plan to have to talk to Dick Grayson until I was in my 20s with an index card of talking points in my pocket. Be cool, Tim!

You could send a teenager to train relentlessly under a mercenary and assassin but you apparently couldn’t take the fanboy out of him.

“Um, hi,” Tim finally called back when he realized he had been staring at Dick without talking for a few moments too long. 

Dick beamed like just Tim talking to him was something to be happy about. Tim snuck a glance over his shoulder to see if maybe someone Dick actually knew and liked was standing behind him.

“You’re Tim Drake, right?” The older boy asked cheerfully. “I’m Dick.”

“Um. Yeah,” Tim answered intelligently. Dick seemed to be used to one-sided conversations, because he continued smoothly.

“We read in the paper last year that you were taking a sabbatical with your uncle. Where did you guys go? If you don’t mind me asking of course,” Dick laughed brightly.

“We went to a lot of places,” the teen answered carefully. The best way to lie to a Bat was by telling most of the truth. “We wanted to see a lot of the areas my parents had gone during their digs.” Tim had indeed been to Egypt, after all. Slade had a contract there and had almost broken Tim’s arm during training. Good times.

Dick’s 1,000 watt grin dimmed slightly into something more sober at the mention of his parents.

“We heard about your parents’ passing. Bruce mentioned he liked to talk to them when they’d meet at galas.” Tim distinctly remembered his parents complaining regularly that they were never able to talk to Bruce Wayne at galas, but Tim wasn’t going to say that. “How have you been holding up? I know it’s pretty scary when you have to be on your own so suddenly.”

“I’m not alone,” the Drake heir answered quickly. He didn’t like the direction this conversation was going in. “I have my uncle with me so it hasn’t been too hard to adjust. He’s around just as much as they were.” That little line had the benefit of being both a good little inside joke (for no one but Tim) and a good way to get Dick off his back. The older man indeed seemed appeased by the idea his non-existent uncle was treating him like a son and was back to that bright smile that Tim couldn’t look at too long because it made his chest constrict in a weird way.

It was time to retreat. He needed to get home before he said something stupid.

Of course Dick didn’t let him go so easily.

“That’s great to hear! You know we would love to have you and your uncle over for dinner sometime!” Tim went stiff. “I’m sure Bruce would love to hear about how you’re doing.”

“Oh. Haha. Wow.” Try that again, Tim. “I mean, thank you, really! It’s just, we’re going to be so busy the next few weeks you know? My uncle has to get back to his job and I have to get back to DI. And of course we don’t want to impose!” Tim tacked on the end. Imposing was a Drake’s worst nightmare and he was hoping Dick would sympathize with it.

“Oh you wouldn’t be imposing,” Dick laughed. Damn it. “I invited you after all. But that’s okay. You let me know when your schedule clears up a little bit and we’ll set up a time and date.” Then Dick did something really strange. He held out one hand over the fence, palm up.

Was this some kind of test? Tim couldn’t tell.

Very carefully, and very slowly, the teen put his hand in his pocket, watching Dick’s face the whole way for some sign that he was doing something wrong. Then, with precise movements, like he was defusing a bomb, he inched his wallet out of his pocket and opened it. Dick’s face had gone from polite patience to slightly constipated confusion.

Tim cleared his throat.

“Um. All I have is 10s and 20s… how much do you want?”

The man who was secretly Nightwing, one of the world’s most skilled vigilantes, openly gawked at Tim with his mouth to the floor in an expression that could only be called complete befuddlement. The two of them stared at each other for several seconds before Dick managed to collect himself.

“Buddy. I was just wanting your phone,” he said with some difficulty.

Tim, assuming he was being taxed for daring to speak to someone of Dick’s station, reddened immediately in embarrassment.

“But I need my phone,” he blurted. Dick looked like he was swallowing an egg whole again and Tim had to immediately backtrack. “Nevermind! It’s fine! I’ll get a new one!”

“No! No, that’s not what I meant either!” Dick yelled frantically, climbing over the fence in panic (Tim didn’t even think the vigilante knew he was doing it. It was probably some kind of coping mechanism for stress) and waving his arms wildly. “I just wanted to put my number in your phone! I’m not trying to rob you.”

“Oh,” Tim said, realization dawning. Then, “OH. OH MY GOD! I mean, right. Yes. That makes so much sense. I was. Joking before. It was a joke.”

“Of course,” Dick lied easily, mirth now dancing in his eyes with something else Tim didn’t want to think too much about. Then Tim realized the man was still holding out his hand. “So can I put my number in your phone?”

“YES!” Tim shouted by accident. He dug his phone out of his pocket, dropped it, picked it up, then dropped it again, before finally handing it to Dick. Tim’s face was the color of a cherry tomato by that point and Dick was doing an excellent job of not openly laughing at him. 

Dick silently entered his number and sent a text to himself. He smiled, satisfied, and handed the phone back.

“There! Now you can let me know when you’re free. Alfred makes the best dinners on the planet.”

Tim just nodded. He had absolutely no intentions of taking up the offer but just the gesture itself was enough to have him in awe. He had Dick Grayson’s number! He Did! Tim!

Dick was looking at him again and it took a second for him to realize he was waiting for Tim to say something.

“Thank you,” The teen told him, finding he meant it. “I’ll definitely let you know. I’m sure my uncle will be happy to hear about this.” He fidgeted with his hands a little. Dick was still looking at him with a piercing gaze. “Anyway, I gotta get going. I need to go help my uncle unpack. Thanks again.”

“No prob, Tim! Let me know if you ever need anything, OK? That number isn’t just for the dinner.”

With his heart caught in his throat, Tim wasn’t able to say anything. instead he just nodded through his suddenly misty eyes and tried to return that beaming smile to the best of his abilities. It was all he could do to walk at a normal speed and not sprint down the street to escape the watchful gaze of the first Robin. 

That was almost a complete disaster. He was back in town for less than an hour and he was already running into Bats. Tim still thought of them as heroes (rightfully so) but they were also some of the best detectives in the world and therefore his biggest obstacles. The less he interacted with them the better chance he had to keep Buzzard under wraps. Plus, if he was right about what Jason was planning he probably would not be on the same side as them for a while.

Whatever. As long as Dick didn’t think too much about their interaction everything would be fine. Besides, Tim was great at flying under the radar. He had been living next to the Waynes his whole life and they never noticed him before. Dick’s sudden interest in him was a coincidence in correlation with the fact Dick happened to be outside at the same time Tim was passing. That was it. Nothing to worry about at all.

There was no time to be so in his head, anyway. He had a lot of equipment to unpack before he took his first test drive as the Buzzard in Gotham later that night.

~

That was one of the most delightfully strange interactions Dick had ever had with another human. Tim Drake was a fascinating kid. 

Dick didn’t know too much about him until his sudden sabbatical announcement that hit all of the local newspapers about a year before. The oldest Bat child was intrigued by the kind of publicity a 14 year old was getting, so he decided to research the Drake heir a bit. That made him sad. 

Turned out Tim had very recently become an orphan. Dick remembered hearing about the deaths of Janet and Jack Drake of course, but only in passing – the way you would look at your phone and see some famous person you had vaguely heard of had died. You didn’t know them or follow them that much, but you knew that they had meant a lot to a lot of people. So you would just go “aw, that’s too bad!” and move on with your day. 

Dick didn’t even remember that they had a son.

After reading about the boy, Dick was uncomfortably reminded of another orphan he knew. Teenaged genius suddenly finding themselves with an entire company to run and a legacy to upkeep? He just hoped Tim would find a slightly more healthy coping mechanism than crime fighting in Gotham City.

Dick was still thinking about his strange interaction with Tim when he walked back into the manor and went down to the Batcave. The whole family was down there, doing an assortment of activities. 

Bruce was at the Bat Computer, a position he occupied more frequently than normal ever since Oracle discovered a potential outside entrypoint a few months before (Dick had told him it was probably just one of the bats in the cave logging on for a game of solitaire. Bruce just stared at him until his son eventually had to walk away in shame). Alfred was doing inventory by the weapons rack, handling deadly swords and various sharp weapons with a refined poise that always made Dick smile. Nearby, Steph and Damian were sparring on the mats, going over hand to hand drills while Barbara sat off to the side, occasionally offering critiques and suggestions. The scene made Dick grin.

“You’ll never guess who I just saw outside,” he called as he descended the stairs. He was met with silence. Steph and Damian didn’t even break rhythm. Dick sighed dramatically. “I SAID, you’ll never guess who I just saw outside.”

“Probably not,” Babs replied shortly. “Damian you’re leaving yourself open when you go in for a jab.” Damian huffed, but adjusted his guard the next time he went in for a jab.

“Guuuuys,” Dick whined, “When I say ‘you’ll never guess who I saw outside’ you’re supposed to start guessing who I saw outside. Those are the rules!”

“The idea of guessing whom you saw when there is no chance of us hazarding a successful guess is redundant and a waste of time, Richard,” Damian ground out. He dodged an attempt from Steph to sweep his legs out from under him. “Now either tell us or be silent so that Brown and I can focus on our contest of strength.”

“What he said, but in a way that sounds less like a 19th century professor,” called Steph.

“None of you are any fun! You’re all terrible!” Dick spun around dramatically, earning a snicker from Steph. He marched up to Bruce who was still staring intensely at the Bat Computer. “What about you, Bruce? You always play the guess who game with me.”

The man in question clicked open a file.

“The mailman?” He asked, obviously distracted.

“Why do I even bother? Why must I suffer through this slight on my character? Why can’t I have a family that will play the ‘guess who’ game with me?”

“Master Dick, if it will cease your dramatics, I will supply a guess,” called Alfred, polishing a katana.

“This is why you’re my favorite, Alfred!” Dick cheered. “Ok, so who do you think I saw?”

“Well based on the news alerts and our proximity to his house, I’d guess you ran into the young Master Drake.”

Several different shouts bounced around the cave. The first was Dick’s “How did you guess it immediately?”

Followed by Steph’s loud yell of “You saw Tim?” which then led to her squawk after Damian punched her in the face when she lowered her guard.

And that, of course contributed to Damian and Barbara’s duel hisses of “Focus!”

“OW! Time out! You saw Tim?” Steph repeated.

“Yeah, he was walking past the gate when I was checking the mail. Do you know him?”

Damian scoffed.

“Of course she knows him, you simpleton. Timothy Jackson Drake was Brown’s first friend at Gotham academy. He blamed himself for his father’s death and went on a year long sabbatical from his company to grieve.” The young boy looked up to see that everyone was staring at him. Even Bruce had turned away from the computer, one brow raised incredulously in Damian’s direction.

“What?” Damian hissed, bristling immediately. “It is not my fault none of the rest of you listen during family dinners. I am simply restating what Brown has told me.”

“Well, yeah. Damian got it in one,” Stephanie said, trying not to look deeply touched by Damian admitting he paid attention when she spoke (He would never admit that about anyone else except Bruce and maybe Dick). “I honestly haven’t spoken to him in a while because I got so busy with Robin and he got busy with his parents’ company.” Dick didn’t miss the slight downturn of her lips when she mentioned Tim’s parents. He made a note to look into that later. “How is he doing?”

“Honestly?” Dick asked. “He seems a little stressed. When I tried to put my number in his phone I think he thought I was mugging him.”

Steph laughed.

“That makes sense,” she admitted. “Tim isn’t really used to making friends quickly. He thought I was sitting with him just to eat his lunch when we first met. I just thought he was interesting. And I was right.”

“Ha! I got to meet Steph’s best friend from school!” Dick bragged. “Now I get to know all of the lore between you two!”

“Bruce has met him too,” Steph corrected. She had begun unwrapping her knuckles, Damian following suit with a roll of his eyes at the interruption to their training. “Remember, Bruce?”

Bruce hummed, turned completely from the computer now. 

“He was with you that night with Dent, wasn’t he? The boy with all of the graphs?”

When several of them said in unison, “Graphs?” Steph smirked and explained.

“Before I became Robin and heroically saved Bruce from himself,” Bruce sighed deeply – Steph liked to say this a lot – “Tim and I used to talk about Batman needing Robin during our lunch. He was always so worried about Batman getting hurt without the support. So he made a bunch of line graphs proving the rise of crime without Robin. It was really nerdy and incredibly endearing.”

She was right. Dick could almost squeal about how adorable that was. However, something familiar nagged at the back of his brain, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. Before he could spend too much time thinking about it, Alfred cleared his throat.

“I have not met the Drake boy in person, but I have spoken to him on the phone. He called the manor that night the League of Assassins tried to grab Master Damian, not long after Master Bruce had returned with him.” His tone didn’t change much, but there was a note of reproach there, especially around the word ‘returned’. Dick winced just remembering the screaming match he had gotten into with Bruce when he learned the man had basically kidnapped the 5 year old. “He thought the assassins were painters and was calling to complain about the noise.”

“He thought there were painters at the mansion at 2am?” Dick asked.

“Tim is weird,” Steph shrugged, “He probably thought painting a mansion at 2am was normal.”

“But ninjas don’t make noise. That’s their whole thing.”

“Tim is weird,” the blonde repeated. “He won’t notice if you steal his milk every day for 3 months during lunch, but he absolutely would be able to tell if a ninja was making too much noise while trying to break into a mansion.”

“An interesting boy, indeed,” Bruce stated, trying to sound nonchalant. “Jack Drake died over a year ago, right? So Tim is an orphan?”

Alarm bells went off in Dick’s head.

“No Bruce. Absolutely not. You are not allowed to adopt Tim Drake without even knowing him.”

“I wasn’t going to adopt him.” Then, “Although I did meet him when he was with Stephanie so I do technically know–”

“You were Batman! That does not count. No adopting, do you hear me?”

“Sure, Dick.” Dick narrowed his eyes. That was Bruce’s ‘I will do what you say for now, but I will eventually find a loophole around it’ voice.

“How come all of you have met this kid?” Babs asked, interrupting Dick and Bruce’s staring contest. “Are me and Damian the only ones that don’t know him?”

Damian frowned, but didn’t otherwise say anything. Not that Dick expected him to. Damian was generally uninterested when a conversation didn’t specifically require his attention, or didn’t include the discussion of animals.

“I invited him over for dinner,” Dick remembered. “He said he and his uncle were busy unpacking today, but he would text me when they were free. Maybe you can meet him then!”

Steph laughed.

“Good luck with that one. Tim would sooner die than take up someone’s offer to show him hospitality. He always says he’d be an inconvenience.”

Dick frowned, remembering that Tim did indeed say something along those lines.

“Well maybe we can call and ask his uncle then?”

Something dark flitted across Steph’s expression before it was gone.

“I don’t think his uncle would be any better,” she said slowly. Dick shared a brief glance with Bruce, who seemed to have noticed the look as well. “Why don’t you just leave it to me? I’m an expert when it comes to forcing Tim to do things he won’t admit he wants to do.”

With that settled Alfred began herding everyone upstairs for dinner. Steph followed Babs while she wheeled herself to the elevator, the blonde chattering excitedly about her school friend (“Oh, you would love him! He’s super smart and he’s great at hacking. I once saw him hack into the school system to erase his absences in the time it took me to chew a chicken nugget!”).

Bruce and Dick stayed behind for a second, the younger man waiting while the elder finished up clacking on the keyboard.

Dick didn’t say anything when Bruce created a new file and titled it ‘Tim Drake’ but the look he received from his father figure held a lot of significance. 

Dick did make him delete the note that said ‘no parents, bad uncle = may need a place to stay?’ before they followed the others to dinner. Honestly, Bruce would have adopted every black haired and blue eyed kid in the country by now if Dick wasn’t there to stop him.

~

The house was exactly as Tim left it. Which was to say cold and pristine. He marched through the living room and down the familiar hallways, not with fond remembrance, but quite the opposite.

That couch was where he was sitting when he wrote the email that killed his dad. He had been pacing on that rug when he had gotten the call that his mom was dead. He was currently walking down the hallway he threw up in when he was 5. It was easy to tell because the paint was still chipped where his parents had made him scrub the wall with a brush for an hour straight.

He reached the door to his bedroom and pushed it open. 

His room was still in the casual state of disarray he had left it in. Old coffee mugs and granola bar wrappers littered his desk, surrounding his laptop, which was still open. He had left his bed unmade, and various articles of clothing were strewn over it from when he had hastily packed his bag for his time away.

Tim walked over and put his duffel bag on the bed. He unzipped the top and dumped it on the mattress, unconcerned with the contents inside. 

Several wrinkled shirts and pairs of sweatpants tumbled out, along with his burner phone and a protein bar wrapper.

Tim hadn’t taken much with him when he went away, other than a few changes of clothes (all long outgrown or used to the point of destruction) and his cellphone, which had stayed resolutely off the whole year until he first arrived back in Gotham. Boy, was he not looking forward to answering all of those emails (at least he only had one or two text messages to answer. Which was a good thing. Definitely a good thing).

He actually brought more back with him than he left with. But, seeing as most of those items were various different weapons and an entire motorcycle, Tim had them shipped to his apartments around the city so as to not draw too much attention.

Tim was getting ready to toss the duffel to the side, probably never to be touched again for another year, when one last piece of paper fluttered out of it, slightly discolored and red in a few spots. Curious, he picked it up, and immediately drew a sharp intake of breath.

It was a photo. In fact, it was a photo Tim had taken years ago of Jason Todd as Robin. It was one of the ones he was most proud of. He captured it on a particularly miserable cold and rainy night in which he had fallen off of 3 roofs and lost track of Batman and Robin several times. Finally, at the end of the night, Tim finally captured a photo that had made the whole night worth it; Robin striking a heroic pose with his hand on his hips, the bat signal illuminating the sky behind him.

Tim took it with him when he went with Slade as a reminder of his goals but he thought… Well he thought he threw the photo away after That Week. The last time he saw it the picture was completely soaked in blood (not Tim’s) and he knew it was unsalvageable, both as a photo and as a memory. He realized he would never be able to look at it again without picturing blood seeping through his fingers, his face growing wet with tears and cold sweat–

Tim dropped the photo, breathing hard. It floated serenely back to the bed, flipping over before landing softly on a pillow. There was writing on the back.

Not trusting his hands not to shake, he leaned over and read it on the pillow instead.

It’s a bad habit to let the blood wash away your memories.

–S

Tim breathed out slowly. Took another breath in.

“Nope,” he said to the empty room, “I am simply not going to deal with this right now. Eat shit, Slade.” And then he grabbed his laptop and went to sit in the living room. 

Future Tim could deal with that. The Tim of the present was way too tired.

First order of business was reading his emails and making sure his company hadn’t gone bankrupt while he was gone. After that, he needed to go to his different apartments and collect all of his gear, which would double nicely as a ground patrol of the city. He desperately needed to scope out the general feel of Gotham and catch up on the news. Who had escaped from Arkham Asylum? Was there a new update to the fear gas antidote? Did the Gotham Knights manage to win a single game while he was gone? All important questions. 

Tim spent the next hour and a half reading emails from the idiots that were unfortunately on his board. Drake Industries had not gone bankrupt while he was gone, although not from a lack of trying. It seemed everyone had decided to vote without him on selling to Lexcorp, with a resounding “yes” being the result. They just needed Tim to sign the final contract since it was still his company.

Yikes, he thought contemplatively. Boy are they going to be pissed when I rip the contract up into a million little pieces and tell them to get back to work. Oh well. Should be fun for me.

After he sent the final nicely worded “fuck you” email, Tim headed back into the city. He took the bus again (because of the whole underage driver thing. Man, he couldn’t wait to turn 16) this time making sure to speed walk past Wayne Manor on his way to the bus stop so as to avoid another interaction that made him want to melt into his shoes.

The first apartment Tim went to was the one that had his bike and his suit. He couldn’t wait to drive the bike around the city as Buzzard. After all, It didn’t matter that you were illegally driving a motorcycle when you were already illegally doing vigilantism. Tim had learned that a lot of loopholes were easily exploitable when you were a vigilante. No wonder Batman had been at it for so long. 

The apartment Tim had chosen to get all of his most important items delivered to was in the heart of the city, near DI because he foresaw that he would be spending the majority of his time there. The house was a good place to keep his stuff, sure, but he wanted to be able to respond to emergencies quickly. He didn’t have a Bat Cave or a Bat Jet, so proximity was key. He also had a place on the outskirts of Crime Alley (he had a hunch he would be spending a lot of time over there as well) and the last two were more safe houses than anything. They were on opposite sides of the city so that Tim had all of his bases covered.

First thing, Tim went down to the garage. Just as requested, In the back corner behind a Sudan, sat a sleek black motorcycle. Tim circled it appreciatively. It was simple, no fancy James Bond gadgets or rocket boosters on the back, but it was Tim’s. 

“Hey Junior, hoping to get one of those one day?” a man from a few cars behind him suddenly called out. What a way to ruin a moment. “Don’t worry, with a little hard work, and a little luck, you just might find yourself driving one of these babies.” The man patted his neon yellow Hummer. “Don’t get too jealous, now. After all, 3, 4 years from now you’ll be old enough to drive and then you can live life to the fullest just like me! Anyway, see you around, little dude!” He got into his car and sped off out of the parking garage, his engine roaring obnoxiously.

Tim stared at the spot the man had just vacated for a full minute, contemplating if putting a C4 on his parking spot would be justified or not. Eventually, he decided to just let it go.

Besides, he didn't have much extra C4 and there were cameras in the garage he didn’t have the time to wipe.

~

By the time Tim had finished organizing his supplies, night had fallen. 

With barely contained excitement, he finally began to put the Buzzard suit on. He had made a few changes to it in the last year, opting more for stealth than strength while he acclimated to the Gotham crime scene.

The body suit was the same – black and skin tight, with kevlar woven around the chest and thighs. He had ditched the hood and domino mask combination and now had a full cowl, which faded into gray from the neck up like a black buzzard, complete with red eye pieces (Tim was all about aesthetics) (He had wanted the lenses to be black like an actual buzzard but Lady Shiva made him put the red ones in, claiming it made him look marginally less stupid) so that the only parts of him that would be visible from the shadows were his eyes. He had also added a cape. It was fireproof, bullet resistant, and looked enough like wings to fit the look.

Two silver bandoliers were strapped over his chest for easy access, making an X. Tim had packed a lot of goodies in there, including but not limited to, flash drives, smoke bombs, a rebreather, and a set of knives made to look like feathers. He insisted on having cool looking throwable weapons because everyone else did. Both Slade and Lady Shiva had called him an idiot for it. At least he wasn’t calling them wing dings.

The final and most important aspect of the Buzzard suit was that it had its own network. The whole thing was designed so that Tim would be able to break into and hack almost any computer, security system, fast food drive thru, etc. that he came across. There were a few access points on his gauntlets and chest piece where he could plug himself into a port, and everything would be sent to a display in his lenses. It had taken months of designing and problem shooting, but the new vigilante was quite happy with the way it turned out.

Lastly, he had a grappling gun clipped to one hip, and a small cylindrical pole to the other. He also had several different weapon sheathes, both hidden and easily perceived, for knives of varying size. Usually there would also be a katana strapped to his back, but Tim wanted to focus more on stealth that night and the katana would stick out.

He spent 15 minutes straightening his suit and making sure everything was working properly before he was finally satisfied, stepping over to the window with a peculiar feeling of anticipation deep in his chest he was not used to. 

It was go time.

He pulled the window up and stepped out onto the ledge, 20 stories up. He unclipped his grappling gun from his belt and pointed it towards the nearest building and took a deep breath in. And then, for the first time in what felt like a century, Tim Drake grinned. There was no hesitation in his form when the Buzzard lept from the window ledge and into the Gotham night.

His grapple hit its mark and he was suddenly no longer falling, but swinging, no flying , at a feverish pace. The lights from the street and the buildings around him blurred together, until he was nothing more than a dark comet blazing through the star-speckled backdrop that was Gotham at night.

Buzzard laughed, the noise quickly getting ripped away by the roaring wind in his ears. He could hardly remember a time when he was this giddy. He felt as though he were born for this. Born to be in the sky. He suddenly couldn’t fathom how he had managed to go so long in his life without this feeling. 

For once, he felt like the carefree 15 year old he was supposed to be.

Buzzard quickly made his way downtown, towards Crime Alley, barely managing to reign in his pure delight to refocus on his objective.

His plans for that night were simple reconnaissance and familiarizing himself with the Alley. He was fairly certain from what information he had gathered on Jason that the older teen would be largely operating in that area and he wanted to be ready.

Buzzard landed on a roof on the outskirts of Crime Alley and spent a whole minute catching his breath. It wasn’t the exertion that had his chest heaving (he had been trained to swing 10 miles straight before he ever needed to catch his breath), but the unexpected adrenaline and delight coursing through his veins. 

Grappling never felt like that when he was training. Maybe it was the lack of eyes on him, scrutinizing his every move. Or just the fact that flying through Gotham was a completely different experience to anything else. Either way, Buzzard would have to reign it in for next time. Couldn’t have anyone thinking he was unprofessional.

Calmed down, Buzzard began moving over the rooftops, much more careful now. He had always avoided this part of the city back when he was following Batman and Robin around, because the dynamic duo had always made a point to avoid it. Crime Alley was riddled with, well, Crime, even more so than the rest of Gotham. Which was a terrifyingly high bar to clear. Batman patrolled the outskirts every now and then when he was alone, but it was still a rarity to see anyone in a cape there.

Buzzard kept himself low to the roofs as he moved along, not wanting to take a bullet and test his armor so early into his tenure. Eventually he came to a particularly dingy alley near a warehouse and decided to set up shop there for the night. If there was one thing Gotham criminals loved it was dingy alleyways.

Sure enough, in less than 30 minutes he had his first criminal to observe. It was a man about Buzzard’s height, but with a heavily muscled build. He was wearing some kind of black mask which had the vigilante confused for a few seconds until he realized he recognized it. It was a crude replica of Black Mask, the Gotham crime lord. He reasoned that he must be looking at one of the villain’s goons.

After a few minutes the Black Mask henchmen was joined by another man, this time sporting clown makeup.

Buzzard tensed. A Joker goon? That didn’t make much sense. Usually the rogues of Gotham acted solo. Buzzard could only think of a few examples where any of them worked together, and that was usually Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, who didn’t really count. 

The Joker goon moved further into the alley. He was shaking slightly and Tim couldn’t tell if the pale color of his skin was makeup or just the man’s actual skin tone.

“You got the pills?” The Joker goon asked, voice a low rasp. “I don’t want to keep Mr. J waiting longer than I have to.”

“Poor bastard,” the hulking Black Mask lackey chuckled unsympathetically. His voice was a lot higher than Buzzard was expecting and paired with his muscles he reminded Buzzard of a human balloon that had been overinflated just a little bit. “Black Mask ain’t no saint, but at least I don’t get fed to sharks when I fuck up.”

“Well, Paul,” the pale man spat, “if you had set me up for that interview like I asked, then I wouldn’t be getting fed to sharks now would I.”

“I keep telling ya, you dolt! Mob bosses don’t give interviews for hired muscle! They just see muscle, and then they hire ‘em! I keep telling ya to lift weights, Jerry, but you keep going on and on about your damn joints–”

“They’re weak joints, Paul! Stop bringin’ up the weights, man! I can’t lift ‘em.”

“Well then you can’t be hired muscle. What do you want me to tell ya, man?”

“I bet Black Mask needs a guy to count his money or somethin’, Jerry! There’s gotta be a job you can get me.”

Buzzard watched in baffled amazement as the two goons went on to argue with each other back and forth for the next ten minutes. Jerry was complaining about clown makeup not coming out of his collar, even when he took his suit to the dry cleaners, when Paul finally snapped at him and blessedly ended the back and forth.

“Enough Jerry! Jesus man, ya always talk about the clown makeup and the dry cleaners. Do ya want the pills for your wacko boss or not?”

Jerry sighed and nodded meekly. He gave Paul a large wad of $20 bills and was handed a baggie full of neon green pills. 

“These are more potent than the last ones,” Paul squeaked, “just like your boss wanted. I suggest ya don’t let that maniac test this batch on ya, Jerry. Otherwise your joints are gonna be a lot worse.”

“That’s not funny,” Jerry groused. “It’s not like I have a choice! Everytime I walk into the room it’s all ‘Oh look, it’s Jerry! Come try my poison, Jerry! Try to vomit on your shoes and not mine, Jerry!’ I can’t keep livin’ like this, man.”

“If it makes ya feel any better, if he gives ya one of these you’ll probably just straight up die.”

“How the hell is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I dunno, I’m just sayin’ you won’t suffer as much.”

“I hate you Paul.”

“Yeah yeah. See you next week, Jerry.”

Jerry walked out of the alley, defeated, and Paul waited a few minutes before following him, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like “Ave Maria”. 

Buzzard sat for a minute in shock, thinking deeply about the implications of what he just saw. He pressed a button on his gauntlet and it opened to reveal a mini keyboard. He started to type,and the words appeared on his visual display in the cowl. Every now and then he did manage to impress even himself.

Buzzard jotted down as much as he could about the interaction (drug deal?) he had just eavesdropped on and moved onto a different alley.

He repeated that process for 6 hours. Every time he went to a new place, someone would show up within the hour. It wasn’t always the goons of one of Batman’s rogues, but the meetings did usually pertain to those strange neon green pills.

Frankly, Buzzard managed to get a lot more information than he was expecting from his little stakeouts. For one, he now knew The Riddler gave benefits to his goons, and, more importantly, one of the thugs had actually mentioned where the pills were coming from– an old warehouse a couple blocks over from Crime Alley. It was shut down years ago, which only meant it was a fantastic place to sell drugs. He doubted they were manufacturing them there – that would be way too easy – but checking the place out could give him some clues.

After the warehouse he would call it a night and go home. It was getting to be nearly 2am and the hours of squatting on various roofs were starting to make him sore.

A good grapple was enough to get the blood flowing again. 

He landed on the roof of the warehouse in a matter of minutes, breathing much more controlled than last time, although the adrenaline was no less potent. No wonder the Bats managed to come back to this night after night. The Gotham wind buffeting him while he got a birds eye view of the city was intoxicating.

Refocusing, Buzzard crept along the roof towards a skylight near the southern end of the building. He peeked down into the shadowy depths below, but it was too dark to make anything out. At least whatever crew was operating out of there had seemingly packed up for the night. Which meant Buzzard had free reign of the place all to himself. He grinned, reaching for the latch on the window.

Admittedly, he was being pretty complacent. The laughing, the grinning, the adrenaline distracting him from his surroundings. Those were all rookie moves, and the vigilante spent an entire year training so that he wouldn’t make rookie moves. He knew both of his teachers would have his hide for the way he was acting, even if it was his first night out. 

So when a sharp object came spinning through the air, landing only inches away from his outreached hand, his immediate reaction was more internal frustration at himself than anything.

“Well, shit,” Buzzard sighed, putting his hands above his head slowly. Honestly, it was way too soon for this confrontation. He was hoping to wait at least another month or two. Or never. Never would’ve been nice.

“Well, shit!” A bright voice parroted behind him. Buzzard had to hold back another curse because that was definitely Steph– Robin– which was the last Bat he wanted to meet so soon. “Whatcha’ doin’ there, my man? Don’t you know the city already has enough weirdos running around in black spandex? And you don’t even look enough like a bat to pull the doppelganger thing off.”

“It’s a buzzard, not a bat,” Buzzard shot back, despite his better instincts. What could he say? He was offended! Robin was accusing him of copying Batman, a guy who had decided to solve his problems by dressing as a flying rodent. He had decided to solve his problems by dressing as a scavenger bird. Those were two totally different things! Well, mostly. At least a little bit different.

Oh man, he was really going to have to do some self reflection later.

“Oh, my bad. A buzzard. Yeah, really separating yourself from the narrative there, chief.”

God damn it, she’s right! Tim despaired. Wait, shut up and focus. It literally doesn’t matter.

“Whatever,” Buzzard grunted, hoping he didn’t sound too self conscious. “I’m kind of busy, so if you could not throw knives at me and let me carry on with my night, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“What? You think I’m going to just leave a suspicious dude in a bird costume on top of a warehouse roof to go along about his day?”

“It would certainly be nice,” Buzzard said. Then, “You are also a suspicious dude in a bird costume on top of a warehouse roof by the way. I feel obligated to point that out.”

Robin was silent for a beat. Two.

“Okay, fine. You got me,” she admitted. “But I’m still not letting you go until you tell me who you are and what you’re doing.”

“I’m Buzzard,” said Buzzard, “and I’m trying to look inside this warehouse. There you go. Now if you would excuse me.” He reached for the latch again, and again a birdarang landed inches from his fingers. “That’s really annoying, just so you know.”

“I try. I suggest you go home. I don’t know if you’re trying to play hero, or if you think you’re being helpful in some way, but you’re not. The only thing you’re accomplishing is putting yourself in danger and getting in the way.”

Buzzard’s heart constricted briefly. He had to take a deep breath in and out before he could speak again. 

You’re not Tim Drake talking to Steph, he reminded himself. This is the Buzzard talking to Robin. You aren’t friends. Time to stop messing around.

“I’m being helpful,” Buzzard said calmly. He slowly shifted his position so that one of his knees rested on the roof. “Just not to you specifically.” He put tension in his other leg, straining his muscles in preparation. “But I’m definitely not playing hero.”

He pushed off of the roof, throwing himself backwards. Two more birdarangs clunked against the concrete dully where he had just been. Buzzard flipped into a handspring, hand going to his bandolier as he flipped himself upright.

When he landed on his feet a smoke bomb had already dropped from his hand, going off with a soft poof by the time Robin spun around to face him.

Buzzard ducked into the cover of the thick white smoke, and unclipped the metal rod the length of his forearm from his hip. He clicked a button on the side and the rod extended into a bo staff. He mastered several different kinds of weapons in the last year, but the bo staff had been his go-to from the second he picked it up. He appreciated the reach of it and its ability to deflect throwable objects once he sharpened his reflexes enough.

Despite Buzzard’s senses kicking into overdrive in anticipation, he wasn’t actually looking to fight a Bat yet. It wasn’t that he didn’t have confidence he could hold his own, so much as he was hoping to hold onto the element of surprise for as long as he could. He didn’t choose the moniker ‘Buzzard’ for nothing. He was meant to work from the shadows while the big guns beat each other to a pulp as a distraction. He could maybe beat the bats in a head on fight, but with preparation. Fighting Robin on a roof his very first night out was not something he had prepared for.

He rushed towards the edge of the roof, hoping that Robin would assume he was going back to the skylight. If he could lose her, he wouldn’t have to get into a fight and risk getting caught. He might even have time to double back and break into the warehouse from the ground. A quick look around was all he needed.

Those hopes were dashed when he saw Robin waiting for him at the edge of the roof, predicting his thought process. He cursed and swung his bo staff in a wide arc, hoping to move her. She dodged the move neatly, bending backwards at the waist, but Tim saw the corner of her mouth twitch downward for just a second before a mask of calm resettled over her expression.

The bo staff, the black-clad vigilante realized. She doesn’t have anything on her to combat it right now. I have the advantage of reach and she just has her hands.

Buzzard sprung forward, jabbing and swiping with the staff, pushing Robin back towards the edge of the roof. She was dodging each blow easily, but he wasn’t trying to hit her yet, waiting for an opening. 

He suddenly made a quick swipe towards her feet, taking her off guard. She had obviously been cataloging his moves to this point and had probably come to the conclusion that his lazy and messy swipes were indicative of an amateur. Someone playing hero just like she said. That was excellent news for him.

The sweep didn’t manage to connect, but it forced her to leap back, losing balance and position against the ledge of the roof. Buzzard lifted the bo staff into the air, miming an overhand strike to her head. Robin brought her arms up in a cross block to protect against any major damage, but he was already bringing the staff down, not towards her head, but down hard into the concrete roof. He let the staff slide through his hands as it came down, so that he had one hand firmly over the top and one wrapped around the shaft of it, about three quarters up. 

He lept into the air as the base of it met the floor (ceiling?), constricting on himself and then extending to his full length while using the momentum to spring forward like a pole vaulter. He was completely parallel to the roof, legs and feet together like a battering ram. 

Robin had caught onto what he was doing too late. She tried to bring her cross block down to defend herself, but Buzzard’s momentum was too great. His feet broke through the guard easily and hit her chest hard. She let out a wheezing oof and was sent flying backwards, losing balance completely and falling over the side.

For a second, Buzzard panicked, seeing his once best friend topple over the side of a 6 story drop. Thankfully, only a second after Robin disappeared over the ledge, he heard the telltale sound of a grapple firing. 

He let out a shaky breath.

“Nice moves there! You have good form in the air.” 

He sucked the breath back in and spun around.

Buzzard wasn’t sure when Robin had gotten the chance to call Nightwing for backup. Maybe he was there the whole time and was just waiting for Robin to classify him as a friend or foe.

Kicking someone off a roof probably did not get a person classified into the ‘friend’ category if he were a betting man.

Nightwing dropped into a fighting stance, holding his famous escrima sticks in front of him.

“I don’t suppose we could just talk this out like civilized vigilantes, could we?”’ Buzzard asked hopefully.

The man in front of him pressed a button and the escrima sticks lit up with an electric pulse.

“Does that answer your question?” he called sweetly.

“Eyup.” Buzzard turned on his heel and launched himself from the roof.

“Stop!” Nightwing yelled.

I appreciate your suggestion, but no thank you.

Buzzard was not about to push his luck. Yeah, he managed to take Robin off guard, but that was with the element of surprise and her underestimating him. For all he knew, Nightwing had been watching him for the last 2 minutes, getting an idea of his fighting style. Going against him and a now angry Robin in a 1 v 2 was a one way ticket to Arkham.

“B, we need backup! O, keep eyes on him.”

Shit. Fuck, even.

He hadn’t planned for Oracle yet. Truthfully, Tim knew frustratingly little about her besides the fact she was the Bat’s eyes and ears. He didn’t know how much of a reach she had or even who she was (he suspected Barbara Gordon but he didn’t know for sure). If she could easily follow his movements then Tim wasn’t just up shit creek, he was up shit river.

And of course there was the added fact Batman would be in pursuit as well. 

So far Tim was giving his debut night a 3/10. 

Buzzard swung through the city as fast as he could manage. He had a safe house nearby, but it wouldn’t do him any good if he was seen entering it. He needed a clean getaway.

He skittered across a gravel rooftop and rolled behind an air duct, trying to catch his breath. If he could just get into the system Oracle was using he might be able to temporarily shut her off from the network with one of his drives. He just needed… There!

A security camera on the next building over, tucked under a ledge in the shadows. The lens winked at him. Buzzard gave it the middle finger and fired his grapple, swinging next to it and hanging like a particularly stressed spider.

He pulled open a panel to search for any kind of port. It had an HDMI connection and nothing else, but Buzzard smiled. 

And Slade made fun of me for having multiple wire adapters in my suit. I guess we know who looks stupid now, Slade!

Then he pulled an entire HDMI cable out of his gauntlet and plugged it into the camera, feeling rather smug. The camera’s feed popped into his lens view less than a second later, along with a sprawling line of code that kept shifting even as Buzzard looked at it. He whistled under his breath. Oracle was good. Luckily, he wasn’t too shabby either.

He reached into his bandolier, pulling out a small case of flash drives. Each of them had prewritten code, more like a virus, already written into them. He plugged one of the more complicated ones into a port in his arm and waited impatiently for the program to run a match on the security camera’s code. 

Upload Successful flashed over his eyes right as he heard grapples close in on him. In the distance he could also hear the unmistakable roar on the Bat Mobile’s engine.

Time to go. 

Buzzard unplugged himself from the camera and dropped into the alley below him. There was a dumpster and several overflowing tin trash cans filling the space haphazardly. He tucked himself into the corner, behind a can that smelled peculiarly like peanut butter and sunscreen, and threw his cape over himself, melting into the shadows. He breathed in deeply (through his mouth) to slow his heartbeat.

Time for his last little party trick. He reached a hand up carefully, as not to rustle the cape, and tapped his ear piece sewn into his cowl. If Oracle used a similar code to hook the Bats’ comms up to a private network then hopefully…

Voices bursted to life in Buzzard’s ear and he suppressed a grin. 

Bingo.

“Oracle, where did he go? We’ve lost eyes on him.” That sounded like Nightwing. There were several seconds of silence. “O?”

“Hold on!” A woman hissed, presumably Oracle. “Something’s wrong. I’ve lost control of the grid. I’m blind.”

“Explain.” A voice that could only be Batman’s growled.

“That guy, Buzzard? Did something. He must’ve hacked into my system somehow. But that shouldn’t be possible!”

“Where did you last see him, O?” Nightwing asked. He sounded the most serious Buzzard had heard him so far.

“Security camera, on top of an apartment building. You should be right there. He flipped off the camera.”

“I’m really starting to hate this guy.” That was definitely Robin. Buzzard did kick her off a roof, so, fair.

“I’m at the camera, O. Panel on the side has been opened. I don’t see anything weird other than that.”

“Does it have any ports?”

“Just HDMI.” Nightwing hummed. “What kind of camera doesn’t have a USB port? What century is this?”
“Focus, Nightwing.” Batman’s mic picked up the sound of brakes and a grapple being released. “I’m looking at the camera now.”

“He pushed me out of the way even though I was already looking at the camera.”

“I said focus. Is it possible to access your system from a camera, Oracle?”

“ It shouldn’t be,” the mysterious woman replied. The sound of a clacking keyboard filled the mic. “Firstly, he would have to carry an HDMI cable with him, which is a level of insane you don’t even conform to.” Tim scoffed under his breath. If it was so insane, why did it work? Batman hmned noncommittally and Oracle continued. “Second, even if he was able to view my system, and he’d have to have pretty sophisticated tech, mind you, he would still need to hack my code.”

“And that would be… hard?” Nightwing guessed.

“It would be nearly impossible,” the woman corrected. “Especially not in the minute he was out of sight. He would need prewritten code and a damn good one at that.”

How nice. She called his prewritten code damn good.

“Oracle. Operating under the assumption he could hack your code,” Batman paused briefly while Oracle huffed indignantly, “What else would he be able to hack?”

“The only other system I have running on that code is the comms– oh shit.”

“Everyone disconnect now.”

Every earpiece shut off simultaneously with a little click and Buzzard was left alone with his thoughts. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

Buzzard stayed in the alley corner for over an hour, not wanting to risk anything. He knew Batman was thorough and the whole group would probably be looking for him for a while. Exhaustion started to creep in on him as he waited, however, and the smell of the alley was starting to get to him.

Finally, he couldn’t wait any longer and decided to move. There was no one around, at least not that he could see, when he took the cape off his head. He crept out of the corner and raced across the street, trying to stay as close to the shadows as possible. He just needed to make it to his safe house nearby and he would be safe. Grappling would be faster, but he would stick out too much that way, so running it was.

He was shocked to make it all the way to the rundown apartment without any major issues. The way things were going for him that night, he half expected the Bats to be waiting outside the building like “what took so long?”

Cautiously, Buzzard grappled up to his window quickly, picking the lock on the outside and slipping in. He would have to put better security in later, but in his defense he was not anticipating having to use that particular safe house so early.

Buzzard finally let his shoulders drop and almost melted to the floor as his posture collapsed on itself. Tim took a deep breath and reached up to finally pull the cowl from his face. And then stopped.

There was a muddy footprint on the floor, at least 3 sizes too big to be Tim’s. He spun around quickly, palming 3 of his feathers, though his stomach had already dropped in dread.

The apartment was very sparsely populated with furniture since Tim hadn’t actually moved in yet (Not that he was going to add anything), so that made it even more obvious to spot the man sitting in the single ancient recliner. In the middle of the room. Looking like a total asshole.

“Long time no see, Little Birdy,” Deathstroke said, maskless face unimpressed. “You managed to give the Bats the run around, which I admit was impressive, but your overall awareness could desperately use some work. I give you a 5/10. Now put those ridiculous knives away. We both know you aren’t capable of using them.”

Naturally, Buzzard threw the knives.

Chapter Text

For a long time, Tim saw Slade Wilson as untouchable. A skilled and unbeatable man that he could train to defeat for one hundred years and never manage to even scratch. Eventually, that feeling, as well as the pedestal he put Slade on, began to fade as he observed the man more.

Deathstroke was not a perfect fighter, and he definitely was not a perfect man. Tim learned the first truth by the end of his second month of training. He had known the second truth in the back of head already, but it did not fully sink in for him until his eighth month. Until the week he saved his teacher’s life.

With those two things in mind, Tim threw his feather knives at the man. He didn’t have the luxury to not aim to kill – Deathstroke would not show him that same mercy. Still, his chest loosened just a little when his teacher blocked the throwing knives with a flick of his blade.

“Sloppy. Even Robin would have blocked that.” Tim lunged toward him, bo staff extending. He swiped for Slade’s head, but shattered a picture frame of a fruit bowl instead. “Sloppy again. How many times have I told you to channel your anger into sharper focus, not blind attacks.”

“Shut up!” Tim growled. He threw a punch that Slade caught easily. The mercenary spun him around, pinning his arm behind his back. 

Tim gasped from the pain, but was surprised to find it didn’t last long. Deathstroke released him and shoved him roughly to the center of the room. His face was now a mask of cold fury.

“Again. This time actually try. ”

Tim wanted to snap back at the man, point out that he was the one that barged into his apartment. That Tim was the one who just had to fight off several Bats. Instead, he held his tongue and took a slow breath in, closing his eyes and centering himself. The anger was still there – there was always a large wellspring of it where Slade was involved – but he let it flow through him instead of trying to fight it. He released the breath sharply and Buzzard opened his eyes, staring straight into the challenge on his mentor’s face.

Buzzard sprung into action, releasing another volley of knives, these with much more velocity and accuracy. Slade still dodged them easily, but his face had settled back into a stone mask, as it always did when they fought.

Buzzard reached into his bandolier. His mind was already flying through his next several moves, laying down a plan as he went.

“No smoke bombs,” said the mercenary brusquely. “Fight me head on.”

A flicker of annoyance went through his body, but Buzzard let it pass. If Slade wanted a brawl he would be happy to oblige. 

Buzzard swung his bo staff instead. The whistling sound it made slicing through the air was familiar and soothing. It connected with Deathstroke’s blade. The room filled with a melodic CLANG CLANG CLANG while Buzzard swung again and again. Deathstroke met every swing confidently, not letting him gain even an inch of ground. Buzzard danced in and out of the man’s blindspot. He knew from past experience that it wouldn’t make any difference, but his body was yearning for him to move. He felt warm and shaky, like a soda shaken up really hard. But his mind remained clear. His breathing started to even out. 

Slade noticed the change and went on the attack, forcing Buzzard to defend now.

“You revealed yourself too soon,” he commented casually. His smooth tone could have implied that they were having a friendly game of chess instead of trying to rip each other to shreds.

“I have it handled,” his student responded, narrowly dodging a slice to his arm. 

Slade blocked his overhand attempt to smash his skull to pieces and kicked Buzzard away.

“If what I saw tonight was your idea of having things handled you might get yourself killed even sooner than I predicted.” He threw a knife and Buzzard batted it away with the staff.

“Don’t pretend you're concerned for my well being, Slade. You may be a good mercenary, but you’re a terrible actor.”

“Of course I don’t care about your well being,” the older man scoffed. Buzzard was immensely annoyed about the sting the words left in his chest. “I’m more concerned with my image. Imagine what it will look like if word gets out that I took on a student just to have them get thrown into Arkham in a week.”

Buzzard threw his staff at Deathstroke, taking the man off guard. It hit his hand and his blade dropped with a clatter. Buzzard ran forward and engaged him hand-to-hand.

“Wouldn’t want your precious ego taking a hit,” he grunted. He took a heavy booted foot to the stomach and rolled backward with the momentum, ignoring the dull pain. “We both know you’d just kill anyone that called you on it. Or maybe you can run away and ignore everyone. You seem to favor that tactic as of late.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Deathstroke launched himself at Buzzard with a growl. The young vigilante wasn’t expecting the mercenary-shaped torpedo that slammed into his chest and both of them hit the ground with a thump. A knife had materialized in the man’s hand at some point and he leveled it at Buzzard’s throat, eyes murderous.

“Are you calling me a coward?” he hissed. 

Buzzard sighed and all of the fight went out of him. He was honestly so tired. But he still met Deathstroke’s murderous gaze with a measured one of his own.

“Don’t posture at me, Slade. It’s beneath you.” Slade’s eyes somehow managed to narrow even further, but he did get to his feet. Tim stayed on the ground. “Why are you even here anyway? I haven’t seen you since Malaysia.” If the weight of that word had any effect on the mercenary, he didn’t let it show.

“What did you expect? Weekly lunch and coffee?”

“I expected you to finish training me,” Tim said with some heat, “not dump me off with someone else so you could continue on your little world tour alone.”

“You were compromised.” The lack of emotion was back in full force now and Tim hated it. “I told you from the very beginning that I am not a babysitter. I wasn’t going to sit there and hold your hand while you moped about–”

“Don’t,” Tim spat, surging to his feet, “you dare joke about that day, Slade.”

“If you don’t let it go it will eat you completely.” He sat down in the chair that now had a few knives sticking out of it. “But that isn’t my concern. I’m actually here about money.”

Tim sighed. He already missed the floor.

“I sent your money months ago, Slade. I’m not paying you any more.”

“I know you sent it. That’s the problem. You gave me too much.”

“I gave you the agreed-upon amount,” Tim frowned. Slade complaining about too much money? Maybe he had secretly killed Tim and now he was having an elaborate death vision.

“I trained you for 8 months. We agreed on 12.” Slade kept a neutral expression on his face but Tim could’ve sworn the mercenary was starting to look slightly uncomfortable.

“But I received a full year of training. If it bothers you that much, split it with Lady Shiva. Otherwise, don’t worry about it.” Tim watched Slade’s face go through a complicated series of emotions, all without actually managing to emote at all.

“Listen, kid. I need you to work with me here. I owe you one, okay? Just let me give the money back. You can use it for a suit upgrade or something. I don’t really care.”

Tim was very baffled.

“Owe me? For what, Slade?”

“Jesus, kid!” he finally spat, patience worn thin. He erupted from the chair and towered over his student. “Do I need to spell it out for you? You saved my life. That’s what I owe you for.”

Tim grimaced. So that’s what he was so hung up on.

“I told you to forget about it then, so forget about it now. Consider your favor owed. I don’t deserve compensation for that night.” He made to pull away but Slade grabbed him by the shoulder.

“How long are you going to be caught up on that damned night? You chose this! You chose to learn from an assassin–”

“I KILLED A MAN, SLADE!” 

They both went silent, staring at each other and breathing heavily.

“I killed someone,” Tim repeated softly. His stomach turned over on itself. Saying it out loud only worked to damn him further. “That’s not something I can come back from. Batman and Robin don’t kill. I never wanted to kill. And now I have. Don’t you get it?”

Slade snorted humorlessly. 

“You’re talking to a hired hitman, Birdy. Killing is in the job description.” His hand dropped from Tim’s shoulder. “I don’t know why your fucked up little brain decided to choose Batman to heroworship but you should just let it go. Do you know what happens when you don’t kill? The criminals do it for you. That fool has killed many more people than you ever have just by choosing to do nothing.”

“You make murder sound like some noble thing.”

“Oh it isn’t,” Slade chuckled. “I’m about as far from a saint as you’ll ever see. I don’t mean mindless killing, or contract killing.” He looked at Tim again, making sure to catch his eye. “Some people deserve to die, Birdy. You’re a smart kid. I trust you to be able to choose between the right and wrong people.”

Tim felt ill. What Slade was suggesting was the very thing Batman sought to prevent. One person taking the position of judge, jury, and executioner was not a solution. They would be no better than the villains they killed.

“You don’t understand,” Slade determined. He didn’t sound angry, just contemplative. “Maybe one day you will.”

“I’m not letting you give your money back,” was Tim’s reply. He was desperate to change the subject. He couldn’t take that look from Slade anymore. 

The mercenary picked up his sword and inspected the blade.

“Fine. I’m not going to beg over something as trivial as money.” He walked to the window and opened it. He paused on the ledge. “You obviously know a lot about the Bats. Keep using that to your advantage if you want this master plan of yours to work. I’ll see you around.” His legs tensed in preparation to leap from the ledge. He didn’t leave just yet. He seemed to think about something for a long moment.

“You should eat more if you want to last in this job. You’re too thin.” 

And then he was gone before Tim could even process his words.

“One of these days we’ll have a conversation that doesn’t confuse the hell out of me,” Tim said to the empty apartment. It felt like a lie even as he said it.

~

When Tim finally managed to drag himself to bed it was 4am. Just 2 hours before his morning alarm went off and interrupted him from a not restful bout of nightmares. Safe to say he felt like a bowl of human slime by the time he managed to shrug on his suit and tie.

Man he hated Mondays.

He took the bus to work that day. For once he was happy that he had to take public transportation rather than driving himself. Staying awake was proving to be harder than flying around Gotham with a grappling gun.

Once Tim made it to Drake Industries he made a beeline for the coffee maker in the lobby. He let loose a massive sigh of relief when the warm brown liquid touched his tongue and drained the mug in 4 gulps before pouring himself another. It was almost a year since he last had coffee. Slade said it wasn’t good for training and Lady Shiva claimed it would stunt his growth. As if that mattered. Tim would fight crime by biting shins like a rabid beaver if it meant he got to keep drinking his elixir of life.

“Excuse me, young man, but you should pace yourself,” the secretary called. She was a young woman in her 20s with brown hair tied up in a tight bun. She was wearing black slacks and a yellow blouse with lemon earrings. Tim could respect that.

“Sorry about that,” he chuckled self consciously. “I just can’t really function until I’ve had coffee in the morning.”

“I’m the same way,” she said with a kind smile. “Where are you off to this morning?”

“Oh the 15th floor, I think.” That made her pause.

“Of which building?”

Tim looked longingly back at the coffee pot. Would she let him get another cup?

“Hm? Oh, this building. The executive offices are still on the 15th, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” the secretary said slowly. She looked very confused now. Tim was starting to inch back towards the coffee pot. “Do you know someone who works up there? You do look familiar.”

“Yes. Me. I work up there. I’m going to have another cup of coffee, sorry.”

“Wh– you work up there? I’m sorry I’m very confused.”

“I’m Tim Drake,” Tim Drake explained. “I own the company and I’m back from sabbatical.” He picked up the coffee pot and looked between it and his mug. He put his mug down where the pot was supposed to sit and walked over to the elevator. “Sorry, but I’m stealing your coffee pot. I like this model, they’re easy to drink out of. I’ll buy you a new one.” The doors opened and the young Drake stepped inside and hit the button that had a 15 on it. The secretary watched him as the doors closed in open-mouthed horror, but Tim was too busy taking an enormous gulp from the coffee pot to notice.

What a nice lady, he thought.

~

His morning meetings were absolute hell. So many “Oh it’s so good to see you, Tim!”s and “Oh your parents would be so proud of you, Tim!”s. And don’t even get him started on the “Oh you look so handsome in your suit, Tim!”s. 

If he were a worse boss he would have fired half the company by noon. Actually, if he were a better boss he would have fired half the company by last Christmas. Perspective, and all that.

By the time he finally made it to the Board meeting at 3, Tim had a headache and was in a very bad mood. Only fitting that he had to deal with his arch rivals in that condition.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jefferson,” the Drake heir called to the board president calmly at 2:45. The tall blond man startled in the doorframe, obviously not expecting anyone to be in the meeting room so early. Tim knew that Vincent Jefferson liked to arrive at Board meetings 15 minutes early, so that every other member could be impressed that he got places early or something. So Tim had arrived 20 minutes early.

Petty? Yes, thank you very much.

“Tim? Is that you?” The deep-voiced man boomed. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so early. How was your trip?”

