Die a Hero - Tinhatflash53 - Batman (2025)

Chapter 1: The Worst Year of His Life

Chapter Text

Before

Mad with grief. That’s what they would say he was: mad with grief. And Tim honestly couldn’t disagree with them. After all, why else would he be sitting in a dark, cluttered, subterranean lab in Paris, watching in horror as his legacy as a mad scientist was solidified.

Tim stared at the monitor, watching as the little green line mocked him with each rise and fall. A heartbeat. His desperate attempt at getting some semblance of his best friend back had a heartbeat.

Tim took a shaky breath; he had just brought something tolife.He hadcreatedalife.Not just any life, but the life of a clone, a clone made up of both Conner and Tim’s DNA.

The intent in the DNA mixing wasn’t to make some weird, horrifying clone baby. It was just to stabilize the genetic makeup of the experiment, that was all. Lord knew he wasn’t getting a willing donor anytime soon, so Tim had been forced to use his own. That was all it was.

But now there was a heart beating in the glass pod in front of him, a vicious mockery of a mother’s womb, and Tim was forced to face the startling, horrifying reality: Robin was a mad scientist.Robinhad just created a baby with his dead friend’s stolen DNA. Tim had just made Robin the same as Frankenstein, the same asLex Luthor,tainting a legacy that he had already forced himself into.God,what would Dick and Jason say if they saw how he was honoring the R? What wouldBrucesay? … what wouldConnersay?

He should end it. Cut off the experiment now. Euthanize the fetus, drain the pod, and pretend this all never happened. But, as Tim went to inject the pod with a euthanizing agent, he heard the steady beeping of the heart monitor, looked at the tiny, fragile life he had created, and found that he just couldn’t do it. This wasn’t the same as a mother with an unwanted child, this life wasn’t forced on him, it wasn’t unexpected; Tim hadknowingly, willingly, of his own volitioncreated this life. How much of a monster would he be if he created it, only to take it away?

Tim threw the syringe at the ground, watching the glass shatter and the euthanizing agent pool on the cold, concrete floor. He looked back up at the baby he made, at what all logic could point to only as beinghis son.Andfuck,wasn’tthatsomething to think about?

“I… amso sorry,” Tim whispered to his son, “I am so, so sorry for doing this to you. It was wrong, it wasso, sowrong but… but none of that is your fault. I can’t… I can’t kill you formymistake.” Slowly, almost tenderly, Tim placed his gloved hand on the glass, watching the little bundle of flesh float peacefully, “So I’ll… I’ll do right by you. I swear. I’ll find a replacement, hang up the R, then come back and raise you. Yeah… yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll come back and I’ll raise you right. I’ll do everything I can for you. I have to… I owe you that much, at least.”

Tim quickly fiddled with the controls of the pod; the clone baby was set to grow at an accelerated rate, because the original goal was to grow him up into early teenhood. Like Conner had been. But plans change; Tim slowed the aging process down. By the time he found a replacement for him and hung up the R, then he’d be able to come back and raise the baby. By then, he should have aged just enough to look like a two-month-old. Yeah. That would work.

It had to work.

God, he was in so far over his head.

Tim turned away, shutting off the lights and letting the pod continue its growth. Tim’s son did nothing more than let his heart beat. Tim’s shoulders shook as he stumbled back up into the City of Lights, and he tried to pretend he wasn’t crying.

Good God, what had he done?

He’d disgraced the Robin legacy, disgraced Conner’s memory, disgraced his own name, maybe even all of Superherodom. He could hear the whispers now, the warnings that heroes would give to their sidekicks: “Make sure you don’t turn out like Tim Drake: the Mad Scientist.”

Tim flew through the sky of Paris, trying to make his way back to Gotham. He needed to find someone to replace him under the R. He already had some ideas: there was a kid who’d been practically orphaned by a Joker Gas attack, Duke Thomas. Tim had been keeping track of him, making sure he didn’t get into trouble. He’d make a good Robin. Batman needed a Robin, after all. And Tim sure as hell couldn’t be Robin anymore.

After

Tim was a terrible, selfish person. Bruce Wayne,Batmanwas dead, and when that happened, Tim found that he just couldn’t let go of Robin like he’d said he was going to. And his son was still in that pod beneath Paris. Good God, he was such a terrible person.

So Tim lost himself in his grief once more, because there wasno waythat Bruce could be dead. Hehadto be alive, that way Tim could give up the R peacefully, give Bruce his new Robin, (he was also looking into a girl named Carrie Kelly; she showed some promise) and fade quietly into the night to raise his son. That was what he needed to do. So, he needed to find Bruce.

And Brucewasalive. He was sure of it. A deep-seated feeling in his bones, an ache, asuretythat he was just sosure of.Bruce Wayne was alive. Hehadto be.

Dick did not see it that way. “Tim,please,listen to me: you’ve been through a lot…” Dick sighed, slumped over with fatigue at the Batcomputer, wearing his own Batsuit. A jealous corner of Tim’s mind whisperedfaker…,but Tim ignored it.Hesure as hell couldn’t be Batman in Bruce’s absence, and Jason had proven himself too unstable. Dick was the only one for the job.

“... and I just think--; Tim, are you even listening to me!?” Dick sighed with frustration, and Tim jumped. When had he spaced out?

“I’m sorry, Dick, I just got distracted, but I’mtellingyou,Bruce is alive!” Tim insisted, hopping back onto his argument with a vengeance, “Iknow it!”

“I wish he were alive too, Tim, but he’snot!” Dick shouted back, “Hediedand he’snot coming back!”

“He didn’t die!” Tim insisted, “He got--”

“--Rocketed into the timestream by Darkseid’s Omega Beams,” Dick finished flatly, his mocking tone voicing exactly what he thought about Tim's hypothesis, “The Omega Beams, thatkill people.Tim, do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?”

Tim bit his tongue as his jaw clacked shut. Dick sighed, “Tim, you’ve lost a lot this past year. Conner, Bart, your dad, and nowBruce?It’s enough to break anyone! …I think you should start looking into a psychiatrist--”

“You think I’mcrazy!?” Tim shouted in disbelief. Becausewow,that one hurt. Dick, hisbig brother,the one thatalways believed in him, thought he was crazy. The heart monitor beeping below Paris agreed with him, but that was a different issue; Timwasstill a detective, and he knew when he was right about a case. And this was a case now, wasn’t it? The Case of the Missing Batman. And Tim had to find him.

“No, Tim, I didn’t mean-” Dick sighed, but then they were both interrupted by a mocking call from the stairs to the Cave.

“We should really tighten security in the Cave, Batman,” Damian sneered from behind him, “Keep out the riffraff.”

Tim turned to face him, and “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WEARING!?” he roared, becauseDamian was wearing the Robin suit.That wasn’t supposed to happen; Damian was too dark, too broken, too damaged to be Robin. All the reasons whyTimwas giving up Robin! Robin needed to be light, happy, easygoing, able to pull Batman away from the darkness; all traits thatCarrie and Dukepossessed. Not Damian.Not Damian.

Tim should have been the one to find his replacement. He should have been the first Robin to hand down the R peacefully, becausedammit, he needed to be sure he was leaving Bruce in capable hands. And those hands werenotDamian’s. WhatDick just did--!

“Tim, that’s uncalled for!” Dick shouted at him, and Damian smirked.

“Don’t worry,Drake,” he sneered again, “I’m certain there's still a place for you in the Cave. Perhaps theBatgirlcostume is still available-”

“MY NAME IS TIM WAYNE!” Tim roared, anddamn,did it feel good to crack this kid across the face.

“Tim!” Dick shouted forcefully, pulling him off, and Tim snarled as he shoved the first Robin away.

Damian wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, trying to hide a grimace. “Iletyou get that shot in, Drake,” he said, and Tim growled.

“Fuck you!” Tim snapped, then he rounded on Dick, “Fuck both of you! I’ll find Bruce if it’s the last thing I do! And if I have to do it alone, SO BE IT!”

Tim ran to his bike, and burned rubber until he was out of the Cave.

He didn’t look back.

The Red Robin costume felt awkward on his shoulders. But it would serve his purposes for this trip.

First he needed to stop by the lab in Paris, to slow the baby’s growth even more. Maybe even stall it. He needed the time to look for Bruce, then he’d come back for the kid. Yeah, that was it. He’d do that.

Next he needed resources. Dick didn’t believe him, but maybe Superman and the Justice League would. Cassie might, and she could get him an in with the rest of the old Titans. He could even reach out to Jason and the Outlaws if he needed to.

Then, he needed to look for proof of Bruce’s survival, and evidence of his whereabouts. The portrait of “Mordecai Wayne” was a good start, but it wouldn’t convince everyone. Stupid unreliable colonial artists. He had some whispering leads, but nothing concrete yet. That was fine; he knew he just had to work the case and if he worked at it hard enough, the solution would appear. After all, he solved all the cold cases that evenBatmancouldn’t. This would be a piece of cake.

Tim’s bike roared toward the edge of Gotham, soon he’d be out of city limits. Then he heard a secondary roar, and turned as his stomach dropped. The Batmobile.

Tim cursed every god there was and slowed his bike, knowing he’d never be able to outrun the Batmobile. He sighed as the Batmobile roared to a stop, and sure enough, Dick got out. He refused to call him Batman. Dickwasn’tBatman. Not a real one, anyway.

“What do you want, Dick?” he called, still not getting fully off his bike, in case he needed to make a break for it.

“I want to talk, Tim,” Dick said back, and Tim could almost hear the emotion in his voice, “What are you wearing? Is that Jason’s old suit?”

“I’m not Robin anymore,” Tim said coldly, andfuck,that hurt to say.

Dick flinched. Good. Little bastard deserved it. “I know we all said some things we regret…” Dick started, and Tim narrowed his eyes.

“You called me crazy,” Tim returned, “You gave Robin away toDamian.Damian can’t be Robin, Dick!”

“He needs the R!” Dick said back, just a few decibels below a shout, “He needs it so that he doesn’t grow up to be a crazy psycho assassin murderer! I thought you’d be able toseethat, Tim!”

“Yeah, Damian had a rough childhood, and thatsucks,” Tim acquiesced, “That sucks that he had to go through that, Dick. And I’m glad you’re helping him. ButRobin!?You hadno right!”

“I hadeveryright!” Dick shouted back, “I’mBatman!”

“NO THE HELL YOU’RE NOT!” Tim shot back, and Dick looked shocked, “Bruceis Batman. BecauseBruce isn’t dead.And Irefuseto put thatfucking demonby his side asRobin!”

Dick sighed, “And we’re back to this again…”

“Why won’t you justbelieve me!?” Tim cried, finally stepping off his bike, “Dick, we’ve been through so much together!So much!I thought youtrusted me!”

“Idotrust you, Tim!” Dick cried, “But you have to admit, you’re raising all the red flags! You just lost your closest friends and family, you disappeared to Europe for months, then you came back and lost Bruce! Now I just learned from Steph that you blew up your own base, put on Jason’s old suit, and now you’re-- what? Going to find Bruce yourself?”

“Yes!” Tim snapped.

“Withwhat!?” Dick shouted back, “Withwho!?”

“The Justice League!” Tim growled, “The Titans! Maybe even the Outlaws! Anyone who’ll just fuckingbelieve me!”

“That’s not gonna happen, Tim,” said a new voice, and Tim whirled around to see Superman hovering in the sky above them.

Soon, a dozen or more heroes were all descending from the sky, or coming out of the trees. Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, Wonder Woman, even Wally West, dressed in his Flash uniform. Tim saw Steph, too, and narrowed his eyes as he saw Cassie hovering awkwardly by her mentor.

“... What is this?” Tim asked lowly, turning back to Dick as the entire Justice League formed a circle around them.

“This is an intervention, Tim,” Diana said, concern and pity lacing her voice, “You’re not well.”

Tim’s eyes bugged wide. “Allof you think I’mcrazy!?” he asked, aghast, and the Leaguers shuffled their feet in shame. “You-- I-- I don’t even--Superman…” Tim said the last name with a wounded, begging tone, and Clark winced. The pure betrayal in Tim’s young voice hurt to hear, and not for the first time, the League was reminded thateveryoneidolized Superman. Tim was no exception.

“Tim, I want to believe more than anyone that Bruce is still alive,” Clark sighed, trying to appeal to Tim’s reason, “But you weren’t there. You didn’t see what we saw. He’sgone,Tim. He’s not coming back. You need to accept that.”

“NO!” Tim roared, “NO! Brucecan’tbe dead! He’s not allowed to be! I need to--” Tim’s voice cracked with emotion as he thought about all his responsibilities, the things he needed to do. The things he only felt safe doing if Bruce was around to catch him if he fell. He wouldn’t bring his child into a world without Batman.

Manhunter frowned. “What do you mean, Tim?” he asked, and Tim’s eyes widened.

“What are you doing!?” he demanded, but the Martian’s red eyes merely glowed, as they did when he used his telepathy. Tim felt something oh so horriblywrongandforeignenter his mind, and he groaned as he clutched his head. Unbidden thoughts of Paris entered his mind, and he tried desperately to stamp them down.

“What experiment?” J’onn demanded, and the rest of the League stood there, shocked, “Timothy,what is in that laboratory?”

“NOTHING!” Tim shouted, “Get out of my head, Manhunter!”

In a fit of rage, Tim threw down an incendiary capsule, made for combatting White Martians, and J’onn cried out as the fire struck him, climbing up his skin and his clothes. “J’onn!” Clark said urgently, quickly whisking the Martian away to put out the fire with the speed of the wind.

“Tim!” Dick cried urgently, surging forward, and Tim threw a Batarang at him, which didn’t do much but shock him into stopping. “Tim…” Dick said in a wounded whisper, as if realizing that his brother was willing to attack him.

“Enough of this!” Lantern said harshly, his ring glowing green with vindictive rage, “Tim, you’ve gone insane. You can’t be trusted. Batman called us in to either talk you down, which hasfailed,or help haul you to Arkham.”

“Arkham?” Tim whispered, staring at Dick, “ARKHAM!? You were going to throw me into ARKHAM?!?”

“Tim, please, it’s not as bad as it-!” Dick tried to protest, but Tim was too far gone.

“THAT’S IT!” he snapped, and he took one of the capsules of his bandolier, popping it open and slamming his hand down on the button hidden there, “This! This is a remote detonator with a deadman switch, it’ll destroy all of my bases at once. Some of those bases are belowground, or in populated areas; the explosions will wreck the city. Probably take lives. Let me leave, or I blow half of Gotham to hell!”

The Justice League stared at him. Cassie covered her mouth in horror. “Tim, you wouldn’t do that,” Dick said, his mouth in a grim line.

Tim narrowed his eyes. A few dozen Gothamites vs a safe world for his kid? He hated it, but that wasn’t a hard choice. “I don’t know what I wouldn’t do anymore,” Tim growled, and he meant it.

The Justice League waited. Tim kept his finger on the button. “You’re bluffing!” Cassie cried, desperation lacing her voice, and Tim narrowed his eyes at the girl he once thought he could call a friend.

“I’m not Robin anymore,” Tim reiterated, “I’m not a hero anymore either. I haven’t been for a long time. If youknewwhat I’vedone…” Tim’s voice cracked again, and the League bristled. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t tell them. He couldn't look Dick Grayson in the eye and tell him how he had disgraced the Robin legacy.

“Tim…” Dick said, softly, carefully, slowly, “What did you do? What lab was Manhunter talking about?”

Tim’s hand shook. To the League’s shock, they saw tears begin to leak out from beneath his cowl. “I can’t tell you that,” Tim said again, his voice just barely above a whisper, “But just know I need to make the world a safe place. And that won’t happen until Bruce is back beneath the cowl. I can’t-- Iwon’t--"I won't bring my child into a world without Batman-- "There are more lives on the line than just mine, Dick. Please, justlet me go.”

The Justice League waited once more, apprehension filling the forest they were standing in. “It’s your call, Batman,” Wally said seriously.

Dick stood there, silent and still. On one hand, Tim looked so sincere, so much in pain, that it wounded Dick’s soul to not give him what he so desperately wanted. But on the other, Tim was obviously unwell; if he left, he’d only be a danger to himself and others.

Slowly, Tim watched as Dick Grayson melted away, and the (fake) Bat took his place. “Justice League,” Batman said, his voice heavy with grief, “Take Red Robin down.”

Before he could react, Tim gasped as he was hit in the back with one of Lantern’s constructs, and as he spasmed in pain, his finger left the button. Even as the League surged forward, in the city below, dozens of explosions rocked Gotham. All of Tim’s safehouses, all of his perches and hideouts, they all erupted into flames.

The Justice League stopped to watch in horror. “Oh my God…” Steph gasped, “You… you weren’t bluffing…”

Tim staggered to his feet, instinctively running to his bike.All those people...his mind whispered, and Tim gritted his teeth as he thought of the people he had just doomed with his rash decisions. But he couldn't afford to slow down now; he could feel bad about it later.“Your choice, Justice League!” he shouted behind him, and the bike’s engine started with a roar, “Me, or Gotham!” With that, Tim pushed his bike to the absolute limit and hightailed it out of city limits; if he was going to escape the Justice League, he needed the element of surprise.

“Leave him, we need to help the civilians!” Diana cried, flying at top speed toward the city, while Dick looked torn.

“Flash!” he called, but Wally looked between him and the rapidly retreating form of Tim.

“There’s no time, Dick!” Wally shouted back, and he, too, ran to help the city.

Lantern floated down to look at Dick. “I can hunt him down,” he said, “But I can also get you into Gotham quicker. I can’t do both. What’ll it be, Bats?”

Dick swore as Tim continued driving. “Let Tim go,” Batman growled, “Bring me to Gotham.”

And the Justice League saved dozens of lives that day. And Tim Drake made it out into the New Jersey countryside. The news was told only part of the truth: a hero had gone insane, started calling himself Red Robin, and blew up half of Gotham to escape the League. But Tim didn’t even think that was the most jarring part: When he stopped at a rest stop long enough to see the headlines, he staggered for a bit as his heart stopped.

RED ROBIN: FUGITIVE OF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE

Tim never made it back to Paris. With the League on his tail, he couldn’t risk leading them back to his son. However, as he struggled across the planet, he despaired as he realized that he was losing years of his son’s life.

Years.How terrifying was that?

Tim was losing precious time with his son. By the time he saved Bruce, he might already be a young toddler. If he spent more than a year searching for Bruce, he might be a preteen. Two years, he’d be a teenager.

Tim wouldnotbe the teen father of a teenager. That would be too weird. And too hard to hide.

Still, Tim was running on empty; he’d been all around the globe. The Midwest, Russia, Mexico, Spain,everywherewhere evenwhispersof Bruce had been. He didn’t have the resources to go anywhere else. He was so tired, not able to rest or relax because the Justice League was continuously hunting him. If he was in the same city for more than a week or two, inevitably a Leaguer would show up to bring him in. He’d already had too much of a near miss with Green Arrow in Moscow; he needed to be more careful.

Finally, Tim found himself in Istanbul. There was one clue left, a cave in Iraq, and this was as close as an American could get without drawing attention. And with the Justice League hunting him, he couldn’t afford attention. Tim needed to stay hidden. So, when an RPG blew up his hotel room, he was less than happy.

Tim stood on the rooftop, the unconscious bodies of Z, Owens, and Pru behind him. The Red Robin suit seemed to weigh down on his shoulders more than it usually did. “What do you want, Ra’s?” he growled into the communicator he had stolen off of Z.

“I wish to speak to you, Timothy,” Ra’s purred over the line, and Tim’s brain set off all kinds of warning bells.

“We’re already speaking,” Tim growled in response, “Say whatever it is you want to say. I haven’t got all night.”

“Yes, I can imagine your search for the Detective has left you quite exhausted,” Ra’s agreed, and Tim blanched.

“How did you…?” he stuttered, and Ra’s had the gall to laugh at him.

“Timothy, please,” he sighed, “Idohave resources. And unfortunately for you, your pursuers are not that far behind you. Even now, the Detective’s first protege flies to Istanbul with my grandson to intercept you. Superman may even arrive sooner. If you wish to continue your search, you will have to escape the city quickly. Preferably to a safe haven, where even the mighty Justice League cannot find you.”

Tim snorted. “Are you offering, Ra’s?” he said snidely.

“As a matter of fact, Timothy,” Ra’s said with what Tim could only assume was a smirk, “I am. You think that the Detective is still alive; I believe you.”

Tim stopped in his tracks. His heart stopped, his breath caught. He didn’t realize just how much he had needed to hear those words. “You…” Tim stuttered, disbelief and shock painfully evident in his soft voice, “You believe me.”

“Yes, Timothy,” Ra’s assured him, “I believe you. And I want to help.”

Tim almost fell to his knees. “Youbelieveme,” he whispered.No one believed me. Buthedoes. Someone finally believes me!

Ra’s seemed to wait for him. Tim realized he was still talking to the head of an ancient criminal organization, and tried to collect himself. “I-- I’m listening,” he managed to say, hoping to make his voice sound less shaky than he felt.

“Excellent,” Ra’s said, “I’ll see you soon, Timothy. Meet me in Ankara, my assassins will guide you.”

Tim turned back, and sure enough, Z, Owens, and Pru were beginning to wake up. “See you soon, Ra’s,” Tim said back, trying and failing to keep emotion out of his voice, and he threw the comm off the side of the building.

Chapter 2: Cops & Robbers

Chapter Text

The Cave felt colder than usual today, Dick decided. Emptier. Almost devoid of life. Like it had been when Jason died. The only thing that even hinted at the Cave still being a living, breathing place was the fact that Dick had allowed the Justice League to convene there. (Bruce wouldnever approve…but Bruce wasn’t here right now, was he?)

They needed to find Tim. The Red Robin Incident seemed to have solidified the League’s opinion on him: he was too dangerous, and he needed to be taken down. And the fact that Dick had to put one of his little brothers away in Arkham made him want to shrivel up in the grave right next to Bruce.

“We failed him,” Diana said sadly, and Dick started as he tuned back into the conversation, “We failed him as heroes and as friends. There’s no denying that.”

“Tim knew what he was doing,” John Stewart said stubbornly, shaking his head, “I won’t take responsibility for another one of the Bat’s brats going off the deep end.”

“But we should haveseenthat he was hurting,” Diana argued, “We should havenoticed!…We should have helped.”

“We did the best we could, Diana,” Oliver argued softly, putting a hand on the Amazon’s shoulder comfortingly, “Tim’s… going through a hard time right now. That doesn’t mean he’ll be like this forever; hell, I never thought I’d see the day that I was on good terms with Roy again, but now I get emails from him every week! We just need to give the kid time.”

“Yeah, the same Roy that’s running around Arizona with Starfire and the Red Hood,” John snorted derisively, “I bet the only reason he still hangs around is because your money can get him more brown--”

“HEY!” Oliver shouted, standing up in a rage, “Roy’s clean now! He’s been clean for months! He’s faced his demons, and he’s beaten them! And Jason and Kori helped him do it!”

“Calm down, Ollie,” Black Canary sighed softly, pulling her other half down gently, a guiding hand on his shoulder. However, she did make sure to shoot John a dirty look; going after Roy’s struggle with addiction was a low blow.

Oliver sat, but he did so in a huff, muttering under his breath, “Don’t talk about Roy like that.”

“We’re not here to argue about Arsenal, or the other Outlaws,” Clark said in a commanding voice, trying to keep the League on track, “We’re here to talk about Red Robin.”

“His name is Tim,” Dick whispered.

“What was that, Batman?” Diana asked, not unkindly.

“HisnameisTim,” Dick reiterated, “His name is Tim and he’s my little brother and-- and wefailed him.” Dick hung his head in shame, no longer able to face the League; whoever said he should be Batman made a mistake.

“We’ll get him back, Dick,” Wally said to him softly, discreetly taking Dick’s hand under the table, “You have to believe that. We’ll get him back and we’ll get him the help he needs.”

“tt,” came a sneer from the entrance to the Cave, “Who cares about getting the pretenderback?We need to take himdown; he is a danger and a liability to the Justice League’s security, not to mention dangerously unstable.”

Dick clenched his teeth as Damian Wayne waltzed up to the table, dressed in his Robin uniform. He was Bruce’s son, and too young to be a bloodthirsty psychopath. Dick could fix him, he knew he could, heneededto, but sometimes it just got to be too much. “Damian…” he murmured, trying to get a handle on his last threads of patience.

“Robin,” Diana said carefully, putting on her ‘Stern Mother’ voice, as Dick and Wally used to call it, “This is a Justice League exclusive meeting. You are not a member of the Justice League.”

Damian merely snorted, “You are holding your ‘exclusive meeting’ in the Batcave, the very seat of my father’s power. There are no secrets from Bats when in the Cave; Grayson has said it so.”

Dick winced; that particular rule had been to make sure Damian stopped hiding injuries after patrol. Good to see it backfired spectacularly.

Clark rubbed his eyes frustratedly, “Damian, please-”

“Codenames are to be used when operating in an official setting,Superman,” Damian corrected, and Dick winced again. Another rule backfiring; that seemed to be a theme today.

“Robin,then,” Clark said, just the barest hints of a growl leaking into his voice, “This is an unprecedented situation. Certain rules will have to be bent in order to track Tim down.”

Damian snorted again. “This is hardly unprecedented,” he said, “From my studies into the history of my father’s organization, a Robin has gone rogue before: Jason Todd, currently known as the Red Hood. Despite being a subpar Robin, Todd was still able to wreak havoc on Gotham and the Superhero community at large. He led a war of crime on my father and Grayson, one he very nearly won. He almost succeeded in killing the Joker, and fully overthrew many of the major crime families in the Narrows. Only Carmine Falcone and the Penguin escaped his wrath. After that, he proved himself capable of breaking into Titans Tower, whereupon he beat my predecessor into a bloody pulp, and no one was able to stop him. Even now, he continues to disgrace my father’s name with those imbeciles in Arizona.”

“What is yourpoint,Robin?” Dinah asked, a hard edge leaking into her voice.

“Mypoint,Black Canary,” Damian sneered, “Is that despite the fact that Drake is a disgrace of a Robin, the fact that he was Robin in the first place makes him dangerous. He has knowledge of the entire Superhero Community, knowledge that any criminal organization would pay top dollar for. Moreover, he is desperate, and therefore more likely to make foolish decisions. If the Red Hood incident is anything to go off of, we must be especially vigilant and focused in hunting Drake down. If we are not, he may very well spell doom for us all.”

The Justice League stood silent as Damian finished his tirade. Dick felt like curling up into a corner and dying out of shame and embarrassment; there was no way the Justice League just got lectured by an emotionally stunted twelve year old.

“Oh my God, he really is just a miniature Bruce,” Wally whispered under his breath, and Dick fought the urge to snicker.

Damian stalked over to an empty chair, plopping himself down and steepling his fingers in front of him. The pose would have been commanding, had Damian not stood at 4’9’’. “It is obvious that all of you are too close to this case,” he concluded, and the JL squawked in indignation. Damian looked grim, but he raised his voice and carried on.

“By the code of the Bat,laid out to me by Grayson, when one is emotionally compromised by a case, they are to be pulled off of it,” he said firmly, and the League finally quieted uncomfortably as they realized the little gremlin was making sense. Damian looked at each of them in turn, a wisdom beyond his years sparking in his blue eyes. “It is understandable,” he said, and Dick swore he could almost hear something like…compassionin his little brother’s voice, “Drake fought by your sides as Robin for years. Far longer than Todd, or even Grayson served. You grew to know him, to care for him; the bonds of battle formed after Robin fought alongside the Justice League in crisis after crisis. It is entirely expected that his betrayal would throw the League, and perhaps the entire community, into disarray. And under the code, it is the duty of the uncompromised to carry the burden of those unable to work the case; in this instance, that is me.”

“You think we’re gonna put atwelve-year-oldin charge of looking for Red Robin!?” John said indignantly, and Damian stared him down coldly.

“Yes,” he said simply, “Because you all know I’m right. I have the necessary skill set; before my debut as Robin, I trained under the League of Assassins. I trained for a short time under my father. Grayson continues my training, and I am quickly learning the intricacies of detective work. If need be, Grayson can help me with the theory of investigation while also keeping himself distanced. Oracle and Commissioner Gordon will also be excellent resources. Being his successor, it is my solemn duty to bring Drake in; it will be my first act as Robin. Being in the Cave, I have access to most of Drake’s abandoned files; if there is any record of his secret laboratory, it will be here, among his personal effects. There is no one else for the job, and I just so happen to be perfect for it.”

The League sat in silence. “This is crazy,” Oliver said after a pause, “This is, without question, the stupidest, most asinine thing I’ve ever done, but… I agree with the kid. He’s the man for the job.”

Robin nodded appreciatively. Mentally, Damian added Green Arrow to his list of “Tolerable Allies”.

There was another tense silence. “There need to be conditions,” Diana concluded finally, and Damian turned to her.

“And what would they be?” he asked, his tone all business.

“If,if,you find Red Robin,” Diana said, “You are not to engage. You are to immediately inform a member of the League, and allow us to confront him. You are not prepared to face him.”

“I disagree,” Damian said with a frown, “But I accept your terms. It is better that he is found in the first place rather than not at all.”

“Tim is a genius, Dami,” Dick warned him, “You can’t underestimate him. I know you like to think that you’ll be the greatest Robin who ever lived, but Tim hasyearsof experience under his belt. I once heard Bruce say that he thought Tim was smarter than evenhim.He’s dangerous, Dami; be careful.”

Damian hummed softly, a sound Dick had come to learn meant begrudging acceptance of care. “I will be, Grayson,” he muttered softly.Was that a blush on his cheek?

“Second rule,” Clark said, “No one is to be killed during your investigation.”

Damian sneered in displeasure. “Yes,” he muttered, “I am fully aware of the more…disagreeableparts of Father’s code.”

“Third rule,” Wally said, fidgeting in place a little, “If Tim findsyou,you run. You do not try to fight him, you call for backup and yourun.We can’t… we can’t have another Robin beaten half to death in his own home.”

Damian grimaced at the comparison to Todd, but managed to nod his head. “I… accept your terms, West,” he muttered, as if the words caused him physical pain, “Drake is a dangerous combatant. Intelligent. Trained by my father. He is… above my skill level. For the time being.”

Dick beamed with pride; that was the first time Damian willingly accepted that an opponent was beyond him. Maybe hewasmaking progress with the Batbrat after all.

“Are we agreed, then?” Diana asked her colleagues, “Robin is to head the investigation, and the search for Tim Drake?”

Slowly, each member of the League begrudgingly raised their hands.

Damian smiled, “Then I shall begin work immediately.”

“Then allow me to share what I know,” Manhunter said calmly, speaking up for the first time since the League had convened in the Cave. The Leaguers looked to the soft spoken Martian, and J’onn pursed his lips as he thought for a moment. “When I attempted to read Timothy’s mind, I received blurred and unclear images of a laboratory, as you all know,” he began, and Damian called upon his newfound training to file the information away (a giddy, childlike part of him whispered,my first case!like some sort of needy toddler. Damian stamped it out immediately; but a small smile graced his lips regardless.)

“While inside his mind, I attempted to discern the location of this lab, but I could not,” J’onn went on, “But I was able to confirm that it is not in Gotham. And there was… something else.”

The uncertainty in Manhunter’s voice unsettled those who knew him well; being a telepath, J’onn was usually entirely confident in his actions and his words. Anything that could throw him for a loop was usually something supremely confusing, or just downright terrifying.

“And what was it?” Clark asked his friend, and J’onn tilted his head thoughtfully.

“It is hard to describe,” he explained, “Thoughts, they are fluid, intangible. Language cannot always catch up to what the mind perceives. In this case, I felt a very intense flash of emotion from Timothy, a feeling that comes closest to the word…protection.”

“Protection?” Oliver asked, “What was he protecting? Bruce?”

“Perhaps,” J’onn agreed, “But… that does not feel like the answer. This intensity, it is not usual in a child’s perception of a parent. It is more akin to… to a mother protecting her child.”

“Bruce and Tim always had a special bond,” Dick said placatingly, and he missed Damian’s wince, “And last I checked, Tim hasn’t had any kids lately. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sees Bruce as someone who needs protecting.”

John snorted, “Please. Who would he need to protectBatmanfrom?”

There was a tense silence as everyone came to the answer on their own. “Don’t say it,” Wally begged softly, but Clark shook his head.

“Us,” Superman sighed, “Tim thinks he needs to protect Bruce fromus.”

Jason groaned as he slowly drifted back to consciousness. The desert heat in Arizona was something he never thought he would get used to, too accustomed to growing up in the damp chill of Gotham. Window Rock was far from Gotham, but it made Roy happy, so Jason and Kori were happy to stay. And hell, even if it was just a couple of Outlaws, the Navajo needed a few heroes.

Slowly, Jason untangled himself from the mess of limbs that was their bed, immediately feeling cold despite the heat, because dammit, Kori was a fuckingradiator.Jason fought the urge to slip back into his place between his two favorite people in the world (No, Roy, notsnuggling.The infamous crime lord Red Hood did notsnuggle.) and stumbled out into the apartment to meet the day.

He made himself some tea, and kept it hot for Roy, who liked to have a cup in the morning to calm his nerves. Then, he put ice and a bunch of tropical fruit in the blender for Kori, who drank a smoothie in the morning to beat the heat. Sure enough, the whir of the blender woke his lovers up, and Jason had to stifle a laugh as they stumbled out of the bedroom, hair a mess and eyes glazed over.

Roy made a grabbing motion for his tea, which Jason handed over, and Kori floated away into the bathroom to shower first. Silently, Jason moved back into the bedroom to set out her clothes for her; Roy called this “playing house”, but Jason preferred the term “being efficient”. Kori was a total snob when it came to fashion, and if someone didn’t decide for her, she would spend hours hemming and hawing over six different tank tops that were all the same color.

Kori exited the shower twenty minutes later, hair up in a towel, and Jason handed over her smoothie, both he and Roy not bothering to hide the fact that they were enjoying the view as Kori (who neglected to cover therestof her body with a towel, only her hair) floated away in a daze to get her clothes.

Roy found the shower next, and Jason sighed as he relaxed on the couch for the first time that morning. Kori and Roy had offered several times to take over the morning routine, but Jason preferred to do it himself. Besides, he was the one who woke up the earliest anyway. Eventually, they all realized that the morning ritual was important to Jason, and merely accepted it with eager gratitude. And on the upside, Jason got to take care of them. It made something like happiness bubble up in his chest, and for the first time since Joker, he didn’t see a single hint of green anymore.

They were all helping each other beat something. Roy needed to beat heroin. Jason needed to beat the Pit. Kori needed to beat her issues with Dick and her family back on Tamaran. Together, they had helped each other through it, even though the road had gone through places the rest of the Superhero Community deemed “unheroic”, and they were all better for it. Eventually, they came to realize that after all the helping each other, they grew close. It wasn’t just hormones that led the three of them to collapse into the same bed every night, it was something more: love.

They were the Outlaws, heroes of their own making, and they loved each other. Jason smiled as he sipped his tea again; if only Bruce could see him now. Not too long ago he’d tried to go back and be Batman, to take up the Cowl, but after Dick kicked his ass, he went to Kori and Roy, and now he was in a better place. In hindsight, Demonic Batman with Dual Machine Guns probably wasn’t the best aesthetic choice anyway. (“Well,Ithought you made adead sexyBatman, Jay…” Roy said teasingly, the hotness of his breath like fire on Jason’s neck. “Indeed!” Kori laughed, “Let us see whatourBatman can do tonight, eh, Roy?”)

Jason shivered at the memory. It was a pleasant one, to be sure. But just in case someone walked back into the living room, Jason crossed his legs. Rolling his neck out, Jason reached for the morning paper, then frowned when he realized he’d picked up the Diné version. The one he couldn’t read. Sighing, he threw the paper aside for Roy to find later, then went looking for theEnglishversion. Jason had nothing but the utmost respect for Roy’s Navajo heritage, but sometimes it was really a pain in the ass.

As he searched, he found his thoughts drifting back to Dick, and Gotham, and the Cave. Kori and Roy had both been cajoling him to reach out to the family again, to try and mend fences after Bruce’s death, and after the Battle for the Cowl incident, but Jason wasn’t so sure. He’dcut the Replacement’s throat,after all. That sorta stuff wasn’t just stuff yougot over.Not to mention the time he broke into the Tower…

Jason shook himself. Paper. Not trauma. Finally, after searching even the cereal cabinet, Jason gave up and called, “Honeys? Where’s the damn paper?”

“On the table, in the living room!” Roy called back from the bathroom.

“TheEnglishpaper, dumbass!” Jason called back, still searching, “I still can’t read Diné!”

“Oh! I put the English paper on top of the refrigerator!” Kori called from the bedroom, sounding much more energized than she had looked previously.

Jason sighed, muttering “Oh, of course!” under his breath sarcastically. “Silly me,” he muttered, clambering up to the top of the fridge, “Why would Ieverthink to ignore thetop of the fridge!?”

“I was busy and I needed to put it down somewhere!” Kori defended, now finally coming out of the bedroom, fully dressed and ready for the day.

“Kori, we talked about how you need to put things where Jay and I canreachthem.” Roy admonished, stepping out of the bathroom clad in a towel, his hair still damp.

“Youcanreach them,” Kori protested playfully, gesturing to how Jason was precariously balancing on the toaster to get to it, “See?”

Jason successfully snatched the paper, then hopped back down to the ground. “Finally,” he muttered, while Roy and Kori laughed at him.

Jason looked down at the front page, and his heart stopped. As he stood there, Roy and Kori seemed to realize something was wrong. “Uh… Jay?” Roy asked tentatively, “You uh… you good there, buddy?”

Jason’s hands clenched around the paper, and his eyes turned a poisonous green. “Shit,” Roy muttered, and he quickly moved to take the paper from his hands, only for Jason to shake his head vigorously, and the green receded.

“I’m alright,” he said breathlessly, “I’m alright, it’s just…”

He threw the paper down on the table, where Roy and Kori could see the headline:

RED ROBIN: FUGITIVE OF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE

“What the hell is this?!?” Jason demanded.

Kori snatched up the paper, inspecting the photo of a man escaping on a motorcycle, wearing a black cowl and gold bandoliers. “Isn’t this your old suit, Jason?” she asked, and Jason growled.

“Hell yeah it is!” he snapped, “Someone’s tryin’ to frame me! Won’t be long before the goddamn Justice League’s knockin on our door!”

“Hold on,” Roy said, actually reading the article, “Seems like they know it’s someone new. Says here that ‘A hero, disillusioned with the state of affairs in Gotham, has turned to villainy in response to what he perceived as a slight on his sanity.’ If they suspected it was you, wouldn’t they point the finger at the Red Hood? Not some new, disgruntled sidekick.”

Jason’s breathing steadied as the green that had been at the edge of his vision receded fully. “Hey…” he muttered, “You’re right! They know who’s under the cowl!”

“So what do we do about it?” Kori asked in trepidation, and Jason grimaced as he realized the only place he’d be able to get information from.

“I think we have to go to Gotham,” he sighed, and the Outlaws grimaced. From warm and sunny Window Rock to cold and gloomy Gotham; hooray.

Watching Timothy work was the most entertaining thing Ra’s had witnessed in centuries. His mind was unparalleled in the modern landscape, rivalled only by perhaps Lex Luthor, and Ra’s couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of envy for the Detective; such an accomplished protege was something Ra’s could scarcely dream of. Here, surely, was a suitable successor to the Batman, not that silly, lowborn acrobat.

But there was something else in how Timothy moved. A desperation, a longing. A need. Ra’s recognized it well: it was the look of a man who was at his lowest point. And men at their lowest points were easily molded into loyal servants.

Into perfect heirs.

It was then that Ra’s decided: his Grandson was to be abandoned, and disinherited. The Grayson boy would pollute his mind anyway. Here, he had a worthy successor to the Demon’s Head, one that would be far more agreeable.

Ra’s eyes watched hungrily through cameras as Timothy worked furiously through data and evidence, engrossed in his work entirely. On top of his mind, his body was very agreeable as well. His raven back hair fell into his eyes, carelessly brushed aside without a second thought. How wonderful it would feel clenched in Ra’s fist. His physical prowess was excellent, trained by Lady Shiva, King Snake, and the Detetive himself. He was young; smooth, flexible, impressionable. How entertaining it would be to take advantage ofallof his skills. Ra’s smiled; oh, yes. By the time this was over…

He would have Timothy Drake for his own.

Chapter 3: Innocence Lost and Gained

Chapter Text

Time passed in a blur. Tim worked closely with the League of Assassins, always under Ra’s al Ghul’s watchful eye, doing things Bruce would never approve of. But Bruce wasn’t here. And Tim wasn’t Robin anymore.

His team, Z, Owens, and Pru, were likeable enough. For assassins, they were fairly easygoing and fun to talk to; Pru especially usually had something interesting to say. It felt… nice. Then Tim remembered that all of this was only temporary; he needed to get away from the League as soon as possible, find Bruce as soon as possible, and get back to his son as soon as possible. There could be no more distractions, no more delays.