“It’s Mr. Drake during working hours, if you please Mr. Jefferson. I want to keep things professional.” Tim delighted in the thinning of Jefferson’s lip and the furrowed brow. “My trip was very good, thank you. Although I was a little stressed upon returning, seeing the state of things. I’ll explain more when the rest of the Board gets here.” He said, cutting Jefferson off before he could ask any questions. “Please, sit.”

Jefferson stared at Tim for a long moment. Tim didn’t know if it was shock at Tim’s audacity, or shock that Tim had called him and the Board out before the meeting even started. Or maybe it was the fact that Tim was most definitely sitting in the chair Jefferson always occupied at every single meeting.

Never go to corporate war with a Drake. You will never come out on top.

Jefferson sat, deciding on the seat directly across from Tim at the circular table. The two of them sat in complete silence for the next 10 minutes until another Board member finally showed up. Jefferson looked relieved, while Tim only smiled placidly, introducing himself. He had already won the battle of wills.

When the last person arrived (a woman named Elizabeth Parks who seemed to be having a worse day than Tim, if the enormous coffee stain down the front of her blazer was anything to go by) the meeting began. 

“Good afternoon everyone,” Jefferson called. A few people reflexively looked over at Tim’s spot before realizing the president was on the other side of the table. He had to suppress a grin. “I hope everyone is having a good start to their week– yikes, bad luck, Elizabeth– and a good start on the slot machines, am I right?” The room chortled good naturedly. Tim kept the placid smile, though he wanted to roll his eyes.

“Let’s get this meeting started, shall we? I’m sure you’ve all noticed the new face in the room.” he nodded towards Tim. “This is T– Mr. Drake. Janet and Jack’s son. He just returned from his extended sabbatical trip a few days ago and I asked him to sit in on our meeting.” Not true. Tim insisted in a passive aggressive email that he be at the meeting. Whatever made Jefferson feel better, he guessed. “We have a few things to discuss, including LexCorp’s offer. Would you like to say a few words, Mr. Drake?”

“Thank you, Mr. Jefferson.” The president smirked at one of the other Board members at the formal address. Oh, Tim was going to make him regret that. 

The youngest Drake stood.

“Hello everyone. I am Tim Drake, current CEO of Drake Industries. I have met some of you at various galas while my parents still controlled the company, but I want to start things off fresh. While we get to know each other, I would like everyone to use the proper respect we are all deserved. I may be young, as many of you are quick to point out in emails, but I assure you I have the best interests for this company and everyone who works under it in mind at all times. If you have a problem with a decision I make, fine. Ask me my motivations and I will explain them to you with complete honesty.” 

Tim sat down. The entire room was looking around at each other with varying expressions ranging from politely dubious to outright disbelief. Jefferson cleared his throat.

“Yes, well said, Mr. Drake. Now let’s move on to business.”

The next 45 minutes were filled with talk about sales and numbers. Both were low, of course. DI had been treading water since before Tim even left to go train with Slade. Now it was sinking faster than a Batarang (And those sank pretty fast. He did a project on it back in 6th grade). The Board didn’t seem to care. Most of them were staring boredly at the wall or trying to get coffee stains out of their nice blazer.

“Now that that’s all out of the way,” Jefferson said after the final business report, “I believe now is a perfect time to discuss LexCorp’s offer to buy Drake Industries.” 

The room perked up. Tim could practically see money signs in most of their eyes.

“The Board has already voted on our position, which was a resounding ‘yes’ in favor of taking the offer. We’d be happy to go over it with you before you sign, Mr. Drake. I know you had some concerns–”

“No need, thank you. I’ve already read it.”

Jefferson’s eyebrows shot up.

“So you’re ready to sign it?” He asked hopefully.

Tim allowed himself the smallest of smiles.

“Oh no. In fact I have a nicely worded rejection letter ready to be sent to Lex Luthor once this meeting is over. I would be happy to go over it with you before I send it.”

The room went silent. Multiple people were now staring at Tim in anger. Mrs. Parks was looking down at the coffee stain like it had taken her first born.

“Tim,” Jefferson was the first to break the silence, “we’ve all agreed to take the deal. You can’t just refuse.”

“Actually I can, Vincent,” he responded. Jefferson frowned deeply. “Like I said before, if you would like me to explain my motivations, I would be happy to.”

“Then explain.” Tim turned to the angry looking man that had spoken. Peter Lince, a 60 year old crow-looking man that even Tim’s mother had hated. “I was planning to use this money to buy a yacht.”

A bunch of the faces in the room lit up, like the idea of buying a yacht hadn’t occurred to them before, but now it was all they wanted in life. 

Deep breaths through your nose, Tim.

“Well, Mr. Lince, while I’m sure you would look great in boat shoes, selling to LexCorp does everyone but us much more harm than good.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m so glad you asked!” He got up and crossed to the back of the room where an enormous whiteboard was sitting. He spun the board around to reveal several graphs and figures taped to the back. A grand cacophony of spluttering and shock was music to Tim’s ears. Someone whispered “What the fuck?”

“In order to fully translate my thought process to you all, I’ve prepared a little presentation. Feel free to ask questions at any time.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a laser pointer. He shined it at the first figure labeled ‘Charity work’. “Firstly, I pulled last year's charitable spendings from both DI, LexCorp, and Wayne Enterprises. As you can see LexCorp and DI spent about the same amount, while WE spent over triple our amount.”

“Well they’re triple our size,” Theresa Popovich pointed out, “of course they would spend triple our amount.”

“Exactly! LexCorp is almost as large as WE, and yet they’re spending is the same as ours. You could argue they’re using that extra money to speed up technological advancements and increase sales, but again WE gives more and still makes more in a given year based on this graph.” He helpfully pointed to the graph in question.

“So your reason for declining this deal is a moral obligation?” asked Lince.

“No, one of my reasons for declining this deal is a moral obligation. If you look at the board you will see I have plenty more to talk about.” Tim was slipping into his ‘talking to morons’ voice by accident. If he wanted to keep their attention until the end he needed to dial it back. “My second, and arguably most important, issue is the major staff cuts that would come from this deal. If you look at this figure you’ll see that LexCorp spends the majority of its time and money on scientific advancements. They’re obviously after our science division as well. It’s the one program we truly measure up to our competitors on. We employ hundreds of people in this building alone. Do you think Luthor is keeping them all on the payroll?” Several of the Board members were frowning, but now it looked more thoughtful than angry. Tim had them contemplating, at least. “Look, you can see that he keeps a tight ship. This chart shows that LexCorp is the slowest expanding payroll of any of its competitors. Their employment rates are lower than ours, and we’re actively failing.” Maybe a little harsh. But still true. 

Tim paused briefly to see if anyone would say anything again. They didn’t.

“My last point is that Lex Luthor is too conniving to trust.” There were several rolled eyes. 

“Spoken like a teenager,” Lince spat. “All businessmen are conniving.”

“Follow the numbers, Mr. Lince. Do you know what LexCorps largest yearly spending has been on for the past 10 years? Kryptonite.”

“So what? He hates Superman, and I don’t blame him! What’s to stop that freak alien from–”

“If you think spending millions of dollars on a rock that has little to no discovered beneficial properties, besides being a good way to repel a ‘freak alien’, is a good business plan, Mr. Lince, I think I understand why our profits are plummeting steadily.”

Lince spluttered, his face red.

“Alright, you’ve made your point, Mr. Drake,” said Jefferson, before Lince could rebut anything. “However, as you’ve so brazenly put it, our profits are plummeting. You make a good point that Luthor may not be the person to sell to, but in all likelihood we will have to sell. Unless you have anything to counter that?”

Tim sighed. Unfortunately, Jefferson was probably right.

“I have a few ideas on how to extend global outreach and raise sales that way, but it won’t be enough to last forever.”

Jefferson raised his eyebrows like he had expected Tim to argue with him.

“Can I keep accepting offers then?” He asked.

“Yes,” the CEO allowed, feeling hollow all of a sudden. “I would like to discuss them in the future before we get to this stage, but… yes. Keep taking offers.”

He just needed to keep extending time. He wouldn’t let his parents’ one bit of remaining legacy go down without a fight. He just needed to find a solution.

“What? That’s it? We’re just going to listen to the teenager telling us we can’t sell because a man is shady ?”

“Well, we’ll have to vote on it,” Jefferson said calmly. “All of those in favor of rejecting the LexCorp deal?” All hands but Lince’s went up. Tim was shocked. “Alright then. Looks like the majority is in favor. You may send your email, Mr. Drake.”

“Do you want to read it?” he asked in somewhat of a daze.

“No, that’s ok. It would probably just give me stomach ulcers from the stress.”

The meeting adjourned soon after that. Lince was the first to leave in a blustering and angry tornado. Tim was pulling the graphs off the white board– next time he should just make a powerpoint– when Jefferson came up to him.

“Can we speak a moment, Mr. Drake?”

“Just Tim is fine, Mr. Jefferson,” Tim muttered, feeling very embarrassed all of a sudden.

The older man smiled wryly.

“In that case, just Vincent or Vince is fine.” Tim nodded. “Look, Tim, I know you think the board is against you, but we’re not.”

Tim remembered Lince and grimaced.

“Well, most of us aren’t,” Vincent chuckled, reading the look on his face. “What I mean is, you can trust that we do have the company’s best interests at heart. Sure, some of us are motivated by greed. Who isn’t to some extent in this business? But we aren’t so heartless we would raise ourselves up at the expense of others. Your presentation did a good job reminding us of that.”

“Thank you,” Tim said quietly.

“What I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to fight us. As long as you are willing to explain what you’re thinking, we’ll listen. I’ll admit many were dismissive of you due to your age, myself included to some extent, but it’s safe to say you’ve proved us wrong. We’re excited to see where you take this company, Tim. I’m sure your parents would be very proud.” He gave Tim a small, but genuine, smile. And then he was gone.

Great. Now Tim felt like an asshole.

~

He settled into a rhythm over the next few days. During the day he sat in meetings at DI, and at night he would be out in the city as Buzzard, though in a much more limited capacity.

The Bats were still looking for him. They must have surmised that the warehouse was an important target to him, because they almost always had someone on lookout in the vicinity. 

Tim wasn’t too worried about that, however. J-Day (Jason arrival day) was fast approaching and he needed to be prepared. He had a plan and needed to stick to it.

As part of that plan, he got more involved with Crime Alley. He roughed people up, disrupted a few drug deals here and there. Nothing that would get an entire gang coming down on his head too soon, but enough to where he was a nuisance. He didn’t want his name shouted from the rooftops, but a couple of under-the-breath grumbles would do nicely.

Things were lining up quite nicely with J-Day only 72 hours out and Tim was actually feeling pretty prepared. He only wished the Waynes (both the Bat versions and the regular civilian versions) would wait to bother him until after the big day.

It started with a text from Steph a couple days after his return to town.

Just a Hey! I heard you’re back in town. We should grab lunch or something soon!

To which Tim responded with the classic Absolutely!

Short, succinct, non-committal. Perfect for someone who did not actually have a lot of time to grab lunch (did people still even eat lunch these days? Tim thought the whole 3 meals a day thing went out of style years ago). It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Steph– he would actually like to see her again outside of wearing masks– it was just that Tim didn’t have time. He didn’t have time to sleep, he didn’t have time to eat, and he didn’t have time to socialize. He wasn’t complaining necessarily, he had planned his schedule that way, it was just a lot to deal with at once. So Tim didn’t make an effort to continue the conversation after that short text.

It was stupid to assume that would deter Steph in any way.

Stephanie : So are you actually going to decide on a time and place? Or is that up to me?

Tim : I’m actually pretty busy for the next few weeks, it’ll take a while for my schedule to clear up.

Stephanie : It’s up to me. Got it. Ok how about Bat Burger? I’ll bring it to your office.

Tim: Steph. Please don’t do that.

Stephanie: Tim, I will be doing that.

Tim: Stephanie

Stephanie: Timothy

Luckily the next day there was a gas leak at an elementary school in the city and Robin had to be on the scene to evacuate the students. Wait, that sounded bad. Let the record show Tim was not actually happy about a gas leak in an elementary school. It just happened to be extremely convenient for him.

Stephanie: Sorry I couldn’t make it to lunch today, I got caught up with something the blonde sent an hour after it was reported Robin was able to get all of the students to safety.

Tim: That’s ok. I can understand being busy. Because I am busy. Which is why we agreed no to lunch.

Stephanie: You decided that because you’re delusional from hunger. Good thing I’m bringing you lunch tomorrow. I am such a good friend.

Tim: Steph please.

Stephanie: Please bring you lunch? You got it dude. I’m on the case!

Read at 2:47PM

Stephanie: YOU DID NOT JUST TURN ON READ RECEIPTS SO YOU COULD LEAVE ME ON READ!!

Stephanie: Tim?

Stephanie: TIM YOU BASTARD YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS

Tim made the unfortunate error of forgetting about the whole thing entirely until the next day. Morning meetings had run long and Tim was struggling to make his way through a backlog of emails when his phone buzzed.

New Message From Dick Grayson

Dick: Hi Tim! It’s Dick from next door. What’s your Bat Burger order?

Tim stared at his phone for so long 5 new emails appeared in his inbox. Then he cursed like a seasoned sailor.

Message Conversation With Stephanie Brown

Tim: Can you please explain to me why Richard fucking Grayson is asking me for my Bat Burger order?

Stephanie: I told you you would pay :)

Stephanie: Ignoring Dick won’t make the problem go away. I told him you forget to eat sometimes so if you don’t answer him he’ll order 2 extra large triple cheeseburgers with extra mustard. Trust me, the guy is diabolical.

Message to Dick Grayson

Tim: Small chicken nugget meal, please. But. Please don’t worry about it. It’s extremely nice of you to ask but I’m a little busy for lunch today and I don’t want to be a nuisance.

Dick: Don’t be silly! No one is ever too busy for lunch! See you soon.

He sprinted out of his office and into the hall in a panic. No. Dick Grayson could not come here. Tim was too busy to deal with a heart attack.

He ran up to his secretary, Sammy, out of breath.

“Mr. Drake? Are you ok? You look a little winded.”

“Sammy,” the CEO gasped, “There’s about to be a blonde girl and also Dick Grayson that are going to try to come up here with Bat Burger. Do not let them into my office under any circumstances, ok? In fact, call Tabitha at the front desk lobby and tell her the same thing. Do not let those two up.

“Just to be clear, Dick Grayson, famous celebrity and son of Bruce Wayne, is going to try to come up here with fast food.” the raven haired secretary said blankly.

“Yes. And you won’t let him. Right.”

“I’ve always wanted to meet Dick Grayson,” she sighed dreamily. Tim waved a hand in front of her face.

“Sammy, focus! Don’t let them in!”

“Sure, whatever you say, Mr. Drake.”

With that settled Tim returned to his office and dove back into his emails. If he had more time he could have set up more of a defense but a 2 desk blockade should do the trick.

His confidence weakened when he got an email from Tabitha that said “Sorry. I was weak”. And it crumbled completely when Sammy stuck her head through the door with a sheepish expression.

“Sammy please do not tell me that Dick Grayson and Stephanie brown are here with lunch,” he pleaded, head dropping to his hands.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Drake. Mr. Grayson is just so sweet! He said my hair looks good in a bob, which no one has told me yet, and then Ms. Brown complimented my new piercings.” She sighed. “I was weak. Please don’t fire me.”

“It’s fine, Sammy,” Tim sighed, wearing an expression that made him look anything but fine. “Send them in.”

She pulled her head back and opened the door fully, revealing Dick Grayson and Stephanie Brown. The former wearing a winning grin and the latter wearing a knowing smirk. Then someone shifted behind them and Damian Wayne poked his head around Dick.

“Are we not entering the office? I don’t understand why we are just standing in the doorway.”

Tim gaped at the youngest Wayne. His brain had gone into Do Not Disturb mode. What the fuck.

Stephanie full-on grinned at Tim’s expression.

“Why hello, Timothy! We’ve brought you lunch!”

“Steph,” Tim said slowly. So slowly. “How many Waynes did you bring to my office?”

(“We’re still standing in the doorway. Is this some office custom I am not familiar with?”)

“Just the two, Tim.”

“Although, Bruce wanted to come,” Dick added pleasantly, “but he was busy with meetings.”

“I’m sorry to have missed him.” Tim sounded strained even to his own ears. “Why don’t you come in?” He looked around his barren office that only had two guest chairs (for show! No one was actually supposed to sit in them!) “Uh, Sammy, could you grab another chair please?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Dick. “I don’t need a chair.” And then he sat on the printer, legs kicking in the air. Sammy looked like she was going to pass out. Tim understood the feeling.

“Thank you Sammy, that’ll be all,” he nudged. She broke out of her stupor, a little embarrassed, and left the room with a nod.

“So,” he began awkwardly, “how are you guys doing?”

Steph launched herself over his desk and hugged him so tight Tim thought his ribs would shatter. Having gone a very long time without actually receiving physical affection (the last time he had received anything remotely similar was when Lady Shiva had confusingly patted him on the head once) his immediate reaction was to tense up. After a few seconds he melted into the hug and returned it full force to his friend.

“I missed you, you idiot.” Steph whispered. Tim smiled.

“I missed you, too.”

“Oh yeah?” She challenged. She pulled back and crossed her arms in false annoyance. “Why is organizing lunch with you like pulling teeth, then? Huh?”

“I’m busy!” 

“Oh yeah? Doing what?”

“I have to sign off on 12 reports, create a 15 minute presentation for a meeting tomorrow, and answer the 87 emails in my inbox.” His computer dinged. “Sorry. The 88 emails in my inbox.”

Steph blinked.

“Well I’m happy for you, or I’m sorry that happened. Anyway, say hi to Dick and Damian!”

“Um, hi. Not to be rude, but why are you guys here?”

“Tim!” Steph hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.

“What? I prefaced it with ‘not to be rude’! That means it wasn’t rude!”

“Just because you say it doesn’t automatically make it not rude!”

Damian turned to Dick, who was grinning happily on the printer.

“If he attacks Brown do I have permission to kill him?”

The other 3 in the room went silent. Dick and Stephanie looked horrified. Tim was just thoughtful.

Oh yeah, he thought, I forgot about the whole ‘grew up with assassins’ thing. Oh how time flies.

“Don’t mind him!” Dick said hurriedly. “He’s just been watching a lot of action movies recently. You know how much violence there is in those.” he forced a laugh. “That’s just what he says when he’s being protective. Right Dami?”

The boy glared at Tim. Tim looked calmly back.

“Right.” He grunted. They both seemed to come to a silent agreement that they knew he was lying.

“I brought Damian because he wanted to see how a company outside of WE worked.”

“Incorrect. I believe your wording was ‘you are coming with me to lunch because Timothy deserves punishment for being a jackass.”

Steph rolled her eyes.

“Semantics. Anyway,” she grabbed one of the greasy fast food bags and sat down, “let’s eat. I haven’t had Bat Burger in so long.”

“That’s because having it more than once a year would probably send you into cardiac arrest,” Tim commented. He dropped his bag on his desk where it made a disconcerting plop sound.

“At least the haggard looking teenager is smart enough to know good food from bad food.” Damian took a sniff of his fries and grimaced. “This smells horrid.”

“‘Haggard looking’?” 

“Come on, you guys are being mean,” said Dick, grabbing his bag. He took a big whiff. “Ahhh, smells like memories.”

“Do most of your memories involve you on the toilet?” Tim asked without thinking. He froze in absolute horror. Shit. He didn’t mean to say that. Dick had brought this food for him and here he was outrightly disrespecting him. He needed to apologize before–

Dick and Steph burst out laughing, Dick’s laughter so hard he fell to the floor holding his stomach. Damian just rolled his eyes and picked up a slightly yellow apple slice from his bag.

“Um, are they ok?” The teenaged CEO asked the youngest Wayne. “I thought what I said was more disrespectful than funny.”

“They are both morons,” said the boy matter of factly. “They will laugh at anything because they have no taste.” He paused. “Although I will recognize that your words at Richard’s expense were vaguely humorous.” Then he nodded to Tim professionally and took a sip of orange juice.

“Oh my god! You just got complimented by Damian! And it’s only been 5 minutes!” Steph was red in the face, tears dripping from her eyes. “Oh I missed you, Tim.”

“I missed you too?” It was all very confusing.

Note to self: Waynes enjoy toilet humor?

“We definitely need to have you for dinner at the manor. Bruce is going to think you’re great.” Dick sighed, finally removing himself from the floor and sitting back on the printer with his food. Just what Tim needed. A chance to embarrass himself in front of Bruce Wayne. No thank you.

“Yeah. That would be fun.” He put as much false cheer into his voice as he could muster. “My evenings have been running kind of long though. So, I’ll let you know when it clears up.” Dick smiled, as though he had been expecting that answer.

“Your uncle too. I’m sure he’s just as fun as you are.”

“Of course.” Tim very carefully did not meet Steph’s gaze. “He’s pretty busy though. His job makes him work strange hours. Hey can you pass me a straw? I didn’t get one.”

Dick got up to grab Tim a straw from the bag, successfully distracted. He could feel Steph glaring at the side of his head but he refused to acknowledge it. She had been the only person to call bullshit on Tim’s uncle story from the very beginning. He still didn’t understand how she knew it was all fake – he had hired an actor to appear in public with him and everything – but somehow she did. She hadn’t seemingly gone to anyone else about it, but he knew it was only a matter of time before she tried to look into it. Especially with a Bat’s resources on hand. Not that it mattered. Tim had more than one contingency in place for his uncle. No, it was everything else that made him nervous if a Bat started looking at him too closely. He hoped he had become a better liar in the last year because he had way more important secrets to keep than a fake uncle. 

The rest of lunch passed by quickly, the 4 of them holding conversation easily. Steph talked about how she had become friends with the Waynes through her internship and Tim nodded and asked follow up questions in the right places. He still didn’t know how to handle the bright smiles sent his way by Dick, or even the surprisingly in depth questions Damian asked about his job, but he did his best.

After 20 minutes and the 30th ping signaling a new email from Tim’s computer, Dick decided to take pity on him and announced their departure.

“Aw come on, Dick! Only 10 more emails and I bet his eye starts twitching.”

“Be nice, Steph. We’ve taken up enough of Tim’s time. Let him get back to work.”

Tim would have hugged the man if he wasn’t sure the action would make his heart stop.

Before they left, he stopped Dick at the door and pulled out his wallet.

“How much do I owe you for lunch?” He asked.

“Why is it that every time we meet you try to give me money?”

Tim’s face reddened at the reminder of their last embarrassing encounter.

“I just want to pay you back for picking up the food and bringing it here,” he mumbled. “How much?”

“Tim, my dad is the richest guy in town. I can afford to buy you Bat Burger. Don’t sweat it.” He smiled. Tim frowned.

“But you can’t just buy dinner for me. If I can pay you I should pay you. I don’t want to be a freeloader.” That’s the way it worked! He should know by the amount of times he went to bed without dinner because he had selfishly relied on his parents to make it for him (“If you’re capable of making it yourself, Timothy, why should we take time out of our busy schedules to do it? Are you really so lazy you need us to do even the simplest things for you?”).

“You’re not being a freeloader, buddy. I bought lunch for everyone because I wanted to.” Dick was frowning now. “Seriously, I don’t mind.”

Tim could tell he wasn’t going to take his money. Reluctantly he put his wallet away. His good mood from lunch had soured a bit. Still, he met Dick’s eyes with determination.

“Fine. But next time I’m buying, ok?”

For some reason Dick grinned.

“Next time, huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tim panicked, “I didn’t mean to presume anything, I just thought–”

“Tim calm down buddy! It’s fine. I’m just happy you wanna eat lunch with us again is all. I’d be happy to let you buy next time.”

“Oh. Good.” Tim really needed a nap. Talking to Dick Grayson was exhausting.

“Good,” Dick parroted with a warm smile. Then he reached out and ruffled Tim’s hair. Just like when Lady Shiva had done it, Tim flinched, hard. His face grew warm again. It was so frustrating to act so consistently weird in front of the oldest Wayne child.

But Dick didn’t seem to mind. He simply pulled his hand back and let it rest in one of his pockets. He didn’t acknowledge it at all. He just continued smiling and left easily with a wave like nothing had happened.

What a strange guy.

~

J-Day arrived quickly and without fanfare. Tim tracked as a Todd Isaacs flew into Gotham at 3:32 pm. He didn’t know when Jason would make it to his apartment (like, he could check if he wanted to because he had 5 different cameras pointed at the place. But that would be weird. And Tim wasn’t weird) but he figured the former Robin would probably be out as soon as the sun set. And Tim would be ready.

He was meticulous about his preparation that night, making sure he had a knife in every holster, and 3 different lock picks hidden in various places in his suit. For the first time since he had appeared in Gotham as Buzzard, he secured his sword to his back. He didn’t plan on using it, but he wanted to make a show of power and there was nothing that did that quite like a sword.

Buzzard left the apartment half an hour before nightfall. He wanted to be in Crime Alley when Jason got there. His plan hinged on them running into each other at some point, but he needed to make it look like an accident. 

He got to the Alley and got to work doing his usual routine of roughing up some of the thugs and being a general nuisance. He had been at it for almost 3 hours and still hadn’t run into Jason yet. He didn’t actually know what he would look like (walking around a crime riddled cesspool dressed as Jason Todd, dead son of Bruce Wayne, was probably not a viable strategy), but he was confident he would know him when he saw him.

It was on his 7th side alley of the day that Buzzard struck gold. He had been doing the same routine of eavesdropping on a drug deal when he noticed another presence nearby. He couldn’t be sure if it was Jason or not, but that was fine. He would be patient and let the former vigilante come to him.

When Foster and Crenshaw had finally exchanged the little green pills below him, Buzzard chose that as the moment to drop down behind them. Sometimes he would break up the deal before the drugs could exchange hands, but he still hadn’t been able to discern where they had come from or where they were going. That was why he mostly waited until the second goon received the baggy. He didn’t want people being too cautious and go underground before Buzzard could track down the operation.

“Hey fellas, what’s going on?”

“Shit! It’s the bird!”

Tim sighed. It always sounded so uncool when they said that.

“You know, one of these days you’re going to stop coming back to the same exact alley every night to get your ass kicked.” Cheesy? Maybe. But sue him, his favorite Robin could be watching and he couldn’t help but mimic his old bravado.

“Hey it’s not our fault! This is the best place to deal drugs out of.”

“You idiot! Don’t tell him that!”

“It’s not like he didn’t know already, you ass!”

Predictably, the two men kept on bickering, forgetting Buzzard was there. Finally he cleared his throat.

“Uh, guys? I have a schedule to keep so if we could, like, move this along, that would be fantastic.” 

They turned back towards him, hands on each other's collars. Crenshaw’s eyes narrowed and Tim reflexively loosened his body. Things would pop off soon.

“I’m tired of this guy, Foster,” he said. His beady eyes flickered with hate. “What do you say we waste him?”

Foster grinned stupidly.

“I say you’re right, Crenshaw.” They both let go of each other’s collars and reached for their guns in unison.

Buzzard barely repressed the urge to roll his eyes. Then he realized no one could see it so he rolled them anyway.

What TV show do these two think they’re in right now?

Buzzard was a little surprised they had decided to shoot him. Guns and shooting weren’t uncommon in Crime Alley, of course, but he learned quickly  gun fights tended to make the whole area on edge. It usually led to a pretty violent night when all was said and done. They must have really hated him. He was moving up in the world.

Of course, by the time they actually got a hand on their weapons, Buzzard had already moved. He raced towards them, feathers in one hand. He didn’t want to give his spectator much of a chance to study his moves, so he was aiming to end things quickly. 

He threw two feathers when Crenshaw and Foster had finally managed to get their guns up. The knives hit their mark and the firearms were knocked from both white-knuckled grips. Foster barely had time to muster an expression of surprise before Buzzard’s foot connected with the side of his head. He went down in a heap like a puppet with its strings cut.

He switched his attention to Crenshaw, who had at least raised his fist in some semblance of a fighting stance. His feet were completely out of form, though, which Buzzard took advantage of by sweeping them out from under him. Crenshaw grunted as he hit the ground. He struggled for a second but stilled when a feather landed an inch from his pudgy nose.

“I would just concede this round, Crenshaw,” Buzzard said. He lazily twirled a second feather in his hand. “Your nose makes for a pretty big target. I won’t miss a second time.”

“Alright, fine! You win,” the thug wheezed. “Just tell me what you want.”

“I want you to stop coming around here. Tell your boss to stop selling shit here.”

“He won’t listen to me,” Crenshaw croaked. “What am I gonna tell him? A kid beat me up and now he should stay away?”

“Do you think he would better understand the message if he found you piece by piece and put it together himself?” Buzzard growled coldly. He pretended not to notice how real the satisfied smile on his face felt when Crenshaw paled.

“Fine! I’ll tell him ok? Just don’t do any freaky shit.” The goon carefully got to his feet. Foster groaned nearby and Crenshaw kicked his foot. “Foster, get up before the bird beats the shit out of us again.” Foster groaned and was hauled to his feet. He blinked blearily.

“Did we win?”

“No you moron, I just said we got our asses kicked. Stop leaning on me, you dumb fuck! Let’s go.” They stumbled out of the alley and Buzzard watched them go calmly. He didn’t usually go for the ‘tell your boss I’m coming for them’ bit, but it seemed appropriate with an audience. He needed to step his game up to get taken seriously. 

He climbed back to the rooftops, waiting to see if the figure he hoped was Jason would make a move. He moved to a new alley and the figure followed from a distance. So far, they seemed content to just observe Buzzard and not engage. That was fine with Buzzard. He could be patient.

He roughed up 2 more drug deals and an attempted mugging (a mugging! How enriching!) over the next few hours and still Buzzard was left to his own devices. He was starting to wonder if Jason– or whoever the mystery person was– was going to wait for a different day. Maybe he was just staking things out and wouldn’t get started earnestly for a week or two. That would make a lot of sense strategically and physically. Jason had been out of the game for a lot longer than a year, after all.

Buzzard almost convinced himself he was right, and Jason wouldn’t seek him out yet. After he broke up the last drug deal of the night, he let his guard down. Or at least, that’s what it looked like to any outside observer.

He was already moving forward when he heard the gunshot. He could play the cool guy card and pretend he knew it was coming, but in actuality he was expecting a knife or something similar. Thankfully, the bullet only grazed his thigh, but it was a close call. Buzzard darted behind a dumpster as the second bullet whizzed past his ear. Two warning shots, then.

He needed to get to higher ground, and fast. He was a sitting duck on the streets. Hiding behind trash cans and dumpsters wouldn’t work so well when his pursuer had an angle on him.

He dropped a smoke bomb and waited for the thick plumes to obscure him. Once it was curling over his head he fired his grapple and grabbed a few feathers from his bandolier. 

Predictably, a third shot rang out the moment Buzzard’s head was visible. He was able to avoid it by flattening himself to the wall, but it was a near thing. He tossed his feathers in the direction he thought the bullet had come from and finished his climb to the roof. He was a little less graceful than he wanted to be when he scrambled to dive behind an air conditioning unit, but the graze on his thigh was stinging painfully and he didn’t want to be shot at again. 

Despite the late hour, the Alley was beginning to come to life again. The gun shots had stirred the meaner criminals into action and Buzzard could hear windows smashing and yelling. 

“Are you going to keep trying to shoot me or are we going to punch each other in the faces like gentlemen instead?” Buzzard called out. He wanted to gauge how this was going to go before things got out of hand. If he really was dealing with an angry Jason Todd, hopefully he would respond to Buzzard’s bravado and bring the bullets down a notch. If he wasn’t dealing with Jason then it was probably a different League of Assassins ninja. Maybe they finally found out about that time Tim stole all of their files. Talk about bad timing.

The roof was silent, the sound of the Alley a distant background. Then his assailant answered.

“Step out in the open and you’ll find out,” a heavily mechanized voice droned. Buzzard frowned. A voice modulator?

“Very persuasive, but I like my kneecaps, thanks.” He strained his ears for any movement. Still nothing.

“I wouldn’t shoot your kneecaps. Just your head.” The voice sounded like it had moved. Buzzard unclipped his bo staff.

“If you wanted to shoot me in the head you would’ve done it already,” Buzzard pointed out. “Unless you’re so bad of a shot you can’t hit an unaware vigilante in the head.” 

The voice went silent again and Buzzard swallowed his frustration. The last time he saw Jason the older boy was hardly able to keep his anger in check. The lack of an outburst was starting to point in the direction of a league assassin and he really wanted to avoid that headache. Well, he had one more trick he could try.

“Are you Batman? Finally deciding to use a gun after all these years? That would explain why your aim is so shit.” 

Buzzard heard an animalistic growl and almost sighed in relief. There he was.

The mystery man leapt over the top of Buzzard’s hiding spot, gun indeed aimed to shoot him in the skull, but the new vigilante was way ahead of him. His staff was swinging before MaybeJason was fully over the vent. It connected with his gun hand and the firearm went skidding away. 

Buzzard eliminated one problem, but now there was an extremely angry man almost twice the size of him in his face. And he had about four times the amount of armor Buzzard had. 

If I’m going to wear a stealth suit I should probably actually start doing some stealth, he thought with minor irritation looking at the armored tank of a man.

It was the first time he got a good look at MaybeJason. He was decked out in black and gray, armored from his head to his toes. He wore a brown leather jacket over a dark chest piece, but the biggest fashion swing was the red helmet that completely enveloped his head. That explained the voice.

“Who the hell are you supposed to be? Red Mask?” Buzzard asked, distracted.

“It’s fucking Red Hood!” MaybeJason screamed. He threw a punch the strength of a minor nuclear missile that blew wind in Buzzard’s face when it passed inches from his nose.

“Red Hood? Like the Joker?” Disappointment filled him. Was this just a Joker stunt?

“No! Not like the fucking– well yes like the fucking Joker but– hold on, how the fuck do you know that?” MaybeJoker was all over the place, making it hard for Buzzard to follow him.

“Well, I read a lot.” Another punch, this time a jab, almost caved his face in. “Woah! Jesus, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Are you made of cinderblocks?”

“You’re on my turf, bird shit,” MaybeSomeoneMaybeNot spat, pausing his attempts to punch Buzzard into the afterlife to gaze at him with piercing red lenses. 

“I’ve been here for weeks, Mr. Hood. You’re the new one.” Buzzard was circling back around to the theory that he was, in fact, talking to Jason Todd. Few people he knew would show up to a place they hadn’t been to in a year and accuse others of encroaching on the territory.

“I don’t care how long you’ve been here. I’m taking this territory in the name of the Red Hood. You got that?” That made Buzzard pause. He thought for a second.

“What do you want it for?”

“What the hell do you mean?” Red Hood asked, taken aback.

“Well if you want to hang out in Crime Alley so bad, there’s got to be a reason,” Buzzard mused. He would put a hand on his chin if he didn’t think Hood was going to try to suplex him for it.

“I’ve come to free this city,” the man said. “And to do that I need an empire. And where better to start one than Crime Alley?”

“Free the city? From what?” Buzzard dug further. 

Come on, give me something to go off of, please.

“The Bats,” the modulated voice intoned like it was a revelation. And maybe it was. “They’ve poisoned this city for too long. I’m here to save it.”

Buzzard really did think that time. If he hadn’t ever seen Jason that night near the manor, enraged and emotional, he would have made the claim the man before him could not possibly be Jason Todd. But he did see him. He had hidden out of fear. Tim realized that night that if Jason saw him things would end miserably for him. Buzzard got the same feeling now. If this angry man in front of him saw even a hint of the weakness Buzzard was hiding deep inside, Jason would kill him. Because he was definitely looking at Jason Todd. So he squashed the urge to defend the Bats and beg Jason to go back to the father that had been so lost without him.

“So you hate the Bats. Big deal. Everyone around here hates them, me included. Fuck the Bats,” he added with a conviction that would have made 10 year old Tim Drake faint. “That still doesn’t explain how you plan on fixing anything. This city is full of insane nuts who all think they’re going to destroy Batman and remake things in their image. What do you bring to the table, Mr. Hood?”

Jason stared at him for so long Buzzard thought he wouldn’t say anything. Then he kicked Buzzard in the stomach.

“First of all,” he said while Buzzard wheezed on the ground, “you sound like a pretentious dipshit. You’re like 12, don’t call me ‘Mr. Hood’ like you’re some fancy mustached scholar.” Alright, yeah that was fair. Buzzard was overdoing it a little bit. “Second, don’t ever compare me to the freaks that kill innocent people ever again.” It was there he tried to stomp on Buzzard’s leg and shatter it with his boot, which seemed a little ironic. He dodged it and spun back to his feet. “Third, I know I can fix things because I’m not afraid to do what's necessary, unlike Batman.”

“You mean killing?” Buzzard’s voice sounded bored and calm even though his heart was racing. “That could lead down quite a rabbit hole.”

Red Hood laughed without humor. It sounded painful with the helmet.

“Of course a brat like you would say that. Try killing first, shit wipe, and then lecture me on it.”

“Ok. I’ve done step one. So do you want me to lecture now or later?” If there was one thing Buzzard absolutely hated, it was flaunting his worst secret to a practical stranger. He didn’t think he had much choice, though. He needed Jason to take him seriously, and to separate himself from the Bats.

Red Hood’s laugh sounded a lot more genuine the second time.

“Yeah, sure, ok. Boring someone to death during naptime doesn’t count.”

“Five foot ten, male,” Buzzard started rattling off, “thin build. Black hair. Wanted in four different countries, kill count of 72. Severed his neck. Watched him bleed out,” He finished quietly. His fingers felt warm and sticky all of a sudden.

“Is that everything? Or do you want to tell me this imaginary man’s favorite color too? How about his favorite snack to eat during movies?” Red Hood laughed again, but Tim didn’t hear it clearly. He breathed deeply, trying to smell something other than the metallic tang of blood. His gloves felt like they were becoming damp and heavy, soaking through with blood– “Don’t feed me bullshit. You’ve never even seen a dead body, much less killed a man.” 

Tim’s arms suddenly ached, like he had just finished doing chest compressions. Slade was at his shoulder, trying to pull him away from the body–

Buzzard took another deep breath in.

“Whether you believe me or not is of no concern to me,” he said steadily calm (the blood was everywhere. There was nowhere Tim could look where he didn’t see red). “Either way, killing people, no matter how terrible they are, isn’t going to make people see you as a hero. Are you prepared for that?” (“Why did you do that?”).

Red Hood huffed, but it sounded more like a sigh than anything to Buzzard.

“Of course I am. I am not a hero. I will never be a hero. I don’t care.” He believed the first two things, the last was a lie (“I couldn’t let him kill you.” There was red everywhere. It was on his clothes).

Buzzard considered him. He ignored the red that was threatening to fill his lungs, making it harder to breathe.

“I want to save this city too, you know. Outside of the Bats. I could prove to be a valuable ally.”

Hood stared at Buzzard. Buzzard was trying really hard to keep control of his breathing.

Then Hood started laughing harder than Buzzard had heard anyone laugh before. He was actually grateful, because the uproarious fits of mirth gave him time to slow his heartbeat and get his thoughts (mostly) back under control. His gloves still felt like they were soaked with blood, but one thing at a time.

Oh, Hood was talking again.

“Did you seriously just give me a recruitment pitch?” He leaned back against the vent, arms crossed. “I have a rule of not killing children, so get out of here before you make me break it.”

Buzzard swept out his bo staff in a flash and knocked Jason to the ground. The older boy growled immediately and began to rise but Buzzard hit him again and knocked him on his back. He stood over the former Robin.

“Try to kill me if you can, because I’m not a fucking child. I’ve found more information in two weeks than you’d be able to find in two years. I’ve already fought off the Bats once, and I hacked Oracle’s system. If you don’t care about any of that then you’re too useless to join anyway.”

“Woah woah woah, slow down pipsqueak,” Hood intoned lazily. “I’ve known you for five minutes and you’re asking to join me like I’m running some kind of club? What game are you trying to play? And how do you keep coming up with these elaborate lies on the spot?”

Buzzard was getting genuinely annoyed now. Jason was, like, two years older than him. If he was a kid, so was Jason. He angrily opened his gauntlet, and chose the Bat Computer flash drive from his flash drive pocket. He shoved it into the port and started pulling up files.

“Oh my God, you have an entire pocket for flash drives, that’s so adorable. Do you have an HDMI cable and TV in there too?”

“Only an HDMI cable, and if you don’t shut up, I’m going to strangle you with it.” If Hood wasn’t wearing a mask, Buzzard imagined he would be open-mouthed gawking at him right now.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, “you’re not just a 12 year old. You’re a nerdy 12 year old!” He kicked Buzzard’s legs out from under him and grabbed one of the knives Buzzard had holstered on his leg. “And you’re an annoying nerdy 12 year old.” A manic edge crept into his voice. “You’re obviously trying to play some sort of trick, but I ain’t falling for it, kid. Either tell me now or I’ll carve it out of you, piece by piece, until you’re screaming yourself hoarse–”

“Will you shut up !” Buzzard yelled. He knew Jason was much different now than he was as Robin, but this was worse than he was expecting. “Get a grip! Threatening to torture someone you think is 12 doesn’t make you scary, it just makes you a creep. Also, will you look at the files already?”

Jason didn’t seem to hear him. He pushed Buzzard on his back and lifted the knife high in the air, ready to bring it down into the vigilante’s chest.

Buzzard hit a button on the side of his gauntlet and Jason jerked back with a yelp. He dropped the knife like it had burned him.

“I have an electric pulse in all of the hilts, dumbass,” Buzzard huffed. Holy shit, Jason Todd just tried to kill him. Hood scrambled back quickly and shook his head.  “Are you better now, or are you going to try to kill me out of nowhere again?”

Jason didn’t say anything. He just sat down and put his head in his hands. Buzzard could hear the deep breathing through the mask.

Buzzard had to remind himself Jason had been revived from the Lazarus Pit and was not exactly in a great frame of mind. He read years ago that the Pit could make someone less stable and prone to violence, but seeing the effects in person was something else. He sighed and sat down on the roof next to his hero. Jason stiffened.

“Look. violence isn’t always going to be the answer. How do you expect to save anyone like this?”

“Shut up.” Then, “get out of here before I kill you.”

“I think I’ve already proven you’re not capable of killing me,” he said with false bravado. This was going to be hard.

“What’s that on your arm?” Hood asked. His voice seemed to be getting slightly stronger. Buzzard wondered if that was Jason taking control, or the Pit coming back.

“I told you, it’s the Bat Computer files. Or at least, it’s the Bat Computer files as of a month or two ago. They noticed my backdoor so I’ll have to create a new one at some point.”

“Wait. What the fuck? You actually hacked the Bat Computer?” Jason sounded incredulous and Buzzard was slightly offended.

“Yes! I told you I wasn’t lying.”

“And I was supposed to just believe you? No one can hack the Bat Computer? Are you sure you’re not a spy for Batman?”

“I hacked into the government, too.” Tim rolled his eyes. “Does that make me a government spy too?”

“You realize that would be more plausible–”

“I hack into things. It’s what I do. So think about that next time you try to write me off so quickly.” He got up abruptly and dropped a different thumb drive into Jason’s lap. The blood was pooling again. “This is everything I have on Crime Alley so far. I assume you’re going to be operating out of here for a while. I suggest you take a look. There’s some weird stuff going on that might interest you. I’ll see you around.”

Jason didn’t stop him or try to call out. Buzzard jumped off the roof and grappled a few blocks away to make sure no one was following him. He made it all the way to a broken down diner before ducking behind the building.

He was thankfully alone when he threw up into the dumpster.

Chapter Text

Confusion had become a new normal for Jason in the past several years, but his return to Gotham ramped the feeling up to 20. 

Why the fuck were there so many vigilantes now? Jason knew Bruce didn’t give a shit about his death but he was kind of expecting the number of child soldiers to be on the decline. But no. There was a new Robin, and some pretentious 12 year old in an ugly bird outfit (and he wasn’t talking about Dick). Pretty soon Talia’s brat would be running around the city in streetlight colors too if Bruce had his way.

Well, Jason wouldn’t let that fucking happen. He had a plan. Except his plan already had a hitch in it because of the pretentious bird. He was supposed to become a badass crime lord and take over the underworld of Gotham, but now BirdBrat was gonna get in the way. He wanted to get that all taken care of before he killed Robin, but he might have to switch priorities for a bit. Killing Robin would be a nice and easy confidence boost. Just pop into her home, shoot her (after a nice long torture session) and pop out. 

The green haze that tinted his vision grew stronger, seeming to like that idea. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Bruce’s face when he realized he let another Robin die. Or maybe he wouldn’t give a shit again, and then Jason could revel in Bruce’s expression when he realized his undead son was murdering him. Either way was a big win for Jason.

He just needed to deal with his problems one step at a time. Kill Robin, kill Batman, kill the new bird. Easy and simple.

~

Tim hated Mondays. They were his busiest day, full of meetings and paperwork and more meetings. They were especially annoying to deal with after throwing up for 30 minutes behind a diner the night before. Not that he had experience with that specific scenario before that day, but he felt confident in making a guess.

The young CEO made his way into the office, sporting sunglasses and a cup of coffee the size of Texas. He walked as fast as his stinging leg would allow him (oh yeah, the bullet graze was a nice little issue to get the day started off right) but, alas, he could not escape Tabitha’s ever-watchful gaze. 

“Mr. Drake I have a cup of coffee ready for you – Oh my god, did you get hit by a bus?” 

“No, Tabitha,” Tim sighed. “I’m just hungover.” Yes. That was the cover he was going with. CEOs of big companies were always walking into work hungover. It was an airtight excuse.

“Tim, you’re 15.”

Oh. Yeah, that’s right. He wasn’t legally old enough to be hungover. Oh well, he was committed now.

“Don’t tell anyone, then.”

“Um, alright,” said Tabitha. She still looked skeptical, which kind of offended Tim. He could get hungover if he wanted to! “Do you still want your coffee? It seems like you may have it handled.” She glanced at his extra jumbo cup and grimaced. 

“Of course I still want it, Tabitha! You know it’s illegal to let a good cup of coffee go to waste.” He picked up the piping hot mug and downed the inky black liquid in a sip. He brought the mug away with a satisfied sigh and placed it back on Tabitha’s desk. “Great stuff.”

“Isn’t it possible to die from caffeine overdose?” the secretary asked in horror as Tim took a long drag from his huge cup. 

“Yes.” Tim threw the now empty cup in the trash can. “But only for the weaklings, Tabitha. Only for the weaklings.”

“I think I might need to transfer to a different building before you keel over and lose me my paychecks.”

“Too late, you’re too good at your job. Sorry to say you’re stuck here for the rest of your life because you make good coffee. Or at least until we go bankrupt, so who knows.” Tabitha seemed to perk up at the mention of being good at her job and Tim mentally patted himself on the back. “Well, I’m off. Do me a favor and let Sammy know to leave a cup of coffee on my desk for when I make it up there.”

“No.”

“Fair enough. See you later.”

Tim went up the elevator, in a somewhat better mood now that he had caffeine running through his system. It pinged open and he walked toward his office, already excited for his date with his personal coffee maker. He rounded the corner and was surprised to see Sammy standing, looking apprehensively at his office. Maybe Tabitha had told her to get him coffee after all!

“Sammy! What’s up?” Sammy spun around.

She wasn’t wearing her usual smile. She was wringing her hands incessantly and her brow was creased in deep concern. Tim tensed, feeling some of his Buzzard training slip through.

“Sammy? What’s going on?” he asked again. Sammy looked at him with fear.

“Mr. Luthor is in your office,” she whispered. 

“Oh,” said Tim.

“I’m sorry!” the secretary cried. “He came up unannounced and I tried to tell him you weren’t taking visitors, but he didn’t listen!”

“It’s ok, Sammy, it’s not your fault,” Tim told her quietly. There was a strange cavern that had opened somewhere deep in his chest. Lex Luthor was in his office. In Tim’s office. In Jack Drake’s office. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I have things handled here.”

“Wh- take the day off? But Mr. Drake–”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ve had a rough day and you’ve earned a break.” Tim met her eyes seriously. He wasn’t sure what she saw there (he sure hoped it wasn’t the murderous contempt he was feeling), but whatever it was made her nod shakily. She gathered her belongings and left for the elevator.

Tim turned towards his office door. The hidden knife he kept strapped to his calf for emergencies felt heavy. He remembered what Slade had told him at his apartment. Some people deserved to die…

Tim put on a carefully neutral expression and marched to his office, opening the door and stepping inside without preamble.

Lex Luthor was sitting behind Tim’s desk, as if it was his own and always had been. He was wearing a simple black suit and red tie, perfectly straight and wrinkle free. Two large men stood on either side of him, wearing matching blue suits. Their faces were stony and they hardly moved at all, even when Tim entered. They would be undoubtedly tough, but Buzzard was more than capable of taking them down and going for Luthor–

No. He would handle this as Tim Drake. He was not Slade.

“Mr. Luthor,” Tim said, trying for friendly and landing quite firmly on cold, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I found myself in town and decided to pay a visit to my satellite company in Gotham,” the man said lazily. His voice was low and smooth, like he was hiding a secret only he knew. 

“But this isn’t your company. In fact, you’re sitting in my chair.”

“Hm? Am I? Force of habit I suppose.” He continued to sit in Tim’s chair. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet, Mr. Drake. Imagine how surprised I was to receive an email attempting to deny my claim on this company, and it was from a child I didn’t even know.”

“I guess you need to do more research,” Tim mused. “If you’ve come to talk about my rejection of your proposal, Mr. Luthor, I must tell you that you’ve wasted your time. I don’t intend on changing my mind. I’d be happy to discuss my reasons with you, if that would make you feel better.”

“I think you made your reasoning quite clear in your email, Mr. Drake. I have just come to give you a chance to reconsider. I’m a powerful man, and it would be a shame to deny my help.” Tim could very easily read between the lines of Luthor’s polished tone; you don’t want to make an enemy out of me.

But Tim already made an enemy out of him 2 years ago. The war between the two of them had begun long ago and Tim intended to win it. 

“I have nothing to reconsider,” he said flatly. “Showing up to my building unannounced and sitting at my desk like some sort of king doesn’t really scream ‘powerful’ so much as petty. For as much as people like to remind me how young I am, that doesn’t stop them from sitting in my chair in a childish attempt at intimidation.”

No emotion showed on Lex’s face, which was enough to irritate Tim. He wanted this man to suffer.

“I have plenty of other ways to show my power, Mr. Drake.”

“Yeah, well, lucky for me I can’t drive. So about half of your options are out the window.”

Finally Luthor’s eyes narrowed slightly– a reaction at last. He studied Tim with renewed interest.

That’s right, I know that you have vehicular manslaughter on the payroll. Don’t fuck with me.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Luthor ended up saying lazily. “I wasn’t sure what I would get out of this conversation, but I’m satisfied. I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Drake.” Luthor rose with little fanfare and walked towards the door.

There was a split second – right as Lex was passing by him – that Tim almost lost control. His mind filled with visions of lodging his knife deep in Luthor’s sternum. Of watching the light slowly fade from the evil man’s eyes. He could do it. It was laughable how easily he could do it.

Then the moment was over and Luthor was exiting the office, his two bodyguards in tow.

Tim let out a shaky breath and walked over to the blinds. He watched Luthor’s group round the corner and counted to ten in an approximation of how long it would take to get on the elevators. He closed the blinds with a flick of the cord and strode to his desk.

It was a good thing he sent Sammy home.

Tim picked up his chair and threw it with all of his might at the wall.

~

Suffice to say, Tim was having a pretty bad day by the time he was getting ready to go out on patrol that night. His bad mood only got worse when he checked the trackers he put on Jason’s suit (not creepy, just cautionary).

He was moving to the west, fast. And by west he didn’t mean West Gotham. Jason was flying towards the Western United States. After Tim hacked his plane GPS, he was severely annoyed to find that the plane was going to San Francisco. Which was where Robin happened to be. 

Tim groaned loudly, even though he was already getting his Buzzard suit on. He’d figured that Jason would attempt to make some sort of contact with Robin, but he assumed that Jason was going to tackle the crime lord thing first. Apparently he decided to switch up his schedule. If Tim wasn’t a more prepared person he would be pretty pissed about the inconvenience. As it was, he was a very prepared person and already had an emergency bag ready to go for his specific current situation. Screw Jason for messing up the order though. He had everything color coordinated in a file and now the chartreuse file was going to have to be moved in front of the lilac one. A travesty.

Despite the sudden change of plans, Tim wasn’t actually too worried. Jason had taken a plane, but Tim had something better.

It was about a 4 minute swing to the Zeta Tube for Buzzard. Predictably, Batman must have upped the security on the tube at some point in the last 5 years since Tim was last there, but it still wouldn’t be enough. 

Buzzard brought out a flashdrive labeled ‘ZETA’ and got to work. He plugged the drive into his gauntlet and connected one of his cables into the port on the Tube. It took less than a minute for him to get control of the systems. 

He set San Francisco as his target destination and stepped into the tube with carefully constrained excitement. He’d always wanted to do this.

The sensation of getting teleported was unlike anything Buzzard had ever felt before. It was like his whole body was getting progressively fuzzier and more nondescript until suddenly he grew clearer again, like someone was pressing ‘enhance’ on his picture. He felt a little ill by the end of it, but otherwise it was pretty cool. 

Unfortunately, where he expected to smell the sea breeze and bustle of San Francisco, Buzzard was greeted by slightly stale recycled air and metal plates. 

He was in a large room, with computers and high tech technology. He was on some sort of platform, probably for Zeta Tube teleporting.

Green Arrow was staring at him with a donut halfway to his mouth.

“This is not San Francisco,” Buzzard sighed. On any other day he would be excited to be in the Watchtower, but the timing was a little inconvenient. Mondays just were not his day.

“Who the fuck– Shit!” Green Arrow dove for his bow and Buzzard knew when to run for his life.

I wonder how I ended up here? The vigilante mused as alarms started blaring around him. Usually I don’t make mistakes like that in my coding.

He turned a corner and suddenly Green Lantern was there. He looked bleary eyed, like he had just woken from a nap. Buzzard hit him in the shin with his bo staff and the man toppled over in a series of violent curses that would have made Janet Drake proud. 

That ought to wake him up a little.

There were more heroes coming out of rooms on either side of Buzzard’s hallway now and he was starting to panic a little bit. Mostly at the fact that he was going to get arrested by the Justice League and then thrown in jail for the rest of his life, but also because there were some really cool heroes he’d always wanted to meet.

Oh my god! I can’t believe I’m seeing Vigilante in the flesh! Holy shit, is that Wonder Woman? Wonder Woman threw her lasso at him and attempted to clothesline Buzzard when he jumped over it. Shit! Yep, that’s definitely Wonder Woman. Better keep moving.

The problem with running from a bunch of superheroes on a space station is that you don’t have time to appreciate the Space of it all. Buzzard kept running past massive windows that gave an incredible view to the millions of stars sprawling across the universe. He would have loved to stop and stare for hours on end, but Green Lantern was currently trying to whack him with a giant green baseball bat.

Buzzard dropped half of his smoke bombs and scrambled into the vents above him. It was the one time he appreciated being small for his age, because the vents did not leave much room. Regardless, he took the time to catch his breath and started crawling away from the voices shouting below him. It probably would not take the greatest heroes of the world too long to figure out that Buzzard was only in the vents. Probably (he didn’t exactly have too much faith in them after they had all ignored his carefully collected evidence of Batman going on a rampage. Even if he did put it in a suspicious unlabeled manilla folder). 

Buzzard crawled for a few minutes, taking the opportunity to drop some bugs in the vents while he was here. If he was going to be transported here unexpectedly, he might as well make it worth his time.

Buzzard still wasn’t quite sure what went wrong with the Zeta Tube. His working theory was that Batman had done something to make the tube’s only destination the Watchtower. If that were true things would get super annoying. He needed that tube so he could get places fast. Like to a tower in San Francisco so a maddened teenager couldn’t murder the protege of his father in cold blood, for instance.