So, when he stumbled into the cave in Iraq, and saw the Bat Symbol painted on the wall, for the first time in a little over a month, Tim grinned like a madman. “I wasright…” he whispered to himself, then, seized by a sudden energy, laughed and pumped his arms, shouting, “I WAS RIGHT!! SUCK IT, DICK! SUCK IT, JUSTICE LEAGUE!! I! WAS! RIGHT!!!”

He continued laughing, grinning and prancing about the cave like a crazy person. Depleted of his energy, he fell to his knees in the sand, looking up at the cave painting of the symbol that he had chased all his life. Bruce wasalive.He had proof now! Now all he had to do was show this to Dick and the JL, and--!!

Wait.

… did Tim trust the JL anymore?

His grin fell. He thought back on their last meeting; Tim had blown up half of Gotham. The League had tried to throw him into Arkham.Arkham!They thought he was so batshit insane for daring to think that in a world whereBoston fucking BrandandJason fucking Toddexist, there was the slightest possible chance that Bruce Wayne might still be alive.

Dick had been his brother. He hadswornto love him, to protect him, totrusthim. And he had tried to throw Tim into Arkham. Superman was supposed to be the golden standard for all superheroes, he was supposed to believe you when no one else would, and he still just turned away while Tim fell apart. The Justice League was supposed to be the supreme force ofgoodin the world, but they had tried to take him in. To take himdown.Tim stared at his father’s sigil, then came to the startling truth.

He didn’t trust the Justice League anymore.

“I’ll bring you home, Bruce,” he said, hoping that somewhere, his father would hear him, “But I’ll do it myself.”

Tim knelt there for a little while longer, thinking over how to best calculate Bruce’s path of trajectory, and where best to pick him up. He’d carbon dated the Bat Symbol, and tested for trace Omega Radiation, so he had a general idea of when Bruce might show up in the modern day. In order to stop being flung through time, he needed to deplete all the radiation, so Tim would need a device to siphon all that off. Better to send an inanimate object hurtling through the timestream rather than Bruce.

He had a lot of work to do.

Tim finally staggered out of the cave, a small smile on his face. Z, Owens, and Pru grinned at him. “‘Suck it, Justice League’?” Pru asked teasingly, and Tim had the grace to blush.

“It was a very vindicating moment,” he defended, and a general chuckle passed through the group.

“Well, now that you have what you came for, Tim Drake,” Z said sagely, “We should return to Nanda Parbat. A plane awaits in Ankara.”

“Nice going, Boss!” Owens laughed, punching Tim in the arm playfully, “You can finally tell those JL shitheads where they can stick it!”

Tim smiled. “Maybe I will, Owens,” he laughed, “Maybe I will.”

Pru shook her head, “Mate, you are just…cryptic.Like,all the time.”

Tim grinned at her, “It’s part of my charm.”

“Let’s load up!” Z called, already starting the jeep, and as the three of them walked forward to get in the car, Tim felt a searing, ripping wound in his chest.

“GAAAH!!” he screamed, and he stared down in shock as a blade protruded from his abdomen.

“Boss!” Pru shouted, raising her guns, but a blade slashed at her throat, and she went down with a gurgle, her guns falling to the sand with a dullthud!

“Greetings, assassins!” a high, wheedly voice said from behind them, and Tim screamed again as the blade was retracted. He fell to the ground, coughing wetly as fire blazed in his side. “I am theWidower,” the high voice said, and Tim heard the steel song of blades scraping against each other, “Thank you for being sosporting.And thank you for playing!”

Widower leapt on top of Owens, who gasped as a blade went through his bicep. Z hopped over the roof of the jeep, attempting to throw a kick at Widower’s head, but the killer merely raised his blade, and like a knife through hot butter, Z lost his foot.

Z stumbled to the ground with a scream, clutching his bleeding leg, and Tim’s eyes widened as his world slowed down. Darkness creeped at the edge of his vision, but he refused to fall unconscious. He’d sworn to protect these people. He was their squad leader. If he couldn’t protect his squad from death, then what hope did he have to save hisson?

Tim’s hand closed around something cold and metal. He raised his arm. He pulled his finger back.

Gunfire split the air, and the Widower fell, a hole in the back of his head. He was dead.

Tim had one of Pru’s guns in his hand. He’d shot Widower. He’dkilled.

Tim collapsed into darkness, a final, sneering thought passed through his brain:What would Bruce say, if he saw what you’ve become?

Gotham was just as shitty as Jason remembered it. Cold, damp, gritty, grimey, dark; helovedit. Home sweet home. The small part of him that was still the kid from Crime Alley revelled in the darkness, in the sin and the ruin, and he grinned as he breathed in that toxic Gotham air; Jason was home.

Roy and Kori liked it less, but he couldn’t blame them; Gotham wasn’t for everyone. That’s why none of the other heroes ever came; rumor has it that Bruce had some bullshit rule about “No Metas in Gotham”, but Jason knew damn well it was because no one else had the balls to take on the crime and poverty capital of America. Detroit, eat your heart out.

So, Jason was vastly enjoying himself as he ran across rooftops and through puddles of what might have once been water. Roy was a little behind him, keeping up easily; Star City wasn’t as bad as Gotham, but the architecture was similar. Free running was easy here. Kori, however, cheated, and merely flew through the sky above them.

“How long are we just gonna run around for?” Roy called up, and Jason rolled his eyes beneath his helmet.

“Well first of all, we need the gangs to know that Red Hood is back,” he shouted over his shoulder, “And second, we need to wait until we-”

“Get my attention?” a new voice said, and the Outlaws stopped in their tracks. Kori floated down to stand alongside her teammates, her fist glowing threateningly.

Out of the shadow of a water tower, Batman stalked into the pale moonlight. “What are you three doing here?” Dick asked, and Jason took off his helmet.

“Not here to fight, Dickhead, don’t worry,” he assured his former older brother, and he saw Dick’s eyes narrow.

“I don’t have time for this, Hood,” he sighed, “You have no idea how stressful being Batman is. I have a lot on my plate right now, and I really don’t need another gang in Gotham, or whatever you’re trying to do.”

Jason sighed, “Aw, Dickiebird, didn’t know ya cared. But I’m not here to start running a crime syndicate… well, not yet, anyway. I’ve got some questions for ya, that’s all.”

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Roy, Kori, why are you going along with this?” he asked, and Arsenal and Starfire bristled.

“Just hear him out, Dick,” Roy said, fingering the string on his bow, “This is important.”

Starfire said nothing, merely let her prenatal starbolt glow brighter around her fist.

Dick shook his head, “Jason,please.I can’t-- I can’t deal with you right now.”

“Why?” Jason asked, “Too busy with the newRed Robin?”

Dick straightened in surprise. Jason grinned; finally, he got Dick off-balance.

“How do you-?” he began to ask, and Roy rolled his eyes.

“It was in themorning paper, Dick, it wasn’t exactly a secret,” he scoffed, and Dick grimaced.

“I said I wanted to keep it on the downlow, but John thought public knowledge would help track him down,” he explained, fidgeting uncomfortably.

“So?” Jason asked impatiently, “Who’s under the cowl, Dickie?”

“tt,” came a scoff from somewhere on their right, and Jason immediately pointed his gun toward a small shadow perched on the ledge. “Of course you haven’t figured it out yet,Todd,” the boy sneered as he stepped into the light, and Jason did a double-take asRobinstood facing him.Robin with a fucking katana.

“That’snotReplacement,” Jason growled, then turned back to Dick, “Who the fuck is that!?”

Dick sighed, and Robin bristled. “This is Damian,” Dick explained, “He’s Bruce’s son.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. Dick held his gaze. He looked back at Damian, who stared at him challengingly. “Well hot damn,” Jason muttered, holstering his gun, “Old Man got some after all. So, who’s yer mommy, kid? Catwoman?”

Damian sneered in disgust. “Please, I am not the son of that lowbornharlot,” he growled, and that set off all sorts of red flags, “I am the son of the Batman and Talia al Ghul, the unification of two fine and proud bloodlines. Ergo, I am the perfect son.”

Jason stood there, shocked. Roy’s jaw dropped. Kori tilted her head curiously. Dick sighed and hung his head.

Then Jasonlaughed his ass off.He doubled over, wheezing and crying, and Damian grew red in the face. “What’s so funny,peasant!?” Damian growled, and even though he was going for a Batman Growl, his voice was too high, so it came out like an angry mouse squeaking.

That comparison only made Jason laugh harder. Dick pinched the bridge of his nose again, and it seemed exasperation was the new default emotion of the Batman. “Oh my God!” Jason wheezed, falling to his knees and wiping his eyes beneath the domino, “Oh, kid, you have no idea-!”

Damian’s arms shook with rage, (adorably) and he shouted back, “No idea aboutwhat, Todd!?”

Jason laughed more, then finally choked out, “I fucked yer mom!”

“WHAT!?” Damian screeched, and at this point the other Outlaws finally saw the joke and began to snicker themselves. “IT’S NOT FUNNY!” Damian snapped, and Dick growled.

“Damian!” Dick ordered, “Cave! Now.”

“But-!” Damian argued, but Dick cut him off with a withering look.

“Now!” he ordered, and Damian straightened as the rebuke finally registered. He grumbled something unintelligible, then grappled off in the direction of the manor.

Jason slowly winded down as Dick breathed through his nose several times, trying to calm himself down. Roy seemed to realize that they’d just pissed off the Goddamn Batman, and tried his best to compose himself while Kori merely continued giggling in her ex’s face.

“Jason…” Dick said finally, as Jason pulled himself to his feet, “Whatdo you want?”

Jason huffed out the last vestiges of his laughter, then rolled his neck to compose himself. “I want to know who the new Red Robin is,” he declared, “I wanna know who’s usin’ my suit. And why.”

Dick straightened, if not in surprise, then in discomfort. The Outlaws waited. Dick remained silent. “Answer the question, Dick,” Kori said warningly, charging up another starbolt, and Dick’s jaw clenched.

Dick’s hands twitched. Panicking, Roy quickly notched an arrow, raising his bow, and Jason responded by putting a hand on his gun. To their surprise, however, Dick just collapsed onto the side of the building, sitting with his back hunched and his head in his hands. Like a man already defeated. Never a look Batman should have.

“It’s Tim,” Dick whispered, “Tim is Red Robin.”

Jason’s eyes widened. “Replacement?” he asked in disbelief, “Replacementwent off the deep end??”

Dick winced at the wording, but nodded his head sadly. “But… why?” Jason asked, incredulity still painfully evident in his voice. Jason had studied Tim; the kid was the most put together, the most cool in the head, the most in control of any of them. If he had to peg the Robins in terms of most mental stability to least, Tim would be at the top of the list. What could make a kid like that go over the edge?

“Was it… Did he…” Jason couldn’t breathe; did Tim jump off in some misguided quest to get revenge on him? Did he hold Jason accountable for the Pit Madness? Was he trying to get payback for Titans Tower? Jason swallowed hard, “Is he gunning for me, Dick?”

Dick looked up in surprise. “What? No!” he said defensively, “Er, I don’tthinkso. He never mentioned you. He’s… he’s going after Bruce.”

Atthatrevelation, all the Outlaws did a double-take. “Bruce?” Roy asked incredulously, “I thought Bruce was dead? Darkseid hit him head on!”

“Iknow,” Dick said, “Hedid.Heis.But Tim… Tim doesn’t see that.”

“Then whatdoesTim see?” Kori asked him, and Dick sighed sadly.

“He has some harebrained scheme that Bruce was lost in the timestream, rather than just vaporized,” Dick explained, “He’s lost so much so quickly, what with the Titans, his dad, and now Bruce, it’s… I think it’s more than he could bear. I tried to get him to go to a psychiatrist, but-”

“You called him crazy?” Jason asked harshly, and Dick winced again, “Dick, we live in a world withfuckin’mein it! Tim ain’t crazy for thinking the same kinda thing might happen to Bruce!”

Dick stood up in a rage, and he shouted, “YOU WEREN’T THERE, JASON!!”

The Outlaws took a step back, and Dick snarled in anger and fear and grief, shouting, “YOU WEREN’T THERE!YOU WEREN’T THERE WHEN SUPERMAN CAME AND BROUGHT ME HISFUCKING SKELETON, AND TOLD ME HE WASFUCKING SORRY.YOU WEREN’T THEREWHEN ALFRED FUCKING CRIED FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER!!YOU WEREN’T THERE WHEN WE BURIED HIM IN AN UNMARKEDFUCKINGGRAVE, BECAUSE HOW COULD WE POSSIBLY TELL THE WORLD THAT BRUCE WAYNE WAS DEAD!?! YOU WEREN’T THERE WHEN DAMIAN RAN AROUND GOTHAM, KILLING AND MAIMING HALF THEFUCKING UNDERWORLDBECAUSE HE WAS RAISED BY AFUCKING MURDER CULT!!”

Dick seethed as his shoulders heaved, and he tried to get a handle on himself, but he just couldn’t, and growled out to the Outlaws, “But I WAS.I have been doing thebest I fucking can, alright!?Between the League, and Damian, andfucking you,and Joker, and Freeze, and Ivy, and Harley, and Selina, and Two-Face, and Riddler, andTalia alfuckingGhul,Ididn’t have the fucking time to help Tim, alright!?There, Ifucking said it!!”

Dick finally stopped his rant, and he collapsed in on himself again as the Outlaws, for the first time, saw Batmansob.Horrible, racking sobs seized Dick Grayson’s body, and he held his head in his hands as he tumbled back down to the ground. Even more alarming, Dick ripped the cowl off his head, like a man drowning, and sat there, not Batman, but Dick Grayson, sobbing for the brother he couldn’t save.

“Aw, shit,” Jason muttered, and he looked at Roy and Kori pleadingly. Roy only shrugged helplessly, while Kori only frowned. Jason cursed himself, then looked at his brother. “Put the cowl back on, Dick,” he ordered.

Dick looked up at him, his blue eyes bloodshot and red, “Wha-?”

“Put that cowl back on!” Jason said again, harsher this time, and Dick sat up in startled surprise, “That cowlmeanssomethin’ ta folks, ya hear!? It meansjustice,andhope,andsafety!You wanna go home and feel bad about yerself, that’s fine, you go on ahead, I ain’t gonna stop ya. But out here? Wearin’ that suit? YerBatmandammit. And thatmeans somethin’.”

Dick gulped down the last of his tears, then hung his head. “You’re right,” he sighed, and he pulled the cowl back over his head, “I hate that you’re right.”

Batman stood up, and looked the Outlaws in the eyes. “I… have some soul-searching to do,” he sighed eventually, “If you want to try and find Tim, be my guest. You want to hang around Gotham, fine. But, if you do want to stay… drop by the Manor sometime? Alfred… Alfred needs the pickmeup.”

With that, Batman swung away into the night, and the Outlaws stood dumbfounded on the roof. “So…” Roy said uncertainly, “What, uh… what now?”

Jason cursed and spat at the ground, “I’ve got nofuckingclue, Roy.”

Damian stewed in his anger as he arrived back at the Manor, grumbling as he took off his suit and threw it at the locker with uncharacteristic haphazardness. “Rough night, Master Damian?” Alfred asked, appearing in the Cave like a ghost, and Damian fought the urge to jump.

“None of your business, Pennyworth,” he snapped, and he stalked past the servant and into the cave. He still did not understand why a manservant commanded so much authority within the manor; Father’s ways were truly strange. If only he were here to teach them to Damian himself.

Drake thinks Father is alive,Damian thought,What if he is correct? What if I could have my father back-?

Damian cut off that train of thought immediately. Father fell in battle against a god; an honorable death if there ever was one.Drakewas merely disgracing his memory by clinging to false hope. Besides, Grayson has been a more than satisfactory mentor and teacher--

“Gah!” Damian growled in frustration, punching one of the cave walls, “Damned Grayson! Damned Todd!Damned Drake!” With his predecessors sufficiently cursed, Damian slumped over in his father’s chair, the tall one by the Batcomputer, pinching the bridge of his nose. Grayson had no right to dismiss him like that. Todd had no right to saythatabout his mother. Drake has no right disgracing the life and the legacy that should have been Damian’s in the first place.

Pennyworth arrived with cookies and milk. “What… what is this?” Damian asked incredulously, staring at the treat.

“Cookies and milk, young master,” Pennyworth supplied, as if it weren’t obvious.

“Are you mocking me, Pennyworth?” Damian asked harshly, eyeing the old butler, ready for a fight, but then… he saw the sadness in Pennyworth’s elderly eyes, and stopped in his tracks. Sadness? This was a new and unfamiliar emotion to Damian. Anger, he knew, even disappointment, but sadness? This was uncharted territory.

“No, Master Damian, I am not,” Pennyworth said softly, “I am merely… trying to help. You see, whenever frustrated as a boy, chocolate chip cookies and whole milk was a favorite of your father’s, and--”

Pennyworth stopped then, and Damian’s eyes widened as the old butler was forced to pat his eyes with a handkerchief, wiping away tears. “Forgive me, Master Damian, I must look a terrible mess,” Alfred sighed, and Damian frowned, looking back down at the cookies.

“It’s alright, Pennyworth,” Damian said softly, uncertainly, “... Thank you. I was… unaware of the reasoning behind this. It is a kind gesture.”

Alfred nodded, bowing slightly, and began to leave, but Damian turned to him, “Pennyworth?”

The old butler stopped. “Yes, young master?” he asked.

“Do you…” Damian cursed his own emotional inadequacy, “Would you like to stay with me? I… can scarcely hope to eat all these cookies alone.”

It was a lame excuse, and Damian was certain Pennyworth saw through it, but the old butler smiled, and picked up the plate. “Then perhaps we should retire to the kitchen, Master Damian?” he asked, and Damian nodded.

Once they were aboveground, few words actually passed between them. However, Damian thought he now understood why Pennyworth commanded the respect that he did; he knew much of Father, and Father trusted him. After the death of his grandparents, Pennyworth was the one to raise Father. The one who helped him become Batman. In many ways, Pennyworth was Damian’s grandfather.

And considering his own Grandfather…

Damian smiled as he dipped the cookie in the milk, taking another bite. It really was an extraordinary taste. Nothing with this much sugar was ever allowed in the League of Assassins. Come to think of it, this was the first time Damian had everhada cookie.

He looked back up at Pennyworth, who enjoyed his own cookie and glass of whole milk, looking out the window at the gardens. The sadness in his eyes, but the smile on his face. Nostalgia for a lost loved one.

There was a hole in Damian’s heart the shape of a father. And a hole in Pennyworth’s the shape of a son. Damian sighed, and so did Pennyworth.

Cookies were amazing.

Chapter 4: Red Robin Rises

Chapter Text

“Oracle,” Dick said behind her, and Barbara turned to see him, standing in her Clocktower, looking haggard and exhausted.

“Batman,” she greeted in return, and Dick only sighed, taking off his cowl.

“Don’t call me that,” he said sadly, and Barbara frowned.

“What’s wrong?” she asked; they may have been separated for years now, but she could still tell when something was wrong with the first Robin.

“I, uh… I spoke to Jason today, Babs,” Dick said, and he slumped into a chair beside her, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Barbara sent a quick message to the Birds of Prey that said she was indisposed for a few minutes, then wheeled herself around to face the Boy Wonder. “Do what anymore?” she asked him, trying to sound as concerned and caring as she could. Dick wasn’t Bruce; she couldn’t just tell him what he needed to hear. No, Dick actually had emotions, he needed to be coaxed to come to the conclusion on his own.

Dick scowled, grabbing at the fabric covering his chest. At the Bat Symbol. “This,” he muttered, “Batman.I can’t… I just can’t do it, Babs. I’mnotBatman.”

Barbara sighed, rubbing her eyes behind her glasses. “Dick, you know that there’s no one else for the job,” she said to him, and Dick gritted his teeth.

“I know,” he growled, “I know that,Babs. But… I’m starting to think there’sno onefor the job. Not even me. I just… I feel like I’m running around with my head chopped off. I don’t feel like I’m doing anygoodin the city, I just feel like I’m trying to fill in places that can’t be filled. All the Rogues know it’s not Bruce under the cowl anymore, did you know that? I’ve been called out by Penguin, Ivy, Two-Face, evenJoker.Especially Joker. He knows that it’s just ‘Boy Blunder playing dress up’. Not Batman. Not really.”

Barbara frowned at him. “But you saw what the city went to without Batman. The GCPD was overwhelmed,wewere overwhelmed,” she said, placing a hand on his knee, “Gotham needs Batman. And Dick, whether you like it or not, you’re the only Batman we’ve got.”

Dick sighed and hung his head. He sat like that for a long time, just breathing through whatever was running around in his head. “What kind of Batman drives his Robin to insanity?” he asked softly, and Barbara sighed.

“So this is about Tim,” she said, and Dick held his head in his hands.

“Yes. No. Maybe, I don’t know,” he sighed, “I just… hetrustedme, Barbara. And I tried to have him thrown inArkham.”

“We all agreed it was the best we could do,” Barbara sighed, “The League voted.Ivoted.”

“But it still wasn’tright,” Dick sighed, “And now he’s running around God-knows-where, doing God-knows-what. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s gotten himself killed.”

“You can’t think like that, Dick,” Barbara said imploringly, “Tim’s a tough kid, he’ll make it through.”

“Yeah,” Dick sighed, “That’s what we all thought about his mind, too. The smartest Robin. He’ll never crack. He’ll never go bad. He’ll never blow up half of Gotham or throw a batarang at his own brother to escape League custody.”

Barbara frowned. “You can’t blame yourself for Tim’s choices, Dick,” she said, “He’s his own man now. From what he said, I think he was doing something bad even before Damian was Robin. I’m helping Damian decode the firewalls and blocks on his laptop, and the dates on some of his most encrypted files? They’re from nearly three months ago, Dick. That was before even Bruce. Youcan’tblame yourself for Tim.”

“I beg to differ,” Dick sighed, and he looked down at his Batsuit again. “I’m not Bruce,” he sighed, “Everyone, Gotham, Tim, the League, your dad, even, they all keep needing me to be Bruce, but I’mnot.”

Barbara smiled sadly. “Well that’s your problem, Boy Wonder,” she said softly, “You keep trying to be.”

Dick looked up at her. Barbara continued, “No one canbeBruce Wayne. It’s just not possible. But Batman? Batman’s a symbol, not an individual. Bruce Wayne and Batman aren’t the same. Youcanbe Batman, Dick; you just have to stop being Bruce’s Batman.”

Dick looked down at his suit. “And what if Dick Grayson’s Batman isn’t good enough?” he sighed, and Barbara looked at him.

“Dick, Damian worships the ground you walk on,” she said to him flatly, and that was enough to get a snort of surprised laughter out of him. “He’s come so far, Dick,” she said with a smile, remembering how the little terror had been like upon his arrival, “And no small part of that has been you. Think about it; he voluntarily asked me and Dad for help on the Red Robin case. He’sneverdone that. And he’s finally started hanging out with kids his own age, like Jon Kent. He’s becoming anormal kid,Dick, not an assassin, and that’s all because ofyou.Yousavedhim. And if saving the innocent isn’t Batman, then I don’t know what is.”

Dick grinned in spite of himself. “The kid has been doing pretty great, hasn’t he?” he said happily, and Barbara smiled.

“See?” she said with a laugh, “That’s a proud parent smile.”

“P-Parent??” Dick choked, going red in the face, “No no, I’m not-- I mean, I, I don’t want to replace Bruce for him, I just want to--”

“Dick,” Barbara admonished, “Did you forget the part about him worshipping you? Everytime I talk with him, it’s always ‘Grayson this’, and ‘Grayson that’. He uses Bruce as proof of his lineage, but you? You’re hisdad,Dick. And he might be as emotionally stunted as his father, but he loves you for that.”

Dick smiled softly, then looked at his feet. “Yeah,” he sighed, “Yeah, okay, I treat him like he’s my kid. He’s a son to me. I get it. And Batman… I think I know what I want to do.”

“Oh?” she asked teasingly, “And what might that be, Boy Wonder?”

Dick held her gaze. “If I’m gonna be Batman, I’m gonna stop being Bruce’s Batman,” he said firmly, and Barbara grinned, “Bruce always tried to push people away, to work alone. No more of that. We’re getting the Batfamily back together.”

Barbara’s eyes widened. “I… are you sure?” she asked, and Dick nodded.

“I’m sure,” he said, “I want all of us to carry on Bruce’s legacy, not just me and Damian. We’re all Bats, this city is home to all of us. You were right, Babs, I kept trying tobeBruce.” Dick stood up, pulling the cowl back on, “No more.ThisBatman’s got friends. Family. We’ll all honor Bruce together.”

Barbara smiled. “I think I’d like that,” she said happily, a nostalgic, hopeful smile on her face, and Batman turned back to her. Perhaps the first time Dick Grayson has trulybeenBatman.

“I’ll find Jason again,” he said, “Would you reach out to Cass in Hong Kong? And Stephanie?”

“Of course,” Barbara smiled, “You can count on me… Batman.”

Dick grinned, then leapt away into the night.

Tim woke up three days later. Ra’s had been at his bedside, watching him, (the fuckingcreep) and gave Tim the news: Somehow, Owens and Z had managed to load Tim and Pru into the jeep and make it back to civilization to send out a distress call. Ra’s ninjas had swooped in, and whisked them all away to Nanda Parbat for recovery. Owens had lost his left arm. Z his right foot. Pru, her larynx. They were all being given bionic replacements as they spoke.

And Tim? Tim had lost his spleen. A vital organ. A piece of him was missing, a literal hole in his chest.Excellent showing from the father of the year,his mind scoffed at him,What next then, jackass? How can you hope to protect your son from the likes of Superman and Wonder Woman if you have to lower yourself to break your one rule, as well as lose a vital organ, in the process of taking downonemeasly superassassin?

And that was another thing to think about. Tim hadkilled.He’dkilled the Widower.It had been a split second, not even a decision really, but he’d stilldone it.He’d picked up the gun, he’d pulled the trigger, he’d watched with satisfaction as the Widower’s body collapsed. And the worst part? Tim didn’t feel a single ounce of remorse; not for the act, anyway. Sure, he was sorry that he’d broken his rule, brokenBruce’srule, but for actually killing the scumbag? Hell no. he was protecting his squad. Widower needed to die.

And his squad was still alive. Wasn’t that the important part? Everyone was still alive. Timhadprotected them. He’d wrecked his own body, but everyone was still alive. It didn’t matter what happened to Tim; the squad was safe.

So now he was on antibiotics daily. Z, Owens, and Pru were all in therapy, getting used to their new bionic appendages, and Ra’s was…hovering.Tim didn’t know what else to call it. Whenever he would dare to come out of his room for food, there was Ra’s, watching him. There was a look in his eye that Tim couldn’t quite place, but he was sure he didn’t like it. He tried to ignore it.

While he was laid up, Tim worked on the device he would use to siphon the Omega Radiation off of Bruce; according to his projections, he had about six months.Fuck,that was too long. He needed to get back to Paris as soon as he could; once he had a moment, when Ra’s would let him go, he would lose the inevitable tails and head straight for the lab. He just had to stall the kid’s growth, and--

Huh. he should think of a name. He couldn’t really keep calling him “the kid”.

Things for later.

For now, Tim needed to focus on the schematics for the siphon, a collar sort of thing that would latch on to Bruce, siphon off the radiation, then could be detached and sent through the timestream in Bruce’s stead. It was perfect; now he just needed tobuildthe damn thing.

Hold on;what the hell was that?Tim growled as he noticed that someone had triggered the alarms on his encrypted files. Someone was trying tocrackthem.Pretentious bastard!Tim thought as he quickly tapped out the commands on his keyboard with reckless abandon.

Point of origin for the hacker was… the Batcave.Of course.His options from a laptop on the other side of the planet were limited, but…

Tim hacked into the Batcomputer’s cameras, narrowing his eyes at who he saw behind the lens.Damian.Ofcoursethe demon brat was trying to crack his files; and he was doing a commendable job of it too.Too commendable.

Probably help from Oracle. Tim frowned; he didn’t want to have to get Barbara involved, but if he had to, he would. For now, though, if this was just an unsanctioned investigation, he supposed a solid threat or two wouldn’t hurt. Tim hacked into the Cave’s speakers.

“What do you think you’re doing, Demon Brat?” Drake growled, and Damian was ashamed to say he jumped in his chair.

“Dr-Drake,” he stammered, composing himself quickly, “How did you know?”

“Please, I built my own backdoors into the Batcomputer ages ago,” Tim scoffed, and now Damian saw his face, hidden mostly by a black cowl. He was in a room with low light, with stone or adobe walls. Walls that Damian recognized well…

“Are you in Nanda Parbat!?” Damian asked in astonishment, and Tim snorted.

“I’ve been a lot of places recently, Damian, don’t act so surprised,” he muttered, “Not like your precious Batdick left me many options.”

Damian narrowed his eyes, trying to remember his training. “You could always turn yourself in, Drake,” he said carefully, “Grayson is concerned for you. So is Pennyworth.”

“Don’t youfucking dareuse a scriptIwrote against me, Demon Brat!” Tim growled, hunching his shoulders in anger, “Least you can do is pay me the common courtesy of cutting the bullshit!”

Damian frowned. “You are quick to anger,” he noticed, “A sign of erratic or desperate behavior. Coupled with your circumstances, I would say you are close to a mental breakdown, Drake.”

“Yeah,I know,” he growled, “You know who wrote that manual you’re quoting, Damian?Me.”

“Then you know that if a member of the Batfamily begins to exhibit such behavior, they are to be pulled from the field!” Damian countered, then tried to control his breathing, and remember what Grayson had told him to say to talk down potential villains. “You are not well, Drake. We can help you.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because if anything, Drake grew angrier. “I didn’t call for achat,Demon Brat,” he growled, and Damian bristled in response, rising to the challenge.

“So what?” he asked scornfully, “A petty warning? You must know I will not be intimidated by petty threats, Drake.”

Drake scowled at him, and after a few moments of silence, Damian realized he was thinking. Had… had Drake truly expected him to just respond to a threat and be done with it?

“You know what, brat?” Drake said finally, tilting his head up with finality, “You’reright.You’re the grandson of Ra’s al Ghul, after all; what threats could I make that would work on you?”

Damian blinked. This… could be problematic.

“You’ve never been told ‘no’ in your whole life, have you?” Drake sneered, and Damian bristled, “You want to kill people? Ra’s lets you kill people. You want to meet Bruce? Talia lets you meet Bruce. You want to weasel your way into being Robin, for no good reason at all other than selfishness? Dick just goes on aheads andlets you.No, I don’t think threatswillwork on you, Damian. Now? I’m gonna do what Ra’s, Talia, and Dick should have introduced a long,longtime ago.”

“And what would that be?” Damian demanded, trying to sound far braver than he felt. The comparison of Grayson to Grandfather and Mother was… an unpleasant one.

Tim looked him dead in the eye. “Consequences,” he growled lowly, “See you soon.”

The Batcomputer’s camera feed cut out right then, and Damian cursed as he realized that all his progress, along with all of the data from Drake’s laptop, had been deleted.

This was not the best day.

Five Days Later

Robin swung through the sky with practiced ease. He had been trained in the art of parkour since age three; to use Father’s grapple lines almost felt like cheating. On top of that, the swinging sensation made Grayson happy, reminding him of his time as a trapeze artist, and something warm stirred in Damian’s chest when Grayson was happy--

No. Enough. No feelings on patrol. Especially not here, in Crime Alley. The borough’s name was apt; it was the toughest route in Gotham by far, devoid of Rogues, but flooded with continuous petty crime. And with Todd and his Outlaws not yet on the proper patrol schedule, (Grayson had reached out to them, but Todd had yet to make his final decision. Damian could understand, he supposed; it couldn’t be easy, coming back to Gotham in a situation like this.) Damian had continuously volunteered for the hard route. Finally, Grayson had agreed to let him go, and Damian was thoroughly enjoying it.

He had adhered to the No Killing or Maiming rule with flying colors. Unless you counted the animal abuser on East Doile Avenue whose femur he broke, but Damian thought he was justified. The man would walk again in ten months or so; unfortunately.

He was beginning to… like his role as Robin. It was something close to… fun. Grayson was an excellent teacher, if a bit eccentric and overbearing at times. Damian had found that Pennyworth was the perfect balance for it, calm and collected as he was. Both the Gordons were intelligent and respectable, the younger for her mastery of hacking and computers, and the elder for his insights into the Gotham underworld and easy mentoring on detective work. He did not yet know Todd very well, nor Brown or Cain, as they had yet to return to the Manor full time, but oddly enough Damian soon found himself… excited, at the prospect of meeting them and learning from them. Perhaps Grayson’s dream of a reunited Batfamily was not as asinine as it had first sounded.

Damian landed on a rooftop, just a block away from the old Monarch Theatre. He was close to…the spot.The place where Damian’s grandparents, Thomas and Martha Wayne were murdered. The spot where Bruce Wayne was forever changed. The spot where Batman was born.

Damian had always wanted to visit the spot, but it felt… wrong to do so without Grayson’s approval. Like he would be intruding on something sacred and private otherwise. Was there a memorial of any kind? Perhaps a hidden Batsymbol? Damian didn’t know, but he wanted to find out. He would go someday; he would make sure of it.

As Damian went to swing to the next rooftop, about to skirt aroundthe spot, he heard a woman’s shriek. Immediately reacting, Damian swung down into the street in front of Monarch Theatre itself, only to find… a tape recorder. Damian’s stomach dropped, and he whirled around, just in time to catch a dropkick to the ribs.

As Damian’s breath escaped with a soft “whuff!” and he sprawled out onto his back on the ruined asphalt, he looked up and his heart stopped at the familiar black cowl that stood over him, bo staff twirling idly in scarlet-clad hands.

“Red Robin,” Damian grunted, getting to his feet and drawing his blade, “Why are you-?”

“Consequences, Demon Brat,” Drake growled, falling into a ready stance, “Itoldyou I’d see you soon, didn’t I?”

Damian narrowed his eyes. He’d expected Drake three days ago; when nothing had happened, he’d assumed that it was just an idle threat. He supposed he was now proven wrong. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. “I hope you know…” Damian said slowly, shifting into a lower stance, “I won’t go down easy.”

Drake’s eyes narrowed beneath the cowl. “I beg to differ,” he said, and he was then a blur of motion. Damian did have a bit of trouble keeping up, but he managed to catch blows form the staff on the blade of his sword; he inwardly despaired at how it must be denting. He’d have to sharpen it again when he got back to the Cave.

If he got back to the Cave.

Drake was far more skilled than Damian was led to believe; what was this? Where was this strength and energy coming from? And this technique, it was familiar…

Grandfather!Damian realized as he was thrown to the ground once more. He tried to stand, but Drake was on him in an instant, knocking his blade aside like a child’s toy and pinning his wrist with his boot.

“Game over, brat,” he growled, “You lose.”

Damian narrowed his eyes in response. “Never,” he sneered, and he leaned into his earpiece, “Robin to Cave, I am in dire need of assistaAAGH!”

Damian couldn’t help the scream of pain as Drake easily crushed his wrist beneath his boot, using the moment to rip the comm out of Damian’s ear and crush it. “Ah ah ah,” he said lightly, tossing away it’s remnants, “That’scheating.”

Drake stepped off of him, and Damian stumbled to his feet, cradling his injured wrist. Drake twirled his staff. Damian reached for his batarangs, tossing them quickly, but Drake knocked them aside easily as he advanced. Damian backed up, reaching for his grapple line, but as he tried to fire it one of Drake’s new discs flew through the air and cut the line; it shouldn’t have been able to do that.

“Running away, brat?” Drake asked menacingly, “I never took you for acoward.”

Damian growled in the very back of his throat, then drew a knife. “I’m NOT!” he roared, and he charged in a blind fury.

That was exactly what Tim wanted. He stepped to the side, flicking his staff upward to knock the knife out of Damian’s hands, then turned and began beating the brat into a bloody pulp. It wasn’t nice, it wasn’t justified, it wasn’t heroic; it wasnecessary.Damian needed a beatdown, and if he wanted him off his trail, Tim needed to be the one to do it.

The stitches in his abdomen pulled with the exertion, but Tim ignored them. They were almost healed anyway. Finally, Damian was barely on his feet anymore, nursing his broken wrist, broken nose, major bruising along his abdomen and thighs, concussion, dislocated finger, and likely broken foot.

Just as Tim had planned, the “fight” had them standing in the middle of Crime Alley, right inthe spot.He’d scoped out the whole fight earlier, this was child’s play to him. Tim scowled. “Let this be a message to you, and Dick, and the League, and anyone else who tries,” he told Damian, “Donotcome after me. Or else I might not be so gentle next time.”

Damian growled and spat blood out of his mouth, breathing heavily. “What are you hiding, Drake!?” he demanded, “What are youprotecting!?What could possibly make you go this far!?”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “My whole damn world,” he answered, and he thrusted his staff forward into the base of Damian’s neck. The kid’s eyes widened as Tim felt something give way under the pressure; with a strangled, pained cry, Damian Wayne fell into the same ashen, soggy alleyway as his grandparents did… with a shattered collarbone that was poking into his throat. Without treatment in the next hour or so, it would be fatal.

“Red Robin to Cave,” Tim said calmly into the comm he had hacked to be on the Bat’s frequency, “Robin is inthespot. Come pick him up within the hour or hewilldie. Never try to find me again. Red out.” With that, Tim crushed the comm and left it with Damian, stalking off into the night.

He had two more stops to make. Then, he’d go to Paris. Then… he’d bring Bruce home.

Robin lay broken and bloodied behind him. Poetic, Tim supposed. Lightning flashed in the sky as the heavens began to open up with rain. Tim took to the sky just as he heard a familiar grapple sound, and a gasp of horror as they discovered the message he had prepared on the wall behind Damian. Tim smirked beneath his cowl.

RED ROBIN WAS HERE

Chapter 5: The Killing Joke

Chapter Text

Jason straightened in surprise as his phone rang. The phone that was never supposed to ring; the phone that he’d given Dick in case of only the most extreme of emergencies; if one of the Family was in trouble.Badtrouble.

Roy and Kori stared at the little buzzing brick on the table in horror, and Jason’s hand shook as he flipped it open. “What happened?” he asked hoarsely.

“Jason! Oh God, Jason, it’s bad! I don’t-- I don’t know if he’s gonna make it!” Dick sounded panicked, hyperventilating; fuck.

“Dick,” Jason tried placatingly, “Calm down; what happened? Who are you talking about?”

Roy and Kori waited on baited breath, and Dick managed to sob out a strangled, “Damian.”

Jason’s heart stopped. His vision went green. Someone was trying to take out Robin again. His hand clenched around the phone and he tried his hardest not to break it. “Who?” he growled out, “Who has the balls!?!”

Dick sobbed again, “Jason, please, I can’t-!”

“Tell me, Dick!!” Jason snapped, and Dick wailed.

“IT WAS TIM!” he sobbed over the line, “It wasTim…”

Jason’s rage immediately broke. His hands went slack as the green suddenly cleared away, and the crushing guilt took its place. Roy and Kori looked horrified; Roy clasped his shoulder, Kori held his free hand. Jason would thank them, but he couldn’t find his voice at the moment. Replacement had beaten down on Damian. Replacementalmost killedDamian. It wasn’t Two-Face or Black Mask or Joker… it was fuckingReplacement.

“Oh,” he managed.

“Please, Jason, just…come home,” Dick begged, “Alfred and Leslie are working on him, but I-- I can’t be alone right now, Jason. I don’t know what I’d do if he-- if he--”

“We’ll be right there,” Jason promised, and he didn’t wait for the breathless thank you as he closed the burner phone.

No words passed between the Outlaws as they gathered up their things; they didn’t need any. There was the occasional comforting touch, a whispered hum of reassurance, but no words. Never words. They all knew what needed to happen; this was time for Family.

Jason led Roy and Kori up to the Manor with trepidation. He hadn’t stepped inside it in so long…

They were at the front door. When did that happen? A moment passed, and Roy looked at him questioningly. “We don’t have to do this if you can’t, man,” he said softly, and Kori nodded in agreement.

But Jason shook his head. “No,” he sighed, “It doesn’t matter if I’m ready or not. The kid’s in trouble; they need me.” Jason took a deep breath, then knocked on the door.

The door opened so fast Jason thought the old wood might come off its hinges, and he was soon hit in the chest with a hundred and seventy five pounds of lithe muscle as Dick Grayson wrapped his arms around his younger brother.

Jason didn’t bother fighting the embrace, a desperate, needy thing, as breaking Dick’s octopus hugs was nigh impossible even when they weren’t this desperate and determined. “Jason,” Dick whispered, holding his brother tighter, and Jason sighed as he patted the older man on the back.

“Yeah, Dick,” he said quietly, “It’s me.”