Buzzard moved faster.

He only had a vague idea of where he was going from the blueprints he had looked at from the Bat Computer files years ago. He hadn’t really looked at the vent layout very closely, though. Rookie mistake. He was going in the direction he thought was correct, but there was no way to be sure.

When he reached a vent cover he decided to take his chances and poke his head through. For once in his life he thanked his good luck. Sprawled out below him was the hanger bay filled with ships. 

Buzzard knew the Zeta Tubes would have been locked down as soon as an intruder was discovered, so the hangar bay was the next best bet. That would be locked down too, but he would cross that bridge in a minute. First he needed to get to a ship.

There were 4 to choose from, but Buzzard made a beeline for the closest one after dropping from the vent. The heroes would not be very far away.

He got the ramp to drop and rushed into the cockpit. He stared at the controls, trying to parse what the hell any of it meant.

Breathe, Buzzard, he thought to himself. This can’t be too different than the Bat Plane, right? All you have to do is take your time and think through the steps carefully–

The ship rattled heavily as something slammed into the side of it.

Nevermind. Start hitting buttons.

Buzzard hit a few buttons and the engines started up, a promising sign. Green Lantern flew up to the windshield and glared at Buzzard. He waved at the glowing green man. Mostly to be an ass.

Buzzard fiddled with the controls some more and the ship started moving forward. He grabbed the steering mechanism and pointed it towards the hangar doors. The comm in the ship crackled to life.

“Unidentified asshole, come in unidentified asshole.”

Buzzard rolled his eyes. That was definitely Green Lantern because he was still glaring at him through the windshield while pressing the comm in his ear. Buzzard pointed at his own ear and then shrugged in as exaggerated a way as he could.

“You asshole! I know you can hear me!” Lantern started knocking on the glass like an irritating toddler at a local zoo. “If you don’t come out of there I’m going to blow this ship to pieces!”

“Interesting proposal,” Buzzard finally said, “But I have a counter offer.” He tried to make his voice sound bored and detached rather than let the panic he was feeling color his tone. “I’ve dropped several bombs in your little space station. Either let me go or the Earth’s orbit is about to gain some high tech debris.”

That was a lie of course, but they didn’t need to know that. The fact that he hadn’t been vaporized with heat vision yet told him that Superman wasn’t there, so his bluff could not be called with x-ray vision. He also didn’t want the heroes to stall while they waited for Superman to actually show up, though, so it was time to get a move on.

“Now listen closely. I am going to accelerate towards the hangar doors. If they are not open by the time I fly out of them, the bombs will go off as soon as my heart is consumed by flames. So I suggest you have them open by the time I get there or you’re all screwed.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You’re bluffing.”

Buzzard increased power to the engines and pointed the hull towards the doors. A different voice now crackled to life on the comms.

“Intruder! Cease this foolish stunt.” Definitely Wonder Woman then. Buzzard was getting to talk to Wonder Woman! “If you surrender peacefully, no harm will come to you. You have my word.”

“Yeah, that’s great and all,” Buzzard replied lazily, “But I’m not jazzed about spending time locked up in one of your little cells. Instead, how about you let me go on my way and then you don’t ever have to see me again. No one gets hurt, no one gets arrested. Sounds pretty good to me.”

There were several seconds of silence. Buzzard sat with bated breath but kept his expression neutral because Green Lantern was still glaring at him.

“I cannot let you go,” Wonder Woman finally said. Buzzard clenched his hand on the steering mechanism. “You need to explain to us how you got here and I do not believe you would endanger the lives of–”

Buzzard gunned it. Green Lantern cursed and bounced off the windshield like a fly. Buzzard hoped he wasn’t hurt, but seeing as how he was the only one in position to stop the ship, he needed the man out of commission.

“Make your choice Wonder Woman,” Buzzard gritted out. The hangar wasn’t that big and the doors were coming up fast. “I’m going to punch the engines–”

“Don’t you dare–”

“-- In 3, 2, 1.” Buzzard punched it. He flew towards the still closed doors. He was just starting to think about what Janet Drake would say when she found out the stupid way Tim died, when the doors lurched open, revealing the star speckled canvas of space. He flew through it like a rocket (well he was technically in a rocket) and quickly turned in the direction of Earth. He wanted to appreciate the view very badly (he always wanted to go to space) but he forced his head down to the controls so as to not get distracted. 

“Good decision,” he said to the comm. “Now none of you flyers get the idea of following me or I’ll blow your station to smithereens.” Buzzard winced. No one said smithereens any more. He turned the comm off and got to work typing in coordinates to San Francisco. 

His breathing was getting shallow. Now that he was away from the Justice League, the events of the last 10 minutes were hitting him like a truck.

He just got revealed to the Justice League. That was not part of the plan. Hopefully they ruled him a non-threat after they found out there were no actual bombs in their station or he was up shit creek. What was he supposed to do when Superman showed up at his doorstep? No. This was a major fuckup of intense proportions. He’d almost flown into a wall before he got to help Jason reunite with his family! He needed to be more careful or he wouldn’t be able to be of use to anyone. He couldn’t help anyone from a jail cell.

Buzzard entered Earth’s atmosphere, the flames licking the side of the ship offering a momentary distraction from his spiraling thoughts. 

Everything was fine. Yes, he almost blew up inside the Justice League’s Watchtower in a stubborn act of stupidity, but he didn’t! It wasn’t like he would have hurt anyone, anyway. Only himself, and that hardly counted.

As soon as he reentered the atmosphere and had service again he checked Jason’s location. He was almost to San Francisco.

Instead of beating him there, Buzzard would now be arriving around the same time since he had to fly as well. 

At least that gave him time to plan.

~

When Buzzard arrived at the Tower, just after Jason, he was severely peeved to see that the undead teenager had just waltzed through the front door. Apparently no one had removed him from the system after he died. Which was probably fair because people didn’t usually come back to life. But still. It really messed with his plans.

He was hoping that Jason would be preoccupied with the door for a few minutes (this was what he got for trusting teenagers to have good security) while he hacked his way in through the entrance on the roof. And by hacked his way he meant blowing the door open so that the Tower would go into alert and lock down. If the alarm didn’t scare Jason away, then at least the heroes would be prepared for him. 

But no. They had to go and ruin everything by not removing the dead guy from the system. He chalked it up to Mondays.

Buzzard ran through the door (Jason left it open because he was dramatic) and started looking for some kind of alarm to pull. He ran through almost the entire first floor without finding anything.

First a shitty security system, and now they don’t have a fire alarm? What kind of OSHA nightmare is this?

Finally, he spotted an alarm when he reached the elevators. Except it wasn’t a fire alarm. It said “Pull in case of toxic gas.” Buzzard rolled his eyes and pulled the lever. Immediately, red lights flickered on and a loud and constant blaring sounded from the speakers. Buzzard resisted the urge to cover his ears and ran for the stairs, taking two at a time.

The door on the third floor was already ajar so Buzzard slipped through. 

He walked into a long dark corridor, lit only by the red lights of the alarm. It bathed the hallway in an eerie light that set Buzzard even more on edge than he already was. There was a thick blanket of fog or mist further down that reflected the red light ominously.

Buzzard pulled out a rebreather and placed it in his mouth. The fog was probably Jason’s doing and he didn’t think it would be happy fun-time gas. He started towards it at a trot, not wanting to lose more time, and broke into a sprint when he saw an arm poking out of the cloud. He dropped to his knees and pulled the arm from the gas. 

Luckily there was a body attached to the arm, or Buzzard was going to lose his shit.

It was a teenage boy, close to his age. He had wavy black hair and was wearing a leather jacket over a blue shirt. Superboy. Buzzard recognized him from the detailed reports he had made about all of the superhero teams while he was abroad. 

Superboy was pale and a sheen of sweat had broken out over his body. It only took Buzzard a few seconds to figure out why. Now that he was closer to the gas (it was definitely a gas) he could see that it was periodically flashing green in the light. The gas was laced with particles of kryptonite. From the looks of things, it wouldn’t be enough to kill Superboy, but Buzzard didn’t want to take any chances, moving the teen halfway down the hall and giving him an extra rebreather just in case.

He moved back into the gas, which was slowly dissipating now, and saw two more figures close together. One, a blonde girl with a black shirt emblazoned with a W, the other a skinny boy wearing a speedster’s suit. Wonder Girl and Impulse. He checked each of their pulses and found them both thrumming strongly. They were just asleep. It was sleeping gas.

Buzzard rolled his eyes. For as mad as Jason was at Bruce right now, he was still a Bat at heart. 

He pulled Wonder Girl and Impulse out of the gas as well and set them next to Superboy. He gave each of them rebreathers (no he did not have too many rebreathers, it was called being prepared) just in case there was something else harmful in the gas he didn’t have time to check for.

He still needed to find Robin.

Buzzard raced back through the gas after getting the heroes settled and tried to hone in on Jason’s location. He had the sinking feeling he would probably find Robin there as well.

He rounded a corner and came across a kitchen, which was looking more like a war zone at the moment. There was food strewn everywhere, like it had been thrown around. Several smashed appliances littered the ground as well. Buzzard spotted a coffee pot that had been thrown against the wall, a blender that oozed purple liquid, and a waffle maker that was split completely in half.

The remains of a kitchen table lay smashed to oblivion in the center of the room, its chairs in equal disrepair. It looked like someone had been thrown into it.

Buzzard quickly moved on into the next hallway, picking up sounds of fighting as he came up to the residential area. There was a loud smash followed by a shout from one of the rooms. The door was already open so Buzzard let himself in.

The place was in just as much disarray as the kitchen. Clothes, books, furniture, you name it and it was covering the floor. That wasn’t what caught Buzzard’s attention, though.

Robin and Red Hood were at the back wall looking worse for wear. Steph was cornered against the wall, blood slowly leaking from several tears in her suit. Her long blonde hair had come out of its ponytail and was clumped around her shoulders with blood and sweat. There was a long slash cut through her left side and she was favoring her left leg, which was freely bleeding from a hastily bandaged wound on her thigh. 

Jason was only fairing slightly better. His stupid helmet was in his hand, a large crack running through the middle of it. He had several cuts and bruises visible through a dozen rips in his suit, but none of them looked as bad as Steph’s. He did, however, smell strongly of coffee, and Buzzard could see some seriously nasty burns on Jason’s neck and hands. 

“End of the line, replacement,” Jason growled. His voice was unnaturally low and slightly manic. The pit was definitely in full control.

“Stop fucking calling me that!” Robin screamed. She held a staff in front of her. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re on, but you have some serious issues you need to sort out on your own. Now get out of here and leave me and my friends alone!”

Jason chuckled darkly. 

“I don’t care about your friends. I hardly even care about you. I’m here to teach your precious Bat a lesson.” Slowly he reached up to his face and pulled off his domino mask. His eyes were swirling with green. “Did you miss me?”

Steph tilted her head.

“Who the fuck are you?” Then she turned to Buzzard in the doorway. “Do you know who the fuck this is?”

Jason spun around with a curse and stared at Buzzard for a solid 5 seconds before shoving the helmet back over his head. 

“Yeah good job man, real smooth,” Robin muttered.

Hood unholstered both of his guns, pointing one at Robin and the other at Buzzard.

“Shut up!” The full brunt of the Red Hood mask focused on Buzzard. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I came to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.” Buzzard tried to sound braver than he was feeling. The gun pointed at him did not help.

“Stupid? I’m here to teach big bad Batman a lesson. He’s already let one bird die, seems like he won’t care if it happens to another.”

“You’re going to kill a child over a vendetta you have with an adult?” Buzzard asked, putting heat into his voice.

“Hey! I’m not a child! I’m, like, the same age as you, if not older.”

Not helping, Steph.

“You told me you don’t hurt kids,” Buzzard insisted. “You’ve already broken that rule twice, so why do you pretend like it’s important?”

“It is important!” growled Jason. “You’re just… You two know what you’re doing! You chose this! Bru- Batman- he…”

“Wait a minute. Are you J-” Steph started.

“Best not use personal names in front of the stranger,” Buzzard suggested calmly. The last thing he needed was everyone trying to kill him because of the number of identities he knew. 

Well, he did know a bunch of identities. But they didn’t need to be aware of that. Even if Jason did show his maskless face already. Whatever, he would deal with that later.

“Well maybe you should fucking leave!” Hood spat. “This isn’t about you. What the fuck do you want?”

“You two aren’t working together?” Steph asked.

“It’s complicated,” Buzzard said at the same time Hood shouted “NO!”

“Do I need to kick both of your asses or not?”

Hood turned around to growl at Robin.

“You’re in no position to kick anyone’s ass! You’re going to die–”

Buzzard’s aim was true. Both of his knives struck Jason’s pistols and they flew out of his hands and under the bed.

“Enough with the killing threats.” Buzzard stepped further into the room now that a gun wasn’t being pointed at him. Although, if he could see Jason’s face he imagined it promised retribution. “If you want to kill someone, start with the scum in Gotham, not a hero.” Buzzard didn’t exactly want Jason killing anyone , but he thought it was better to do baby steps. Talk him out of the senseless murder of someone who’d never done anything wrong except help people and then they could move on to not killing criminals.

“Robin is not a hero!” Jason yelled. “It’s a fucking safety blanket for that stupid old man! I won’t let him keep making us just to let us die!” 

Steph opened her mouth to undoubtedly say something that was going to get her killed, so Buzzard had to beat her to the punch.

“Just because you died doesn’t mean the others are that weak.”

Buzzard hated himself the second the words left his mouth, but he didn’t have a choice. Jason was angry, mostly at Bruce, but that anger was directed at Steph right now. Buzzard needed to redirect that anger on himself or else Jason would kill her. 

Well, his plan certainly worked.

Jason pounced on him with a roar. Buzzard tried to extend his bo staff, but he couldn’t get it in front of him before the leather-clad angry bulldozer was slamming into him. All of his breath whooshed out of him instantly and he landed on his back hard. The bo staff fell from his hands and went rolling away. 

Buzzard was dazed, but was still able to barely catch the knife that was being thrust towards his face by catching Jason’s arm. They struggled for a few long seconds, the knife getting closer and closer towards Buzzard's eye. He reached desperately into his bandolier, pulling out the first thing his fist closed around. He dropped it onto his chest (he couldn’t exactly throw it) and it went off with a bang and a bright flash of light. 

Buzzard’s eyes were protected because his lenses were designed to withstand flashbangs, but his ears were not so lucky. All sound was drowned out by a high-pitched desperate whine. Buzzard couldn’t even hear his own groan of pain. Jason didn’t seem as affected (must have been the stupid helmet) but he was surprised enough that Buzzard could kick him off of him.

He got to his feet unsteadily, ears screaming in a high falsetto of pain. Steph was nowhere to be seen, which was one less thing to worry about. She probably escaped to the hallway to wake up the others the second Jason and Buzzard started fighting.

Speaking of Jason, the older teen was up and ready to continue. He started throwing powerful punches that Buzzard could only barely block or dodge in his state. He was driven back to the doorway quickly, almost tripping over the threshold.

Hood still had the knife in his hand and was using it to cut into Buzzard repeatedly. If he wasn’t so disoriented he would probably be feeling each rip and tear of flesh, but his screaming head left no room for any other senses.

Buzzard was sure Jason would land a fatal blow at any minute, but the second they crossed the threshold into the hallway a blonde blur hit Jason at mach 10. 

Apparently, Wonder Girl had woken up.

Buzzard fell to his knees and tried to catch his breath. The shrill whining was starting to fade to something more bearable, though Buzzard still couldn’t hear much. He definitely needed to add some hearing protection to his suit. He cursed himself for not having the wherewithal to have put it in already. If Wonder Girl hadn’t intervened, Buzzard would be dead on the floor right now, without ever having helped Jason.

Someone was shaking his shoulder. He looked up in a daze to see the grim face of Robin staring down at him. She said something that Buzzard couldn’t catch. He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it.

Robin huffed and hauled him to his feet. Then she did something weird and put his arms behind his back.

“Wait. Are you arresting me right now?” Buzzard’s voice sounded muffled to his own ears but he was proud of the incredulous tone he was able to adopt under the circumstances.

If he could see Steph he imagined she would be rolling her eyes.

“Yes, I’m arresting you,” she grumbled. She kept trying to put cuffs around Buzzard’s wrists but he continued to pull them away from her. “Will you stop that? You kicked me off a roof. That is a crime.”

“You’re not a cop, you’re a vigilante,” Buzzard argued. The whine had almost faded now. “It is not illegal to kick vigilantes off roofs. Also I just saved you from getting shot by Red Hood, so it’s even.”

“It is not even! You hacked our systems!”

“You have no proof that was me.”

“You’re denying it?”

“No. You just have no proof it was me.”

“Um, do you two know each other?” Asked a voice from behind them.

They both spun around to see the Speedster wearing an expression of open confusion. Buzzard used the distraction to remove his hands from Robin’s grip.

“Impulse! You’re awake,” Robin sighed in relief. “I’ve only met this guy once in Gotham when he kicked me off a roof.”

“Oh!” Impulse exclaimed cheerfully. The next thing he knew, Buzzard was flying across the room, skittering to a stop not far from where Jason was attempting to avoid getting beaten to a bloody pulp by Wonder Girl.

“Impulse, what the hell!”

“He kicked you off a roof! I don’t like people that kick my friends off roofs.”

“Yes, but I was trying to take him into custody,” Robin said patiently.

“What? Like a cop?”

“No not like a– look, can you just go grab him and put the cuffs around him?”

Nope, Buzzard was not going to do this. He had already taken a little spray can out of his pocket while the two of them were talking. He sprayed it on the ground where it made a glossy blue streak. 

“You got it, Rob!” He sped off towards Buzzard, and then went careening past him when he stepped on the slippery surface Buzzard just sprayed. The young speedster slammed into the wall and groaned.

“You don’t got it, Rob.” Buzzard called, because it had been a long day and he felt justified being a little bit of an asshole.

Unfortunately, Robin started running angrily at him, so it was time to go. He dropped several smoke bombs and sprinted into the room Jason was trying to kill him in. He saw his bo staff in the far corner and grabbed it, feeling safer with its weight in his hand.

He rushed back out of the room, ducking under Robin’s attempt to clobber his skull with her own staff. He ran past her, extending his bo staff so that it deflected the shot she aimed towards his retreating back. She tried to follow him, but they were heading back into the thick of the smoke, and Buzzard’s lenses had infrared and hers did not. Yes, he was a little smug about it (although, when all of this was over and Buzzard either escaped Gotham or was captured by the Bats after reuniting Jason with them, he was going to do what he could to give them a serious tech upgrade).

He lost her quickly, running with confidence towards the end of the hallway. Wonder Girl now had Jason on his back and seemed to be doing an experiment to see how many punches it would take to shatter Hood’s helmet. 

Buzzard shouted to get her attention and threw 3 feathers. She was forced to bring her arms up to deflect them off her silver bracelets, giving Jason the opportunity to force her off of him. She turned to aim another punch into whatever part of Jason she could reach, but Buzzard was already there with his bo staff. He dodged and weaved around her thundering punches until Jason was back on his feet. 

They could probably take her down eventually with the two of them. Unfortunately, by that time Robin and Impulse would be back in the fray with Superboy not far behind. They needed to be gone before that happened. 

With that in mind, Buzzard palmed half a dozen more feathers and pressed a button on his gauntlet. A small red light started blinking ominously on them. He kicked Wonder Girl back and desperately threw the feathers in the space he had created.

“Fire in the hole!” He screamed. They each ignited with a small bang and a ball of flame, which was uncomfortable on Buzzard’s still ailing ears. He shouldered into Jason and forced him further down the hall.

“Get off me!” he screamed.

“Will you calm down? We need to get out of here!” Buzzard ignored Jason’s protests and grabbed his arm, practically dragging the older boy down the hallway away from the chaos. 

“I don’t need your help!” Hood spat. He wrenched his arm out of Buzzard’s grip, though he thankfully kept running down the hallway with him. “I’m trying to kill you, remember?”

“Well, quit trying for a minute before we both get vaporized by Superman and everyone else.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I can take mini-Superman back there, easy. As well as the other little pretenders.” He made to turn back around, only to be grabbed by Buzzard again. “FUCKING STOP GRABBING ME!” Buzzard released his grip quickly and took a deep breath.

“Will you get your head out of your ass for 5 seconds?” Jason only seemed to respond to angry swearing so Buzzard was just going to have to make do. “You’re so caught up on your stupid ill-conceived revenge mission that you’re not thinking . What do you gain from killing Robin?” He kept walking down the hallway, forcing Jason to follow him if he wanted to keep arguing. 

“Revenge,” Red Hood growled.

“Give me a fucking break, Hood,” Buzzard groaned. “Revenge for what? How does a teenager wanting to help people, just like you did, justify you killing her.”

“Don’t lecture me! You don’t fucking know me–”

“I know that you used to be Robin.” Jason stopped and Buzzard resisted the urge to grab him again. “Anyone with listening skills would know that, Hood. Do you want revenge on Robin, or Batman?”

“What’s the fucking difference?” Jason rumbled. He was once again following Buzzard now that his shock was worn off in lieu of his burning anger. “Hurting Robin hurts Batman. Or at least it did before I–” he studied Buzzard with a tilt of his head. “How much do you fucking know?”

“Enough to know that whatever you think Batman’s reaction to you… to your end as Robin was, you’re wrong.”

“How would you fucking know?” Some of the anger had ebbed, replaced by genuine curiosity.

Buzzard sighed and pulled a flashdrive from his bandolier.

“These are my files on Batman. Take a look at them when we get back to Gotham and you’ll see just how affected he was when you were gone. Now let’s get out of here.” He increased his speed.

“I’m not leaving,” Jason said, because he was a stubborn bastard. “You may think that some stupid files are enough to change my mind, but they aren’t. I know what I saw. I know that he didn’t care. You’re just a stupid kid playing pretend and butting into other people’s business.”

Buzzard ignored the pang that went through his chest at his childhood hero calling him a pretender. Not that he was wrong. Buzzard was still nowhere near the level of these people. He was still weak and already way in over his head. But that didn’t matter right now because both him and Jason were about to be in deep shit if they didn’t leave.

“I don’t care what you think of me,” Buzzard lied, “But at least use your head for a second and listen to me. Even if you could beat the superhero offspring back there alone, we’re about to have much bigger issues on our hands.”

“What do you mean?” Jason asked slowly.

“Well these damn alarms aren’t just for show for one thing,” he pointed out. The damn alarms blared in agreement. “They notify the Justice League when there’s trouble.”

“So what? By the time anyone bothered to come check on the kids I’d be long gone.”

“Maybe that would be true,” Buzzard said impatiently, “except for the fact the League was probably on the way long before the alarms went off.”

“And why would that be?” Jason demanded skeptically. Buzzard noted that he did begin moving quicker to the stairwell with him despite his untrusting tone.

“Well,” he stalled, suddenly sheepish, “I may or may not have stolen one of their ships to get here.” Jason tore off his helmet and slapped a domino mask on just to give Buzzard an incredulous look. “Not on purpose! I tried to use a Zeta Tube and it sent me to the Watchtower. Then I had to threaten Wonder Woman with blowing up the place before I could leave–” Jason punched his arm. “OW! What the hell was that for?”

“YOU THREATENED WONDER WOMAN?!”

“Green Lantern too, if that helps?” Remarkably, Jason’s face did clear a bit. 

“He does suck.”

“Yes he does. But that’s besides the point. If we don’t both leave we’re going to have to deal with the rage of Wonder Woman. You do realize that was her protege that you put to sleep, right?”

Jason was silent for one second. Two.

“We should go,” he said, like it was his idea. The asshole.

With that decided and Jason finally calmed down, they raced to the stairs, hearing the shouting of the heroes behind them. They tore through the stairwell door and jumped over the railing, rolling at the bottom. 

Buzzard started to feel pretty good about their chances when they made it outside and ran towards Jason’s plane and Tim’s stolen Justice League ship. Then Wonder Woman had to land on the ship and ruin everything.

“Fuck!” Jason yelled, a sentiment that Buzzard agreed with. The ship crumbled on impact, metal groaning and screeching as it buckled under its own weight. A second later a giant green hammer slammed down on Jason's plane, producing a similar result. 

“Back to the Tower!” Buzzard yelled, turning around. “We can take the Zeta Tube inside!”

“I don’t like how much you’re using the word ‘we’,” Jason said, following regardless.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’ll take the Zeta Tube, and you can stay here and get thrown into the sun by Wonder Woman.”

“Aren’t we in this mess in the first place because you used a Zeta Tube?”

“See! Now you’re saying ‘we’ too!” Buzzard called over his shoulder, ignoring the question.

They raced back into the building, Wonder Woman and Green Lantern following further behind. They entered the bottom floor of the building, passing Robin, Wonder Girl, Impulse, and a groggy Super Boy just coming out of the stairwell. The latter’s eyes grew murderous when they landed on Red Hood.

“YOU POISONED ME WITH KRYPTONITE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

“Go on, Hood, go handle them alone like you wanted,” Buzzard huffed as he ran shoulder to shoulder with the pseudo villain towards the Zeta room.

“I’m going to kill you. I am so going to kill you.”

“There seems to be somewhat of a queue at the moment. LEFT!” They careened through a door that opened with a hiss. Buzzard quickly jumped to the control panel and locked it behind them. Once that was done, he immediately got to work hacking into the Zeta Tube, which was a fancy platform like it was on the Watchtower.

“Cover me,” said Buzzard, ripping the control panel off. “I’m going to have to do this manually or we might end up on the Watchtower again.” The entire room rumbled as something hit the door, hard, making a vaguely fist-shaped dent in the metal.

“Fucking hurry!” Jason snapped.

“Very helpful, thanks.” Tim plugged into the panel and got to work, fingers racing across his gauntlet’s keyboard. The door shuttered again.

“Buzzard, I swear to God, if you get me killed for a second time–”

“Maybe don’t distract the guy trying to save our asses,” he growled. The panel blinked blue. “I have access, I just need to get a location.”

“Do you have somewhere in mind?” Hood asked, backing away from the now bulging door. 

“Yeah, but you’re not going to like it.”

The older boy frowned. He knew where Buzzard meant. He shoved his dented helmet back on his head and the modulator removed any emotion from his voice.

“Just get us out of here.”

Buzzard nodded and finished typing with a flourish. 

“Get on the platform.”

Jason climbed up just as the door gave up its fight, falling forward with a boom . 

Buzzard unplugged himself and leapt onto the platform as it activated. Everything seemed to slow down, Buzzard’s adrenaline going into overdrive. He saw Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, and the four younger heroes all burst into action. Two lassos flew towards his legs. A green beam went towards Jason on the platform. Impulse and Super Boy blurred with motion, trying to push through the crowd to use their speed to their advantage. The one thing Buzzard honed in on, more than anything else, was the Birdarang that was flying towards Jason, somehow ahead of all of the other items and heroes. He traced its path in odd fascination, marking its destination at the small patch of skin on Jason’s neck that was visible between his helmet and armor. He didn’t know if Steph was even throwing it with intent, or just wanted to do everything she could to keep the duo from leaving. Whatever the case, Buzzard would make sure it didn’t hit Jason. 

And it didn’t.

The Tube activated and the room and irate heroes disappeared. There was a lot more pain than before going through the Tube, the fuzziness kept at bay by something sharper that grounded him.

Jason and Tim tumbled out of the Tube on the other side, into the Bat Cave. Tim pushed through his sudden haze and stumbled to the control panel, deactivating it before they could be followed.

“That fucking brat!” Jason growled after a few moments. “She almost hit me with one of those damn boomerang things.”

“Birdarang,” Tim corrected absently. He tried to angle his body so that Jason couldn’t see the weapon in question sticking out of his back.

“Whatever,” grumbled the teen. “She’s just lucky it didn’t hit me or I'd have to kill her slower. What the hell’s wrong with you? Were you always that pale?”

“Zeta Tube makes me sick,” Tim lied. He barely held back a gasp when Jason shouldered past him into the cave. He could practically feel the green enter the older boy’s eyes as his body tensed up looking at the cave. “Hood. Focus. Please. We need to leave. They’ll know where we went and they’re going to call Batman.”

Maybe it was Tim’s voice cracking on please that had the tension releasing from Jason’s body. Maybe it was just because he was speaking the truth. 

“Fine.  I’ll steal one of the bikes and escape from the garage. That will have to do as a ‘fuck you’ for now. Are you coming?”

“I have a different way.” Tim’s head was getting hazy with pain. The back of his suit was getting progressively wetter and the way it was sticking to his back was irritating.

“Care to share with the class?”

“No.”

Jason studied him for a while. Tim tried not to fidget under the scrutiny. Tried not to scream.

“Look. I’ll let you go, only because you pushed me out of the way of that Birdarang. But don’t expect me to just forget about the shit you pulled today.” He started walking towards the bikes. “If I don’t see you in the Alley tomorrow, I’m coming looking for you. And my ‘hello’ is going to be a bullet between your eyes.” He climbed on a bike, gave one more look around the cave, and sped off. The cave must have still remembered his codes, because he sped into the night without any issue. Just more security issues.

Tim walked deeper into the tunnels, fighting a wince with every step. 

He did good. Jason was safe. Steph hadn’t been shot. The heroes all recovered well from Jason’s attacks. The only one that got hurt was Tim, and it wasn’t even that bad (He didn’t think it was that bad. It was sticking out of his back so it was a little hard to tell at the moment). All according to plan! If Tim was the only one to walk out of a battle with a wound, and a minor one at that, then things would progress nicely.

By the time he reached the exit to the cave under the tree, his enthusiasm was fading at a fast rate. His breathing was very heavy and there were weird black spots that kept dancing in front of his eyes at different intervals. He tried to haul himself up through the tree roots and immediately cried out in pain. 

Don’t use the left arm! Using the left arm is bad!

So maybe the Birdarang was a little bit closer to his shoulder than Tim thought. Whatever. It didn’t matter that much. He could still function with one arm.

To prove his point he tucked his left arm against his body and hauled himself up with his right. He had grown in the last year so it was a little bit of a squeeze (not great for his back) but he made it. He tried to get up, but his back let out a pain so sharp it had him back on his knees in an instant.

Tim felt like crying, something he had not done in a long, long time.

“Why are you crying, Timothy?” his mom’s voice said in his ear. “Drakes do not cry. It does not do anything except make you look like a sniveling brat. Go to your room and don’t come out until you’ve stopped crying and are ready to discuss your issues like an adult.”

The memory flashed into his mind unwillingly. Tim was 8, and had spent the afternoon playing outside. He wanted to be inside with his parents, but they’d just come back from a 2 month trip and were irritable and tired. He decided to go outside to avoid setting them off, but ended up tripping over a hidden tree root and twisted his ankle pretty badly. His parents were sitting on the couch snuggled against each other watching something on the TV when Tim entered the house crying, though he couldn’t remember what the program was. He did remember the way their faces soured when he entered the room. He convinced himself for years it was just because he was dragging mud into the house, and not because they had seen him (He never fully made himself believe that, though). Tim tried to explain about his ankle, but he could only get a few stuttered words out between the sobbing and pain. He spent 3 hours in his room alone, trying to get a handle on the waterfall of tears. Finally, the dull throbbing was enough to overpower all other functions and Tim was able to tell his parents in a daze what had happened. They called his nanny and he was finally taken to the hospital. 

Tim thought about that memory and slowed his breathing. He couldn’t get anything done if he was crying.

He grabbed the tree with his good arm and fought to his feet. He wobbled in place for several minutes, waiting for the pain to go back to something duller rather than the feeling of 8 million ants biting him at once. He breathed deeply, willing away any nausea.

When he felt comfortable moving again, Tim made his way towards his house in the distance. It was a much longer walk than he remembered. By the time he managed to make it to his front door he was covered in sweat and his head felt weirdly floaty.

He unlocked the door and stumbled into the house. He flicked the light switch on and noticed that he was bleeding on the floors and his parents’ favorite wool rug in the living room. That elicited a little giggle from Tim. His parents would kill him if they saw that. He had half a mind to go get the carpet shampoo and wash the stains out before they had a chance to dry, but fixing his back was probably a little bit more of a priority at the moment.

Tim found his way to the bathroom and pulled out the first aid kit he stashed there when he returned to Gotham. He opened it and got out some gauze. Lots of gauze.

Alright. How the hell do I do this?

Tim knew how to take care of wounds (although it was from a reluctant course taught by Slade Wilson), but a wound on the back would be… harder. Especially alone. Whatever, nothing to do but get it taken care of.

He started with getting his suit off. Which of course was harder than he thought it would be. Because there was a knife in his back. He debated with himself for a few precious seconds before sighing and cutting through his suit completely. He had an extra, and this one already had several holes in it so there was no point in trying to save it. He still had a tricky time cutting the suit from his back because the drying blood had stuck it to his skin.

When he had removed as much of it as he could, Tim grabbed a hand mirror from the kit and positioned himself with his back to the master bathroom mirror. He took his first look at the Birdarang.

It really wasn’t that bad, all things considered. The thin layer of armor on his back had prevented the weapon from going too deep into his flesh, so it was only a few inches in. Yeah, the skin around it was a little ugly looking, but that was fine. The only thing left to do was pull it out. Which. Tim could do. No problem.

He got a roll of gauze and some disinfectant. He looked at the stitching kit, but the wound was just below his shoulder blade and Tim did not have that kind of reach. He would have to go to a doctor in the morning.

Tim reached behind his back with his good arm and hesitantly touched the Birdarand, a stupid thing to do considering it made his back feel like it was on fire again. He grit his teeth and thought through the pain. He didn’t have a choice here. It wasn’t that deep. It would be fine.

He grabbed the base with a firmer grip and pulled.

“FUCK!”

Okay! So that hurt. His back was bleeding freely now. No problem. Get the gauze, wrap the wound. Get the gauze, wrap the wound. Get the gauze…No. The spray first. He needed the spray.

“Holy shit,” Tim groaned when the disinfectant hit the wound. The black spots were back in earnest now. He quickly pressed the gauze over the wound, trying to staunch the blood.

The next hour was a fever dream of pain and gauze. He went through 2 entire rolls before the bleeding was slow enough for him to wrap. By the end of it he was exhausted and lightheaded, barely having the energy to change into sweatpants before falling into bed.

He smiled to himself before sleep took him. His mother would be proud. He didn’t cry a single time.

Chapter Text

Steph was having an annoying few weeks, even before she threw a knife in the back of a stranger. 

Bruce was still warming up to her (a process that had been going for almost 2 years), Damian was growing more and more quiet as the days went on, and her best friend looked progressively worse the more she saw him. 

And that was all just Steph stuff. Robin stuff was causing her even more of a headache.

Everything was fine until that stupid Buzzard guy showed up. Well, everything was manageable until the stupid Buzzard guy showed up. To say things were fine would imply that getting benched once a month and almost getting her face bitten off by Killer Croc was fine. 

But she at least felt like she was in control of the situation before Buzzard came along. It wasn’t even that she was scared of the new rogue, or that he posed an enormous threat. It was that Steph enjoyed fighting him. It was rare that a rogue in Gotham would be willing to match Robin’s banter and snark, but Buzzard had stepped up with practiced ease. The immediate familiarity she felt arguing with him was perplexing. And then he kicked her off a roof.

Truth be told, Steph wasn’t that mad about the roof thing. If you haven’t been kicked off a roof as a vigilante can you even really call yourself a vigilante? If anything, it was a wake up call to Steph that she needed to focus. Just because some random guy in a bird costume could crack a few jokes, did not mean she could let her guard down. 

Bruce was not happy with her after that little fiasco. Nightwing tried to tell her the lecture she received from Bruce was just his way of expressing concern for her, but she wasn’t buying that. Dick was only at the manor on weekends, so he didn’t see the way Bruce interacted with her. He was cold and gruff, and hardly ever said anything when she did something right. Getting him to talk was never an issue when she inevitably screwed up in some new way.

If she thought Bruce was upset about the roof incident, there was nothing to prepare her for his reaction to Jason coming back to life just to murder her. Yeah, it took her a little bit to put those pieces together, but she’d eventually been able to recognize the similarities between Red Hood’s features and the dozens of photographs of Jason Todd that littered the manor. Any sense of wonder she had at the former Robin being alive was dampened substantially by the dude drugging her friends and trying to kill her. And then he showed her his face and complained about his daddy issues to her like that was somehow her fault.

On top of everything, Buzzard coming in and preventing the undead asshole from shooting her was a low blow to her pride. Hitting him with the Batarang just made her feel worse. She was aiming for Jason, though she didn’t really think about where she was aiming when she threw it. Her frenzied mind had locked onto the first patch of skin she could see. 2 years of being Robin made sure she did not hesitate, even if the thought of her weapon hitting its mark made her want to throw up.

Getting to meet Wonder Woman was pretty cool, at least. Meeting Green Lantern was not.

The day culminated with a meeting in the Batcave, which, while normally not a happy meeting place, was hindered even more by the knowledge that Red Hood and Buzzard had just been there. 

“Robin, report,” Batman said the second he entered the cave, Nightwing close behind. He must have driven in from Bludhaven. Fantastic. Steph did not think this would be a ‘the more, the merrier’ kind of situation.

“Jason is alive, and he’s a villain called the Red Hood.” Rip the bandaid off, right?

Damian and Alfred gave her twin exasperated looks from where they stood by her side.

“Impossible,” Batman growled after a half-second pause. Steph rolled her eyes in frustration while Damian just removed himself from the conversation completely. He walked over near the Zeta platform in the cave, earning a concerned glance from Dick.

“Whatever, Bruce,” Steph grumbled. She was used to Bruce not taking her at her word immediately. “Let’s get this show on the road. Video and photo evidence have already been uploaded to the Bat Computer. I’m going to go take a shower while you watch the proof of me getting kicked to shit.” She stormed off, ignoring Dick’s attempt to grab her arm. She didn’t need any more empty promises about Bruce’s trust coming slowly. She’d heard that little speech over 100 times.

She almost ran over a crouching Damian in her haste to get out of the room.

“What the hell are you doing, Brat?” she asked. She tried to curb some of her irritation because Damian didn’t do anything wrong. She was actually quite fond of the devil spawn. He was always willing to train with her and seemed to somehow carry some sort of respect for her. One of the few in the Bat Cave who did.

Damian straightened, slipping a rag and a small vial into his pocket. The rag looked slightly red and the spot of floor the boy seemed so enamored with was suspiciously shiny. Like it had just been wiped down.

“Not that it is any of your concern, Brown, but I was wiping up some paint that I had spilled earlier. I did not want to put Father in a worse mood, especially after he watches your evidence, so I cleaned it.”

That was what Steph liked about the little brat. He didn’t question the validity of her evidence, or call her a liar, he just assumed that what she reported was true.

“Why were you painting in the cave?” Steph asked. “You have an entire room dedicated as an art studio upstairs.”

“I required a change of space and some new scenery,” sniffed the boy. “Father’s cave has no shortage of interesting subjects to paint, no?”

She rolled her eyes and started to move away, knowing that calling him on his spiffy manner of speaking would only raise his hackles. She was surprised when Damian stopped her by grabbing her wrist.

“I have looked at your footage and will inspect it further after Father has given his thoughts,” the boy said, not meeting her eyes. “But I had two questions before you retired for the night.”

Steph balked at the slight softness of his tone. This was a rare side to Damian she didn’t get to see often. She always assumed it was reserved for Dick.

“Alright, shoot.”

“First,” the young boy hesitated. She became concerned for his health when his face took on a red hue. “Are you… doing ok?”

Her mouth fell to the floor. She didn’t know whether to feel touched or horrified. She quickly put a hand on Damian’s forehead.

“Brown! Unhand me at once!” 

“Are you sick? You don’t feel too warm. Maybe a cold? Do you feel dizzy at all?”

“Cease this nonsense!” The demon brat hissed. He batted her hand away like an angry kitten. “I am simply inquiring about your health as a colleague. You cannot perform well in the field if any sustained injuries go overlooked.” 

Damian reddened further and Steph finally realized that he was feeling embarrassed. Him showing concern was just as new to him as it was to her. Normally she would take that opportunity to tease him relentlessly, but she didn’t feel like she had many people in her corner at the moment and she didn’t want to punish the boy for trying.

“I’m ok, Dami,” she confirmed with a small smile. “Just a few bruises and scrapes, nothing terrible. I had some help show up just in time or things could have been worse.”

“Please, you are Robin,” Damian scoffed, looking slightly relieved, “you could have handled anything that simpleton threw at you.”

Another thing she liked about Damian was his easy confidence in his skills and the skills of the rest of the Bats. There was no time for doubt or pity with him.

“What was your second question?” she asked. Dare she say that she was actually feeling fond of the brat.

Damian’s face grew much more serious. He gestured for Steph to lean down so that he could talk quietly to her. She complied with unbridled curiosity. 

“The two criminals you encountered, your report mentioned one of them was the Buzzard, correct?” 

She raised her eyebrows. Damian rarely dignified any of the villains in Gotham with their actual names. Riddler was ‘the fool’, Joker was ‘Slime’ and Poison Ivy was ‘Scantily Clad Ecoterrorist’. She would have thought Buzzard would be ‘Malnourished Hatchling’ or something equally as complicated.

“Yeah, Buzzard was there. Why?”

“Did he get hit with anything?”

She froze. An image of the Birdarang slowly sinking into Buzzard’s back right before he disappeared in a flash of light replayed in her mind.

“Yes. I hit him with a Birdarang. And Hood gave him some cuts, too,” she tacked on. She wasn’t sure why she was feeling so guilty about the Birdarang. Getting hit by one of those things was just a risk you took when you did crime.

Damian didn’t say anything. He only nodded like he had been expecting that answer.

“This is adequate information. Thank you for your cooperation. I will be retiring upstairs. Inform Father, should he ask.”

“Should I tell Alfred you’d like a wee spot o’ tea and a fresh scone too?” Steph mocked, no longer able to help herself. 

Damian stopped and actually thought about it. “If it would be no trouble, then yes, that does sound nice.” And then he went upstairs. 

Steph needed to get some marginally normal friends.

She started, once again, towards the showers, but was stopped by Batman’s quiet voice.

“He said he was going to kill you,” he said. He sounded quieter than she had ever heard him before. 

She didn’t turn around. “Several times, yes. It got annoying after the 5th time.”

She wasn’t going to turn around. She wasn’t going to stand here and be interrogated by Batman just because he was upset about his son. Steph had almost been killed just because of the vendetta Jason had against Bruce–

“I’m sorry.”

Steph spun around immediately, staring at her mentor with wide eyes. Bruce had taken off his cowl and was looking at her with poorly masked grief and confusion. Dick stayed at the Bat Computer, head in his hands.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. Like that made any sense. “I’m sorry for not believing you. I’m sorry for failing Jason so miserably he would resort to wishing you harm–”

“Bruce, stop,” Steph demanded. She’d waited 2 years for Bruce to apologize to her, but this wasn’t right. This wasn’t how she wanted it to happen. “Look, yes, you should believe me when I tell you things, because we’re partners, but the Jason thing isn’t your fault!”

“I let him die,” Bruce whispered, his voice breaking. And…nope. She wasn’t going to let him do that. She marched straight up to the emotionally constipated man she had argued with more times than she could count the last 2 years and hugged him as tight as she could manage.

“You didn’t let him die,” she said firmly into his chest. “Shit happens, Bruce. Yeah, it’s pretty shitty shit to lose a son, but we chose this. Every Robin chose this. Maybe he blames you right now, but he doesn’t know what you went through. He doesn’t know how broken you were when I became Robin.”

Bruce let loose a shaky breath and slowly returned the hug. Steph couldn’t remember if they had ever so much as shook hands before.

“He thinks I replaced him. He thinks you’re a replacement.”

She wrinkled her nose. She didn’t replace anyone.

“I’m not a placeholder, Bruce. I didn’t become Robin to live up to Jason’s legacy. I did it to forge my own and to help people. I’m nobody's backup.”

“I know,” Bruce chuckled wetly. Steph found her eyes suddenly misty. “I know you aren’t. You’re a fantastic Robin, completely unlike anyone who came before you or will come after. I’m sorry I don’t tell you that more.”

“A lot of apologies today, B,” Steph sniffed. She tried in vain to keep her voice steady. “You’re getting soft in your old age.”

“Well, Dick said I’m pretty bad at them, so I’m trying to be… better. If that really is Jason, and not some imposter, I’m going to have a lot of practice apologizing.”

“We’ll figure out what’s going on, B,” Steph told him firmly. She finally pulled away. “Whether it is some kind of brainwashing or just Jason being an idiot, we’ll get him back.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said. Another surprise to the day. “Until then, you’re off patrol until things calm down.”

“Jesus, way to ruin a moment, Bruce,” Steph groaned. “No way am I going to stay at home twiddling my thumbs while a potential murderer runs around.”

A pained look crossed Bruce’s face. Maybe she shouldn’t have implied his undead son was a murderer. Oops.

“It’s for your safety. If Red Hood is trying to kill you, sending you out on patrol would be incredibly irresponsible.” The Boy Wonder took the opportunity to step in to save Bruce from her ire. “Stay off the streets for a few weeks while we get things sorted out. It will be fine.”

“No.”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Bruce rumbled. Back to his old self, it seemed.

“You’re right,” Steph responded primly, “because I’m not riding the bench.”

“Robin–”

“No!” She didn’t shout, but her voice carried across the cave. It certainly wasn’t the first time she had held her ground in an argument, but the two men looked slightly taken aback anyway. “If he wants to get to me so bad, hiding won’t do any good. He already found me at the Tower. How do we know he doesn’t already know where I live? I’m not putting my mom in that kind of danger. Plus, he’ll know you’re looking for him. If I’m still on patrol as Robin, that’s the best way to draw him out.”

“It’s too reckless. You could die.”

“I could die any day!” Steph exclaimed. This time she did shout. “That’s part of the risk, Bruce! I’m prepared to deal with that.”

“But your mother can’t, Stephanie,” Bruce gripped her shoulders firmly and she let out a shaky breath. “A parent shouldn’t have to bury their child. Not over this.” His eyes were haunted. He was speaking from experience, after all.

“I’ll stay close by your side, B,” she promised. “No going off on my own, no rushing blindly into trouble. But you can’t bench me. It won’t work. It’s just going to get more people hurt.”

He searched her eyes for a long time and she let him. He needed to know how serious she was. After what felt like minutes, Bruce let out a long and sad sigh.

“One week. You will patrol with me as Robin for one week, and if Hood doesn’t show himself you and your mother are going to a safehouse. Understood?”

She swallowed her initial argument, seeing that there was no room for further compromise on Bruce’s face. She would have to take what she could get.

“Understood.”

Bruce nodded once, curt, and walked back to the Batcomputer, eyes glued to the face of his once dead son.

“How the hell did you manage that?” Dick asked with bafflement. “I could never get Bruce to change his mind after he decided to bench me.”

“I guess I’m just cooler than you. Now, I really need to take a shower or I’m going to die from this smell.”

~

“Remind me again how you managed to get these cuts all over your body?” asked Dr. Thompkins. “You look like you tried to shove yourself down a garbage disposal.”

Tim chuckled good naturedly, and immediately winced when it pulled at the stitches on his back.

“I tried to climb a fire escape to get away from some thugs. Most of the scratches are from the fall, if you can believe it.”

Dr. Thompkins did not share his humor. Maybe she had the ability to detect bullshit.

“And I’m sure this knife wound that you idiotically waited to fix until morning was also from the fire escape?”

“Can’t think of where else it would have come from.”

“Uh-huh.” The doctor didn’t say anything more, just continued to apply bandages and disinfectant to Tim’s wounds.

He was sitting there for a while, thinking about a way to make it easier to stitch up a wound on his back by himself in the future, when a familiar voice called out to him.

“Tim? What are you doing here?”

Tim sprung from the doctor’s table, much to Dr. Thompkins’ chagrin. He made sure his back wasn’t facing Stephanie, who was walking towards him with narrowed eyes.

“Steph! Hi!” So far so good. “What are you doing here?”

“I asked you first,” the blonde said, looking Tim over like she was checking for injuries. Nope. Nope, nope. Bad.

“Oh, you know, just hangin’ out. Having a little ride around.”

He had to hand it to Stephanie, no one ever managed to look as unimpressed as she did. Except maybe Dr. Thompkins.

“Mr. Suave fell off a fire escape,” the doctor said. How she managed to fit so much skepticism into her tone, Tim didn’t know. “Some thugs were chasing him.”

“What?” Steph’s eyes were back on him in an instant, redoubling her efforts of making sure Tim wasn’t bleeding out in front of her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s Gotham, Steph,” he chuckled nervously, “if I called you for every thug that tries to jump me I’d never put the phone down!”

That was the wrong thing to say.

“This happens often?” 

“No! No, it was just a joke–”

“Tim, I can literally see more scars on your arms and torso.”

“Those are old,” he argued, quickly putting his shirt back on. Which was true! He just didn’t need to mention that the deadly master assassin Deathstroke gave them to him when he was a little too slow dodging a throwing knife.

“Most of them aren’t that old,” Dr. Thompkins muttered under her breath.

“Hey! Ever heard of doctor-patient confidentiality?” he hissed. She put her hands up in surrender and left the room.

“Tim, if you’re getting attacked or in some kind of trouble–”

“I promise I’m fine,” he insisted. “Now, I’m sure you have stuff to do so I’ll just let you move on with your day, no need to stay here for my sake.”

“Tim, I work here.”

“You what?” He imagined his future plans to come here for bad injuries going up in a tiny mushroom cloud of despair and 200 pounds of explosives. “Since when?”

“For almost a year,” said Steph. She rolled her eyes. Like Tim was somehow supposed to know that.

“Oh. Well. I will leave you to it then.” He exited through the door, doing everything in his power to speed walk while not making it noticeable that he had a knife sticking out of him last night.

“Oh hell no! Tim!” Steph chased him down. Several people looked up at them from the waiting room. One guy gave both of them the thumbs up and wiggled his eyebrows. They glared back at him and gave a simultaneous thumbs down. He went back to his Sudoku and did not look back up.

“You just said you have to work.”

“At least let me walk you out! Don’t think you can get away with showing up in a clinic with wounds and not talk about it.”

“They aren’t wounds ,” Tim sighed, exasperated. The wound on his back strained in protest. “They’re just scratches!”

“If they were just scratches you wouldn’t be coming into the clinic,” the blonde pointed out. He walked outside and she followed.

“I was just being careful.”

Steph grabbed Tim’s arm and spun him around. Gothamites streamed on the sidewalk around them.

“Tim. I love you. But you have never been careful in your life. You forget to eat half the time if someone doesn’t remind you.” She kept her gaze on him and forced him to make eye contact. “What’s wrong?”

I’m the vigilante Buzzard and I’m currently under the skin of the Justice League, Lex Luthor, Batman, and the Red Hood. Also you accidentally threw a knife into my back last night. No hard feelings about that though.

“Nothing,” was what Tim actually said out loud. Steph’s eyes turned stormy.

“Fine. Whatever, don’t tell me. I need to go back to work. That’s one thing you can relate to, right?” She might as well have hit him with a brick.

“Steph, wait!”

“Bye Tim. Say hi to your uncle for me!” she called over her shoulder with such venom that he actually took a step back.

He stayed on the sidewalk staring at the closed door for several minutes. It wasn’t until someone barked “move your ass, kid!” that Tim uprooted himself from his spot. 

He felt numb. He’d never had a friend to be mad at him before. His parents, sure, but that was different. Steph was one of the few people in Gotham that actually seemed to derive joy from talking to him. And now she hated him. And for not telling her what was wrong with him? His parents were always happiest when he didn’t talk about what was wrong with him.

It’s not like he could tell her anything anyway. Even if he wanted to. He fought her twice already as Buzzard, and he wasn’t even supposed to know that she was Robin, so what was he supposed to tell her? Saying there was nothing wrong wasn’t even a lie! Tim was fine. Totally fine.

Work that day dragged even more than usual. Tim couldn’t stop thinking about Steph storming away from him angrily. His stupid meetings didn’t help either. By the time he left, he was frustrated and tired. All he wanted was to go home and have a couple dozen cups of coffee before patrol.

The assassin waiting outside the building complicated things.

They didn’t manage to kill Tim, obviously, but he had to lead them to a secluded alley before he could incapacitate them. A 15 year old knocking out an assassin in broad daylight would not be great for his cover.

He tied them to a railing and called the police to come pick them up. Then he left. 

He wasn’t really all that concerned at first. Rich teenaged CEO just out for a stroll in Gotham? There was always someone that was going to want to kill him. No, he only got concerned when the second assassin started tailing him.

They were a little bit more subtle than the first one, but they still stuck out like a sore thumb to Tim. They were wearing thick sunglasses (useless in the Gotham smog) and a black button down with black slacks. Unless the Secret Service was in town, Tim was pretty sure they didn’t belong there. 

They followed him for two blocks until he decided to just replicate what he did with assassin #1. He ducked into an alley and waited for his tail to follow. They did not disappoint, walking straight into the alley and getting smashed over the head by a trash can lid. They fell to the ground and lay there limply.

Tim frowned. Was he really such an easy looking target that someone would send to amateurs after him? 

He checked the assassin’s pockets and found a cellphone. The young CEO scooped it up and pulled his own phone and a connecting cable out of his bag. Slade had laughed at him for having so many cables, but Tim knew a double sided lightning cable would come in handy. He plugged one end into his phone and the other into the assassin’s phone. After running a quick program, all of the data from his assailant transferred over to him. Tim smiled.

Nothing to brighten a day like stealing the information of your attempted assassin before dinner time.

He left the Secret Service reject tied up, same as the first, and left the alley, already combing through what his phone copied. He sifted through text messages and phone calls before finding what he was looking for in the emails.

Who the hell uses email for an assassination contract.

The answer made him groan so loud people gave him a wide berth on the street. Lex Luthor. Of course it was Lex Luthor. Just once, someone else could try to ruin his life and shake things up a little? At least Tim felt marginally proud that he annoyed the LexCorp CEO enough that he would set a hit on him.

On the other hand, a hit was going to cause problems. Tim could handle lower level amateurs for a while, but if Lex decided to up the price, he'd have much bigger issues on his hands. He was really going to need to watch his back when he went out as Buzzard now. There would be eyes everywhere.

Not for the first time, Tim wondered how he managed to make so many enemies so quickly. He knew he could be irritating to get along with sometimes, but assassination attempts, attempted arrests, attempted murder. When would someone try an attempted muffin delivery, or attempted coffee break? The country needed more attempted coffee break felonies. A coffee break and enter.

Oh my god I’m losing it. Coffee break and enter isn’t even funny.

Tim’s chest started to constrict. He was in over his head. He’d barely been back a month and he was already making too many fuck-ups. 

No more mistakes. He could not afford any more mistakes. If he wanted to do this right and save Jason and help the rest of Gotham he could not, under any circumstances make any more–

Tim was so focussed in his own head that he didn’t see there was someone in front of him until he was bouncing off their back and onto the ground. 

“Woah! Sorry, hun,” an accented voice called out to him in concern. “You really gotta watch where ya goin’!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. There he went losing concentration again. At least it was just a friendly Gothamite woman and not someone more dangerous.

A chalk white hand reached down to help him to his feet.

Like. Unnaturally white.

Oh dear god. Don’t tell me.

Tim looked up to see a similarly white face, bright red lipstick, black and red jacket over a bodysuit of the same color.

He leaned his head back against the concrete and let out a long, very loud groan.

“Woah! No need to be dramatic. Did you hit your head or somethin’?”

“Of course I run into Harley Quinn on my way home from work!” Tim muttered angrily. He ignored Quinn’s still outstretched hand in order to sulk on the ground. 

“Oh, he recognizes me! That’s so cool!”

“Just one day? Can I have one normal day? No! Of course not! I had to run into a crazy villain at 5pm!”

“We wanted to get an early start to the day. Are you sure you’re ok? You’re kinda bummin’ me out down there.”