Jason turned his attention to the interior of the house, and his heart soared as a familiar elderly man came out from around the corner. “Master Dick, I wanted to inform you that-- oh,” Alfred Pennyworth stopped in his tracks, staring at Jason like he’d seen a ghost.

Jason laughed nervously from over Dick’s shoulder. “Hey, Alfie,” he said, his voice shaky and cracked, “I uh… I’m home.”

Tears welled in the old man’s eyes as he stepped forward. Slowly, a smile graced his weathered lips, and he clicked his heels in a formal bow. “Welcome home, Master Jason,” he said with a smile as he inclined his head.

“Ah, Alfie, don’t be so formal!” Jason sighed, and he maneuvered to pull the butler into a hug, albeit softer than Dick’s, and Alfred smiled as he slung an arm around his grandson’s shoulders.

“If only Master Bruce could see you now,” Alfred whispered emotionally, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief, his shoulders shaking subtly.

The three of them embraced for a moment longer, and Roy cleared his throat awkwardly as Kori hovered patiently.

“Oh, yeah!” Jason yelped, extricating himself from the hugs, “Dick, Alfred, I brought my… uh, I brought some guests.”

Alfred quirked an eyebrow, trying to regain his usual composure. “Indeed,” he said, then clicked his heels and bowed again, “Welcome to Wayne Manor, Mister Harper, Princess Koriand’r.”

Roy jumped at the address, then reached out to shake Alfred’s hand, which the butler took amiably. “Just Roy’s fine, Alfred,” he said with a nervous laugh.

Kori, meanwhile, seemed ecstatic that someone had remembered her royal title. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Alfred,” she said with a smile, “But Kori will do for while I am on Earth.”

Alfred nodded in acknowledgement. “Well, if Master Roy and Mistress Kori would like to come inside, I can have tea ready in just a few minutes,” he said, turning to welcome them in, and the Outlaws stepped inside.

“I think we want to see the kid first, Alfie,” Jason explained in a quieter voice as everyone shuffled inside, “Is he…?”

Alfred straightened in surprise. “Oh, dear me!” he gasped, “I’d almost forgotten! Master Dick, Doctor Thompkins sent me up to tell you that young Master Damian’s condition has been stabilized. He will pull through after a few months of bedrest and physical therapy.”

“Oh thank God,” Dick sighed in relief, sagging into a nearby armchair.

Alfred nodded in agreement. “Indeed,” he said, then turned to the group as a whole, “I shall go and fetch you some tea. After that, I shall open the suite in the Western Wing for you all; I assume you’ll be wanting the king sized bed there, Master Jason?”

Jason had the grace to blush while Kori only smiled happily. “Uh, yeah,” he managed in a strangled yet pleased voice, “Th-Thanks, Alfie.”

Dick looked between the four of them slowly, as if struggling to piece something together. Then, as it all fell into place, his jaw dropped open. Roy whistled inconspicuously and walked into the other room, trying to avoid the awkward conversation.

As Alfred began to leave, he turned back once more, “And Master Dick, for your information, a call has come from Hong Kong. Mistress Cassandra shall arrive on Thursday. Mistress Stephanie will be in tomorrow morning, as she is wrapping up an affair with Mister Dent in the Narrows that still demands her attention.” With that, Alfred went out to go make the tea.

“I shall explore the grounds!” Kori declared happily, glowing green and eagerly flying away to investigate every nook and cranny of the Manor. Jason shook his head fondly; apparently Tamaraneans had never heard of ADHD.

“So…” Dick started awkwardly, “Both of them, huh?”

Jason turned to Dick, narrowing his eyes. “That a problem?” he asked.

“No no,” Dick said a little too quickly, avoiding eye contact, “It’s just, uh… new.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to figure out all this crap earlier,” Jason muttered, sitting down heavily on the couch, “Being dead kinda puts a damper on all that.”

“... Yeah…” Dick said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

“I don’t need your approval,” Jason said flatly, and Dick shook his head.

“I know, and I’m notdisapproving,it’s just… a lot to take in,” he sighed, then looked up at his younger brother, “You look… happy, Jason. And if that’s because of Roy and Kori, well then… that’s perfect. Bruce would… Bruce would be so proud of you, you know?”

Jason looked at his boots. “...Hn,” he hummed vaguely, trying to hide the pleased flush in his cheeks.

Dick sagged back into the chair. “Thank God, Damian’s safe,” he sighed, almost to himself, and he turned back to Jason, “It was horrifying, Jason. There was no sign of Tim, just Damian broken and bleeding in that alley, and thatmessage-”

“Message?” Jason asked immediately, his head snapping up, “What message?”

“It was written in red spray paint,” Dick explained, “All it said was ‘Red Robin was here’.”

“...Oh,” Jason murmured, remembering Titans Tower. So maybe Replacement was still harboring a grudge about that. “... shit.”

Dick sighed. “Why Crime Alley?” he asked no one in particular, “Why where Bruce’s parents died? Why would he add that icing on top? What happened to him? … What did I do so wrong that he’d do something likethis?”

Jason sighed, leaning back into the couch. “I don’t know, Dick,” he muttered, “Sometimes people just… snap. I should know.”

“But that was the Pit,” Dick argued, “It’s not the same.”

“It wasn’t all the Pit,” Jason sighed, “The sadism, the greening out? Yeah, that was the Pit. But the anger? The resentment? That all came from me. I was pretty fucking bitter. Kinda still am. But I’m also… better now. We’ve gotta hold out hope that the same will happen to Replacement.”

Dick looked at his feet. “Please stop calling him that,” he sighed.

“Hm?” Jason asked, not quite hearing the murmured rebuke.

“Stopcallinghim that!” Dick almost shouted, “HisnameisTim!”

Jason straightened in surprise. “Right…” he murmured absently, resting his chin on his hand, “Tim.”

Barbara sighed as she wheeled herself into the elevator in the Clocktower. The Birds of Prey were busy with Black Mask and another Harley Quinn/Poison Ivy crime spree. Barbara still held out hope that the two reforming villains might be turned into valuable allies, but for now… well, crime was crime.

Not to mention that every vigilante in Gotham was on high alert for Red Robin. After what happened to Damian… well, Barbara had been the one who had to call the Kent Farm and tell little Jon why his best friend wasn’t returning his texts. The pain and fear in the young Superboy’s voice had been hard to bear.

The elevator’s doors slid open at the top floor. The lights were off; normal. The monitors were off; not normal. Barbara narrowed her eyes, her old instincts as Batgirl kicking in. She reached for the compartment of batarangs hidden behind the left wheel on her chair.

The lights flickered on. “Don’t bother, Barbara,” a familiar voice said easily, and Barbara stifled a gasp as she saw Red Robin leaning against her desk, arms crossed and glaring. There was a red stain on the lower abdomen of his suit, slightly darker than the scarlet tunic.

“You’re injured,” she said in lieu of a greeting. It was pretty obvious that Tim was bleeding from beneath his suit; but there were no entry wounds.

“Damian got in a lucky shot,” Tim tried, but Barbara narrowed her eyes.

“I saw the footage from Damian's domino camera,” she accused, “No he didn’t.”

Tim scoffed, “Fine, I tore my stitches. Happy now,mom?”

“Why do you have stitches?” Barbara pressed, “When were you injured? And where?”

Tim rolled his eyes beneath his cowl, “Superassassin in Iraq. Stabbed me through the spleen. No big deal.”

In the spleen??Barbara sucked in a quick breath. Just what had Tim gone through? “Why were you in Iraq?” she asked, and Tim growled impatiently.

“Looking for Bruce,” he said, “Y’know, like you’renot.”

“And did you find him?” Barbara asked, and atthat,Tim actually grinned. Not his usual, sardonic, happy-go-lucky Robin grin, but something harsher, and darker. More savage and proud.

“As a matter of fact,” Red Robin said triumphantly, “Idid.And in six months, I’ll bring him home. You have my word.”

“Just like Damian did?” she asked, and Tim actually laughed as he stopped leaning against the desk, walking toward her.

“Yup, just like that,” he said, “Hey, do you think I’ll get to beat the shit out of Dick, too? God, that’d be cathartic-”

“This is no joke, Tim!” Barbara finally snapped, trying to reach out to that funny, nerdy teenage boy that she had known for years, “You shattered his collarbone! You put an eleven-year-old boy in the hospital!!”

Tim didn’t stop, merely stepping behind her and taking the handles of her wheelchair, pushing her forward toward the desk. Trepidation and fear built up in Barbara’s throat; was Tim planning to beather?

“Little bastarddeserved it,” Tim said coldly, bringing her to a stop, “He tried to hack into myprivate files.I decided that if Ra’s, Talia, and Dick weren’t gonna do it,Iwas gonna teach the demon brat some manners.”

Barbara gulped. Tim winced subtly as he disturbed his stitches, then muttered, “Fucker’s lucky I didn’t put him in the ground.”

Barbara’s eyes widened. She turned in her chair, staring at him. “Tim you wouldn’t,” she said desperately.

Tim grinned at her brokenly. “Just like I wouldn’t blow up Gotham?” he asked, and Barbara winced, “You want proof on how far I’m willing to go nowadays? Just look up what happened to theWidower.”

Barbara shivered. Tim rolled his eyes, motioning toward the computer. “Go on!” he encouraged, and Barbara shakily went to her keyboard, discovering a video file that hadn’t been there before. Tim must have uploaded it from his cowl’s camera. It was labelledWidower.

Barbara clicked on it. After a few moments of watching the assassins fight, she covered her mouth in horror as she saw Tim’s shaking, gloved hand fire the machine gun. As Widower fell dead into the sand.

“Oh, God, Tim,” she whispered, “I… I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, wasn’t a fun day,” Tim agreed, “But now you’ve got proof, yeah? Youbelieveme now?”

Barbara saw what he was getting at. “Y-Yes Tim, I believe you,” she said shakily, trying to placate him, but Tim laughed in her face. A laugh that was high and whooping and sick and twisted. A laugh that she heard in her nightmares as fire seared in her spine. A laugh that sounded just like the Joker.

“Well,there’s a first time for everything!!” Tim laughed, then he slammed his fists down onto the desk, making Barbara jump. Tim stopped for a moment, inspecting her with cold, intelligent eyes behind that damned cowl. “Are you afraid of me, Barbara?” he asked, his voice cold and detached. As if making a scientific observation.

Barbara stared at him. Her heart was hammering in her chest, phantom pains shot up her spine as she remembered the bullet passing through it, the glint in those eyes, the gun, the camera lens, the fuckingsmile.The same smile Tim had smiled not a moment before.

“Yes,” she whispered truthfully.

Tim grinned. “Good,” he said, “That makes this next part easier.”

“What-?” Barbara asked, and Tim pressed a button on his gauntlet, ignoring her.

“Now, Babs, I want to make one thing clear,” he said, “I know Damian had help. I know he hadyourhelp. He’s not that good at coding, and frankly, you’re the only person on the planet I thinkmightbe able to crack my files, no matter what I do or where I hide them. With Damian, I could just beat the kid and leave it at that. But you? You’re more determined. More slippery. So, I’m taking a different approach:”

The screens on her monitors went red, then started showing images. Images of herfather.Jim Gordon at his favorite coffee shop in the morning. Jim Gordon at the station. Jim Gordon on a drug bust. Jim Gordon at lunch with her and Harvey. Jim Gordon inbed.

Oh,God.

“How old is Jim now, anyway?” Tim asked nonchalantly, adding yet more images to the collage, “Sixty-five? Seventy?”

“He’s sixty-eight,” Barbara answered shakily.

Tim hummed, “He’s getting on in years, isn’t he? Wonder he hasn’t retired yet. At his age, well… it’s easy for something to go wrong. I’m told smoking lowers your overall immune system, too. Any lethal enough poison in his morning coffee at Jitters and Jim Gordon is a memory. Or a well placed sniper shot while on a drug bust to look like crossfire? Or fuck it, might even just smash and grab into the police station and do it mafia-hit style. Maybe I’ll blame it on Salvatore Maroni.”

Barbara was shaking. “Oh God, Tim,” she whispered, almost begging hysterically, “You wouldn’t, would you? Not my dad. Not him.”

Tim sighed. “I care about Jim too,” he said, “He’s like an uncle to me. But now I’ve got something that’s far, far more important to protect. I hate it, I do, but if you get in my wayeveragain, Barbara… I’ll send Jim Gordon into thepermanentretirement he so desperately deserves.”

Barbara shook in her chair as Red Robin stalked away.

“Have a good night, Babs,” he said over his shoulder, and the elevator doors closed.

One more stop.

The hill overlooking Wayne Manor was a solitary one. And it only held two things: a high headstone and a smaller one. One had three names. The other had one.

Here lies in loving memory:

THOMAS WAYNE

MARTHA, his wife

And BRUCE, their dutiful son.

Here lies

JASON P. TODD

Beloved son.

Tim Drake sighed as he pulled the Red Robin cowl off, standing in front of the larger headstone. He scowled at Bruce’s name; Bruce wasn’t dead. They’d have to have that removed soon. Or just wait.

That was morbid.

“I thought I should tell you,” Tim said to it, the silence around him deafening, “I decided on a name. For uh, for my kid. I’m gonna name him Thomas Martin. Thomas Martin Drake-Wayne.”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “I think I’ll just call him Tommy,” he sighed, “And uh, sorry, Mrs. Wayne, but, y’know. Genders. I think Martin is similar to Martha? I’m not sure. I didn’t do too much research, I, uh… I haven’t had the time.”

He sighed, sagging his shoulders. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered, “I’ve never even been to church. But I just… I felt like I needed to tell you. I know you’re not really my grandparents, but… but you were important to Bruce. And Bruce is important to me. And let’s be honest,myfamily’s pretty shit.”

He laughed nervously. Thomas and Martha did not respond. Tim frowned. “I thought about naming him after someone from Conner’s side,” he admitted, “But two Jonathans or Clarks running around would be too confusing, and honestly… I don’t think Kon would appreciate it. After all, I stole his DNA for this. Tommy’s basically a rape baby with extra steps.”

Tim laughed brokenly, a high-pitched, warbling sound coming out of him. “Ugh, this was dumb,” he concluded, and he turned away from the headstone.

As he turned, he could have sworn he saw two people, a tall man in a waistcoat and a woman wearing pearls, but he blinked and they were gone. They had looked so sad.

Tim walked away from the Waynes’ grave, then pulled his cowl back up. No more stops in Gotham.

Paris, here he comes.

Tim stopped at a diner, still in civilian clothes. Sure, he’d said no more stops, but he was hungry. And he was in Bludhaven anyway, notreallyGotham. He thought he was justified. He sat down next to a guy in a long coat and a hat, idly watching as the TV played some news story about “Batman.”

“If you fought alongside him, you’d know,” the man sighed forlornly, and Tim looked at him. He pointed up to the screen, saying, “That’s not Batman. It’s probably Nightwing, filling in for Bats.”

Tim looked at the guy. He didn’t look familiar, but his voice stirred something in the back of Tim’s memory. “So you, uh… just happen to know Batman?” he asked, trying to gain information.

The man only sighed. “Eh, knew him,” he said sadly, “He’s gone now. The old Boy Wonder knows to keep the Bat legend flying, or else Gotham wouldexplodewith crime.”

“That’s uh… quite the theory,” Tim said, trying to keep up the civilian act, “You… said you fought alongside him?”

“Oh,” the man chuckled, stirring his coffee, “I’m a new man now. Leading a new life. Starting fresh. Or at least… that’s what I write in my journal now. My therapist says it’ll help. Eventually.”

Tim’s heart softened. Probably one of Bruce’s earlier allies that dropped out of the game, before Tim had come along. “Talking helps too, friend,” he tried, “I’d be willing to listen, if you want.”

“Yeah, sure,” the man sighed, then he chuckled a little bit more, “Y’know, this reminds me of a joke I told Bats once; you wanna hear it?”

Tim nodded, and the man grinned slightly. “See, these two guys are in an lunatic asylum, and one night, they decide: they don’t like living in an asylum anymore! So, they decide they’re going toescape.They get up onto the roof, and there, just across this narrow gap, they see the rooftops of the town in the moonlight, stretching away into freedom.”

Something stirring in the back of Tim’s mind came to the forefront as he realized exactly who he was talking to.

“Now, the first guy, he makes it across no problem,” the man continued, “But his friend didn’tdaremake the leap. Y’see, he’s afraid of falling! So then, the first guy has an idea, he says, ‘Hey, I got my flashlight with me! I’ll shine it in the gap between the buildings! You can walk along the beam and join me!’

“But the second guy just says, ‘Whaddya think I am,crazy!?...You’d just turn it off when I was halfway across!’”

The waitress shrugged. Tim could scarcely breathe. The man sighed sadly. “Oh,crickets,” he muttered, going back to his coffee, “It’s just not the same joke withoutBatmanaround.”

“Well, when I find him,” Tim said slowly, keeping his eyes straight ahead, “I’ll tell the Big Man you said…hello.”

The man turned to him in shock, studying him. Then, after recognizing him, a wide, impossibly wide grin slowly spread across his face. “Boy… Wonder…!” he said in awe.

Tim left quickly. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

The Joker laughed triumphantly behind him.

Chapter 6: Broken Birds

Chapter Text

For the first time in a long time, Barbara felt unclean, insecure, unsafe. Her hands shook as she shut down all her monitors, trembling as she quickly wheeled herself toward the elevator, only to hesitate; what if Tim had rigged the elevator? What if when she entered, it would disobey her and drop her forty stories into the basement at terminal velocity?

Barbara made her way to the emergency manual lift, which she had to operate by pulley. It was hard work, but she’d rather do it under her own power than potentially fall victim to Tim once more. As soon as she was outside, she reached for her phone and dialled the first number she could think of.

“Babs?” Dick asked over the line, “What’s up?”

“D-Dick?” Barbara shivered, (What if he’s watching me?) “I need you to pick me up and bring me to the Manor,right now,do you hear me?”

“Uh-- Y-Yeah, gotcha Babs, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”Dick responded, and Barabara heard the sounds of him struggling to get out the door, “What happened?”

Barbara shivered. “Timhappened.”

There was a long silence over the line. “I’ll be right there,” Dick promised gravely, and Barbara ended the call.

She shivered against the cold Gotham night; it was only mid September, it shouldn’t be this cold already. As she sat there on the sidewalk in her wheelchair, shivering in her now far-too-thin sweatshirt, waiting for Dick to pick her up, she tried to stay still as her Batgirl training kicked in. Someone was watching her, she was sure of it.Tim? Come to finish the job?her paranoid mind wondered urgently.

No, that’s stupid,her rational brain responded,If he was just going to kill me, then why threaten me?

What if he changed his mind?paranoia responded.

On a whim?rationality asked.

But the way helaughed…

Barbara bit her lip hard enough to draw blood as she shuddered no longer from cold but from fear. She wrapped her arms protectively around herself, trying to stamp down unbidden memories of laughter and pain. Tim wasnotthe Joker. That was simply impossible. Tim was desperate, sure, and mentally unstable for sure, but on the same level as theJoker?

Barbara couldn’t bear to believe that the same kid that had begged her to teach him how to code, who had swore to take revenge on the Clown for what happened to her, who had been like a little brother to her for years now could ever become like thatthing.

“Poor little bat, out and lost in the cold…” a familiar voice cooed from her left, and Barbara jumped.

“You know, Babs…” Catwoman drawled as she stepped into the flickering light of a streetlamp, “Beautiful young ladies such as yourself should watch themselves at night. Don’t know what unsavory characters might be lurking in the shadows.”

“Oh, Selina, thank God,” Barbara sighed in relief, and the older woman smiled apologetically as she sidled up to the wheelchair, standing guard; as long as the Cat was there, no one would dare make a move on Barbara.

“So, kiddo, why are you out here instead of in your nice warm Clocktower?” Selina asked, and despite her usual confidence taking precedence in her voice, there was an undercurrent of concern. She’d never admit it to anyone, but Selina Kyle had grown to care for each of the Bats like her own; except for the new Robin. He was… feisty. They might get there someday, but not yet.

Barbar shivered in her chair. “Oh, Selina, there’s so much you don’t know…” she sighed, “I just… the Clocktower’s been compromised. I asked Dick to come and pick me up, take me to the Manor. I can’t… the way helaughed,Selina, I-”

“Shh, shh, kitten,” Selina purred soothingly, stroking the younger woman’s back comfortingly, “It’s alright. No one can hurt you here, not while I’m around. Now, who exactly broke into the Clocktower? Was it the Clown?”

“Jesus,no!” Barbara yelped, “If it werehimI would’ve burned the whole place down! No, it was… it wasTim.”

“Tim?” Selina asked, totally confused, “Why would you be scared of Tim?”

Selina’d always liked Tim. He was kind, smart, and loved to banter with her on the job. And more than discreet when she and Bats had wanted a moment alone. He was her favorite Robin, by far.

“Tim… Tim’s changed, Selina,” Barbara explained, “He thinks Bruce is still alive.”

Selina’s heart stuttered. Her Bat was still--? “Is there a chance that--!?” she asked urgently, but the look on Oracle’s face said it all. No. There wasn’t.

“Tim’s lost it, Selina,” she sighed, “He’s grasping at straws. He keeps saying he has evidence, but he refuses to share it. He got separated from the entire Community, I’m not even surewhohe’s working with. I’m sorry Selina, but Tim’s wrong; Bruce isn’t coming back.”

Selina sighed, kneeling next to the wheelchair and leaning into it a little bit. “Yes, I… suppose I knew that already,” she said sadly, “I just… miss him, some days.”

“We all do,” Barbara said comfortingly, and Selina shook herself.

“Enough about me,” Selina said firmly, “We’re here foryou.Why did Tim break into your Clocktower? And what did he do that’s got you so rattled?”

Barbara sighed, but it sounded more like a whimper. “Damian and I have been trying to crack his files ever since he… left,” she explained carefully, “Martian Manhunter went into his mind, and Tim hinted at something he…did.Something bad. Even before Bruce died. We don’t know what it is, only that there’s some secret laboratory outside Gotham that we don’t know about. When he discovered what we were up to, he… he came for us, Selina.”

Selina listened gravely as Barbara described in gruesome detail what the newly rechristened Red Robin had done to Damian in Crime Alley, and felt herself grow angry. Not many knew, only Bruce Wayne and Jim Gordon were ever told, but Selina had been there that night, watching from the fire escape. She had seen Thomas and Martha Wayne being murdered, had seen Bruce Wayne die inside, had seen something dark and vengeful take his place. She had seen the Batman be born. And the fact that Tim would stoop to defile that sacred spot, just to make a point…

“And then he showed up in the Clocktower,” she went on, and she sobbed, “Hethreatened my dad,Selina!”

Selina blanched. “What!?” a new voice shouted incredulously, and both woman turned to see Dick Grayson running down the block, full speed, having just heard the tail end of the conversation.

“I parked the Batmobile around the corner,” he explained breathlessly, “What the hell did you just say!?”

Barbara sighed as Dick and Selina wheeled her down the sidewalk. “He threatened my dad, Dick,” she said again, “Tim did.Tim.He threatened to kill him if I keep trying to crack his files. I--” she cut herself off, a lump in her throat.

Dick pursed his lips as Selina walked beside them. Jim Gordon was no stranger to death threats, of this she was sure; hell, she’d been the source for a few of those. But the thought thatTim, Tim Drakewould ever kill a man he considered like family…

Something had changed. Irrevocably and irreversibly. Something dark and sinister anddesperatehad taken over the third Robin, and it was unclear whether or not he’d ever come back.

“Where did it all go so wrong?” Dick wondered aloud forlornly, and Selina said nothing as she helped him get Barbara into the Batmobile.

As she was about to waltz away back into the night, Dick put a hand on her shoulder. “Selina, wait,” he said, and she turned to him; normally she’d keep walking, but something in the Boy Wonder’s voice made her pause.

“I, uh… I wanted to ask,” he said awkwardly, “Do you want to come stay at the Manor? I, uh, Jason and the Outlaws have moved in, and Stephanie’s getting in tomorrow, and Cass later on in the week. Clark and Jon are visiting to check up on Damian, and I… I want the Batfamily to be together again, y’know?”

Selina tilted her head curiously, crossing her arms and swaying her hips. “I’m not a Bat,” she said nonchalantly.

Dick smiled sheepishly, “It’s always been an on-again off-again thing, hasn’t it? You worked with Bruce just as much as you fought with him.”

“That’s true…” she mused; it wasn’t that she didn’twantthe family. To be a full-blooded hero was the ultimate goal, by now, she was even working with the Birds of Prey on the regular. But tolivein Wayne Manor, without Bruce, well… it was a step too big for the moment.

“I’ll pass,” she decided, and Dick frowned. “You’ve got enough to keep up with, Boy Wonder,” she explained, “Don’t need an old Cat to take care of too.”

“Why, Selina,” Dick laughed halfheartedly, “You don’t look a day over 40.”

Selina narrowed her eyes, “Good. Because I’m 38.”

Dick blanched, and Selina leapt off into the night, leaving Barbara in the Boy Wonder’s capable (if bumbling at times) hands.

Then she smirked to herself; she was 45.

Damian slowly drifted back toward something like consciousness.

Something was wrong. He was warm, not cold; he had been cold before. And lying on something hard, not soft like he was now. Conclusion: he had been moved.

Something rigid was holding his chin in place, using his shoulders and upper chest as support. A neck brace. He had been injured. But when had-?

Damian winced as he saw a flash of black and red leather, the sheen of a steel bo staff, slick with his blood. Gold bandoliers danced in his brain, along with the hanging, faded titleThe Mask of Zorro.

Drake.Drake had done this to him. Damian had been foolish, cocky, and thought he could take the former Robin on his own. When it was clear Drake was leagues above, he had remembered his already broken promise to Wally West and tried to call for backup, only for Drake to intercept. Was he still in Drake’s clutches? If so, why would Drake treat his injuries? No, unlikely that Drake still had him. But if he wasn’t with Drake…

“Damian!” a familiar voice cried, “You’re awake!!”

Damian winced at the sudden noise, then fought to open his eyes. The voice was familiar enough, though; “Nn…Kent?” he muttered, and his eyes finally focused as Jonathan Kent II, the new Superboy, bounced needily at the side of his hospital bed.

Ah, the Cave. Grayson must have brought him home.

“I was so, so worried!” Jon wailed, still bouncing in his seat, “I texted you over and over but you didn’t respond and I tried listening for your heartbeat like Dad said Conner used to be able to but then I realized I didn’t know it and I got super sad and then Oracle called me and told me what happened and I told Dad and we came here as soon as we put Toyman in prison again because he was wrecking up Metropolis and-”

“Jonathan,” Damian interjected weakly, “Run-on.”

“Oh,” Jon said sheepishly, recognizing the familiar correction/reprimand, “Sorry. But you’re finally awake!”

Damian allowed himself a small grin. “Yes, I suppose I am,” he replied.

Jonathan Kent was his first attempt at gaining allies for the future. As useful as the Justice League was, they wouldn’t be around forever; Damian needed to start gaining the trust of those in his generation of superheroics. As the son of the famous Superman, Jonathan Kent was the most logical option; after all, their fathers were once hailed as the World’s Finest. Damian and Jon could carry on that legacy.

He’d found the young farmhand grating at first, after all, surely the illustrious House of El couldn’t have produced such a bumbling heir, but after growing more under Grayson’s tutelage, he soon came to realize the true strength of Jon, and to an extent, his father. The Kents were not royalty, nor were they gods. They were the quintessential hometown heroes that America seemed to love producing. Eventually, as they spent more and more time together both on missions and not, Damian grew… endeared to the hapless Kryptonian.

And Jon had certainly grown attached.

Suddenly, Jon perked up. “Oh!” he said, “I promised to tell Mr. Pennyworth and Dad and Mr. Grayson when you were awake! I’ll beright back!”

Before Damian could protest, Jon was gone in a blue and red blur, and soon he returned with the three men in tow. As well as…

“Grayson, look out!” Damian cried, trying and failing to find a batarang, “Todd has broken into the Cave!”

Grayson looked confused for a moment, then looked back at Todd, then laughed slightly. “No, Dami, Jason wasinvited,” he explained, coming to the bedside and gently guiding his younger brother into a resting position, “After what happened to you, well… I couldn’t be alone.”

Todd snorted a laugh, “Yeah, I got the teary-eyed welcome home from Alfred and everything, so hold your horses, Baby Bat.”

Damian scowled, but after searching both Grayson’s and Pennyworth’s microexpressions, (as well as Clark Kent’s for good measure) determined that they were telling the truth and relaxed. Slightly.

“So is it true??” Jon asked urgently, tugging on his father’s sleeve, “Did Tim Drake do this to Damian??”

Clark grimaced, then looked at Dick, who also winced. Pennyworth also looked forlorn, busying himself with checking up on Damian’s vitals, and Todd almost imperceptibly clenched his fist around his jacket sleeve. All the attention turned to Damian, who frowned.

“Yes, Kent,” Damian ground out, “Drake attacked me.”

Jon’s eyes glowed a fiery red, and Clark gulped nervously, trying to calm his son down. “Thatcoward!” Jon growled, “When I get my hands on him,I’m gonna-!”

“Jon!” Dick snapped, and Jon’s jaw clacked shut in surprise. Dickneversounded that angry, not even when Damian had cut off Ubu’s fingers.

“You are not going anywherenearTim,you hear me!?” Dick demanded, and Jon nodded nervously, “Tim beat Dami within an inch of his life! Do you really think we need another kid running off and almost getting himself killed because he thought he take Tim on!? Don’t be stupid! I don’t wanna half to bring you back to Smallville in a gurney, Jon, or worse, a body bag!”

“Dick!” Clark said, “That’s enough!” and Dick’s face slackened as he realized he had been yelling. Jon looked scared.

“Shit,” Dick mumbled, “Uh, Jon, I’m sorry, I just… I’m worried, okay? … I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. That’s why you’ve gotta stay away from Tim, alright?”

Jon nodded immediately, “Y-Yeah, you got it! I won’t go near ‘im, I promise!”

Dick smiled weakly. “‘Atta boy,” he sighed, then turned back to Damian, “How ya doin, kiddo?”

Damian winced as he disturbed his injuries. “Humiliated,” he admitted, “I did not expect Drake to be as strong or as ruthless as he was. I was… foolish for assuming I could fight him long enough for you to arrive. I should have evaded as soon as I encountered him.”

“We all make mistakes, Master Damian,” Pennyworth supplied kindly, switching out a new IV drip.

“Hn,” Damian hummed noncommittally, “But there is more, Grayson. Something you and the League must be aware of.”

“What is it, kiddo?” Dick asked kindly, softly. It was his coddling voice. Damian hated (loved) the coddling voice.

Damian pulled himself up into a sitting position as best he could, looking both Grayson and Superman in the eye. “While we fought, I was able to glean elements of Drake’s fighting style that had not been present before,” he said, “I have watched his old training videos. His style is a combination of Father’s, King Snake’s, and Lady Shiva’s. But in this most recent encounter, I have identified a new influence, one far deadlier and far more ancient.”

Dick and Clark looked at each other. “The element is my grandfather,” Damian said with finality, “There is no doubt. I have adapted Grandfather’s style into something nonlethal myself, I know what it looks like. On top of this, when he confronted me over the Batcomputer six days ago, I clearly identified his surroundings as Nanda Parbat. These two pieces of evidence can lead us to only one conclusion: Drake is now part of the League of Assassins.”

Clark sighed heavily, heaving his shoulders in grief. Todd flinched. Pennyworth’s work stalled for a full five seconds before resuming. Jon looked confused, but sad all the same.

Grayson looked devastated. “Oh, Timmy…” he murmured, “What have you gotten yourself into?”

Tim was finally back in Paris. It felt like forever ago, when he’d first realized he’d created life. When his life fell apart. When he realized that his time as Robin was done.

Tommy was so close Tim’s heart ached; he wasn’t sure if that made sense or not. Tommy wasn’t his son in the traditional sense; he was a clone created from Tim’s DNA. (And DNA that you stole from your dead best friend)Was this type of fierce protectiveness normal? Especially in a father, rather than a mother? There was none of the same bonding that usually happened in the womb; mother and child were immediately intertwined, from the moment of birth. Even Stephanie, who’d given up her child for adoption, had struggled with that connection.

Was Tim experiencing that same connection? He couldn’t be sure; all he knew was that there was a physical ache in his chest, in his soul, that told him heneededto be with his son. Tommy needed him. Already Tommy must be past one year old; and thatterrifiedTim. He’d missed ayearof his son’s life, maybe more. But no longer.

He was only two blocks from the lab; he’d get there, and he’d stall Tommy’s growth now. Then, he’d spend the next six months searching for Bruce, then he’d come back and he’d disappear with his son.

That begged the question; where did Tim want to “settle down”? Europe was an option. Safe, practically devoid of superheroes and villains. The only time it was in jeopardy were global invasions or real, military wars like what used to happen before Superman. But Europe was also far; if something happened to Tim, an event he was already forming contingencies for, he’d want Tommy to be in the care of someone he trusted.

The only one left that he trusted. Bruce. And Bruce would be in Gotham, no matter what. So Europe was out of the question.

Mexico? No. Too dangerous, too unstable. Not a place for an obvious American to blend in and raise a kid.

Canada maybe? It might work. He could fake an accent easily enough. It got damn cold, though.

The Midwest was pretty devoid of superheroes. And not a lot of people would bat an eye at a single dad. Yeah, that would work the best for him. He’d bounce around the Midwest and Canada, moving as needed. Maybe changing his surname if he needed to. He still had dozens of fake names lined up anyhow; he’d need to make up documents for Tommy, too, though. He’d get on that once Tommy was out of the lab.

Tim landed on the roof of the lab, and six stories down he knew his son was waiting for him. He just had to go through the derelict building first; it was the easiest way not to get spotted.

So close, Tommy,he thought, going for the door handle,I’m so close.

“Tim!” someone shouted at him, and wind rushed past his face, and Tim’s heart dropped.

He sprang away from the doorway, going for his bo staff and his discs, and then promptly stopped and stared in shock as he saw who’d shouted at him.

“Hey, buddy!” Conner Kent, Superboy, laughed easily, floating in the sky just above the roof like it didn’t matter, “You’ve gone all-in on the leather, I see.”

Tim’s grip slackened. It couldn’t be. It justcouldn’t.It was impossible. “No,” he whispered.

Kon looked confused. “No?” he asked, tilting his head like a puppy.

“No,thiscan’tbe you!” Tim growled fiercely, holding his staff in front of him protectively, “This-- this has to be a trick! You’ve gotta be Match, or an illusion, or-- or Manhunter messing with me!That’sgotta be it!”

Tim turned away from Kon and shouted at the sky, crying, “Screw you, J’onn!!I won’t be fooled!! Get out of my head, you Martian bastard!!”

“Tim, come on, man,” Kon said placatingly, holding out his hands, “It’s me. I promise.”

“Shut up, Fake Kon, you’re not a part of this anymore!” Tim snapped, then whipped back around to face “Manhunter” again, “You think using my dead friend to coax answers out of me is going to work!? Wellfuck you!I’m not giving youanything!”

“Tim, why would Manhunter be trying to get into your head?” Kon asked, now growing worried; Tim was acting strange. And by that, he meant stranger than usual for the young coffee addict.

“Ohplease,” Tim muttered, “Would youshut up already!?I’m not gonna be tricked by this! Give up!”

“Tim!” Kon said urgently, “It’sme!What-- What can I say to get you to believe that??”

Tim eyed him suspiciously, calculating. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else,” Tim said harshly, “Tell me what you werereallymade to do. Not that ‘replace Superman should he fall’ crap; therealreason.”

Conner frowned. “Luthor made me to kill Superman,” he said softly, “No ifs, ands, or buts. Clark dying of his own accord was just a happy accident.”

Tim dropped his staff. “It’syou,” he breathed in shock, “It’sreally you.”

Kon smiled softly as he touched down in front of his best friend. “Yeah, Tim,” he said quietly, “It’s me.”

“H-How…?” Tim asked shakily, trying to control his breathing.Kon, Kon, Kon, Kon, Kon, Kon, Kon--!

“Time travel stuff,” Conner said sheepishly, “I just hung out with the Legion of Superheroes for a bit until they could send me back. Sorry it took so long, but their machine wasn’t really that precise--mmf!”

Conner was cut off as Tim kissed him. His brain short circuited, all functions ceased, Conner.exe has stopped. Tim clung to him desperately, wrapping his back and shoulders with his arms, pressing their lips together like a man drowning. Conner was so confused; Tim was just a friend, right? Right???

Tim didn’t know what he was doing. All his head was just filled with noise,Kon, Kon, Kon, Kon, Kon, Kon, Kon, Kon, Kon!!

Finally he became aware that he was kissing his resurrected friend, clinging to him desperately while Conner stood stock still in shock.FUCK!Tim broke off quickly, taking a horrified step back.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know why I--!” Tim gasped, wiping his lips, then caught the utterly flabbergasted look on Kon’s face. Something in his chest broke, and Tim turned away, holding himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, as if that made it better.

Conner stood there, his lips flapping open and closed like a fish. “I…” he mumbled, “Wha…?”

Tim didn’t quite hear him. BecauseKonwasalive. Kon was aliveand Tim had justkissed himand he’dmade a babyfrom hisstolen DNAand--!!

Tim fell to his knees, and a sob escaped his lips. “Oh,God!” he gasped, trying to cover his mouth as his shoulders shook. If Kon ever found out about Tommy, if Konknewwhat Tim had done; how he’d stolen his DNA, how he’d tried togrow another Conner,(because isn’tthatwhat friends do!?) how he’d accidentally made asoninstead.

Theirson.

“T-Tim?” Conner asked hesitantly, and Tim became dimly aware of his friend kneeling beside him, “What… What was that? What’s wrong? I… I’m notmad,if that’s what you think, I’m justsurprised,I mean, you neversaidanything, I never thought you’d-”

“Oh, God, Kon, youcan’t be alive!” Tim gasped out, and Conner fell silent.

“What do you mean?” he asked quietly. Innocently. Kon wassoinnocent. And Tim wassobroken.

Tim turned to him, at his perfect sky blue eyes, and something broke in his chest again. “If you’re alive, then… then everything I didwas for nothing!” he sobbed, “It was all just…just a mistake!And now the Justice League is hunting me, and no one will help me find Bruce, andTommy-!”

FUCK!!!He said the name!!!

Tim clamped a hand over his treacherous mouth, trying to stop the flow of words, and huddled into himself, into his worthless, pathetic little frame. Kon was alive. So his misguided attempt to bring him back to life was fornothing. All of thiswas fornothing! Tommywas fornothing!

No. No! NO! Tommy can’t be for nothing!Tim thought fiercely,Imadehim! He can’t be for nothing!! Iwon’t let him be!

A hand brushed against his cheek gently, guiding his hand away, and his chin up. Tim found himself face to face with Conner, who looked at him with such love, such care in his eyes that Tim almost felt like his life wasn’t falling apart again. Almost.

Conner tucked his thumbs under the Red Robin cowl; normally, that would have given someone a near-fatal shock. But Tim had worked it into his mask software ages ago that the only fingerprints that were allowed to take off his domino (and now, his cowl) were himself, Bruce, and Kon. The three people that mattered most. The three people he trusted.

Tim might have to take himself off that list soon.

The cowl slipped off his head. Tim’s hair must have been a mess. Conner either didn’t notice or didn’t care, instead focusing on Tim’s eyes. They were blue, the same shade of blue as his, maybe a bit more ice than sky.

But they were so hurt. So broken. So shattered beyond all repair. Conner frowned. “Tim…” he sighed, and he wanted to go on, but he couldn’t find the words.

“I… I did a bad thing, Kon,” Tim whispered, taking Kon’s hand away and ducking his head, “Reallybad. …I’m not the same Robin you left behind. I’m…broken.”

“I don’t believe that,” Conner said, bringing Tim’s chin back to him. “Your heartbeat. Your heartbeat is still the same,” he said, placing a hand on the smaller teen’s chest, “You’re still you.”

Tim laughed once. Broken and high-pitched. It died as soon as it came, and Tim hated it. It reminded him too much of a conversation in a diner he had had recently. He’d been rejected by Batman and celebrated by the Joker; if that didn’t spell Broken Bird, Tim didn’t know what did. And all that wasn’t even to mention how he hadmade a baby with Conner’s stolen DNA.

“I don’t care what you did, Tim,” Kon said, brushing a stray lock of hair out of Tim’s face, “We’ll get through it. Together.” Tim’s heart shattered.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I did,” Tim answered sadly.

Kon leaned down, into Tim, and Tim almost let it happen. God, he wanted so much just to let it happen. But he couldn’t… he had to protect his son. He needed to keep Tommy safe, keep him a secret, even from Kon, even from his other father. Tim was solely responsible for bringing Tommy into the world, Tim needed to protect him. He had ajobto do.

He reached for a capsule on his bandolier, and popped it open.

The space between Tim and Kon glowed green.

Conner groaned in pain, and crumpled forward. “Wh-Why?” he gasped, his veins creeping green as the poison spread through his system.

Tim managed a shaky laugh as he held the little green rock between his fingers. “I’m on the run from Superman and you thought I didn’t havekryptonite?” he asked brokenly, smiling through his tears. Kon couldneverknow about Tommy. It would shatter his beloved Clone Boy, to learn that Tim had repeated the same unnatural process as his creation. To learn that Tim had betrayed everything they had once had together.

But Kon had been so kind. But Kon also didn’t know, and Tim didn’t think he could handle another rejection when he inevitably found out. Better to rip off the band-aid himself.

Tim pulled the cowl back over his head. “I’m so sorry, Kon,” he whispered, “So, so sorry. This’ll just be until you pass out, I promise. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’mso sorry.”

Conner groaned and struggled upon the ground. “T-Tim,” he gasped, “Tim,stop!” Tim did not stop, so Conner growled and choked out,“Superman!”

Superboy finally passed out, his limbs going lax as he collapsed onto the roof.

Tim put the kryptonite away. Silently, he twisted the Red Robin emblem on his suit, activating the white noise generator. As far as he knew, Superman couldn’t memorize heartbeats like Kon could, but he’d included it in the suit just in case. Now he supposed he’d need it going full time. He looked at the door, but with Superman almost certainly on the way, he didn’t have the time.

Tommy would have to keep growing up without him.

Once Tim heard the sound of a sonic boom, he leapt off into the night.

Tears leaked from beneath his cowl as he wept for the two people he’d failed that night. For everyone he’d failed. As he ran through dark Parisian alleyways, he was still just close enough to hear Clark’s astonished gasp of “Conner!?”

Tim stopped running, ducking into a sewer to huddle against a cold, damp brick wall. Just like home.

Tim ripped off his cowl and wept as silently as he could.

Chapter 7: Dance With the Devil

Chapter Text

Clark couldn’t believe his eyes. There, right there, passed out on a random rooftop in Paris, wasConner. Kon-El. Superboy.

Superboy who was supposed to bedead.

“Conner!?” he yelped in surprise, rocketing down to land at his surrogate son’s side, checking him over for injuries.

As he landed, Clark was immediately hit with a wave of nausea; kryptonite was in the air. Trace amounts, but enough to throw him for a loop. And Conner’s veins were slowly losing a green hue. Clark’s grip tightened around Conner as he brought the boy into his arms. Someone hadpoisonedhim.

Bringing Conner to Smallville or San Francisco would do no good right now; Ma and Pa were on a well deserved vacation in Kansas City and the Titans had been officially disbanded ever since the Prime Incident. That left only one place where Conner could heal in safety: Clark flew up, up and away to Gotham.

The Batcave was already abuzz with activity as Clark sped into the center of the cavern, shouting, “Make room! He’s hurt!”

Bru--Dickstood in shock from where he had been talking to Barbara at the Batcomputer. Jason Todd had been with the rest of the Outlaws, talking aboutsomething, and they stopped and stared as soon as Clark returned.

As Superman made his way to the infirmary, Jon and Damian startled in surprise as he set Conner down onto another bed.

“Is that--!” Jon yelped, staring at his long-lost older brother, and Clark nodded past a lump in his throat as the Batfamily rushed into the curtained-off space.

Damian made a sound between a scoff and a sigh, settling back down into his bed, while Alfred pushed past all of them to tend to Conner. The old butler checked his pulse, took his temperature, and frowned slightly. “Minor kryptonite poisoning, if I had to hazard a guess,” he explained easily, “He should wake up in a few minutes. Master Jason, would you mind fetching the smelling salts?”

Red Hood jumped at the address, then nodded stiffly and bolted up the stairs to the Manor. Clark heard Kori and Roy giggle something about “Trained like a dog.”

“Clark, where did you find him!?” Dick asked urgently, Barbara wheeling herself up behind him. Clark listened to her heartbeat for a moment; still faster than it should be if she was relaxed, but down from the pounding rhythm it had been when she had first arrived in the Cave last night.

“Paris,” Clark said, “He was just lying there, on a rooftop. I… I heard him call for me.”

Dick frowned. “Who’s in Paris that would have kryptonite?” he wondered aloud, and Damian scoffed from his bed.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he muttered blearily, “Kent’s assailant was Drake.”

“We don’t know that, Damian,” Dick said automatically, but Damian shifted himself up to a semi-upright position.

“No, but we can deduce it,” he said, “There are no major known sources of kryptonite in Paris, so it must have been portable. The only person we know of who would be travelling through Europe, supposedly to return to my Grandfather in Nanda Parbat, is Drake. Kent must have caught up with him in Paris and confronted him.”

“But how did Conner evenfindTim?” Jon asked his friend, trying to divide his love and attention between his two injured loved ones.

“You said yourself that Conner Kent had an ability that you and your father lack,” Damian supplied, looking at the unconscious half-Kryptonian, “He can memorize heartbeats, whilst you two require those ridiculous signal watches. Drake’s must have been one he memorized during their tenure with Young Justice.”

Clark and Jon’s heads perked up as they heard the telltale roar of a motorcycle entering the Batcave, while Jason’s boots pounded down the stairs again.

As Red Hood returned with the smelling salts, Batgirl and Black Bat sped into the cave on the back of Stephanie’s bike.

“Hey, y’all!” Stephanie laughed jovially as she spun the bike into a parking position, kicking up the stand, “Look who I brought!”

Black Bat immediately removed herself from the bike as Stephanie realized the atmosphere was totally different than what she thought it was, and her shoulders drooped slightly as she got off the bike.

“Steph! Cass!” Barbara said in surprise, “I thought you weren’t getting in till Thursday?”

“Lied,” Cass said shortly, “Wanted to surprise. What wrong? Who hurt?”

“Superboy 1 and Bat Brat,” Jason supplied, pushing past everyone to supply Alfred with the smelling salts, “Also; hi, welcome home.”

“Conner!?” Stephanie gasped, darting through the group to get a look at him, “I-- I thought he was dead!”

“So did we!” Dick cried, frustration getting the better of him as a dozen things changed at once.

Alfred, however, merely said, “Welcome home, Mistress Stephanie, Mistress Cassandra. Please, give the boy some room for a moment.” With that, Alfred calmly snapped open the smelling salts and wafted them around Kon’s nose.

Kon sat up with a shock, shouting, “TIM!”, then stopped as he realized where he was. “Uh…” he said slowly, “What?”

Damian, meanwhile, only snickered in triumph, “tt!Knew it.”

“Conner!” Clark said urgently, drawing the young man into a rib-crushing hug, “H-How--??”

“Time travel stuff,” Conner explained, extricating himself from the hug, “What happened? Where’s Tim??”

The heroes looked at each other. Stephanie looked crushed; she hadn’t told Cass about Tim yet.

“Yes,” Cass said in agreement, “Where is Little Brother?” Then, she sneered at Damian’s costume, wrinkling her nose in distaste and adding, “WhyhimRobin?”

“I am Robin because it is mybirthright,Cain!” Damian protested, and Dick stepped in before it could get any further.

“Okay, nipping this in the bud now,” he muttered, “Conner, you’ve missed alot.Cass, so have you. This whole thing has been a massive clusterfuck, and I would really,reallyappreciate it if we could all just stop shouting at each other and compare notes in a calm and orderly fashion.”

“Okay, yeah, fine, sure,” Conner said, standing up and off the bed, “But first, I’d like to ask,what the hell happened to Tim!?When I saw him in Paris, he was like a completely different person! And where’s Bruce in all this? Is anyone keeping him informed?”

The whole Cave grew silent. Even Alfred’s steady hands shook. “Conner, while you were gone, Bruce, er…” Clark started awkwardly, and Jason sighed.

“He died,” he said bluntly, and Roy elbowed him in the side.

“Dude!” he whisper-growled at his boyfriend, while Kori watched on in approval.

“Oh, what?” Jason muttered, “No one’s gonna heal by dancing around it. We need to face it; Brucedied.He ain’t coming back, either. It’s fine that not everyone’s over it yet, but we all at least need to acknowledge it.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Conner said, rubbing his eyes, “Are you telling me thatBatmanisdead?”

“‘Fraid so, kid,” Jason said, a hint of wistful sadness in his voice.

Conner sat in shock. “I…” he said, “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Neither did Tim,” Barbara said sadly, looking at her feet. Subtly, her hands clenched around the arm rests of her wheelchair.

Cass frowned. “What mean?” she asked again, “Where Little Brother?”

“Look, uh, Cass, Conner,” Dick started awkwardly, “Maybe it’s easier if we show you, okay? I’ll pull it up on the Batcomputer.”

Everyone (with the exception of Alfred, Jon, and Damian) followed the Boy Wonder to the central cavern, where the massive supercomputer rested.

“About six months ago,” Dick started awkwardly, “Before Bruce died, Tim disappeared to Europe. We don’t know where he was, or why he was there, all we know is that when he came back, he was… acting differently. More stressed. I… didn’t think anything of it at the time, or if I did, it all got overshadowed by Bruce’s death. After that, I took up the Cape and Cowl and made Damian my Robin.”

“Youfired Tim!?” Conner demanded, and Dick flinched.

“No!” he protested, “I wanted Tim by my side! But as his own hero, not Robin! Tim’s my equal, I couldn’t… I couldn’t order him around like Batman has to. And frankly… Damian needed the R more than Tim. He was too wild back then, too impulsive, too… deadly. Robin’s helped him adjust a lot.”

Conner still looked mad, but he crossed his arms and held his peace. Cass merely observed the information flitting across the screen passively; she knew most of this already.

“That’s when things with Tim started to go… downhill,” Clark added sadly, “Heinsistedthat Bruce was alive. After losing so much, Bart, the Titans, his father, you, Conner, and now Bruce and Robin, we think something finally… gave way.”

“You think he went crazy,” Conner accused, and Clark sighed, looking at his feet.

“Little Brother not crazy,” Cass said severely, narrowing her eyes in anger, “Little Brother good.”

Barbara cleared her throat uncomfortably.

“In any case, Tim stormed out of the Cave,” Steph continued, “When I confronted him at his Perch, he was… well, he kicked me in the stomach and ran away. Then blew up his Perch.”

“And he was wearing my old Red Robin suit,” Jason supplied, leaning against a work table at the back of the group.

Conner and Cass frowned. Blowing up the Perch sounded… extreme, but Tim was going through some things. A few extremes weren’t too alarming. Besides, everyone knew the Bats had a flair for the dramatic.

“Then I finally decided that Tim was going to get himself hurt if he continued on like this,” Dick said, “Wally convinced me to call in the Justice League and confront him before he could leave Gotham. It went… poorly.”

Finally, Conner and Cass were able to watch in horror as the Batcomputer showed a video of the Justice League confronting Red Robin. They heard his desperate please, saw the pin drop, saw Gotham explode.

“Little Brother…” Cass murmured.

“Tim…” Conner sighed.

“There’s more,” Barbara said shakily, “Damian and I attempted to crack into Tim’s files that were left behind. When Manhunter broke into his mind, he found mention of a secret lab outside Gotham, we were trying to find it. When Tim found out he…” Barbara stopped talking.

“He beat Damian within an inch of his life and threatened Commissioner Gordon’s life if Barbara didn’t cooperate,” Clark finished for her, and Conner and Cass straightened.

“No,” Conner said in astonishment, “Timwouldn't-!”

“Little Brother…” Cass repeated, with more emotion this time.

“That’s the last we heard of him, andthatwas a day and a half ago,” Dick sighed, “Now we don’t know where he is. He’s certainly not still in Paris, if he knows we’re coming for him.”

“So the Leagueishunting him,” Conner said in astonishment, “He said it, but I didn’t believe him until-!Dammit,Dick!”

“Hey, I’ve been doing the best I can, alright!?” Dick shouted back, “I’m not having this argument again! I failed Tim, and Iget that,but I can’tfix ituntil we get himback!Soyes,the League has been on high alert looking for him!”

Conner’s shoulders heaved up and down while he tried to control his breathing. “Yep, yeah, okay,” he muttered to himself, all while Cass frowned at the Batcomputer’s screen, furrowing her brow in deep thought.

“So, if we’re going to find him and help him,” Clark started, and Steph jumped in.

“And wearehelping him!” she insisted, levelling a glare at both Dick and Clark, “No more stunts like what happened when we confronted him!”

“Of course,” Clark said placatingly, then turned back to Conner, “So if we’re going to find him, we need to know what he said to you. Did he give any indication of where he was going? What he was doing? Where his lab was?”

Conner frowned; he didn’t want to give Tim away like that. But on the other hand, hedidwant him found. Just to have his best friend back. Or maybe his something more…?

“Oh my God,” Conner remembered, holding a hand to his tingling lips in shock.

“What? What is it?” Clark asked urgently, and a fierce, confused blush spread across Conner’s cheeks.

“He, uh…” Conner started, looking at his feet, “He… he kissed me.”

The Cave went silent once more.

“He… kissed you?” Clark asked again, totally confused.

Jason’s eyebrows raised, “Didn’t know he swung that way.”

Steph gawked, “You mean he wasgaythewhole time??Was he using me as a Beard!? Oh, thatdick!”

Cass whacked her upside the head. “Bisexual,” she said simply.

“Ow!” Steph protested, then looked at her, “Wait, how do you know?”

“Told me,” she answered, “Said he… trusted me.” She frowned; Tim had trusted her with that. Why couldn’t he trust her with this? Weren’t they still siblings, even if she had gone away to Hong Kong? Didn’t siblings tell each other things?

Roy frowned, “So what, you just made out on a rooftop and then he pulled the kryptonite on you?”

Conner bristled, “No!We had a conversation first! And there was nomaking out, wekissed! Once!”

Kori giggled, “Of course, Friend Connor. We believe you.” Her tone implied that the Outlaws did not, in fact, believe him.

“Do you rememberliterally anything else!?” Dick demanded, raising his voice to cover up the giggles and snickers from the Outlaws, “Anything thatdoesn’tinvolve making out with Tim!?”

Conner growled again, but rather than fall further into the pit of indignation and emotional confusion, racked his brain for anything else. “He… mentioned a name?” he finally concluded, “Tommy, I think?”

“Tommy?” Steph asked, “Who the hell is Tommy?”

“Secondary love interest?” Jason suggested jokingly.

“Jason!” Dick snapped, “Not helping!”

“What, I’m serious!” Jason laughed, “The kid’s obviously romantically confused, what with StephandConner! Maybe this Tommy kid is just another wrench in the plan!”

“Stop it!” Conner shouted, “I can’tbelieveBats are the ones acting so-- so--immature!Weneedto findTim!And if finding out who Tommy is helps us do that, then we should dothat!”

“You’re right,” Dick sighed gratefully, sagging back into his chair, “We could start with Nanda Parbat. Damian believes Tim may have joined the League of Assassins, so if he’s using anywhere as a homebase, it’s as good a lead as any. Only problem is…”

“It’s the heavily fortified headquarters of the most dangerous organization on the planet,” Jason finished dryly, “Yeah, that’ll be a bitch to break into. It can be done,but…”

“It’ll make too much noise,” Clark finished, “Thereby breaking Barbara’s agreement with Tim, and putting Commissioner Gordon in jeopardy.”

“So we can’t doanything!?” Conner demanded.

“No, we just can’t dothat,” Dick sighed, “Look, we’ll work on it, okay? For now… we need to heal.” He shot a glance back at the infirmary, where Jon was still clinging to Damian’s mostly uninjured arm, “Some of us more than others.”

Conner scowled. The Bats were being… less than helpful. He locked eyes with Cass, and the two of them decided then, silently; they’d find Tim on their own. Before he did something he couldn’t come back from.

Tim sat there in the sewer, his shoulders racking with silent sobs, and he was counting the seconds as Superman must have flown away. Did he dare? Tim checked with fumbling hands, and sure enough, his white noise generator was still running. Tim allowed himself this one small moment of weakness: hesobbed.

Loud, moaning, heart-wrenching sobs echoed through the sewers of Paris, and Tim ripped off his cowl to hold his head in his hands, tugging at his too-long hair. No words passed his lips, only sobbing and crying, and every fiber of his being implored him,begged himto turn back and get to Tommy, but Tim didn’t dare. What if the League sent someone to investigate? What if Ra’s spies had caught up with him by now? If they saw him making for that same rooftop, they would know something was there. They would investigate, and they would find him. They would take Tommy away before Tim even got the chance toknowhim.

At some point, a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a scream and a giggle began to come out of him, and he pounded his fists against the ancient stone. That was the one reality Tim couldn’t bear: having never been able toknowTommy. Never being able to raise him, to live with him, to watch him grow up safe and warm. To give him the loving, doting family that Tim never had.

After about ten minutes or so, his sounds became more laughter than sobs. He didn’t know why, just that he couldn’t stop it.

“Well, well,well,” a sickeningly familiar voice cooed, and Tim jumped as he scrabbled to pull his cowl down.

As his sobs/laughter faded away, a familiar giggle took their place as a man in bleached skin and a sickening grin strolled down the tunnel and into view. “Ifthat’snot the sound of someone having one bad day,” the Joker laughed, “I don’t know what is!”

Tim scrambled to his feet, going for his bo staff. “Joker!” he cried, “What are you doing here!?”

“Why, watching overyou,sonny boy!” Joker laughed, as if it were obvious.

Tim cocked his head, “Why would you watch over me?”

Joker grinned wide, a crazed glint in his eyes as he leaned forward and Tim took a step back. “Because, Boy Blunder, you’re the only onetrying!” he laughed, “You’re the one! The one who’ll bring back my beloved Batsy!!”

Tim stared at the madman. “You…wantme to bring Batman back?” he asked, stunned; surely business would be booming for Joker if Batman was dead?

The Joker laughed at him. “Ofcourse,dear boy!” he cried, “Of course! I know it was always hard for you Bat Brats to understand, but me and Batsy?Hnhn,we had somethingspecial.I know him, inside and out, better than all of you combined! We’re two sides of a coin, Yin and Yang, forever intertwined,Batmanand theJoker!”

Tim took another step back as the Joker finished his tirade and took a breath. “And you want that back?” he questioned, “Then why put all your hopes on me?”

“Because,Timmy,” Joker said in a low voice, “I knowyou’vegoteverythingto lose…HOO hoo hoo hoo hoo!!”

Tim’s grip on his bo slackened in shock. The Joker knew his name?? “You--!” he stammered, and the Joker seemed to grow bored.

“Oh, yes, I know your name!” he muttered dismissively, waving his hand in the air, “Please, boy, I knew forages!I justdon’t care!”

At that, the Joker closed the distance between them, instantly knocking Tim’s bo aside and holding his back and his arm as if they were dancing together. He leaned in too close, and Tim grimaced as he smelled his rancid breath. “You’regoing to bring my Brucie back to me, baby!” he crowed in triumph, “I saw it in your eyes at the diner the other day! You’ll stop atnothing,won’t you?? Not even the damn Justice League is gonna stopyou!You’reperfect!”

Joker led him along in some sick waltz, jumping up and down in the filth around them, “You know kid, I had almost given up! I was really gonna do it! Therapy, rehabilitation, the whole nine yards!” he went on, laughing as Tim grew progressively more sick to his stomach, “Butyou! Oh, ho, ho,you!You gave this old clownhope,Tim, m’boy! Hope that one day, I might be reunited with myBatsy!”

Joker twirled him, and Tim stumbled out of the Clown Prince’s grip, staggering into a fighting stance, only to see the Joker’s outstretched hand being offered to him. Joker grinned as a crazed light gleamed in his eye. “So here’s the deal, Red,” he said with a smile, “You help me, I'll help you! I’ll doeverythingI can to keep the Super Schlubs away from your baby in the basement, and allyouhave to do is what you were doing anyway!”

Tim gasped. “Youknow!?” he cried, horrified that of all people, theJokerknew about hisson.

Joker rolled his eyes, “Yes, yes, Iknow.Honestly, it’s like you expect me tohurtthe poor lad or something!” and he giggled, “Which, I admit, is normally something I would do, but I’ll let you in on a little secret, Timmy!”

Joker then leaned in conspiratorially, holding a hand up to his mouth. “The therapy kinda worked!” he whispered, then he broke out into manic giggles and laughter.

Tim’s mind was reeling. Someone had… madeprogresson the Joker? Andthe Joker knows where my son is!?!?

“Y’see Timmy, that poor shrink taught me something that I’ve never really gotten until right just now!” the Joker crowed, “Gratitude!I’ve never had anything to begratefulfor, y’see?? Butyou!Oh,you,Timmy, I’msograteful for! You’re bringing Batsy back! So whaddya say, kiddo!?” Joker stuck out his hand again, “You scratch my back, I promise not to kill your kid?”

Tim stared at the purple-gloved hand. Yeah, he supposed this was probably exactly what a deal with the Devil looked like.

“Oh, come on, Tim,” Joker sighed, and Tim looked at his face and was shocked to see a serious frown, rather than the usual manic grin. “One lunatic to another,” the other man said, “It’s far from the worst mistake you’ll make. Trust me, kid.”

Tim was shocked to realize that he wasn’t speaking to the Joker anymore. Rather, to the man who was underneath. The man who fell into that vat of acid. The man who had justone bad day.A man who looked at him with a weariness in his eyes and a sadness on his face that Tim saw in the mirror every morning.

Tim swallowed hard. He considered his options:

Option 1: Refuse. It was the sane thing to do, afterall. But there was also the possibility that the Joker would retaliate by killing Tommy, or worse, selling Tommy’s location to the highest bidder. Unacceptable.

Option 2: Kill the Joker. This was the most neutral option; no retaliation, no more danger. But there would also be the proviso that Tim would have to win that fight, by any means necessary. And win a fight that even Bruce couldn’t? Tim wasn’t sure if he could do that quietly enough not to draw Superman’s attention.

Option 3: Accept. It was ludicrous, totally insane, even… but it came with its advantages. For one, the Justice League would be too occupied with the Joker to focus on Tim. That would be a massive plus for him. And having the Joker as an ally? Having theJokerin his debt?Thatwould be useful. But there was also the possibility that the Joker was lying; he was totally unpredictable, after all. But as Tim stared at the madman, he found himself… understanding something.

The Joker was defined by one bad day. He’d always claimed that the reason he did what he did was because he had seen all the horrors the world had to offer, and the only response that wasn’t maddening was to laugh and go mad. Furthermore, the Joker was defined by Batman, and their eternal struggle. Joker had shown himself melancholy in Batman’s disappearance, disapproving of Dick’s taking up the mantle, and now, manic at the prospect of Bruce’s return.

Tim saw a startling reflection of himself in that bleached skin. Tim was defined by athousandbad days, one after the other, and by his relationship with Batman. Now, in his darkest days yet, he was beginning to see the Joker’s point; sometimes, the only way to feel like he wasn’t going crazy was to laugh.

Tim stared at the outstretched hand. The Joker, or whoever he was underneath it all, the tired, sad, broken man that had been buried so far beneath the Clown, waited patiently.

Tim prayed to God he’d be holding a golden fiddle at the end of all this.

Red Robin shook the Joker’s hand.

Chapter 8: The World's Greatest Detective

Chapter Text

“Timothy...,” Ra’s greeted him, and Tim tried not to stiffen at the address.

He was standing in what could only be considered Ra’s throne room in Nanda Parbat, a vast chamber of adobe and stone, lit by torchlight and dominated by a massive black throne, which Ra’s leaned upon lazily, resting his chin on his hand easily. He eyed Tim like some kind of hungry animal, and Tim hated every scrutinizing eye that was cast his way; it felt…violating,but Tim couldn’t quite place why. They were flanked by rows of assassins on either side, keeping Tim outnumbered and surrounded, while his team, Z, Owens, and Pru, were relegated to waiting in the back of the room for the audience to be over. Talia al Ghul had yet to show her face, which was a damn shame; Tim wanted to give her a solid punch to the face for bringing a rat bastard like Damian into the world.

“You’ve proven yourself quite the escape artist as of late, Young Detective,” Ra’s said, and Tim could have sworn there was a hint of pride in his voice, “You stole away from Nanda Parbat with ease, with my silent grant of permission, of course, but the assassins that were sent to tail you lost your trail on your return journey from Gotham, losing you in Dublin and not seeing you again until Targoviste. An impressive feat, make no mistake. Even the elder Detective was only able to evade my assassins for half of Europe, not its whole. And my grandson didn’t even make it to Turkey before my agents regained his tails. I’m impressed, Timothy.”

Tim bit back a withering retort from the tooth-rotting praise; he knew bullshit when he heard it. “I’m glad I could be of use for your entertainment, Ra’s,” he said plainly.

“Indeed,” Ra’s agreed, “The hunt was… satisfying.” The lord of the League of Assassins hummed thoughtfully as he took a sip from a chalice of wine, (solid gold, of course) then asked, “And what ofyourhunt, Timothy? Were you satisfied with your beating of my grandson? And the threat upon the Gordon girl?”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t know you cared, Ra’s,” he said carefully, “But if you want the truth… only half. I didn’t enjoy having to do what I did to Barbara, she doesn’t really deserve it. But if you’re asking if I like beating the snot out of Damian? The answer is yes.”

Ra’s grinned like a snake. “I’m sure,” he purred, “You’re quite offended by him taking up the mantle of Robin, aren’t you? Isn’t that why you scour Gotham’s population for suitable replacements.”

“I’ll make no secret of it,” Tim acquiesced, “I’ve been searching for someone to replace Damian as Robin once Bruce returns to the Cape and Cowl.”

“Intriguing,” Ra’s mused, “Why, if I may ask, is that replacement not simply yourself?”

Tim bit his tongue. Hecould notfuck this up. “I am no longer suitable to be Robin,” he explained, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. He could lie toBatman;Ra’s al Ghul was child's play. “I’ve broken Bruce’s One Rule, in the act of killing the Widower,” Tim explained, “Not to mention I’ve put myself at odds with Dick, his first and favorite son. I’m no fool, Ra’s; once Bruce knows the truth, he’ll choose the family, not me. I intend to take the decision out of his hands: I will provide him a suitable Robin, while I disappear into the night. No one in Gotham will ever see me again, and neither will you.”

Ra’s frowned after Tim finished. “Just like that?” he asked, “No other way to continue your work? That seems a terrible waste for a man like you, Timothy. You could be so much more.”

“I’m sure I could,” Tim agreed, “But I don’t want to be. After all is said and done, I’m perfectly content being another face in the crowd.”

“Surely you’ll miss the thrill of it all, though?” Ra’s pressed, “I believe Jason Todd once described it as ‘The feeling of bullets through your hair’?”

Tim grinned slightly to himself; he’d used that exact same phrase before. It seems all the Robins were connected after all. “I’m afraid you’ve misjudged me, Ra’s,” he said easily, “I’ll perfectly enjoy the quiet life.”

Ra’s frowned deeper, but there was something… off about it. It was still disappointment, but Tim couldn’t place what he was disappointed about. “Well, I must say I am disappointed, Young Detective,” Ra’s sighed, “I had hoped you would be won over by now, but if there must be some more convincing… I know there is a secret you are keeping. I know its answers lay in Europe. Now, you may think I do not have the time or resources to search an entire continent, but I assure you, I do. There are no secrets from Ra’s al Ghul, Timothy.”

Tim’s heart dropped. Ra’s smiled slowly, his eyes alight with triumph. Behind him, his team stiffened in surprise. Tim’s fists clenched. “What can I do to delay this process?” Tim asked, and Ra’s almostshiveredwith desire.

“You will cooperate completely and fully with the League of Assassins,” Ra’s ordered, “If I tell you to kill, you will kill. If I tell you to maim, you will maim. You are no longer the Detective’s soldier; you aremine.Do I make myself clear?”

Tim swallowed the bile in his throat and forced his shoulders to relax. “Oh,” he sighed, making fake relief flood his voice, “Is that all?”

Ra’s narrowed his eyes at the unusual response. “Hm,” he hummed, almost to himself, “Well, Timothy. We still have six months until the Detective’s glorious return. In that time, you shall track down and exterminate for me the remaining members of the Council of Spiders. Your team will be at your disposal.”

Tim inclined his head, “Thank you, Ra’s. I’ll get to work immediately.”

Tim turned on his heel and walked swiftly out of the throne room, not bothering to wait for the customary dismissal. He was done talking anyway. The Council of Spiders would be child’s play; Tim could solve that case in a week with his hands tied behind his back. But Tim had a better idea; Ra’s was becoming a threat to Tommy. As Tommy’s father, it was Tim’s job to eradicate all threats to Tommy’s wellbeing.

Tim stalked past his team, beckoning them to follow him, which they did eagerly. As soon as they were all safely in Tim’s quarters, which he had made sure was secure a dozen times over, Tim turned to them, and asked them plainly, “I need to know. Who are you loyal to? Me, or Ra’s?”

Z, Owens, and Pru looked at each other. “The Demon’s Head is our master…” Z said uncertainly, and he rolled his bionic foot, “But we have shed blood foryou, Tim Drake. You have sacrificed for us. You have treated us with… kindness. I… like you.”

Tim allowed himself a small smile at that; Z was the one he had been most unsure of, but this was looking promising. “Yeah,” Owens agreed, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m still an assassin, but if it came down to you vs. Ra’s, well…”

“We’re in your corner, mate,” Pru said plainly, crossing her arms, “Ra’s is our master, but you’re our friend.”

Tim grinned at his new companions. “Perfect,” he said, “Because I have a plan, and it’d be great to have your help.”

“What is it?” Z asked, and Tim’s grin turned savage.

“I’m gonna burn down the League of Assassins,” Tim said plainly.

Clark found Conner hovering in the sky above Gotham, eyes shut tight with concentration, his tongue almost poking out of his lips. It was almost adorable. “Conner?” he asked softly, trying not to surprise the young man, and Conner sighed.

“I can’t hear him, Clark,” he lamented, and Clark hovered next to him.

“Hear who?” he asked.

“Tim,” Conner responded, “His heartbeat, I… Iknowit. I’ve always been able to hear it. But now I… I can’t. I can’t hear him.”

Clark sighed. “Tim is a smart young man, Conner,” he started, “Smarter than anyone. Smarter than Mr Terrific, smarter than Lex, even smarter than Bruce was, I think. If he wanted to disappear from Kryptonians, I think he’d be able to.”

Conner sighed in frustration, letting out a little huff of air. “I know,” he sighed, “That’s why I’m not freaking out about him being dead, but… why is he running from me, Clark? What did I do? What happened to him? Why doesn’t he trust me anymore?”

“Oh, Conner…” Clark sighed sadly, looking at the setting sun over Gotham, “I don’t think Tim trusts anyone anymore.”

Time marched on, in the end. After the last altercation with the returned Superboy, Red Robin disappeared into the mist for the next three months. Tried as they did, the Justice League proved itself incapable of tracking down the wayward bird; Dick worried that someday Red Robin would simply be the new Red Hood: a ghost from their past, come to haunt them in the night just when they thought they had moved on.

God, Dick didn’t want that for Tim. He’d never wanted it for him. He’d never even wanted it for Jason. But this was the world they lived in now; nothing could ever be perfect. But Dick hoped that someday Tim would come back, just like Jason did. He just had to have faith. He just had to keep looking.

So Dick did everything he could to rebuild the Batfamily. Cass and Stephanie returned to the Manor, even though Cass was still upset about Tim. She and Conner were still looking for him on their own, and honestly, Dick wished them luck. Maybe they would find something that he didn’t. Jason, Roy, and Kori began patrolling the Narrows and Crime Alley, building the Outlaws up as major players on the organized crime scene, making the same kind of empire of control that the Red Hood had owned on his own, once upon a time. And, in the news, Jason Todd-Wayne was miraculously found on a tropical island, and returned to Gotham to be with his family. His best friends, Roy Harper and Kori Anders, moved in to help him readjust. (Vicki Vale was having a field day with that one,Kori Anders at Wayne Manor: Just an Excuse to get back with Dickie Grayson?) But Jason had been adjusting beautifully; Roy and Kori had done a wonderful job of keeping him docile, and Dick was shocked to discover that Jason actually playedhomemakerwith them, which was just…jarring.One night, when Dick had been injured on patrol, Jason had even worn the Cape and Cowl. Alfred had almost wept with pride.

Damian had made his gradual recovery, and in another month or two, he’d be able to return to service as Robin, Dick was sure. For Damian, that day couldn’t come fast enough. Barbara had returned to the Manor as well, though eventually she was convinced to commute to the Clocktower to continue her work with the Birds of Prey. Alfred was taking to the expanded presence in the Manor with his characteristic nonchalance, but Dick caught the discreet looks of grandfatherly pride and joy that crossed his face when they were all in the same room.

But something still felt empty, and everyone knew it. Even thegoddamn Jokerknew it; he’d been a massive pain in the ass lately, robbing bank after bank, holding up event after event. When Dick had brought in the cavalry to bring him in, Joker had laughed at them, daring to say, “Well, well, well! If it isn’t all my favorite birdbrains! Oh, but it seems you’re missing one, aren’t you? … And no, I don’t mean the stabby one!”

Thathad made Dick mad. How did Joker evenknow?That had been a bad night; Batman had had to stop the Red Hood from beating the Joker bloody six times over, even though Dick had wanted to do it himself twice as many.

But Dick had to move on. He had one more person he wanted to bring back to the Manor, the one who had been an ally of Batman from the very beginning, the one who deserved to know by now.

Batman landed on the roof of Gotham City Police Department, this time in broad daylight. “Batman,” Commissioner Gordon greeted easily, huddling into his coat to fend off the harsh autumn wind, “What do you need?”

“It’s nothing urgent, Jim,” Dick said, trying to drop the Batman voice, just a bit, “Just… something I need to tell you. Something you deserve to know.”

Jim raised an eyebrow behind his glasses. “Uh huh,” he said, “You feeling alright, Bats?”

Dick smiled ruefully, “Better than I have been in a while, Jim. Look, you probably know I’m not… theoriginalBatman.”

“Well, give me some credit, Nightwing,” Gordon agreed, “I knew it was you the first night you put on that Cowl. I was proud of you for it too; Bats would have been proud to see you step up.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Dick agreed, “But, look, Jim, there’s something the original Batman didn’t tell you, and I think it’s time I fix that mistake. I think he thought he was protecting you, but I want to bring you in. I think you’ve been noticing me bringing in the rest of the family-”

“Yes,” Jim sighed, “Tell Red Hood to cool it with the brazen gang takeovers, would you? My beat cops in the Narrows are scared shitless when he’s on patrol.”

Dick laughed a little. “Maybe I will,” he said, “But I just want you to know. If you want answers, answers about us, about who we are… come across the river. I’ll meet you there.”

Batman turned again, then looked over his shoulder, “You’ve been a great friend, Jim, to Batman and to me, and to the rest of us. It’s time we bring you into the family properly.”

Batman leapt off into the city, and Jim puffed his cigar thoughtfully, looking across the Kane River to Gotham Heights, where all the old, wealthy, Founding Families lived in their manors.

“I just might… Dick,” Jim said to no one in particular, and he smiled to himself.

World’s Greatest Detective his ass.

Chapter 9: Three Months Later

Chapter Text

Three months well spent, in Tim’s opinion. Getting Ra’s and the Council of Spiders to do what he wanted was ridiculously easy; enough so that he could slowly but surely tailor both groups to his liking. For instance, he’d developed a method of planning that led a few of Ra’s deadliest men to their deaths, thereby eliminating the future threat when the dominoes inevitably fell into place. It was infrequent enough and often enough led by their own decisions that it never garnered Ra’s explicit attention. Z, Owens, and Pru had been providing invaluable services, giving him all the information on Ra’s top men that he couldn’t gather himself, making it easier for Tim to plan out their demises.

The only real hard part had been the Expediter. He was an intelligent man, being able to coordinate the entire League of Assassins, and when Tim found out that he’d sold out his family to the Council of Spiders, well… the new father did not take that kindly. He set it up so that while Ra’s figured out that the Expediter was a double agent, at the same time the Council thought he had made a turn back to the League. The Council killed him, and Ra’s was led to believe that in discovering the Expediter’s treachery, he’d ensured that the man had outlived his usefulness to the Council.

Tim had never before understood the joy in killing a man; it was terrible business, ending a life like that. Life was sacred after all, it should be protected. That was what Bruce had taught him. But watching Sac kill the Expediter? A man who was so low and despicable that he sold out his own wife and children in order to get some petty revenge on Ra’s al Ghul?Thathad put a smile on Tim’s face.

But Sac killing the Expediter meant that the Council could enter Nanda Parbat. Some might consider this a problem; Tim considered it part of the plan. While he had lured Recluse away from Ra’s headquarters, allowing he and his team to defeat the superassassin, the Council had taken advantage of his absence and invaded the League’s headquarters, giving Tim an excuse to hurry back while Z, Owens, and Pru conveniently stayed behind to “keep and eye on the prisoner”.

In reality, their orders were to kill him and dump his body in the river, then go underground and await further instructions.

Tim, or rather, Red Robin, returned to Nanda Parbat, where, surprise surprise, Ra’s al Ghul was nowhere to be found. Tim smirked; the Council wouldn’t have their favored prey tonight. And instead, they’d bite off just a little more than they could chew.

So that was how he found himself here, standing in a doomed base, staring down half a dozen mighty pissed superassassins. “You,” Wanderer spat as realization dawned on her face, “Youdid this!Youdeprived us of our prey!!”

Tim smirked at her, “I did. But don’t worry; I’ve got your big gameright here.” Tim lowered himself into a fighting stance, a cocky smirk on his face as he beckoned her and her cohorts forward.

They did not take kindly to that.

Red Robin’s fight with the Council of Spiders was urgent, fast, and intense. Goliath almost crushed him to death, Wolf’s bullets managed to graze his cowl, and Funnel and Sac were being overall nuisances. Luckily, he managed to knock them out first, mainly so that Sac would cut it out with his creepy “I shall put my babies inside you” schtick. Tim had had just about enough of the innuendos.

It took a lot of voltage, but he finally managed to taze Goliath out of commission, and landed a solid blow to the back of Wolf’s head that knocked him out cold. Now it was just Red Robin and the Wanderer.

Wanderer growled and huffed as they circled each other carefully, each not daring to make a move on the other. Tim wasn’t doing so hot either; he was pretty sure Goliath had cracked one of his ribs, and one of his eyes was starting to swell up. “You…” Wanderer growled out, “You fight with such ferocity, such desperation. I have seen it before.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Oh? And where might that be?” he asked snidely, falling back on good old mockery. It was one of his favorite Robin tricks; mockery usually inspired a villain to rash decisions, and therefore an easier fight. After all, as a great man once said, villains are by nature a superstitious and cowardly lot; they’ll respond to just about any taunt you throw at them.

Wanderer, despite her cold exterior, was no exception. She sneered at him, curling her lips in triumph as her breath heaved. “You fight with the ferocity and the tenacity of someone who has someone to protect,” she panted, “And not just anyone; someone precious. You fight like a mother protecting her child; you’re aparent,aren’t you,Red Robin?”

Tim's heart skipped a beat, but he managed to keep his cool. "Ha!" he laughed at her, throwing a punch while she dodged off to the side, "Where'd you get that from? Don't you think I'm a littleyoungfor fatherhood?"

When in doubt, lie,a voice whispered in his mind, and whether it was Bruce or his mother Tim couldn't be sure.

Wanderer, however, grinned in triumph as she dodged and retaliated, always aiming for but never quite reaching the exposed skin around his face. "No! I'm right! I can see it in your eyes!" she crowed, "They way your movements stutter, the way your heart hammers so urgently in your chest! That ispanic,Red Robin! The panic of a man whose been found out!"

"You're delusional!" Tim called back, managing to slam her head back with a strike to her chin, "I don't have a kid!"

Wanderer staggered back, spitting blood and a tooth out of her mouth, then grinned up at him, not bothering to claw the stray hair away from her face. "Ah, another thinly veiled lie of protection," she smirked, "But do not worry, Red Robin; you will not be departed from yourcriançafor long! As soon as I killyou,I'll find them and reunite youboth in the afterlife!!"

Tim’s world shut down. Sound stopped reaching his ears, just a high-pitched whine, and his vision tunneled as he stared at her. Wanderer had figured it out. Wanderer was going to kill Tommy. Tim couldn't allow that. And Ra’s had to be listening in, there’s no way that he wouldn’t be. Which meant Ra’s knew. Which meant Ra’s would find Tommy. Which meant Tim was out of time.

The world snapped back into focus, and Tim surged forward with a primal rage, snarling and spitting with fury. Wanderer might have still been talking; Tim didn’t notice.She threatened Tommy!his mind screamed,SHE PUT HIM IN DANGER!!

There was a tiny, tiny rational part of him that realized that he was out of control. But the plan had been to eliminate the Council as a threat anyway, so the overwhelming majority of him didn’t much care. It justscreamedin rage as Tim’s body moved like a whirlwind of death.