“Depends. Are you going to let me go home?” he asked hopefully.

She hummed in thought.

“I dunno. Let me check.” The rogue turned to call over her shoulder. “Hey Ivy! Are we good on hostages? This kid wants to go home. I think he’s had a rough day, he’s talkin’ cuckoo bananas.”

Tim glowered at her from his comfortable spot on the gum covered concrete. He was not cuckoo bananas, he was just having a bad day. Bad week. Bad 15 years.

Wait. Did she say Ivy? God damn it. God damn it. No. No. Do not tell me.

The clack of heels on pavement alerted Tim to the second presence, and sure enough, it was Poison Ivy, Gotham’s resident ecoterrorist. She had on a very lovely green dress decorated with vibrant green leaves and vines that came down just above her knees. Tim thought the color went very well with her red hair, but mostly he was annoyed.

She gave him a critical eye, idly wrapping an arm around Harley’s shoulders, not that she seemed to notice the movement. Harley smiled and leaned into her. At least someone was having a somewhat nice day.

“Why is he on the ground?” the green woman asked with a furrowed brow.

“Well he ran into me and fell,” the other woman explained, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Then he just kinda stayed there. Are you sure you don’t wanna get up, puddin’?”

“I’m fine down here, thanks.”

“He looks familiar,” Ivy hummed. “What’s your name?”

“Alvin.”

“Like the chipmunk!” Harley squealed. “Do the voice!”

“I would quite literally rather die,” Tim hissed.

“You’re no fun,” she pouted. She turned to Ivy. “He’s no fun, Ives. can’t we just send him on his way if he’s gonna be a party pooper?’

“Wait a minute, I think I do recognize him!” Ivy proclaimed. “Aren’t you that Drake kid? The baby CEO?”

“No,” He snapped. Then, because he had poor restraint, “And if I was, I would not be a ‘baby CEO,’ I’d be an adult CEO.”

“Aren’t you like 12?”

“The guy you’re talking about is 15!” Tim corrected as calmly as he could. He did not look that young. Why did everyone keep saying that? 

“Yep, this is definitely the Drake kid,” Ivy decided. “He’d definitely be a valuable hostage. And we can get a ransom out of him too.”

“Oh I love ransoms! They’re like birthday presents, except the present is a kid! Ya know Ivy, that kind of makes us like those birds that deliver babies. The pelican lookin’ ones?”

“Storks,” Tim supplied absently, trying to think of a way to roll into traffic.

“Yeah! Storks! We’re like storks, Ivy!”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” the redhead said warmly. She turned back to Tim and frowned. “Hey can you get up and walk over to where the other hostages are, or are you going to make us drag you?”

“Can’t I just bribe you to let me and the other hostages go? I have money.”

“We can get more than you have from a ransom. Now get up and go sit in the bank with the other hostages.”

“You robbed a bank?” Tim asked. He did not get up. “What do you need all that money for?”

“Oh, Ivy’s projects to destroy polluting factories and the such ain’t cheap,” Harley explained. She leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially to Tim. “I’m also hopin’ if we get enough she’ll take me on a nice trip somewhere. Like Venice! I hear Venice is nice.”

Tim gave maybe the heaviest sigh of his life. Which meant the sigh he gave was probably some world record breaking kind of sigh.

“Woah! I think he sprung a leak.”

“Look,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “can you at least let everyone else go? I’ll pay you whatever money you need and you can keep me as a hostage or ransom or whatever along with the bank money. Just let the others go so no one gets caught in a crossfire. I don’t trust some of the GCPD to keep their fingers off the triggers when dealing with hostages.”

“Oh, he doesn’t like cops! I take back what I said earlier, Ives, he’s a lotta fun!”

Poison Ivy and Tim stared at each other for a few seconds, reading each other. Out of all of the villains in Gotham, Ivy and Harley were some of the easier ones to deal with. They weren’t really that dangerous unless some environment-threatening company was involved. Tim made sure Drake Industries kept up steady donations to different environmental programs for situations like this. (And also because Tim wasn’t an asshole.)

Finally Ivy shrugged.

“Fine. We’ll let the others go. Now get up, or your suit is going to get dirty.”

“Wouldn’t that be a travesty? My generic suit getting dirt on it. Oh, horror.”

“If you’re going to be a pill the whole time we can just keep the other hostages and lock you in the bank vault.”

Tim didn’t say anything to that. Because he didn’t want them to keep the other hostages and lock him in the bank vault.

~

“So Timmy, how much money can we expect from this ransom?” Harley asked an hour later, the three of them spread out around the bank’s main office. Harley was at the teller’s window, counting out money and sliding it through the window before running around to grab it with a giggle. Ivy was sitting sideways in a cushy chair on the far side of the office, making a small plant in the corner slowly overtake the room.

“Oh, my parents are dead,” Tim said from his spot at the bank manager’s desk, working from his computer (when Harley and Ivy released the hostages Tim had asked the man if he could get some work done on his computer. He seemed pretty confused by the question, but didn’t argue since Tim somewhat negotiated his release). “I have an uncle but… I can just wire you the money myself once this is done.”

Ivy and Harley both turned to him with identical frowns and Tim tried not to tense. Both of them had been pretty nice to him so far (Harley even asked if he wanted to play bank with her), but he figured they would be annoyed about the ransom. He tried to tell them earlier, but they weren’t listening.

“Your parents are dead?” Harley asked. 

“Yeah. Sorry, I thought you guys knew? Since you knew I was CEO and everything.”

The two women glanced at each other. A bead of sweat ran down his back.

“And this uncle of yours?” Ivy questioned casually. Too casually. “Why wouldn’t he be able to send anything?’

“Oh, well.” Tim struggled to think of a convincing excuse. “He’s on a business trip, and he usually keeps his phone off.” It sounded weak, even to him. “He probably won’t be picking up any calls from the police.”

“So you’re here alone, with no parents, and an uncle that’s not checking up on you?” Ivy concluded.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but yes?” Tim winced and casually pulled the leg of his pants up a bit for easy access to his knife. He didn’t want to fight Ivy and Harley, but it was starting to look like he would have no other choice.

The two women had some sort of silent conversation with each other, full of raised eyebrows, pointed looks, and even overt gestures in Tim’s direction. Eventually Harley came over and sat on the corner of his desk, suspiciously gentle for her.

“Timmy,” she began. Tim loosened his muscles. Harley left her baseball bat by the door, but she could move fast. He needed to dodge her attack and make it out the door before Ivy brought the plants on him. “What do you know about child neglect?”

His pants leg dropped back down to his ankle. His train of thought careened off its rails.

“What?”

“I know it ain’t news you want to hear,” Harley said sympathetically. She patted Tim’s hand. “It just sounds like your uncle isn’t doing a good job taking care of you. Do you have a nanny?”

“I’m 15,” Tim said stiffly. He had no idea what the hell was happening. 

“That’s still too young to not have a legal guardian looking after you. I mean, think about it! If your parents were around, would they like how little contact he has with you?”

Tim was already tired of the weird ass conversation he was in. He was not going to discuss his fake uncle’s child neglect with two of Gotham’s criminals.

“They would be fine,” he said with a winning smile, “They did the same thing, don’t worry about it.”

The look on their faces told Tim immediately that he’d fucked up in some way. There was unconcealed concern on Harley’s face and Ivy was trying and failing not to look angry.

What is happening? He thought desperately. Why am I the one that always ends up in these weird situations?

“Can we go back to sitting quietly while I answer work emails?” He begged. “I liked that a lot better than this conversation.”

“Maybe he’s right, babe,” said Ivy. She looked as uncomfortable as Tim felt. “I’m almost ready to bust us out of here, and we don’t need to wait on a ransom anymore. Can you wire us the money, kid?”

“Yes!” Tim was relieved they were finally getting to robbing him so he could leave. “What’s your routing number?”

“Hold on! We can’t just leave this cute little thing here to get neglected! Look at him, Ives.” She squished Tim’s cheeks and gave Ivy puppy dog eyes. Tim tried to bite her fingers and missed.

“What do you want us to do? We can’t exactly take him with us.”

“Why not? His shitty uncle ain’t gonna care. Oooh, the three of us can rob banks together! It would be so much fun.”

Tim didn’t know what was worse, the fact that Harley was trying to adopt him, or the fact that Ivy looked somewhat contemplative. He pulled himself away from Harley’s hands with a snarl.

“I am not going anywhere! I have a company to run.” He shook his head. “No, wait. The more important thing is that I am not going to help you do crime. That was supposed to be the first thing.”

“You can still work at your company. We won’t even make you do crime until you want to!” 

“No. Not going to happen. Dr. Isely, what’s your routing number? I will transfer the money right now.”

“He called ya Dr. Isely! Polite!”

Tim was so busy dealing with Harley’s antics that he failed to notice the other woman wasn’t paying them attention anymore. She was standing now, gaze glued to the window, where GCPD squad cars had surrounded the building for quite a while. Her eyes narrowed and the plant she was growing in the corner spread at an even faster rate. The roots thickened and the branches began to fill the entire office.

“Harley. We’re about to have company.”

The former psychiatrist was by Ivy’s side with her baseball bat in an instant.

“What kinda company?”

“The flying rodent kind.”

On cue, the lights in the building flickered off. Tim crouched down behind the desk with a relieved sigh. He hadn’t been expecting Batman to come to deal with the issue, but whatever got him out of there and back home before patrol (and without having to deal with Harley’s weird offer) would be fine by him. Part of him even felt giddy. It’d been a long time since he last got to see the bats in action. It would be kind of nice to see them fight someone that wasn’t him again.

Who are they going to send? He thought. It was a little game he used to play back when he was a kid following the Bats around Gotham with his camera. If he ever beat them to a crime scene or a distress call he would guess which of the Bats would show up depending on the severity and danger of the crisis. I bet they send Robin. Though that thought made him feel a little queasy. Probably not Robin, actually. It’s too risky to send her out right now with Hood on the loose. Plus, I bet they know by now I’m the hostage and she’s probably still mad at me for before. And she’s at her job today. No, they can’t send her. Batman maybe? There are two villains here, though Ivy and Harley haven’t caused much trouble in several years, so it’s probably not high enough priority to send him out. It’s Tuesday so Nightwing should be in Bludhaven, Damian isn’t a vigilante yet, Bat Girl has been sidelined for years now, and Bat Woman doesn’t typically operate around here. Huh. It wouldn’t really make sense to send anyone actually. This situation isn’t high enough priority. Why wouldn’t they just let the cops handle it? It’s not like Ivy and Harley haven’t done a hostage situation before. 

The windows burst open in a symphony of smashing glass, breaking Tim out of his thoughts. He poked his head over the desk, hands itching for his old camera. Not that he would be able to get a good shot of anything if he did have it. The plant Ivy was growing had taken over the entire building now, wrapping roots and limbs over every surface and obscuring most of Tim’s view with thick foliage. 

“Oh!” Harley cackled somewhere over to his left, “the whole cavalry's here!”

His eyes widened. Through what little of the brush he could see through, three figures stood in the window; Batman, Nightwing, and Robin. The dynamic duo’s capes blew dramatically in the wind.

Robin was the first to speak.

“Where’s the hostage?” she shouted. It was almost a growl with the violence of the words. “If you’ve done anything to him I swear I’ll–”

“Robin.” Batman cut in. “Tell us where he is, Harley, and we won’t bring you or Poison Ivy any harm.”

“What, Timmy?” came the cheerful reply. “He’s fine and dandy! Right Timmy?”

“Um. Hi?” Tim called. He needed to work on his one liners a little bit. “I’m fine. They didn’t hurt me at all. Why are you all here?”

Robin turned towards the sound of his voice with fury.

“Because you were being held hostage, you absolute idiot! I mean. Don’t worry citizen, we’ll get you out of there soon.” 

Ok, so Steph was still a little mad at him.

“What Robin is trying to say,” chimed in Nightwing, looking much happier at hearing the sound of Tim’s voice, “is that we’ll go ahead and take Tim back to his family now, and you two can inevitably escape arrest and go to whatever hideout you have. Just try not to hold a kid hostage next time, ok?”

Tim exhaled in relief. Finally, he would get to go home! Part of him was even surprisingly relieved that the Bats were going to let Harley and Ivy go without much of a fuss. They were starting to grow on him a little. Or at least they were before Harley opened her mouth.

“No!”

“No?!” 5 voices called out in perfect unison.

“What the fuck do you mean no?”

“Robin, calm down–”

“Babe, I don’t know if–”

“Everyone calm down–”

“Oh my god, can I please just go home–”

“I said no!” Harley shouted over the noise. “Ives and I ain’t gonna let ya take him back to that no good house with that no-good uncle of his! Right, Ivy?”

“I really didn’t agree to this, Harley.”

“ Right, Ivy ?”

The sigh Ivy gave put Tim’s earlier one to absolute shame.

“Yeah, fine. We can at least get him out of Gotham. I guess.”

“What?” Tim cried. “No! No fucking way! I just want to go back to my house and get my work done.” He tried crawling through the room to get to the windows but a tree branch wrapped around his stomach and tucked him against the desk. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me! Ivy, what the hell?”

“Sorry,” the woman answered, sounding extremely not sorry, “but Harley is going to give me the puppy eyes if I don’t help her. Also your uncle and your parents do suck, so she’s right.”

“What’s wrong with his uncle and parents?” Batman asked.

Shit.

“Hello, Batman!” Tim yelled in an attempt to bring things back to more stable ground. “Being held against my will here! Help please!”

“Robin, free the hostage. Nightwing, you’re with me.”

The three of them leapt into action, Nightwing and Batman rushing in the supposed direction of Ivy and Harley, and Robin sprinting towards Tim.

Immediately the plants began to move. It wasn’t only the little shrub Ivy had grown anymore. The entire building creaked and groaned as trees and bushes from outside smashed into the walls, little buds worming their way through the blossoming cracks. 

The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous. All of this just because they didn’t want Tim to go home? Ivy must’ve really wanted that money.

Robin made her way to him quickly, jumping over tree roots and ducking low under branches. As she drew closer, the branches around Tim thickened, forming a crude dome around him. He cursed and pulled the knife from his calf. He started sawing through the branch holding him to the desk, sap oozing onto his hands. 

A small explosion had him looking up, instinctively hiding the knife behind his back. Steph blew a hole through Tim’s makeshift prison, the charred edges of the rudimentary opening preventing the plants from growing back immediately.

“Robin!” Tim called in relief. “I can’t get this tree branch off of me!” He looked down only to find that the deep gouges he carved out with his knife had already healed over, though the sap still covered his hands.

She crouched down by his side and gave a few experimental tugs on the wooden restraint.

“Is it hurting you at all? Can you breathe?” She took out a Birdarang and shoved the blade into the branch, as far from Tim as possible. He gave the thing a wry look.

“I’m fine. She doesn’t seem to be trying to hurt me in any way, which is nuts.”

“How so?” Robin asked. She gave him a quick glance while she put another Birdarang on the other side of the restraint.

“I’ve known these two for an hour,” he grumbled, “and now they’re acting like I’m some sort of helpless kid based off one offhand comment. They’re crazy.”

“Well, yeah.” The two Birdarangs gave simultaneous beeps and were suddenly ablaze. They burned through the roots as Tim watched, impressed. “They’re Gotham rogues. Being crazy is something of a requirement.”

Tim couldn’t help but notice that Steph’s tone was still a little clipped towards him, which he thought was unfair. How long was she going to be mad at him? Was she even more mad that he was taken hostage by Harley and Ivy? It wasn’t like he asked for that. Even if he did get a lot of emails done.

The Birdarangs finished burning through the wood and it fell away with a thunk onto the tiled floor. Tim breathed a little easier with it gone, despite the fact it wasn’t hindering his breathing in any way.

“Thank you,” he said to the vigilante.

“Can you walk?” was all she said back to him.

“Yeah,” he answered. He tried not to let her irritation get to him. Tim would be annoyed with himself too if he was in her shoes. Well, he at least assumed he would be. He still wasn’t quite sure what he’d done wrong, but he most likely deserved this.

They carefully climbed out of the little cocoon and crawled in the direction of the windows, though they couldn’t see them. Tim tucked the knife back under his slacks while Robin’s back was turned.

“How did you get yourself into this mess?” Robin asked, surprising Tim. At least he wasn’t getting the silent treatment. He always hated that when his parents used to do it.

“I was walking down the street not paying attention,” he admitted sheepishly. “I bumped into Harley by accident and they took me in here once they realized who I was. They thought my parents would pay a ransom.”

“They recognized you, but still thought your parents would be able to pay a ransom?”

“Yeah,” he snorted. “I guess they only watch half of the news.”

The bank lobby was almost unrecognizable by that point. If Tim didn’t spend a good portion of his afternoon there, he wouldn’t even know where he was. The place was closer to a jungle now more than anything. Branches, vines, and leaves were constantly shifting and growing, blocking their path and making traversing the dense overgrowth incredibly difficult. It was also now eerily dark in the building, the plantlife having broken the fluorescent lighting above, or just covering it up completely. It made it hard for Tim to judge Robin’s expression when she turned back to him.

“We thought there were multiple hostages in here, but the police said it was just you by the time we got here. Where did everyone go?”

Tim was too distracted trying to climb over a particularly large root to notice the tenseness of her tone.

“Oh, I told Ivy and Harley I’d pay them to let everyone else go since I was the only real valuable hostage here. Or at least, they thought I was valuable,” he chuckled. Robin did not join him. “So they all got to go free and I caught up on some emails. No harm done to anyone.”

“Let me get this straight,” Robin said in a very calm way that made every muscle in Tim’s body immediately tense up. “You decided you would take it upon yourself to negotiate with two villains, who have killed people before, by the way , in a way that left you, and only you, in danger?”

“Should I have let them keep a bunch of innocent people hostage just to make things easier for myself?” Tim asked, confused.

“Yes!” She yelled instantly. Tim almost tripped backwards over a sapling, he was so surprised. “You should absolutely be thinking about your own safety in situations like those!”

“If there’s a way for me to help people I’m not just going to do nothing,” Tim argued. His frustration from the day started to bleed into his tone. “Why is everyone treating me like I’m so fragile? I’m 15 years old! I’m not a kid, I can make my own decisions, and I shouldn’t have to explain myself every time I do! I own a fucking company. I can handle getting abducted by two of the nicer criminals in Gotham for an hour or two.”

“Do you not realize how insane you sound?” Tim didn’t need the lights to feel Steph’s angry arm movements. “Are your self-preservation instincts so low that you don’t recognize the issue with willingly sacrificing yourself?”

Tim bristled.

“You guys do that every day! You’re fucking vigilantes. You’re not operating under the law or some shit you know. I have just as much of a right to help people as I see fit as you do.”

“I’m trained for this!” Steph fumed. “Undergoing training to put my body in shape to handle being Robin is something I have that you don’t.”

Except that wasn’t true. Tim was as qualified as she was. He’d trained for a fucking year to be as qualified as her. He knew she didn’t know that, but at the moment he didn’t care.

“I’m glad you have your little Robin training regimen. Is being a pretentious ass part of it? Or do you just come by that naturally?” The shock on her face was evident even in the darkness. Tim wished seeing it felt better. That expression morphed to anger in an instant.

“What would you know? You’re just a rich little brat that thinks you can do whatever you want.”

They both took a step forward until they were in the other’s face. Tim clenched his fist, a complicated rush of anger, hurt, and embarrassment coursing through him.

“Both of you knock it off!” Nightwing came out nowhere, swinging from the branches to drop down in between Robin and Tim. “If you haven’t noticed, now is not the time to be arguing with each other.”

“But he–”

“Robin.” Tim would always be impressed with how the Bats managed to convey looks even with their eyes hidden behind masks. “You don’t even know young Tim here. You have no idea what he’s been through, and if you did you would never say those things about him. Right?” Robin’s face fell. She refused to look at Tim. Dick turned to him next. “The same goes for you. Robin is here to help you, but you don’t get to be mean to her either, ok?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” the ashamed Drake mumbled. “Sorry, Robin.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Nightwing nudged her. She sighed. “I’m sorry too. I’m just worried.”

“Understandable!” Nightwing said, suddenly much more cheerful. “This is the 3rd worst plant infested bank I’ve been trapped in! What do you say we get out of here?”

The two teens didn’t get a chance to answer. The building suddenly rumbled heavily, a massive explosive noise making Tim’s ears ring. He immediately recognized it as someone setting off some kind of bomb.

“Why the hell are Ivy and Harley trying so hard? They’re not usually this violent.”

Nightwing looked thoughtfully at Robin.

“I left B with them, they were talking things out. Or at least I thought they were. Plus, bombs aren’t usually their thing.”

“You’re thinking somebody else?” Robin asked, brows raised. 

Another explosion rocked the building. Nightwing reached out to steady Tim (not that he needed it) and put a finger to his ear.

“Yeah, I’m thinking somebody else. O? Can you hear me? What’s going on out there?”

Tim had to watch in annoyance while both Robin and Nightwing stood quietly listening to whatever Oracle was telling them on the comms. 

“Shit,” Nightwing said eventually. He put his hands over Tim’s ears while he said it, which the CEO did not appreciate.

“It’s fine,” said Robin. “This is what we wanted. We were trying to draw him out.”

“Not while we’re stuck in a jungle. His timing is pretty poor.”

“I know I’m a civilian and all,” Tim chimed in, “but if you two could tell me what’s going on I would appreciate it.”

“It’s none of your–”

“Red Hood is here.” Nightwing gave a displeased frown towards Robin. “He’s a new rogue we don’t have a lot of experience with yet, but he’s dangerous and his presence complicates things.”

God damn it, Jason! Work on your timing, man!

“We just need to get to open space, meet him head on.” Robin turned, presumably to go do just that, but Nightwing and Tim grabbed her.

“No!” They both yelled. Then the two vigilantes looked at Tim, confused.

“I uh.” His brain worked at breakneck speed. “I know the guy you’re talking about! He sounds dangerous. Maybe you shouldn’t face him alone, you know?”

“I am perfectly capable of facing him alone, you little–”

“Tim is right, Robin.” Dick Grayson would have been obliterated on the spot if Steph had Superman brand laser eyes. He rushed to cover his tracks. “I just mean about Hood being dangerous! We all know you can take him! But it’s not a good idea to fight him alone until we learn more about him.”

“Well all you have to do is ask, Dickface.” 

The trio spun around fast enough to get whiplash. There was the Red Hood, sitting on a tree branch, smoking a cigarette without a care in the world.

“J- Red Hood,” Dick choked.

“Hello, big bird,” The man’s brother responded with a haunting smile. “Did you miss me?”

“You shouldn’t be smoking in a forest,” Tim announced loudly. He had to remind the morons that he was still there so they didn’t continue to drop critical information about their identities he wasn’t supposed to know. “You’re going to set the whole block on fire.”

His face reddened under three pairs of disbelieving eyes.

“Tim, buddy, maybe you should stay quiet until we get this handled,” Nightwing suggested gently.

“Who the fuck is this?” At least Jason sounded more confused than angry for the time being. “Replacing Robin wasn’t enough? You guys are still recruiting?”

“He is not a recruit!” Steph bit out immediately. She didn’t even look towards Tim. “And I am not a replacement, you creepy jerk. Come down here and I’ll show you just how authentic my moves are!”

Red Hood chuckled. Never a good sign.

“Tempting, little bird, tempting. But I’m not here for you this time. I figured that you and Batman were getting a little too comfortable with your little hero complexes. So I’m going to show you what real justice and real change looks like. No better place to start than the sidekick of that clown piece of shit.”

Dick paled.

“You don’t mean- what are you going to do to her?”

Jason pulled one of his guns from its holsters and snuffed out his cigarette on a tree root. 

“I can think of a few ideas,” he said casually. “Unfortunately I don’t have a crowbar to make this really fun, but a few bullets should do the trick nicely. Now, I have big plans to deal with the two of you later. But for the time being, just to make sure you don’t get in my way, I’m going to have to borrow the hostage for a bit.”

What?

“What?!”

Jason fired his grappling hook. It disappeared into the trees and he swung down smoothly, scooping Tim into his arms just as Robin was wrapping a hand around his wrist. Hood pulled him away and the two vigilantes disappeared, covered up by the brush quickly.

“TIM!”

“Let go of me!” Tim struggled to release Jason’s iron grip. He could always go for one of his knives, but that would most likely blow his cover. Plus there was the issue of accidentally giving Jason a serious injury, though that was less of a concern for him at the moment.

“Relax, kid,” Hood said calmly. “I’m not going to hurt you. Having you around just acts as a nice little deterrent to Wonder Boy and the imposter back there. Once I complete my business I’ll let you go home.”

“I don’t care about that!” he snapped. “I don’t want you to hurt Harley!”

A dark expression filled Jason’s features.

“How did you know I was talking about her?” 

“There are only two people you could be talking about. I made an educated guess.” He thrust an elbow into Red Hood’s side. He let out a small grunt, but his grasp remained firm.

“Watch it, you little shit! Do you really want me to drop you?” He nodded pointedly towards the darkness below them. Tim just rolled his eyes.

“Oh please, spare me the threats. The bank is 20 feet tall at its highest point. You drop me and the worst I get is a sprained ankle, and you lose your hostage.”

“What if I drop you on your head, brat?”

“Then I don’t have to listen to your shitty intimidation attempts anymore.”

To Tim’s horror, Red Hood laughed .

“Oh, I like you. No wonder Golden Boy and the imposter have taken a liking to you.”

“They don’t like me,” Tim grumbled. “They think I’m rude and annoying.”

“Well, they aren’t wrong. Now shut up for a second, I think we’re close.”

“Why would I shut up? We’ve already established that I'm not going to help you.”

“Because I’ll shoot you if you don’t?” He waved his gun for effect. Tim wasn’t having it.

“We also already established that I don’t find your threats intimidating.”

Jason rolled his eyes and muttered “Kids,” before pulling a rag out of his jacket pocket and shoving it in Tim’s mouth. He hopped to the floor (which was indeed only like 10 feet down, thank you very much) and carried Tim like a hand bag towards a light ahead of them.

They got to the edge of the trees and came out into a little clearing, right in front of the bank vault. The door was wide open, and Batman stood in the entrance, his back to them, talking to Ivy and Harley, who were inside.

Jason cocked his head and raised his gun at Batman’s back. Something changed in his posture. Instead of the loose, carefree way he had been carrying Tim, his grip was now constricting, squeezing Tim painfully. His expression was completely blank. 

His finger went to the trigger.

“MMPF,” Tim screamed through the gag.

Batman spun around. His pinched expression went slack as soon as he laid eyes on his son.

“Jason?”

“Hi, dad!” Red Hood answered cheerfully.

He fired the gun.

Chapter Text

Damian was feeling very conflicted. It was an annoying feeling he did not particularly enjoy, though it was becoming increasingly common since he was brought to Gotham. The subject of his conflict? Just the man that changed his life and brought him into the arms of his loving family. Damian would almost certainly never say out loud how much more he enjoyed his life with Father, Richard, Alfred and even Brown, than his life with the League of Assassins. 

He would always love his mother of course, but the knowledge that she let Damian get treated the way he did by his Grandfather and his trainers also left him… conflicted. If Buzzard was not there to offer Damian a way out when Damian needed him most, he wasn’t sure what kind of person he would have been. What felt worse was that he realized he probably wouldn’t like that version of himself very much. He could chalk that up to Richard making him soft. The infernal man showered Damian with so much affection (that he definitely did not enjoy, and how dare anyone suggest the opposite) and constant life lessons that he had no choice but to let some of it sink in.

Now Damian had friends at school. He frequented the animal shelter with Alfred. He sparred with Stephanie and she would even take him out for ice cream sometimes. He watched movies with Father (who would more than often fall asleep halfway through. Damian didn’t mind, though. The man’s presence was comforting and he couldn’t complain when Damian switched over to true crime TV if he was asleep). He did anything and everything in between with Richard.

Suffice to say, Buzzard’s intervention into Damian’s life was a welcome one. He just wished his hero wasn’t so good at getting under the skin of his family.

He knew Buzzard had to be in Gotham for a reason. He was absent for over 4 years. He wouldn’t show himself now if it wasn’t of the utmost importance. Damian was just having trouble figuring out what that could be.

The only concrete thing he knew about Buzzard was that he cleaned up Batman’s messes. That was the only information he would give after rescuing Damian. He wanted to ask more questions, but then Father showed up and they were flying home with Buzzard in a storage compartment like some kind of stowaway. By the time Damian finally got the chance to go back to the Bat Plane after getting settled in at Wayne Manor, Buzzard was long gone. Only a note had been left in his place, with a singular thumb drive.

In case of emergency, it read, and I mean life or death emergency, plug this in.

The note didn’t say anything more specific than that. Nothing about Buzzard’s whereabouts or even where to plug the drive in. Just to plug it in.

Damian never used it, of course. The closest he ever got was when he had only been staying at Wayne Manor for a few months and some League assassins broke in. He didn’t remember much from that night, just that he sat tensely in the Bat Cave for hours, clutching the drive in his tiny fist. Eventually Alfred came to collect him, looking only slightly disheveled and smelling strongly of smoke, and Damian had congratulated himself on not being a coward and calling Buzzard for something less than the emergency he specified.

That drive and the little note was the only thing that actually convinced Damian the whole Buzzard rescue wasn’t some kind of hallucination. He often dreamed about his hero, especially in the following months after his rescue. So frequently, in fact, that he struggled to grasp the difference between reality and dreams. He stopped having that problem as much after a year or so, but it could still happen on occasion. The last time was a little over a year before Buzzard made his recent appearance, when he thought he saw the man looking up at the manor.

Now that he was back, Damian no longer wanted to sit idly on the sidelines and watch conflict play out before his eyes from a screen. Buzzard gave him a new life. If the hero was attempting to do that again he wanted to be of aide in any way possible.

For the time being, that meant finding out who Buzzard was so that Damian could surreptitiously help him without too much interference. Maybe the man had a team he was in cohorts with, but Damian could still provide adequate expertise in various situations. It wouldn’t be much if he couldn’t go out, but Father constantly shot down all of his attempts to enter the field, so it would have to do for the time being.

In the meantime, Damian was still the son of the World’s Greatest Detective. He was by no means ecstatic about Brown almost killing Buzzard with a Batarang to the back, but he did need to thank her for providing Damian a blood sample to test his DNA. The blood spot his hero left on the floor of the Bat Cave was easy enough to clean up. Brown bought his paint story, despite the fact that blood and paint had different viscosities so it was laughably easy to tell the difference if you got a good look. He made sure she didn’t get a good look. He put what he needed into a vial and cleaned the rest. He wouldn’t tell Father about it unless there were no other avenues open to him.  Father tended to act without thinking when he was stressed, and Buzzard was making him very stressed.

He only needed to wait a day to test the sample. There was a problem at the bank with the fool Harley and her dastardly girlfriend. Batman, Robin, and Nightwing all rushed out when they realized the only hostage was Timothy Drake, the boy they had become somewhat enamored with. Damian didn’t have any hard opinions on him except that he needed a nap and a cheeseburger, but he could understand his family’s concern.

When they were all racing towards the bank, Damian snuck down to the cave unhindered. Alfred was on a grocery run when the alarm sounded and he knew the man would be at least another hour. More than enough time.

He got to work with a businesslike professionalism that befit a boy of his station. Cleaning the DNA tester and loading the vial of Buzzard’s blood into the machine was simple. The hard part was waiting for the test to complete.

The youngest Wayne tried not to get himself too excited. Knowing who Buzzard was did not guarantee that he would accept Damian’s help. More than likely, Damian would not even have a clue who was behind the mask. 

After half an hour the results printed.

Damian looked down at the sheet with slight confusion. Timothy Drake? He was not expecting Buzzard to be Timothy Drake. The only physical quality the gangly teen shared with a buzzard were the horrible bags under his eyes. The idea was outlandish. And yet…

Things started to fall into place. Drake was there that day when Stephanie forced herself into the Robin role 2 years prior. Alfred had said that Drake was the one that called the manor when assassins were breaking in. Drake’s house was just down the street. Drake returned to Gotham around the same time Buzzard made his first appearancet.

Damian never felt the need to sit down to digest information before. He did his best work standing up. But now he felt like sitting down on the cold, hard cave floor and just staying there for a good long time.

He ate lunch with the boy that saved his life and he did not even know it.

Damian frowned. Wasn’t Timothy currently in the process of being a hostage?

~

Jason was really starting to get on Tim’s nerves. Shooting Bruce was going to be extremely detrimental to his whole “Reunite Bruce and Jason” plan he was currently trapped in. 

Luckily, the bullet hit Batman’s shoulder, where the suit was heavily armored. It really didn’t seem to hurt the man much physically. Mentally? Well. All Tim was going to say about that was that he had seen Batman in a better mood after getting his ribs smashed by a baseball bat.

“Jay?”

The brokenness of Bruce’s voice (because that was definitely not Batman speaking) was enough to tear Tim’s heart in two.

“Sorry, old man, that was just a warning shot,” Jason said, much too calmly for the situation. “The next one will go into a more central area if you don’t move, though.” The gun drifted to point at Bruce’s head.

“What’s goin’ on? I only ever see this kinda drama on TV!”

Jason’s grip became so tight around Tim’s middle he could hardly breathe. A feral growl emitted from the depth of his chest.

Tim got an arm free from the vice-like grip and clawed at the rag in his mouth. Jason was too distracted to notice right away.

“Harley! Run! He’s going to kill you! You need to run!”

Jason threw Tim to the ground, where he landed in a heap. That seemed to wake Batman up a little bit. He took a step forward towards Jason, but the gun was pointed back at his head in an instant.

“Listen to me,” Bruce said slowly, “I don’t want to fight you, chum. I want you to come home.” The gun didn’t move.

Harley and Ivy were silent in the vault, obviously recognizing the danger Jason posed. Or at least Ivy recognized the danger Jason posed and was doing a good job of keeping Harley quiet. The problem was that they had been backed into the vault by Batman and now their one way out was blocked by Jason.

Tim needed to cause some sort of distraction if Batman wasn’t able to talk Jason down. He tried to crawl forward a bit while the former Robin’s attention was elsewhere, but he immediately felt a boot come down on his back and stay there.

“I’m not kidding, kid. If you know what’s good for you, stay still. ” Tim knew that Jason was being deadly serious. No more idle threats. Still, Tim wasn’t going to just lay there while the man tried to murder someone in front of his dad.

“Shoot me already then!” He diligently ignored the weird sound Batman made. “I’m not going to let you hurt anyone!”

“Tim,” Batman choked out, “do what he says. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“After all these years, and now you start to worry about the wellbeing of a kid?” Tim winced. Jason wasn’t pulling any verbal punches and they were having a visible effect on Bruce.

“J- Chum, I always cared about you. I know I failed you, letting you get hurt the way you did, but I always loved you. I still do.”

“And yet nothing changes!” Jason shouted. “You’re still doing the same old thing! Locking up these psychopaths in prisons, just waiting for them to escape and kill more people, replacing one dead kid Robin with another.”

Batman took a step forward, only slightly deterred by the tightening of Jason’s trigger finger.

“I would never replace you son. Robin, she, well, I didn’t want her at first.”

“Harsh,” Jason said. Just to fuck with Bruce, it seemed.

“That’s not what I- I didn’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

“And a fine job you’ve been doing! Security at the Tower needs to be updated, by the way.”

This conversation is getting nowhere.

“Look, dude,” Tim called up to Red Hood, “if you want proof that Batman was screwed up by the second Robin’s death just check the records. He almost killed a bunch of people. And himself.”

Batman frowned. He didn’t deny it.

“Oh, a little birdie already gave me quite the library of the old man almost killing half of Gotham’s thugs.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

Jason looked down at him with a mix of anger and anguish.

“He didn’t do it.”

Tim’s mind blanked.

“What?”

“He loses a son, and what does he do? He goes on a bender beating the shit out of low level criminals.” Jason gestured with his gun at Batman. “He channels all of that anguish into people that don’t matter ! If he really cared he would have realized this caped crusader shit is useless. ” He gave his full attention back to Bruce, who looked as though Jason had hit a vital spot with his gun after all. “You should have killed him, B. You should have killed the man that killed your son. But you didn’t. You don’t kill anyone. So what happens? They keep killing, after they break out of the laughably terrible prison you put them in.”

“Harley and Ivy haven’t killed anyone in–”

“I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THEM!” Jason screamed. It was the first time he had really lost his temper since the beginning of the conversation. Tim flinched, reminded of his dad’s similar sudden outbursts. “YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHO I’M TALKING ABOUT!”

“I do,” Bruce said quietly.

Jason took several deep breaths like he was trying to recover from a sprint. 

“He’s still alive.”

“He is.”

“Why?” Jason asked desperately. The anger was still at the forefront of his tone, but Tim could hear the confusion, the disappointment, the fear underneath.

“I wanted to, son. I really did.” Bruce whispered. “I wanted so badly to punish him for what he did to you. But if I did… it would never end. I don’t have the right to choose when someone dies. That isn’t what this suit is about.”

“Because you’re a coward,” hissed Jason. Bruce took a step back. “You’re a coward in an idiotic costume that preaches about saving people and can’t even save his own kid. There’s a solution to the stupid problem you’ve worsened, and I’m going to do something about it! Starting with getting rid of the filth that used to kill with him. ”

“Are you talking about Mr.-- Joker?” Harley poked her head over Batman’s shoulder and had to immediately duck when Jason fired a bullet at her. “JESUS! Batsy, I’ve always thought your kids have issues, but this one takes the cake.”

“ Move, old man !”

“Jay, please!” 

“Harley, we need to go !”

Luckily, at that moment Nightwing and Robin came crashing through the brush. Unluckily, it was the same moment Tim finally let his panic get to him and stabbed Jason in the foot with his hidden knife.

The scene launched into even more of a shitfest than it already was. Nightwing was screaming. Harley and Ivy were screaming. Jason was screaming (in pain or anger, Tim couldn’t be sure (it was definitely both)).

Tim used the confusion and Jason’s distraction with the brand new hole in his boot to launch himself upwards. He grabbed the gun and struggled against the older teen for a few harried seconds. Despite being stabbed, Jason was still much stronger than him, and the gun was getting dangerously close to pointing right into Tim’s skull before Robin slammed feet first into Jason’s right side with the momentum of a freight train. Jason’s grip on the gun failed and Tim took the opportunity to throw it as hard as he could into the bushes. Batman, Nightwing, and Robin all converged on a swearing Jason.

“You two need to go right now!” Tim panted at Ivy and Harley, running over to the two confused  women. He grabbed each of their hands and started to drag them in the direction of the exit.

Ivy snapped out of her stupor first. She pulled her wrist from Tim’s grip and grabbed his instead. Which felt a little redundant but it wasn’t the time to say anything.

“I know the way out,” she said. “You and Harley follow me and stay close.”

“This was a lot more action then we were expecting, Ives!” Harley giggled. “Next time we should stay at your place and watch a movie.”

“Yes!” Tim hissed in exasperation, “please stay at home and watch a movie next time instead of doing robbery and kidnapping! It would make things so much easier!”

“Quiet, you two,” Ivy snapped. “We’re almost to the front. I’ve grown enough of a barricade around the police to get us away safely. Are you going to be ok on your own, kid?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Aww, we’re not takin’ him with us?” Harley whined.

“Maybe another time, Harley.” Ivy smiled down at Tim. He blushed. “Unfortunately I think those Bats would hunt us down if we did.”

“Screw the Bats and their weirdly loud and personal business. Seriously, what was that about? I mean it’s like we weren’t even in the room! ‘Dad’ this and ‘son’ that. I thought they were serious about the secret identities, or whatever.”

Ivy began pulling Harley out the door while she kept up a steady stream of critiques of the Bats.

“And don’t even get me started on the Joker thing! I obviously ain’t with him anymore and I never will be! Wouldn’t mind if he did die, though, that would be fun.” Ivy kicked open the door and pushed her through. Harley gave a little wave to Tim without breaking her train of thought. “Bye Timmy! You’re much prettier than Joker ever was anyway, Ives. The way your eyes are always shinin’ in the light, and your hair always smells really good because of that special shampoo! Joker’s hair never smelled good, ya know, he went days without washing it–”

The two of them were swallowed by trees and Tim fell to the ground with a heaving sigh.

Next time someone asks me to be a hostage I’m going to tell them to shove it, he thought.

He let himself have a minute or two before shakily climbing to his feet. Jason was still in there and he needed to make sure Stephanie didn’t kill him before he and Bruce got to have an actual conversation with no guns involved.

He took his time crawling back through the thick jungle. He was never going to touch grass again after this if he could help it. After a few minutes he heard frustrated voices in front of him and picked up his pace.

When he reached the clearing things were mostly as he had last seen them. The three Bats were still there, sporting minor scratches but otherwise looking fine. Jason was nowhere to be seen.

“What happened to Red Hood?” Tim asked out of both curiosity and to announce his presence. 

They spun as a group towards him. Robin was at his side in an instant.

“Oh my God, Tim are you ok?” she asked him hurriedly.

“Me? I’m fine. He wasn’t really trying to hurt me.”

“I can’t believe I let him grab you like that! I should have been paying more attention. He could have hurt you, or shot you, or–”

“Is she always like this with random civilians?” Tim forced a chuckle.

Nightwing and Batman looked at each other. Batman must have won a secret argument because it was Nightwing that crouched down in front of Tim with a sigh.

“Buddy, we’d be worried about anyone if they had to go through what you just went through. It’s ok to be scared.”

Tim raised a single eyebrow at him to go along with his best Janet Drake impression.

“This is Gotham,” He said slowly. “I am a 15 year old CEO of the second biggest company in the city. People are going to kidnap me sometimes. That’s just the way it is.”

Something about that must have been mildly upsetting because Robin and Nightwing adopted twin looks of horror while Batman stared at a shrub with the air of someone wanting to sink into the ocean.

“Ok,” Nightwing choked out in a higher octave than usual, “I will grant you that maybe you are a higher profile target, but it’s ok to, like, be scared or ask for help.”

“Do you want me to call the police every time I get kidnapped?” scoffed Tim.

“YES!” Robin shrieked. “You have to know that the answer is yes!”

“If nothing else,” Nightwing continued, giving Robin a pointed look, “the police will contact us and we can help.”

“It’s 6pm. You guys patrol at night and don’t have time to come running every time there’s an emergency in the afternoon. I get that. So don’t worry about it!”

Robin threw her hands up in the air and walked away.

“I’m so done. I told you guys that he was a stubborn idiot, but do people listen to me? Noooooooo. ‘You’re overreacting, Robin!’ ‘I’m sure he knows what self preservation is, Robin!’ Give me a fucking break!”

“Take a walk, Robin,” Batman growled.

She flipped him off.

“I’m already doing that you overgrown Beanie Baby! Jesus, it’s like I’m the only one with any sense…”

“Is she… ok?” Tim asked after picking his mouth off the floor. Flipping off the Batman in front of a civilian was probably going to earn a lecture or two.

“It’s been a long week,” Nightwing winced. “She’s just stressed. We’ll give her time to cool off and it’ll be fine.”

Batman chose that moment to walk over. 

“She’s worried about you as well, Tim,” he rumbled. “You’ve been through a lot these past few hours. Even if you don’t feel like it,” he added, reading by Tim's frown that he was about to argue. “I have a few questions before we can release you to get looked at by the paramedics.”

“I’m not hurt,” he grumbled.

Batman smiled slightly.

“It’s just a precaution. It won’t take long. Why don’t you take a seat? I have a couple of things I want to go through with you.”

Tim sighed and took a seat on a root. 

“First, we have to ask about what Ivy and Harley said about your parents and uncle.”

“No you don’t.” Tim had had a very long day. There was no way in hell he was going to open this can of worms with a guy in a bat costume at 6pm on a Tuesday. He did figure he should come up with an excuse of some kind when he saw how taken aback Batman and Nightwing were. “I just mean that everything is fine. I fed them some lies to make sure I didn’t have to pay them more money and so they didn’t hurt me.” There. That was pretty good!

There was another look between the two adults.

“So everything is fine at home? Your uncle treats you well, and he’s around?”

“Well he works long hours,” Tim hedged, “but so do I, so we usually see each other at home often.” 

Did he feel bad for blatantly lying? No. His parental situation was none of their business. He only wished he didn’t have to lie because the Bats were detectives and Tim was going to need to hire an actor to play his uncle again if they looked into anything. It would be a pain.

“You’re sure?” Batman prodded. If Tim didn’t know any better he’d say the vigilante almost looked disappointed. “If there is some sort of issue we can help. There’s plenty of families that would be willing to take you in. I’m sure we could even find someone close by to your residence. Like just up the r–” Nightwing elbowed Batman in the ribs hard . The older man did a funny thing where he wheezed without trying to sound like he was wheezing so it just sounded like a hamster having an asthma attack.

“What Batman is trying to say,” Nightwing cut in, “is that you shouldn’t be afraid to tell us if you’re ever having any issues. We can find plenty of solutions in many different avenues. Just something to think about, ok?”

“Sure,” Tim allowed. He would not be thinking about it.

They gave him a few cursory checks for injuries and then walked him out of the building once Robin returned. She was still grumbling incoherently, so Tim decided it would be in his best interest not to attempt to talk to her.

They parted ways outside. The Bats tried to insist they stay with him, but it was starting to get dark and he knew they needed to get ready for their real patrol. So did Tim, after all.

~

Gotham was quiet that night. Buzzard figured a combination bank heist/hostage situation/ransom fail and a new forest in the banking district was probably enough excitement for one day for the criminal population. That didn’t make Buzzard relax.

He remembered what Jason said the day before in the Bat Cave. Red Hood would be looking for him, and he had guaranteed the rogue would be in a bad mood when he stabbed him in the foot. Not that Hood knew it was him. That little lack of information was doing some heavy lifting in keeping Buzzard alive presently.

He waited tensely on the roof of the old movie theater for Jason to arrive. He chose the location on a suspicion that Jason would be in a very petty mood after his confrontation with Bruce and the Bats. He was not disappointed.

“You know, I half expected you to show your stupid face this afternoon, Bird Shit,” Jason called by way of greeting. He landed on the roof a handful of feet away from Buzzard.

“Sorry to disappoint. I had to make some deposits at the bank.”

“You think you’re fucking funny don’t you?”

Buzzard allowed himself a shit eating grin.

“No, I think I’m hilarious . Did you read my files?”

“Yeah I read them,” Hood supplied. Buzzard waited but nothing else was forthcoming.

“Did you read them well or did you skim them?” Jason stiffened slightly at the amount of sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Because you may need some reading comprehension touch ups if it lead you to the conclusion of ‘Let’s take a hostage at the bank and shoot Batman!’”

“My reading comprehension is better than yours could ever hope to be, you brat!” Hood hissed. Buzzard blinked. That wasn’t exactly the first point he expected the other teen to jump on, but ok. “And just because you have some fancy words written about how Batman isn’t at fault because he was sad, doesn’t mean he’s innocent. There’s a lot of blood on his hands because of the way he runs this city.”

“You mean the ‘no killing’ rule?”

Jason only nodded. Buzzard remembered when Deathstroke said a similar thing to him in his safe house. Definitely no red flags in sounding like him.

“So what? You think all of Gotham’s problems would be solved if we just killed all of the villains?”

Jason looked up at the sky in exasperation.

“I’m not a fucking naive idiot,” he growled. “I know killing won’t solve everything but it sure would help. Weed out the real scum bags.”

“Like the Joker?”

For a second Buzzard thought Jason was going to pounce on him, beat him into the ground, shoot him. But he just glared.

“Yes. Don’t even try to tell me that things wouldn’t be better with him gone.”

Buzzard did actually think about it for a few seconds.

“Maybe,” he allowed. “If he died, you would be willing to work with Batman again?”

Jason scoffed.

“Batman would sooner jump in front of a bullet meant for the Joker than kill him.”

“Well what if he didn’t?”

“What?” Hood asked, startled.

“What if he didn’t jump in front of the bullet?” Buzzard repeated.

“He would. Every time.”

“Humor me.”

Hood turned away and looked over the Gotham skyline, smothered in white smog lit by the moon.

“Then I would know he cared.”

Buzzard filed away a blooming idea into his ‘things to think about later’ mind drawer and decided to change the subject.

“What about the other files I gave you?”

“The ones on Crime Alley?” Jasn looked back at Buzzard to catch his nod. “I’ve read them. You make detailed notes.”

He had to try very hard not to look too pleased.

“And?”

“They’re interesting.” He didn’t say anything beyond that, causing Buzzard to frown.

“A book report is interesting, Hood. That guy on the street running into a glass door is interesting.”

“And hilarious. I hope he does it again.”

“My notes,” Buzzard continued, “are not just interesting. I gave you a comprehensive list of all of the gangs in the city and what goons you could hire to work as your henchmen and the only thing you have to say is interesting ?”

“I like your formatting?”

“I will push you off this roof.”

Jason started laughing and Buzzard’s train of thought halted. He was messing with him. Jason Todd, the man that had tried to kill him several times, was messing with him.

“Fine,” the rogue allowed, “they’re good notes. I still don’t understand why you gave them to me. Your constant attempts to get buddy-buddy with me are weird.”

“Sorry for showing you kindness.” Buzzard rolled his eyes. “Next time I’ll use your method of shoot first and ask questions never.”

“Certainly is more convenient.”

“I’m not just giving you information out of the goodness of my heart,” Buzzard explained. “I have an agenda too, and the most convenient way of accomplishing that goal is by working with you.”

“And here I thought you just wanted to be friends.” 

Buzzard laughed a little too quickly. That was absolutely his primary goal. He was almost 100% sure Jason would stab him if he said that, however.

“You’ve tried to shoot me half a dozen times. Usually my friends aren’t quite as trigger happy.”

“Is that something you’re going to bring up a lot?” Jason asked in annoyance. “Because I definitely won’t work with you if you’re stuck in the past.”

“Oh so you can do your whole thing with the demons from your past, but I can’t complain about you trying to shoot me in our first three meetings?”

“It was two,” Jason corrected, “don’t exaggerate. And yes, only I can complain.”

“Are you actually going to let me work with you?” Buzzard asked. It seemed too easy. Jason seemed downright murderous every other time they talked. Buzzard didn’t trust that those feelings were completely gone.

“Oh, we’re definitely not working together,” he said. “Think of it more as me keeping you in my sights so you don’t pull any weird shit and harvest my organs.”

“Harvest your organs?” Buzzard repeated, unimpressed. “What would I need to harvest your organs for?”

“How should I know? I have no idea what your fucking deal is! That’s the problem!”

“Ok one,” Buzzard began, turning to face Jason fully, “if I wanted to harvest your organs I would just create a clone of you and harvest his organs. That would be much faster and easier.”

“What the fuck?”

“And two,” he continued, “what I want right now is to take down whatever weird drug ring is going on in Crime Alley. Everything outlined in the files I gave you. I’m not here for you specifically, you just happen to be the fastest way to getting a foothold into the scene here.”

“You obviously have a lot of knowledge on all of this bullshit.” Jason spread his hands wide, apparently encompassing the entirety of Gotham in ‘bullshit’. “What do you need me for?”

“You’re an extremely imposing giant of a man and I look like I don’t know what vitamin D is,” Buzzard said dryly. “If I was going to start a false gang under the pretenses of slowing down these new drugs I’d be called out in less than a day. You on the other hand are tall, scary, and you threaten teenagers with guns. A much better choice for a gang leader.”

“You threaten a teenager with a gun one time and suddenly you gain a reputation.”

“You threatened three teenagers. Robin and that hostage you took are also teenagers.”

Jason didn’t say anything for a minute and Buzzard thought he had made the teen angry. But when he finally answered his voice was still calm.

“I didn’t threaten the rich kid that much. And Robin deserved it.”

“For what?” Buzzard challenged. He was getting tired of Jason’s grudge. “Trying to save people too much? Not consulting you when she took your mantle? News flash man, it’s hard to ask for things when the person you’re asking is presumed dead.”

“See there you go knowing all of this shit!” Jason spun around pointing at him, completely ignoring the point Buzzard made. “You know all of this shit about me and my identity and you expect me to not be freaked out by you sticking to me like glue?”

“I only know shit about you because you Bats can’t keep your mouths shut when other people are around,” Buzzard grouched. “It’s not my fault I can connect the dots when you give a detailed summary of your life while holding someone at gunpoint.”

“Exactly how much do you know about me?” There was a dangerous undertone to the question. Buzzard decided to play it safe.

“I know that you were the second Robin and you died. Now you’re alive again.”

“That’s it? You know I came back from the dead and you don’t even know how or care?”

“If I wanted to know, I would find out.” Which was true. Because he had wanted to know, and he had found out.

“I’m just supposed to accept that answer?” Jason exclaimed. “Why should I not just shoot you so you can’t look into my identity and expose me?”

“Because if I was going to expose you I would have done it by now.” He sat down on the edge of the roof and let his feet dangle above the street. “Look, man, I’m not out to get you. Frankly I don’t even really care about where you came from or who you are. I think you would make a good crime lord, which is what I need for my goals. Are you getting that? I’m after my goals, not yours. If you want to do something else, go for it. You want to fly to San Francisco and shoot kids to feel better about yourself? That’s all you.”

Jason made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

“If you don’t care about any of that stuff why did you stop me?”

“Because I don’t think you should kill kids? I said you could do whatever you want, but that doesn’t mean it’ll stop me from doing what I want.”

Buzzard looked down at Gotham some more while Jason digested what he said. 

Seeing Gotham from this view was something Buzzard was no stranger to. But there was something different about looking at it when it was something to protect rather than just another photo backdrop for Batman and Robin. This was his city and he would protect it with whatever means necessary. Yes, he wanted to help Jason. He wanted the older teen to feel wanted again and be loved by the family that missed him so badly. But he also wanted the city to feel safe. Gothamites were some of the most hardened people on the planet that dealt with tragedies on a weekly basis. Buzzard didn’t want them to have to go through that just because they were used to it.

Teaming up with Jason was something that would genuinely benefit his investigation into the new drugs circulating around the city, but he would find a way to gather more information on his own if Jason was going to be difficult.

“Where do you think the drugs are being dealt out of?”

The question caught him off guard, though he tried not to show it.

“The old warehouse a couple of blocks from here,” he answered without turning around. “I haven’t been able to confirm that because the area has been Bat infested as of late.”

“The Bats haven’t just busted into the place themselves?” Jason questioned. It was something Buzzard had wondered about on occasion as well.

“I don’t think they know much about the drugs,” he admitted. “They tend to stay away from Crime Alley and as far as I can gather the operation hasn’t ventured far outside yet. The warehouse is usually pretty quiet also. I haven’t been able to tell if anyone is using the place regularly or not.”

“Meet me there tomorrow, and we’ll see if you’re talking out of your ass or not.”

Buzzard leapt to his feet in surprise. 

“Really?”

“Don’t get too excited,” Jason warned. “I still don’t trust you, but I think you might be onto something with that warehouse. If you’re right maybe I won’t think you’re as incompetent.”

“Gee thanks,” Buzzard said dryly, though his heart was beating with excitement. 

This was exactly what he wanted! Jason was actually going to investigate something with him instead of trying to shoot him! Baby steps.

“I’ve got other shit to do tonight,” Jason said, stepping onto the ledge, “so I better not see you stepping into my territory.”

“I’m sure I can find plenty of crime elsewhere.”

Hood snorted and fired his grapple at a nearby apartment building.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he said. He looked Buzzard in the eyes. “I reviewed my suit footage and the Tower footage from yesterday. Don’t ever try to save me again. I don’t know where that Birdarang went when it teleported with us but you’re lucky it missed. The last thing I need is some kid trying to be a sacrificial lamb.”

Buzzard didn’t say anything (because what the hell was he supposed to say? ‘Actually you’re wrong, it did hit something and now my shoulder is kind of tingly’) but he nodded, hoping that would be enough.

Jason only huffed before finally leaping from the roof and leaving Buzzard alone.

He sat there thinking for a few minutes until someone shouted down in the alley below him.

Back to the old grind, he thought, already leaping down.

~

When Tim walked into the office the next day he was reminded that he had, in fact, been held hostage the day before, and that was apparently a bigger deal to other people than it was to him.

The lobby was filled to the brim with paparazzi and reporters, who were immediately in his face the second his foot crossed the threshold. 

“Mr. Drake! Mr. Drake! How does it feel to be kidnapped by two supervillains?”

“Mr. Drake! Did Harley Quinn feed you to hyenas?”

“Mr. Drake! Do you condone 5pm bank robberies?”

Tim ignored them all. He’d had 4 cups of coffee that morning which meant he could tune out the sound of the building falling over if he wanted to.

He waded through the crowd and managed to make it to the front desk, where Tabitha was giving him a very impressive glare.

“Sorry about all of this, Tabitha,” he called to her over the noise, “I know you don’t like it when people track mud on the floors.” That just made her glare harder for some reason. “What do you want me to do? I don’t have any authority to kick them out of the lobby.”

“I’m not mad about the stupid paparazzi, Tim!” She yelled. Someone chose that moment to take her picture with the flash on. “Ok, I’m a little angry about the paparazzi. But I’m mostly angry at you!”

“For getting kidnapped?”

“For being nonchalant about getting kidnapped!” 

Tim blinked.

“Am I supposed to be upset about it?”

“Yes!” She exclaimed. She looked at Tim with the same expression one might use while looking at a toddler holding a glock. “You’re 15. Getting kidnapped should be scary!”

“I’m 15 in Gotham,” he pointed out, “so it’s not my first rodeo.”

“I don’t care how old you are. If that happened to anyone no matter their age they’d be incredibly freaked out! Imagine how your parents would feel!”

Tim thought about that. How would his parents react if they saw him get kidnapped and held for ransom in a bank by two of Gotham’s rogues? His dad would probably make a jab about him being weak enough to get grabbed in the first place and his mom would wrinkle her lip and comment on how much bad press would come from it.

“They definitely wouldn’t let the paparazzi in the building, that’s for sure,” is what Tim decided on.

“That is absolutely not the point I was trying to–”

“Do you have any coffee?” Tim interrupted, having looked at his watch and realized it was time to get to work. “This whole thing is making me sleepy again.”

Tabitha gave him that same weird look again and sighed. She produced a mug from behind her desk.

“You’re the best!” Tim cheered. He took a big sip of the good ol’ bean juice.

“If you get kidnapped again I’m not giving you any more coffee,” she said, just to be mean, Tim was sure.

“This whole company would go up in flames if that happened, Tabitha.”

He grabbed his mug and headed for the elevator, leaving the aghast receptionist and the paparazzi in the lobby.

By the time the doors opened on his floor he had finished his coffee and was feeling very rejuvenated and maybe a little bit jittery. Unfortunately, Sammy was giving him a very similar look to Tabitha when he walked towards his office.

“The Waynes called and asked to eat lunch with you,” she said in lieu of a greeting.

“Can you tell them no?” Tim asked, only feeling slightly bad about the words. “I have a lot of stuff to catch up on today and I was just going to skip lunch entirely.”

“I already confirmed the appointment and sent it to your calendar,” she said without remorse. Tim was devastated.

“What?! Sammy, I told you to check with me first before you schedule social visits!” Tim was definitely not prepared for a visit from the Waynes. Especially if Steph was still mad at him.

“Yes you did say that,” his secretary began with a cold tone. “But you also gave me free reign to schedule your health appointments for any available time, and this definitely counts as a health appointment.”

“How does eating lunch with millionaires qualify as a health appointment?”

“Well let me think,” Sammy said in a way that immediately made Tim regret asking the question. “For one, they’re bringing food, which is very healthy for you because I’ve never seen you eat when someone isn’t forcing you to.”

“You know how busy I am–”

“Two.” Sammy glared at him, daring him to interrupt again. Tim stayed silent because he was smart like that. “You just got kidnapped by two villains and you decided to show up to work instead of taking a day for yourself. Oh, I also canceled all of your other meetings for the day, since that’s the only way to get you to relax.”

“Sammy, what the hell!” Those were important meetings! Even if he’d wanted to cancel them too! “You can’t just cancel my meetings. I’m the CEO! It’s going to look unprofessional.”

“Which is exactly why I emailed Mr. Jefferson and let him know you would not be attending meetings today. He seemed remarkably pleased by the idea. Go ahead and fire me if you’re so angry about it.”

Tim hated when people called his bluff before he even got the chance to make it.

“I’m not going to fire you,” he sighed and then tacked on “unfortunately” because he was 5 coffees deep and an asshole.

“Because you’d be up shit creek without me?” she asked innocently.

Tim sighed.

“Because I’d be up shit creek without you,” he agreed grudgingly. “Now, since you’re forcing me to not go to meetings, I better not see anyone but the Waynes in my office today. If Lex Luthor comes back you have my permission to tell him I died in the hostage situation. Maybe he’ll be so excited he’ll trip and fall down the stairs.”

“You got it, Mr. Drake!” Sammy said, looking entirely too smug. Tim was never going to make it if he let people bully him so bad. At least he got a day without meetings out of it.

By the time lunch came around, Tim was having a weirdly good day. He caught up on all of his emails, wrote up some proposals for a charity gala, and even had time for a quick nap. It was all enough to forget about Stephanie’s anger for a little while. At least until he got a text from Dick asking him for his order from the Thai restaurant up the street.

He paced his office for 20 minutes while he waited for the inevitable arrival of the Waynes. Maybe he would fire Sammy after all for making him have to worry about the whole thing.

Finally, a knock sounded on his office door and Sammy poked her head in.

“Mr. Grayson and Mr. Wayne are here to see you!”

He frowned for a split second before fixing his face to something more neutral. She didn’t mention Steph.

“Go ahead and send them in.”

Dick was the first one in the room, sporting the takeout and a huge grin.

“Tim! It’s so good to see you!”

“Likewise,” he replied awkwardly. He took the food from Dick to give his hands something to do. He peered down into the bag. “There’s four meals in here. Is Steph going to be joining us?” He asked hopefully.

“Stephanie is currently at work and wished for me to send her regrets on missing this outing in her place,” Damian said, announcing his presence. “The fourth meal is Richard’s shameless attempt at flirting with your secretary.” He turned to look up at Sammy, who was blushing furiously. “My advice is to take the food, but reject his advances. You seem like a very nice woman that can do much better than my buffoon of a brother.”

Tim coughed loudly to hide a laugh. The faces both Sammy and Dick were making would be enough to send him into hysterics if he wasn’t such a professional.

“We’ve talked about this, Dami,” Dick said, voice strained. “Just because I do something nice for someone does not mean I’m flirting. It was just my way of thanking Sammy for inviting us over to eat lunch with Tim! Nothing weird!”

“You were invited by Sammy?” Tim turned to the guilty party. She looked about 10 seconds away from bursting into flames. 

“It was very kind of you to bring me food,” she said to the ceiling, “I’m just going to go into the hall now before I get fired.” She marched to the desk, grabbed her food, spun on her heel, and left the office, all without ever looking where she was going. It was very impressive.

“You’re not actually going to fire her, are you?” Dick asked with some concern.

“No. I’d jump out the window in 3 seconds without her organizing my calendar. Why don’t you take a seat?”

Dick and Damian sat in the two chairs in front of Tim’s desk. Dick started to pass out the food with gusto, ruffling Damian’s hair after handing him his styrofoam container. The boy grumbled in feigned annoyance and Tim watched with amused interest. 

“So Tim,” Dick began, drawing Tim’s attention away from the annoyed child. “How are you doing? You been very busy today?”

“No,” he grumbled. “Sammy canceled all of my meetings because I apparently needed rest.”

“Didn’t you get held hostage yesterday?”

“How could I forget? It’s all anyone talks about!” A sudden thought occurred to him and he leaned forward. “You guys are the kids of a rich and famous person, don’t you think all of this worrying is overkill? I mean, getting kidnapped or whatnot is just par for the course in Gotham! Everyone expects me to be freaked out when it’s a perfectly normal thing.”

Dick and Damian looked at each other. Damian spread his arms forward in a ‘you take this one’ gesture. 

“Look, Tim,” he began, “I’m glad you’re not shaken up too much about the whole fiasco yesterday, but you have to understand that people that care about you are going to be worried.”

People that care about me?

“I know working under Lex Luthor would be less than ideal, but Sammy and Tabitha would be fine if something happened to me. They don’t need to worry about my well being.”

Dick blinked slowly.

“So there’s a lot to unpack there. Why don’t we start with–”

“Why would they work under Lex Luthor?” Damian interrupted with interest. He earned a furrowed brow from Dick, though he didn’t seem to notice.

“He’s been trying to buy the company for years,” Time explained. “I was able to talk the Board out of agreeing to selling when I came back from sabbatical, but it was a near thing. He even came here in person to intimidate me! Someone needs to tell Superman to keep the bastard in Metropolis.” 

Was Tim cheating a little bit by complaining about Lex Luthor in front of the only people that could actually do something about it? No. A real player uses all of their resources.

By the look on Dick’s face, forcing Superman to keep Lex in Metropolis definitely was not off the table.

“Why would you sell your company?” Damian asked, determined to stay on topic. “Is Drake Industries in danger of going bankrupt?”

“Stocks started falling after my mom died,” Tim admitted. “They fell even further when my Dad went. Honestly, I chose to take a sabbatical at the worst time. I might’ve been able to save things with enough time, but it was more urgent that I leave.”

“Prioritizing your mental health is always more urgent, no matter what,” Dick said firmly. Not that Tim knew what he was talking about. Mental health had not been on his mind when he left Gotham.

“What happens if you do go bankrupt?” Damian prodded.

“You don’t have to talk about this anymore if you don’t want to,” Dick interjected hurriedly. “Damian has just been very interested in business since he found out he’s going to take over for Bruce as the CEO of WE one day.”

“It’s no problem.” Tim took a big slurp of noodles before continuing. “The company going under is kind of inevitable at this point. We’re doing what we can to keep us afloat for as long as possible, but it will happen. I’ve been trying to find candidates to sell to so I don’t have to go the Luthor route, but it’s been slow going.”

Damian and Dick had a silent conversation in front of Tim, only moving their eyebrows and making tiny movements with their mouths. He didn’t know if it was a Bat thing or if they were even aware they were doing it, so he ate his food while he waited.

They came to a silent agreement with a nod from Damian and turned back to Tim as if nothing had happened.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone before things go bad,” Dick said. “There’s got to be plenty of people who want to get their hands on the company. In a good way.”

Tim just shrugged.

“I know I can find someone. I just hope I find someone that has similar ideals to my parents and I. In a perfect world the people here wouldn’t have to go through too many layoffs.”

“You’ll figure it out!” Dick insisted with confidence Tim did not feel. “Let’s move on to a happier topic. Was your uncle excited to see you when you got home yesterday?”

“What?” Tim managed to ask around the noodle he was dangerously close to choking on.

“Well, it must’ve been pretty scary for him to find out you were kidnapped. Even if you’re used to it,” he added when Tim opened his mouth to argue. “I know when I used to get kidnapped Bruce would take me out for ice cream!”

“He buys me a new set of paint,” Damian added quietly.

Tim couldn’t imagine Batman buying his vigilante sons gifts just for making it through a kidnapping they could almost definitely escape themselves if not for their civilian identities. Maybe it was just a good way to keep cover?

Tim was going to answer with a simple no, or say that his uncle was still out of town when he remembered the Bats’ concern after Harley told them he had a bad uncle and parents. He would need to be careful about what he said.

“He did seem pretty happy,” he began, feigning interest in his food so he wouldn’t have to look them in the eyes. “He didn’t buy anything, but he did promise to take me to a new photography exhibit. Maybe that’s his way of buying something.”

Dick smiled brightly and Tim mentally congratulated himself on the lie.

“Do you like photography?”

“I used to be really into it,” he answered truthfully. “I haven’t had time for it recently, but maybe this will help me get back into it.”

The topic moved to a safer territory from there, focussing more on art and the interests of the boys. Damian revealed he had an interest in art (Tim already knew that, but it would be a bad time to bring it up) and Dick suggested they take a trip to a museum sometime. Tim agreed easily, knowing that Dick probably just wanted to confirm Tim actually had an interest in photography and was not making it up. He would need to play along until they all forgot about the uncle thing. Plus, it would be nice to walk around with the Waynes in a museum for a bit and pretend like they actually wanted him there.

Long after they had finished their food and were just chatting, Dick stood up.

“We better get out of your hair! Thanks for having us, Tim, I hope we can do this again soon.”

“Maybe I’ll get kidnapped more often so I have more time,” Tim said honestly. Dick didn’t seem to like that idea if the pained smile he gave was any indication.

“Go to the lobby without me, Richard,” Damian said suddenly. He was still sitting in his chair, hand steepled like a businessman. I have a few things I wish to discuss with Timothy alone.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. Dick frowned.

“You didn’t mention needing to discuss anything on the way here?” The man said in confusion.

“It is none of your business,” Damian said hastily, “but if you must know, I had planned on inquiring about an internship with Drake Industries. I was going to discuss it with Father, but seeing as the company is having issues I thought it best to ask Timothy now and get experience for as long as I can.”

“Why can’t you just do an internship at WE?” Dick inquired. He seemed more confused than ever.

“If I am to be a CEO, I need to have experience in more than one place. I also think it would be beneficial to see what steps Timothy takes in the next several months while saving his company. I am sure it will make me a better leader in the future.”

Dick was at a loss for words, looking between Damian and Tim in mild alarm. Tim decided to save him.

“I don’t mind hearing Damian out,” he said, “I’m not sure what we can offer, but we’ll figure something out.”

Dick leaned towards Tim and whispered theatrically behind his hand.

“Tim, he’s 9!”

“And I’m 15,” he shrugged. “People are sort of getting over my age so they can move past Damian’s too. Plus he’s the son of Bruce Wayne. I think the Board is more likely to worship the ground he walks on than force him to leave.”

Dick was not expecting that answer. His features took on great surprise before he schooled his expression. His winning smile was back in a second. 

“Well if you don’t mind, that’s a very nice thing for you to do!” He turned to his brother. “I’ll be down in the lobby crowd surfing over the paparazzi. Let me know when you’re on your way down.”

Damian nodded, which was Dick’s cue to leave. He did so reluctantly, glancing back at the two of them half a dozen times before the door finally clicked shut.

“So,” Tim began once the silence had stretched into an uncomfortable territory, “what brought this on? DI isn’t really the epitome of resume builders at the moment.”

“Have you heard of a new vigilante in Gotham, Timothy?” Damian asked instead of answering Tim’s question. The CEO forced himself to breathe normally. “He calls himself the Buzzard.”

“I don’t believe I have,” Tim managed. A million contingencies ran through his head. Was this all a trick to corner Tim? “What does he have to do with the company?”

“His appearance has reminded me that Gotham is changing,” the boy said. His expression stayed neutral the whole time. “New people and buildings appear quite often, while others move on. This ‘Buzzard’ piqued my interest because I am not sure what his intentions are, though I personally believe them to be good.”

“What makes you say that?”

Damian looked Tim dead in the eyes.

“He helped me, once. A long time ago.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with an internship,” Tim reiterated. He could hear his blood pumping in his ears.

“You remind me of Buzzard,” Damian said with meaning. Tim didn’t understand. He didn’t want to understand. “He appeared in Gotham very near to your own reappearance. He has seemingly distanced himself from other heroes, like you have distanced yourself from those offering help.”

“I have not–”

“Do you know how long I had to listen to Richard lament that you were too busy to meet us? Trust me, it is an apt comparison.”

“I’m sure it is, Damian, but I don’t even know who this Buzzard guy is. I’m not really sure what you’re talking about.”

“I am offering you my assistance.” The boy said firmly. “Like Buzzard, I believe you would be more efficient if you let me help you. Like Buzzard helped me.” Tim studied Damian’s face for a long time, looking for any sign of deceit or an underhanded motive.

“Help me how?”

“I am young, as Richard so quickly pointed out, but I have been shadowing my father for several years now. I know how a company should run, and I know how to handle those that think they know better than you do. Let me intern as your personal assistant and I can help give you free time. For extracurricular activities.”

He knows. 

“Does anyone else in your family know about what I do after work?” He asked, dropping all pretenses.

“Hardly,” Damian snorted. “Who would tell them? Myself? I’m sure I don’t even know what you do in your freetime, Timothy. It’s none of my business after all. I just believe whatever it is will be beneficial to all of us.”

“So what? If I don’t give you this ‘internship’ you blab to Bruce?”

Damian frowned, his first show of emotion in the conversation.

“Father will know nothing, whether you agree to let me intern here or not. Do you have so little faith in me?”

Yes! Tim wanted to shout. There was no logical reason for Damian to be offering to help him.

“You know, I think I have heard of Buzzard,” Tim said. He met Damian’s gaze head on. “I think I heard that he’s hanging around with that other new vigilante. Red Hood? What do you think about that?”

Damian raised a single eyebrow.

“I do not pretend to understand Buzzard’s motives, Timothy. I just know that whatever reason he has, it is important.”

“Just like that?”

“Indeed. Now, I believe Richard will be starting to fret. So I will ask only once and you can deny me if that best suits your interests. Will you allow me to intern at Drake Industries?”

There was another question buried under that. Tim just didn’t want to know what it was. If he said no, he risked the chance of Damian going back on his word and telling Bruce Tim was Buzzard in anger. Tim couldn’t have that. Not when he was so close to getting on Jason’s good side. He just needed a few more months. He needed to hold out a few more months and he would be done.

“I’ll have Sammy send you an email,” he said with the finality of locking himself into a precarious situation. “We can discuss the details of your internship at a later date.”

Damian smiled for the first time that Tim could remember.

“Excellent.”

Chapter Text

Something was going on between Tim and Damian, and Dick wished he knew what it was. It was strange enough that Damian had insisted on talking to Tim alone without him, but Dick had just thought “Good for him! He’s being social!” but then Damian refused to tell him what the conversation was about.

“Come on, Dami, it can’t have been that serious,” he whined. “You were up there for ten minutes and you didn’t even finalize the internship! I’m just curious what you were talking about!”

His little brother huffed in irritation from the back seat (Dick still didn’t let him sit in the front, which was a fairly contentious issue, but there were laws about that sort of thing).

“How many times do I have to tell you that it is none of your business, Richard?” The little terror looked out the window stoically, which was adorable. “What was discussed in Timothy’s office will stay there and that is final. All you need to know is that I will be interning at Drake Industries as a personal assistant.”

“That’s another thing,” Dick said. Letting things go was not really his forte. “Usually interns work in offices or something and organize low level projects. They are not typically personal assistants. Did you bribe him?”

“Bribing is beneath me!” Damian hissed. “I simply gave a masterful pitch and he agreed with my reasoning. Some of us are capable of getting what we want without bribery and takeout food.”

“For the last time, I was not trying to score a date with Sammy!” Dick groaned, putting his head on the steering wheel and then quickly picking it up when he started to drift into the bike lane (Gotham had bike lanes? Did anyone in Gotham actually own a bike?). “I’m just starting to realize more and more that working for Tim must be… stressful. Sometimes small gestures like bringing lunch are good ways to remind people that they’re appreciated.”

“Timothy seems to be a very sufficient boss,” Damian defended immediately, “if she is having issues that would be no fault of his own.”

Holy hero worship, Batman!

“I wasn’t trying to insinuate that Tim is a bad boss,” Dick explained slowly. The day just kept getting weirder. “You and I both know that working at a big company is stressful. Plus, she seems pretty worried about Tim, and that is a full time job in itself.”

Damian frowned, mulling his words over.

“It is possible you may have a point about Timothy,” the boy allowed. “Is that why Brown–”

“Steph.”

“Stephanie,” he corrected with a roll of his eyes. “Is that why Stephanie is so angry with him?”

“She’s not actually angry, bud.” How could he best explain this? “She’s just frustrated because she cares about him.”

“Are you insinuating Stephanie… likes Timothy?” The 9 year old asked with a wrinkled nose and a disgusted expression.

Dick fought away the urge to laugh, knowing that Damian would take it as an insult. He did allow himself a smile, though.

“I definitely don’t think it’s like that. They’re just both very good friends, so they care about each other’s well being. Think about every time you see Bruce, or someone else hurt in the field. How do you feel?”

“Scared,” Damian admitted begrudgingly. “Worried. But if that’s how Stephanie feels, why does she not just tell Timothy she’s worried?”

“Some people aren’t great at expressing their emotions all the time,” Dick said dryly.

“Yes, that does seem to be a theme in this family,” Damian said seriously.

Dick did laugh that time, reaching back over the seat to ruffle his brother’s hair.

“You got that right, D.”

Damian fought Dick off half-heartedly, something obviously still on his mind.

“I do not know if Timothy is aware Stephanie cares for him in that way.”

Dick almost drove them onto the sidewalk in surprise. He had somewhat been picking up on that as well, but he hadn’t expected Damian to realize it as well. He had to remember that while his brother was still inexperienced with all of the emotion that living in Gotham brought, he was a very fast learner. And he deeply cared for anyone he decided to let in.

“I think you might be right.” He delighted at the way Damian’s face quickly morphed from surprise to subtle pride at being correct. One day Dick would storm the League of Assassins and tear the place down with his bare hands for trying to turn his kind little brother into a killing machine. “Everyone processes love and care in a different way. And Tim… Well, from what little Bruce and I were able to dig up on his parents, they didn’t seem to be around as often as is normal.”

“You’ve been digging into Timothy’s life?” Damian was tense all of a sudden. He tried to school his expression, but Dick was already on high alert. “Is that not an invasion of privacy?”

Dick gaped at him through the rearview mirror.

“Damian. I hate to break it to you, but invading people’s privacy is kind of something we do often.”

“Well maybe we shouldn’t,” he said, reddening. “How would we feel if Timothy was looking into our information?”

“Very alarmed. Because we’re vigilantes. Are you feeling ok, bud?”

Damian glowered at the mirror.

“I wish to move away from this topic. Do you believe his parents were bad? He seemed to be quite attached to them, in my opinion.”

“We aren’t really sure.” Dick blinked at the quick resumption of the former topic. “Tim’s files are pretty sparse compared to a normal teenager’s. Usually they’ll have visits to the doctor and hospital for various injuries that kids rack up, but Tim didn’t seem to have many. One would assume that would mean his parents were keeping a close eye on him – you know helicopter parents, keeping him out of trouble – but he’s very independent, which would disprove that theory.”

“Perhaps that is why Timothy went on a sabbatical for a year,” Damian suggested. “He could no longer rely on his parents after they died so he left for a year to find himself.”

“That is a plausible theory,” Dick allowed. Something about it didn’t really seem likely to him, though. “That would be a quick turnaround, seeing how independent Tim is now, but who knows. We can ask Steph about it. She was friends with Tim before he left so she could have some insight.”

“Perhaps it would be best if we did not include Br- Stephanie in this topic,” Damian frowned. This time Dick forced himself to keep his eyes on the road, but he was no less surprised.

“Dami, she's his best friend,” he said to the boy. “If anyone would know it would be her.”

“Stephanie and Timothy are not on great terms at the moment. I simply think it would be foolish to inquire into her thoughts when she would most likely provide a biased opinion in correlation with her less than exemplary feelings on the subject.”

Dick let those words bounce around in his skull for a few seconds until they flowed out of his head in a conga line.

“Buddy, I’m gonna need you to dumb that down for me.”

“I would prefer we drop the subject for now and wait to ask Stephanie until she is in a better mood,” the boy huffed.

Maybe Dick shouldn’t let Damian eat Thai food any more. He usually didn’t want to be anywhere near these kinds of discussions– anything that brought up feelings or the people feeling them– but now he was fixated. Dick would probably need to perform the rest of his investigation without the young boy.

“Fine,” he said, “we’ll put a pin in it for now. You’re probably right, anyway. Steph’s got enough on her plate and I don’t want to bother her.”

Damian didn’t say anything else, but his small, triumphant smile had Dick perplexed all the way home.

~

Jason did not trust Buzzard. Jason did not like Buzzard. Jason did, however, have to admit the guy’s notes were insanely detailed. He had not been lying when he said he read what the weird kid gave him. He just didn’t mention that it took him several hours and cost him a night of sleep. The guy did not know how to summarize.

Still, the notes were pretty amazing, and after reading them Jason felt like he never left Gotham (did being dead for a few years count as leaving?). They talked about gang movement, crime rate, notable villains, and on and on. Jason didn’t know how the annoying little bird was able to find everything. Something was definitely not right with the kid. 

Unfortunately for him, Buzzard was right when he suggested Jason could benefit from his help. Not that Jason would ever say that. He would sooner die. Again.

Jason would be the first to admit that he was never the strongest detective, both before his death and after. He tended to be more equipped to being pointed in a direction and then going there to knock some heads. It was one of the reasons Talia had liked him so much. But a vigilante would be hard pressed to survive in Gotham for longer than a week with that mindset. So Jason was still better than any police station detective out of necessity. But, while Jason was a good detective at the end of the day, he was not the best. Buzzard already proved to be leagues ahead of him there.

So maybe working together on one job could maybe possibly potentially work. Jason just needed to keep himself from murdering the brat.

The irritation he felt for Buzzard was almost refreshing, because, unlike with Robin or Bruce, Jason’s vision rarely tinted green when he was just with Buzzard. His annoyance was all organic.

He chalked it up to the way the kid just seemed to know things about him when Jason barely knew himself. He knew Jason was the second Robin. He knew that he had died and come back to life. Most annoyingly, he had an idea in his mind that Jason was some noble guy with Batman’s stupid no killing rule.

The kid was definitely up to something. He was either a crazy stalker or he knew something that Jason didn’t. He intended to find out what that was, even if he had to suffer through partnering with the kid for an hour or two.

“You’re late,” Buzzard said as soon as Jason’s feet landed on the building they had met at the day before.

“You don’t decide when someone is late,” Jason said irritably. “I decide when someone is late and I am not late. We never even specified a time.” It was true, they hadn’t. Jason just did the cool ‘meet me here tomorrow’ vagueness and jumped off the building like a badass. 

“I figured you would want to set up for the stakeout before the Bats came out for the night.”

“Stakeout?” Jason would deny until the day he died a second time that he whined.

Buzzard gave him a look.

“It’s an extremely secret drug operation that operates on a random schedule so that they don’t get discovered. I hate to break it to you, but yeah. We’re gonna have to do a stakeout.”

The odds of Jason not killing anyone were rapidly declining.

“Fine,” he growled. “Let’s just get this over with so I don’t have to talk to you anymore.”

“You got it, partner!” Buzzard said cheerfully, before grappling away to the warehouse. Like an absolute asshole.

Jason’s hand itched for his gun.

One bullet and no one would need to know, he thought. Hell, it doesn’t even matter if people do know! I already have his notes. I don’t need to listen to him talk for the next several hours.

Unfortunately Buzzard disappeared behind a building and Jason had no choice but to follow him. He caught up with the kid after he landed on top of the warehouse, standing next to a large skylight.

“This is the place?”

“Hmm?” Buzzard looked up from where he was peering through the skylight into the dark warehouse below. “Oh, yeah. This is it.”

“Kind of dumb to run your drug ring out of a building with a skylight on it,” Jason commented. In a Bat infested area of town leaving an easy access point was incredibly stupid.

“That’s what I thought at first too,” Buzzard responded. He began picking the lock. “But I think it might be the perfect cover.”

“How do you figure?” Jason asked reluctantly.

“Well,” the lock popped open and Buzzard held the window open for Jason to pass through. He rolled his eyes but jumped down onto the catwalk in the darkness below. Buzzard continued after jumping down behind him, keeping his voice low. “You operate in Gotham for a while, you start to expect a pattern. A closed up, boarded up warehouse built like a bomb shelter with no obvious way inside? You better believe Gotham’s vigilante population will be checking that place out ASAP.” They made it to the stairs, climbing down quickly and quietly. “A place like this? Still in working condition and only recently abandoned? Perfect for a drug ring, sure, but not usually the way Gotham crooks roll.”

“You think they’re hiding in plain sight,” Jason concluded. It wasn’t a bad plan, though he still found it surprising Batman wouldn’t flip over every stone. He expressed as much to the kid.

“The best way to keep Batman out of your business is through distraction.” They finally reached the floor, where Buzzard turned to face him. ”Killer Croc attacks, Riddler sowing general chaos, all business as usual, until you factor in a couple of outliers.”

“Such as?” Jason asked, seeing no choice but to humor the professor.

“Us,” he replied simply. “Two new vigilantes come to town around the same time, both seemingly antagonistic to the Bat. Planned? No, but a good criminal operation always takes advantage of new chess pieces. For instance, you might hire a couple of known villains to choose a certain day to go take hostages at the bank, focusing attention on a different side of town.”

That did make Jason pause. 

“Are you suggesting Poison Ivy and the clown were only at the bank as a distraction?”

“Oh I’m sure they were there to steal money,” Buzzard said dryly, “I just think they might’ve had some influence on which day to pick for it. That’s just a theory though. I haven’t been able to prove anything.”

If that was just the kid theorizing, Jason thought that maybe a team up would be more beneficial to him than he was anticipating. Instead of voicing that out loud (because he wasn’t a loser) he instead focused his attention on the warehouse.

For another one of Gotham’s dozens of old abandoned warehouses, it didn’t seem too out of the ordinary at first glance. The machinery was old and rusting, and the lights fixtures overhead had more broken bulbs than working ones. The space wasn’t particularly big, made even smaller by the dozens of crates of varying size that crowded the room. Everything was pristine in the room, looking like it had not been touched for years. Except for one thing.

“There’s no dust,” Jason said into the darkness. Buzzard turned to him briefly, opening his mouth to ask what he meant before his face cleared with recognition. 

The kid went over to the nearest crate and wiped a finger on it. It came up clean.

“You’re right,” he said.

“Of course I’m right,” Jason huffed. “You think I don’t know what the fuck dust looks like?”

Buzzard ignored him, which annoyed Jason. Instead the bird started looking all around the warehouse, as if he would find a box labeled ‘Dust Kept Here!’.

“Why clean everything so thoroughly? Not leaving dust is a dead giveaway.”

“For a Bat maybe,” Jason said. “Most people would have left after seeing how empty this place is. If there was dust on the ground their footprints would’ve been spotted easily. Clean floors cover up the obvious. We just happen to be more annoying than that.” He went over to the nearest crate and searched for some kind of lock. “Help me get these open, will you? I doubt they’re just more warehouse supplies.”

Jason got to work trying to force a crate open while Buzzard rooted around in a pile of rusting supplies for something to help. Eventually he let out a small cheer of victory and held a dented and old crowbar aloft.

Jason’s back hit the wall before he even knew what was happening.

Forehand or backhand? CRUNCH!

“Get the fuck away from me!” He cried. There was an insane pressure constricting in his chest and he was struggling to breathe all of a sudden. Just like last time. When his ribs were broken and he endured the beating of a lifetime on the floor of a warehouse in Ethiopia. Oh god, he was in a warehouse now. It was happening again!

“Hood?”

Jason needed to leave. He needed to escape. But he couldn’t move. His ribs were broken and his arms were tied behind his back and everything hurt. Everything hurt so bad. 

“Hood! Breathe!”

He couldn’t die like this again. He couldn’t make Bruce go through that a–

Bruce. Bruce wasn’t there. Why did it matter what Bruce thought?

His vision began to tint green, while the tightness in his chest grew. His breaths were coming in wheezing gasps, but he hardly noticed.

Bruce. Bruce didn’t kill him. Bruce is letting him kill me a second time.

“I sprained my ankle on a tree root once!”

The declaration was so strange, Jason looked up for the first time. There was a dark figure in front of him, covered in blacks and grays. Not purple and green.

Jason didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything, but the green faded just slightly. He didn’t know if any actual physical change was visible on his sweaty face, but Buzzard brightened up.

“I was playing outside so I didn’t bother my parents,” the vigilante continued. “There was this big tree by my house, and I wanted to see how fast I could scale it, you know?” Jason still didn’t say anything. “I sprinted all the way across the yard as fast as I could, and when I finally got to the tree I was so tired I could hardly stand!” The mental image of the weird little kid in front of him exhausting himself from running too far stirred something in Jason. He felt the smallest of smiles appear on his face. Buzzard saw it too, grinning in triumph. “I was so excited to climb the tree that I still gave it a go even though I was about to pass out. You know how far I got?” Jason shook his head no. “I jumped up and tried to grab the trunk in a bear hug and immediately fell off, landing on the tree root and twisting my ankle.” 

To Jason’s surprise, he let out a breathy chuckle.

“You’ve always been clumsy, then?” he choked out. Buzzard gave a wry smile.

“At least I have more stamina than I used to. Now I can run across the yard and not twist my ankle when I fall off the tree immediately.”

Jason laughed again and it came much easier. He felt just a bit lighter. His chest wasn’t so tight, al least.

“What triggered it?” Buzzard asked. For a second Jason couldn’t understand what the fuck he was talking about, until he realized the kid was talking about his sudden panic. Jason didn’t want to answer. It seemed like Buzzard already knew the answer anyway.

“Crowbar,” Jason told him anyway. Just saying the word was enough to make the world a stronger tinge of green, but he owed it to Buzzard for snapping him out of whatever funk he’d just been in. “I have bad memories with it. I’m fine now.”

Buzzard gave him an incredulous look that implied he did not share Jason’s laissez faire attitude at all.

“Dude, you just had a panic attack. It’s ok to not be ok.”

“What? Did your therapist tell you that?” Jason asked without any real bite. Buzzard wrinkled his nose.

“I don’t have a therapist.”

“That would explain some things.”

“Like what?” Buzzard asked, offended.

“Like why you’re wearing a bird costume.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” said Buzzard in offense, “next time I’ll put on a leather jacket and a bowling ball on my head and then I’ll finally be cool.”

“The helmet is cool!” Jason defended. “It completes the look.”

“Then why do you never wear it?”

Jason frowned (which Buzzard could unfortunately see because he wasn’t wearing his helmet).

“I just don’t feel like it sometimes.”

“Can you not see or not breathe?” Buzzard asked with a shiteating grin.

Normally Jason wouldn’t answer. Normally he would have shot Buzzard by now for getting into his business. But after the kid told him that ankle story…

“Both,” he admitted grudgingly.

Buzzard laughed and Jason was struck by how young he sounded. He called him kid in mostly a mocking way but he also wasn’t wrong. Buzzard was probably in high school.

“Why are you doing this?” Jason found himself asking. He winced at the abruptness.

Buzzard broke from his laughter quickly and fixed Jason with a nervous look.

“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to bother you–”

“No,” Jason cut in, frustrated, “why are you doing this !” He spread his hands out in front of him to try to encompass everything. “You’re just a kid! You should be living your life, not gallivanting around Gotham.”

“I’m hardly the first kid to go ‘gallivanting’ around Gotham,” Buzzard chuckled. 

“That’s the fucking point!” Jason yelled. “Children have better and safer things to do than this shit.”

“Ok first of all,” Buzzard began, “I am not a kid. Second of all, this is what I want to be doing. Nothing you or anyone else can say will stop me. I’m helpful as Buzzard, so I will be Buzzard until that stops being true.”

“Listen kid, school and your social life are important and you shouldn’t neglect–”

“IF you try to convince me to stop being Buzzard one more time,” he said seriously, “I’m going to start asking intrusive questions about your personal life.”

Jason was dismayed to find that the threat had the required effect on him. He did not want to hear intrusive questions about his personal life.

“Fine. You win, Bird Shit.” He pointed a finger in Buzzard’s face. “But we are not done with this conversation, alright?”

Buzzard blinked. Then blinked again.

“Weren’t you threatening to kill me like an hour ago?” he asked. “You’re mother henning and it’s freaking me out.”

“I can certainly go back to threatening to kill you if that’s what you want,” Jason offered sweetly. “Call me a mother hen again and you will have your wish.”

“Fine,” Buzzard conceded with his hands held up in surrender, “you were just being weird.”

“I have a soft spot for kids,” Jason grumbled.

“You fully tried to shoot me a few days ago.”

“Let’s get these crates open,” Jason decided, ignoring Buzzard like a champ.

The bird brain rolled his eyes, but helped him get the closest crate open (sans crowbar).

There was an unfortunate lack of anything interesting to be found in any of the crates. They found nothing but old shipping supplies in the first one and decided to try them all out to be thorough. There was nothing of note. Jason kicked the final crate in frustration.

“Great, not a fucking helpful thing to be found. Back in my day abandoned Gotham warehouses were more useful.”

“This was about what I expected,” Buzzard admitted. He quickly explained further when Jason threw an incredulous look his way. “Well, I knew they were being ridiculously careful about being caught, so it would’ve been weird if they just left drug supplies laying around.”

“So what?” Jason asked in frustration. “We just come back tomorrow and hope someone is here we can get some information out of?”

“On the contrary,” Buzzard said smugly, “I expect they’ll be here tonight.” Jason only glared at him and his stupid bullshit. “Look!” Buzzard held up his wrist, which had a small screen embedded in his gauntlet. There was a headline displayed there, reading “ Batman and Robin respond to Scarecrow attack. Fear Toxin masks recommended for Gothamites”

“So?”

“ So, this is good for us! One of the few things we know is that whoever is running this operation is being extremely careful about running into the Bats. Scarecrow is a big enough threat that any Bats patrolling tonight are going to be where he is instead of here.” He immediately started typing furiously on his keyboard.

“What are you doing now?” Jason was really beginning to feel out of his depth. What he needed was some people to beat the shit out of to regain his equilibrium.

“Tweeting.”

Jason waited because he knew how to be patient. He did.

“What are you fucking tweeting,” he finally growled. To his supreme annoyance Buzzard ignored him for a second longer before showing him a different news report in triumph.

“New and potentially dangerous vigilantes join the Bats at Scarecrow scene”

“I tweeted fake reports of us,” he said cheerfully. “Now it will seem like this side of town is completely ripe for drugs with all of us supposedly miles away.”

“You’re a little scary, you know,” Jason said in lieu of a better response. To his further shock the kid seemed to take that as a compliment . “You think if we wait here someone will show up?”

“That’s the hope.”

Jason looked around at the wide empty room (not at the crowbar) and sighed heavily. There wasn’t really much to keep them busy while they waited.

“I don’t suppose you have a deck of cards do you?”

~

Buzzard did have a deck of cards in his bandolier. Because he was a freak .

After Jason tried and failed to make a house of cards for half an hour (Buzzard kept distracting him with stupid comments about structural integrity and how Jason wasn’t laying a strong enough foundation) they switched over to Go Fish, which was a fantastic decision.

“I don’t get it!” Buzzard huffed for the 8th time. “How are you this good at Go Fish? It’s literally all based on luck!”

Jason chuckled smugly and counted up his pairs (he had about 6 more than Buzzard did).

“Ah, that is where you are wrong, my naive child. Go Fish is an ancient game of strategy and cunning. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

They were sitting on the catwalk above the warehouse floor, in case someone decided to visit. That’s why, when the warehouse doors banged open, they weren’t caught with playing cards out like fucking idiots.

Jason and Buzzard stared at each other in silence, neither daring to make a sound. They could only watch as over a dozen people in black ski masks and baggy dark clothes flooded into the building. They brought with them equipment Jason had only seen in science class; there were beakers, bunsen burners, goggles, tables, microscopes– you name it and it was there.

The masked individuals set up shop with terrifying efficiency, obviously well practiced. They hardly made a sound as they got to work.

Buzzard waved to get his attention. Once he had it he mouthed I’m going to get closer and was gone before Jason could respond.

Fantastic.

Jason resigned himself to sit back and watch the druggies (druggers? Drugites?) do their work. At first. Then he started to notice the shit they were putting into the test tubes and beakers. Green liquid, bright and fluorescent. A pale yellow gas released from several canisters. Another green liquid, this time more opaque, but just as sinister. Joker venom, fear toxin, Venom steroid. Jason’s heart climbed into his throat. But that wasn’t everything.

Liquid after liquid was added to the vials – all different in color and viscosity. Jason lost count of just how many chemicals were added. Each one was sucked into those stupid tubes Jason thought only existed on television, spinning around and around until they were fed into a large beaker housing the deadly cocktail mix. One of the druggians grabbed the concoction and began pouring it in a mold like he was pouring Jell-O. The mold had a bunch of pill shaped indentations. 

Jason stood. Sure, this was supposed to be a stealth mission, but he and Buzzard had never explicitly stated that they wouldn’t end up beating the shit out of these people. And even if they had Jason wasn’t going to let that stop him from doing it anyway.

He took stock of what the druggoes had on them– nothing much that was visible over their baggy clothes.

He reached for his guns before remembering Buzzard's notes. These death capsules were being distributed in Crime Alley. Jason’s home. Having seen the way drugs made their rounds in his home when he was a kid he knew they would make their ways to parents and children alike (he forcibly shut down the part of his brain that pictured his mother, dead on the floor and cold to the touch from an overdose). Tints of green started to creep from the edges of his vision. 

His guns remained in their holsters. Guns were too nice for scum like these people. Instead Jason would beat them until they begged for mercy. And then he would keep going.

He would be the first person to admit back in his Robin days that Batman’s entrances were overdramatic and overdone. Now, however, dropping down into a room of 14 unsuspecting drug dealers that were about to get beat to a pulp? Jason maybe understood.

His feet landed on the floor of the warehouse with a magnificent BOOM! 14 pairs of startled eyes darted up to look at him in mixtures of surprise, horror, and fear. Screw his helmet. Jason was beyond happy they were able to see the feral grin that crossed his face. Then he got to work.

He leapt at the first druggie with reckless abandon, bringing a fist to his jaw and dropping the weakling immediately. Jason wanted to take time stomping on his neck, but a few of the others were reaching for whatever they could find to use as weapons. One of them picked up the crowbar Buzzard had discarded. Jason went for him next.

He aimed a steel-toed boot at one knee, and then the other, satisfied to hear the crack of bone. He added a kick to the head when the man went to the ground for good measure and the green glowed with appreciation. 

Two others took advantage of the distraction, one jumping on his back and the other tossing a beaker at him. He flipped the first one over his shoulders, delighting in the sound of his head hitting the ground, and easily dodged the beaker. Mr. Beaker had just enough time for the fear in his eyes to shine through the ski mask before Jason punched him in the solar plexus, and then brought a knee up to his skull for good measure.

He turned to the rest of the group. 5 of the smart ones made a break for it. Jason rewarded their intelligence with 5 bullets fired into the backs of their heads. That made the green sing in such a nice way that he turned his gun on the other 5 in front of him, only to have the weapon go flying out of his hands when a feather shaped knife flew into it. Whatever. He could go back to the slower way without much complaint.

The first two went down without any problem. Jason pulled out a knife to make things more fun and the gurgle of severed throats certainly did the job. It was the last three that proved more of an issue. They all had knives, which normally would  have been fine, but he became a little distracted watching the blood leak from the neck of one of the druggites. He roared with pain when one of the remaining 3 shoved their knife through his armor and into his shoulder. He doubted it went very deep, but the green glowed with revenge.

He turned on his attacker, ripped the knife out of his shoulder and shoved it through the eyehole of the ski mask in one swift motion. They went down screaming and Jason wiped the spray of blood from his face, smearing it more than removing it. 

Finally there were only two left. One of them charged Jason, the other tried to run again. Typical.

As much as Jason was enjoying himself, he was also getting tired of dealing with the scum in front of him. He brought his second gun up and fired through the man in front of him. He hit the ground like a sack of bricks. Finally, he aimed towards the last one. 

Right as his finger was on the trigger Buzzard slammed into him, sending his shot wide.

“Get a fucking grip, Hood!” his sorry excuse for a partner screamed into his ear. Jason shoved him off with a guttural growl and attempted to shove the muzzle of his pistol into Buzzard’s mouth.

The kid landed a cross to his cheek with surprising ferocity, and produced a bo staff out of nowhere a second later. The sight almost made him laugh. In fact he did laugh. The idea that this skinny stick of a boy was fighting Jason just to save the life of a lowly, insignificant piece of scum was absolutely ridicul–

WHACK

“Fuck!” The little shit hit him in the fucking head! With his staff! 

The green spluttered in Jason’s vision, which was swimming with black dots.

WHACK

Jason fell to the floor with his head screaming in pain. His vision whited out for what felt like a second, but could have been an hour. When he regained his sight the green tint was gone and he was covered in a thin coat of sweat. He groaned and tried to shift over onto his side.

“Move one more time and I’ll shatter your leg,” hissed Buzzard. 

Jason stilled immediately. For the first time the kid sounded intimidating . Jason actually believed he would follow through on the threat.

“Listen to me for a second before you kill anyone else. What you just did is not fucking justice.”

“They deserved it,” Jason said. He expected more heat in his voice, but none was forthcoming. The green didn’t return. His head ached.

“Of course they deserved it!” Buzzard groaned. “But that doesn’t matter! What matters is that we need information on this extremely discreet drug operation and the only people we have to ask about it are corpses!” The bird began to pace around in front of Jason and the older teen could only watch in astonishment. “You call me a kid and a child, but you can’t even control any of your own damn impulses! I leave for one minute! One! And what do you do?”

“Kill a bunch of people?”

“That was a rhetorical question, you ass!”

Jason rolled his eyes.

“Look I get you’re still squeamish about the killing thing, but if you want to work with me you’ll have to get used to it. I’m not going to play nice just because you said so.”

“This isn’t just about killing,” Buzzard said in a deadly serious tone. “You don’t have control. If you wanted to kill these guys so bad, fine,” he paused as if the words physically hurt him to say, “just leave me out of it. And make sure we actually get some information from them first. It’s going to take weeks to track down the new location of their operation.”

“Well you let one of them go,” Jason said without thinking, “so maybe we can track him down after he’s killed more people.”

Despite recent events, Jason knew when he’d gone too far. He knew he went too far by killing all of the drug dealers, and he knew he definitely went too far when he decided to say that to Buzzard.

“Let him go?” Buzzard roared. “LET HIM GO? You absolute moron! Maybe we’ll have a chance to interrogate him since I let him go . You’re so right! I could’ve gotten so much important information out of his corpse ! Isn’t that right, fellas?” He directed that question towards the 13 dead bodies surrounding the two of them. He sounded slightly hysterical. It suddenly hit Jason that it was probably the first time Buzzard had ever seen someone die before. He sighed and let his head hit the concrete with a soft thud .

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh you’re sorry! That’ll really make everyone here happy! Won’t it–”

“I’m not sorry I killed them,” Jason interrupted crossly. “They deserved it. I’m sorry I did it in the way I did, though. And I’m sorry you had to see it.” When Buzzard didn’t continue Jason sighed. He better let the kid know at least a little of what he’d gotten into. “Look, Buzzard, I’m no saint.” Buzzard snorted, which Jason elected to ignore. “I have a… condition, that makes me sort of blood thirsty. It’s hard to control and it has triggers. This is one of the reasons I’m not out here to work with people. As much as you’ve convinced yourself that you need to partner with me for whatever convoluted reason you have, it’s not worth it. I’m going to hurt people. That’s a guarantee. And I could hurt you too if you stick around.”

Silence fell between the two of them. Jason closed his eyes to try and allow some sort of relief to his throbbing head.

“Are you actually stupid, or just oblivious?”

Jason’s eyes shot open.

“Huh?”

“I’m not an idiot, Hood,” Buzzard sighed. “You tried to kill me on our first meeting. You flew to San Francisco to murder Robin in the name of a misplaced vendetta. Don’t frown.  If you thought about it for a second you’d know it was true. The point is, I know your violent tendencies aren’t just teenaged angst. But you need to actually choose to fight it!”

Jason tried to surge to his feet, but fell back on his ass once his head started spinning.

“You don’t know shit about me,” he spat. “You don’t know how much I fight to stay in control.”

“Did you fight for control tonight?”

Jason didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Buzzard knew the truth already.

“It’s not your reckless killing that bothers me, Hood. It’s the fact you’re not in control when you do it. If you let whatever it is inside you take over at any given moment you’re going to hurt someone you shouldn’t.”

Jason glowered at the know-it-all in front of him. What he said was irritating. Because it was true. How many times had he promised to himself that he wouldn’t hurt children? Then the first thing he did when he saw Buzzard, when he saw the Replacement, was hurt them. Jason had his reasons for hating Robin. Buzzard talked big but only Jason knew how it felt to see the blonde running over rooftops in his costume. Fighting next to his dad.

But maybe that wasn’t her fault. Even if it was, maybe it didn’t matter.

“Fine,” he said. Buzzard startled, obviously not expecting agreement. “You’re right that I can’t lose control the way I have been. I’m not going to stick to the Bat’s stupid rule like a good boy scout, but maybe I’ll make a more concerted effort to shoot holes in peoples’ heads with full control over my actions.”

Buzzard wrinkled his nose but nodded regardless. 

“If you don’t, I’m gonna beat the shit out of you again,” the bird warned.

Jason considered him for a few seconds and nodded.

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

Buzzard grinned at him and Jason was forced to look away, lest he be blinded by the sincere gesture. 

Jesus, you’d think I offered to bake him cookies, not have him beat the shit out of me.

The kid offered him a hand, which Jason took, and pulled him to his feet. Jason’s head throbbed in protest, but he was able to get his legs under him easily enough.

“I should probably get going,” he sighed. “I’m going to spend most of my day tracking these shitheads down tomorrow and I’ll need to sleep off the head trauma you gave me.”

Buzzard shrugged, looking entirely proud of himself, the bastard. The little shit opened one of his bottomless bandolier patches and placed a thumb drive in Jason’s palm.

“What’s this?”

“That should help you with the beginnings of your search. It’s all of the files I was able to pull off of one of their tablets and also some notes on the chemical makeup of those drugs.”

“W–” Jason stuttered. “When the hell did you pull their files off the tablet?”

“Did you think I was taking a nap while you were murdering everyone?” Buzzard questioned. In truth Jason hadn’t really been in the headspace to think about much of anything. “While you were roleplaying butcher, I was draining every bit of data I could from these guys. Actually, it was the first time I actually did what I was anticipating I would do when I started this whole thing.”

“Ok?” Jason didn’t know what else to say to that. “You’re more freaky than I thought you were.”

“I’m not sure how to take that from the man that just killed 13 people.”

“Good.” Jason tucked the flash drive into his pocket and wobbled his way towards the warehouse doors. Jesus, he was probably concussed. “I’m getting out of here before I find out you have baby pictures of me too.”

“They aren’t baby pictures,” Buzzard said. Way too casually for Jason’s taste. “I’m kidding!” he defended when Jason stared at him. 

Jason just sighed and went for the door. He could think about how much Buzzard sounded like he was lying in the morning.

He pulled open the door and came face to face with Nightwing, who had a hand outstretched as if he were about to open it himself. Jason shut the door.

“Aren’t the Bats supposed to be on the other side of town?” He called behind him. He carefully kept the door closed as someone on the other side tried to wrench it open. They started banging on the door.

“Last I saw. Why?” Buzzard asked, typing something on his gauntlet computer. “Hey, can you knock off the banging for a second? I’m trying to focus.”

“I think you’d prefer the banging to the other option,” Jason stated matter of fact. His head was really hurting.

“Which would be?”

Jason let go of the door and Nightwing went flying backwards in surprise. His undignified squawk is what finally got Buzzard to look up.

“Oh shit,” the kid cursed. Jason nodded seriously, because he had been thinking something similar.

“You were right, Robin,” Nightwing grunted. He stood up and dusted himself off. It was annoying enough that Jason was expecting the green to creep into his vision so he could shoot the smarmy idiot, but his head was too foggy to think much other than ow .

“I’m right about a lot of things,” The Replacement said, appearing next to Nightwing. While the words were smug, her tone was murderous.

Papa Bat was the last one to drop down (from the roof?) to Nightwing’s right. Buzzard joined Jason at the door, shoulders hunched like his boss had just told him he was going to have to work overtime tonight. Batman stared right at Jason and opened his mouth.

“Ja–”

Buzzard pulled the door shut.

“So this is going to be a major problem,” he sighed.

“How do you figure?” Jason asked.. He swayed in place and kept blinking his eyes, trying to get Buzzard’s blurry image to form back into a clear picture.

“First thing,” the bird started, very business-like, “you’re definitely concussed.” Jason nodded, because he was definitely concussed. “Second thing, there’s 13 dead bodies in here and Batman is not fond of those. Third, there are three of them and two of us. And you’re concussed.” Jason nodded, because he was definitely concussed.

“Options?” he asked. It hurt just to say that much so trying to think of an escape plan on his own was definitely out of the question. Nightwing started pulling and banging on the door again, and Buzzard helped him keep the door closed. The noise was slowly splitting his head open.

“Hood!” Jason couldn’t tell if Bruce or Dick said it. “Come out! We just want to bring you home!”

“That would be option number one,” Buzzard said grimly. “You could go with them. They do love you, you know.” Jason closed his eyes and tried to breathe through his sudden bout of nausea.

“Do you remember what I said about trying to keep myself under control?” he choked out. Buzzard nodded warily. “If my brain wasn’t about to leak out of my fucking ears, I would be shooting everything in sight right now. Starting with the idiots outside. I am not ready to go with them, nor will I ever be.”

“I was expecting that answer,” sighed the bird. “Ok. The other option is that I get you out of here.”

“I like that option.”

“Fine. Sit tight and follow my lead.” He clicked a button on his gauntlet and released his hold on the door, Jason following suit.

Dick went flying back into the dirt again (was it Jason’s birthday already?) and let out a string of curses. Batman very discreetly lowered the explosive Batarang he was undoubtedly about to chuck at the wall. He immediately locked eyes on Jason again.

“Son,” he whispered.

Buzzard let out an extremely loud groan of frustration, startling all three Bats like they forgot he was there.

“Will you stop saying your personal stuff out loud?” he begged. “Please? I’m trying not to get more on your bad side than I already am, but that’s incredibly difficult when you keep trying to spill your entire life stories every time I’m around!”

“You!” The Replacement stepped forward. “I knew you two would be here when I saw that fake headline on Twitter.” Batman and Nightwing glanced at each other. Jason guessed that they were not told that Twitter had been part of the discovery. “Since I caught you trying to sneak into this place, I figured this was where you’d be.”

Batman’s sudden growl pulled four sets of eyes towards him. 

“Why are there dead bodies behind you?” Apparently the old man had finally taken his eyes off of Jason to actually study his surroundings a little bit. Jason managed a smile (he probably looked more constipated than anything) and opened his mouth.

“I killed them,” Buzzard said calmly. Jason whipped his head around so fast his vision whited out for half a second. “They were a bunch of scum selling deadly drugs to people in Crime Alley, so I killed them.” His voice was devoid of any emotion and very very cold. He was so convincing that even Jason almost believed him. The words set the Bats on edge. Bruce had another Batarang in his hand between one blink and the next.

“Why is Red Hood bleeding?” he hissed. He sounded like he had a specific answer in mind and Buzzard’s ghastly smile told Jason the bird knew exactly what answer that was.

“He tried to stop me, so I beat the shit out of him!”

Jason blinked. He was pretty sure that was not how that happened.

“Is that why his head is bleeding?” Gasped Nightwing.

“My head is bleeding?” Jason stage whispered to Buzzard.

“Maybe a little.”

“How much is ‘a little’?”

“Head wounds bleed a lot. I’m sure it’s fine.”

Well that was reassuring. And boy oh boy did it make the Bats mad. Well, the Replacement didn’t seem that mad, but that was probably fair.

“Get away from him now,” Nightwing rumbled. “Or you’re going to regret it.”

“I feel like I should clear some things up,” Jason slurred. He didn’t like it when people took credit for his kills. He earned those fair and square! Plus the bird was going to get himself into deep shit if he pissed Bruce off enough.