His fists landed again and again against something fleshy that eventually crunched and gave way, his bo staff abandoned on the ground. Tim screamed and punched and screamed again.

Finally, slowly, he came back to himself as he straddled the bloodied, unmoving form of what used to be the Wanderer. Tim stood up, and blood dripped from his kevlar-clad hands. It flowed off his abdomen, and his chest heaved as his lungs struggled to accommodate the adrenaline rush that was slowly, ever so slowly beginning to wane. He was drenched in the Wanderer’s blood. He’d beaten her to a bloody pulp.

It gave a whole new meaning to the nameRedRobin.

“Welcome back, Young Detective,” Ra’s purred from the loudspeakers above him, and Tim scowled as his fists clenched.

“I must admit, I am surprised,” Ra’s mused, “A man so young as yourself, already a father? How irresponsible of you; did the tale of my grandson teach you nothing about contraception?”

Tim did his best to ignore him, instead moving to the control room of Nanda Parbat’s Cradle; if he could enact the final part of his plan, even if it didn’tkillRa’s like he’d hoped, itwouldknock him down a solid peg, give him at least a week to secure Tommy and disappear. He hoped.

“If all this was for a child, then why struggle for a father, Timothy?”Ra’s asked him from wherever the hell he really was,“Why go so far to return Bruce Wayne to the land of the living?”

“I won’t bring my child into a world without Batman,” Tim answered, mostly to himself. It had become something of a mantra in these last few months; especially after a kill.

And God, Tim had had to kill.

“Ah, a noble sentiment,”Ra’s agreed,“But I wonder; what can Batman really do in the long run, hm? When the elder Detective returns, he will undoubtedly be changed. Perhaps the Bruce Wayne you knew and loved is simply gone.”

“If you think that, then you never really knew Bruce Wayne,” Tim answered, and he managed a grim smirk as he found what he was looking for. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he enacted his masterpiece.

“... What are you doing there, Young Detective…?”Ra’s asked him, and Tim laughed at him; a high-pitched, whooping, crazed,Joker-patentedlaugh.

“You were a damn fool, Ra’s!” Tim laughed at him, “You gave meunrestrictedaccess to the League’s entire network forthree months,and thought I wouldn't do anything with it!?”

Ra’s growled over the line. “You designed the device to bring the Detective home, that is all,”he answered,“I have been monitoring your behavior; this is all just an elaborate bluff.”

Tim laughed again. “You monitored what Ilet youmonitor, old man,” he snapped, then grinned as he hooked up a detonator and a timer, setting it to start and beginning to run as fast as he could.

“You…”Ra’s growled, realization finally dawning on him,“What have you DONE!?”

“A Red Robin classic, Ra’s!” Tim cried gleefully, reaching the front gates and sprinting through the sands toward the helicopter he knew his team would soon be arriving with, “Gotham Bomber 2: League of Assassins Boogaloo!”

The timer hit zero. An explosion ripped through the air, sending Tim flipping ass over tea kettle through the sand. All across the world, every League base, every Lazarus pit, anything and everything Tim could find and rig to explodedid.Thousands, millions of assassins must have been killed. But it crippled the League of Assassins, and by extension, crippled Ra’s.

That meant Tommy was safe. So the lives lost didn’t matter anymore.

Tim lay on his back in the sand, feeling sore and numb at the same time. In the distance, he heard the thrum of helicopter blades. Tim laughed; hedidit.

That was, until his communicator crackled to life.

“You…” Ra’s seethed into his ear, “You have accomplished something that no one in a thousand years has accomplished, Timothy. You have made meangry.So I give you this one and only warning: everything you have fought for, everything you have sacrificed for; I shall tear it all down. And I shall begin with the legacy ofBruce Wayne!!”

The comm died. The elation from before quickly died, and now dread sank in his gut like a stone.

The helicopter landed, and Owens and Pru hopped out to pull him to his feet. “Up you get, Boss!” Pru called over the sound of the blades, her artificial larynx beginning to make her voice buzz with the strain, “Where to next!?”

Tim stumbled in a numb daze as they piled him into the helicopter and took off, then looked at his only friends left in the world.

Ra’s was going to rip down the legacy of Bruce Wayne. There was only one place he could begin to do that.

Tim looked at Z, who was in the pilot’s seat.

“Take us to Gotham!”

Chapter 10: The War for Gotham

Chapter Text

Gotham City, New Jersey. One of the old centers of commerce and trade of the Eastern Seaboard, fallen by the wayside as New York, Philadelphia, and Boston rose to prominence, leaving Gotham behind.

Gotham was never a place of innovation. It was one of those places where the technology is just added on top of whatever’s already there, and even then, progress was slow and infrequent. Much of the population lived in the same buildings that were built in the 1800s, maybe renovated once or twice. Gotham deteriorated from its days in the limelight, falling and crumbling into ruin and crime and corruption, a hopeless situation if ever there was one. It was always a morbid joke among Gothamites that if New Jersey could get rid of them, they would.

But one man thought that this cesspool of the Atlantic was worth protecting. One man had decided to throw away everything for his home, to push himself to every possible extreme and fight against the inescapable tide of societal decay. Bruce Wayne, the Batman.

And then the Batman died. He died killing a god, saving the world, a hero’s death worthy of a legendary figure such as himself.

Or so everyone thought; everyone buthim.

Tim Drake knew in his heart that Bruce Wayne survived. He had the evidence to prove it. He had the schematics of the device needed to bring him home. Where everyone else had moved on, had given up on Bruce’s return, Tim had stayed stubbornly put, doggedly pursuing his mentor like a moth drawn to a flame. Not only because he wanted Bruce to return, but because heneededhim to; to protect his son.

But he’d run out of time. Ra’s al Ghul, one of Bruce’s greatest enemies, and now one of Tim’s, had discovered his plan. And since Tim had made the immortal tyrant mad, Ra’s had sworn to rip down everything Bruce had built, everything Tim loved.

And Tim knew exactly what would come next after Ra’s brought Gotham to its knees.

The League of Assassins (what was left of it) couldneverbe allowed to find his son.

So, as Tim sat there in the back of the helicopter, his brain just slowly beginning to do its job, he looked up at his team of three assassins, the only people left he could trust, and formed his plan:

Ra’s said he was going to strike ateverythingBruce had built. His legacy. Tim considered all the things that could mean; Wayne Enterprises, the Manor, certain charities and soup kitchens around the city, even. But most importantly, Bruce’s legacy was people. The Batfamily.

They would all be targets.

Tim made a mental list in his head; Lucius Fox. Commissioner Gordon, maybe Harvey Bullock. In that same vein, maybe Kate Kane and Renee Montoya as well. Barbara. Dick. Damian. Jason, maybe the rest of the Outlaws. Selina. Cass. Stephanie. Leslie Thompkins. Alfred.

That was sixteen people. Try as he might, Tim couldn’t prevent sixteen simultaneous assassinations by himself, let alone while still flying across the other side of the planet in the slowest air vehicle available to him.

Tim would need… help. And he didn’t like that. But it was necessary; necessary for Gotham, and for Tommy.

So, he’d need allies already inside Gotham. The Batfamily was out of the question; Tim couldn’t work with people that were trying to institutionalize him. That eliminated the Justice League as well. Tim was kinda running out of people… but he knew he had at least one. Granted, not a good one, but one nonetheless.

And if he swallowed his pride…

Three. He could rely on three people in the city.

Good enough.

That left Ra’s himself to deal with. Tim had no doubt of where he would be; the roof of WE was simply the only place someone of his ego would choose to watch Bruce Wayne’s legacy crumble. Tim could fight Ra’s… but he’d lose. Horribly.

Tim pursed his lips; he’d need help in that fight. But the other two people he had wouldn’t be strong enough. They wouldn’t have the stomach to do what Tim needed to do.

That left only one person. One person who would help him kill Ra’s al Ghul.

Tim wasn’t naive; he knew that killing Ra’s was a temporary solution. There must be at least one or two Lazarus Pits still out there that Ra’s kept off his network for just such an occasion. But killing him bought Tim more time, and time was above all what he needed.

So he would have to divert his forces to save the lives of sixteen people, then go to face Ra’s with his only trustworthy ally. That was a start.

Now he needed to secure Tommy. It was entirely possible that Ra’s still had the resources to comb Europe for his location, and if he were even half a good detective, he’d trace the Superman sighting in Paris right back to Tommy’s location.

But Tim needed to be in Gotham.

He’d need to place his son’s life in someone else’s hands.

Tim screwed his courage as he looked up at his team, then urgently wrote down an address. He handed Pru the crumpled, bloody piece of paper, then said, “All of you, memorize this.”

The Assassin Trio handed it around, looking at it intensely, and as soon as it made its way back to Tim he tore it up and threw it out the window into the Black Sea below. “There is a subterranean laboratory beneath the abandoned building at that address,” he said, keeping his voice as even as he could, “I need you all to defend it until I can return. With yourlives,you understand?”

“We getcha, Boss,” Owens assured him, “But what’s under there that’s so important?”

Tim took a breath. “My son,” he said to them.

The Trio stared at him, then blinked at each other. “Shit,” Pru said in astonishment.

“Please, I need to go defend Gotham from Ra’s, but I need to know he’s safe,” Tim all but begged them, “I need you to--”

“Have no fear, Tim Drake,” Z assured him in a firm, soothing baritone voice, “We shall defend your son to our last breaths. It is the least we can do for you saving us from the Widower.”

“And settin’ us free from Ra’s al Ghul!” Pru said in agreement, thumping her chest happily.

“Damn straight!” Owens agreed cheerfully, “Not to worry, Boss; we’ll keep your kid safe and sound.”

Relief flooded Tim’s body; “Thank you,” he sighed gratefully, then stood up and opened the helicopter’s door.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Pru shouted at him, “Where areyougoing!?”

“I told you!” Tim shouted over the wind, “Gotham!”

And he jumped.

As he hurtled through the air, he twisted the symbol on his chest back into place, deactivating the white noise generator, then took a breath, and shouted at the top of his lungs, “CONNER!! I NEED YOU!!”

Tim fell for a few more moments. The helicopter carried on its way, and Tim waved cheerily at them while he hurtled toward the ground. Then, in an instant, his descent slowed as someone warm caught him in their arms, and as the world slowly righted itself, Tim's heart stuttered as the first of his allies princess-carried him: Kon-El himself.

“Tim!” Conner cried with relief, hugging the other man tight to his chest, “You’re alive!!”

“Yeah, Kon, I’m still alive,” Tim managed with a lopsided grin, his brain flooding with dopamine at being held like this, “Despite Ra’s al Ghul’s best efforts.”

Conner immediately frowned as he took in Tim’s blood soaked appearance. “Ra’s?” he questioned, “Tim, whathappenedto you? Is thisyourblood!?”

“No, it’s not, relax,” Tim sighed, “As for Ra’s, well… get me to Gotham. We have a problem.”

Conner pressed his lips into a grim line, but nodded all the same. The world blurred around him and suddenly it was much colder as Kon set him down on a grimy Gotham rooftop; ah, home sweet home.

“Perfect,” Tim said, pulling up his arm computer and quickly hacking into the Bat Network, tapping into the trackers Bruce had placed on his allies long ago. He cared, but Bruce was also still a paranoid freak.

“Tim, buddy, no one’s seen you in months!” Kon said to him while he hacked, “Where have youbeen!?Why were you falling out of a helicopter!?”

“I’ve been all over,” Tim answered him, still concentrating on his work, “And I jumped.”

“Youjumped!?” Kon balked, horrified, and Tim rolled his eyes.

“Oh, relax,” he sighed, “I knew you’d catch me.”

“But what if I didn’t make it!?” Kon gaped at him, and Tim spared him a sidelong glance.

“You did,” he said, and Conner sighed with frustration.

“Will you at least come home then, Tim?” he asked, his tone soft, almost begging, “Or maybe just back to San Fran? I-- We-- the Titans are back together now, y’know? We’re living in the Tower and everything, we’re just… missing our Robin.”

“I’m not Robin anymore,” Tim said automatically, then he laughed in triumph as he broke in, pulling up a map. As luck would have it, he could make a pretty decent loop between all the targets, going in order of most vulnerable to least.

“Tim…” Kon sighed sadly, and Tim gritted his teeth.

“Look, either stand there and mope, or help me, alright?” he snapped at him, and Conner straightened in surprise, “Go get me Bart,right now!Andyes,I know he came back to life too, I’ve been in hiding, not under a rock!”

Kon gulped, then sped off to the West Coast. Tim called his motorcycle, planning his route. A second later, Bart barreled into him at superspeed, trapping Tim in a hug.

“TIM!!” Bart exclaimed excitedly, “OhmyGodyou’realive!!You’rereallyreallyalive!!”

Tim managed a rueful grin as he pried Bart off of him, “Yes, Bart I’m alive. Now where’s-?”

With a swift breeze, Conner reappeared in the sky, joined by another flyer.

“-Conner,” Tim finished, then narrowed his eyes at the newcomer. “What’sshedoing here?” he demanded bitterly.

Cassie Sandsmark, Wonder Girl, looked deeply uncomfortable as Bart and Conner only looked confused. “She’s… part of the team?” Bart said quizzically, “And our friend?”

Tim scoffed as he remembered how Cassie had stood by and done nothing while the Justice League tried to haul him away to Arkham. “She’s no friend of mine,” he muttered, “Not anymore.” He turned back to his work, beginning to jog towards the next rooftop; it was likely that the assassins were already in the city, he needed to find out where exactly their hub of command was so that he could plan to stop them.

“Tim,please,I just want to help!” Cassie exclaimed, and Tim growled as he leapt to the next rooftop.

“Fine,” he snapped, “You’re lucky I need the extra hands.”

“Extra hands forwhat?” Kon demanded impatiently, and the whole of Young Justice started following Tim easily across Gotham, “Tim,what’s going on!?”

“There’s a war on, Conner,” Tim explained gruffly, stopping at a ledge to scan for all known League frequencies, “One I intend to win.”

“Awar!?” Cassie yelped, “Tim, how did you even--!?”

“I destroyed the League of Assassins just a few hours ago,” Tim explained to them, still scanning for League radio chatter;there!“Ra’s al Ghul did not take to that kindly. In a bid for revenge, he swore to tear down everything I love, starting with the legacy of Bruce Wayne.”

He looked up at his old friends, grim and determined, “I can’t let that happen.”

Cassie, Kon, and Bart all looked at him with a kind of sick awe. Tim wasn’t the same snarky, bright-eyed Robin they’d fought alongside in Young Justice. He’d been driven to a darker place by his ostracization from the Superhero Community, and it showed as he stood there, dressed in a black cowl, covered in blood not his own, the gloomy backdrop of Gotham behind him. He was like a totally different person.

But he had still called on them for help. That had to mean that something. That some little piece oftheir Timwas still in there somewhere.

“Okay, Tim,” Conner agreed, “We’ll help you. What do you need us to do?”

“There are sixteen targets, I’ve just confirmed that now with this radio chatter from the Assassins,” Tim answered, combing through the lines of dialogue between Ra’s and his remaining underlings, “Most of Batman’s allies. We should focus on the noncombatants first. Bart, I want you guarding Dr. Leslie Thompkins, Kon, you take Lucius Fox. Wonder Girl, you’d be best used in guarding Harvey Bullock. Bart, as soon as you’re done with Leslie, I want you to go to the home of Kate Kane and Renee Montoya, and then Kon you should help Batgirl over in the Narrows. Wonder Girl, once Bullock is secure, cover Black Bat’s six. I’ll handle the rest.”

His old friends looked at each other; “Isn’t that… a bit much for you to take on by yourself?” Cassie asked him uncertainly, and Tim scowled at her.

“Don’t underestimate me,” he growled at her, “I can do it. I’ve done more than all of you in the past three months combined.” He turned back toward the city, gaining the (startlingly close) timeframe of the assassinations. “Besides,” he said with a too-wide grin, “I want to see the looks on their faces.”

That was a red flag if ever there was one, and Tim knew it. And he knew his friends knew it. Butdammit,it was thetruth.He wanted to look Dick Grayson in the eye while he realizedjust what tollhis actions had taken, how far hislittle brotherhad fallen from grace. He wanted to rub it in the pretender Batman’s face like salt in a wound, gleefully laughing all the while.

Maybe the Joker was starting to rub off on him. And maybe he had some unresolved issues with Dick. That was probably bad.

“The assassinations are about to begin,” Tim informed them, looking at the position of the moon, “Fifteen minutes. You have your assignments;go.”

His friends hesitated. “Tim…” Cassie started awkwardly, and Tim scowled at her again.

“I still have one more ally to call in,” he growled, “And I need travel time. Nowgo!”

With despair on their faces, the former members of Young Justice flew and ran to their respective people. Tim set his jaw; he had a call to make.

Someone was following him. Jim Gordon huddled into his coat as he walked down the narrow Gotham streets; he’d never taken Dick up on his offer to come across the river. It didn’t feel right, at least not with Bruce gone, and he’d explained as much to Dick the last time Batman had paid him a visit. He wasn’t really concerned with the plausible deniability aspect of it anymore; he was sixty-nine, who would even bother to fire him? But still,beingpart of the Batfamily felt like… too big a step. Not something he could do unless Bruce offered it to him.

But that didn’t explain why someone was following him. It wasn’t a Bat, that much he was sure of. If it were, they would have shown themselves by now. He was all alone, after all. And the flickering streetlamps gave anyone ample opportunity to appear out of the shadows and give him a heart attack.

No, this someone was a threat. Jim stopped walking, placing a hand on his gun. “Whoever you are…” he called out behind him, “I know you’re there.”

“Impressive, James Gordon,” an unfamiliar voice hissed from above him, and Jim whipped around to point his gun at a figure clad all in black, wielding a wicked looking katana. Anassassin.“Not many can realize when they are being stalked by Shadows.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got some experience,” Jim said back, tightening his grip on the gun; he was way out of his depth. He needed to be vigilant--

“Jim, down!” a familiar voice called, and Jim dropped as a Bat swung down from the night sky, slamming feet first into the assassin.

Jim’s heart soared as the black cape furled out behind him, watching as the kevlar connected with the assassin’s jaw. Then it stuttered in his chest as the Bat did the unthinkable.

Tim snapped the assassin’s neck. He’d killed millions at this point, what was one more murder? And if it meant one less murderer in the world, then it was a good thing. One less footsoldier for Ra’s al Ghul.

God, Bruce would hate to see him now.

Tim turned back to Gordon, who was still half on the ground, staring at him in shock. “Are you alright?” he asked the elderly man, and Jim stood up.

“You…” he stammered, “You just killed him.”

Tim looked down at the assassin, still dead on the sidewalk. “I did,” he said, “And I saved your life doing it. You’re welcome.”

“Robin, wait-!” Jim called, but Tim fired his grapple upward and into the night.

“It’sRedRobin!” he called behind him, and he swung away.

Something was wrong, and Barbara knew it. She’d been monitoring every League of Assassins base known to the Bats, and all at the same time, they’d exploded. That wasnotnormal. Someone was gunning for Ra’s; the question waswho…

The elevator doors behind her opened. Barbara hadn’t seen anyone come up. Her Batgirl instincts kicked into action, and she spun in her seat and chucked a batarang at the attacker, managing to hit him in the arm. She gulped as two more men came out of the elevator; more than she could comfortably fight off. Just as she was about to throw another batarang, the window behind her crashed inward, and a black leather cape furled out in front of her.

“Hands off!” Red Robin snarled, and Barbara watched in horror as he leapt at the ninjas. She didn’t miss that he was covered in dried blood.

One assassin tried to stab Tim with a sai, but the vigilante sidestepped it and took it for himself, plunging it into the other man’s abdomen. As he went down in his death throes, Tim kicked out the second one’s knee, sending him sprawling to the ground, then swung his bo staff into the third one’s neck, snapping it. Without even turning toward Barbara, Tim slammed his boot down on the screaming assassin, crushing his neck.

“T-Tim…” Barbara gasped in horror, and lightning flashed as Tim turned to her.

“Are you injured?” he asked her, and Barbara only continued to stare.

The eyes of his cowl narrowed, but his lips tilted upward into a savage grin. “Still afraid of me, I see,” he said to her, then he ran past her and jumped out the window, catching himself with his grapple.

Barbara let go of the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She scrambled to her control panel to call Dick… only to find that Tim had sabotaged it. She was left alone, in a room with three assassin corpses, without her computers.

Barbara took out her cellphone and called her dad.

Jason growled as his back hit the wall, and he fired his pistols into the growing crowd of ninjas. “How many of these fuckersarethere!?” he demanded, and Roy grunted as he loosed another five arrows in just as many seconds.

“Toomany!” he called back, and Kori screeched in rage from above them as she blasted five ninjas off the roof with her starbolts.

Jason kicked out one ninja’s knee, then knocked him out while he fired rubber bullets at another. Dick had finally won him back over to the “No Killing” rule, even though Jason still thought it was bullshit. … But it would make Bruce happy to see him like this, he kept reminding himself. Bruce would be proud of him.

Jason swore as a ninja landed a lucky hit, sending him staggering backward from a punch to the face. “We need backup!” he snapped, kicking the offending assassin in the balls.

“I have already attempted to call for it!” Starfire called from above him, “It seems all of our friends are having similar experiences!”

Roy cried out as he flipped backward over a vent, tumbling back up to his feet and loosing another arrow. “Someone’s gunning for the Bats!?” he shouted back in shock, “Who’d eventrythat!?”

Jason was about to answer, but then he heard the roar of a motorcycle. The Outlaws turned, watching as a dark red vehicle twisted in midair, the rider leaping off. As the rider landed in a roll, the bike’s tires came down on two assassin’s heads, crushing them beneath the weight.

Red Robin sprang up and slammed right into another assassin, frantically beating his face in until he stopped moving. Tim then pulled out his bo staff, pulling out carefully aimed shots at their necks and joints, either crippling them for life or killing them. The Outlaws watched with fascination and horror as Red Robin carved a bloody swathe through the ninjas that had been attacking them.

“Jason,gun!” Tim shouted at him, holding out his hand, and without a second thought Jason tossed one of his pistols over; then immediately cursed himself for doing it.

Tim whirled around and with a marksmanship he shouldn’t have, managed to nail the five remaining assassins in the head, one bullet each. Then, watching them writhe in pain on the ground, frowned and looked at Jason.

“Rubber bullets? Really?” Tim asked him, tossing the gun back, “You used to be cool, Hood.”

Tim leapt off the side of the building, and Jason spurred back into action, “Hey, get back here you little twerp--!!” But as he reached the ledge, Tim was already gone. Since when had the kid gotten so damned stealthy?

Alfred Pennyworth dusted the shelves at Wayne Manor, then sighed as he heard the floorboards behind him creak ever so slightly. Calmly, Alfred turned to face the assassin, using the blunderbuss in his other hand to blow the man away like tissue paper.

“Just the one?” he asked the empty room, “Tut tut, Mr. al Ghul. I was in Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service for twenty-seven years. Please, do show some more respect next time.”

Alfred calmly went back to his dusting, and across the city, Tim grinned as he imagined the fate of whatever poor soul tried to sneak up on the butler.

Selina grunted as she scratched her claws across the chest of the last assassin, knocking him down for the final time. She panted heavily, now alone on the rooftop, and spotted a dark-cloaked figure watching her in the distance.

Red Robin gave her a thumbs up of approval, then dropped away into the shadows.

Catwoman wanted to chase after him, but as she took a step her leg wobbled and she collapsed from exhaustion; five assassins were a little above her paygrade. Luckily, she knew how to punch above her weight. Still though, a little rest was looking great right now.

Batman and Robin were staking out one of Two-Face’s warehouses, waiting for an arms deal with the Penguin. “Do you see them?” Dick asked his protege, and Damian scoffed.

“OfcourseI see them,” he muttered, “They are terrible at their jobs! Honestly, Grandfather’s standards have slipped in my absence.”

Dick smiled, “Well, I’m sure you can tell him that when we see him next. Get ready, they’re about to make their move.”

Just as Batman and Robin were about to receive the dozen or so assassins that had been assigned to them, a grapple hook anchored itself on the ledge in front of them.

A blur of red and black moved past them, dragging Damian’s sword from its sheath as it did.

“Wha-!?” Damian squawked in surprise, turning to see the black and red clad figure use his sword to easily dispatch the ninja that had been about to jump them.

Red Robin was a blur of motion and blood, cutting and slashing with practiced ease, finishing his array of destruction by decapitating the last, helpless assassin. Twelve bodies lay at his feet as blood ran down the sword’s blade.

Dick stared in open-mouthed horror while Damian shuddered as memories of pain resurfaced in his mind.

Tim only grinned at them, savage and challenging and proud. “Here ya go, Demon Brat,” he said lightly, tossing the sword back to him, “Needed to borrow it for a bit.”

It was only a lifetime of training that gave Damian the reflexes to grab his blade out of the air before it could tumble off the building.

“Tim…?” Dick asked in a tortured whisper, “Wh-What did you just…?”

“Oh this?” Tim asked, feigning ignorance as he looked down at the pile of bodies he was standing on, “Well I killed them, obviously.”

He said it so nonchalantly, as if it didn’t matter. As if he hadn’t just taken the lives of twelve people, even if they had been terrible people.

Dick looked like he was going to be sick.

“You’re looking at the last of the League of Assassins, Batfake,” Tim told him proudly, spreading his arms wide in a presenting gesture, “You’re welcome.”

“The last…?” Damian asked shakily, his brain refusing to accept the possibility.

“I killed them, Damian,” Tim told him matter-of-factly, “I killed them all.”

“Oh, god,Tim-!” Dick gasped, trying to reach forward and hug his brother, but Tim held up his bo staff defensively, keeping him back.

“Don’t touch me!” Tim snarled, with all the ferocity of a wild animal, hatred and anger filling his voice, “Don’t you fuckingdaretouch me!”

Dick stopped in his tracks, confusion and pain and hurt written all over his face. Timrevelled in it.Finally, Dick felt like he had felt, all those months ago. Tim activated his comm, leaning into it and asking simply, “Report in.”

“Doc Thompkins is fine!” Bart said cheerily, “And Batwoman and Montoya arehot!”

“Bart…” Kon admonished, “Lucius Fox is at a safe location, and Stephanie’s mostly unhurt.”

“Bullock is secure,” Cassie answered last, “And Black Bat is right here.”

Tim grinned. “I knew I could count on you guys,” he said, actual happiness in his voice, “Good work. Meet back at the Batcave; we’ll do pizza, like the old days.”

Tim then crushed the comm and threw it away, then turned on his white noise generator.

“Tim…?” Dick asked him quietly, and Tim grinned at him.

“I just saved your whole city,” he said, “You’re welcome. Now, if everything goes according to plan, you’ll never see me again. See ya, Dick.”

Tim backflipped off the side of the building, (a move Dick himself had taught him) and grappled away into the night.

Tim’s heart hammered in his chest as he entered Ra’s chosen command room. It was an abandoned floor of the main WE building, closed for maintenance. A perfect battle ground.

Ra’s was standing with his back to Tim, staring contemplatively out the window. “Those were the last of my assassins,” he said calmly, “But I think you knew that, didn’t you? Well, those that weren’t killed in the attempt to pass your men in Paris.”

Tim grinned; his team had defended Tommy successfully, and Ra’s was out of manpower. This was going better than he’d hoped. “It’s over, Ra’s,” he said firmly, holding out his bo staff as he slowly flanked the immortal, “I won.”

Ra’s narrowed his eyes, still not looking away from the window. “Is that what you think?” he asked calmly, “Then why are you here?”

“As long as you’re still alive, you’re a threat,” Tim said plainly, “I’ve come here to kill you.”

Ra’s actually chuckled at that. “You thinkyoucan best me in a fight, Timothy?” he laughed, “You’re exhausted. You haven’t slept since Nanda Parbat, and you’ve been running around Gotham killing my men ever since you left. You don’t have a prayer, dear boy.”

Ra’s threw off his cloak and drew his sword, revealing that underneath all the silk, the old man was absolutelyshredded.

Tim flipped his bo staff into a lower stance, on guard. “Well, no,” he admitted, “Not without help, anyway.”

Ra’s straightened in surprise, then cried out in pain as a switchblade dug into his back. He whipped around, swinging wildly, but the purple-clad man who’d stabbed him danced just out of range.

“HOO hoo hoo hoo hoo!” The Joker cackled, “Timmy, baby, you’ve gotta start inviting me to more parties!”

“If we survive this, I’ll consider it,” Tim answered, “So how about it, Ra’s? Ready for a tango?”

Ra’s narrowed his eyes. “So, you’ll lower yourself to working with thisfilthto protect your child?” Ra’s asked contemptuously, “Touching.Anddisappointing.”

And they fought. The Joker, Ra’s al Ghul, and Red Robin, all fighting like it was the end of the world. The Joker howled with laughter as Ra’s cut deep into his shoulder, Tim cried out as part of his cowl was ripped off. Ra’s grunted in pain as Tim’s bo collided with his thigh, actually cried out when the Joker stabbed his forearm. The fight could only have lasted a few minutes, but it felt like hours. Ra’s had both Tim and the Joker outclassed, but they had the advantage of surprise, numbers, and unpredictability. Eventually, all three men were breathing heavily, injured and exhausted.

Tim was backed up against the window. Joker was on the ground, struggling to get up, giggling to cover up the pain. Ra’s raised his foot, and Tim realized he’d be too slow.

Tim’s bo staff hit the ground. Ra’s foot collided with Tim’s bandolier, and Tim flew backward. His hand closed around his grapple gun, and he screamed as he passed through the shattering glass. He whipped his arm around as fast as he could and fired.

The grapple wrapped around Ra’s leg, who stared in dumbfounded surprise before being dragged out the window along with him.

“YOU IDIOT!!” Ra’s screamed at him as they fell from a hundred stories up, “YOU’VE KILLED US BOTH!!”

A small part of Tim wanted that to be true. He was tired, he’d been through so much, wasn’t he owed a rest already? He’d saved the city, he’d brought down the League of Assassins, he couldrest now--

But he couldn’t. Bruce still needed him.Tommystill needed him. Tim would have tosurvive.

Tim looked at the rapidly approaching buildings and rooftops below them, a terrible plan forming in his head.

“Not both of us, Ra’s!” Tim growled, bunching up his legs and setting them against Ra’s chest, “JustYOU!”

Tim kicked with all his might, and Ra’s eyes widened with surprise. At terminal velocity, Ra’s al Ghul slammed into the roof of a brownstone apartment building, his still tied up leg acting as the perfect anchor for Tim to swing up and out of danger. The only problem was the aforementioned terminal velocity, and centrifugal force.

Timscreamedas his arm was pulled from its socket, the only thing keeping his grip tight being sheer fucking willpower. Finally, the pain became too much, and Tim let go as he tumbled through the sky, broke his ankle trying to catch a fire escape, and landed in a rolling mess in the alley.

Tim’s body was nothing but a daze of hurt and waves of pain, and when he tried to push himself up, his body screamed a resoundingNO.

“Oh my God, Tim!” someone shouted behind him, and Tim groaned as he caught sight of Dick running toward him, the whole damn Batfamily behind him, along with his Young Justice pals.

“Jesus,” Jason breathed, and Kon ran forward, pushing past everyone.

“Tim!” he cried urgently, “I-I would have caught you, I-I just couldn’thearyou, I didn’t know where youwere--!!”

“Get off me, Kon,” Tim growled, and with a last, painful effort, pulled himself up to stand on his working foot, no matter what his body screamed at him, “I need to get out of here.”

“Tim, you can barely stand!” Kon protested, and Tim scowled at him, then at all of them.

“I think I’m fine,” he muttered scornfully.

“Tim,no,” Dick said, trying to reach out to him, “You need medical attention-”

“Yeah, and you know where I’m not going to get it?” Tim asked him, “Arkham!”

Dick stopped in his tracks. “Tim…” he sighed, and Cass pushed past him, running forward.

“Little Brother!” she cried urgently, ripping off her mask, showing the tears she had been crying beneath, “Stay!”

Tim’s heart broke for her, and for Kon, who looked just as hurt. Bart, Cassie, and Steph all looked devastated as well, so did Dick, while Jason and the Outlaws just looked pitying. Damian looked constipated.

But Tim couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t risk being detained by the Bats, not while his team was still guarding Tommy for him, not while someone still needed him.

Tim snarled at her, and at Kon, limping back and holding his arm like a wounded animal. Cass stopped in her tracks, and Kon looked crushed. Tim always had been a good liar.

“Stay away from me!” he snarled, “I won’t be thrown away!!”

“Tim, no one’s trying to throw you into Arkham!” Dick tried desperately, “It was a mistake, astupid, stupidmistake, and I just want--!!”

“Why should I care aboutwhat you want!?” Tim snapped at him, “You didn’t care about whatIwanted! You called mecrazy!You sent theJustice Leagueafter me!!”

Tim looked Dick Grayson in the eye, and without a hint of falsehood, screamed at him, “I HATE YOU!!”

Dick stepped fully backward, his eyes wide and hurt and guilty. Damian stepped in front of him protectively, as if he might shield Dick from Tim’s words with merely his presence.

“Tim, you don’t mean that-” Steph tried gently, and Tim rounded on her.

“Don’t tell me what I mean!!” he snapped, “You don’tspeak for me!You don’tknowme!Not anymore!”

Tim decided to take care of one of his injuries; he ran at the alley wall, popping his shoulder back into its socket with ascream.

“Tim!” Kon cried out, but Tim only rolled his shoulder painfully, testing the bruised muscles.

“Fuck that hurt,” Tim muttered, the inspected his ankle. There wasn’t much he could do for it, not here, not now. He could try to splint it later.

“Little Brother,please,” Cass begged him, and Tim looked up at her.

He pursed his lips, then looked at the ground. “I have proof,” he murmured.

“Proof of what, kid?” Jason asked, and Tim pulled up the Bat Symbol cave painting on his arm computer.

“Bruce isalive,” Tim growled, and they all stared at the picture.

“Oh my God…” Dick whispered in anguish, “You were right all along…”

“Damn fuckingstraightI was!” Tim snapped again, and he pulled up the schematics for the siphon, sending them to Cass’s onboard computer.

“Bruce will appear in the modern era in three months’ time,” he explained, “The schematics I just sent to Cass are of a device I’ve designed; a beacon, and a siphon. The beacon will draw Bruce to your location, the siphon will rid him of the excess Omega Radiation. Once the light turns green, remove the collar and let it travel through the timestream in his stead. I trust you with this, Cass. Kon, Bart, you can help her build it. But I’m done. It’s over.”

Cass stared in shock at the schematics, Kon and Bart joining her, but Cassie stepped forward. “So it’s over??” she asked incredulously, “Just like that? You’re out? You don’t even want to be there when Bruce returns!?”

Tim sighed. Truth be told, hehadwanted to be there for Bruce when he returned. But Ra’s had moved up his timetable; it was only a matter of time before he got himself resurrected, with whatever dredges of the League he managed to pull up. Tim couldn’t expect Z, Owens, and Pru to guard Tommy for months against continuous onslaught.

You could tell the Bats about Tommy,a part of him whispered softly,They’d protect him.

Tim scowled. The Bats would protect Tommy, that much was true; but they’d send Tim away. They’d take him away from his son, and lock him away in Arkham while his son grew up without his real parents. Just like Tim had.

Tim couldn’t allow that.

Tim grunted as he took a step backward, into the shadows. “I can’t be Robin anymore,” he muttered, “All the people I’ve killed? All the things I’ve done? Bruce would never take me back. I broke the Rule. The big one. And even before…” Tim closed his eyes, remembering the circumstances of Tommy’s creation. “If you knew what I’ve done, besides killing, you’d never accept me back,” Tim sighed, “So yeah. I’m done. I’m out. Fuck this family, fuck this city, and fuckyou,Batfake. You guys are never going to see me again.”

Tim flipped Dick one last middle finger, then limped backward into the shadows. “If any of you still care about me, even a little,” he said as he slunk away, “Donottry to follow me.”

The Batfamily and Young Justice stood there in shock as Red Robin limped away into the night, total despair on their faces as they realized just how badly they had screwed up.

Dick fell to his knees.

Cass stared open-mouthed at the schematics, the device that would bring her father home.

Kon stared at the spot where Tim had once been, trying to follow him with his x-ray vision, and finding that he couldn’t. Tim must have lined his suit with lead.

Bart only looked sad, and hurt, and confused. He didn’t know why any of this was happening. He’d been dead until only a couple of months ago, no one had ever explained in detail why Tim was doing what he was doing. All he knew was his friend, hisbest friend,who beat him at all the video games in the Tower, who made corny jokes and puns, who swore never to kill anyone, just like his mentor, was now destroying buildings, killing dozens of people, and threatening those he once called family. Bart was so confused.

The rest of them, however, merely recognized their own failure. Failure to recognize he was hurting, failure to help him, failure to be the family they had sworn to be.

And as Tim limped away, stumbling through the alleys and sewers, he wept at his own failure. His failure to grow up and be the man Bruce had believed he could be.

Chapter 11: It's Alive!

Chapter Text

The Joker stood at the edge of the window, watching Tim’s spectacular stunt unfold, and let out a halfhearted, wheezing chuckle. “Oh, Birdbrain, I don’t know what you did to that kid,” he giggled to himself, catching the signature swish of the Cape and Cowl disappearing into the alleyway where Tim had fallen, “But he’s starting to get the joke.”

With some effort, and a little more giggling, the Joker limped away from the window, clutching his bleeding side, and began the long, painful trek down the stairs, where he’d disappear into the night.

Tim couldn’t help but notice that his shoulders were shaking as he piloted the plane he’d… appropriated from Wayne Aerospace of Connecticut. Whether it was from pain, exhaustion, more sobbing, or laughter, he couldn’t quite tell. Still, though, he had a sneaking suspicion it was the last option; after all, the look on Dick’s face had been priceless.

The pain, the shock, the crushing guilt, the utterdisbeliefin his eyes, the desperation in his voice…!

Tim actually let out a small chuckle, becausedamn,it was so funny! After everything Tim had gone through, he finally got to watch Dick get a taste of his own medicine, showed the Batfake who’s boss, saw his former big brother crumble away beneath the weight of his own failure--!

Then Tim caught himself; why was that funny? Tim shouldn’t be laughing at anyone’s suffering, even if it was that rat bastard Batfake. Bruce raised him better than that. Where was all of this coming from…?

“One bad day…” Tim realized aloud, and a cold stone settled in his gut; he sounded just like the Joker. This must be how the Joker sees the world, right? From his broken, cracked kaleidoscope lens? To laugh at others’ suffering, to take joy in being the bad guy.

Tim was becoming more and more like the Joker.

Tim took off his cowl, still ripped and torn from his fight with Ra’s. He closed his eyes for a moment, reigning in his emotions as much as he could. Becoming some kind of…Joker Juniorwas not how he wanted to turn out. He needed to raise Tommy, and he couldn’t do that while laughing at tragedy. His grip tightened around the plane’s controls, and he steadied his breathing; focus on Tommy. Tommy couldn’t grow up with a psychopath as a father, he needed stable parenting. And Tim would be damned before he let anyone take at least the chance to provide that away from him.

Tim stamped down the laughter, and his shaking shoulders finally steadied. The grin he didn’t know he’d been wearing finally dropped from his lips. Tim opened his eyes, and he glared in determination at the glittering lights of Paris growing in the distance.

He was not the Joker. He was Tim Drake, Son of Bruce Wayne, Robin, Red Robin, and most importantly, afather.

This was where his life would finally stop falling apart. This was where everything would start anew. From now on, everything was going to be alright; it would just be him, and his son.

Tim smiled. Not grinned, not laughed; just smiled.

Tim changed out of his Red Robin suit, it was wrecked to all hell anyway. He just packed it up in the plane and tried to pretend his many numerous bruises weren’t there for a moment while he walked (hobbled) down winding Parisian avenues. He finally came up to the abandoned building, and grimaced as he sighted a splash of blood near the wall; obviously the fight had spilled outside at some point.

He opened the door, and was met by an uzi held up to his face. He grinned lazily, and Pru, Z, and Owens all beamed at him.

“Boss!” Pru cried, pulling her uzi away, “You’re still alive!”

“Seems like it, yeah,” he agreed, and he closed the door behind him as the Assassin Trio gave him congratulatory hugs and fist-bumps. Honestly, it felt good to have a relationship like this, with no strings attached, just people being friendly with each other. It almost felt like his whole world hadn’t been brought crumbling down in the span of four months.

“So, Tim Drake,” Z said seriously, after all the pleasantries had been exchanged, “Is it over?”

Tim sighed and rubbed his sore shoulder. “I think it is,” he said wistfully, “And despite everything… I think I’m really gonna miss it, y’know?”

Owens smiled in sympathy, handing over a cold beer from a previously unseen portable cooler, and said, “I getcha, Boss. There’s always somethin’ bittersweet about change.”