“Too late,” Buzzard said calmly. A dull rumbling started to echo off the walls. “Our ride is here.”

A sleek black motorcycle screamed around the corner, with no one on it. It almost hit the Replacement, causing her to jump out of the way, and it did hit Nightwing, slamming into him head on and sending him back into the dirt for a third time.

“Can you do that again?” Jason giggled.

Buzzard dropped half a dozen smoke bombs and grabbed Jason’s arm in a death grip, pulling him towards the bike. He threw two of his feather things in a random direction and Jason heard Batman grunt.

“Your cowl has infrared?” Jason speculated.

“Yes.” They made it to the bike and Buzzard immediately shoved a helmet into his arms. “Put this on and get on the bike.”

The hoodless Red Hood (Jason was never leaving home without his helmet again no matter how much easier it was to see without it) followed Buzzard’s instructions and shoved the helmet over his head and got on the bike. Normally he would be more difficult, but he was admittedly having a lot of fun (minus the concussion) and was interested to see what Buzzard would do next. 

What he did next was speed out of the alleyway at 500mph with Jason holding on for dear life. Buzzard swerved around a large vehicle trying to enter the alley with him and Jason started having a lot less fun.

“If you do that again I’m going to push you into oncoming traffic,” Jason groaned.

“Sorry,” the bird responded. “That was the Batmobile. They’re going to be on our tail soon.”

On cue, Nightwing and the Replacement roared out of the alley behind them on their own bikes. It wasn’t long before the Batmobile entered the fray as well. Jason usually loved a high speed car (bike. Bike and car. Bar) chase, but the circumstances made it hard to appreciate anything other than the idea of blissfully passing out on Buzzard’s shoulder.

Buzzard led them through the heart of the city, weaving through traffic without slowing down. He stayed between the lanes, in the middle of the road, while Nightwing and the Replacement drove up onto the sidewalk to box them in. Batman had to be more creative. The old man scattered cars and pedestrians alike, skidding onto the sidewalk one moment, and dashing across three lanes the next. Batman’s general popularity was definitely going to go down for a few weeks.

Jason, desperate for something to do to distract from the aching of his head, pulled his gun and aimed towards the Replacement. He fired a shot, but misjudged their speed. The bullet lodged harmlessly in the sidewalk and Jason got a ringing in his head for his troubles.

“What are you doing?” Buzzard screamed. That seemed like a rhetorical question to Jason, seeing as the answer was pretty obvious, so he elected not to answer. “Don’t you dare fire another shot! If you hit Robin or, God forbid, a civilian, I’m driving us straight to Arkham.”

“I was aiming for the bike,” Jason lied. “Do you expect me to sit back here and do nothing while you do your best to turn us into roadkill? How are we going to lose them if I can’t shoot?”

“I have a plan. Just shut up and hang on!” That was the only warning Jason got before Buzzard swerved in front of a car at an intersection and took a left turn at a speed that would’ve made any parent faint on the spot. 

The Replacement was waiting for them and pulled up next to them. She damn near slammed her bike into them, actually. Jason didn’t know why he wasn’t allowed to kill anyone when the Replacement was very clearly trying to kill them.

“Can I shoot her now?” Jason yelled when she pulled out a staff of her own and tried to shove it through the wheel of their bike, only for Buzzard to swerve away. Then Nightwing and Batman made the turn behind them and started gaining again. “Can I please shoot someone ?”

Buzzard ignored him (rude) and threw one of his knives into the road in front of Robin. It didn’t gain much purchase but it did force her to disengage for a few seconds to swerve around it. 

Just when Jason was about to jump off the bike and save his head the trouble of splitting open any longer, the city began to change. The buildings became less congested and the traffic sparser. The smell of the sea breeze pierced his nostrils, even through the headache and the wind. He realized Buzzard was taking them to the docks, though he couldn’t figure out why. The streets were too open here. The Bats were forced to dodge around traffic earlier, but now there was nothing to impede their progress towards the two of them.

Buzzard was undeterred. Instead of turning and driving on the road parallel to the docks like Jason was expecting, he kept his foot on the throttle and sped forward. The Bats followed, Nightwing glancing back, unsure, at the Batmobile while it clunked onto the dock. It was full of shipping boxes and old crates, stacked high and strewn everywhere. There were several cranes with more crates bundled up in rope hanging high above the rest of the yard. Several old boats were tied off on the docks, and probably had been since before Jason was alive if the peeling paint and barnacles were anything to go by.

Black spots were consistently dancing into his vision now, and Jason didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

Buzzard jumping them on top of the shipping crates certainly didn’t help. They were riding side by side with Robin again, when the bird veered them to the side and up a couple of planks that were making a makeshift ramp.

“Fuck!” Jason yelled in an admittedly undignified way. “Buzz, you’re gonna kill us!” The kid grimaced at the nickname but stayed the course. They were quickly running out of real estate up there. “Fucking shit Buzz Ball! What’s the fucking plan!”

“Enough with the nicknames!” Buzzard yelled. And then he did some fucked up shit.

He yanked the bike to the side so that they were drifting towards the end of the last crate. They didn’t lose enough speed though, and went flying off the edge. Toward Robin directly under them. Toward the edge of the docks and the bay.

At least it was a cool way to die.

The Replacement saw them coming too late to swerve, face breaking into a look of pure horror and surprise. It was the first time Jason sympathized with her. She did the only thing she could do and bailed from her bike and into the water. He was positive they would be following her into the drink, but Buzzard hadn’t been lying when he said he had a plan. He extended his bo staff and shoved it against the planks, canceling enough of their momentum so that the back tire of the bike just barely slipped over the edge of the dock, until Buzzard revved the engine and they were back speeding over the wood with no issue.

“Holy shit! That was cool!”

“Thanks?” Buzzard said. But his attention was already focussed elsewhere. Nightwing and the Batmobile were coming in hot, and there were no more shipping containers to ramp off of. 

“Give me your gun,” the motorcycle maniac demanded abruptly.

“How come you can shoot people and I can’t?” Jason demanded. Something about the boy in front of him shooting down Bruce and Dick felt… wrong. It was probably just the concussion, but still.

“I’m not killing anyone,” he assured. “Now give it to me!”

Jason reluctantly handed it over. He felt even more tense than before, which was absolutely ridiculous considering everything they just drove through.

Buzzard took the gun and held it carefully. Jason was surprised to see his hand easily fit around the grip and his finger rested just off the trigger. It wasn’t his first time handling a gun, he realized.

Buzzard reached forward and adjusted the side mirror on the bike, keeping one eye on the path in front of him, and one eye on the image of Nightwing and Batman coming up on them quickly from behind. He then tilted the mirror even further up, so that it was reflecting the sky above them. And the crates hanging from a crane they were just passing underneath.

Jason knew what Buzzard was going to do just before he did it.

The teen took a deep breath and rested the pistol on his shoulder, aimed up at an angle. And then he fired.

The second Robin twisted in his seat the second the shot went off, holding his breath with an awe he hadn’t felt in a long time. The bullet tore through the rope holding the crates, and the cargo fell in slow motion. Nightwing looked up in utter disbelief at the hailstorm of shipping equipment raining towards him and joined the Replacement in the Harbor. The Batmobile swerved towards its inevitable destruction. Batman ejected from his seat with the damning noise of defeat.

The resulting sound of a tons worth of equipment crushing the Batmobile to oblivion was something Jason would never forget. A symphony and cacophony of glass shattering, metal groaning, and tires popping.

A strange feeling came over him then. The old Jason Todd would’ve felt just as shattered as his childhood car, crushed under the weight of memories, both fond and painful. The Jason Todd that was fresh out of the pit would’ve laughed over the mangled wreckage and lived off the thrill of his father’s defeat for days. The Jason Todd that was concussed and hanging on for dear life on the back of the motorcycle of a teenager that had just shown marksmanship of a professional triple his age? That Jason Todd felt finality. That Jason Todd saw that a new era had just begun. He couldn’t tell how it would turn out just yet, but the mystery of it thrilled him.

Or, once again, maybe that was just the concussion talking.

~

The drive to Jason’s safe house was a quiet one. It was all he could do to stay awake once the adrenaline had worn off, and Buzzard was extraordinarily quiet from his spot in the driver's seat. The only words he had said since his Annie Oakley impression on the docks was a quiet “thank you” when he handed Jason his pistol back. Jason imagined the teen was in just as much awe as he was, after pulling a stunt like that. 

By the time they pulled up to the apartment Jason was occupying, it was close to three in the morning and the streets were about as quiet as they were going to get in Gotham so near Crime Alley. Buzzard parked his bike behind a dumpster and Jason got unsteadily to his feet.

“Well,” he breathed, “That was amazing. Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?”

“You could’ve made the same shot,” Buzzard said, stiffly, completely ignoring the question. And maybe Jason could have, if he wasn’t concussed and blacking out. But Jason had 3 years of assassin and gun training under his belt. He was starting to recategorize Buzzard in his mind and something was bothering him.

“No seriously, where did you learn to shoot like that? You’re not an assassin that I know of. I probably would’ve seen you around the League base if someone of your talent level was there.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It definitely matters!” Jason exclaimed. “You know way more about me than you should! And not just because I tend to tell my backstory out loud. You keep saying you’re my ally and you’re on my side, but you just shot a fucking cargo rope backwards. How can I trust you when I don’t know a damn thing about you and you know everything about me?” Jason huffed like he just ran a marathon. His vision did the annoying black spots thing again.

“Hood. You need to sit down before you faint.”

“I am not going to sit down and I am not going to faint until you tell me who the fuck you are,” he growled. He took a step forward. And then another. And then the black spots condensed until his vision was completely gone. “Well this is embarrassing,” he murmured. 

Then he fainted.

Chapter Text

Steph was the first one back to the cave. Nightwing was a little behind her because he had to give Batman a ride back. 

Stephanie was not happy.

She screeched to a halt, got off her bike, and threw her helmet with all of her might into the cave. It rolled to a stop in front of Damian, trickling water gently onto his shoe.

“I take it your mission did not go to plan?” the boy asked dryly.

Steph took a shaky breath to keep herself from snapping at the boy.

It is not his fault. He did nothing wrong. Do not yell. Do not yell at the child.

“I’m not in the mood, Damian,” she said instead. Her voice only shook slightly with rage.

Damian only nodded once in understanding and reached over to pluck a towel from the Batcomputer desk.

“Alfred put out fresh clothes and towels for you all,” he explained, handing her the towel. It was nice and warm. She shoved her face into it and sighed.

“Thank God for Alfred,” she murmured.

“He has also prepared warm soup upstairs,” Damian said with a ghost of a smile. He looked over Steph’s shoulder and his expression went blank. “Though, I suspect you will have to finish briefing before you are able to eat it.”

Steph didn’t even need to follow his line of sight to know what he was talking about. The roar of Nightwing’s bike was enough to let her know Nightwing and Batman had returned.

She glanced towards the locker rooms and the promise of a dry change of clothes in longing. She didn’t need to sit through Batman’s bullshit. She should just go get changed and slip away. They wouldn’t even notice she was gone, probably.

But she stood her ground. If she decided to leave every time Bruce did something to piss her off or get rid of her, she wouldn’t have lasted a day. She always operated with the attitude that he needed her whether he liked it or not, and there was nothing he could do to make her give up Robin. It made staying easier knowing that leaving was what Bruce wanted. Even when Bruce pissed her off, she could know that she was pissing him off just as much with her presence and that was fulfilling. Petty? Absolutely. But it got the job done.

Batman and Nightwing marched over to the Batcomputer, looking tense and tired respectively. Damian handed Dick the other warm towel Alfred had brought. He ruffled the boy’s hair with a tired smile as thanks.

“Robin, Report.”

Steph stiffened. She took a careful breath and wrapped her own towel around her as snug as she could.

“Nothing much to report that you don’t already know, Bruce,” she reminded him. He said nothing, electing to continue staring at her expectantly. She hid her clenched fists in the towel. “We confronted the Red Hood and the Buzzard at the abandoned warehouse downtown, found out both of them are murderers,” she would be lying if she said Bruce’s slight frown didn’t satisfy her, “and then chased them to the docks where I jumped into the water rather than getting my head pancaked by a tire. Anything else?”

“Explain why you think they’re both murderers.”

“Because they are!” Steph supplied, in a tone so falsely sweet it made her teeth ache. “You keep forgetting, but he flew to Titans tower just to murder me. Somehow I doubt I would’ve been his first kill.”

“None of us have forgotten that he tried to hurt you, Steph,” Nightwing reassured hurriedly, because Bruce wasn’t going to do it.

“Are you sure about that?” She turned her ire towards him. “Because I just assumed it slipped both of your minds when you were inviting my would-be murderer back into your house.”

The expression that flashed across Dick’s face made Steph bellow a humorless laugh that echoed across the cave. It was an expression that said “ Oh shit, I did do that.”

“Robin. Focus.”

Stephanie froze mid laugh. Her bitter mirth quickly morphed into a rage that burned so hot, she was surprised it didn’t immediately dry her suit.

Dick closed his eyes in preparation. Damian took a step back.

Only Bruce seemed oblivious to the landmine he just planted.

“Focus?” Steph grit out. “Did you just tell me to focus? You can’t get your head out of your ass to see that your son is a murderous criminal for a second and you’re telling me to focus ?”

“Steph, he didn’t mean it like–”

“No!” Steph yelled louder than she meant to but she didn’t care. “Bruce is a fucking adult. Let him speak for himself. He can tell me exactly what he meant without your help.”

Bruce just glared at her and she glared right back.

“We don’t have time for this,” he said eventually. Steph scored herself a mental point for not breaking first. “Buzzard is a confirmed murderer and has J– Hood with him right now. We need to track them down.”

“So you can do what, Bruce?” Steph spat. “Force Jason to come back here and trust that he won’t hurt anyone? I’ll remind you that Buzzard was the one that stopped him from trying to kill me in the first place. If the known murderer was trying to stop the wannabe murderer I feel like the wannabe is not all sunshine and rainbows.”

“It was likely a misunderstanding caused by the Lazarus pit,” Bruce said stubbornly. 

“Oh you mean the Lazarus pit that makes people go crazy and murderous? That Lazarus pit?”

Bruce ignored her and took a seat at the Batcomputer. Steph’s temper flared again.

“Stop fucking ignoring me when I’m right!”

“He’s my son, Stephanie,” Bruce said quietly in a frustratingly calm way. Normally the softness would’ve made her pause, but she was too angry.

“I’m supposed to be your partner Bruce!” Angry tears welled up in her eyes. “He tried to kill me and you don’t even care!”

“Of course I care,” Bruce said, finally showing a little emotion.

“Then why do you insist on having him come here when we’re barely a week removed from his attack on the Tower?”

“He needs help.”

“He can get help anywhere!” Stephanie exclaimed. “We’re heroes, Bruce! You’re friends with Superman, for Christ’s sake!”

“He doesn’t need a hero’s help, he needs a father’s help!” Bruce roared.

Steph took a step back. Her anger drained from her until she just felt empty. He wasn’t going to compromise on this and she knew it. But damn it, she had to know for sure.

“If by some miracle he does listen to you long enough without shooting you,” she began, hating the slight shakiness of her voice, “and I told you that I’ll leave if you offer to let him back here without him showing any kind of remorse, what would you do?”

Steph knew the answer. She didn’t know why she was asking. Bruce had only ever shown the last 3 years that she was exactly what Red Hood called her: a replacement. If Bruce had to choose between his violent undead son or Stephanie Brown… Well. She just wished it would be a harder decision for him.

Dick closed his eyes, face pained, yet resigned. He knew the answer too.

Damian just looked upset.

Bruce actually looked slightly surprised by the question. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced at the computer like he would rather be searching the web than figuring out a nice way to tell her she didn’t matter. Eventually he settled on a deep and heavy sigh.

Steph was horrified to feel her eyes immediately well up with tears. She tried to say something biting, something to make Bruce feel as horrible as she felt. But her throat closed up and she couldn’t muster anything. 

Dick tried to reach out and grab her, but she was already gone. She went straight to the locker room to get out of her stupid costume that was never even hers in the first place.

She left it balled up in the corner and sped out of the Manor as fast as she could. No one tried to stop her.

~

Tim was fine. Absolutely fine. He had never felt more fine in his entire life.

Sure, he was now presumed a mass murderer, but that was to protect Jason so it was fine.

Yes, he had almost killed his best friend a second time and shot at the Bats, but no one got hurt and, again, it wasn’t like him using a gun would make Batman hate him more than the murdering. So it was fine.

Obviously smashing the Batmobile, the car he had idolized since he was a kid, was not ideal. Yes, seeing it get crushed played over and over every time he closed his eyes. He didn’t love how he was unable to sleep because he couldn’t get the sound of groaning metal and a seat ejecting just in time out of his head, but it was fine. Everything was fine.

Tim was fine.

He may not have been fine if he had to actually answer Jason’s questions about his identity before the older teen almost face planted into the cement. Small victories.

He hauled the sack of vigilante up to his floor and into his apartment (How did Tim know where Jason’s apartment was? Not important) and dumped the man on his bed. 

He went searching for a first-aid kit, taking note of how sparse and bare Jason’s apartment was, not that Tim had room to judge.

There was a single musty old couch in the middle of the living room and a few books stacked on a rickety old coffee table. Other than that, there was hardly a personal artifact to be seen, except for in the kitchen. It wasn’t anything special, but there were a few pots and pans that he could see and a microwave. Not exactly a splurge.

Tim found the medical kit under the kitchen sink. He quickly brought it back to the bedroom and patched Jason up as quickly as possible, not wanting to overstay his welcome when he already felt so awkward. He finished with a cool compress to the vigilante’s head for his concussion (Yeah, that was an oops moment) and practically fled from the premises. 

He went to one of his apartments on the other side of town and stripped off his suit mechanically. If he just kept his body moving and went through all of the motions, he wouldn’t have to think about what he had done that night.

Unfortunately he ran into a problem when he laid down in his bed. It only took the day’s events playing over in his head once for him to immediately spring from his bed with a declaration of “Fuck that!”

He was being stupid, he knew. Really, the night had gone pretty well despite Jason killing the drug dealers. Even that worked itself out when he took the blame for it.

In actuality, things were going shockingly according to plan, better than Tim could’ve ever expected; Jason was going to work on his more violent tendencies, Tim had managed to work with him for a whole night with only minor threats on his life, and he was slowly but surely pulling the Bats’ attention from Red Hood onto himself.

So everything was going really well! Even if he had to sacrifice sleep, it was a net gain.

Tim made himself a pot of coffee and resigned himself to sifting through the files he pulled from the drug dealer’s tablet until it was time for work. Who needed sleep when there was work to be done? Not Tim. Tim was stronger than that. Coffee was stronger than that.

He worked all the way up until his alarm rang, signaling it was time for him to get ready for work. For the first time, Tim was happy to go into the office. It would be a much needed reprieve from his thoughts. Talking and holding a conversation with a human would be a little difficult, but he didn’t have many meetings that day so he was sure he could fake it enough.

“Good morning, Mr. Drake!” Tabitha called brightly when Tim walked into DI that morning. 

Alright first test. Act natural.

In actuality, it was kind of difficult to hear what Tabitha said with the sound of glass shattering and metal groaning covering up all ambient noise, but she usually asked how he was doing in the morning, so this would be no different.

“Good morning, Tabitha,” he said. Excellent work, if he did say so himself. “How are you doing today?”

“I’m good tha–” her eyes met his face. The whole stopping-in-the-middle-of-her-sentence thing probably meant he looked really healthy, right? “Um, did you sleep at all last night? You look like a vampire.” Wrong.

He tried to laugh off her comment. He winced when it sounded too much like the smashed front windshield of the Batmobile falling into the driver’s seat. 

“Oh you know how it is!” He said too loudly.

“Know how what is?”

“Alright, great talking to you Sammy–”

“I’m Tabitha.” 

“Is cool. Sammy is cool. You didn’t let me finish!” Saved it. “Anyway it was great talking to you, Tabitha! I’m going to go up to my office now!”

“Mr. Drake, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll get my coffee upstairs,” Tim answered… whatever it was that she asked.

He walked towards the elevator and promptly stopped in his tracks when he heard it coming down to the first floor. He never noticed how remarkably similar the sound of the motors of an elevator was to the sound of a trunk reinforced with bulletproof steel crumpling under the weight of a few tons of shipping equipment.

“I’m going to take the stairs today,” he said out loud. “Seems like a stairs kind of day.”

It was not a stairs kind of day.

On the bright side, he learned that morning that climbing up over a dozen flights of stairs on no sleep and 3 pots of coffee was enough to wind a person, trained vigilante or not.

He half crawled out of the stairwell, presenting himself to Sammy with a pale, sweat covered face.

The look she leveled him with was unimpressed.

“Go home.”

“Yes, yes, good morning to you too, Sammy!” Tim gasped. He was too tired to sound cheerful. “I’m going to be in my office. Let me know if any meetings come up today. I’m ready to take them.”

“You super aren’t.”

“Thanks, Sammy!” Tim called over his shoulder. He shut his office door and looked around for his coffee pot. It wasn’t there. He opened his door again and stuck his head into the hall. Sammy was standing with her arms crossed faced towards his door.

“Hey, Sammy? Sorry to bother you, but do you know where my coffee maker is?”

“I hid it,” his secretary said. Tim blinked, trying to clear his head of screeching tires long enough to actually hear her.

“Sorry, I’m having trouble hearing this morning. Could you repeat that?”

“I hid your coffee pot,” she repeated slowly. She waited silently for Tim to process her words, face growing darker the longer it took him. Finally it clicked.

“You hid it?” The CEO asked. “Why would you do that?”

“Because Tabitha texted me saying you looked like you hadn’t slept in a week and were talking to yourself.” Her glare intensified. “And she’s right. You need to go home.”

“But I’m not sick?” Tim didn’t have time for this. He needed his coffee.

“How long has it been since you slept?” Sammy snapped. 

“I slept last night, for like 7 hours.” The lie rolled off his tongue easily. Usually his lies were good enough to get Sammy off his back for a few hours, but Tim was quickly realizing his powers of misdirection had taken a massive hit that day.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” She hissed. “Don’t you dare answer that!” She added when Tim opened his mouth. He closed it with a click. “You are severely sleep deprived, have obviously had way too much coffee, and probably haven’t eaten in a while if you’re this discombobulated. Go. Home.”

He actually didn’t know when he had last eaten. He took a second to take stock of his body, and realized that he was feeling a little hungry. He decided to try for a compromise.

“I can order some food over here,” he reasoned. “That’ll help me focus better. Do you want anything?”

That just made her more angry.

“Go home, Tim!” She never called him Tim. “I swear to God I’ll call the Waynes again to drag you out of the office this time.”

Tim didn’t know it was possible for any more of the color to drain from his face. The thought of seeing any of the Waynes at that moment, after what Buzzard did the night before, made him feel physically sick.

“Fine.” He quickly pulled his office door closed and breezed past Sammy.

“Wait, really?” His secretary exclaimed. She definitely wasn’t expecting that to work.

“Yes,” he responded shortly. “If anyone asks, I'm taking a sick day.”

“That’s fine because you are taking a sick day.”

“Right. Whatever.” Tim stumbled into the stairwell slightly dizzy (the elevator was still out of the question) and made his way down as quickly as he could.

He needed to get home. His parent’s home. He had really fucked the Bats over and he was being selfish when he didn’t immediately go to check on them after he dropped Jason off. Someone could’ve been hurt. More likely, Damian took one look at the mess Buzzard caused and spilled everything to his dad. In that case the Bats were probably already combing over his house for clues. He would need to turn himself in. Maybe explain the situation and help them figure things out with Jason if they let him.

He somehow made it down the stairs without falling, practically falling through the door. Tabitha looked up from her phone.

“Sammy told me you were leaving, but I didn’t believe it.” Her grin disappeared when she saw the state he was in; pale faced, sweaty, out of breath. “Oh my God! Mr. Drake, do I need to call you an ambulance?” That caused a few alarmed people in the lobby to look over at them.

“I’m fine,” he wheezed. “I’m going to go home, and I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t wait for her to argue any further. He flew out the doors and entered the parking garage where he’d parked his bike. He leaned against a pillar when he was finally away from any prying eyes. He needed to catch his breath and get his mind back under control.

And boy was he proved correct when the assassin managed to sneak up on him.

In truth, Lex Luthor’s plans to murder him and steal his company had completely slipped his mind with how hectic everything had been. Between saving Jason, staying hidden from the Bats, and running the company, getting assassinated had fallen really low on his list of concerns.

Tim’s only warning that he wasn’t alone was a dark shadow passing over him. His reaction time was dangerously slow, given the state he was in. The figure spun him around and quickly jabbed a hunting knife towards Tim’s stomach. He wrapped his hand around the assassin's fist and launched himself back after the knife had sunk in half way.

Tim rallied quickly, slamming the figure’s hand into the concrete pillar, causing the knife to drop. The assassin surged forward, but Tim’s body was wide awake with adrenaline now, and he easily sidestepped. He placed a hand on the back of the assassin’s head and used their forward momentum to slam their face into the pillar. He heard a crunch, and the assassin went down in a heap.

Tim took a few seconds to catch his breath and put a hand to his abdomen. The assassin was another amateur. They missed his important organs, only leaving a gash a couple of inches deep. Still, he was going to have to get stitches for it.

Luckily he got stabbed where he could actually reach it this time, so he wasn’t going to have to recreate the awkward experience of showing up to Dr. Thompkins’ clinic with a stab wound. He would be able to do the stitches by himself, easy. He just needed to get home first.

Tim left the assassin where they were (someone would probably see them and call the police before they woke up) and staggered over to his bike.

It wasn’t Tim’s first time driving home with an openly bleeding wound, but that didn’t make it any more comfortable. Plus, his shirt was ruined, and he hated ordering new ones. Oh well, such was the life of a vigilante.

Tim was happy to make it to his parents’ house without any other interruptions or issues. He parked his bike haphazardly in the driveway and climbed through his bedroom window (the front door was locked and it would obviously look suspicious if he picked the lock of his own house) leaving a small smear of blood on the window sill. Whoops.

He thumped to the floor in a slightly undignified heap and half-crawled half-walked to the bathroom where he had his first aid kit stashed. He got a bunch of gauze, some disinfectant, and the stitching kit and parked himself on his bed. He dumped half the bottle of disinfectant on a sheet of gauze and shoved it into his wound.

“Fuck!”

That woke Tim up a little, and he was able to move about the rest of his business with his usual proficiency while he pulled out his laptop to check on the cameras around Wayne manor he had hacked into. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as he carefully stitched up his stomach, but he couldn’t be sure. 

His blood froze when Stephanie walked past the perimeter cameras, obviously coming from the direction of the bus stop. She was holding a bag of takeout food and didn’t look towards the manor once. She wasn’t going to the manor. There was only one other place she could be going to.

Tim cursed and leapt to his feet, cursing again when he immediately stretched his brand new stitches.

What was Steph doing? Well, walking to his house was what she was currently doing, but that wasn’t what he meant. Why was she walking to his house? Yes, that was the question: why was she doing.

Tim forced himself from his thoughts. It was not the time to get distracted by semantics. Steph was going to be at his house in under 5 minutes and he was currently shirtless with a stab wound in his torso. And he was sleep deprived and discovering that he might be a little bit not okay about smashing the Batmobile (yes, a very big realization for him to make) and the last time he spoke to Steph she got mad at him and said she hated him and never wanted to talk to him again. She didn’t specifically say the last two things, but Tim could read between the lines.

He threw on a shirt from his closet (the ruined dress shirt was probably too much of a giveaway that he had been stabbed. Since it had a slit in it the approximate size and shape of a stab wound. And also a lot of blood) and raced down the stairs (so many fucking stairs in a day) as fast as he could.

He turned on the coffee pot, because he figured drinking coffee was the most natural thing for him to be doing after getting home from work, and threw a blanket over his shoulders. 

Very natural, Tim, great job, he congratulated himself. He walked over to the front door and yanked it open, revealing a startled Steph with a fist raised to knock on the door.

It was then that he remembered most people did not have cameras at their neighbor’s house, and usually waited for their guests to knock before answering the door.

“Jesus, Tim!” Steph exclaimed. The bag of takeout food swayed dangerously on her arm.

“Steph!” Tim accidentally yelled if her wince was anything to go by. “You’re here! What a surprise!”

“Um, yeah?” The blonde shook her head and regathered herself. “I mean yes! I brought you some food to the office, to apologize for how I acted the other day at the clinic. But when I got there Tabitha told me you had gone home and that you didn’t look… well.”

“Oh you know how Tabitha likes to exaggerate!” Tim dismissed. “I was just a little tired was all. It wasn’t like I got stabbed or anything! Ha ha!”

It was not his smoothest performance.

Steph stared at him, open-mouthed.

“Holy shit,” she breathed. “How long has it been since you’ve slept or ingested anything other than coffee?”

Tim tried to think about it, he really did. To lie, of course, but it still counted.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” he said truthfully.

Steph gave him a single sympathetic look and forced her way inside.

“When Tabitha said you looked like death I thought she was being dramatic, but she wasn’t kidding.” She set the food on the kitchen counter and started grabbing plates and bowls from the cabinets.

“I thought she said I didn’t look ‘well.’”

“I was trying to be nice. Obviously you need the cold hard truth.”

“Look,” Tim interjected. “It’s not that I’m not happy to see you but why are you here? I thought…” He couldn’t find the right words.

“I was mad at you?” Steph finished with a wince.

“And that you hated me,” Tim nodded.

Suddenly Steph’s eyes were welling with tears and Tim was severely out of his depth. He had no idea what to do! He wouldn’t know what to do even if he wasn’t such a mess. Luckily Steph solved that for him too, rushing over and giving him an enormous hug.

He froze for a few precious seconds, before melting into Steph’s embrace. Steph was the only person he had ever known that gave him hugs like that. His parents rarely hugged him (“Don’t be childish, Timothy, you’re too big for hugs”) and Slade Wilson and Lady Shiva were not nurturing people.

“I knew I should’ve come and said something to you sooner,” she sniffed. “I was never mad at you, just frustrated. And I would never ever hate you, no matter what.”

“Even if I killed someone?” Tim asked because his stupid brain and mouth were not communicating with each other. Luckily Steph just snorted.

“If you killed someone I would help you hide the body. Knowing you, you’d have a pretty good reason.”

Well it depended on what your definition of good reason was. Tim doubted trading another man’s life for Deathstroke’s was what she had in mind.

“You know I just care about your wellbeing,” Steph said. Apparently she was keen to get off the topic of Tim the murderer and back onto topics that made Tim just as nervous. “You just don’t know how to take care of yourself and it makes me sad and a little bit mad.”

“Sorry,” he murmured. He never tried to make her sad or mad.

“I’m not mad at you, doofus.” She still held him in a tight grip, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her to let go. “I’m mad that you were never taught how to value your health.”

“That’s not true,” Tim argued weakly. He could feel the incredulous look Steph was giving him.

“TIm.” Yeah, that was pretty loaded. “I don’t know a lot about your parents, but I do know they were busy abroad a lot. And I know you’ve been living alone since you were 13. Everyone else bought that uncle bullshit, but I know better.”

“How come we’re still arguing about my uncle after 2 years?” Tim huffed. But there was no heat to it.

“We’re not arguing,” Steph answered primly, finally pulling back to look Tim in the eyes. “Because I know I’m right. It hardly looks like one person lives here, much less two.”

It was then that he remembered Steph was Robin. Even then it probably didn’t take a seasoned detective like her to be able to see through his charade. She was right. The house didn’t look lived in at all (because it wasn’t). He could argue that it never looked lived in even when his parents were alive, but that wouldn’t explain the lack of non-expired food in the fridge, or the layer of dust that covered almost every surface of the house.

Tim decided that the best course of action would be for him to just not say anything. Maybe Steph would just let it go if he was silent.

“I’m going to take your silence to say that I’m right and you just don’t want to admit it.” Fuck! “I also recognize that now probably isn’t the time to talk about it.” Yay! “But we’re going to have to at some point, you know.” Shit!

“You brought food?” Tim asked desperately. Less so because he was hungry and more because he needed to talk about anything else. Steph rolled her eyes but accepted the change of topic nonetheless.

“I brought some sandwiches,” she said. “I figured anything more than that would kill you with how empty your stomach is.”

“It hasn’t been that long since I’ve eaten!” TIm argued. “I had a protein bar… yesterday?”

“Wow, that was incredibly reassuring,” Steph sighed. “You are the epitome of health and wellbeing. Now sit down and eat before you pass out.”

Tim sat down and ate. One bite into the sandwich he realized just how hungry he actually was and practically absorbed the rest of it, as well as three bags of chips. Steph smugly watched the whole thing, eating her own sandwich at a much slower pace.

Once Tim finally came up for air, he felt somewhat normal again. The creaking metal and smashing glass faded to a distant background noise.

“Thank you,” he said honestly after a few minutes of peaceful silence. “I think I needed that.”

“You think?” Steph snorted. “You know, most people are supposed to eat 3 meals a day?”

“What?!” Tim gasped. “Who has the time?” Steph narrowed her eyes at him.

“Are you kidding? You better be kidding.”

“If I say yes, would that make you less angry?”

“Tim!”

He laughed at the expression on Steph’s face. He really had missed talking to her.

“Thanks again for the food,” he said. He was an expert at changing the subject. “Do you not have work today? I thought you would be at your WE internship or at the clinic?”

“I only work at the clinic in the mornings a few times a week,” the blonde answered, suddenly stiff. 

“And your internship?” Tim pressed.

“On a hiatus. I’m not really sure if I’m going to go back or not.”

Tim did his best not to gape too openly, but he was suddenly more awake than he had been all day. 

“What? You’re going to quit? What happened?”

“It’s fine, Tim,” she sighed, “Don’t worry about it so much. I just don’t feel very respected there right now. Maybe business isn’t for me.”

“But you’re great at it!” Tim practically yelled. “At business, I mean. You’re doing a lot of good there, even if you’re only an intern.” He was trying very hard to follow the metaphor and not outright beg Steph to stay as Robin (he was pretty sure that was what this conversation was about. To his knowledge Steph only showed up to WE once a week to somewhat keep her cover, so he was dubious about her passion for business).

“You don’t know what being an intern is like!” She began to pace around the table. “They won’t let you do anything, because you’re an intern! You can’t do anything alone! And all they ever talk about is the intern that worked there before you that everyone loved. And you know no matter what you do you’ll never live up to the intern that came before you!”

“Well maybe you should apply for a salaried position?” Tim suggested. “I bet if you showed that you were willing to take on more responsibility they would let you do more.”

“You want me to apply for a position at WE?” Steph asked with a raised brow. 

Tim opened his mouth and then closed it. He guessed that was kind of what he was telling her to do. He would never be caught dead at WE himself, but he couldn’t exactly say that to Steph when he was trying to convince her to stay Robin. But she didn’t know he was trying to convince her to stay Robin. Metaphors were so confusing.

“Yes?” he finally answered. “Maybe say that you’re thinking about quitting if things stay the way they are. If Sammy told me she’d quit if I didn’t give her a $5 million raise, I’d fire half my board to make room in the budget.”

“They don’t respect me enough for an ultimatum to work,” Steph scoffed. 

“You never know. They could surprise you.”

“I doubt that,” she snorted. But Tim could tell she was thinking about it by the way her eyes lit up just slightly. Good. Even if Steph was done with Robin, she was too good of a hero to quit the vigilante game altogether. Tim knew she would figure something out.

“Whatever happens, you’ll figure out a way to keep helping people,” Tim assured. He got up from the kitchen table and stretched out his back. “I’ve got some work I need to take care of. You’re welcome to chill here for a while, or I can walk you back to the bus stop, if you want?”

Steph leveled a glare at him from the head of the table that could have curdled milk.

“You are not going to work.”

“I’m not?” In hindsight, probably a stupid question to ask.

“No!” Steph almost yelled. “You are going to sleep you moron!”

“But I’m not tired?”

“Timothy Jackson Drake.” Tim shivered involuntarily. “You have bags under your eyes that are so big, they’re going to overtake your face soon.”

“I don’t think that’s how eye bags work–”

“Tim!” Steph grabbed his face and forced him to look into her eyes. “You are going to bed. Nothing you do or say will change that.” 

He was pretty sure he could easily keep himself from going to bed, but that would require Buzzard skills, which would likely give him away.

Steph once again proved that it was insane Tim was the only 9 year old that had figured out the Bats’ identities when she showed none of his restraint and picked him up and slung him over her shoulder. He would deny the undignified squawk he let out until the day he died.

“Holy– Steph! I can go to bed by myself!”

“If that were true, you would have been in bed when I got here,” the blonde menace sniffed primly. “By the way, I was right to force you to eat too. You should not be this light.”

Tim grumbled at that.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m light. Most people don’t pick me up and sling me over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

“Well most people don’t know the optimal way of traveling.” She dumped him on the couch unceremoniously. When he tried to get up she sat on his legs. “Nope! You are staying right here until you’re sleeping like a baby!”

He looked at her and imagined fear in her eyes. He saw her jumping into a harbor so his bike didn’t smash her skull into the pavement. He closed his eyes instead, but the sound of the screeching Batmobile was back. His eyes flew open again.

“I’m not sure I can go to sleep without some noise,” he admitted quietly. 

Steph stared at him for a few seconds, thinking deeply. Tim knew she was trying to decide on how much to pry into his business. He hoped she would just leave it be. He must have looked desperate enough because she just sighed.

“What if I tell you a story?”

“Like a kid?” Tim wrinkled his nose. “I’m 15, Steph. I don’t need a bedtime story to fall asleep.”

“What if it’s about Batman and Robin?” He perked up a bit at that and she shot him a knowing grin.

“I already know everything about Batman and Robin,” he huffed, just to be difficult (not that it wasn’t true).

“Even from the year you were gone?”

Tim would’ve sat up, if not for his captor still sitting on his legs. He had read enough reports about Batman’s dealings while he was away (both from the Batcomputer files and the GCPD files), but he had only skimmed it. Hearing it from the source… Even if Steph would have to be vague to keep her identity “secret” it still might be nice.

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.” He tried to sound nonchalant, but Steph’s face revealed she saw right through his bullshit.

“I thought you might like that.” She leaned back against his parents’ garish white couch and thought hard. “I think the week the streets were frozen solid and Batman and Robin had to put skates on the Batmobile might be a good place to start.”

And start she did. Steph rattled off detail after detail about Batman and Robin, making sure to be as specific as possible for Tim. It reminded him of when they used to talk about the Dynamic Duo at lunch, all those years before. It gave him a warm feeling deep in his chest to remember. 

The longer Steph talked, the more her voice pushed out all of the other thoughts in his head. It was harder to hear that smashing of the Batmobile over her retelling of Nightwing spending an entire fight with the Penguin falling on his ass because of all of the ice. It was harder to imagine her face frozen in shock and fear when it was lit with laughter and fond memories.

Tim found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. The past few days were catching up with him and the weight on his legs was comforting and grounding. He let her smooth voice and light laughter carry him off into a steady and nightmare-free sleep.

~

When Tim woke up the sun had almost completely set outside. His legs were stiff and his head was foggy, but Steph was nowhere to be seen. He limped over to the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and found a container of soup there. It had a note that said “ you better eat this for dinner, moron” which he could only assume was Steph’s doing.

He was a little concerned that she had not only left without him realizing, but had also managed to make soup without him even budging. She probably also ordered the ingredients to the house, because anything she found in the cabinets would most likely poison him from being 3 years out of date.

He ate the soup (chicken noodle) in silence while he thought about his next move. Now that the grogginess was wearing off, he could grudgingly admit that he did feel better. He guessed people weren’t lying when they said that stuff about eating and sleeping being healthy. Still, he would need to go out on patrol and he was pretty sure a certain red-helmeted murderer would be waiting for him.

Jason probably shouldn’t be out on the town right after getting a nasty concussion, but Tim doubted that would stop him. It wasn’t like he had any room to talk, anyway.

Jason would probably want to continue his interrogation from before he passed out. And Tim needed to decide what to tell him. He obviously wasn’t going to divulge his identity, but maybe some background information on Buzzard would tide him over. Just a few things, like who he was trained by. Revealing he was trained by one of Nightwing’s mortal enemies might actually earn him some street cred with Jason anyway.

Mind made up, Tim finished the last of his soup and started to suit up. He hadn’t made much headway on the drug investigation, but his all nighter gave him enough to go off of. He was sure Hood would prefer knocking some heads to computer research anyway.

Buzzard left the Drake House feeling better than he had in days. He refused to believe it was because he actually ate a good meal and got some sleep. That definitely wasn’t it. 

His goal was to hang around Crime Alley and his usual meeting spot with Jason until the older teen showed up. However, after an hour of light patrol and breaking up a few attempted muggings and some low level drug deals, Jason still hadn’t made an appearance. Buzzard felt a little guilty. He must have really hit Jason hard if he was in bad enough shape to not try to come throttle Buzzard with his bare hands for knowing too much.

He resigned himself to a night solo and went about business as usual. He was a little worried about the Bats trying to encroach on his territory, but he was pretty sure he still had a day or two before they got bold enough to track him down. After the damage he did, Batman was going to be a lot more cautious and have a very calculated plan the next time they met. 

Buzzard just hoped it didn’t end with him locked in an Arkham cell.

It was nearing midnight when he felt that he was no longer alone. Everytime Buzzard turned around, he couldn’t see anyone near him, but he was unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched closely. There was only one person that would activate that feeling in him.

Buzzard let him follow him for another hour before he finally got fed up with being watched.

“What do you want, Slade?” Buzzard called out after stopping on a secluded roof. “I thought we had moved past the whole stalking thing.”

“It took you a while to notice me,” a disembodied voice answered. Buzzard huffed.

“I noticed you in plenty of time. I just chose not to acknowledge you because you’re a creepy asshole. Why are you here?”

Slade materialized from the shadows in front of him. Buzzard gave it the customary eye roll it deserved (despite the fact Slade couldn’t see it. And despite the fact Buzzard secretly thought it was pretty cool). 

Salde was wearing his mask, so it was difficult for Buzzard to tell what he was thinking. Not that it was easy to tell what the mercenary was thinking when he wasn’t wearing a mask. So maybe it was the same as normal. All this to say, Slade’s expression was hidden from him.

“I thought your plan was to lay low, little birdie.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the access door to the roof stairs. “You don’t seem to be doing a very good job of it.”

“Plans change,” Buzzard hedged. “You told me we either adapt or die.”

“I didn’t think anything I told you sunk in.”

“You accompany anything with a kick to the ribs and it tends to sink in ,” Buzzard replied with fake cheer. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

“Whoever said kids are pleasant were lying.”

“What. Do. You. Want.”

“Watch your tone, bird,” Slade growled dangerously, “you’re going to be singing a different song once you hear what I have to say.”

Then say it! Buzzard thought but did not say because he had a very healthy fear of Slade Wilson. He stayed silent, waiting for his asshole teacher to continue.

“That’s better.” His demeanor changed, then, no longer slouching against the wall. Buzzard immediately tensed. He thought Slade was talking out of his ass when he said he had important information but now he was starting to second guess.

“You’ve piqued the interest of a lot of powerful people,” the mercenary said without further preamble. “The League of Assassins is aware of you, now.”

“So what?” Buzzard shrugged, though his stomach dropped down to his boots. “You don’t think you trained me well enough to deal with a few assassins?”

Slade laughed humorlessly.

“I could train you for 100 years and you would never be ready to deal with Ra’s Al Ghul. No one is that good. Not even me. And definitely not you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Buzzard muttered, but his mind was already spinning. He hadn’t dealt with Ra’s personally yet, but he was well aware of the danger he posed from reading the Batcomputer notes. He wasn’t someone Buzzard wanted to be on the radar of, but it was too late for that now.

“Does he plan to do anything?” he asked his mentor.

“Oh I’m sure,” Slade responded. “He’s always after something and he’s very good at getting whatever it is. As for what he wants, I can only guess. Take your pick between the grandson that’s hiding in this city and your new partner.” Buzzard tried to look surprised at the mention of Damian, but Slade wasn’t buying it. “Playing dumb doesn’t work for you, Little Bird. It’s the one thing I can confidently say you are not.”

Was that a compliment? Buzzard was pretty sure that was a compliment.

“They haven’t gone after the kid in 3 years,” Buzzard pointed out. He decided getting answers was more important than aiming for any kind of subtlety. “Why would the Demon’s Head want him back now? Plus, the last time he tried getting him back, his assassins were fought off easily.”

“I don’t pretend to know why he does anything. I just know he’s dangerous.”

“You came all the way to Gotham just to warn me Ra’s Al Ghul might do something?”

Slade tensed and Buzzard knew he said something wrong.

“This isn’t a trivial matter, fool,” growled Deathstroke. “I came all the way to Gotham to warn you that you are now being watched by the most dangerous man in the world. If you can’t appreciate that, you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”

Well that was a quick turnaround.

“I get it,” Buzzard said, “trust me. I just don’t know what that means for me. I’m a teenaged vigilante in Gotham, how much of a threat does he think I pose?”

“This schtick of you playing dumb is starting to get on my nerves, boy.”

Buzzard was taken aback. He didn’t like to play dumb. So if he was saying something dumb it was an organic kind of dumb.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“Did you think you could sneak into the League of Assassins headquarters and get away with it for the rest of your life?” 

Buzzard blanched. He had known when he followed Batman into the Nanda Parbat base three years before that he would be recorded. He just didn’t think a 13 year old in a domino and Batman cape would get traced back to Buzzard.

“How do they know about that?” he breathed. “How do you know about that? I wasn’t exactly in uniform.”

“I told you, word is traveling fast about you,” Slade said simply. “As for how they know who you are? You didn’t consider that the biggest assassin organization would have audio devices embedded in their cameras?”

“I was young,” Buzzard defended, red faced. Now that Slade mentioned it, he vividly remembered discussing the moniker ‘Buzzard’ with Damien in the middle of the hallway. Shit.

“Well now Ra’s Al Ghul knows who you are, and he knows that you were the one that took his grandson.” The gravity of Slade’s words hit Buzzard hard. He had already made enemies of the entire hero crowd and a large portion of Gotham’s underground. Could he survive Ra’s Al Ghul’s ire on top of that? He wasn’t so sure. He didn’t have enough friends to counterbalance all of the enemies he had made in a few short weeks.

“What happens if he comes for me?” 

“Not if, but when,” Slade responded. Which was only helpful if his goal was to make Buzzard take a nosedive off the roof. “I told you, that man gets what he wants when he’s made his mind up. A warning is the best I can give you. You’re on your own for everything else.”

“What about a contract to keep the more dangerous guys off my back while I figure something out?” Buzzard knew that was a long shot, confirmed by Slade’s immediate dismissive snort.

“There’s not enough money in the world to get me to something as stupid as that,” the assassin said honestly. “Nothing against you, kid. I just feel like staying alive for a little bit longer.”

Buzzard expected as much. Expectation didn’t stop the familiar sting that so often accompanied a conversation with Slade.

“Well, at least you can tell your assassin buddies that it took Ra’s Al Ghul to take down your student. That should help your street cred.” Buzzard was aiming for a joking tone, but his words just sounded bitter and defeated, even to his own ears. Slade became very still and cocked his head to the side, considering Buzzard.

“You should get out of town, Little Bird,” his teacher said quietly. Buzzard was really feeling doomed with Slade being so nice. “The Demon’s Head will find you, but you can hide for a few years, see the world.”

“I’m not going into retirement before I hit my 16th birthday,” sighed Buzzard. “Besides, I’ve got too much left to do here in Gotham. I can hold off Ra’s for long enough to finish what I started.”

Slade only shrugged. He was obviously expecting that answer.

“Whatever you say. Just don’t be surprised when you wake up in a cell.”

“I’ll try to contain my excitement,” Buzzard said dryly. “Anything else I need to know before you ship out?”

“I might stick around for a bit,” Slade shrugged. That was not the answer Buzzard was expecting or hoping for. “I have some business in Gotham. I’m waiting on some information on a job. I might antagonize the Bats a bit. Could take some of the heat off of you for a few days.”

“How nice of you,” Buzzard drawled. “You would commit crime just for me?”

“I don’t need to commit crime to catch heat from that group,” Slade said. Buzzard knew he wasn’t wrong. “I guess I’m just special.” 

Slade put a hand to his ear, listening to something coming across his comm. 

“That’s my call, Little Bird. Hopefully the next time I see you you’re not hanging on the wall of the Demon Head.”

Buzzard’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. Would a pleasant farewell from Deathstroke kill the man? Probably.

He elected not to respond, instead standing still as a statue as his teacher melted back into the shadows. He let out a heavy breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

Ok. So my problem total just went up from 1,000 to 1 million. That’s fine. Totally fine. I love being hunted by the leader of an assassin organization. This is so fine.

What was getting on the bad side of Ra’s Al Ghul in the grand scheme of things anyway? He would rather be hunted down by a bunch of assassins than have his head melted away by Superman’s heat vision. 

Buzzard sighed and decided to continue on with his patrol. If Slade was right and he really was going to be pursued by the Demon’s Head, the best thing to do was proceed as normal to keep suspicion away. If he started acting like the sky was falling he’d alert the League of Assassins, which would only make them jump on him early.

Buzzard grappled to the next building. Already the shadows of Gotham were starting to play tricks on his eyes. There could be an assassin in any nook or cranny. Slade implied there were already some in the city. Acting normal might be more difficult than Buzzard was anticipating.

He did his best to stay focussed for the rest of his patrol, but without Jason around to antagonize him and quip at, things were slow and tense. He had only worked with the vigilante once and he was already unused to patrolling alone.

Whatever. Jason would be back by the next day and they could get started in earnest on tracking down the new Gotham drugs, and Buzzard would feel slightly safer with another person at his side.

He was hungry by the time patrol was over, and his eyes were becoming heavy with the thought of sleep. Buzzard thought about what Steph had said about him eating and sleeping more. He thought about the League of Assassins in Gotham, hunting her down because of her association to him or the Bats. Buzzard would sleep when the city was safe. Until then everything would be fine. He could last long enough to fix things.

He was fine.

~

Slade watched the bird move on to the next building with detached indifference. He analyzed his student, drowning out any other thought that threatened to rise to the surface.

His form on the grapple was sloppy (was the muscle in his arms deteriorating?), his awareness was obviously split (should Salde have waited to tell him about the assassins?), and his suit and armor were bunching on him awkwardly (the kid needed to eat more, why wasn’t he eating?).

Truly a poor excuse for a student. Even with Slade’s warning he gave the boy a few weeks at best before he was killed or worse. The little bird was about to find out just how cutthroat this business could be.

The only reason Slade bothered to say anything in the first place was because he still owed the kid. Which he hated. The first time in decades he’d lost his focus, and it resulted in owing a debt to a teenager with too much morality, and a guilt complex larger than anything Slade had ever experienced (which he definitely did not make worse by leaving the kid halfway through their training. Even if he did, it didn’t matter. It had been the best decision for both of them. Slade was in no position to take care of a kid that had just broken his self-assigned cardinal rule, and the kid didn’t need to be around the man he broke it for. It was the best decision).

He told himself he didn’t care if the kid died or not, and it was true. Vigilantism wasn’t too far off mercenary or assassination work in the grand scheme of things. People died. Anyone worth the sword on their back knew it was a risk whenever they took a job. Buzzard would die one day, even if it wasn’t in the near future like Slade suspected. The world would move on, people would probably mourn. Slade might even go to the funeral if it was convenient for him.

He was ruminating too much. He was getting chatty in his old age (in his head). If he never took the damn kid on in the first place, he would be dead by now and Slade wouldn’t be losing any sleep thinking about him (not that he was losing sleep now. Slade slept just as long as he wanted to). Unfortunately, the brat had flashed too much cash to ignore. If he were a good and noble person like the Bat Brat he would’ve sent the kid away, but if Buzzard wanted to pay Slade millions for his premature death, he wasn’t going to argue. His weapons didn’t pay for themselves.

Plus, it wasn’t like it was a painless 7 months babysitting the kid. Slade was frequently reminded every day why he did not like children. The brat was brash, and too smart for his own good (and did not have a single ounce of self preservation in his skinny frame), and was obedient to a point that was almost enough to freak Slade out. He constantly tried to push the kid’s buttons, making him learn how to shoot every firearm Slade had in his collection (a non-significant number), which obviously brought displeasure but no complaints. He made the boy learn every way to kill someone (and boy did that come in handy) with hardly a single complaint, except for when Slade tried to joke about Buzzard practicing on one of his targets. That had brought a satisfying reaction out.

Not to say the kid was emotionless around Slade. He was snarky, haughty, and always had some kind of quip. Slade hated quips. Slade hated children making quips.

For a normal kid, Slade would give them 2 days at best to survive the attention of Ra’s Al Ghul. A normal kid would not even register on Ra’s Al Ghul’s radar. Buzzard was not a normal kid. 7 months of living under the same roof and Slade didn’t know who was under that mask. And he had tried to find out. By month 4 he had given up on trying. He was pretty sure that boy was more Buzzard than he was civilian anyway. Worked out well for Slade. Civilians were harder to deal with.

An alert in his ear broke him from his thoughts. Buzzard had disappeared deeper into Gotham and Slade was still standing on the roof. Sloppy.

He pressed his comm to activate the call.

“ You’re unusually difficult to reach today, Wilson.”

“I had business to take care of,” was all Slade gave away. “You said you have a job for me?”

“Yes. I assume your usual rate will work?”

The merc snorted.

“You know how this works. Give me the job first and then I’ll let you know the rate.”

“The information is being sent to you as we speak.” On cue Slade’s burner received several files. “I trust this won’t be too difficult for a man of your station?”

Slade’s eyebrows raised.

“A 15 year old? You know I don’t do contracts for kids.”

“Yes, yes, I included your usual rate for the ‘I don’t kill kids’ contract. You don’t have to pretend to have a moral conscience. Trust me, it’s much easier when you don’t.”

Slade almost felt bad at how quickly his mind settled at the thought of the paycheck he would receive. Almost

“What did this guy do to piss you off so much? Aren’t you a little old to have a vendetta against a teenager.”

“This one has proven to be more of a thorn than anticipated. My former attempts to… remove him from the equation have produced surprisingly small results.”

“You’ve had other contracts on him?” Slade studied Timothy Drake’s personal files with more interest. He didn’t see how this spoiled rich kid was capable of warding off assassination attempts. No parents, only an uncle that was never around. The kid ran a company so maybe he was more put together than Slade was giving him credit for.

“I thought lower tier men in your business would suffice for the job, but I seem to have been wrong.”

Another surprise.

“You’re admitting to being wrong, Luthor? I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yes, well,” intoned the billionaire boredly, “it has been known to happen every once and a while. That’s why I need to clean up the loose ends in a prudent fashion.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Slade decided. What was one more death on his mind? “Wire the money as usual and I’ll have it done by the end of the week.”

“Excellent. It’s been a pleasure, as always.”

Slade rolled his eyes.

“Sure, Luthor.” The comm turned off with a click and Slade took a few minutes to look at the files he had been sent a little closer. 

He really couldn’t find anything that would suggest the boy was important enough that the contract would make its way all the way to him, but Slade wasn’t going to question good money.

By the end of the week Timothy Drake would be dead.

Chapter Text

Damian was getting soft. He would always appreciate his new family’s insistence on keeping him away from vigilante work while he grew (well, he probably would appreciate it as soon as he was no longer annoyed about it), but without the constant sharpening of his skills, he was becoming complacent and out of practice.

That was why he was more frustrated than surprised when the assassins managed to get the jump on him in the art store. He was buying new paints with Alfred as a reward for getting an A on his English paper (Damian knew it was mostly an excuse to get him away from the manor while Stephanie and Father yelled at each other about Robin since Damian always got As on his assignments) and the butler had wandered back to the car to get his jacket. Then a dozen customers idly making rounds of the store pulled out various blades and had Damian surrounded in an instant. A typical move that Damian was too distracted to see.