Normally Tim wouldn’t have accepted the drink, but it had been a hell of a long day. Tim cracked it open and took a long draught, screwing his face up at the taste, but still swallowing it down. Pru laughed at him, saying, “Not a drinker, are ya?”

“Not usually, no,” Tim admitted, eyeing the rest of the golden liquid, “But I think I’ll manage.”

Tim looked over at the out of order elevator shaft that led down to his son, still “blocked” by police tape. Tim sighed; he still wasn’t quite able to let go of Robin yet. He sat down heavily onto a decrepit office chair, and his newfound friends joined him, leaning against rickety tables and rubble.

“I’m still not quite ready,” Tim admitted to them quietly, keeping his eyes downcast, and Z nodded with sympathy.

“I understand,” he said, “You were Robin for many years, longer than even Dick Grayson. You deserve your own goodbye to the role.”

Tim snorted ruefully, “Didn’t really get much of one.”

Pru hummed along with him, grabbing a beer of her own, handing out two others to Owens and Z.

And for a while, it was just that. A beer in the dark, shared amongst friends, drinking to a bygone era. Tim slumped his shoulders as he took another swig of the foul swill, grimacing at the taste as he choked it down once more.

He’d been Robin since he was thirteen. That was almost five years of his life, five years that had affected him so much. Five years living with Bruce, five years spent prowling the rooftops of Gotham, five years beating back the Rogues time and time again. Everything good about him started and ended with Robin. He remembered putting on the suit for the first time, going and saving Bruce and Dick from Two-Face, the elation at finally getting the job. He remembered the rocky start, but the eventual bond of trust and respect between himself and Bruce. Once, Alfred had even remarked that he thought Bruce and Tim worked together better than even Bruce and Dick had.

And Tim really had redefined Robin. Dick had birthed it, sure, and Jason had continued it, but Timdefinedit. Robin was the leader of Young Justice, and the Titans, and he was the light to Batman’s darkness. It was Tim that had fought beside the Justice League in all the Crises, Tim who had founded Young Justice with Kon and Bart and Cassie, Tim who’d gone above and beyond to prove that Robin, and young heroes in general, still had a place in the community. Not Dick, not Jason, not Stephanie or Damian;Tim.

Tim Drake had given Robin his all. He’d given Bruce his everything.

And in the end it had all fallen away.

Tim sighed sadly, and tried to accept that now, and forever, he’d never be Robin again.

He had a new life now. A new man. Starting fresh.

Tim looked once more at the elevator shaft, and sighed and raised his bottle. “To Robin,” he said.

Pru, Z, and Owens looked to him. “To Robin,” Pru agreed, raising her bottle in reply.

Owens grinned, and enthusiastically pumped his fist in the air, “To Robin!”

Z smiled, and tilted his bottle only slightly. “To Robin,” he said softly.

Tim finished his drink. Didn’t taste all that bad anymore. He stood up, and rolled his neck out as he took a step toward the elevator. “Come on,” he said to his friends, “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

The lab was still as dark and dank as Tim remembered. Months-old coffee cups and scattered papers littered the floor, and Tim stepped over a puddle of he-wasn’t-quite-sure.

And there, in the back of the room, almost glowing gold with the fluids of the tank, was his son. Tim all but ran to the controls, stopping the growth process and beginning to wake Tommy up.

And God, Tommy looked so old. Tim checked the date; three years, nine months.

Tommy wasthree years old.Tim had missedthree years.He let out a breath of emotion, but reigned it in as best he could; he was a father now, Tommy needed him.

And looking at him, his kiddo was adorable. He had short black hair, not straight like Tim’s but not curly like Kon’s either. It was more wavy, a mix of both. The pod began to drain, and Tim checked Tommy’s genetic markers, finding everything to be in order. 70% human DNA, 25% Kryptonian, 5% unknown. A side effect of the cloning process, no doubt; Tim wasn’t exceptionally worried. Tommy showed all the signs of perfect health; normal brain function, regular heartbeat, and as the tank fluid level passed his nose and mouth, his lungs worked just fine.

The pod finished draining, and Tim almost held his breath with anticipation as it began to open up. His team stayed toward the back of the room, keeping a respectful distance, and Tim prepared himself for his first moments with his son.

The pod was fully open now, and Tommy began to wake up. He swayed on his feet a little, no longer suspended by the tank’s fluid, but stayed upright. After a few moments, a confused wrinkle appeared on the bridge of his nose, and he opened his eyes.

They were emerald green; strange, since Tim and Conner both had blue, but Tim didn’t care too much. They were his son’s eyes. That was all that mattered.

Tommy and Tim stared at each other for a bit, Tim too scared to talk, and Tommy merely confused by his first interactions with the world. Finally, Tommy stepped forward, frowning at his father with curiosity. “You’re hurt,” he said in a high, innocent voice.

Tim stared at him. “Wh-What?” he asked dumbfoundedly.

“You’re hurt,” Tommy insisted, pointing at his ankle, “Your foot is broken.”

Tim looked down, then back up at Tommy. He must have been using his x-ray vision. “Uh… yeah,” he managed, “I was… in a fight before this.”

“Okay,” Tommy acknowledged, then looked up at his father’s eyes, “Who are you?”

“I, uh… I’m your dad, buddy,” Tim said hoarsely, kneeling down to be on Tommy’s eye level.

Tommy looked at him. The boy took a step forward, then another (his first steps!) then ran into Tim’s arms, and Tim wheezed in slight pain as his still-bruised ribs received gale-force toddler. But all that pain melted away as soon as Tommy threw his arms around Tim’s torso and whispered, “Dad.”

Tim’s heart melted like warm butter, and he clung to his son as tight as he could, shaking and shivering with relief becausehis son was finally in his arms.Tommy was safe, he was here, he was alive, he was breathing and healthy andin Tim’s arms.

“Welcome to the world, Tommy,” Tim whispered, holding onto his boy, “Today is your birthday.”

“Really!?” Tommy asked excitedly, and Tim pulled him away to look at him, “Today, September 23rd, 2012 ismy birthday!?”

Tim stared at his son for a long time. “Yes?” he said uncertainly. How did a three-minute-old know the date so precisely?

“Yay!!” Tommy cried, plunging into another hug, “Are we going to have a birthday party, Dad? Birthdaysalwayshave parties.”

“O-Of course we’re gonna have a party, kiddo,” Tim stammered, “It’s your birthday after all.”

Tommy grinned again, gave him another hug, then jumped in the air and sped to the back of the room, hovering in midair by the three Assassins, who were watching this whole exchange with increasing alarm.

“Hi there!” he said excitedly, “Today is my birthday!! Do you wanna come to my party?”

“Uh, Boss?” Pru said uncertainly, leaning past Tommy to talk to him, “Explanations? Mostly of the why-the-hell-can-he-fly variety??”

“W-Well he’s a quarter Kryptonian,” Tim stammered, getting to his feet, “But I don't know why he’s so… well-spoken.”

Tommy turned to face him, a quizzical, confused expression on his face. “I got taught,” he explained, as if it were obvious.

“By what?” Tim asked him, and Tommy merely pointed back at the pod. Finally, Tim realized the connection.

“Oh! I’m anidiot!” he cried, smacking himself in the head as he put two and two together. He was cloning using leftover Luthor tech.Luthorhad a program built into all of his machines that passively fed the clone an education, so that he didn’t have to deal with a blank slate of a person each time. Tim had left the program in place, (after combing it for propaganda, of course) because he had intended at first to make a teenager. When circumstances changed, he’d totally forgotten about it.

“Care to share with the class?” Pru asked him dryly, and Tim jolted back to awareness.

“The cloning process had an education function built in,” he explained, trying and failing to fight the dopey grin on his face, “I just… forgot about it.”

Tommy beamed, crossing his arms with accomplishment, and said, “AndI can read at a third-grade level!”

“That’s m’boy,” Tim said warmly, no small amount of pride in his voice, and he poked Tommy in the nose, like Bart used to do with him.

“Hey!” Tommy protested, wrinkling up his face, but Tim only laughed at the pout.

“I don’t mean to interrupt a tender moment between father and son,” Z said with a smile, “But what’s next? Where do we all go from here?”

Tim hummed, pursing his lips as Tommy floated into his arms again. “I don’t know, really,” he admitted, “The League is gone. For now, at least. I’d say we have another week or so before Ra’s is back in the Land of the Living, and who knows how long before the League is up to fighting strength. I… I need to get papers for Tommy, and a house, and travel, and money, and a job…”

The Trio nodded, but Tommy merely wrinkled his nose again. “Who’s Tommy?” he asked, and Tim looked down at him.

“Oh!” he realized, “I’m sorry, I never told you your name.”

“I have aname!?” Tommy asked, his eyes going wide as dinner plates, and Tim stifled a giggle.

“Sure you do, kiddo,” he said, “Everyone’s got a name.”

“What is it!?” Tommy asked urgently, “What is it what is it what is it what is it!!!”

Tim smiled indulgently. “It’s Thomas. Thomas Martin Drake-Wayne,” he said, poking him in the stomach like the Pillsbury Dough Boy, “But your nickname is Tommy.”

Tommy giggled at the poke, then smiled warmly as he heard his new name. “‘Tommy’,” he repeated, and he smiled wider, “I like that!”

“I hoped you would,” Tim admitted, then turned back to the Trio.

“I need to take care of him,” he said, “You guys… can do what you want. The League is gone. You have plenty of time to disappear before Ra’s comes looking. You’re… free.”

Z, Owens, and Pru looked at each other. “We’ll figure something out,” Owens said with a shrug, then grinned as he rustled Tommy’s hair, “And you can bet we’ll visit to seethis little scamp, eh!”

Tommy giggled, and Tim laughed as Z and Pru nodded their agreement.

“Visits would be nice,” Tim admitted, “And appreciated.”

Z smiled. “Then count on it,” he said, clapping Tim on the shoulder.

There was an amicable silence, before Pru finally lost her patience. “Well, let’s stop standin’ around in the dark basement, eh?” she yawned, stretching her arms exaggeratedly, and Tim sighed.

“Yeah, let’s,” he agreed, then looked at Tommy, “Hey, kiddo, how’d you like to see the moon?”

Chapter 12: The Dark Knight Returns

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: "I Love You, Dad"

Chapter Text

Jason waited on baited breath with the rest of them while Alfred tended to Bruce upstairs.

Dick had wanted to keep Bruce in the Cave’s infirmary, but Alfred had nixed that idea almost immediately. He insisted that “After such a terrible ordeal, Master Bruce must wake up in his own bed!”

So Jason and Dick had carried Bruce up to the second floor of the Manor, laying him down in the king sized mattress of the Master Suite. And God, Bruce had been so light, so thin, he couldn’t have been more than 70 pounds. While there was still the echo of the bulky, broad-shouldered frame, Jason could still count the ribs through Bruce’s shirt, see each vertebra in his spine. Jason recognized the extremely exhausted, gaunt appearance from the pictures he’d seen of the Holocaust survivors, or the Bengal Famine.

Bruce Wayne looked totally emaciated.

And that made Jason’s bloodboil. Bruce Waynewasemaciated. Batmanhad been starved, beaten, and put under so much pressure that he was nearing a slow, painful, pitiful death, and the only one of the that had done anything about it was fuckingTim.

How fucked was that? That out of all of them, in a family of detectives, it was only one of them who figured it out. And the one of them that got called crazy, to boot. Jason sighed to himself again as he paced impatiently, holding a hand to his chin and closing his eyes.

The rest of them weren’t much better. Dick’s heel pounded against the carpet incessantly, his knee bouncing up and down with worry. Cass sat perfectly still, keeping her eyes straight ahead, but Jason could see the subtle tremble in her shoulders. Damian pretended to be unbothered, sitting in his armchair nonchalantly, but the way he bit his lip nervously betrayed any image of aloofness the youngest Wayne might have wanted to hide behind. Roy and Kori sat together on the couch, leaving room for Jason if he wanted to join them, but he was too busy pacing. Steph and Barbara sat together in the corner of the room, Barbara resting her chin in her hands and staring at the wall in deep thought, Steph bouncing her leg nervously like Dick was. Conner and Bart had already returned to San Francisco, trading warm hugs with Cass and cold glares with the rest of them. (Jason couldn’t blame them) No one said a word.

Finally, the door to the parlor burst open, and Alfred leaned inside, looking uncharacteristically dishevelled. “He’s awake!” the old butler cried breathlessly, and immediately all of them were rushing towards the stairs.

Dozens of feet pounded across wooden floors and down ancient hallways, and Jason finally made it to Bruce’s bedroom, where Dick had already beaten him to the punch and buried himself in Bruce’s arms, sobbing like a baby.

Jason stopped in his tracks as his eyes met Bruce’s, then tried to pass off a wry smile. “Give the guy some room, eh, Dickhead?” he muttered, faking nonchalance as he leaned against the far windowsill, allowing the others to follow him in.

As the rest of the family gathered around his bed, Bruce could only smile tiredly, absently combing his hands through Dick’s hair calmingly while a badly needed IV finally put some nutrients into him. “Everyone…” he sighed, and Jason winced at the scratchiness in his voice, “It’s so good to see you all.”

A few relieved laughs passed around the room. “Good to see you too,” Cass said with a beaming smile, poking Bruce’s chest lightly.

Dick finally came up for air, wiping his eyes and his nose and composing himself best he could. “You’re back,” he managed with a watery smile, and Bruce smiled indulgently.

“Yes, chum,” he said softly, “I’m back.” Then, Bruce looked up, smiling at all of them once again, then locked eyes with Jason again, and a startled look of comprehension came to his eyes. “Jason?” he asked quietly, and Jason went rigid, “Is that… really you?”

Jason sat still for a long, long time, long enough that everyone started to stare at him. When he’d last seen Bruce, they hadn’t been on the best of terms. In fact, Jason had tried to kill him. But so much had changed since then…

“Y-Yeah, Old Man,” he managed, talking past a lump in his throat, “It’s really me.”

Bruce stared at him a while longer, and Jason felt his heart stutter in his chest as the moment dragged on. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Bruce finally broke into an exhausted, but nevertheless sincere, smile. “Jason…” Bruce sighed, reaching out his hand, “Please, come here.”

Despite every fiber of his being begging him to run, Jason swallowed hard and went to Bruce’s side awkwardly, kneeling down to be on his eye level, and Bruce wrapped his free arm around Jason’s neck, pulling his second son into a tight hug while Jason squawked in surprise. “You’re reallyhere,” Bruce whispered, as if he didn’t quite believe it, “I… I’m sohappy,Jaylad. So happy.”

“Uhm, uh, er…” Jason answered intelligently, while Roy and Kori stared at him with barely contained laughter.

Kori took a photo, while Roy only mouthed, ‘Jaylad?’

Jason scowled, and mouthed back ‘Not. A. WORD.’, all while blushing fiercely as Bruce finally let him go.

Jason stood up again, and Bruce finally turned his attention back to everyone in the room. “Please,” he said softly, “Tell me what I missed. Tell me how you’ve all been.”

The Batfamily looked at each other in silence. Should they rip off the band-aid now, or wait until Bruce was in a more stable condition? Barbara was finally the first to speak up, wheeling herself forward. (Jason always wondered how she got herself up the stairs. Wayne Manor didn’t have an elevator that he was aware of…)

“It’s been a lot of business as usual for me, Bruce,” she said with a smile, “I’ve been running the Birds of Prey and the Bats at the same time, all from the Clocktower. And Dad’s been as busy as ever, trying to run the whole GCPD by himself; you know how he is.”

Bruce chuffed a weak laugh, saying, “Ah, Jim. I can’t wait to see him again. And I’m proud of you, Barbara; running two teams is no easy feat. Well done, Oracle.”

Barbara looked strangely pleased at that, running a hand through her hair absentmindedly. “O-Oh, you know, it’s nothing…” she murmured, but she still blushed at the praise.

“Moved to Hong Kong,” Cass said next, sitting at the foot of the bed and taking Bruce’s hand, “Took new name. Black Bat.”

Bruce smiled at her, patting her hand. “Hong Kong is lucky to be in such capable hands,” he said sagely, and Cass beamed.

“I left Spoiler behind, for good this time,” Steph said, “And with Cass and Babs’s blessing, I’m the new Batgirl.”

Bruce grinned ruefully at her. “I’m glad,” he said wryly, “I was worried we’d never have another. You’ll do the name proud, Stephanie.”

Steph smiled and blushed slightly, and Dick, Jason, and Damian still stayed silent.

“What about you, Jason?” Bruce asked softly, “What brought you back to the Manor?”

Jason huffed an awkward laugh. No way was he mentioning Tim yet. “After you left, I started to uh… realize a few things,” he started awkwardly, crossing his arms defensively, “Started fighting off the green. I moved down to Arizona, the Navajo reservation, with Roy and Kori here and started doing hero-y stuff again. Eventually Dickhead here took notice, and asked me back to the Manor.”

Bruce beamed at him. “You came back,” he sighed, and Jason shuddered at the sheer relief in his voice, “Back from the brink. You’re a stronger man than me, Jaylad. I’m so proud of you.”

Jason stared at his father dumbly, a confused and pleased blush rising in his cheeks, and he heard the barest hint of a giggle as Kori snapped yet another picture. Bruce didn’t seem to notice, instead turning back to Dick.

“And how’ve you been, chum?” he asked with a kind smile, and Dick put up a brave fight before succumbing to his relieved sobs once more and wrapping his arms around Bruce. “That bad, huh?” Bruce sighed, an endeared smile on his face as he rubbed his eldest’s back soothingly.

“Grayson performed admirably in your absence, Father,” Damian spoke up for the first time, and Bruce looked at him, paying close attention, “While you were incapacitated, Grayson stepped up to the challenge and donned the mantle of Batman. The full cells at Arkham speak for themselves.”

“Dick was Batman?” Bruce said, no small amount of awe in his voice, and Dick nodded weakly into his shoulder, still sobbing. Bruce held him just a little bit tighter, rubbing his back again. “There’s no one else I’d pick for the job,” he said softly, his voice glowing with pride, “Well done, chum.”

Dick babbled something incoherently in response and buried himself further into Bruce’s shoulder. Truly, a dignified Batman if ever there was one.

Bruce sighed, then looked at Damian. “Last but not least,” he said with a smile, “How have you been, son?”

Damian straightened his back, clasping his hands behind him as if he were giving a report. “I have been learning well and increasing my skills, Father,” he said cordially, “Grayson, Oracle, and the elder Gordon have been invaluable resources in my growth as a detective and a crimefighter. As Grayson took up Batman, so too did I take up the mantle of Robin.”

Bruce’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re Robin?” he asked in disbelief, “Already?”

“Y-Yes, Father,” Damian stammered, and Jason realized with a start the kid looked afraid of whatever Bruce might say next.

Bruce, however, only broke into the widest grin Jason had ever seen him wear, reaching out and patting his son’s shoulder affectionately. “Well done, Damian,” he said softly, but Jason figured at this point it was as loud as he could manage, “I’m so proud of you.”

Damian tried to remain in his neutral stance, but his shoulders sagged in relief and a furious blush spread across his face as he managed to stammer back, “Th-Thank you, Father.”

Bruce then made eye contact with Alfred, and the two men merely nodded at each other, both smiling. A silent language that none of them had ever been able to fully learn.

Finally, with all introductions out of them way, Bruce gently shifted Dick out of his lap and smiled at all of them. “So, when is Tim returning from San Francisco?” he asked easily, “I assume another Titans mission is demanding his attention?”

Because that was the only possible answer to Bruce. Surely, Tim was merely in San Francisco, with his team, like he usually was. There was no cause for alarm. His third son always had a legitimate reason to be away from home, and he always returned when he could. That was why Bruce hadn’t seen him yet; he was busy. That was all. Bruce was excited to see the man he’d grown into, now that Damian was Robin. What new codename had he chosen, Bruce wondered?

The Batfamily stayed deathly silent as all their faces dropped. Bruce noticed that one. Slowly, a seed of doubt wriggled in his mind. Then the mighty realization as the smile slipped from his lips. The only thing that could have happened to Tim to elicit such a reaction was…

And Damian had become Robin far earlier than anticipated…

“Oh God no,” Bruce whispered in anguish and horror, a tear rolling down his cheek as his family panicked, “Who got him?”

“Wh-What?” Jason responded, now totally confused, and Bruce wiped his eyes.

“Don’t coddle me!” he demanded, “I can see it on your faces. He’s dead, isn’t he!?Tell me who did it!”

Dick clamped a hand over his mouth as tears streamed down his face, soul-crushing guilt bearing down on him, while Barbara wheeled herself forward.

“Oh, Bruce, no, Tim’s not--” she tried, but it seemed Bruce didn’t quite hear her.

“Tell me who killed my son!” he roared, slamming his fist down onto the bed, but after months of starvation, it only made a weak thud on the covers. How the mighty had fallen.

“Father!” Damian shouted commandingly, and Bruce looked at him, managing to focus just a little bit in his premature grief. “Drake isn’t dead,” Damian said clearly, and Bruce sensed the absolute truthfulness in his tone, a modicum of relief coming to his eyes.

“Then what-?” he started to ask, and even as his family tried to stop him, Damian screwed his courage and told the truth.

“Drake has taken up the name Red Robin,” he explained cooly, “After your departure, Drake started to behave… erratically. We assumed he was reacting poorly to your perceived death, and Grayson attempted to get him to seek psychiatric help. In response to his well-meaning push, Drake decided to go on the run, and when the Justice League attempted to apprehend him, he destroyed half of Gotham in order to escape. Since then, we have determined that he began to work in concert with the League of Assassins, before eventually turning on them three months ago. Drake destroyed the League, as well as stopped several assassination attempts upon the entire Batfamily, as well as a few Bat-aligned civilians. After that last meeting, Drake completely disappeared, and we no longer know his whereabouts. I know you cared for him, Father, but the truth is that Drake is now a terrorist, a criminal, and a murderer.”

The room was completely silent as Damian finished. Bruce stared at his youngest son for a long, long time, before finally laying his head back on the pillows, and staring at the ceiling. His body began to shake, and it took Jason a moment to realize Bruce was sobbing silently.

“Oh, Tim,” he cried, his voice high and broken and lost, “Oh, my boy. What have you gotten yourself into now?”

The room remained silent as Bruce’s sobs slowly subsided, and Jason began to realize he’d fallen asleep. Or maybe asleep was the wrong word; unconscious. Bruce was under so much strain, and was so weakened, that the news had simply driven him unconscious.

“God dammit brat,” Jason muttered, and Damian bristled.

“He deserved to know the truth,” he insisted defensively.

“Not likethat,you idiot!” Jason snapped back, and Alfred stepped between them.

“What’s done is done,” the old man insisted, “We should let him rest. I’ll stay with him.”

Tired, drained, and defeated, the Batfamily slowly shuffled out of what was supposed to be a joyous reunion.

“It seems today is a day of resurrections, wouldn’t you say, Luthor?”

Lex didn’t react as the third partner of their little triumvirate entered the chamber behind him, staring down at the glowing green of the last remaining Lazarus Pit. and the mangled body of Ra’s al Ghul laying beside it.

“Indeed,” Lex responded, watching as LexCorp security officers prepared Ra’s remains for resurrection, “Have we confirmed that Batman has returned to the land of the living?”

“There is no concrete confirmation,” the third partner admitted, “The Batcave’s location remains a mystery, even to us. But the records left behind by Red Robin are proof enough. Batman has returned.”

“Excellent,” Lex said, swirling his glass of scotch contemplatively as the men began to lower Ra’s into the Pit’s waters, “I think it’s time we take our leave, don’t you?”

“Agreed.”

Lex and his partner exited the chamber, passing a few guards by the door. “Close it and lock it,” Lex ordered them, and the two men swiftly closed the ancient, heavy, stylized doors, “Don’t open it again until it stops.”

“Until what stops, Mr. Luthor?” one of the men asked, shifting the beam into place to bar the doors.

Lex grinned slightly; all the men in that chamber had been selected due to their incompetence, unconvicted crimes, or serious workplace conduct violations. In other words, expendable.

“The screaming,” he answered nonchalantly, and he closed his eyes contentedly and took a sip as an inhuman roar of blind rage came from behind the door.

It lasted for a solid thirty minutes, the screams of pain and the begs for mercy. As well as the distinct sound of flesh being torn from bone, and the guttural screams of a man without his mind. Lex calmly sipped his drink, finished it, and had his assistant Mercy take it away.

All the while, the guards by the door grew more and more pale in the face. Lex was slightly impressed as there came a frantic banging on the door; he would have expected Ra’s wouldn’t even let them get that far. The banging slowly stopped as ruined vocal chords cried out for mommy, and they heard a pitiful dying wail of pain and despair.

“He certainly likes a show, doesn’t he?” his partner asked, and Lex snorted. If he didn’t know the man better, he might think that was an attempt at humor.

Finally, after another fifteen minutes of carnage, Lex nodded to his men as the sound petered out. As the doors swung open, there stood in all his gory beauty Ra’s al Ghul, holding up the last of the men by his neck, slowly choking the life out of him. The man kicked and struggled, then slowly went limp, tears of hysterical fear rolling down his stilled features.

“Welcome back, Ra’s,” Lex called nonchalantly, and Ra’s turned to him, still breathing heavily, “How do you feel?”

Ra’s tossed the dead man to the ground, then took a minute to steady his breathing. “I feel… refreshed,” he responded, and as he opened his eyes, they glowed the same shade of emerald, poison green as the Lazarus Pit.

“So, what is the progress on the Drake Asset?” their third partner asked impatiently, “The loss of the League of Assassins is a great one, Ra’s.”

“The Drake Asset is secure and under our control,” Ra’s answered, accepting the timid offer of a towel to wipe the blood from his body, “However, I will need time to rebuild the League to a manageable strength. Perhaps a year, perhaps two.”

Lex frowned. “That’s quite the waiting period…” he said with displeasure, “Can we afford to wait that long? Why not do it now? The Drake Asset is a useful one.”

At that question, Ra’s actually smiled. “It will give us the time to rebuild our strength,” he responded, “And it will give Red Robin more time to grow more comfortable, more complacent, more gullible. Just as soon as he thinks he is safe, then we will strike. You forget, Mr. Luthor, the Drake Asset is already under our thumb. We can let it sit a little while longer. I am immortal, after all. We have all the time in the world.”

Lex frowned, thinking about citing his own mortality, but decided to let the issue rest instead. Projects had taken longer than two years before. This was manageable. Not ideal, but manageable.

And soon, the greatest mind on earth would be theirs for the taking.

“Dad, Dad, I wantthisone!!” Tommy crowed excitedly, reaching out for an action figure on the shelf, and Tim turned to him indulgently.

They were at the toy store. Tim didn’t even know any brick-and-mortar toy stores were still around, but apparently in rural Manitoba, there were. Who knew? Tommy had been begging for real toys for ages, rather than just bits and bobs Tim had managed to scrounge up on their travels, and now that they were settled in again, Tim finally relented and took the boy shopping. So now, as he turned from scanning the room for potential threats, (old habits die hard) he almost stumbled over his own feet as he saw the little plastic toy in his son’s hand.

“Are you…sureyou want that one, kiddo?” Tim asked after a beat, kneeling down to get a good look at it.

“Yeah, yeah!” Tommy cried, thrusting the toy into Tim’s face, “Isn’t he the coolest!?”

Tim looked down at the little toy man. Robin. Out of all the toys in the store, his son had chosen a Robin action figure. Tim sighed, resigned himself to this bizarre twist of fate, then put on the rueful grin he wore most of the time nowadays.

“Yeah, kiddo,” he agreed, ruffling Tommy’s hair, “Robin’s the coolest.”

Tommy beamed, then all but pulled Tim around the store to find more toys. In the end, they wound up buying all of Robin’s accessories, as well as a Batman and a little James Bond that Tim insisted was Batman’s butler. Tommy didn’t get the joke. (he’d also looked at the Nightwing figure and the Justice League set, but Tim had axed those)

On top of the action figure, Tim was also roped into buying three Lego sets and the first ten novels in theMagic Treehouseseries. Some of that would be covered by Tommy’s aunt and uncles, Tim hoped. They went to check out, the clerk being an older man with kind eyes, who smiled indulgently as Tommy put toy after toy on the counter. As Tim finished up the receipt, the clerk gave him a sidelong glance.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” he said, as a way to start conversation, “Where’d you come from, sir? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all!” Tim said cordially, smiling lightly, “Tommy and I just moved here from Metropolis. Tired of getting my house beaten in every Tuesday, decided to settle down a little farther away from the action, y’know?”

The clerk laughed, “Oh, I hear that! Don’t know how you Yanks afford all that property damage.”

“The ungodly taxes probably help,” Tim admitted, and the clerk laughed again. Easy. Make a joke about a big city, make a joke about taxes, and the small town folk will leave you alone.

“Well, you and little Tommy are always welcome back at Norman’s Novelties, Mr…?” the clerk trailed off, and Tim pretended to be surprised at the ask for his name.

“West!” he supplied easily, “Tim West.” He had dozens of fake names lined up for him and Tommy. Conroy, West, Clooney, Affleck, Bale, etc.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, Mr. West!” Norman said jovially, “You take care now! Enjoy those toys, kid!”

“I will, Mister!” Tommy called back happily, already beelining for the door, and Tim flashed Norman an ‘Oh, well,’ smile before following after the kid.

He was starting to… like small town life. It was stress free, the people were actually genuinely friendly, and the air he was breathing wasn’t polluted six ways to Sunday. As he started up the car, a boring little Subaru sedan, buckling Tommy into his car seat and getting on the road, Tommy piped up from where he was unboxing his new toys.

“Do you think Uncle Owens or Auntie Pru would wanna play Batman and Robin with me, Dad?” he asked excitedly, and Tim smiled at the thought of two hardened superassassins sitting on the floor to play with his toddler.

“I think they’d love to, buddy,” he said with a smirk, and Tommy giggled before going back to his unboxing frenzy.

Oh yeah. The weekend visit from Uncle Z, Uncle Owens, and Auntie Pru was shaping up to be a good one this month.

It had been a week or two since Bruce had first woken up. He’d gained enough strength to maneuver himself down to the Cave, albeit with some difficulty, and though he was still hooked up to the IV, he was starting to manage food again.

So now, Bruce sat in the dark, in front of the Batcomputer, searching through every single bit of footage he could find on Tim.

None of it was good.

And next time he got his hands on John Stewart, he was going to punch that man in the face, starvation be damned.

And Bruce sat there, staring at the darkened shadows of his Cave, remembering the echoing laughter of the child that used to play there, do his homework there after long patrol nights, fall asleep there after overestimating the effects of coffee. Tim Drake, his son, used to laugh, play, love, andlivehere. And Bruce wasn’t sure if he could accept that it wasn’t the case anymore.

Judging from Tim’s behavior in the videos, he obviously blamed Dick the most for his circumstances. Bruce would have to have a long talk with his eldest about that, but not until he was strong enough to stand for longer than five minutes. There was also the testimony of Kon-El, and the mysterious name “Tommy”. Bruce didn’t know what to make of that. Tommy Eliot, maybe? But Hush seemed very unlikely, considering he was still locked up in Arkham.

There was also the thing to consider that Tim had been in love with Superboy, and Bruce had never noticed. He was the boy’s father, shouldn’t he at least have a clue on what was going on in his head? At least what gender he was looking at? Bruce sighed; he would get nowhere with that line of thinking, surprising as the fact was.

Bruce rubbed his face, then turned back to the Batcomputer’s screen, then blinked as he saw the notification for a new message. Cautiously, Bruce opened it up, then felt his heart stop as he saw the sender:Tim Drake.

Bruce frantically opened the message, only to find a video file. After the short download, Bruce hit play.

The video showed Tim, sitting in what could only have been a public library. Clever way to cover his tracks. Tim smiled at him. “Bruce,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “If you’re hearing this, that means that my device worked, and you’re back with the land of the living. I designed this prerecorded message to send itself to you two weeks after your return date, both to give you some time to recover, and to, uh… give you some time to process.

“I know you’re probably confused. And hurt. And you’re thinking it was your fault. But it wasn’t; this was my fault, and I know it. And I know you’ll argue with me, but I know all the facts, and you don’t. It’s my fault. Not yours. Mine.”

Tim sniffed a little, wiping his nose absently, then looked back up at the camera.

“But that’s not why I’m recording this for you. I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you, and I’m sorry I can’t be there for you now. And I’m sorry it took so long for me to bring you back. And I’m sorry I can’t return to your side as Robin. I have… other responsibilities now. More important ones. And though I can’t tell you what they are, for safety reasons, if you knew, you’d agree with me.

“So I’ve come up with a solution of sorts. Damian is currently acting as Robin, but allow me to voice my personal misgivings about his presence in the role. A much better fit, in my opinion, would be Duke Thomas, an impressive kid if there ever was one. I’ve attached his file, but it’s all up to you. Whatever decision you make is the right one. It always is.”

At this point, Tim stopped again, rubbing his face tiredly, and Bruce despaired at how tired and disheveled his son looked.

“And I also wanted to say thank you,” Tim sighed, “Thank you for saving me. Thank you for taking me away from that awful house, and giving me a home, and letting me be Robin, and letting me be a part of your life. It was… it was the greatest thing I’ve ever done. And I’m sorry I threw it all away like this. I love you, Dad.

“Robin out.”

Chapter 14: The Good Old Days

Chapter Text

Lightning flashed in the sky and rain pelted the buildings as Dick gasped for breath, being thrown down against the pavement once more. The man chasing him cried out in triumph, jumped down to straddle his prone frame, wrapped his hands around his throat, and began to squeeze.

Dick’s eyes widened in fear as he recognized the now all-too-familiar earless black cowl, the whiteout lenses so similar to his own and yet so desperately foreign. A heavy black cape shrouded the two of them, and an action that had comforted him as a child now served to terrify him as he struggled to breathe. Gold bandolier straps ran down his torso, coming together in a bird insignia, covered with still-wet blood.Damian’s…?No, he couldn’t think like that. He needed tolive.Bruce’s voice rang out in his head:Fight, Dick, FIGHT!

Dick desperately tried to break the stranglehold, slamming his fists into the other man’s forearms, but Red Robin held in place, his grip tightening by the second. “Tim! Tim, stop, please, I’m begging you!!” Dick coughed desperately, and Tim giggled maniacally, the sound bubbling up from his lips sounding far too similar to a clown Dick knew and hated.

“Hahahahahahahahahaha!!!” he cackled eagerly, a sickeningly wide smile spreading across his lips, “Well then,keep begging!!”

“Tim!” Dick cried again, and tears began to leak down his face as Tim watched him, his Joker Smile melting into an enraged scowl.

“You abandoned me!” Tim snarled at him, picking him up and slamming his head back down on the pavement, “You tried to lock me up!! You called me CRAZY!Well,look at me now, Dick!!HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW!?!”

“Tim,please--!!” Dick begged, beginning to sob, because after all these years, after all the things he’d overcome, all the hardship and strife he’d endured, in the end, the one to kill him would behis little brother.

And good God, he waslaughing.“‘Please!’” Tim laughed mockingly, copying Dick’s begging tone, “‘Please!’ God, I’ve waited for this, Dick. I’vedreamedabout you, begging me for something, pleading with me to spare your life, to give you some small measure ofmercy, or better yet,trust!” Tim laughed again, and Dick’s heart sank in his chest, “Well, let me ask you, Dick, what didyoudo whenIbegged you, whenIpleaded with you, whenIasked you fortrust!!”

Before Dick could answer, Tim redoubled his efforts, and Dick gasped as his windpipe closed. He wouldn’t last long like this!

“What doyouthink I should do,Dad?” Tim called over his shoulder, and Dick shuddered with fear as a familiar silhouette stalked out of the shadows.

Batman regarded Dick with disgust, narrowing his eyes with contempt. “You tried to have my favorite son institutionalized,” he growled accusingly, “I should have left you at that circus. Tim!Kill him.”

Dick began to sob as Batman watched him die, doing nothing as Dick kicked desperately. No, no, no!! This couldn’t be happening! Please, God, anything but this!! He couldn’t handle this anymore!! He couldn’t handle Tim hating him, or his descent into madness, and hesure as hellcouldn’t handle the fact that Bruce would abandon him like this.

And the worst part was that Dick would abandon him too. Because it was all his fault. His failure, his shortcomings,his faultthat Tim had left.He deserved this.

The last thing Dick saw was the wide, elated grin on Tim’s face, and the utter disappointment in Bruce’s eyes. Dick slipped away into oblivion, and all he could think was:

I deserve this.

Damian’s eyes shot open as a scream sounded from Grayson’s room.Grayson is in danger!Damian threw off his blankets and ran for the door, grabbing his katana while he did so.

Desperately, he pounded down the hall, broke Grayson’s door in on its hinges with his shoulder, and burst into the room. “GRAYSON!!” he shouted, unable to keep the fear out of his voice, only to stop in his tracks as he clocked no hostiles in the room. The only person here was Grayson.

Grayson sat up in his bed, trembling and breathing raggedly, clutching at his throat. “Grayson?” Damian tried again, approaching his brother cautiously; he didn’t know what state Grayson might be in.

“MyfaultallmyfaultI’msorryI’msorryit’sallmyfault!!” Grayson babbled incoherently, shaking his head this way and that, as if trying to dispel his own thoughts.

Damian finally put his katana down carefully. Grayson was obviously suffering the aftereffects of a nightmare; an all-too-common occurrence in this family. But this seemed… different.

“Grayson…?” Damian asked carefully, approaching the bed and touching Richard’s hand.

Grayson cried out in fear and recoiled, gasping, “Pleasedon’thurtme!!”

“Grayson, I won’t hurt you,” Damian said forcefully, “It’s Damian. You’re safe, Grayson, you’re in the Manor; it was just a dream.”

Grayson’s wild eyes finally seemed to focus, and he noticed Damian for the first time. “Dami…?” he asked quietly, and Damian nodded, relief flooding his veins, and Grayson struck out to pull him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Dami!!” Dick cried desperately, burying his face into Damian’s hair, “You’re safe!!”

“Of course I’m safe, Richard,” Damian assured him, begrudgingly submitting to the hug.

“I, I thought…” Dick babbled, shaking his head, “I thought I’d lost you, Dami. I thought Tim took you away from me.”

Damian bit back a growl; Grayson had had a nightmare aboutDrake.By far the worst of Drake’s transgressions. “I promise you, Grayson,” Damian said earnestly, even daring to return the hug, “Drake will never take you away from me.You have nothing to fear.”

Bruce needed someone he could trust. A few people, actually. His family was too close to the case, and right now, Bruce needed objective experts that could act in his stead, especially while he was still… incapacitated.

Bruce grimaced as he glanced down at his pitifully thin frame, and even though he wanted to throw on his Batsuit and run Tim down to the ends of the earth, to not stop until his son was home, he knew he didn’t have the strength. He could wait until he was back up to fighting shape, but that could take weeks. Weeks he couldn’t afford to wait for.

Bruce sighed to himself, slumping in his chair, accidentally disturbing the IV in his arm, feeling the sharp tug of the needle and wincing slightly. Yeah; there was no way Batman would be traversing the world with an IV still in his arm. As much as it pained him to say it… he needed help.

The Batfamily was compromised. He couldn’t allow them to go after Tim in their current emotional states, at least not until he cleared up all this Arkham business with Dick. (No, Alfred, he wasnotavoiding it; he was just waiting until he was stronger. He wasn’t existentially terrified of losing his first son in place of his third; never)

The Justice League? Bruce frowned; he and John Stewart needed to have a talk about talking someone down, and no matter what he said, that talk would end with Bruce’s fist in John’s face. No one talked to his son like that. Clark and Diana… they would want to help, but they, too, were compromised; they felt too responsible for failing Tim to get any actual work done. Besides, they weren’t exactly detectives, and Tim had obviously already invented ways to hide from Kryptonians. (Something Bruce himself had yet to perfect… just how smarter had Tim gotten in his absence?)

This is normally where Bruce would turn to the only other detective in the League, Barry Allen. But Barry Allen was still dead. And with that small pang in his chest of a lost friend, Bruce moved on.

He needed a detective. Someone he could trust. He needed a speedster, for effective, stealthy transport. A scientist, who’d know how to process whatever clues they might find. And all of these people would have to have a decent amount of time on their hands, to help him. And they would have to already know his identity.

Bruce sighed; that left one group he could call on. And luckily, they had the good sense to keep things under wraps. Bruce picked up the phone and dialled the number for Keystone City.

The phone rang, and rang again. Ted Grant, AKA Wildcat, sighed greatly as he stood up stiffly and made his way to it, picking it up and holding to his ear. “Hello, you’ve reached the headquarters of the Justice Society of America,” he said boredly, “No, we’re not dead yet. How can I help you?”

“Ted. It’s Bruce,” a weak, gravelly, but all too familiar voice responded, and Ted nearly dropped the phone. He knew that voice; it was the voice of a gangly teenager that had come to his gym with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove. The voice of a man who left his gym, having learned everything the famous Wildcat could teach him. The voice of a protege Ted grieved for when he died in the line of duty. His grip tightened on the phone.