That was what happened when you were forced to replace daily swordplay training with art time. Yes, he enjoyed it more, but at what cost? Getting jumped in an art store. That was the cost.

He wanted to fight back, but he couldn’t see the store clerk and he knew how the League of Assassins operated. If he attempted to resist, they would cause collateral damage, starting with the lives of innocent people. Damian would just slit their throats once they were away from the premises. Except he didn’t have his knives on him because Father refused to allow him weapons in public. At least now he had a substantial argument with evidence as to why that should change the next time they had the discussion.

The assassins led Damian out the back door of the store, which was fine. Damian knew Alfred was more than capable of handling himself in just about any situation, but even he might struggle to bring down so many enemies. At least, without a firearm.

When they were behind the building and into the alleyway, the assassins bound Damian and checked him over for any weapons, though they found nothing. He stayed calm through the whole process. If the fools wanted to kill him, he’d be dead already. Plus, Alfred would be suspicious of his whereabouts almost immediately upon finding the store empty. Batman would be alerted soon and it did not take an adept and well maintained brain to know where the assassins were taking him.

If all else failed and Batman could not rescue him, Damian had a fallback.

He flexed his foot around the small lump in his shoe the moronic assassins neglected to check. If need be, Damian was sure he could escape long enough to plug the little drive into a terminal somewhere.

~

Just once, Tim wanted something to go right for him. One afternoon where no one was trying to kill him and he wasn’t making himself an enemy of the state. That was all he wanted.

The motion detectors he planted outside Jason’s safe house hadn’t gone off in over a day. Which meant Jason hadn’t left in over a day. Which was bad news considering he was heavily concussed. If Tim had accidentally killed Jason that would be very bad.

He spent the whole day waiting to put on his Buzzard gear and go make sure Jason was still breathing. The only reason he didn’t storm out of his office and check on the vigilante during the day was because Sammy was not-so-subtly standing outside his office and looking through his windows to make sure he wasn’t having another combined sleep deprivation hunger crash. He swore he saw her videoing him at one point. She was probably sending it to Tabitha. He hoped to all things holy she wasn’t sending it to Steph.

As soon as the sun started to set that night, he put on his costume in record time and Buzzard was flying across the city in a matter of minutes.

He just needed to check on Jason, get him whatever help he needed (as long as he was still breathing), and then be on his way without overstaying his welcome. And without answering any of the teen’s burning questions about his identity.

Buzzard got to Jason’s apartment before darkness had even fully settled over Gotham. He swung over to the window and reached out to open it, and paused. His sensors didn’t go off. Even if it was just him, they still should have notified Buzzard when he swung over to the window.

Buzzard ripped the window open, subtlety gone. He pushed himself through and onto the threshold. His pulse was beating rapidly.

“Hood?” He called. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe Jason noticed the sensors and shut them off himself. “Hood! Are you here?”

No one answered. Buzzard hastily searched the apartment, but found nothing. There were no signs of a struggle of any kind, but Jason’s bed was unmade, blankets and sheets strewn aside like he had gone somewhere hastily. If this was Buzzard’s room, he wouldn’t be concerned (making beds was just a waste of time that delayed the 30 seconds he could be using to make coffee), but Jason seemed like the kind of freak that wanted to at least create the illusion of cleanliness.

Buzzard spent half an hour in Hood’s apartment, desperately searching for any kind of clues, but he couldn’t find a thing. It was like Jason just vanished.

Either Buzzard was overreacting and Jason was out in the streets decapitating some mob bosses and stuffing their heads in bags, or something was seriously wrong. He was not optimistic enough to think that he would be overreacting the one time it would be beneficial to his situation. He needed to get back home and monitor the security cameras around the apartment. It was his only way of knowing where Jason had gone. 

Buzzard climbed out of the safe house and onto the roof. He took a deep breath to calm the unease settling deep in his gut. 

Jason was a bulky, deadly, highly trained killing machine. If something did happen to him, he could take care of himself until Buzzard managed to track him down. 

Probably. Buzzard had given him a pretty bad concussion so his abilities might be slightly hindered… He was really starting to feel like whatever happened to Jason was most definitely his fault.

He fired his grapple over to the next building, resolving to keep his panic to a minimum until he could figure out what was happening. 

If nothing else, the familiar swinging of his grapple and the strain on his arms was enough of a comfort to slow his heart. 

Well, at least until he was passing the Clocktower and his line suddenly snapped above him.

Buzzard carefully considered while he was plummeting to his death if it was bad karma that killed him, an act of God, or he really was just unlucky. Personally, he was willing to believe it was a combination of the three (though he wasn’t sure what god he pissed off enough to warrant death), but maybe that was just his hubris talking.

Just before he found out what a Buzzard-shaped pancake would look like on the streets of Gotham, he was grabbed under the arms by steady hands and swung back into the skyline of Gotham, where he was dumped roughly on the top of a building.

Buzzard lay facedown on the hard concrete, trying to get his breath back and buy time to take stock of his surroundings. Had the assassins found him already? Slade warned him they were lurking in the city, but he thought he had more time before they started coming after him.

He took advantage of his colored lenses that obscured his eyes. No one could see if his eyes were open or where he was looking, so he took the time to pick up every detail he possibly could.

Whoever had grabbed him wasn’t showing themselves yet, standing behind his prone form. He was still near the Clocktower and nothing seemed to be blowing up around him. This was probably a personal attack rather than supervillain collateral. Buzzard needed to be careful. He slowly reached into his bandolier and pulled out a few feathers. 

“I wouldn’t make any sudden moves,” a voice said, chillingly cold. “I’m not in the mood tonight.”

It took Buzzard several seconds to place where he had heard the voice before because it was so uncharacteristically angry.

Was that Nightwing?

Slowly he turned over, facing his attempted murderer/savior/interrogator/other things Buzzard would fill in while this conversation played out. If it was even a conversation and not a beating. 

Sure enough, Nightwing was standing on the roof in front of him, arms crossed. Looking pissed. If he was going to die, at least it would be pretty cool to be beaten to death by Nightwing. Although, he’d really rather the guy not break his no killing rule. Maybe they could avoid that.

“If you wanted to talk about something you could have just said so,” Buzzard said boredly. The Bats thought he was a murderer now. He needed to at least try to act the part to avoid suspicion. “Snapping my line like that could’ve gotten someone hurt.”

“I’m not going to play games with you!” spat Nightwing. Ok, he was maybe more mad than Buzzard anticipated. “Where is he?”

Buzzard blinked. He waited but Nightwing offered nothing else.

“Uh. Where’s who?”

The man let out a guttural snarl  and moved faster than Buzzard could track. In under a second Nightwing grabbed him by the collar and had him hanging over the Gotham streets below. 

Buzzard was really curious now.

“As much as I’d love to take credit for whatever it is you think I’ve done,” he suppressed a shiver from the cold wind biting through his suit, “I don’t actually know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Nightwing cried. Buzzard swung dangerously in the air. He wondered what Nightwing’s arm routine was to be able to hold him up for so long. “You know too much about us. About our identities. You did something to him! You took him!”

Things were starting to click in Buzzard’s head. Nightwing was angry, yes. But underneath that was genuine fear. Only losing someone from his family would have Nightwing filled with that much fear.

“Me knowing too much about you is not my fault, so jot that down,” Buzzard said, because he was an asshole and it was also true. “And I didn’t take anyone.” Did Nightwing know that Jason was missing? Was that what this whole thing was about?

“My grip is starting to slip.” He let Buzzard drop a few inches before pulling him back up. It probably would’ve been more intimidating if Buzzard didn’t know that Nightwing wouldn’t hurt him. Well he probably wouldn’t. 

“Oh no Brer Fox, please don’t throw me into the briar patch,” Buzzard intoned boredly. He wanted to help Dick with whatever had him freaking out to the point of threatening a teenager, but he still had a persona to uphold.

“What?” Nightwing asked. His bewilderment caused a falter in the mean and scary schtick.

“Brer Rabbit? And the briar patch? The classic cartoon?”

“Wasn’t that a weird Disney World ride that got shut down?”

If Buzzard wasn’t using both of his hands to hold onto Nightwing’s wrist so he wasn’t dropped to his death, he would have face-palmed.

“Yes. It was also a Disney World ride. The point I’m trying to make is that if you drop me I’ll just escape. You don’t think a fall from 7 stories is enough to kill me do you?”

“I’d certainly like to test the theory,” Dick growled.

“By all means,” Buzzard invited, “I’m getting tired of this lack of a conversation anyway.”

Nightwing growled again and hurled Buzzard around and threw him back onto the concrete, where he landed uncomfortably on the shoulder that had had a batarang buried in it.

“Ow,” Buzzard muttered. It was probably time to stop playing around and actually get some answers. He decided to test the waters. “You know, maybe you should tell me who is missing before you beat the shit out of me for something I didn’t even do.”

“I can beat you up all I want,” Nightwing scoffed, “you’re literally a murderer!”

“No, if you’re beating me up for murdering you have to call it! Right now you’re beating me up for an alleged kidnapping I didn’t commit. Do you really want to break the beating up rules?”

“That’s not a thing! Stop dodging the question!”

“I’m not dodging anything,” Buzzard groused, rubbing his shoulder. “You just won’t give me any details, so I don’t feel obligated to give you a satisfying answer.” He got to his feet and readied his staff. Buzzard wasn’t super confident about going up against Nightwing solo, but the older man was too pent up and if Buzzard tried to leave it would result in another chase that could end with another car crash or cut grappling line. 

Nightwing’s body answered Buzzard’s seeming willingness to fight, dropping into a fighting stance with both escrima sticks raised.

“I don’t want to fight,” the first Boy Wonder said smoothly, “but I’ll do what I need to.”

He was on Buzzard in an instant, almost sloppy with how eager for violence he was.

“You don’t want to fight?” Buzzard asked incredulously. He dodged a stick that was aimed for his jaw and grunted around the pain of Nightwing’s other escrima stick striking his thigh. A sharp burning pain told him the electricity was activated and his body seized up for less than a second. Plenty of time for Nightwing to land a powerful kick to Buzzard’s midsection that sent him flying back. “That is so a lie,” he groaned from his third stint laying on the concrete roof in a matter of minutes.

“What did you and Hood do with him?” Nightwing shouted. “Where are you keeping him?”

That was a lot more information to go off of. Buzzard thought about it while he climbed back to his feet.

Ok so he’s not asking about why Jason is missing then, he concluded. Did something happen to one of the Bats? Is it somehow connected to Jason’s disappearance?

Buzzard set his feet and readied his bo staff.

“Hood and I haven’t done anything with anyone,” Buzzard scoffed. Then to put it in terms Nightwing would understand based on what he thought he knew about Buzzard, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we aren’t really about the whole live hostage thing.”

Yes, Buzzard did not feel great about leaning into acting like a murderer. Unfortunately, it was deeply low on his list of things to worry about.

“I swear to God, if you’ve hurt him–”

“I’m so tired of this,” the teen sighed. Buzzard rushed forward and jabbed at Nightwing with his staff. The man was obviously determined to prolong their interaction until a fight took place, so Buzzard would just have to oblige until his mind cleared enough to think rationally.

Easier said than done. Nightwing was good . Frankly, Buzzard was outmatched in several different ways. Fighting Nightwing was different than fighting someone like Jason because Jason was all muscle and brute force. It was dodging and weaving and trying to do enough damage before one of his attacks landed and did real damage. Fighting Nightwing was like trying to fist fight a heat-seeking missile. The man was incredibly agile and flexible, expertly weaving around and ducking under Buzzard’s bo staff like he was playing a particularly high energy game of limbo. 

Nightwing’s vast experience compared to Buzzard was also on full display. The vigilante had been fighting since he was Batman’s 10 year old sidekick and it showed. Not only was he able to dodge almost all of Buzzard’s attacks, he was incredibly good at striking where Buzzard’s guard slipped. A kick to the knee when Buzzard overextended his reach. An escrima to the face when he tried to adjust his block down. Nightwing’s landing attacks weren’t as powerful as Jason’s would be, but they were incredibly precise and were quickly adding up on Buzzard’s already flagging body.

A backflip to create space pulled at the stitches on Buzzard’s abdomen. An erratic overhand strike pulled at the stitches beneath his shoulder. Why did Buzzard let himself get stabbed so much again? It was becoming inconvenient.

As much as Buzzard loved his staff, it wasn’t going to work. Nightwing was getting under his guard too quickly and he wasn’t fast enough to block him with a staff. Instead he armed himself with two knives. He didn’t want to deal lethal damage to Nightwing, but something lighter would help him be more fluid and better match the older vigilante’s strikes.

Their fight turned from a one sided brawl to an elaborate dance between the two of them. The name of the game was no longer blocking, just dodging around attacks and trying to counter effectively. Buzzard itched to throw some feathers or drop a couple of smoke pellets to even the playing field a bit, but he resisted. Nightwing needed to let all of his aggression out if Buzzard was going to have a conversation with him. He was too worried about Buzzard being a murderer (which was probably fair) to accurately gather the information he was looking for. Buzzard could wait him out.

The longer they went, the looser Nightwing got. His shoulders lost some of their tension, and his expression went from that of anger to deep focus. The act of being forced to move to meet Buzzard and chase him down was forcing him to think. 

When Nightwing finally disarmed Buzzard after almost 15 minutes of their cat and mouse game, it was with a much calmer and composed air. 

Buzzard was breathing hard, and was dismayed to see that Nightwing’s own breathing was still steady. A year of training and he could only barely last through a fight with Nightwing? Pathetic.

“Your fighting style is familiar,” Nightwing commented, taking in Buzzard’s exhausted form. “Who was your teacher?”

Buzzard thought about all of the times Deathstroke had attacked Dick and his friends and the numerous attempts on his life.

“I’d rather not say,” he replied honestly.

“I beat you fair and square!” Nightwing argued with his smug grin. “That means you have to tell me!”

“You won fair and square because I made the executive decision to not fight dirty and lethally.” Buzzard huffed and sheathed his knives. “Did you get it all out of your system? Can we talk like adults now?”

“You’re not old enough to talk like an adult,” Nightwing needled. And Buzzard didn’t care if it was an attempt at an olive branch, no way was he going to stand for that when he let himself get embarrassed for 15 minutes so Dick could get out of Batman Brooding Mode.

“I’ve killed people,” Buzzard sniffed, “I can talk very much like an adult.”

Predictably the smirk faded from Nightwing’s face. Whoops.

“I think I should probably arrest you for that now.”

“ Or ,” Buzzard pressed, “you can tell me who’s missing and we can exchange intel.”

“You should be capable of exchanging intel from an Arkham cell,” Nightwing suggested.

“I’m really losing my desire to help you.”

“Tell us what you know. Now. ”

Buzzard didn’t even turn around at the new voice. He really should’ve known Nightwing was stalling for Batman the whole time.

“I’m trying to give information,” Buzzard grit out in frustration, “but you chucklefucks,” he was going to hate himself later for calling Batman and Nightwing chucklefucks, “want to play interrogation instead of exchanging information! Is talking to you guys always this annoying?”

“Sure is!” another new voice chimed in (Buzzard was getting a migraine).

“Robin.” That was Batman’s growl. “I gave you direct orders to stay home tonight.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not listening to the garbage that comes out of your mouth until you decide to treat me like a partner,” she said sweetly in return. “So lick pavement, sky rodent.”

“Robin, that’s enough!” interrupted Nigthwing. Buzzard really could probably leave and no one would notice. He did not sign up to bear witness to an episode of Family Feud. 

“Red Hood is missing,” he sighed. 3 heads turned to face him at once. Maybe that would shut them up for a few seconds. “I thought that was who you were talking about,” he nodded towards Nightwing, “but I’m guessing you were talking about someone else?”

“Hood is gone?” Batman whispered in horror. Buzzard did not miss the way Robin glowered at the Caped Crusader. Nightwing must’ve noticed too.

“We had no idea he was gone,” he cut in quickly. “Maybe he took who we’re looking for.”

The final piece clicked into place. Buzzard knew the missing person was in the family. However, Steph, Dick, and Bruce were all accounted for (and not so subtly creating a circle around him so he couldn’t escape. Joy), and Buzzard imagined Mr. Pennyworth and Oracle (Barbara?) weren’t target hostages. That just left Damian. Who was the grandson of the head of an assassin organization. The same organization that Buzzard had been warned less than 24 hours previously had infiltrated the city. The same organization that had presumably been housing Jason since his new stint on life. 

Buzzard could really be an idiot sometimes.

“The fucking League of Assassins,” he groaned. He put his hands over his face and took a second to think. “Of course the League of Assassins took him.”

“Explain,” hissed Batman.

How to do that without revealing how much he knew? If Buzzard revealed he knew about Damian, the Bats would get confirmation that he really did know too much about their identities. It was going to be hard to get away from them once that happened. But they were all detectives, so it was inevitable that they’d find out eventually.

“If I tell you what I know,” he began cautiously, “can we make a deal that you don’t try to arrest me until this situation is sorted out?”

“No.”

“It depends on what the definition of ‘sorted out’ is,” Nightwing said, ignoring Batman completely. 

“Everyone returned to Gotham, safe and sound where they should be.” That was reasonable right?

“No.”

“Those terms are agreeable,” Robin cut in sagely.

“Great,” Buzzard breathed. He just hoped they stuck to those terms once he explained himself.

“We are not compromising with a criminal–”

“I’m pretty sure the League of Assassins took them,” Buzzard began. 

“Both of them?” Nightwing asked. Buzzard nodded. “And you know who we’re talking about?”

He hesitated. Nightwing’s face was resigned, like he already knew the answer, while Robin and Batman looked annoyed and constipated respectfully. 

“Yes.”

Batman took a threatening step forward but was stopped by Nightwing.

“This is a breach of every protocol we have!” Batman snarled. “We can’t just let him walk away!”

“It’s just until we find Damian,” Nightwing tried to reason.

“Names!”

“He already knows his name,” Robin realized. “I bet he knows all of our identities.”

“Impossible,” Batman growled immediately. Then the three of them turned as one to look at Buzzard, who was looking at the sky and doing his best not to make eye contact with anyone.

“Oh my God, he does!” Robin sounded like she was going to pass out. “The murderer knows who I am! Batman is right, we should super not let him go.”

“We have a deal!” Buzzard cried. “Plus, I’ve known for years and never said anything, so it’s fine!”

Buzzard made a mental note that if he ever ran across the opportunity to time travel in the future, he would come back to this moment and chuck a brick at his own head.

“YOU WHAT?!”

“Ok, so it’s been really nice talking to you all,” Buzzard laughed nervously, “but I think I’m gonna head out.” They closed in immediately.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Robin spat. “Have you been stalking me? Have you been stalking my mom? ”

“What? No!”

“Exactly how much do you know?” Nightwing asked, motioning for the other two to stay quiet.

“Not that much?” Buzzard offered weakly.

Nightwing sighed and rubbed his temples. Batman ignored the no talking order.

“You said you’ve known who we are for years. You’ve only been in town for a month.” Buzzard mostly felt awe and wonder whenever he looked at Batman. At that moment, he was getting more of a vibe that he should start composing his will. “Who are you?”

“Figure it out yourself,” he snapped. All of this attention on him was starting to grate irritatingly. “Look, we can get into the nitty gritty of the identity thing when your literal sons aren’t in danger.” Batman reared back like he had been slapped. Buzzard pressed the advantage. “It’s clear to me that the League of Assassins took both of them. I got word recently that they were in town. The longer we stand around talking about it the harder it’s going to be to catch up to them.”

“He’s right, B,” Nightwing said. He looked towards his father desperately. “You know how much D is affected by that place. I’m worried about him.”

“I also want to save D.” Robin jabbed a finger into Buzzard’s chest. “But we are so not done with this conversation. I’m putting a pin the size of the moon in it for now.” They turned to Batman.

“You would like me to ignore the fact a complete stranger knows my identity as well as the identity of all of my children? You want me to put my trust in a murderer while we infiltrate the base of the most deadly organization on the planet? You want me to forget that he could betray us at any second?”

“Yes?” Buzzard said hopefully.

Batman stared at him for 3 long seconds. Then he pulled a canister out of his utility belt and sprayed it in Buzzard’s face quick as a flash.

“You are so fucking annoying,” Buzzard breathed vehemently before collapsing onto the roof, unconscious.

~

Buzzard woke up in a glass cell, which was only frightening for a second until he remembered why he was there. Then he was flat out terrified.

He shot to his feet and took stock of his surroundings. He was in a completely bare cell, save for a cot in one corner and a meager toilet in the other.The little cube was only about 7 feet in either direction, making Buzzard feel like a caged rat immediately. There was a small drain in the floor, no door handles or even recognizable locks, and the walls were made of a thick glass, which meant no privacy.

Breathing deeply so as to not panic, he checked his suit next. His cowl and most of the suit were still intact (thank God the adhesive that kept his domino and cowl in place was working), but they’d taken his bandolier and weapons. His gauntlets had been stripped of all electronics and wiring (his HDMI cables!) and every one of his hidden lockpicks had been found and confiscated. He was truly trapped.

The only thing he had going for him was that they probably didn’t know who he was yet. Buzzard didn’t give it long till they found out.

Still, peering through the glass, it didn’t look like he was in Arkham. It was dark outside his cell, the surroundings lit dimly by fluorescents hung high above. The walls were slightly concave and irregular, seemingly not made of concrete or brick. Was that rock? Was Buzzard in the Bat Cave? That was definitely not good.

It took 10 minutes for his theory to be confirmed. He wanted to believe it took so long because of a lack of cameras, but he was not that stupid (ignoring current events that suggested otherwise).

Batman, flanked by Nightwing and a masked woman in a wheelchair, approached him as one. No doubt he was in the Cave.

Once they were only a few paces from the glass, they stood and looked at him expectantly. Were they expecting him to talk first? His willingness to be cooperative flew out the window the second Batman knocked him out and kidnapped him. As scared as he was, he was not going to play the perfect criminal. Instead, he crossed his arms and sat back on his cot. It didn’t even creak under him, which was a shot to his hopes of finding some loose screws to use.

“We need to know all of the information you have on Red Hood and D’s whereabouts,” Nightwing began when it was clear Buzzard wasn’t going to speak. “Help us, and we can help you.”

Buzzard couldn’t fathom the audacity. 

“Are you serious?” anger quickly pushed away his fear for the time being. “I was going to help you, you morons. Why the hell would I do that after getting drugged and kidnapped?”

Nightwing actually winced, though the other two showed no expression.

“Look this situation isn’t ideal,” he shot a glare Batman’s way, “but you’re a known criminal so we couldn’t exactly trust you.”

“And my information after I’ve been locked in a cell will be more reliable to you?” Buzzard grumbled. Again Nightwing shot a look towards Batman.

“That was a concern for some of us,” he sighed, “but ultimately we decided this was for the best.”

“Well I’ve ultimately decided that you should go fuck yourselves.” So normally, Buzzard wouldn’t talk to Batman like that, but he was a little bit annoyed. Sue him for following in his mother’s footsteps by yelling about it. Although she wouldn’t be happy about the swearing at adults thing.

Batman’s face stayed neutral, while Dick looked like a kicked puppy. To his surprise, the woman in the wheelchair smirked slightly, and hid it by pretending to cough into her hand.

“Are you Oracle?” he asked her. It probably wasn’t the place or time, but he was curious and it was fun to ignore Batman for a few seconds.

“Yes,” Oracle answered with eyebrows raised. “How did you know about me?”

Buzzard felt his face redden under the cowl. What kind of vigilante couldn’t keep their mouths shut?

“I told you he knows a lot about us,” Nightwing sighed. “He probably knows your secret identity too.”

That soured Oracle’s expression. Go figure.

“Is that true?” she asked with a glare. Buzzard balked for a second.

“Are we in the Batcave?” He asked rather than answer her question.

“You know about the Batcave?” Nightwing exclaimed. Oracle elbowed him in the side.

“He knows our identities, doofus. Of course he knows about the Batcave.”

“Oh.” Nightwing rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Fine.” Buzzard took a deep breath. Best to get this all out so they could move on. “Yes, I know all of your identities. No I don’t care nor have I used that information. Yes I know about the Batcave, Batcomputer, Bat Plane, etc. I also know who kidnapped Red Hood and Damian, which seems a little bit more important than all of that other stuff right now. So let me out of this cell so I can help you, or leave me in here and walk into an assassin base unprepared by yourself without any of my knowledge.”

“You already told us you think the League of Assassins has the boys,” Oracle pointed out. “You’ve already shared your most important piece of information and you don’t really have any bargaining power beyond that.”
“I have some contacts in the area that would be a lot of help to us if we’re breaking in.”

“ We aren’t doing anything,” Batman growled. “You are staying here. I’ve been to Nanda Parbat and I know the Demon’s head. We don’t need you.”

The words hit Buzzard like a punch from Superman at full strength. He was too shocked to feel horrified by the sudden tears that sprang from his eyes behind his lenses. 

“Mom, can I go with you this time? I’ve been reading a lot about the artifacts you’re looking for and I could probably be a lot of help! And I wouldn’t have to stay here alone ag–”

“Timothy Jackson Drake!” Janet thundered. Young Tim felt a shiver go up his spine. “How many times do I have to tell you? Your Father and I are going to be much too busy to keep you out of trouble!”

“But I–”

“Do you think just because you read some books you’re an expert? Do you think we’re so bad at our jobs we need a six year old to tell us how to do it?”

“No, I–”

“Go to your room until it’s time for us to leave. We don’t need you to do our jobs.”

Tim was so busy crying in his room he didn’t notice until he woke up the next morning that his parents never came to say goodbye.

There was a hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t his own. How did that get there?

“- think he’s having a panic attack,” a voice said. Maybe it was attached to the arm. “His breathing is erratic.”

“Buzzard, you need to breathe with me.” 

Buzzard? Tim didn’t know who they were talking to. Was there a bird having a panic attack in the house? Tim didn’t think his parents liked birds enough to let one inside. Especially not a scavenger bird.

He tore open his eyes so he could help calm down the bird (when did he close his eyes?), but everything was tinted in a red light. Tim’s hands shot up, desperately clawing at his eyes. His gloved fingers plinked against some sort of lens. 

Lens? Gloves? He looked down and noticed he was wearing some kind of costume. Why was he wearing a costume? 

Wait, did they say Buzzard?

Something clicked and Buzzard’s brain came back online. His eyes were very wet and he felt out of breath and shaky. His cell suddenly had 4 more people in it than before.

“That’s it, Buzzard, just breathe.” Nightwing’s voice was very soothing. He took a deep breath in and Buzzard copied him subconsciously, lungs burning at the much-needed air.

A hand reached up gently for his face, tugging gently at the edge of his cowl. Buzzard immediately stopped it with an iron grip.

“It might be in your best interests to let me see under this, lad,” a soft voice with a British accent told him. “I only want to make sure you don’t have any further ailments to worry about.”

“Mr.-- Agent A?” Buzzard asked. The man was silent for a second until he knelt down where his face was in Buzzard’s line of sight. It was indeed Alfred Pennyworth. “The cowl stays on.”

“As you say,” the butler allowed easily. His hand fell away and for a second Buzzard had an insane impulse to reach for it again, but he fought it off.

“Do you have any medical conditions we don’t know about?” That was Batman’s usual gravelly voice.

“I’m allergic to being locked in a cell in a musty old cave,” Buzzard replied as dryly as he could.

“You know, if you weren’t a murderer you’d be pretty fun to have around,” Oracle snorted.

“We all have our flaws,” Buzzard sighed. She fully laughed that time, which made Buzzard feel a little bit better.

“O stop laughing at the murderer,” Nightwing demanded. “And you,” he spun around on Buzzard and pointed a finger in his face. “Are you just going to pretend you didn’t have a panic attack just now?”

“Yes.” The answer seemed obvious enough to him.

“B, are we sure this kid isn’t yours?”

“Yes!” Buzzard and Batman shouted at the same time.

“Fine!” Nightwing yelped, holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s happened before! You can’t blame me for asking!”

“We’re getting off topic,” Batman grumbled.

“And we’re wasting time,” Buzzard reminded them. Half because it was true and half because he didn’t want to talk about whatever just happened. “The longer you wait to go to confront the League the more time Ra’s has to prepare for your arrival.”

“You know Ra’s too?”

“Can we just assume I know most things you know and operate off of that?” Buzzard groaned in frustration. “You’re obviously not going to let me out of here, so we can hash out the details of your bad security after you rescue Red Hood and Damian.”

“So you’re going to help us?” Nightwing asked, eyes shining like a puppy begging for a scrap of steak. It was appalling how well it worked on Buzzard.

“Yes. Fine. Whatever. Lucky for you I’m not that petty, Mr. ‘Stands By While Batman Incapacitates A Cooperative Vigilante On A Random Rooftop’.” 

Nightwing scrunched his nose. “Can I have a shorter name?”

“Nevermind. I’m not helping you anymore.”

“Okay, as adorable as this is,” Oracle cut in, ”you said yourself we’re on a time crunch. Tell us what we need to know.” 

Buzzard hated it when other people were right.

“Fine,” he conceded. “Basically, this is 100% a trap. Most likely for Batman since the two people kidnapped are important to him. Although, it’s a little unclear who the trap is being orchestrated by.”

“You don’t think it was set up by Ra’s?” Oracle asked.

“He’s one of three options.” Buzzard sat cross-legged on his cot, thinking deeply. “The second option is Talia Al Ghul.” He ignored Nightwing mouthing ‘He knows who Talia is?’ because he was a damn professional. “Damian is her son, and he was sort of kidnapped from her.”

“Hn,” offered Batman. Very introspective.

“I don’t have any proof, but I think Red Hood is connected to her too.” Having 4 already intimidating people narrow their gaze on him with their full attention was something Buzzard had never felt before. It sent shivers up his spine and caused his neck to drip cold sweat. “He’s mentioned the League of Assassins to me a few times. And I came across a file that led me to believe he was being held by them.”

“What file?” Batman demanded.

“I may… possess a few files from the League.”

“WHAT?” To his surprise, the outburst came from Oracle instead of Nightwing. “I’ve been trying to get my hands on some League files for years ! How did you manage that?”

“Everything is on a local server so it’s impossible to access unless you’re physically there,” Buzzard admitted reluctantly. He didn’t want to give the Bats such a clear timeline of where he’d been and allow them to put the pieces together. “That’s all I’m going to say about that right now.” Nightwing closed his mouth dejectedly. “The point is, the file leads me to believe he’s been with the League for a few years. I think that might’ve been under the Demon Head’s nose though, based on a conversation I once overheard. I think Talia was the orchestrator of that.”

“You think Hood’s been with them for years?” Batman sounded breathy, showing emotion for the first time that night. Buzzard winced, but nodded anyway.

“That leads me to the third option.” He paused for a second, trying to think of a good way to word his next sentence. Nothing came to mind. “There’s a possibility that Red Hood set this trap up.”

“Impossible,” said Batman immediately. Not an unexpected response, but still one they didn’t have time for.

“That thinking is going to get you killed. I’ve been with Hood for a while and he’s… misguided about a few things.” Yeah that was the understatement of the century. 

Did Buzzard think Jason would actually kill Batman? No. At least, not until he was done torturing everyone else Batman loved. It mostly depended on how strong the Pit’s hold on him was at any given moment. Speaking of the Pit…

“I’m sure you’ve suspected by now, but Hood is under the influence of the Lazarus Pit.” The Bats glanced at each other.

“You’re sure?” Nightwing questioned. Buzzard thought back to the corpses littered around the warehouse.

“Positive.”

“We’ll practice caution.” WIth that, Batman swept out of the room.Like Buzzard was even remotely done talking. The people that said Batman wasn’t impatient needed to pay more attention.

“We appreciate the help,” Nightwing told him. He actually almost believed it coming from the first Robin.

“Take me with you,” Buzzard pleaded. “I can help! Hood doesn’t exactly trust me yet, but he’s going to be less angry seeing me than he would be seeing you.”

“It’s safest for everyone if you stay here.” Buzzard’s heart fell. “Oracle, Robin, and Agent A will stay here to keep an eye on you. If you think of anything else they’ll relay it to me and B.”

“Do you really think you’re just going to be able to waltz in there and waltz out with two people instead of one this time?” he demanded.

“This time?”

“How do you think Batman got a hold of Damian in the first place? The point is that Ra’s Al Ghul is too smart to just let himself be taken off guard again.”

“Boy, you sure do worry a lot,” Nightwing snorted. Buzzard wanted to wring his neck. “We’ll be fine. We’re pretty smart too, you know.” He turned and started to leave, but Buzzard called out to him one last time.

“How smart are you when your emotions get in the way? What’s going to happen if Jason is involved and Batman’s guilt overpowers his brain?” 

Nightwing paused, only for a second, and then continued out of the cell without looking back.

Oracle whistled.

“You really do know a heck of a lot about us,” she said. Her tone wasn’t accusatory as much as it was almost impressed. “Were you the one that hacked into the Batcomputer?”

“Someone hacked into the Batcomputer?” He apparently did not sound as surprised as he thought he did, because Oracle only laughed again before Mr. Pennyworth wheeled her from the cell. Buzzard was left alone with his thoughts. He hated when that happened.

He was trapped in a cell, he just revealed way too much information to the Bats, and he had a gut feeling that things were about to go incredibly wrong. He needed to get out the Batcave and get to Nanda Parbat immediately.

Buzzard was feeling around the edges of the floor when the cave started to vibrate. He could only assume that it was the result of the Batplane taking off. At least they were leaving without any more delay.

Still, it made Buzzard hasten his search, despite the fact that he now had no way of getting to Jason and Damien even if he did find a way to escape. He was at it for almost 3 hours, moving from the floor to stand on the cot so he could feel around the edges of the ceiling. With numb fingers and an insanely bored mind, he started picking around the vent above his cot.

“We didn’t hide a key in there.” Buzzard almost took a nosedive off the cot in surprise at the new voice. “This isn’t an escape room, dude.”

Robin was leaning against the cave wall outside his cell, watching him with a bored expression.

“How long have you been there?” he asked. She shrugged.

“Long enough. Did you think Batman of all people was going to leave a flaw in his jail cell?”

“There’s always a way out. Even from Bat Jail.” Buzzard returned to pulling half-heartedly at the screws on the vent. 

“I know you’re small, but even you wouldn’t be able to fit in that thing if you actually got it open.” 

Buzzard sighed. Obviously Robin was bored enough that she wasn’t going to leave him alone for a while. Maybe he could work with that.

“I’m not trying to fit in the vent,” he explained, “I’m trying to dig one of these screws out.”

“And use it for what exactly? We’ve planned for the ‘sharp things against glass’ strategy.”

“I don’t know!” Buzzard huffed. “It’s better to have a screw than no screw!”

Robin grimaced.

“Gross,” she muttered. Buzzard rolled his eyes because he was a mature 15 year old adult.

“You could always just let me out of here and then I wouldn’t have to pry open air vents.”

“Really?” Even through the domino mask Robin looked unimpressed. “Is that supposed to be persuasive?”

“Are you going to tell me that you’re cool with getting left behind while Batman and Nightwing stupidly charge blindly into a trap?” Buzzard knew he had hit right on the money with the way Robin’s face darkened. If he knew her at all, he knew she was brooding up a storm at being forced to stay in the cave.

“I thought you wanted them to charge blindly into the trap,” she grumbled in lieu of acknowledging that he was right. 

“I wanted them to go quickly,” Buzzard agreed, sitting back on his cot. “But I also was hoping it would be a group effort thing where we could come up with an actual plan on the way.”

“You know enough about us to know Batman is pretty damn good with plans,” Robin sneered. Buzzard just barely bit down his immediate gut reaction to shrink back into himself. The Bats thought he was some mysterious villain with all of the answers, so he needed to at least try and keep his composure. Even if he did have a complete breakdown at Batman telling him he wasn’t useful to them. He was mostly just hoping Robin didn’t see that whole thing on the cameras.

“Usually his plans are good,” he agreed calmly. “But there’s two of his sons on the line this time and Bats tends to leave the thinking at home when it comes to that.” Just like the last time he stormed the League of Assassins base with absolute abandon after Jason died. Which he didn’t say out loud. Because duh. “Nightwing is going to have the same issue. What those two really needed was someone that would be able to detach themselves and form the most logical plan of action.”

“Like you?” Robin asked with a tone that suggested she was rolling her eyes.

“Yes,” Buzzard lied. “And you, too.” Robin stood up a little straighter, just enough for Buzzard to notice since he was looking for it.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t think I care about them?”

“You definitely care about them,” he snorted. “But whereas that’s a weakness for Batman, it’s a strength for you.” He had Robin’s full attention now. She had migrated to stand directly in front of his cell while he was talking. “You’re at your best when something is important, right? And you’re not afraid to call out Batman, either. If he’s letting his emotions get in the way, if he’s rushing into things without thinking, you would be able to calm him down. It’s why you two work as partners.”

“Yeah right,” she snorted bitterly. “If I’m so great as his partner, why is he trying to bench me all the time?”

“Because you’re too similar?” Buzzard theorized. 

“Bro. Did you just call me and Batman alike?”

“Oh relax. He’s literally saved like hundreds of people. It’s a compliment!”

“He hasn’t seen the sun in years! I refuse to be compared to someone with vitamin D deficiency.”

“I feel like we’re getting off topic.”

“I’m not going to just stand here like a good little minion while you try to manipulate me into letting you out of this cell. That’s sooooo boring.”

“You’re saying it’s not working?” Buzzard accused with a grin. Robin glanced up at a corner where a camera must’ve been.

“I’m not saying it’s not working. Except that you don’t have any logistical way to get us to the Middle East and I would definitely get perma-banned from being Robin.”

“I have an idea of how to get there,” Buzzard argued. Then he thought about it. “Well, a bad idea, anyway. As for the Robin thing, you’ll be fine as long as we actually succeed.”

“Oh? And what are the chances of that happening?”

“43%.” Which was being generous at best. “We can raise those numbers with some help.”

“And I bet you’re going to talk me into picking up some random assassin to help us, right?”

Buzzard grinned.

“You’re catching on!”

“You really must think I’m an idiot,” Robin grumbled. He could feel her resolve breaking. “You want me to let you, a murderer, out of your cell. Then you want me to take you to find some assassin buddy that will probably try to kill me if you haven’t done so already. Won’t that be a fun scene to show to Batman? ‘Hey, B! Not only did I disobey like 40 of your orders, I brought not one, but two assassins to the assassin base! Can I get a raise now?’ What a legacy!”

“If you thought I was just doing all of this only to get out of this cell and betray you, you wouldn’t even be listening to me in the first place,” Buzzard pointed out. “But, if it’ll make you feel better, you can keep me cuffed until we get to The League of Assassins. Honestly that might help my plan anyway. As for the assassin, I can’t really promise much to reassure you. I know she wouldn’t try to harm you in any way. She doesn’t fight battles that aren’t her own.”

Robin was silent for minutes. She even started pacing in front of the little cell. Buzzard let her think without interruption. The problem with pretending to be a murdering criminal was that it did not gain you a lot of trust. Buzzard would never try to harm Robin in any way, but she had absolutely no reason to believe that. If he were in her position he probably wouldn’t believe him. Luckily for him (just kidding, it was incredibly bad and not lucky at all), Robin put a hand to her comm. 

“Shit,” she breathed.

Buzzard rushed to the door.

“What happened?” 

“We lost contact with Batman and Nightwing,” she admitted grimly. 

“What?” Buzzard was startled. “They couldn’t have possibly made it all the way to Nanda Parbat in a jet this quickly! What happened?”

“I, uh, think Batman might’ve taken your advice to hurry over there a little too much to heart,” she said sheepishly. “Superman flew them.”

“Oh my God.” Buzzard put his head in his hands. “The only person that’s likely to have more Kryptonite in the world than Lex Luthor is Ra’s Al Ghul. Remember that whole thing I said about him not thinking?”

“It’s fine, though!” Buzzard was sickened that she could possibly have optimism when faced with Batman’s mega stupidity. “Superman has been captured, so that makes this a Justice League problem now. Dozens of the world’s best heroes storming into that place? Those assassins won’t stand a chance.”

“They’ve probably moved,” Buzzard said sourly. “Ra’s would have been prepared for this. Superman could be dead by the time they find them.”

“Do you know where they would move to?” 

Buzzard had to think about it. He had a few vague ideas of places they could be, but he doubted Ra’s Al Ghul would leave his heavily guarded base to go to another well-known place. There was a possibility the files he stole all those years back might have some information.

“The files I stole might have something, but otherwise… no.”

Robin paced some more. Buzzard let her, but he was starting to get impatient. Their timeline had just shrunk rapidly. Ra’s might wait to do any real damage to Batman, but Superman? Buzzard shuddered to think about how much delight the Demon’s Head would gain in depriving everyone of the world’s greatest superhero.

Robin came to a sudden stop with a cross between a sigh and a frustrated yell.

“Ok. We are going to do this, but we’re going to do this my way. Got it?” Buzzard nodded dumbly. “I’m going to let you out of this cell, but I’m not going to give you any of your gear and you’ll be in cuffs. If you try to escape I’m going to yell Super Boy’s name so loud he’ll be here punching you into the Rocky Mountains before you can say ‘Batman.’ Then we’re going to go visit your stupid assassin friend, we’ll find stupid Ra’s Al Ghul, and we’ll save Batman’s stupid ass. Got it?”

Buzzard nodded again. He would prefer to get his gear back, but maybe Robin would let up on that caveat by the time they got to Ra’s.

“We’re not telling anyone about this right?” Buzzard stressed. “Because then they’ll throw me back in jail?”

“If you don’t do anything stupid it stays between us,” she agreed. “And that’s for my benefit not yours. If I have to look at Wonder Woman’s disappointed face when she sees me harboring a criminal I’ll die.”

Buzzard had seen Wonder Woman’s disappointed face. He understood Robin’s fears.

“Do you think Oracle will snitch on us when she inevitably discovers what we’re up to?”

“ Oracle is very close to snitching on you morons already ,” a tired voice said from above them.

“Shit! It’s God!”

“It is not! It’s obviously Oracle!”

“Oracle is the closest thing to God we puny humans have, trust me.”

“ Can it! ” Maybe-God-Maybe-Oracle hissed. “ We don’t have time for stupidity anymore. Buzzard, do you actually think you can track everyone down? Even I haven’t had any luck yet, and that’s with the dozen or so trackers Batman sewed into Nightwing’s suit. ”

“If you let me get my files, then I can give you several possible locations. If you let me find my contact, she could give us even more.”

“ Who’s your contact ?”

Damn it. Buzzard was really hoping no one would ask that.

“That’s kind of private information,” he tried.

“ I’m not playing games with you! ” Oracle thundered through the hidden speakers. “ If you want to help, we will let you help, but only if you start talking . ”

Shit. This was going to go over so, so poorly.

“Have you ever heard of Lady Shiva?” He asked with a wince.

The speaker went silent. Robin stared at him in open-mouthed shock.

“ Yes. I have heard of Lady Shiva .” Oracle’s voice was carefully neutral, but Buzzard got the feeling she’d be wringing his neck if she was in there with him and Robin. “ Why have you heard of Lady Shiva? And if you lie to me I’m going to cut off the oxygen into your cell .”

Buzzard didn’t think she was actually going to cut off the oxygen in his cell, because he was pretty sure she was an avid follower of the No Killing rule. Then again, Batman was most likely captured by a thousands-of-years old man and could be dead soon. Which would mean all bets were off. He did the safe thing and told her the truth.

“I trained with her for a few months.” If possible, Robin’s mouth fell even further to the floor. “She helped me perfect my use of the bo staff.”

“ Well. That actually explains a lot .” Was Buzzard crazy, or was that respect in Oracle’s voice? “ We’ve worked with her a few times before. I’ll try to get in touch with her and let her know you’re coming. ”

“Do me a favor and don’t mention that I’m currently in a jail cell?” He pleaded, holding his hands to the ceiling in a prayer position. “She’s not going to help me if she thinks I was weak enough to get caught.”

“But you were weak enough to get caught,” smirked Robin. 

“No, your dumbass boss gassed me when I was trying to help him find his kids, and then he got captured because, once again, he’s a dumbass!” Buzzard pouted.

“ Yes, you’ve suffered more than anyone walking the earth. We get it. ” The cell door popped open with a hiss. “ Robin, cuff him. I won’t tell Lady Shiva anything other than that you’re coming to see her about some information. Get your files and then meet me in the Bat Cave. I assume you have an idea on how to get there without a jet? ”

He held out his wrists without complaint while Robin secured cuffs around them.

“I have an idea,” he confirmed, “I just don’t think either of you are going to like it.”

“There’s a shocker,” Robin muttered. 

“ We’re about to do a lot of things I don’t like. I’d rather just get it over with and worry about the rest later. ” He was definitely going to hold her to that. “ Where are your files?”

Buzzard froze. His files were currently hidden in his closet at his parents’ house. At Tim Drake’s parents’ house. There was no way to explain that away, and they definitely weren’t going to keep their eyes off him long enough to let him go grab it.

“I’m going to need to make a phone call.”

~

For any other boss, Sammy would be surprised to get a phone call at 4 in the morning. For Tim Drake she picked up on the second ring.

For any other boss, Sammy would refuse to go over to their house and pick up a flash drive that had been hidden in a closet. For Tim Drake she only paused to shoot Tabitha a text teasing she would have a story to tell on break the next morning, before asking him for directions.

For any other boss, she would ignore the horribly oppressive feeling of walking into their empty and underused home and walk out without a second glance. For Tim Drake, she studied the dusty footprints with horror. She blanched at the box of faded cereal on the counter that was 2 years out of date. She shuddered at the pristine priceless items that littered the shelves. Items that did not match her boss at all.

And for any other boss, Sammy wouldn’t agree to drive over to Wayne Fucking Manor and leave the little thumb drive under a bush. But for Tim Drake, she would. And she did. 

“ You get an all expenses paid vacation to wherever you want, whenever you want, for however long you want, ” Mr. Drake said with audible relief over the phone as she walked away from the bush and back to her car.

If she didn’t like working for the weirdly endearing teen so much, she’d tell him to go choke on a hard drive. Instead, she just asked for a ticket to Paris.

~

“Please, God, don’t tell me that has been hidden under our bushes all this time,” Oracle sighed when Robin escorted him back into the Manor.

“I thought I told you not to watch the cameras while we were out there!” Buzzard cried. He very carefully didn’t confirm or deny how long the flashdrive had been in the bushes because it helped his cover and, crucially, it was funnier that way.

“You told me I couldn’t watch the cameras until you were sure everything was in place,” Oracle corrected. “Which made it seem like you had planted a bomb at some point and now we’re going to have to comb the place for bombs.”

“I do hope that you are not suggesting I would have missed both a flash drive and a bomb when I do my very careful upkeep of the yard,” Mr. Pennyworth said, crisp as ever, from his place next to the computer.

“Of course not, Agent A,” Oracle said with a tired but sincere smile. “I wouldn’t dream of dissing your glorious work.”

Buzzard half listened to them while he scrolled quickly through the files on the Batcomputer, feeling very much like he was intruding on a family moment he had no business witnessing. Robin had no such qualms.

“Whatcha doing?” she asked boredly, leaning on the console.

“I’m compiling a list of every location mentioned in here so Oracle can send the Justice League to search them all. I’m also downloading the files onto the computer because I’m sure you can find some things I missed and, also, fuck Ra’s Al Ghul.”

“That’s one thing we can agree on,” Oracle snorted. She quickly donned a more serious expression. “It’s about time to go. I’ll get this list to everyone immediately, but you need to go before we lose any more time. Have you decided how you’re getting a plane?”

Buzzard scratched the back of his head and put on his most persuasive expression.

“So. Do you guys remember when I stole a Javelin from the Watchtower?”

Chapter Text

“This is so stupid,” Robin muttered for about the 100th time.

“ It’s going to be fine, ” Oracle hissed in their ears again.

Buzzard admired her optimism, though he was fairly certain she was faking it. Mostly because she had pulled him aside before they Zeta Tubed to the Watchtower and told him how much she hated his plan.

“Fake prisoner plans never work!” She had hissed. “This is the Justice League! They aren’t dumb enough to let you and Robin waltz in with no questions asked.”

Buzzard loved the lack of confidence everyone was showing his hastily put together plan. It was great for morale.

“Most of the Justice League is going to be off the Tower looking for Superman and Batman, and the rest will know that Robin is escorting high priority prisoner Buzzard because you’re going to let them know ahead of time. It’s foolproof, trust me!”

Of course, Buzzard had also been faking his optimism, but no one needed to know that. Honestly, he gave his plan about a 50/50 shot of succeeding, which were not the worst odds to work with. It was really just a matter of whether any of the people he pissed off before were going to be there.

They Zeta’d to the Watchtower without any issue and were able to walk down the halls without garnering any attention. Most of the heroes that were still there were rushing around consoles or talking urgently to each other in hushed voices. 

Occasionally someone that recognized Robin would stop to give her a smile or quick greeting, but no one asked about Buzzard if they noticed him at all. Not until Green Arrow cut them off near the hangar bay.

“This could be a problem,” Buzzard muttered before the archer was within hearing distance. “He was on the Tower the first time.”

“Did you do anything to piss him off too badly?” Robin asked nervously.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the ship thief!”

“What do you think?” Buzzard sighed.

“How did you let the Bats catch you, little man? Did you not threaten to blow them up?” Leave it to an adult to hold a grudge about Buzzard threatening to blow up a space station.

“You threatened to blow the Watchtower up?” Robin asked, mildly impressed.

“He bluffed that he was going to blow up the Watchtower,” Arrow corrected coldly. “I had to crawl through the vents for hours because the Atom was busy. My shoulders were sore for days and there wasn’t even anything there!”

“Next time I’ll make sure to plant some real bombs so you have something to find,” Buzzard said with a roll of his eyes.

“ Stop antagonizing him. We’re on a time crunch.”

“There’s not going to be a next time, you little cretin.” Was this guy 80 years old? “I was talking to GL and he said he was going to go to the Green Lantern Corps to get you locked in Galactic prison.”

“Green Lantern is going to go to the group of his peers, the ones that actually have respect for him, and tell them that he got pancaked by a teenager driving a Javelin and now they should lock said teen in a prison with the universe's most powerful villains about it?”

Green Arrow opened and closed his mouth several times like a trout.

“Leave the bluffing to me, Mr. Arrow.”

Robin let loose a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Green Arrow glowered at them both.

“Why don’t I escort our little asshole here to his cell?” That sobered both of them up quickly. “I’m sure you want to help out on the search for your dad, so I can take it from here.”

“Batman is not my dad.”

“He just chooses random kids to turn into child soldiers?”

“How many sidekicks have you had?” Buzzard asked innocently.

“Alright, I don’t like you,” Green Arrow declared to the hallway. The hallway didn’t say anything. “Come on kid, time to go to the brig.”

The archer started dragging Buzzard away and he sent a desperate glance in Robin’s direction.

“I appreciate your help,” she said, grabbing Buzzard’s arm and pulling him away from Arrow, “but I’d rather be the one to take him to the detainment center. It was the last order Batman gave me before he… you know.”

“ He isn’t dead, ” Oracle grumbled

“Look kid, I’m sure your dad is fine,” Green Arrow said, voice softening.

“Still not my dad.”

“The point is,” he continued, “we’re going to find him and he’ll be back to his normal broody self in no time. Until then, the only thing the rest of us can do is go on as normal and fight crime in his memory. Doing our best to be the best heroes we can be in the name of Batman!”

“You’re losing me.”

“Yeah I figured,” the man sighed. “Just go back to the Brooding Cave and I’ll handle this, ok?”

“Maybe she should go to the hangar bay so she can have a front row seat to me stealing a Javelin from under your nose again,” Buzzard said, obnoxiously loud. He gave a pointed look in Robin’s direction.

“ Are you sure you’re going to be able to find a way to get there?” Oracle asked at the same time Arrow said “Are you trying to make things worse for yourself, brat?”

“Yes,” he smirked.

“ Fine. I’ll try to give you a little bit of help from my end, but you better not pull anything funny, got it? I’m going to choose to trust you. Don’t make me regret it. Robin, you get down to the hangar and be ready to hijack a Javelin.”

Robin didn’t look happy about it, but she let Green Arrow take Buzzard without any further argument and disappeared around a corner.

“So what now?” Buzzard intoned. “Are you going to shove me against the lockers? Steal my lunch money?”

“This is why I hate teenagers!” Green Arrow exclaimed in exasperation. “Nobody ever believes me when I try to tell them teens are evil!”

“Is it because you’re 40 and weird?”

“I’m going to enjoy locking you in prison.”

“I think I know why no one believes you.”

Green Arrow was turning an interesting shade of red and Oracle was openly chuckling on the comm. He tried to grab her attention as they approached what he knew was an emergency door in the hallway (it was possible he downloaded the plans for the Watchtower after his last visit. Just in case he ever found himself there again. Sometimes he made good choices).

“Door,” he said clearly and loudly.

“Now you’re just being a brat. I know where the fucking door is!”

“Understood.” 

Buzzard slowed down just a bit so that Arrow was half a step ahead of him. Then, while the archer was busy angrily muttering, he said “Whoops!” and shoved his shoulder into his back and pushed him stumbling over the threshold.

“What the hell?”

The door slid shut on the shocked hero and Buzzard allowed himself a moment of triumph before he was sprinting back down the hallway.

“Thanks for the assist,” he told Oracle. “Can you give me an alternate route to the hangar bay?” The lights went red and an alarm started blaring. “And quickly, if you don’t mind? Green Arrow is a snitch.”

“ That was well known information,” Oracle muttered distractedly. “ I’m not sure I’m going to be able to help much. I’m trying to stay in control, but the Watchtower has a sophisticated security system designed by me and Batman. It’s designed to kick any foreign servers from the network. I won’t be able to stay inside it for long, which means the whole place is going to go on lockdown.”

“Which means no shuttle escape for us,” Buzzard sighed.

“ Precisely,” Oracle confirmed. “ And I don’t think you can bluff your way out of it this time.” He was slightly concerned by the excitement in her voice, but Buzzard thought he understood. All of the Bats were adrenaline junkies. Yes, their vigilantism was helpful to Gotham and the rest of the world, but part of them would always be drawn to crime fighting for the sheer rush it gave them. Stressful situations were how Oracle continued to get her fix despite not doing field work anymore. Buzzard could tell she was relishing the challenge created by her own security system. Well, he could match her energy for a few minutes and enjoy the escape.

“Alright, is Robin in a Javelin yet?”

“ Affirmative. ”

“Do I have your permission to do something stupid?”

“ As if this whole thing isn’t my permission to do something stupid. ”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Buzzard snorted. “Tell her to take off and get outside the Tower while she still can. I’ll meet her outside.”

“ Outside? The ‘vast empty void of space’ outside? That outside? ”

“Yes.”

He expected some kind of argument or accusations of stupidity, but Oracle was quiet for almost a minute as Buzzard tore down the hallways, relying on his memory of the Tower’s layout to guide him. Finally his comm buzzed back to life.

“ Robin has taken off, to very vehement protests. She seems to think you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Aw, you guys do like me!” He joked as he rounded a corner and came to an elevator shaft. He began prying the doors open.

“ Don’t push it, ” Oracle warned. “ Care to explain what I agreed to before I regret my life decisions even more than I already am?”

“I figure everyone is going to be expecting me to go towards the Javelins in the hangar bay like last time, right?” The doors slid open with a screech. He poke his head inside to make sure the elevator wasn’t functional before firing his grapple at the wall and lowering himself down the shaft as quickly as he dared. “That means they won’t be expecting me to go down to the manual airlock that I can activate without control of the Watchtower’s systems.”

“ And you know there’s spare space suits down there for human League members that need an emergency evacuation, ” Oracle realized. “ This is the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard! ” Buzzard would have an easier time believing that if she was able to hide the pure delight bleeding through her concern.

“Noted,” he told her with a smile. “Just make sure Robin is waiting for me out there before I get hit by a meteor or something equally as embarrassing.”

She gave him an affirmative and relayed the information to Robin. Then she put Robin back on their channel. 

“ This is really stupid, ” she huffed immediately.

“ It’s already been noted, ” Oracle replied with a clear smirk in her voice.

Buzzard ignored them, reaching the bottom of the elevator shaft and muscling his way through the doors. The bottom of the tower was empty by that point. The already thin crew of heroes had all probably migrated towards the upper levels, or to the hangar bay. 

Still, he felt the need to make his way quietly, his path lit only by the dim red emergency lights.

“It’s times like these where I wish I’d never seen the Alien movies,” Buzzard muttered to himself.

“ I’ve never seen those, ” Robin said. “ Are they lame? ”

Buzzard stopped dead in his tracks and stared up at the ceiling in horror.

“THEY ARE NOT LAME!”

“ Woah. Struck a nerve there. ”

“ Less talking about movies, and more focusing on jettisoning yourself into space, please. ” Oracle sounded like a tired parent trying to get their kids to eat brussel sprouts. 

He let the subject drop, but he was definitely going to find a way to make Steph watch those movies with him one day.

Finally Buzzard found the door to the airlock room. Predictably, it was locked.

“Are you still in the system, Oracle?”

“ I got booted a few minutes ago. Why?”

“I don’t suppose there’s a manual lock for this door, is there?” He asked hopefully.

“ Nope, ” she responded, popping the p. Fantastic. Guess he was going to have to do things the hard way.

Buzzard considered the electronic lock carefully, running his fingers along the metal paneling of the wall underneath it. Once he was sure he had the right area, he elbowed the panel with as much strength as he could muster, and it caved in just slightly, revealing wires underneath. Buzzard ripped away the dented panel and started pulling and reattaching wires furiously.

“ What’s that noise? ” Oracle asked in interest. “ Are you trying to manually rewire the door? ”

“Yes,” he responded shortly. He hissed when one of the wires sparked and burned a small hole in his glove. “This would be a lot easier if I wasn’t handcuffed.”

“ Don’t be a criminal and we won’t have to handcuff you, ” Robin snarked.

The door slid open before Buzzard could respond, letting out a small cheer instead.

“ Where did you learn to do that? ” Oracle asked in awe.

“Hacking and lockpicking is what I did during the downtime of my training.” Buzzard looked quickly around the room before spotting a rack lined with space suits. “They taught me to fight, I taught myself how to do everything else.”

“ They? ”

“I found the suits,” he informed the two of them. “I should be out there in a minute or two.”

He got to work, going as fast as he could. Once again, the handcuffs hindered his progress, but he was fairly certain he had everything correctly in place after a minute. He wasn’t able to put his arms through the sleeves (outlaw handcuffs!), but it would probably be fine.

“Alright, I’m ready,” he said.

“ Are you sure?” Oracle asked, enthusiasm a little more muted. 

“If not, you’ll know when I start choking!” Buzzard joked.

“ That isn’t funny! ” Oracle and Robin yelled together.

“Yeesh, tough crowd.” He walked over to a control panel on the wall that had a lever covered by safety glass. He rammed himself into it awkwardly, and the glass fell away loudly. He shoved both of his arms through the one of the sleeves (good thing he was less muscular than the average hero) and grasped the lever. “Here we go!”

“ In position, ” Robin confirmed nervously.

Buzzard pulled the lever down harshly. Immediately an alarm blared and a wall started rising from the floor behind him. Once it reached the ceiling the lights flashed green and the barrier between him and the void of space opened.

Buzzard was sucked off his feet in an instant. He tumbled head over heels, vision filled with nothing but the star spattered canvas before him. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating . He was in space ! He was floating ! 

Despite the situation, despite everything, Buzzard let out a laugh of pure mirth and excitement. He always wanted to go to space. Sure, he had technically been there when he accidentally visited the Watchtower the first time, but it was different. He was safe then, surrounded by heavy metal and the ingenuity of a Batman, not to mention artificial gravity. There was none of that now, just an ill-fitting space suit between him and an endless void that would kill him in an instant. It was as horrifying as it was incredible and he loved it. 

Robin spewed a string of curses, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

“ Stop laughing! ” She shrieked shrilly. “ It’s fucking creepy! ”

“Sorry!” Buzzard giggled, never having felt less sorry in his life. “It’s just… I’m floating in space !”

“ Yeah, and any minute your suit could spring a leak and then your head will explode! ”

“ I remember my first time in space, ” sighed Oracle dreamily. “ It really is pretty cool. ”

“ You know what’s also cool? Not suffocating! ” Buzzard rolled his eyes at Robin’s antics. “ Now hurry up and get in the Javelin before Wonder Woman gets here and punches a hole in your helmet. ”

That was an effective enough image to ruin the moment a little for him. Luckily (once he got the spinning under control) he saw that the Javelin was right over his head. It lined up behind him, and the access ramp lowered like a giant catcher’s mitt.

“Five more minutes?” Buzzard whined, knowing Robin couldn’t see his grin.

“ I swear to God! Why do we always get the weird criminals?”

Buzzard heard Oracle laugh as the ship swallowed him up. Once he was safely inside, there was a hissing noise that signaled the air repressurizing, and he fell to the floor once the artificial gravity kicked in.

The door to the cockpit slid open to reveal a very unimpressed Robin.

“You’ve had your fun,” she grumbled, “so can we please get out of here before the entire hero community calls me? I can only ignore Green Arrow’s angry messages for so long.”

“Only if I get to drive!” Buzzard chirped, shrugging off the space suit. Robin looked at him with extreme exasperation.

“I’m going to launch you back into space.”

~

Buzzard’s giddiness eventually wore off the closer they got to Lady Shiva’s hideout. He had reservations. About a number of things.

When Buzzard left Lady Shiva, it was on… rocky terms. The phrase “never return” may have been used. He had told the Bats that she could help them break into the League base and get everyone out, but frankly, he was going to consider it a win if he didn’t get killed on sight.

He was also worried about Robin tagging along with him during what he hoped was a discussion and not his murder. When their temporary truce came to an end, Buzzard’s identity would already be hanging on by a thread. He didn’t expect his teacher to help much in that regard.

“You’re not being as annoyingly talkative as usual.”

Buzzard startled out of his thoughts. Robin was watching him with a raised brow, though he wasn’t sure how long that had been going on.

“I’m thinking,” Buzzard huffed. Robin rolled her eyes.

“Obviously. There’s steam coming out of your ears. What are you thinking about?”

“Whether Lady Shiva is going to try to kill us before we talk to her, or after,” he responded dryly. Except he wasn’t kidding. “I’m not kidding.” Robin’s smirk dimmed.

“We’ve worked with her before,” the blonde argued, “it’ll be fine.”

“I really appreciate the optimism, and I hold the right to say ‘I told you so’ if we survive her attempts on our lives.”

“Oracle, can you please tell him he’s being dramatic!” Robin snapped at the ceiling.

“ I don’t know that it wouldn’t be a good idea to prepare for a fight ,” Oracle responded carefully. Robin shot up in her chair, much more tense.

“That’s just a fancy way of saying we’re definitely going to have to fight!” She cried. “Why are you two just now telling me we’re going to have to fight the world’s best martial artist?”

“Expect the unexpected?”

“I’m going to eject you into the Atlantic Ocean.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

“ Calm down, you two! It’s going to be fine! ”

Buzzard didn’t actually believe it was going to be fine, but he tended to be pessimistic. But that was because it usually wasn’t fine.

“So what?” Robin fumed. “I’m just supposed to go into battle with him ,” she jerked her thumb angrily at Buzzard, which he thought was unfair because he was the only one that could actually see it, “and trust him not to kill me? What if they team up and kill me and then run off and kill people together?”

Buzzard shifted uncomfortably. He was pretty sure that he lost his chance to do that when he left the last time. That particular outcome was taken off the table the second he chose not to complete his training.

“You won’t have to worry about that,” was all he said.

“Oh thanks,” she told him, oozing sarcasm, “that makes me feel so much better. My confidence is renewed now!”

“We should probably stop in Egypt,” he said in lieu of continuing to offer her empty reassurances. “I have a safe house there with some extra supplies.”

“ I thought you agreed to do this without your gear. ” Oracle’s voice was hard, ready to shut him down completely.

“I did, because it was the only way you two would let me do this.” He looked at Robin’s domino with all of the conviction he could muster. “We’re past the point of having the luxury of betraying each other. From here on out, either both of us are going to make it back to Gotham with 4 Bats in tow, or none of us will. Got it?”

“How can you expect me to just trust you?” Robin sounded like she was genuinely asking a question rather than being accusatory. Buzzard wished he had a better answer, but there was just one.

“You don’t have a choice,” he responded with a shrug. It was the truth, after all. “The enemies we’re about to see have too much influence for us to get away with fighting each other as well as them.” He stretched out his hand. It floated in between them, while Robin just stared in baffled shock. “All I can do is promise that I will continue the rest of this mission like we are partners. I swear that I will not betray you and I will do everything in my power to get you and Hood and all of the Bats back to Gotham without harm. If I fail to deliver on that, I will gladly live the rest of my life in a cell.” 

Robin didn’t say anything. Her eyes never left Buzzard’s face. Whether she was searching it for any signs of deception, or she was just too confused to look away, he didn’t know. The silence stretched for almost a minute, Buzzard’s hand still occupying the void between them.

“ Robin? ” Oracle spoke hesitantly. It sounded like she was leaving this decision up to Batman’s partner.

“You’re a freak,” the blonde said at last. She grasped Buzzard’s hand firmly in her own and they shook. “But I can work with that. I’ll trust you, not that I have much of a choice. Still, if you get me killed, I’m going to haunt your ass.”

“I’ll avoid ouija boards for the rest of my life,” he replied solemnly. He was rewarded with a grin.

“Ok, asshole, let’s go to Egypt.”

~

They weren’t in Egypt for long. In truth, there were half a dozen other places closer to Hong Kong (Lady Shiva’s current base of operations), but Buzzard was here for more than supplies. 

Robin set the Javelin down on the outskirts of the abandoned dig site, a cloud of dust welcoming them. 

He attempted to get Robin to stay inside, but one promise between them wasn’t going to make her let her guard down that much. Buzzard just accepted her pointed look with a shrug. He expected as much. 

He led the way into the abandoned area, walking with perfect confidence despite only ever having been there once. 

“What is this place?” Robin asked quietly, as if she could sense the same heavy pressure in the air that Buzzard felt.

“ It’s an abandoned dig site, ” Oracle answered before he had the chance. He didn’t let his unease show. It was a risk taking them here, but he needed to see it again. He needed a reminder of what he was fighting for before he faced down Ra’s, and there wouldn’t be time after Hong Kong. “ It was being actively excavated until a few years back. There was an… accident that shut down operations. Why did you choose this of all places to hide your stuff, Buzzard?”

“My training took me lots of places,” he said, tone carefully neutral and bored. “My teacher brought me here, and I didn’t really think anything of it.” 

In actuality, Buzzard had insisted Slade take him to the place of his mother’s murder after he killed the assassin gunning for Slade’s head. He wasn’t sure why, exactly. Everything from those weeks was still foggy. He could only assume he had wanted to punish himself more in his half delirious state by reopening old wounds to stack on top of the new ones.

He continued further into the area, passing crumbling sandstone and old collapsed huts. Once they were somewhere near the center, Buzzard crouched down next to a cluster of sandstone bricks. He began moving them aside, one by one, until a small chest was revealed.

“Inconspicuous,” Robin commented dryly. Buzzard smirked at her despite the chasm that had opened in his chest (it was important to keep up appearances), and touched his thumbs to the latches on the front. The mechanisms whirred to life, scanning his thumbprints, and the lid popped open.

It wasn’t exactly an arsenal inside, but it was more than enough to get him back in fighting shape. He pulled out a new suit, a bandolier to replace his old one, and a collapsible bo staff. He hooked the staff to his belt, shrugged on the bandolier, and folded the suit over his arm to put on back in the Javelin. 

They trudged back out of the ruins in silence, this time with Robin leading. That was fine with Buzzard. With her in front, she couldn’t see the way his eyes lingered on a small, innocuous crater, blackened around the edges. The blood that he knew must have littered the ground around it had long weathered away, either by rain or the ever-shifting sands. But he could still see every drop of it splattered over every surface. When he finally turned away he felt as though the piercing gaze of his mother lingered on his retreating back. 

Mission accomplished. Buzzard was plenty angry.

~

Waking up was always something of a chore for Dick. He was a busy guy, and that meant he slept wherever he could get it. Unfortunately, the demons of his past and the immense guilt weighing on his conscience at all times made it hard to separate himself from intense nightmares and make his way back to the real world. However, the Bat gene of instant alertness had been trained into him since the age of 9, and even his demons mixed with what must have been a powerful drug weren’t enough to keep him under the second he realized he was dozing on the hard floor of a prison cell.

He was up in an instant, springing into a fighting stance and looking around his new surroundings for a threat. Instead, he found his baby brother staring up at him with an impatient glare.

“How gracious of you to finally gain consciousness, Richard,” the boy groused. “I was starting to suspect you would continue your little nap for the next three days while society crumbled around us.”

Dick was scooping him up by the time he finished his mini tirade, pulling him tightly into a hug and fighting back tears when he felt his brother’s heart beating steadily against him.

“Names,” he muttered wetly. Once a Bat, always a Bat, no matter what.

“It hardly matters here,” Damian huffed irritably. “Grandfather is quite aware of all of our identities, which is hardly our largest issue.”

Oh. That was really bad.

“We got captured?” he asked dumbly, despite the obvious answer.

“Yes, Richard,” snarled his brother, “I could only assume that was your intention, considering the way in which you, Father, and the alien utterly failed to do anything else.”

Ouch. Although, probably a fair assessment.

“We were kind of in a rush, D! We didn’t want to leave you with Ra’s any longer than we had to!”

Damian looked around the dim cell pointedly.

“How lucky I am to have a hero such as you come to my rescue.” Damian’s tone could dry out an entire ocean.

“At least we’re together now?” He tried. When Damian just glared harder he sighed. “Ok, fine. We screwed up. I admit it! You can call me and B morons to your heart’s content, but only after we get out of here. Do you know where we are?”

“Grandfather moved everything once you were captured.” The boy pulled away and dusted himself off with a huff. Dick only resisted cooing because they were in a serious situation. “I have not spoken to him or Mother since you arrived.”

Dick hesitated, noting the way Damian’s eyes darted down when he mentioned his mom.

“You’ve talked to your mom?” he asked hesitantly. As much as Dick was sure Damian had come to enjoy living with the Waynes, he also knew how much the boy missed his mother. Damian still spoke of her fondly, and told Dick once that the only happy memories he had from his time with the League was being with his mother.

Now Damian looked conflicted.

“Yes,” he said blandly, “I have spoken to her.”

“And?” Dick pressed.

“And I believe I would like to escape now.”

Dick smiled, secretly relieved. He was honored that Damian enjoyed his life in Gotham enough to choose them even over his mother.

“Trust me, bud, escape is definitely on the docket. We just need to figure out a plan and a way to escape.”

“I have both of those things,” his brother snapped impatiently. “I only require your participation in a distraction.”

Dick blinked. 

“Alright? What do you need me to do?” 

Damian stood to his full height and interlocked his hands behind his back– his businessman pose. 

“When these doors are next opened I need you to jump on the guard with reckless abandon for both his safety and your own.”

“I think I can probably do–”

“Use whatever means necessary,” Damian demanded seriously. “Use your ridiculously pointy elbows–”

“My elbows are not that p–”

“I do not usually condone biting in a brawl.” He shook his head sadly. “But, in this situation, desperate times will call for desperate measures, Richard.”

“Biting? Yeah I can bite–”

“His most unprotected area will be the neck, of course.” Damian gestured helpfully to his own neck, pointing to the side. “You will want to go for the jugular. I have found if you use your canine to rip a hole in you assailant’s neck–”

“This has gone from cute to horrifying.”

“You will have the easiest time of ripping out his entire–”

“Damian!” Dick interrupted with a yelp. He was starting to feel queasy. “No killing, remember? That still applies even with assassins! No ripping out jugulars with my teeth, ok?”

The boy muttered several angry things under his breath, including “spineless coward”. 

“Fine,” he forced through gritted teeth. “Just make sure he is incapacitated enough for me to escape the cell.”

“Fine,” Dick allowed easily. “Then what?”

Damian tugged off his shoe and brought out what looked to Dick like a thumb drive.

“I call for help.”

~

Robin uncuffed Buzzard before they got off the plane in Hong Kong. The two of them were so nervous, they didn’t even have the energy to argue about it.

Was Buzzard scared of Lady Shiva? Absolutely. So there to anybody who said he had no self preservation. 

Buzzard’s fear was born purely out of respect. Lady Shiva was the best fighter in the world. There was no hyperbole to that statement. It was just true. Buzzard had sparred with her daily for almost 3 months, and only lasted a little over a minute at his best. You don’t come out of an experience like that with the belief that you have what it takes to survive against her in a real fight.

Buzzard desperately hoped it wouldn’t come to that. In the case it did, his strategy was to throw himself recklessly at his teacher in the hopes that Steph at least got the opportunity to escape. Buzzard could give her around 30 seconds. He didn’t know if that was enough time to get the Javelin in the air, but it would have to do.

By the time the ramp was lowering to release them onto the small landing pad in the mountains, Buzzard was so sure he was going to be fighting for his life soon, he found himself sinking into the calm focus that he took refuge in so often over his year abroad. 

His thoughts slowed to a halt, until all of his brain power was being used to process everything around him. He noted the temperature (cool, slight breeze– nothing too strong that would interfere if he threw some feathers), the landing pad (smooth rock, nothing he could get tripped up on, but nothing he could use to his advantage) and Robin next to him (tense, focused, face serious). Then he laid eyes on his teacher, and his brain screamed danger .

Lady Shiva waited for them at the edge of the platform, predictably alone, in front of a long staircase that curled down around the other side of the mountain. It was like she was blocking the exit, saying, ‘the only way forward is through me’. She was wearing the same clothes Buzzard remembered her donning when he was with her– black pants and shirt, boots, and a bloodred collared coat that fell to just above her knees. She had no weapons on her that he could see, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have any. Not that she needed them in a fight to begin with.

Buzzard and Robin marched their way forward, and to their credit, managed not to falter a step or show any fear. When they were about 10 feet from his teacher they stopped. Buzzard fell into a deep bow. Robin stayed upright, back straight as a rod.

“Teacher,” he called across the gap, head still bowed. Even that was a risk, letting himself be vulnerable for so long. 

“The Scavenger returns,” Lady Shiva replied quietly, tone icy. “Despite my warnings against that very thing.” He stayed bowed, the exposed back of his neck tingling like it knew it could get sliced at any second. “Do you believe yourself safe due to your past as my student? Or perhaps you have delusions of striking me down? I would not normally consider you so bold, though you have brought another with you. An attempt to overwhelm me with numbers, perhaps? Speak.”

Only then did Buzzard straighten his spine, locking eyes with his teacher. As usual, they gave nothing away to her thoughts.

“I come here in an effort to obtain knowledge and information,” he said clearly. “I have no intention of raising a weapon against you, Teacher, though I have stepped before you prepared to do so if required.”

He saw Robin dart a look in his direction, the only sign of her surprise. She was most likely confused because Buzzard had made it extremely clear he didn’t think Lady Shiva was a fight they could win. That didn’t mean he could show weakness by admitting that outright. It was a very fine line they were required to walk to make it through unharmed.

“Such a smooth talker, as always.” There was no warmth in her tone, just fact. The two vigilantes stayed quiet. “I know what you’re here for, and I have nothing to give you. Leave.”

Robin looked at Buzzard. She stayed quiet, but he could feel her yearning to yell. He fought to keep his voice level.

“Any information you may have at all could be useful, Teacher.”

“I have said I have nothing. So I have nothing.” There was definitely a threat there now. Pushing any farther would be a death warrant. Buzzard pushed farther.

“Perhaps you know someone else we can talk to? Someone that the League of Assassins has wronged in the past?” 

Lady Shiva took a step forward, and every single cell in Buzzard’s body screamed at him to give up his ground, to retreat. Robin was freely looking at him now, panic and anger warring against each other on her face. Buzzard did not cede his ground.

“Even you know when to quit,” she hissed. “I will only be generous enough to offer you a way out once. I am tired of my patience being tested.”

Normally, Buzzard would be running back to the Javelin with his tail between his legs by that point. He never pushed her this much when he was learning from her. 

“You want me to run?” he questioned quietly. Dangerously. “What will that prove? That you taught a coward?”

“You proved that already when you refused to complete your training.” She answered. Curiously, her tone sounded more intrigued to Buzzard that time, rather than angry. Buzzard glanced towards Robin.

“I told you what my line was when you agreed to teach me,” the teen said carefully. “I’m not so weak in my convictions that I would cross that line just to appease you.”

“More fancy wordplay,” Lady Shiva accused with a terrifying smirk. “You continue to mistake your words as a weapon. Try as we might, neither I, nor Deathstroke could train the habit out of you.”

Robin fully turned to Buzzard now, mouth agape. He ignored her as best he could, but his calm facade was crumbling. His Teacher noticed too. 

“Interesting,” she purred, “it seems your companions are unaware of your roots? Did you assume they would not accept you if they knew of your teachers?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Buzzard forced out. Robin took a step away from the both of them.

“What are you two talking about?”

“Is that why you refused to complete your graduation as an assassin? Were you afraid Batman and his foolish pack would not accept you?”

“You keep going on and on about this fucking task!” Robin swung her ire onto Buzzard. “What task?”

“It isn’t important–”

“My ignorant child,” Lady Shiva scorned with a frown, “you are one of Batman’s ilk. Surely he has taught you that in order to become an assassin, you graduate by performing your first assassination?”

Buzzard winced.

“What?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “This makes no sense. You kill ten random guys in a warehouse, but you won’t perform an assassination? That seems like a weird hill to die on, considering.”

It was Lady Shiva’s turn to look confused.

“Explain,” she demanded to Buzzard.

“It’s complicated,” he sighed. Why must all of his plans go to shit before they could come to fruition? “Plus it’s not important. It was a mistake to come here. We should go, Robin.” He took a step backwards, but his teacher rolled her eyes.

“Explain, or I will kill you both where you stand.”

He should’ve expected that.

“You’ve refused to share any information with us, I don’t need to share mine with you,” he pointed out desperately. He felt a thousand chills run down his spine when Shiva outright smiled.

“I won’t kill you, and I will give you information to help with your objective if you tell me why you have killed, but refused to do so in front of me.”

Buzzard threw up his hands in exasperation, which achieved nothing, except causing Robin and Shiva to give each other a look at his expense.

“I didn’t kill those ten men!” he shouted.

“What?” said Robin.

“ What? ” said Oracle in their ears.

“I didn’t fucking kill them!” Buzzard spat. “I just pretended like I did! I don’t like killing! I told Slade that and I told you that!” he screamed at Lady Shiva. He would’ve pointed an angry finger in her face but he wasn’t so fed up that he wasn’t aware he would lose it if he did. “So, yes, when you told me I could ‘graduate’ by assassinating a mark you assigned to me, I fucking left! As much as you and Deathstroke preached about being my own person and making my own decisions, you sure liked to force me to kill!”

By the end of his impromptu tirade, he was breathing very heavily. He had no idea where any of that had come from. Robin was gaping at him like a fish out of water. Right. He’d kinda blown his cover a little bit.

Lady Shiva sighed. 

“Always so quick to lose your temper.” She turned away. “And yet, it is the only time you speak the truth. I do not know where the Demon’s Head has hidden himself away, though I hesitate to think you will fail to find the answer. When you do, seek out the daughter of David Cain. She may be willing to help you, for a small price.” Lady Shiva started walking away, stopping briefly at the top of the stone steps leading down the mountain. “I suggest you eat something. My teachings are worthless if you do not have the proper energy to use them.” 

And then she was gone.

Buzzard dropped to his knees and pulled several shuddering breaths into his lungs. They were still alive? They shouldn’t still be alive. She should have killed them. Especially after Buzzard decided to start screaming for no reason. God, he was an idiot. He fell to his back with a frustrated groan.

“I yelled at my extremely deadly assassin teacher and we still don’t know where Batman and the others are.”

“You sure did,” Robin whistled appreciatively. “And here I thought you were just a slightly unhinged murderer. Turns out you’re very unhinged. And not a murderer?” He could hear her burning to interrogate him, ask a barrage of questions.

“That feels worse,” he sighed. Her hand appeared above him, her face sympathetic. He let her pull him to his feet and started trudging for the Javelin. “Come on. We should probably get out of here before she changes her mind and comes back to kill us.”

Robin startled a bit and jogged to catch up with him.

“Wait! Hold on, are we not going to talk about the reveal that you lie about killing people for funsies?”

“Correct. We are not going to talk about it.” He trudged up the ramp, Robin right behind him, and went towards the cockpit.”

“ No, I have to admit I’m also curious. ” Oracle chimed in unhelpfully. “ I have several questions. ”

“I have a question, too!” Buzzard cried hysterically. “Where the hell do we go now? Lady Shiva–”

“Your teacher,” Robin interrupted unhelpfully.

“--is the closest person to the League I know that isn’t actually in it!”

“ Except Deathstroke, who also happens to be your teacher. ”

“He doesn’t know where they are,” huffed Buzzard. “And if he did, he wouldn’t tell me.”

He collapsed into the pilot’s chair, trying to think. He had to have some other options he hadn’t thought about yet. Right?

Robin sat down next to him in the other chair and opened her mouth.

“If you’re going to ask me why I pretended to be a murderer again, I’ll kill you.”

“I no longer have proof that that’s true,” she answered with a tilt of her head.

“Oracle, have any of the Justice League found anything yet?” He asked the ceiling desperately.

“ Nothing yet. Trust me, you’ll be the first to know when they do, ” she promised. “ Right now they’re a little caught up on the fact a second Javelin has gone missing and they can’t even track it. ”

“You should switch the tracker to a digital program instead of a physical chip, by the way. It was way too easy to disable.”

“ Noted, ” came the dry reply. “ What about this daughter of David Cain? Do you know who that is?”

“I’ve heard of David Cain. I wasn’t aware he had a daughter.” Buzzard fired the engines and took them off the platform, happy for something to do with his hands. Cain was no ally, and he had his doubts any daughter of his would be any different. Maybe she had important information they needed to interrogate out of her? It was possible, but felt too simple. Lady Shiva wouldn’t give him a specific person to seek out unless they were significant.

“ Maybe you two should return to the cave, ” Oracle suggested. “ We can look into David Cain and see if we get any leads. ”

Buzzard knew she was probably right, but the idea didn’t sit well with him. Going back to sit in the Batcave while they hadn’t come anywhere close to completing their mission was a grating concept. Plus, going back meant once again being interrogated by the Bats. Maybe they wouldn’t keep him in a cell anymore if they knew he wasn’t a murderer, but he wasn’t going to put money on it. Still, he was dangerously low on options, and what mattered most was figuring out where the others were. He would concede, for the time being.

Just as he was opening his mouth to tell that to Oracle, his wrist computer started beeping. His jaw closed with a click. 

“What’s that?” Robin leaned into his personal space and shoved her face close to the screen so he couldn’t see it. He shoved it away and received an outraged squawk. 

“It’s one of my old alarms,” he began typing furiously, “but I haven’t used this iteration in forever.”

“ Meaning what? ”

Buzzard pressed a couple of keys and a picture of the globe appeared. A red dot appeared and the picture zoomed in rapidly.

“Meaning, I know where the League of Assassins took Batman,” he said in awe. 

~

Damian pretended to jolt awake when the guard rattled the bars of their cell.

“Dinner,” they rasped.

He made a show of sitting up slowly, rubbing exhaustion and sleep out of his eyes. Richard remained slumped over and still.

“Get him up,” the guard demanded, nodding at Richard.

“He has not awoken since we were thrown in here,” Damian explained hoarsely. “He is barely breathing. I believe he is sick.”

“Not our problem. Get him up.”

Damian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Things sure had gone to the dogs in his absence. One would think his Grandfather could afford some competent prison guards.

“It is your problem, imbecile! If he dies, it would not only irk me and the rest of my family, but it would anger my Grandfather as well. If he wanted him dead, he would be dead already! Now, get your useless self in here and administer aid!”

The guard heaved a single, drawn out sigh, and then disappeared down the hallway. He was back a moment later with 4 others in tow. Pity. Richard had been hoping for at least 6 for some exercise.

“Stand against the wall and don’t make any sudden movements, or we’ll kill you.”

Damian obliged without complaint. He tried to put on an expression of fear to be more convincing, but he thought it might have come off more bored than anything. 

Richard remained perfectly still while the guards poked and prodded at him. At least, until one checked under his armpit for any signs of discomfort and the vigilante giggled.

Luckily, the guards’ first reaction was to lean back in confusion. That was a mistake. Richard had two incapacitated, and Damian had jumped on a third’s back before they gathered their wits.

Damian locked a forearm around the neck of his impromptu vehicle and steered the man into a different guard. They crashed together and went down in a tangle of limbs. He gave them both a hard kick to the temple to keep them down. He dusted himself off and turned just in time to see Richard send the last guard to the ground by ramming him into the wall with his shoulder. His older brother had the gall to grin at him when it was quiet again.

“How does the saying go? ‘I cannot take you anywhere’?” Damian huffed irritably and left the cell before his idiot brother could use those irritating watery eyes on him.

“It tickled! You know how ticklish I am!”

“Spare me your childish excuses,” Damian growled. “Be serious! Do not screw up the next portion of my genius plan.”

“The next part is operation ‘Loud and Obnoxious Nightwing’ right?” The 1000 watt smile that so often burned Damian’s retinas appeared on his brother’s face. “I have a natural talent for this part!” He took a deep breath in and released it with a mighty yell. He winked once at Damian before he was racing down the hall in the opposite direction.

Richard was a total fool. It was a shame Damian was so fond of him.

He wandered his way out of the prison compound and began looking for a terminal to plug his drive into. If they were still in Nanda Parbat he could go to the server room. That room was basically the only place in the whole base that had a single computer in it anyway. Damian wasn’t sure if there was a server room wherever they had moved to, but there had to be some technology somewhere ! 

The base was smaller than the one in Nanda Parbat. However, it was still large enough to have long, narrow corridors, with doors and rooms every few feet. Damian debated trying all of the door knobs, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with every single assassin that showed up on the other side. He could easily defeat them all, of course, but they were operating on a time crunch. 

After about 15 minutes, in which Damian was really starting to get nervous (he didn’t run into a single assassin. Did Richard’s distraction work that well?), he finally spotted an open doorway. Now, Damian was no idiot. Hundreds of doors, and the one in front of him was the only one open? There had to be some sort of trap in there.

Still, even his Grandfather didn’t know he had Buzzard’s drive with him. If there was a computer terminal in there, all Damian had to do was plug the drive in before the trap was triggered. Simple. A challenge easily doable for the son of Batman.

He crept up to the door, before quickly flattening himself to the wall. Slowly, carefully, he took a look inside. It was an office.

It wasn’t large, by any means, but it was definitely an office, complete with a desk and computer. There was nothing else in the room. They could at least have pretended like it wasn’t a trap.

Damian considered the small office chair pulled slightly away from the desk. He backed up several steps, released a deep breath, and sprinted forward like he had seen Richard do when performing the vault during his gymnastics practice. He jumped right before crossing the threshold of the door and landed on the chair, just managing not to tip over onto the floor. 

There. That would avoid any sensors hidden in the carpet. 

Finally, he pulled the little thumb drive out and stuck it into the side of the computer. 

Immediately, like they had been waiting for it, over a dozen assassins filled the doorway, armed to the teeth. Damian did not see Richard among them, but he could only assume he had been captured. No matter. 

“I suspect I will have to return to my prison cell now,” he said with as much bravado as he could muster.

“Oh no,” an assassin at the front spoke softly. He was clad in black and wearing a mask that covered all but his eyes, just like the others. “We have orders to take you and your kin to the throne room. The second portion of the Demon Head’s plan has just started thanks to you.”

Damian paled. There was no way for Grandfather to know about the flash drive or Buzzard. That couldn’t be what the assassin meant. His Grandfather always had multi-staged plans. Damian probably only activated some silent alarm. 

He went with his captors willingly. It wouldn’t be long. Buzzard was surely on his way. Damian would have to find a way to repay him for saving him a second time.

~

The difference between working alone and working with others was that Buzzard didn’t have to worry about answering potential identity-revealing questions when he was alone. The Bats did not abide by that policy.

“You still haven’t explained how you suddenly know where to go!” Robin yelled at him while he furiously punched the coordinates for the base they now knew was in Pakistan.

“Wow. Crazy.” Buzzard buckled the Javelin’s harness. “Strap yourself in! No doubt the drive activated some kind of alarm. The sooner we get there the less time they have to prepare for us.”

“How is it that I now know you’re not a murderer and I somehow trust you less?”

“I never said I wasn’t a murderer,” Buzzard snapped. His hands itched with the memory of another man’s blood painting them red. “I just didn’t kill those ten men.”

“But you said you didn’t like killing?”

“ Who did kill them then? ” Oracle demanded over Robin’s confused question. He decided to ignore Steph and answer Oracle (he had murdered that man. Whether he liked it or not was irrelevant).

“It’s not important who did it!” He was getting the beginnings of a major headache

“ It’s extremely important who did it. Why would you take the blame and brand yourself a killer? Batman doesn’t pull his punches with murderers. ”

“Then he shouldn’t pull his punches with me!” Buzzard groaned, exasperated. “It doesn’t matter if I’m responsible for one death or ten. So I took the credit, because it makes no difference. Now can we please discuss a plan for what we’re going to do when we get to the assassin lair instead of questioning my legitimacy as a criminal?”

“It was Red Hood, wasn’t it?”

“I just said I didn’t want to–” Buzzard came up short when he turned to look at Robin’s face. She looked absolutely livid.

“He killed those ten people didn’t he?” 

“It doesn’t ma–”

“ Answer me !” She screamed. The resulting silence hung heavy in the air. Buzzard could only stare. He was happy to be wearing opaque lenses, for he could only meet her angry gaze for a few seconds before lowering his eyes.

“They were drug dealers killing people, including children. They were preying on the less fortunate, taking advantage of them. They weren’t saints.”

She didn’t seem to hear anything other than a confirmation.

“I knew it!” She hissed.

“ Buzzard is right, ” Oracle broke in. There was something off about her voice. “ We can talk about this later. We need to focus on rescuing everyone. ”

Robin still wouldn’t sit down. She shot an angry glare up at the ceiling (they had both adopted the ceiling as the substitute for Oracle’s physical presence at some point).

“It’s only not important because it means I was right about Jason,” she snarled.

“Jason isn’t that bad!” Buzzard insisted. “He’s just having some issues adjusting.”

“ Adjusting?! ” Robin screeched. “He tried to kill me!”

“He was dumped in the Lazarus Pit.” Tim held his hands up in defense. He thought Robin might hit something. “It would make even the most stable person a little crazy.”

“I should’ve hit him with that Birdarang while I had the chance,” she cursed. Buzzard winced at the reminder of what that particular Birdarang did hit. Unfortunately (he was using that word a lot with his life recently) Robin noticed. Her face paled.

“Oh my God,” she whispered in horror, “I hit you with that, didn’t I?”

“ Hit him with what? ” Came the predictable question from the ceiling (not actually).

“No.” They weren’t going to talk about that. There were other things to do.

“But–”

“NO!” Buzzard pounded his fist into the consol. The pain cleared his headache a bit. “We are going to discuss this all later. Got it?”

“ Buzzard. ”

“I said no! We are going to fly to Pakistan, we are going to rescue the stupid Bats, including Jason,” he added to Robin, daring her to argue, “and we are going to leave! At that point you can ask your questions. Now sit down!”

To his surprise, his friend actually did sit. She buckled her harness sheepishly.

“I’m sorry for throwing a knife at you.” Buzzard felt his eye twitch. 

“Water under the bridge,” he ground out. 

“You said that in a way that makes it seem like it’s not water under the bridge.”

“Hey! I have an idea!” Buzzard shouted in mock excitement.

“ I’m guessing you would like to talk about this later. ”

“How did you know?” He seethed.

“Fine! Fine!” Robin sighed. She leaned her elbows on the consol. “I won’t mention almost killing you anymore because you’re sensitive about it.”

“ I’m going to need an explanation on that at some point. ” 

“Sorry, O!” Steph mouthed yikes to Buzzard. “Buzzard doesn’t want to talk about it right now, and I’d hate to go against his wishes.”

“ That’s very considerate of you, ” came the predictably dry reply.

He let their voices wash over him. How often had Buzzard dreamed about experiencing the Bats’ banter in person? If his 9 year old self knew those dreams would one day come true (albeit not exactly in the way he had expected) he didn’t know how he would react. At that moment, he just felt overwhelmed and tired.

It wasn’t something he wanted to get used to. He didn’t want the easy banter to become a habit. It would just hurt more when it came to an end. He just needed to focus on the task at hand. They would save the Bats. They would save Jason. And then he could go back to getting Jason back in the family. When that was done Buzzard would… do something. He’d figure that out later. One thing at a time.

First things first, they needed a plan so they would actually succeed. That started with finding the daughter of David Cain. He didn’t know what kind of help she would provide, but if Lady Shiva thought they should find her, they needed to find her.

“The first thing we need to do is get access to the League’s systems,” he said. When no one immediately answered he realized Robin and Oracle had still been talking to each other while he was in his head. “When we get to the base, I mean,” he clarified.

Oracle didn’t miss a beat.

“ If you can find a way to get me in the system, I can provide backup. Otherwise you’re on your own.”

Buzzard nodded, before remembering Oracle couldn’t see it

“I’ll do what I can. It was pretty easy to get in last time, but I suspect they’ve updated things.” He would honestly be a little offended if they hadn’t. 

“Once she’s in, Oracle can lead me to where they’re keeping everyone, and you can find this daughter that’s so important.” Robin suggested. 

“I don’t like the idea of splitting up,” he admitted. “There’s no telling what we’re going to run into there.” Robin wrinkled her nose.

“We want to be stealthy and quick, right?” Buzzard nodded his assent. “Then splitting up will be faster. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything dumb before you meet back up with me after finding Cain, I promise.”

Buzzard didn’t like it. At all. But Robin was putting a lot of trust in him, despite still not having any answers to the mystery of his knowledge and identity. Trust needed to go both ways, and he could trust that she would be able to execute her half of the plan. He just hoped he would be able to do his half.

“Alfight,” he breathed, “splitting up is our best option. You find the Bats, I’ll find Cain. If I don’t rendezvous with you after 15 minutes and you have a chance to free everyone and get out, do it. Al Ghul isn’t going to give us many chances and I don’t want to waste it, even if he gets me in the process.”

“You’re a bundle of joy,” Robin snorted. “Why don’t we just assume that you’re not going to get horribly tortured and everyone is going to make it out? Can you handle that?”

“ You’re asking a lot, Robin. I don’t think Buzzard is capable of being optimistic. ”

“I’m just trying to be realistic,” he grumbled. Robin leaned back in her seat and shot him an easy grin.

“C’mon Buzzard, we’re just flying into the hideout of one of the most dangerous people in the world and freeing four people from under his nose! What could possibly go wrong?”

Buzzard did not feel like dignifying that with an answer.

Chapter Text

The Daughter was freezing. She had been sitting in a cold cell for days now. Maybe weeks? She didn’t really know the difference that well. 

What she did know is that she was probably going to die soon if she didn’t do what her superiors told her to do. It was frustrating. She didn’t want to die. But she didn’t want to listen to her superiors either. They wanted her to hurt and kill people. The Daughter hated hurting and killing people. All she wanted to do was leave her cold little cell, leave her superiors, and let the sunshine fall on her face. She’d never felt the sun fall across her face. She was sure she would like it.

If it came down to dying in her cell, or taking more lives, she knew what her choice would be. They had sent her to kill before. She remembered seeing the faces of those she held at knife point. She could tell by the tenseness in their bodies that they were terrified. Being the one to cause that kind of feeling in another person made her feel… bad. But when she made up her mind not to hurt them, she liked the emotions they gave off. There were words for those emotions, but she wasn’t really sure what they were. She just knew she liked them.

So the Daughter didn’t hurt or kill anymore. Her superiors didn’t like that. She didn’t care anymore.

They gave her one last chance to “prove” herself, but she refused again. There was a man they wanted her to attack. Some other people she was supposed to hurt in front of him. She wasn’t clear on the details (she rarely was. She didn’t think it was her fault, but it made her superiors mad anyway), but she knew from the way her superiors projected violence and bloodlust that she wouldn’t want to do it. She could tell that they meant to leave her to die after that. She wasn’t sure how long that would take.

She didn’t know what would happen when she did eventually die. Maybe she would wake up somewhere new.

~

Contrary to popular belief, Buzzard did actually know how to take care of himself. For example, he knew that breaking into the League of Assassins base and rescuing a collection of people that all hated him on a varying scale from one of the most powerful men in the world was Not Great for his well being. The difference was that knowing how poorly things would probably end for him did not erase the fact he didn’t really have a choice but to do it anyway. That was why he tended not to worry too much about how detrimental any given decision would be for him. It was just too distracting. And he would hate to be distracted while he was breaking into the League of Assassins base and rescuing a collection of people that hated him on a varying scale from one of the most powerful men in the world.

Buzzard and Robin were nearing the base in Pakistan. They were both getting more tense and jittery by the moment. Oracle wasn’t exactly helping things.

“ Is now a bad time to say I have some severe reservations with this plan? ” She asked nervously.

The two vigilanties aboard the Javelin shared a look.

“Yes,” they said together.

“ It’s just that I don’t think ‘split up and hope for the best’ is a good foundation to build off of. ”

“O, I appreciate your input,” Robin lied, “but at this point I think maybe it would be best if you just pretended like you didn’t think we were going to die within 5 minutes.”

“ Don’t be silly! I was thinking at least 10 minutes. ”

“O!”

“ I’m kidding! ” The tech guru reassured her. “ You guys are going to be fine! I’m just allowed to be worried since I have no choice but to sit here and watch Alfred dust the computer screen for the 10th time. ”

“We’ll be back before you know it!” Buzzard was amazed at the confidence Robin could charge her voice with, despite looking like she was going to throw up any second. She glanced Buzzard’s way and cleared her throat a bit, turning slightly red. “Just, you know, if you could explain things to my mom if things do go wrong, I would, uh, appreciate it.” She cleared her throat again and refused to look at Buzzard. Not that he would ever judge her for that.

“ Of course, ” Oracle promised, voice softening considerably. “ What about you, Buzzard? Is there anyone you’d like me to get in contact with, just in case? ”

Buzzard tried not to let his surprise show. The people that would care if he died suddenly in the Middle East were long gone (Even then, he was having trouble convincing himself that his parents wouldn’t just be annoyed about funeral costs). He didn’t really have anyone he was close to, except maybe Steph, but he couldn’t exactly say her name when she was standing right next to him. Maybe he could have Oracle invite Sammy and Tabitha to the funeral just to fill in some seats? It would be embarrassing if it was too empty. Oh, and Slade and Lady Shiva too. That would be funny if nothing else.

He realized he had been quiet for too long, and pasted a smile on his face.

“Just go ahead and let Robin’s mom know about me too! Tell her what best friends we were in our dying moments!” That earned him a hard punch to his shoulder.

“Asshole!” Robin hissed. Buzzard and Oracle laughed and the subject was dropped.

They didn’t say much after that, except to call out slight course corrections, until it was time for the final landing preparations.

“ Remember, you two, go in quiet and go in fast. The less people you have to fight, the better. Track down a terminal or computer as quickly as possible and get me in the system. Until then, absolute radio silence. The League can seem old fashioned sometimes, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they had tech even I’ve never heard of. It’s best not to risk comms with that in mind. Once you have the locations of David Cain’s daughter and Nightwing and the others, split up and rendezvous on Robin’s position if possible. If there’s too much resistance, get out of there and rendezvous back on the Javelin. Everybody clear? ”

“Clear.”

“As crystal!”

“ Perfect. Don’t forget to watch each other’s backs and to stay safe. Good luck, you two. Bring them home. ” Oracle’s comm shut off with a click, and Robin and Buzzard were left alone. 

Robin opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it again with a shake of her head. Buzzard felt he understood. It was hard to come up with words of confidence when you felt like you were about to march to your death.

He set them down about half a mile from the thumb drive’s transmission signal, in a little wooded clearing in front of a massive mountain he could only assume was where the base was hidden. It was farther than he wanted – especially considering they’d most likely have assassins on their tail during their escape if they managed to avoid capture – but he couldn’t risk getting any closer.

“Well. Here goes nothing,” he said weakly. Robin shook her head.

“How cliche.”

The trek towards the mountain was painfully slow. They both were supremely conscious of making any noise that would give them away, looking around in fear every time they so much as stepped on a twig. After what felt like an eon, the two friends reached the end of the treeline. 

Buzzard scanned the mountain for an entrance or signs of nefarious villains or whatnot, and landed on a small cave entrance with a guard clad in all black at the mouth of it.

“Not very subtle for a secret hideout, all things considered,” Robin whispered. Buzzard nodded in agreement. It set him on edge for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, but he pushed the feeling away. He was going to be feeling on edge for the entire time they were in that base, so dwelling on it would do no good.

“I think we’re going to need to incapacitate him.” It would be too obvious, and wouldn’t give them much time before the guard’s absence was noticed, but they had little other choice. Robin nodded in grim agreement and together they crept along the treeline. Once they were out of the guard’s immediate sight, they sprinted to the base of the mountain and followed the jutting edge of rock until they were only a few feet from the mouth of the cave.

Buzzard pointed up, to a small ledge overhanging the entrance. Robin nodded in understanding and began to climb silently. Once she was in position Buzzard stepped away from the wall of rock and in front of the guard.

“Hey!” He called cheerfully, making the man whip towards him. “I got a little lost! Which way do I go to beat the shit out of Ra’s Al Ghul?” The guard rushed towards him, only to have a teenager jump on top of him with a whump once he was away from the cover of the cave. Robin checked that the guard was unconscious before looking up at Buzzard with a grin.

“And here I thought men don’t like asking for directions,” she teased.

“Desperate times, and all that,” he smirked.

They pulled the guard to the side and moved on, not bothering to tie him up. It didn’t take long for the cave to widen and resemble something more akin to a series of hallways the deeper the two of them traveled. Which is when they noticed a problem.

“Why are there so many fucking doors?” Robin hissed.

It was true. It was impossible to walk 5 steps without coming across a new door sunken into the smooth grey walls of the mountain. Buzzard didn’t know if they were bedrooms for the assassins, or just a whole lot of torture rooms, but he wasn’t about to start knocking and ask.

“I still have the signal from the flashdrive,” he remembered. He pulled up the map and started down the long hall again. “It has to lead to a computer of some kind, so we’ll just have to live with whatever it is.”

“Can you get access with just some computer?” Robin asked worriedly. Buzzard stopped dead in his tracks and turned to glare at her.

“Of course I can! I hacked your comms with a security camera! A computer of any kind is child’s play!”

“You what?”

“Forget I said anything. Come on, we don't have time to waste!”

He continued to move down the hall, giving his friend no choice but to follow him. They moved deeper and deeper into the base and continued to pass door after door. He expected that they would have run into someone coming out or going into a room just by coincidence, but the duo were left undisturbed. It made their mission easier, sure, but Buzzard couldn’t fight the unease that settled deeper and deeper in his stomach the longer they went without running into anyone. By the time they got to the room his tracker said the thumb drive was inside, Buzzard was jittery with nerves. The door was wide open.

“Something is very wrong,” he whispered.

“Was it the lack of assassins in the assassin base or the open door to the exact place we need to be that tipped you off?” Robin hissed back tensely. “What the fuck is going on? I’m used to traps being more subtle than this!”

Buzzard concurred. They were obviously being herded towards a specific end game, but it was too obvious. Even the most moronic Justice Leaguer (and Buzzard wasn’t going to name names) would catch on to how easy their infiltration had been thus far. 

“I don’t know what they’re expecting, but they’re obviously underestimating us,” Buzzard muttered mostly to himself. “I don’t plan on sticking around long enough to trigger whatever trap they’re trying to catch us in.” he pushed through the threshold and was greeted with the sight of a little computer desk in one corner of an otherwise empty room. He marched straight over to it (he honestly would’ve felt better if he were swallowed by some hole in the floor or something at that point) and sat down on the chair. Like he expected, the thumb drive he left with Damian 4 years before was plugged into a port on the side. He pulled it out, shoved it into a pocket on his bandolier, and plugged a new drive in.

“What’s that?” Robin wondered, coming up to peer over his shoulder once she could tell the room wasn’t going to explode or something.

“Some pre-written code I have for situations like these,” he explained. “Instead of trying to crack all of the codes and passwords the League’s system has in place manually – which I could do, by the way, it would just take time – this drive uploads its own code into the system like a virus. It rewrites it to give me control.” Robin whistled, impressed.

“How long have you been working on tech like that?” He gave her a sly grin over his shoulder.

“Since I hacked the League 4 years ago. I used all of the encryptions I had to break last time to write this code.” The computer flashed green with access granted and Buzzard gave it a smug look. “And it worked like a charm, if I do say so myself.” he took another drive out and plugged it in to the computer as well.

“Is that one going to send Ra’s Al Ghul’s social security number out?” 

“It’s going to download the system so Oracle has a remote back door.” He pulled the drive out and stuck it into his gauntlet computer. 

“ Robin? Buzzard? Do you guys read me? ”

“Loud and clear, Oracle,” Buzzard answered. 

“ Alright, calm down, I can hear your smugness from here, ” Oracle sighed. “ I’ve connected us to a secure network so we should be safe to talk now. Talk to me. What are things like there? ”

Robin and Buzzard shared a look.

“Quiet,” Robin hedged.

“ Quiet? Like in a good way?”

“Quiet in a ‘we’re absolutely walking into a trap’ way,” Buzzard clarified.

“Oh. That kind of quiet. Well, I’m in the system now, so even if they know you’re coming I can be an extra set of eyes and ears.”

“Good.” Buzzard pulled up a list of prisoners and residents of the massive base and searched the names of all of the Bats and the last name ‘Cain’. All but David appeared under the prisoner list. “It looks like the Bats are all being held together, but away from the rest of the prisoners. I’ll go grab Cain from the prison blocks, and you lead Robin towards the others.”

“ Are you sure you two still want to split up? ” Oracle prodded nervously. Buzzard wasn’t really sure about anything, but they didn’t have the time to go parading through the corridors together.

“The longer we stay here the more nervous I get,” he admitted. “It’s faster if we spit up.”

“Agreed.” Robin marched to the doorway. “You better not take too long, Buzzard, or we’ll leave your ass to have tea with Ra’s!”

“Finally the motivation I need to succeed in this mission,” Buzzard sighed dramatically. Robin grinned and started down the hall at a jog.

“Tell me where I’m going, O!” And then she was gone.

He downloaded the map of the compound to his gauntlet computer and turned the opposite way out of the door. Surprisingly, Buzzard did actually run into some assassins on his way to the prison block. Most of the ones he saw were walking around lazily in a poor excuse for a guard patrol. The one that actually managed to see him before he knocked them out looked surprised and confused. The whole thing just served to baffle Buzzard more. If they really had walked into a trap, why were none of the assassins expecting him?

It didn’t take him long to find the cell he was looking for. It was all the way at the end of a winding corridor, the last set of iron bars shoved into the wall before the dead end. It was cold and damp, enough so that Buzzard shivered despite his insulated suit. He peered through the dim light, but had trouble seeing anything through the gloom.

“Is anyone in there?” he called, not bothering to lower his voice. Something in the shadows shifted, but didn’t otherwise answer. “Hello? Not to be rude, but I’m in a little bit of a hurry. Lady Shiva sent me for you? She says you’re David Cain’s daughter?”

That caused more shifting and scraping, like someone was struggling to their feet. Slowly, very slowly, a figure crept into the limited light. 

Buzzard’s first thought about the girl in front of him was that she had probably been down there in her cell for a very, very long time. The girl’s face was covered in grime and dust. What little of her skin that showed was pale and her eyes were sunken. The rest of her was in a similar state of disarray, with nothing but tattered black pants and a t-shirt to cover her. She stood before Buzzard shivering, even as she gave him a withering look.

Buzzard stared in open horror. This was David Cain’s daughter? He thought he was tracking down a deadly cold blooded killer, someone who would be lounging quietly in her prison cell picking her teeth with the bones of her enemies. The girl standing before him couldn’t have been more than a teenager, obviously malnourished and exhausted.

“What the hell are they doing to you?” he hissed, letting too much anger bleed into his tone.

The girl just dropped from her defensive stance, tilting her head at him quizzically. The two of them stood there staring at each other until Buzzard managed to get his wits about him and hurried to pick the lock on the door.

~

The Daughter was confused. There was a strange boy in front of her, dressed in strange clothes. His eyes were red and scary, but there was nothing dangerous in his posture. He was mad, but none of his anger was directed towards her. She’d never seen someone direct their anger towards someone else before. Well, unless it was one of her superiors punishing another assassin. But every time the boy looked at her (not really at her but the way she was) he seemed to grow angrier. He tried saying something to her, his voice low, but smooth and pleasing. His body screamed that it was looking for someone to direct its anger at. He wanted someone to blame. She could only tilt her head in confusion. What a strange boy.

He tried saying a few more things to her, before he tensed even more, seemingly realizing that she couldn’t actually understand the noises he was making. Then his body just screamed sad (there was already sadness etched in every line of his body, but it was mostly in the background, ever present. He seemed much more aware of the sadness he projected while looking at her), and she had to blink several times just to make sure she was seeing him clearly.

He messed around with the lock on her cell for a few seconds before the door swung open. He stood back, satisfied, and gestured at her, swinging his arm forward. She stayed where she was. If she left, they would make her hurt again. She didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. She’d promised herself she would never leave again so she wouldn’t have to.

The boy noticed her discomfort and slowly stepped forward into her cell. She resisted the urge to retreat backwards, though she knew he meant no harm. Slowly, he extended a hand, palm up, and let it hang in between them. She studied him harder than she had ever studied anyone. He screamed protection. He screamed safety. Slowly, hesitantly, she placed her hand in his.

~

Buzzard was fucking furious . He’d read through the League of Assassin’s files 4 different times, had all of their crimes memorized, and he still thought they at least had the decency to not keep a fucking kid locked in a freezing, dingy cell, without any ability to speak or understand speech . Unless she just didn’t speak English, which he severely doubted.

He was going to kick David Cain’s ass.

“Oracle? Come in.”

“ Robin is almost to the others’ position. What’s up? ”

“I’m going to launch David Cain into the sun.”

“ Alright? ” The ever present clacking of keys paused for a moment. “ Any particular reason why? Other than the murderous assassin thing. ”

“I know plenty of murderous assassins that are way better than this guy,” Buzzard seethed. He shot a pained smile to the girl behind him, her hand still clutched in his. She looked back blankly. He continued pulling her along the winding hallways. “I found his daughter. She’s been locked up for months ! She’s been sitting in a freezing cell for so long with nothing but a microscopic layer of fabric covering her, it’s a miracle she doesn’t have hypothermia or frostbite.”

Oracle cursed under her breath.

“ Does she need immediate medical attention? ”

“She doesn’t seem to be in any immediate danger,” he relayed, giving his new companion a once over. “But O? I’m pretty sure she’s mute.”

“ That will make communication difficult, ” the tech guru sighed, “ but it’s nothing we haven’t seen before. Does she know sign language or– ”