“Alright you little twerp!” he growled lowly into the phone, “I don’t know who you think you are, but pretending to be a dead friend ‘a mine is a good way to get yourself in a full-body cast, ya hear!?”

“Ted…” the man who could not possibly be Bruce Wayne sighed over the phone, “It’s me. I promise.”

“Oh yeah?” Ted laughed, “You expect me to believe Bruce Wayne’s calling from the grave? Tell ya what, bucko; what did I say to Bruce Wayne the first day he walked into my gym?”

“You said you thought I’d be taller, and that I looked like a slight breeze would knock me over,” Bruce said easily, and Ted’s grip slackened. That was… word for word.

“Bruce!?” he whispered urgently, “Holy shit is that reallyyou?I thought-- I thought you were dead, kid!”

“I got better,” Bruce responded, and Ted could almost hear the self-amused smirk in his voice, “Ted, listen, I need the JSA’s help. You, Doctor Mid-Nite, and the Flash, to be specific. Do you think you could get to the Batcave today?”

“You need the JSA?” Ted asked incredulously, “For a case? ABatcase?”

“Yes,” Bruce sighed, and Ted stood there for a second, dumbfounded. Then a grin slowly spread across his face.

“Oh, Chuck and Jay are gonna love this,” he said happily, grinning at the thought of the high-and-mightyBatmanbegging the JSA for help, “We’ll be right over, Bats.”

“Thank you, Ted,” Bruce said gratefully, “I’ll be waiting.”

Ted hung up the phone, then laughed incredulously to himself. Bruce Wayne was alive. And he needed the Justice Society’s help. Damn if this wasn’t a crazy day.

Tim closed his eyes contentedly as he breathed in the crisp morning air. Dew clung to the lawn outside, and the sun just peeked over the far coast of the Great Salt Lake. Of all the places he’d rented, he had to say, this third floor walk-up in a rickety old wooden house in Utah might just have been the best one. Tommy certainly loved it, quietly delighting in how the floorboards squeaked unevenly when you walked across them, (also a useful but easily overlooked security feature) and the smell of sea salt on the air inspired a new fascination with pirates. Initially, Tim thought this might mean the end of his Batman & Robin obsession, but, lo and behold, Tommy was far too creative for that; no, to satisfy both itches, Batman & Robin simplybecamepirates.

Tim grinned in spite of himself; he hadn’t exactly been able to say no to Tommy anyway. In fact, he was the one who expertly painted a Batsymbol onto the sails of his toy pirate ship. Once or twice, Tommy’d even gone down to the Lake to discover that the toy was indeed actually seaworthy. What he didn’t know was that Tim had sealed the plastic hull himself to make it that way. What he wouldn’t do for his boy…

Speaking of, Tim was shaken from his thoughts by his son bursting out of his room at breakneck speeds, giggling as he found an already prepared bowl of cereal; Froot Loops, his favorite. “Thanks, Dad!” he called cheerfully as he took up his spoon and started wolfing the sugary goodness down.

Tim chuckled to himself, walking away from the window and ruffling Tommy’s hair as he nursed a cup of coffee. “No problem, kiddo,” he said easily, sitting down at the ancient counter himself for a well-deserved bagel.

It really was crazy; back when he was still Robin, Bruce, Dick, Kon, Bart, and Cassie had had to fight tooth and nail to get him to take care of himself. Too often, Tim was skipping meals and sacrificing sleep, foregoing food and rest for an exponentially increasing caffeine intake. Now that he was on his own, not in a cape or a cowl, it came to him easily. Although he could never and would never give up his one true love, coffee, he was starting to actually eat three meals a day, and get adequate rest. Mostly because he refused to let Tommy develop the same bad habits Tim had.

Sometimes he really missed the caped life. He missed the feeling of flying through the sky, he missed the wet, heavy, dank air of Gotham, he missed the midnight patrols and the cold nights and the rooftop moonlight picnics. What he wouldn’t give to see Bruce’s reaction to Tommy, because Tim justknewthe older man would fawn over his first grandchild. To see Cass play the piano for Tommy, to see his son’s eyes grow wide as he tasted Alfred’s world famous cookies for the first time. Tim was even struck by an image of Tommy bouncing on Jason’s knee, reading through Charles Dickens’sA Christmas Carol, and almost laughed aloud at the domestication of the fearsome Red Hood.

But he also knew he could never go back, and he’d made his peace with that.

Tim found himself watching his son as his heart swelled in his chest and a dopey grin came over his face. Despite the troubled circumstances of Tommy’s birth, Tim was glad he was here; Tim himself had never had the best childhood. Jack and Janet Drake were far more concerned with having an heir than a son, and where Jack had been good old fashioned drunken beatings, Janet had been far more subtle, far more cold, far more manipulative in her raising of Tim. And that was when they were at least around. A vast majority of his childhood, Tim had been alone, in a massive, empty house, with too much space and yet never enough.

That was why he got away with following Batman and Robin around Gotham at night, why he was able to become Robin in the first place, because his parents weren’t even around to notice. They didn’t care about him, just that they had fulfilled the basic requirements of romantic partnership. They treated Tim like a pet more than a son, an object more than a boy; Jack would get drunk and hit him. Janet would purr darkly at him in a voice like ice and tell him exactly how to take revenge on those who had wronged him… training him to be a businessman, she’d said.Training.Never bonding; justtraining.

But Tim was stopping that cycle of abuse right now. Janet was God-knows-where. Jack was in a box, six feet underground. Once Bruce had found out, he’d sued the Drakes for custody, and won. It had been one of the greatest moments of Tim’s life. And Tommy would never have to go through anything like that, not while Tim still drew breath. No; Tim was not his parents. Tim wouldbe therefor Tommy, for as long as he could, and no harm would ever come to his son.None.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Tommy asked him, wrinkling his nose at his father, and Tim startled himself out of his stupor.

“Ah, just thinking about how lucky I am, kiddo,” Tim smiled, recovering easily, and Tommy giggled happily as he ruffled his hair again.

“Dad?” Tommy asked him, and Tim hummed in acknowledgment, taking another sip of his precious coffee, “What’s our last name today?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Tim shrugged, as if struggling to decide, “How about… Bale?”

“Tommy Bale…” Tommy said experimentally, testing the name out on his tongue, “Okay, yeah! I like that one!”

“Not as much as West, though, huh?” Tim responded with a smile, and Tommy laughed triumphantly.

“West is funny!” he protested, “And Conroy sounds cool!”

“Yeah, I like Conroy too,” Tim agreed, and as Tommy went back to his food, there was a knock at the door.

Tim froze. It was way too early for any social calls. There was another knock. Tim gulped, then set down his coffee and bagel. Quickly, he made his way to the front door, and checked the peephole; Mr Scott, his landlord, looking nervous.

That couldn’t be good.

Tim opened the door, and pretended to be surprised as he huddled further into a bathrobe. “Mr Scott!” he cried, “Good morning! Is something the matter?”

“Well, that’s kinda what I wanna ask you,” Mr Scott admitted, “I’ve got a guy at the door downstairs, says he’s your Uncle J?”

Tim’s eyes widened as he tried to steady his heartbeat. “O-Oh, uh…” he managed, and Mr Scott pursed his lips.

“Tim, do you want me to call the police?” he asked seriously, and Tim almost panicked.

“No! No, that, uh, that won’t be necessary,” he stammered quickly, “This visit is just very, uh… unexpected. You can go ahead and send him up.”

“Are you sure?” Mr Scott asked again, “I don’t need to be a genius to figure out a single dad renting out a top floor apartment in Utah might be in some kinda hot water with his family. It’s within my rights to send him away.”

Tim was struck by an image of the Joker slashing Mr Scott’s neck open without a moment’s hesitation. “No, no, nothing like that,” Tim assured him, “Please, go ahead and send him up, I’ll try and make the place a little more presentable.”

“Okay… if you’re sure,” Mr Scott said hesitantly, and Tim waited until he was back down the stairs before slamming the door shut.

“Tommy,” he said quickly, “I think we’re gonna be going to the Drakes’ house today, okay?”

Tommy stiffened, then nodded and sped back into his room, where Tim knew he was packing all of his things into go-bags. “Going to the Drakes’ house” was a code he and Tommy had set up long ago; it was the code that they might have to move again soon.

Tim swiftly changed out of his bathrobe and threw on loose, moveable clothing, in case he needed to get in a fight, then as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, ran to the cupboard and removed the false back, taking out the pistol he’d stashed behind it. Tim approached the door cautiously, keeping his gun trained on the door jam as he heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.

Tim steadied his breathing, then sighted Tommy, hovering fearfully by the bedroom door. “Hide in your room,” he whispered, so low that he knew only Tommy would hear, “I’ll keep you safe.It’s gonna be okay, kiddo.”

With wide, fearful eyes, Tommy nodded his head slowly, and crept back into his room.

Tim turned his attention back to the door, and the footsteps reached the top of the stairs.

A man in a long coat and hat grinned an impossibly wide grin as he stepped into the threshold, and Tim levelled his gun. The man sighted it, but the grin stayed on, still as wide as ever.

“Hello, Tim, m’boy!” he said jovially.

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Hello, Joker,” he responded.

Chapter 15: A Signal

Chapter Text

The Cave stood silent and still as Bruce waited. Holding a hand to his chin in thought, he hummed as he picked up the file Tim had sent to him, on the boy called Duke Thomas. About sixteen years old, African American male, whose parents were tragically lost to a Joker Gas attack. (Another orphan I failed to prevent…) The Thomases survived the encounter, but they were unfortunately hospitalized for what looked like it would be the remainder of their lives.

Duke made end’s meet by working at a fast food restaurant, the Bat Burger on Walker St. to be specific, and he was currently staying at the Thomas & Martha Wayne Memorial Youth Hostel. Funny how things worked out like that. Bruce huffed a sigh as he read through Tim’s assessment of Duke, and struggled to find anything wrong with it; the boy was unusually bright, in good shape for his age, and a star athlete. As far as candidates went for young vigilantes, Duke Thomas was perfect. Not only this, but he was Tim’s handpicked successor; that had to count for something. In fact, it counted for almost everything.

Despite what some in the Justice League liked to say behind his back, Bruce didn’t just pick up any orphan off the street and put them in a Robin uniform. All the children he had taken under his wing had had potential; in Dick, he had seen a jovial spirit and a need to do the right thing, and so he’d taken him in. When it became clear that Dick would go after Tony Zucco with or without Bruce’s approval, Bruce agreed to train the boy so he wouldn’t get hurt. And so that he wouldn’t kill Zucco.

And so it had gone for all of them. In Jason, he had seen an intrepid, unconquerable zeal for life. In Tim, he had seen a boy too clever for his own good by half, and far too determined. In Barbara, a girl with undeniable intellect and valuable resources. In Cass, a girl in need of help. In Stephanie, a girl with herculean tenacity and reckless disregard for her own safety. And in Damian, he had seen a startling reflection of himself.

All his Robins, all his Batgirls, they were Robins and Batgirls for areason.And if Duke was to join their ranks, he needed to have a reason. So far, that reason was Tim; Bruce would have to wait and see what his son saw in the boy.

The Cave suddenly filled with a bright light and the sound of rushing wind as a speedster settled to a stop near Bruce’s chair. Bruce sighed, then turned to face his old mentors.

Jay Garrick, the original Flash, Ted Grant, Wildcat, and Charles McNider, Doctor Mid-Nite, stood before him in their old uniforms, uniforms that didn’t fit quite right anymore now that age had taken its toll. When Bruce had first started his career as Batman, of course he created files on all the Golden Age heroes; Jay Garrick had been a star chemist, when an accident involving heavy water in 1932 had put him in a short coma, only for him to awaken as the fastest man alive. Donning his father’s World War I helmet and styling it to resemble the Roman god Mercury, the Flash made his debut in Keystone City in the year 1935.

Ted Grant, AKA Wildcat, was a talented boxer from New Jersey, who won the heavyweight championship against Max Schmeling in 1938; his Jewish heritage sent quite the ripple through Nazi Germany. Seeing his potential, Ted had been recruited by the US Government as part of a top secret Allied initiative that would come to be called the Justice Society of America.

Dr. Charles McNider was the last living veteran of the Great War, a surgeon for the British Army at the Third Battle of the Aisne in 1918. When Germans had overrun their positions and the British Army retreated, McNider had remained to singlehandedly defend the field hospital for twelve hours until American reinforcements had pushed the Germans back. He was a genius-level intellect and a talented doctor, with a spatial awareness that sometimes made Bruce himself jealous; in other words, a natural detective.

Garrick, Grant, and McNider, along with their cohorts in the JSA, had been the first generation of superheroes, and had won World War II for the Allies just as much as any offensive or bomb. They had been forced to retire in 1953 due to McCarthyist allegations of communism, homosexuality, and general un-Americanism, but these restrictions were eventually lifted with a formal apology in 1988 by President Reagan, at the urging of Wonder Woman. Now, the JSA acted primarily as superhero reserves, only called up when the fight was especially dire.

Bruce held a certain respect and admiration for these men, for they paved the way of superheroics, but he also treated them warily, as he did with anyone. The Spectre and Alan Scott alone had the power to destroy the world. Jay Garrick was the only known speedster without a connection to the Speed Force; if the Speed Force were under assault for any reason, Jay would be a primary threat. As for the rest of the JSA, they may or may not have been made accidental immortals by an encounter with the time-travelling dictator Per Degaton in 1948. At the very least, they aged at a slowed rate, hence why people like Chuck McNider were still alive and kicking a hundred years later.

Bruce shook himself from his thoughts, and tried to focus. “Jay, Chuck, Ted,” he greeted cordially, in as steady a voice as he could manage, “Thank you for coming.”

Jay grinned at him from under his helmet. “Ah, it was just good to hear from ya, Bruce,” he laughed, “Can’t believe I ever thought someone could take out Batman anyhow.”

“Should’a known it would take more than a wrathful god from the far reaches of space to kill Bruce Wayne,” Ted agreed with a kind smile, “How’ve you been, kid?”

“Obviously not very well,” Chuck groused, taking in Bruce’s emaciated form, “Look at ye, I can count your bones through that rag you call a shirt. You’ve lost about eighty pounds, and not at a healthy rate, either. You’ve been through quite the ordeal, haven’t you, son?”

Bruce grimaced at Mid-Nite’s succinct assessment of his health. “It was a struggle to get back home,” he admitted carefully, “I couldn’t have done it if it hadn’t been for my kids.”

Jay, Ted, and Chuck all smiled knowingly, and Bruce sighed. “I called you here because I need your help with a case that is very important to me,” he pressed on, “And as Chuck so delicately pointed out, I’m in no condition to pursue it myself.”

“What about your small army of highly-trained superdetectives?” Ted asked snidely, and Bruce sighed again, heavier this time.

“They’re compromised,” he admitted.

“Compromised?” Jay said with a gasp, “You think there’s a traitor in the Bats?”

“No, nothing like that,” Bruce corrected quickly, insulted at the insinuation, “I mean they’reemotionallycompromised. They’re too close to the case, and frankly… so am I.”

Jay, Ted, and Chuck all shared a look. “Okay, I’m officially intrigued,” McNider admitted, “What’s this case?”

Bruce took a deep breath, then turned to the Batcomputer. “Eight months ago, Tim Drake, the third Robin, took a sabbatical in Europe. Paris, to be specific. This was in the wake of his loss of his birth father, Jack Drake, his best friend Bart Allen, and his love interest Conner Kent,” Bruce started, and Jay visibly flinched at the mention of Bart’s death, “At the time, everyone assumed Tim needed space, but when he returned to Gotham, he seemed more distraught then ever. I had intended to pursue it, but before I got the chance, Darkseid struck.”

Bruce swallowed hard. “I disappeared, and many assumed I was dead. Jason Todd attempted to take up the mantle of Batman, but Tim and Dick fought him off. Dick replaced me under the Cowl instead, and he and Tim started to argue. Tim believed I was alive, Dick believed I was dead. This argument came to a head when Damian was named the new Robin, and Tim fled Gotham under the aliasRedRobin.

“That was six months ago, and for a long while, that was all we knew. The Justice League attempted to apprehend him several times, but each time he escaped; the closest call was Green Arrow’s pursuit in Moscow, but it ended up to be a fruitless chase. Tim resurfaced a short time later, returning to Gotham to attack Damian and convince him to drop the investigation; at this time it was revealed that Tim had involved himself with the League of Assassins. Shortly after that, the recently returned Conner Kent encountered Tim on a rooftop in Paris, but Tim escaped once more.

“Three months ago, Tim resurfaced for the final time. He arrived in Gotham after having laid waste to the League of Assassins, and fought a war against Ra’s al Ghul. With the help of Wonder Girl, Superboy, and Impulse, Tim managed to save the lives of all the Batfamily and their allies from Ra’s retaliatory assassins. From there, Tim confronted Ra’s on his own, and managed to defeat him. After a brief confrontation with the Batfamily, Tim entrusted Black Bat, Superboy, and Impulse with the schematics and information necessary to bring me home. We have no idea where he is now.”

Bruce took a steadying breath as he finished, and Jay whistled lowly with appreciation. “He’s a Bat, alright,” the elder Flash confirmed, “So what do you want us to do?”

Bruce turned to the three elder heroes. “Flash, Doctor Mid-Nite, you two will be investigating all known locations of Tim over the past year, starting with the rooftop in Paris. During his confrontations with the Justice League, he made several allusions to a secret laboratory, seeing how much Paris came up, that is the most likely location. Flash, you’ll be acting as transport and scientific consultant. Mid-Nite, you’ll be handling detective work and spatial analysis.”

“Right,” Jay confirmed, and Chuck nodded affirmatively.

“Wait, hold on,” Ted said indignantly, “What am I supposed to be doing then?”

Bruce sighed, then turned behind him and picked up Duke Thomas’s file. “Wildcat, you’re on recruitment,” he said, handing over the file, “Tim named Duke Thomas as his successor. I want to know why.”

Ted took the file, reading over it quickly. “Seems doable enough,” he said, then tucked it under his arm, “Can do.”

“Good,” Bruce said, handing out Bat-brand communicators, “Justice Society, you have your mission. Return to the Batcave with any results, keep on the comms at all times. Good luck.”

The Flash nodded, then picked up Doctor Mid-Nite and sped out of the Cave. Wildcat gave a lazy salute, called, “I’m using your bike!” then hopped on a motorcycle and left.

Bruce sighed as he slumped further into his chair; he hoped this worked.

Tim narrowed his eyes at the Joker. The Joker smiled at Tim. “Why are you here?” Tim asked him harshly, and the Joker giggled.

“Oh what, I can’t come see my favorite nephew?” he laughed, splaying his hands out, “Come on, Timbo, it’s just me!”

Tim growled. “Exactly,” he groused, “You wouldn’t be here without a reason, Joker. How’d you find me?”

The Joker shrugged. “Unimportant,” he said dismissively, “But I’m positive I wasn’t followed or tracked in any way, if that makes you happier. I’ve gotten quite good at slipping away, after so many playdates with you birdbrains and your daddy.”

Tim shuddered at the thought of someone calling Bruce his “daddy”, then repeated, with more venom this time, “Whyare youhere?”

The Joker finally rolled his eyes. “Why so serious?” he asked indignantly, “Honestly, you take after your father somethingfierce!Icameto help you, Timbo!” And he reached into his jacket, only to pull out a fat wad of cash.

Tim eyed it suspiciously. “What is that?” he asked, expecting an answer like bomb or a stack of poisoned bills.

“Well, it’s a gift of course!” Joker responded happily, “A kind donation from the concerned citizens of Gotham, who were justdevastatedto hear the plight of a single parent such as yourself!”

Tim finally shifted out of his ready stance. From everything he knew about the Joker, he seemed…genuine.Was that possible? For a mass-murdering psycopath to be genuine? Well, the Joker had already taken a liking to him… but then again, he also had a liking for Harley Quinn.

“I… I can’t accept that,” Tim finally answered, trying to sound as modest as he did firm, but the Joker only smiled.

“Kid,please,I’m insisting!” he responded, “Here, I’ll even put it down on the counter for you, so you don’t have to touch it until I leave. But you shouldn’t leave that much money lying around, you know; don’t know what unsavory characters are in the neighborhood.”

“We’re in rural Utah,” Tim pointed out.

“Iknow!” the Joker responded with mock astonishment, “Those Mormons, you know? Gotta watch out.”

Tim scowled. “Get out of my house, Joker,” he snapped, and the Joker threw up his hands in defeat.

“Oh, very well,” he sighed, and he turned to leave, calling over his shoulder, “Crack job packing, Tommy! Good hustle!”

Tim’s gun snapped back into position as a muffled yelp sounded from Tommy’s room, and the Joker winked at Tim before finally leaving the apartment, his footsteps receding down the stairs and into oblivion.

Tim stood still for a moment, before finally inspecting the wad of cash. To his astonishment, it wasn’t booby trapped in any way, and it totalled just about ten thousand dollars. And as much as Tim hated it… hereallyneeded that money. Tim cursed himself as he threw it into a bag, then stashed his gun again. A note fluttered out of the pile of cash, and Tim swiftly picked it up.

“Dad…?” Tommy asked timidly, coming out of his room before Tim could read it, “Is the bad man gone?”

“Yeah, sweetie, he’s gone,” Tim said with a sigh, drawing the boy into a tight hug, “He’s gone now.”

Tommy shivered against him, but he didn’t cry. His kid was so brave, being in the same house as the Joker without breaking down. Tim buried his face in Tommy’s hair, just happy that his son was safe. And behind his back, he took out and read the note from the cash.

Dear Tim Drake,

Good luck, from one lunatic to another. I’m glad you got a happier ending than me.

- Jack Napier

“Jack Napier…” Tim whispered.

He’d never heard that name before.

Duke Thomas sighed as he stumbled back home to the youth hostel for the night. His shift at the Bat Burger had been murder, too many customers and not enough breaks, and he was looking forward to a nice long nap in his assigned cot. Man, his standards had dropped like a stone after his parents were attacked.

Duke opened the door to the hostel, intending to simply nod at Janine at the front desk and make a beeline for his room, but he stopped dead in his tracks as he noticed all the kids crowding around one old dude in a black onesie and a cat mask.What the fuck-?

“-and that skinny little kid would never have grown up to be Batman withoutmytraining!” the old guy boasted, and while the little kids hung on his every word, a few of the older ones scoffed.

“Ain’t no way a geezer likeyoutrainedBatman,” Tyrone Williams from the Bowery scoffed, and the old guy cocked an eyebrow at him.

“That right?” he asked with a hard edge in his voice, “I fought Hitler, kid. Went ten rounds with Max Schmeling, too. You think I couldn't'a trained Batman just because I’mold?”

“Hey man, why don’t you back off?” Duke intervened, stepping forward, and the old guy turned to him, studying him intensely.

“Wait a minute…” he said slowly, “You Duke Thomas?”

“What’s it to you?” Duke retorted, and he watched in shock as the guy held up a picture to match the faces.

“Shit, that is you!” he laughed, “Kid, if you wouldn’t mind coming with me.”

“Hey wait, Duke hasn’t done anything!” Tyrone squawked, and Serena from the South End nodded quickly.

“Yeah, he’s the most straitlaced guy in here!” she cried, “Hasn’t even littered or nothing!”

The old guy turned to them in surprise, then laughed. “Oh, shit, no, I ain’t here to take him in!” he laughed, “Shit, you think they let geezers like me do beat cop stuff like that anymore? Hell no. Nah, kid, this is a job offer.”

“A job offer?” Duke asked incredulously, “From who?”

The old guy smiled, “Batman.”

Bruce sat up in startled alarm as the Batcomputer beeped at him urgently. “Dick!” Clark cried from the Batcomputer’s screen, only to stop in astonishment, “B-Bruce!?”

Bruce looked up at his old friend. “Hello, Clark,” he greeted quickly, “What is it?”

“You-- You’re alive!!” Clark cried happily, “I- I can’t believe it! I-- I’ll beright there!!”

“Clark, no-” Bruce tried, but a whoosh of rushing air filled the Cave before he could finish his sentence.

“I brought Diana!” Clark declared happily, and Bruce sighed as he turned his chair to meet his oldest friends.

“Hello, Bruce, old friend,” Diana greeted him warmly, her hair still a mess from Superman’s impromptu express, “It is heartening to see you in the land of the living once more.”

Bruce allowed himself a small smile as his oldest friends gave him delicate hugs. “It wasn’t easy,” he admitted, “I’ve been meaning to call, but I’ve been… busy.”

Clark shook his head fondly. “Of course, ofcourse!” Clark laughed, “Just returned from the dead, and you’re already working a case. Bruce, you need rest! You needfood.”

Bruce winced at the mention of his weight again. “Alfred is providing me with all the nutrients I need,” he assured his friends, “And Iamresting. I’m just resting productively.”

“Right,” Clark laughed again, “What case couldpossiblybe so important that you-?”

“Clark,” Diana admonished, “Our reason for being here?”

Clark stopped, then a look of horror overtook his face. “Oh my God!” he gasped, “I forgot!Dick!!” And Superman flew up and into the interior of the mansion, right before Bruce could remind him about Alfred’s house rules.

Bruce sighed, and Diana sighed with him. “You’re looking for Tim, aren’t you?” she asked, and Bruce only nodded. “When you do…” she said sadly, “Tell him I’m sorry?”

Bruce nodded again. “Of course,” he said softly.

A few moments later, Clark and Dick rushed into the Cave, Damian hot on their heels as the Batsuit was hastily thrown on, alongside the Robin uniform. “Cyborg Superman is attacking Coast City!” Dick explained in a rush, pulling on the Cowl, “John put out the call, J’onn and Wally are meeting us there! It’s bad!”

“Good luck, Batman,” Bruce called, and Dick stopped, for just a moment, before Clark whisked him away at superspeed.

“Princess, I will require speedy transport to Coast City as well, if you’d be so kind,” Damian requested cordially, settling his mask into place, and Diana smiled.

“Of course, little Robin,” she said, picking him up easily, “Bruce.”

“Wonder Woman,” Bruce responded, “Robin.”

Bruce caught the barest glimpse of a pleased blush on his son’s face before the two of them were gone. Bruce allowed himself another small smile. Coast City was in good hands.

Duke stared in awe as Wildcat’s bike sped into a cave mouth, and rocks rushed past him in the darkness before they spun into a dazzling light, and a giant cave sprawled before them. Duke spotted a giant playing card, a giant penny, a model dinosaur, all manner of computers and gadgets, a glass case with all the Batsuits, and just…wow.

“Pretty impressive, right?” Wildcat asked him with a grin, pulling back his cowl, “He has a bit of a flair for the dramatic.”

“No kidding…” Duke said in wonder, still staring all around him, “Wait. Who does?”

“Duke Thomas,” a deep, resonating, and yet… oddly weak voice called from the big computer, and Duke watched as the seat turned to reveal a skeleton.

Okay, it wasn’t a skeleton, but it was damn close. The poor guy looked like little more than skin and bones, like the pictures Duke had seen in class of famine victims. If he looked hard enough, he could see the barest ghosts of a strong, muscular, broad-shouldered frame, but that was long, long gone by now.

“Who wants to know?” Duke asked timidly, and the skeleton spoke again.

“My name is Bruce Wayne,” the skeleton said again, and Duke’s heart skipped a beat, “For the last thirty years, I have been fighting crime in Gotham and around the world as Batman. Just recently, my son Tim Drake, the third Robin, handpickedyouas his successor. Do you know why that is?”

Duke stared at the skeleton, atBruce Wayne,atBatman, holy shit Bruce Wayne is Batman,and swallowed down the lump in his throat. “N-No…?” he responded shakily.

Bruce sighed, then leaned forward, “Would you like to find out?”

Chapter 16: The Lord Giveth and the Lord Taketh Away

Chapter Text

Paris had changed since 1945, that was for sure. As Jay sped through the streets, carrying Chuck with him, he smiled as he noticed the little cafe that he’d taken Joan to for their anniversary was still open after fifty years. The glittering lights still made him smile, especially since he was one of the few people on earth that could appreciate the beauty of the flickering, fluctuations in the bulbs that were unnoticeable at regular speeds.

It couldn’t be enjoyed forever, however, and soon Jay set Chuck down on the roof of the building Bruce had pointed them to. “So, this is the place?” Chuck asked, steadying himself for a little bit.

“This is the address Batman gave us,” Jay responded, age-old instincts kicking in to remind him to use codenames in the field. Never knew who might be listening in, what with all the newfangled surveillance technology around nowadays.

“Hm,” Mid-Nite hummed absently, kneeling in certain spots of the roof to inspect the disturbed gravel, “No one’s been up here in a while. Good thing, too, this building looks like it’s about to collapse.”

“So it’s pretty unlikely that any lab would be in a condemned building like this, right?” Jay asked, “Not unless Red Robin wanted the ceiling to fall on his head.”

“Right,” Mid-Nite agreed, “So either Batman is wrong…”

“...Or there’s a basement,” Jay realized, “Stay here, I’ll take a quick look around the floorplan.”

Chuck sighed to himself as the first Flash ran off, and heard the telltale whooshing sounds of a speedster’s wake trailing up and down the building before Jay reappeared in front of him a few seconds later.

“Found it!” Jay declared, “There’s an old elevator shaft, goes down a few more stories than necessary. From the dust patterns, looks like someone’s been sliding up and down the cables.”

Chuck nodded, “That’s something a former Bat can probably do. Let’s see what’s at the bottom.”

In a flash, (Ah, Barry, if only you were around to hear that) Jay and Chuck stood in a shadowed, long-abandoned hallway, littered with half-empty coffee cups and rot. Jay grimaced as he toed one of the cups with his boot, only for the soaked styrofoam to crumble at the touch. “Yeesh,” he muttered, “Kids today.”

“Tell me about it,” Chuck muttered, “Come on, whatever we’re looking for is further inside. Tread lightly; Red Robin was desperate to keep this place hidden. It stands to reason there’s a few-”

Before Mid-Nite could finish the sentence, Jay yelped and sped to the left as a knife flew out of the darkness, narrowly missing his chest as his foot left a pressure plate.

“-booby traps,” Chuck finished in a huff, then he grabbed his comrade by the shirt and led him along more carefully, muttering, “Come on, you old coot, before you break a hip.”

Finally, the two elderly heroes entered a dark antechamber, where computers stood dormant and lifeless, and a large glass pod stood ominously empty. “No, nothing strange going on here…” Jay muttered to himself as he tiptoed through the wreckage of scattered papers and wires, making his way to a workbench of what looked like a chemistry set.

Chuck frowned as he went to the computers, noticing the scorch marks where all the circuits had once stood. “Ah, that’s no good,” he groused, roughly taking the computers apart to see if he could scavenge anything useful.

“He definitely torched the place before he left,” Jay remarked, noticing more soot and ruin on the walls, “Covered his tracks nicely, didn’t he?”

“Doesn’t want to be found,” Chuck mused, “But he’s also desperate. Desperate means sloppy.”

“And sloppy means there’s gotta besomethingaround here,” Jay agreed, finally inspecting the different substances on the table, “Hm… what the hell was he doing with all this?”

“With all what?” Chuck called from his position at the computers, and Jay frowned as he identified each compound.

“Iron, zinc, a few different vitamins, Omega 3, surfactant…” Jay frowned, “This is all the type of stuff you would need for a premature baby. And all these, if you combine them in a saline solution… well, at the right temperature, you could simulate a mother’s womb.”

Jay looked back at the pod. “No way…” he muttered, running up to the glass, rubbing off the soot from the brand, and sure enough, he found a stylized letter L. “Chuck!” he said, “This is all old Luthor tech. I think… I think Tim was making a clone.”

“A clone?” Chuck muttered, “A clone ofwho?Ofwhat?For what purpose?”

“Hell if I know,” Jay responded, “But Luthor made that Kent boy, right? I reckon he might have used a pod just like this one. And those compounds back there are the types of things you’d see in a maternity ward.”

Chuck hummed thoughtfully, then finally pulled out a piece of circuitry that wasn’t quite fried to hell. “Well, hopefully that Oracle girl can get something off of what I could salvage here,” he said, hefting a small bucket of not-quite-destroyed circuitry and wires, “And from what I can see, the only obvious thing is that Red Robin spenta lotof time here. Maybe even slept under the desk, I can’t be sure. Flash, go ahead and take us home.”

“Right,” Jay said, grabbing his friend’s shoulder, “Hold on.”

And in a flash of light, the old heroes were gone.

Jason yawned as he rolled over in his bed, the barest hints of consciousness coming back to him. What had happened last night? The Outlaws had busted up a drug sale, (the scumbags were still selling to kids, despite Jason’s repeated warnings) fought off a few of Black Mask’s thugs, then they’d come back to the Manor to celebrate a job well done. Kori had done an especially great job that night, managing to literally scare the crap out of some drug runner after dropping him from eighty stories up. She caught him, obviously, but it was still hilarious. So, Jason and Roy had agreed to reward her, and they’d all… oh.That’swhy he was so tired.

Jason stretched and heaved another mighty yawn, letting his arm fall down on what was supposed to be Kori, only to hit nothing but soft mattress and the edge of Roy’s thigh. Jason tapped the mattress a few times, searching for Kori’s body, and all he earned for his trouble was an annoyed grunt from Roy, so Jason sighed and fell back into the twilight zone between sleep and consciousness. Kori was a big girl, she could handle herself; though why she was up so early was anybody’s guess, Kori was usually the worst with mornings out of all of them.

That was, up until he heard retching sounds from the bathroom. Jason’s eyes shot open, as did Roy’s, and both boys jumped out of bed with all the grace of a confused bull, untangling themselves from the covers to finally burst into their bathroom, only to find Kori hunched over the toilet. She noticed them, and gave them a weak smile. “Good morning!” she said blearily, “I believe I’m experiencing what Earth women call ‘morning sickness’. Back home on Tamaran, this is usually a first sign of expectance.”

“Expectance?” Roy echoed, and Jason gulped as he put it together.

“Morning sickness?” he asked, “Expecta-- you meanpregnancy?You’repregnant!?”

Kori looked about to respond as Roy stumbled into the sink in shock, and she then got a wave of pallid green over her orange skin as she desperately ducked back toward the toilet to retch more.

“Oh man,” Jason breathed to himself in disbelief, and he sagged down the wall to sit on the floor, “You’re pregnant. We’re pregnant. Holy shit.”

“I-- uhm-- uh-- wha?” Roy said intelligently, still staring at Kori’s stomach, as if it might inflate on command.

“This is joyful news, no?” Kori asked them after wiping her mouth, just the slightest hint of nervousness in her voice, and Jason and Roy jumped.

“Wh- Of course it’s good news!” Jason cried, “This is-- I mean, it’s just-- Wow!”

“This is life-changing!” Roy agreed, kneeling down next to Kori, “And we’ll get it confirmed by Doc Thompkins and buy all the diapers and stuff we need and-”

Kori retched again, more violently this time, and Roy cringed.

“-And we’ll do all that as soon as you’re done throwing up. Come on, let me hold your hair.”

Duke sat in awe as Bruce showed him everything. He explained how his parents were murdered, how he vowed to undertake a crusade against crime, how he trained all his life to achieve peak physical and mental prowess. He told him about the birth of Batman, about Robin, about Dick and Jason and Tim and Damian. He told him about Batgirl, about what happened to Barbara, about Cass and Stephanie. He told him about their allies, about Alfred, Commissioner Gordon, Dr. Thompkins, and Lucius Fox. He told him about the Justice League, and about the dangers they all faced everyday. He told him about the Rogues, about the Joker and Two-Face and Mr. Freeze.

Duke gained a new appreciation for anything and everything in that cave all at once, and realized just how much history, thirty years of crimefighting, dwelled in its shadowed crags. “This is all…amazing,Mr. Wayne,” Duke said eventually, “Really, this is…wow.But… why are you telling me all this? What’s so special about me? I’m just a kid from the Narrows. Why trust some dumb kid with all this? Aren’t you worried I’ll say something?”

Bruce hummed to himself, then shared a glance with Wildcat. “To be honest, Duke, I don’t know why it’s you,” he said, “I don’t know you. I don’t know your motivations or your desires, nor your capabilities. But Tim trusts you, and I trust Tim. So, until I’m proven otherwise, I’m going to trust you.”

Duke fidgeted uncomfortably. “R-Right,” he said, and Bruce eyed him scrutinously.

“So, Duke, I’ll be totally honest with you,” he said seriously, “This will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. You heard about what happened to Jason, and Barbara, and to an extent, Tim. Not everything is going to go your way. In fact, sometimes it’s going to feel like nothing is. The physical and mental fortitude needed to take this path is not something I can understate. So, I will not force you to do anything, but instead, I’ll ask you: do you want this?”

Duke shivered under the Batman’s stare. He thought about it a long, long time, about the bloodstained Robin suit that still stood as a solemn memorial a few feet behind him. About the girl in a wheelchair, who’d never fly across the night sky again. He thought about the boy, cast out into the world and left for dead, who dropped off the face of the earth only to nameDukeas his successor. It was dangerous. So dangerous. Ridiculously dangerous. And yet…

He thought about his parents, wandering aimlessly in a padded room, never remembering him, with those sick, twisted smiles on their faces, laughter bubbling up from their lips. He thought about the cold nights he’d spent on a threadbare cot in an underfunded youth hostel, wrapping himself in too-small jackets to try and stay warm. He thought about all the kids he saw everyday, the victims. The boy who didn’t get to eat that day because gangbangers had stolen his lunch money. The girl who sat in the dark corner with a needle in her arm, never to get back up again. The boy who tried hard to cover up the bruises and the cuts, but failed. The kid who got raped on their way home from school.

Duke looked at the Batman, and at his outstretched hand. He took it, and met the dark gaze with fiery determination. “I want this,” he said clearly.

Bruce smiled.

They were both startled out of their reverie when the Batcomputer screeched and beeped in alarm, and Bruce spun urgently to read the error message.

WARNING. WARNING. NUCLEAR EXPLOSION DETECTED.

“What?” Bruce cried, “Computer, trace origin of explosion! Is it a foreign power?”

NEGATIVE. EXPLOSION ORIGIN CONFIRMED TO BE HANK HENSHAW, AKA CYBORG SUPERMAN. POINT OF ORIGIN: COAST CITY, CALIFORNIA.

“Oh, God,” Bruce gasped, and Duke shivered.

“Hey, that’s where the whole damn League is, ain’t it!?” Wildcat said urgently, and Bruce slammed the communications button.

“Batcave to League,come in!” he shouted, but all he got in reply was static, “Batcave to Watchtower,is anyone there!?Cave to Batman,answer me, dammit!!”

“B-Bruce?” a delirious, pain-ridden voice asked over the line, and Bruce breathed a sigh of relief.

“Dick,” he sighed in relief, “What happened? The Batcomputer says there was an explosion.”

“H-Henshaw,” Dick coughed in response, “He blew his core. Tried to take out Clark-cough, cough!--Wally managed to run us out of the immediate blast radius. We’re all here, no one’s dead, I-- Oh. Oh, God.”

“Dick?” Bruce questioned urgently, “Dick, what is it? What do you see?”

“It-- It’s the city, Bruce,” Dick said, his voice warbling over the line, “Coast City is… it’s gone.”

Duke and Wildcat stared at each other.

So sometimes, the good guys lose after all, huh?

Several hours later, Bruce sat alone in the dark once more. He’d had Alfred set Duke up with a room upstairs. He’d received the broken remains of Tim’s equipment from Doctor Mid-Nite, then sent the JSA home after thanking them for their assistance.

The Justice League had returned to the Watchtower, licking their wounds. Shayera had a bad burn across her back, John’s shield hadn’t gotten to her in time. J’onn was in the ICU, the heat had scalded his Martian physiology intensely. Clark and Diana were mostly unscathed, Kryptonian and Amazon cells holding up well to the explosion, though they both had extensive bruising and a few burns. John was fine, the ring had protected him, but he seemed at a loss after Coast City was destroyed. Dick and Damian were nursing a few burns and broken bones, as the rubble Wally had desperately ran them towards had collapsed in slightly.

Wally himself was the most worrisome case. He was covered in burns, either from the explosion or friction, as he’d tried to run at full speeds to evacuate the city. He’d gotten the League out, and almost a quarter of the population, but Coast City was still gone. Wally was despondent, inconsolable as he laid on his cot, staring at the ceiling.

“Uncle Barry would have been fast enough,” he kept repeating, “He would have been able to save everyone.”

No one wanted to think about what they’d have to say to Hal Jordan when he returned from Oa. They wanted to call him right away, but they lacked the technology to call that far into deep space.

Bruce sighed to himself as his shoulders slumped. Sometimes, the good guys lost. It was just a sad fact of life. The only thing they could do was move on.

Bruce was no Oracle, but he did manage to scrounge some data from the ruined circuit boards that Chuck had retrieved. He hooked them up to the Batcomputer, and soon discovered they were security feeds. Bruce played the earliest one he could find.

Tim stumbled into the laboratory, looking painfully young in his Robin uniform. “This has to work,” he muttered, “Thishasto. I can’t-- I won’t-- he can’t be dead. He can’t stay dead. I need him back, you need to give him back to me, I can’t-- I can’t do this without him.”

Tim stumbled further inward, pressing a vial of what looked like blood into the receptacle of the pod. “Please,” he whispered, “Please give him back.”

The file ended, corrupted and scorched from there on. Bruce frowned, then went to the next one he could scavenge, a few months later.

-- won’tfuckingstabilize!!” Tim snapped, slamming his fist down onto the table in front of him, “What the fuck am I doing wrong!? Why is it so damn unstable!? Fuck, the only thing from Luthor’s notes that say will stabilize a clone is human DNA, but where the hell am I gonna get--” Tim stopped, looking down at his own arm.

“No,” Bruce whispered, “No, Tim, son, don’t…”

Tim flicked out a birdarang. He cried out in pain as he plunged the blade into his forearm.

Bruce winced, and the file ended. Bruce growled and found the next one he could play with urgency.

Tim looked terrible. Scars that weren’t from any run-ins with the Rogues littered his arms, bloody birdarangs and empty vials littering the ground beneath him. “Work,” Tim whispered brokenly to the pod, a little ball of flesh bobbing serenely within, “Please work.”

The file ended right there, and Bruce growled with increasing frustration as he played the last one available to him.

“‘Man,’ I cried,” Tim said to himself, reading from a book, “‘How ignorant art thou in thy pride of wisdom!’ ‘The fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation. I am alone.’ … Mary Shelley,Frankenstein.”

Tim put the book down, and stared up at the form floating in the pod in front of him, now in the approximate form of a baby. He bowed his head. “God, I’m so sorry,” he whispered to the darkness.

And that was it. That was all the files Bruce could gather, all the ones he could scavenge from the depths. Bruce hung his head.

Where had his boy gone?

Chapter 17: All Good Things

Chapter Text

Damian groaned slightly as he pulled the bruised muscles in his back, daring to sit up. He had been wounded in Coast City, but not extensively; Hawkgirl and Martian Manhunter were in more dire straits than he. Hell, Richard was in more pain, and he was barely hurt. So, Damian sucked it up, as they say in his new country, and went downstairs for some breakfast.

Damian rolled his neck and tried to work out some kink in his shoulder, wincing as he rotated it just a bit too far. Finally, he reached Wayne Manor’s excusably humble kitchen to procure himself some small snack, such as a banana or apple, only to find some interloper sitting at the counter, munching on one of those sugary cereals Richard was so fond of.

Damian growled, narrowed his eyes, grabbed a cleaver from the knife block and cried, “Intruder!”, jumping on the counter and threatening the young man.

The boy, (Younger than Brown, Damian guessed, now that he had a better look) yelped in surprise and fear, tumbling out of his chair and onto the floor. Damian leapt on top of him, pressing the knife to his throat, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to hurt, and growled some more at him.

“Ah, fuck!!” the boy gasped, “Jesus Christ!! I’m not an intruder, m-m-my name’s Duke, Mr Wayne invited me--!!”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe you,” he growled, pressing the knife just a little harder, “Who sent you!?”

“Fuckin-- Tim Drake? I guess?” Duke stammered, “Fucking hell, please don’t kill me!”

“Drake!?” Damian snapped, “So youarehere to kill us!”

“What?No!” Duke gasped, “Wasn’t Tim Drake your brother or something!? Holy fuck, please just calm down!!”

“Timothy Drakeis a traitor, a terrorist, and a murderer,” Damian growled, “And if you claim toworkfor him, than that can only mean you are here to exact some misguided revenge on us!”

“What!? No! No it doesn’t!!” Duke begged, “Please, man, come on!! Why would he send a sixteen year old nobody to try and kill the Batfamily!?!?”

“So you know of our identities!” Damian concluded, “All the more reason to kill you!”

“Fucking-- If I were here to kill you, don’t you think I would have done it while you were sleeping, instead of eating fuckingbreakfastfirst!?!” Duke argued, and Damian scowled.

That, as simple as it was, made sense.

“You have a point,” Damian acquiesced, taking the knife away and standing up, “Even if it is an asinine one.”

“Holy shit,” Duke gasped, holding his neck reflexively, “Do you just try and killanyonewho eats breakfast?”

Damian sneered at him, “Only when I don’t know why they’re here.”

“And sometimes he attacks us anyway,” a new voice said snarkily, and both Damian and Duke looked toward the doorway to see Jason waltzing into the kitchen.

“tt-Todd,” Damian greeted curtly.

“Brat,” Jason responded, “Sorry about him, kid, he’s a bit of a stiff. Let me help you up.”

“Uh… thanks,” Duke said dumbly, taking the offered hand and swinging up to his feet, “And you are…?”

“Jason!” he said brightly, “Jason Todd. Nice to meet ya, Duke.”

“How do you-?” Duke asked, and Jason cut him off.

“I was standing in the doorway for a few minutes, heard you tell Batbrat,” Jason said with a grin, shooting a thumb toward the door, “So, the old man decided to take in another orphan, eh? Good luck to ya.”

“... Thank you?” Duke answered slowly, thoroughly confused and alarmed by everything he had just witnessed.

“Oi, Damian, where’s Doc Thompkins?” Jason asked his younger sibling, ignoring Duke altogether.

Damian harrumphed, “tt-How should I know? She’s probably at her practice in the city, Todd, a fact you might know already if you weren’t such a--”

“Alright,smartass,” Jason groused, tussling Damian’s hair annoyedly, “I gotta make a phone call. See ya, Duke.”

“Bye,” Duke responded automatically, still in a daze.

Damian, meanwhile, looked Duke up and down apprehensively, and he narrowed his eyes one last time. “I will have words with Father over this,” Damian promised, then promptly left the kitchen.

Duke stood still, his eyes switching between the retreating forms of both Damian and Jason. “This family is so fucking weird…” he concluded, then went back to his cereal.

Bruce sat in his chair for what felt like the thousandth time, humming and pondering over what he had learned.

There was a clone in play, of whom Bruce couldn’t be sure. The only distinguishing knowledge he had was that it was a “he”, and that Tim cared for him deeply; enough to pursue a misguided attempt and cloning to get “him” back. That still left too many questions, and too many candidates.

It could be Tim’s father, Jack Drake, though that was least likely. Jack and Tim had been making amends at the time Jack was killed, but Bruce didn’t think it had progressed far enough to warrant attempts at resurrection. It could be Bart Allen, Tim’s best friend, who fell in battle against Deathstroke. It could be Conner Kent, Tim’s teenage sweetheart, who met his fate in a hopeless struggle against Superboy Prime. It could be Bruce himself, fallen to Darkseid amidst the Crisis. It could be anyone.

Bruce growled frustratedly and rubbed his face, thinking back to the facts. The cloning pod beneath Paris was obviously Tim’s secret laboratory, the one he had been so desperate to defend. Tim alluded several times to doing something worse than killing, and in certain moral lights, cloning, tampering with life itself, could be seen that way. When Conner confronted Tim, he mentioned someone named “Tommy”, the identity of whom no one had yet been able to discover.

This left questions. Who is Tommy? Are Tommy and the clone one in the same? Is the clone still alive? Was it ever alive to begin with? What made Tim feel like he had to leave Gotham to care for or to tend to the clone?

Bruce hummed sadly; he thought he could answer at least the last question. Bruce put himself in Tim’s shoes; his father figure was dead, most everyone he loved was dead. In a misguided attempt to bring one of those people back, he committed some sort of horrible moral taboo. Then, when looking for the love and validation of his family, his brother, he was cast aside and dismissed. Anyone would feel angry, anyone would feel insulted. So, he allied himself with unsavory characters, Ra’s al Ghul, and pursued any available lead on the whereabouts of his loved ones.

Ah, but then there was the second problem; the falling out with the League of Assassins. Why could that be? It could be Tim’s lingering heroism; the League of Assassins has been a thorn in the Superhero Community’s side since time began. To destroy it, even as lethally and catastrophically as Tim had, could only be seen as a win. But after working with them for months, surely Tim gained some friends in the League, just as Bruce eventually befriended Talia?

Er… well, perhaps “befriended” was a strong word. Bruce respected Talia, and Talia respected him. The only difference being Talia’s definition of “respect” included taking advantage of him in his drug-induced sleep to produce Damian.

Still, not everyone in the League of Assassins was a bad person. Case in point, Damian and Cass. There were people that Bruce would consider allies there, and surely Tim would see them too. But still, even after gaining these presumed allies, Tim saw fit to destroy the League.

Tim would only go so far if he felt threatened, and the only one Bruce could think of in the League that could threaten Tim was Ra’s himself. So, Ra’s knew something about Tim, something concrete, that could be used to threaten Tim. Possible blackmail. Tim never responded well to blackmail; once, Two-Face tried to ransom Janet Drake. It had actually taken hours of convincing from Bruce and Dick for Tim to just pay the ransom, rather than attack and risk exposing his identity as Robin to his mother. It had… frightened Bruce, on some level, that Tim, at the tender age of fourteen, was fully prepared to let his own mother die.

That was, of course, before Bruce had discovered the Drake Family’s definition of parenting.

So, back to Ra’s al Ghul. Ra’s had tried to convince Tim to do something, something not to Tim’s liking, and Tim had retaliated. Seemed plausible enough. In response, Ra’s tried to erase Bruce’s own legacy, something Tim held dear, and Tim mobilized what little connections he had left to protect Gotham.

From Superboy’s report, Tim had called to him after jumping out of a helicopter; who was piloting the helicopter? If it were an enemy, they would have attacked Conner. Therefore, it must have been a friend; perhaps the few allies Tim had made in the League?

Brucecouldask Talia about any rogue assassins, but he’d lost all contact with her after Ra’s went underground. Despite what the street cameras said about their fight atop Wayne Enterprises, Bruce held no illusions about Ra’s being dead, and he doubted Tim did either. There were too many Lazarus Pits out there to truly kill the Demon’s Head.

So Tim would have gone into hiding, a place where even Ra’s al Ghul couldn’t find him. Perhaps more impressively, a place where even Batman couldn’t find him. What would Bruce do, if he had to hide from nearly every major organization on the planet?

Personally, he’d go to subarctic Canada. But other places, rural Mexico, eastern Europe, Siberia, subsaharan Africa, a few disparate Pacific islands, the Australian Outback, even the Midwestern United States, were all prime places to disappear. Hero/Villain conflicts usually arose, for better or for worse, in populated areas within the United States. It was common practice for a hero to “adopt” a city. Batman had Gotham, Superman had Metropolis. Wonder Woman usually remained around the Hall of Justice in Washington, DC. the Justice Society centered around Keystone. The Flash based himself in Central, Green Lantern in Coast. Blue Beetle guarded El Paso, Black Lightning was in Freeland, Zatanna was over in Brooklyn. So, to avoideveryone,Bruce would go to the farms, the suburbs, and the wastelands.

That only left seventy percent of all land on the planet. Not to mention, if Tim was smart, which he was, he’d use fake names, bank accounts, and papers. Finding his lost Robin might just be the hardest thing he’s done yet… but Bruce refused to give up. Not until all his sons were home.

Hal Jordan grinned like a loon as Earth came into sight. Sector 2814; home sweet home. He’d been away on Oa for guard duty for what equated to ten Earth months, and he was excited to finally get home, relieve John of JL duties. The two of them didn’t really get along well, John didn’t get Hal’s easygoing attitude, and Hal thought John was a stuck-up prick, but they found that esprit de corps that everyone said they would. They were both Green Lanterns, after all. When Hal was on Oa, John would take over Coast and the JL. When John was on Oa, Hal would take over Detroit and the JL. It was a perfect system. And Guy Gardner… they just didn’t talk about.

Hal rolled onto his back for a bit, letting the ring carry him past Mars. “Say, ring, what time is it in beautiful, sunny, Coast City?” he asked the stars, and his ring gave the automatic, robotic response:

It is approximately thirty minutes to sunset in Coast City, California, United States, Earth.

“Haha, perfect!” Hal laughed, “Ring, call Carol!”

Calling Carol Ferris.

Hal let it ring. And ring. And ring. “We’re sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected. Please try again later.”

Hal frowned. “Well, that’s not right,” he muttered, “She must have gotten a new phone while I was on Oa; damn, and no way to call in deep space! Ah, well; I’ll just have to surprise her with a sunset flight over the city!”

Hal grinned again as he poured on the speed, hurtling down like a green comet towards the West Coast. He laughed aloud as he hurtled toward the clouds, shouting to the wind, “COAST CITY, HERE I CO--”

Hal stopped in his tracks as he broke through the cloud barrier, his jubilant cheer dying in his throat. Coast City… hishome…it was…it was…

Hal was on the ground in an instant, landing in the massive, barren crater as rage and fear built in his throat. “Ring,” he commanded, “What happened here?”

Radioactive residue detected. Most likely, weaponized nuclear fission.

“A nuke?” Hal breathed, “Anuke!?” Hal closed his eyes, desperately trying to get a handle on his emotions; willpower, dammit! But… buteverything… everyone…

“Call Carol Ferris,” he commanded, and the ring responded.

Still no answer.

“Call Carol!” he snapped at his hand, and once again it complied. Still no answer.

“Call her again!” Hal cried, tears beginning to leak from under his mask, and the ring buzzed at him.

Repeated calls are unlikely to be answer--

“JUST CALL HER, DAMMIT!!” he screamed, and he fell to his knees as the truth encroached on his mind.

Carol lived in Coast City. They’d moved into his apartment together. She would have been there when…when…

Nuclear explosions only take an instant. She wouldn’t have had time to escape. She wouldn’t even have known what hit her. One second, Carol Ferris would have been alive, living and breathing, and the next…the next…

Hal’s breathing came in ragged gasps, and he ripped off his mask to let the tears fall freely. “I… Carol…Carol…” he whispered, unable to face the truth, that Carol, that Coast City was dea----

No. no, no, no, no, no!!He couldn’t even think it. It was too terrifying, too horrifying, too frightening, even for him. He… he needed to fix this. He could fix this. He had to, hehad to fix this…

His ring glowed as a construct readied itself.

Hal clenched his fist, threw back his head, and screamed defiance at the world as the horizon was swallowed in Emerald Twilight.

Tim yawned and stretched in his chair, lazily munching on a chocolate chip cookie. He and Tommy had moved out of the Utah house, now in a lovely log cabin in Denali Borough, Alaska. Thankfully, it was the summer, or else they’d be covered by feet of snow rather than enjoying a blissfully cool sixty-five degrees fahrenheit. Besides, the solitude let Tommy stretch his growing powers a little bit more, practicing super-strength punches on the fallen logs and listening for the heartbeats of elk and rabbits, without fear of discovery. It was Alaska; who gave a shit?

Someday, Tim wanted to take Tommy to Denali National Park; it would do the kid good to see the natural beauty of the world. Maybe they’d hike up Mount McKinley. It was as close to flying as Tim could get with his boy, short of stealing another plane.

Hey… theywerein Alaska now. Small planes were a regular form of transport. Maybe Tim could fake a pilot’s license…

Tim grinned, imagining owning a little Cessna Super Cub of his own, like he’d dreamed of as a little kid. Bright yellow, so he could find it in the snow. Yeah… he’d really like that. Hell, maybe he and Tommy should stay in Alaska; no superheroes took up residence, not much crime. The weather was manageable, else people wouldn’t even live up here in the first place. And it was certainly no issue for Tommy, what with that Kryptonian physiology. Alaska itself was big enough that he could bounce around the state with little fear of discovery; spend one month in Nome, the next in the Aleutians, the next in Fairbanks, the next in Anchorage… it could work.

Maybe he could even hit the streets again, call himself Snowbird.

Tim snorted a laugh, dismissing the idea out of hand. Any attempt at further vigilantism would only draw attention, attention he did not need. Besides, the only crime up here was disparate poaching, which could easily be handled by the National Park Service. It got a little cold in Anchorage for muggers’ liking; anyone who took money probably needed it.

Tim yawned again, watching the sun dip lower toward the horizon; the crazy, and mildly annoying part, was that the sun didn’t set until around midnight, something that played hell with his Mid-Atlantic sensibilities. Still, 11:30 seemed an appropriate enough bedtime; Tommy had been put to sleep at 9 already, and Tim had enjoyed the time to himself. He stood up, staggered a bit from fatigue, and finished off his cookie. Yawning one last time, he stumbled toward his bedroom door, until he made the decision to check on Tommy before he went to bed.

A mischievous grin on his face, Tim crossed the wooden floor silently, easing open the door to see the head of wavy black hair peeking up over the covers. Tim smiled; hard to believe they were reaching one year since Tommy was born. It had been a wild ride. Tim was about to close the door and head to sleep, when movement caught his eye; a hand twirled through Tommy’s hair gently, and Tim burst into the room, only to stop in his tracks.

“Ah ah ah,Young Detective…” Ra’s al Ghul purred darkly, sat easily on Tommy’s bedside as the boy’s chest rose and fell in his sleep, “We wouldn’t want to wake the young lad, now would we?”

Chapter 18: Must Come to an End

Chapter Text

“Father!” Damian cried, stomping down into the Cave where Bruce sat at the Batcomputer, “Idemandto know why you have brought another nobody into the house!”

Bruce sighed as his shoulders sagged; he’d known this was coming, but he still wasn’t looking forward to it. “Damian,” he said carefully, turning in his chair, “Duke is here as another of my proteges. He was invited; I expect you to treat him with respect.”

“Respect!?” Damian cried angrily, “He’s a no one! An imbecile! An incompetent ignoramus! I thought that it took thebest of the bestto be a Bat, sowhydo you insist upon taking instreet ratsandriffraff!?”

Bruce sighed; this was a delicate situation. He couldn’t screw this up, not like he did with Jason. “Damian, itdoestake the best of the best to be a Bat,” he explained calmly, “I take people from all walks of life. Circus performers, street rats, daughters of supervillains, rich kids, and even child assassins.” Damian pursed his lips at the last one; good. Or bad. Bruce was extremely out of practice at this whole parenting deal.

“That is why Duke is here,” Bruce continued, “I know you’re worried about security, Damian, but he has my full trust. He is no danger to us.”

Damian crossed his arms, drawing himself up to his full height, a less-than-intimidating 4’11”. “He told me he was sent byDrake,” his son spat, “Surely you see the issuenow?”

“I’m aware,” Bruce nodded, “Tim’s recommendation is the very reason I recruited Duke.”

Damian’s hackles raised as he gnashed his teeth, snarling, “THEN WHY IS HE STILL HERE!?! Have I truly disappointed you so much that you would replace me at the drop of a hat with a lowborn mongrel recommended to you by a TRAITOR!?!”

Damian slammed his fist down onto the Batcomputer’s keyboard, breaking the keys, and Bruce stared at his son as the Cave fell silent. Barbara stopped typing at her workstation, turning to look at the confrontation between father and son. Stephanie and Cass ceased their sparring match, looking at the commotion.

Damian’s chest heaved as he tried to steady his breathing, and something resonated with Bruce deep inside as he saw glistening tears in his son’s green eyes; and Bruce took up his cane and stood.

It took some difficulty, but Bruce managed to hobble over to his son, and Damian looked up at him, fear dominating his features; fear of being rejected, fear of being replaced, fear of his father not loving him anymore. Bruce’s heart broke as he pulled the boy into his arms, and Damian went stiff as a board.

“F-Father?” he asked incredulously, his voice muffled by Bruce’s chest.

“Oh, Damian,” Bruce sighed, holding the back of his son’s head and keeping him held tight, “My boy. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Father, p-please, stop this embarrassing display,” Damian mumbled, his voice breaking as he tried to maneuver out of his father’s hold, “I am grown up enough to take a dismissal in stride, let me g--”

“No one’s replacing you, Damian,” Bruce countered, pulling the boy in tighter. Glancing up, he noticed Dick and Duke at the top of the stairs; Duke looked confused, but respectful, Dick looked tired, but elated.

“No onecanreplace you,” Bruce continued, working his way down onto one knee with some difficulty, trying to bring himself to Damian’s eye level, “I do not play favorites with my children. My love for you is not a finite source; I love you, and all your siblings, equally and fully, no matter where they came from or who they are. I would go to hell and back for you, for any of you; even Jason, even Tim. And though Tim might be… lost, right now, I trust him. I trusted Jason, I trusted Dick, I trusted Cass and Steph, and I’ll always trust you. That is why Duke is here, no more, no less. He isn’t my new Robin;youare. Love is unconditional, and I’m so sorry that your mother, and Ra’s, have led you to believe anything otherwise.”

Damian shook in his hold. Dozens of different, inscrutable emotions warred each other in his eyes, until he finally turned away. “I do not believe in love,” he said finally, “It does not exist. It is a fairytale for gullible children, nothing more.”

Bruce’s heart shattered. “Damian…” he sighed sadly, and Damian pushed him away, stepping backward while he had the chance.

“If love existed, I would be living in opulence as a Prince of the League at my mother’s side, not stuck in a cave here with you!” Damian cried, his voice rising, “If love existed, my grandfather would not have beaten me at age four for refusing to kill an innocent rabbit! If love existed, my mother would have stopped him from doing so in the first place, not stood by and watched while he did it! If love existed, my mother--” Damian voice finally broke, and his voice choked with emotion as tears finally began to fall down his face and he clenched his fists, and finally managed to scream out, “--My mother would never haverapedyou andI WOULDN’T EXIST!!”

“Oh…” Bruce sighed to himself as Damian fell to his knees in sorrow, “Oh, Damian…”

Dick hopped the railing at the top of the Cave, sprinting across the floor to slide down onto his knees, pulling the younger boy into his arms and a bone-crushing hug. “Oh,Damian…” Dick sighed wetly, burying his face in Damian’s shoulder, “Never talk like that again, you hear me?Never!”

“Richard--” Damian responded, the barest hints of irritation leaking into his voice, but Dick cut him off again.

“No!” his eldest son cried, “No, you hear me!? Love isreal,Damian. Iloveyou.Bruceloves you. Hell, evenJasonloves you!”

“Wealllove you, kid,” Barbara supplied with a tired smile as she wheeled herself toward the three men on the floor.

“Even if you’re a bit of a brat sometimes,” Stephanie laughed, coming over as well.

“And rude,” Cass supplied, “And loud. But still brother.”

“I… Idon’t understand,” Damian managed, “I am rude to all of you. I act like you are all beneath me, I have tried to kill several of you. I don’t listen to you on patrols, and ever since I got here the only thing I’ve been trying to do is return to a mother and grandfather who’ve made it clear that they hate me; I’mworthless. How can you possibly-?”

“Still Brother,” Cass insisted, kneeling down next to him and poking him in the chest, smiling at him, “Still Brother.”

“I already lost one little brother because he thought he wasn’t loved, because he thought he was worthless, because he thought I didn’t want him,” Dick explained, still clinging desperately to Damian, as if afraid the boy might disappear, “I won’t lose you too. I-- Ican’t.”

Damian covered his eyes, trying to wipe away the tears as he continued to sob. “I don’t understand,” he said again, and he sounded so lost as he said it; desolate. Adrift.

“Then we’ll help you learn,” Bruce supplied, reaching out to hold his son’s hand, “However long it takes.”

“Y-You promise?” Damian asked, and for a moment, Bruce finally saw the kid under there, the fourteen year old that never got to grow up.

“I promise, son,” Bruce sighed in relief, squeezing Damian’s hand, “I promise.”

Jason and Roy paced and fidgeted around the waiting room nervously, awaiting any news at all from behind the doctor’s door. Finally, after Jason had counted the number of flowers on each wall six times, the door opened, and Dr. Thompkins walked out, Kori beaming at her side.

“I have good news, you two,” Leslie said happily, “I managed to get a decent ultrasound; there’s definitely something alive in there.”

“And that’s not all!!” Kori proclaimed happily, unable to contain her excitement, “Tell them, Friend Doctor, tell them!!”

Leslie smiled, sweeping her graying blonde hair out of her face as she looked both Jason and Roy in the eye. “As it turns out, Tamaranean wombs work differently from human ones,” she started, pushing up her glasses, “Twin zygotes grow on opposite sides of the uterus. I managed to positively confirm two healthy babies, growing at what Kori assured me was a normal rate for Tamaraneans; Congratulations.”

Jason and Roy stared at the two, jaws on the floor. “T-Twins?” Jason stuttered.

“There’stwoin there??” Roy blurted.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Kori cried happily, “Twins! It is a most auspicious sign!”

“Th-That’s amazing!!” Roy cried along with her, getting over his initial shock “This is great! We-- We need to tell Alfred! We need a nursery in the Manor, a-and I need to call Ollie, and we should find a way to get word to Tamaran, and--!”

“Hold on,Roy,” Jason sighed, “Doc, what does this mean for us long-term? Are the babies gonna be late? Early? Are there any complications you can think of for half-Tamaranean half-human twins?”

“Well, I’m not a doctor of extraterrestrial anatomy, so I can’t say for certain,” Leslie said thoughtfully, “But if I had to make an educated guess, Tamaraneans and humans are biologically close enough to procreate together. However, due to a differing number of chromosomes between the species, the offspring will most likely be infertile, like mules.”

Roy’s face fell, Jason frowned slightly, while Kori looked devastated. Their kids wouldn’t be able to have kids of their own someday? No matter what?

“You mean I will never have grandchildren?” Kori asked in a small voice, and Leslie sighed sympathetically.

“No, I… I’m sorry,” she said slowly, “We just don’t know enough about cross-species breeding to be certain.”

“But this myool you mentioned!” Kori insisted stubbornly, “You have a separate word for it, yes? That must mean its species has survived!”

“Kori, mules are crosses between donkeys and horses,” Roy explained gently, “They don’t breed amongst themselves, we just… kept making more. That’s why there’s a separate word.”

“But thereisa chance,” Jason said suddenly, and they all turned to him. He pressed on, saying, “It’s rare, but mules have sired children before, right? In Herodotus’s account of the Persian invasion of Greece, he cites a mule giving birth as an ill omen before the war. It’s happened, right? It has to have happened!”

Dr. Thompkins sighed, pushing her glasses up her nose again, “Well, yes, I suppose there is a chance. But only 60 cases of mules giving birth have been confirmed since 1527-”

“It is possible,” Kori insisted, “That is all I need to know.”

“It would be a miracle, but yes,” Leslie sighed, “I suppose it is possible. As for the term of yourcurrenttwins, well; Kori tells me it takes eleven glorflobs on Tamaran, but seeing as that’s no known unit of measurement here on Earth-”

“We had to convert it,” Kori said happily, “Friend Adam Strange was called, and he said that eleven glorflobs on Tamaran translates happily to two years on Earth!”

Roy and Jason’s mouths dropped open again. “Twoyears?” Roy asked incredulously, “You’re an elephant!”

Jason whacked him. “Alright, that’s…new,” Jason admitted, staring at Kori’s stomach, imagining the two little life forms that were growing in there, (thatheput there!) and shook himself, “And we’ll deal with it. It’ll just give us more time to prepare; preptime’s our thing. We got this.”

They so did not got this.

And so time passed. A few months, almost a year, came and went as Gotham crept its way toward late summer. Bruce continued to search for his lost son in vain, but he never gave up the fight.

Duke trained, again and again, learning how to fight. Wildcat came into the Cave to spar with him, Jason taught him how to handle a gun, Dick taught him acrobatics, Steph and Cass taught him stealth, Barbara taught him the basics of computer hacking, and every night he’d settle back down with Bruce for their lessons. Superhero history, detective work, Duke learned all of it; everything the Bat could teach, Duke learned. Soon, he was ready to start going out on patrols, (supervised, of course) and eventually got given the daytime circuit, a less-intense but no less needed patrol route alongside the police.

However, the Batsignal couldn’t be lit during the day. So, Duke reasoned, he would simply become the Signal.

Bruce was unhappy about the bright yellow armor. The kids from Crime Alley were not.

Damian tried to find a new footing in the house. He continued his tenure as Robin, though he finally forfeited his sword. “This sword was given to me by my grandfather,” he explained one day, “I am… unsure if I want to continue using it.”

So they let him be. Everyday, Dick would start the day by telling Damian he loved him, and Damian would scoff and turn away from him to hide a blush. One day, Damian came back from patrol with an abandoned puppy, naming him Titus. Then, he came back from a mission against Professor Pyg in a slaughterhouse with a cow, which he proclaimed Batcow. Then he returned sometime later with a wild turkey, naming it Jerry. Though Alfred was getting increasingly frustrated with Damian’s growing menagerie, everyone could see that it was making the kid happy, so Wayne Manor gained a turkey pen, and the Batcave gained a cattle fence. It also helped that Jon Kent paid more and more frequent visits.

Jason, Roy, and Kori broke the big news to everyone a week after Dr. Thompkins confirmed it, and they were met with resounding congratulations. Bruce practically floated as he tested the word “Grandpa” on his lips, and Dick awkwardly patted Jason on the back. Alfred set about picking up materials and choosing patterns with Kori and Roy, preparing a nursery room right next to the Outlaws’ bedroom. Kori’s stomach slowly swelled, and at four weeks Jason forbade her from patrolling. Roy forbade her at five. Bruce let her get away with it until seven. She stopped patrolling at ten, but only at Barbara’s urging. Now, she hovered around the Manor, helping Alfred with cleaning and loudly proclaiming her boredom whenever someone passed by.

And all the while, Bruce built himself back into Batman. He started eating solid food again, began building muscle back and gaining weight. He started training, easy things at first, but working his way back up to the hard stuff after several months. He was still far from back to full strength, but soon, he hoped, soon, he would be back beneath the Cape & Cowl.

But it didn’t come soon enough.

Hal Jordan went insane, tried to rebuild Coast City using only his ring; none of the Leaguers could get to him in time to explain, so he’d happened upon it all on his own. Learned the truth in the worst possible way. Hal tried to wage war on Oa, killed Lantern after Lantern and gained more power with each ring he stole, until finally the Guardians of the Universe reached out to the Justice League to try and save them.

The League mobilized as quickly as possible, flying to Oa as quickly as the Javelin would take them, and alongside what was left of the Corps, fought one of their oldest friends to the death.

Hal plowed through them all. As he read through the reports, Bruce shivered at the sheer power the Green Lantern Ring possessed, and for the first time in a long time, truly understood why it was considered the greatest weapon in the universe. All the Guardians fell, all except Ganthet, who fled back to Earth with the League. The Central Power Battery, the main source of all the Green Lanterns’ power, was destroyed, and the energy absorbed or scattered by Hal himself.

Superman, Wonder Woman, and John Stewart all tried their best to stop him, but as soon as the Central Power Battery fell, it was all over. Using his newfound strength and power, Hal, driven mad by the energy, managed to take them all. Superman was beaten down into Oa’s core. Wonder Woman was flung out so far into space that she couldn’t make it back in time to affect the outcome of the fight. John Stewart had his ring finger forcibly removed, and his powers were stolen.

Wally West tried to answer the call, and alongside Martian Manhunter and Hawkgirl attempted to finish the fight, but he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to hurt Hal Jordan; none of them had.

Dick was the only one who hadn’t raised a single fist, or landed a single blow. The whole time, he just tried to talk to Hal, to explain, to get him to calm down, anything.

But it all fell on deaf ears. Hal took advantage of Dick’s mercy and used it to break his sternum and all of his ribs.

And as Hal took off into deep space to hunt down the rest of the Lanterns, the Justice League returned to Earth, licking their wounds. And Dick was no longer fit to be Batman.

And that was how Jason found himself here, holding a black cowl in his hands, staring down at the empty eyes.

“It belongs to you, Jay,” Dick explained, his breath wheezing and painful as he laid in a hospital bed in the Cave, the only thing keeping him breathing being a respirator, “You’re the only one who can. Damian’s too young, and the thugs would notice if it was Cass. Please, Jay… you’vegotto.”

“I…” Jason stammered, feeling the kevlar between his fingers, “Bruce-”

“Still faints after an hour of labor,” Bruce sighed from his side, still leaning heavily on a cane, “I’m in no condition to patrol yet, Jason.”

“I… No, I can’t, I…” Jason tried again, looking up and down between his family and the Cowl, “Please, Bruce, I can’t put this on. I’m not… I’m not you.”

“It’s alright to feel unready, Jason,” Bruce said to his son, patting him on the shoulder, “But I’m here to tell you that youare.You’re stronger than anyone else in this room. There is no one in this room who deserves the Cape & Cowl more than you.”

Jason looked back down at the Cowl. Last time he’d worn a Batsuit, he’d murdered people. Batman… Batman shouldn’t murder. Batman shouldn’t be associated with all the darkness and blood that Red Hood was hauling around.

“Jay,” Roy said, and Jason looked up at him, and at a noticeably pregnant Kori. Roy crossed his arms and looked his boyfriend dead in the eye, saying, “You can do this.”

“I know you’re nervous,” Kori supplied with a smile, “But don’t you want to tell our children someday of how you were Batman? Of how you were, for just one moment, well and truly a hero?”

Jason’s hands shook. Dick’s respirator beeped and wheezed as it assisted his bruised lungs. God, Kori was right. Jason had spent so much of his life in darkness. How could he, in good conscience, tell his little kids about how he murdered and slaughtered people as the Red Hood? Is that the type of legacy he wanted to leave? What was he thinking evenhavingkids?? He wasn’t ready to be a father! He… he and Roy should have pulled out, this was a mistake, he wasn’t ready, he couldn’t do this, he wasn’t…he wasn’t ready.

And Jason reckoned he never would be. But the only alternative in this situation was running away… and that would make Jason just like his father. Too scared to come back and fucking raise a kid right. Which would be worse; a kid that had Red Hood as a dad, or a kid who didn’t?

The Cowl stared up at Jason, not offering any answers or comfort. Batman. Jason could be Batman. Sure, he’d dreamed about it, back when he was Robin, that someday, when he was big and strong, he’d take over the Cape & Cowl when Bruce and Dick got too old. But now… so much had happened. Did he even deserve a chance to live his childhood dream like this? After all the childhood dreams he’d buried?

Jason sighed as the Cowl wavered in his hands. People were counting on him. Bruce, his dad, had entrusted this to him. Dick, his brother, was relying on him. Roy and Kori, his lovers, were waiting for him. His kids, still yet unborn, were looking up to him. Someday, he’d have two little tikes at his knee, asking him to tell them what he did as a superhero.

What did he want to tell them? That he put gangsters’ lieutenants’ heads in a duffel bag and presented it to their bosses? That he was vengeance, the night, the one and only Batman, just for a short while? Or the worst option, nothing at all?

Jason took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. When he was a kid, Batman was a symbol. A symbol of comfort, of revenge. Crime Alley, and Gotham as a whole, was a rough place to live. Batman, that was Gotham’s way of taking something back from the scum that had poisoned their city. He was satisfaction, he was all the pain repaid. A swift and terrible sword, set upon the superstitious and cowardly to defend the innocent and downtrod. Like the heroes in the storybooks that comforted him as a child.

“I am vengeance,” Jason whispered, and he turned the Cowl in his hands, “I am the night,” he slowly pulled it over his head, and raised his eyes to his family, flexing his chest and testing the new feel of the Batsuit.

“I am Batman,” he said clearly.

Tim shook with barely contained rage as Ra’s ran his fingers through Tommy’s curly hair, petting the boy’s head softly like all the creepy villains liked to do to seem more threatening. “Take your handsoff him,” Tim growled lowly, and Ra’s merely smirked and quirked an eyebrow.

“No, Young Detective, I rather think I’m comfortable here,” he supplied easily, continuing to stroke Tommy’s hair, “And before you try one of the many plans you’ve no doubt crafted in your head to disarm, dismember, incapacitate, or kill me, I should warn you; to do so would kill your son.”

Tim immediately stopped in his tracks, the hand that had been drifting toward the loose board in the doorframe that concealed a gun halting in midair. He narrowed his eyes as his pulse quickened; there was a chance that Ra’s was bluffing. But if he wasn’t… Tim gave it a 50/50 risk factor. And any amount of risk to Tommy was unacceptable. Tim bit back a growl, then spat, “Explain.”

Ra’s smiled at him thinly. “I thought that might get your attention,” he said smugly, “And not to worry; young Tommy has been slipped a few dozen doses of elephant tranquilizers, more than enough to bring even a part-Kryptonian physiology down into the deepest of sleeps. It is a technique I’ve been developing to one day deal with Superman, so I must thank you for the opportunity for a… how do you say it… ‘trial run’?”

Tim growled again, muttering, “Get to the point,Ra’s; before I decide that you’re bluffing and slice your neck open.”

“Intriguing,” Ra’s mused, “Your threats have become far more lethal in nature after your departure from the Bat.”

“Yeah, I don’t exactly subscribe to the program anymore,” Tim replied snarkily, and he swore he saw something resembling satisfaction in Ra’s eyes.

“Quite,” Ra’s grinned, “Very well, Young Detective, let us have a conversation. Though, I do believe it would be rude to ignore our last guest any longer.” Ra’s nodded to something behind Tim, and the former Robin whirled around to see a tall, bald man wearing an expensive suit sitting at his kitchen table, sipping on a glass of brandy, while a woman with straight brown hair waited on him.

“Good evening, Mr. Drake,” Lex Luthor said cordially, tipping his glass in greeting, “Quite the night you’re having, isn’t it?”

“What areyoudoing here, Luthor?” Tim growled, something fierce and protective taking over his voice, because now he was trapped in a room withtwoof the Justice League’s Most Wanted, and he wasn’t sure he could take them while protecting Tommy.

Luthor merely smiled, taking another sip of the brandy. “Please, boy, don’t insult me,” he said afterward, his voice filled with sudden scorn as he set his glass down, “You think I didn’t know about your antics in Paris the exactmomentyou decided to use my equipment?”

Tim’s heart skipped a beat. He’d been so careful… “Impossible,” he muttered desperately, grasping for any foothold he could find in the argument, “That’s impossible! I checked a dozen times over for any backdoors or monitor programs in that laboratory! It was abandoned foryears,I wassure of it!”

Lex sighed, muttering, “Dear boy, please; I do not abandon anything. Leave unattended, sure, forget about, maybe, but abandoned? Never. As soon as you entered that lab, specifically when you breathed in the stale air and upset the balance between carbon dioxide and oxygen in the environment, triggering the analogue sensors, a sort of low-tech silent alarm was set off, immediately bringing the Paris Lab to my attention. And then, of course, I quietly investigated just what you were up to; one small incursion to retrieve what you and the Justice League perceive as ‘valuable evidence’ is hardly worth a second look, after all. But then, you did somethingspecial,Mr. Drake… youcracked the code.”

“The code?” Tim questioned, starting to getveryannoyed at people talking in circles without actually answering his questions.

“Yousuccessfullypursued Kryptonian and Human hybrid species cloning,” Luthor supplied, a pleased smile creeping onto his lips, “You came to the same conclusions that I did when I created Conner. Congratulations, son; youwon.”

Tim’s fists clenched; his work being compared to Luthor’s… he couldn’t decide if that was a compliment or his greatest nightmare. “There’s one difference,” Tim responded, “Ididn’t createmyson to be a weapon.”

Luthor nodded his head in acknowledgement, a frown beginning to grace his features, “True. I won’t lie, there are days when I regret the circumstances of Conner’s creation, and in hindsight it was a mistake to partner with Amanda Waller to create Project Cadmus, but I doubt either you or I regret the fact that Connerwasmade. From what I hear from Ra’s, you’re practically all but my son-in-law, Tim.”

Lex Luthor was calling him by his first name. Lex Luthor was calling him hisson-in-law.An unwanted and unforeseen blush barely crept its way into Tim’s cheekbones, and he managed to stammer out, “N-No, I’m not-- Conner and I aren’t-- like that.”

“Of course not,” Lex agreed, obviously disagreeing with him, “But at any rate, youarethe father of my son’s child, so, I do believe you’ll have to forgive me for my own brand of shotgun diplomacy.”

“Which brings us back to the issue at hand,” Ra’s purred, rising from the bed in one easy, fluid motion, “You see, Young Detective, as soon as Lex discovered the exact nature of your dealings in Paris, he brought it to my attention; he knows of my…interestin you, you see, and thought it pertinent due to the fact that you were in my organization at the time.”

Tim smirked ruefully, muttering, “Can’t say I enjoyed the severance package.”

Ra’s scowled for a moment, “Yes, neither can I. You impressed me, Timothy; youenragedme. You crippled my organization, thwarted my plans, and though you did require the assistance of that crazed clown, you managed to legitimately defeat me in combat.”

“What Ra’s is trying to say, son,” Lex chuckled, “Is that you’ve proven yourself an asset to our new endeavor.”

“Me?” Tim asked incredulously, staring at the two of them, “You can’t be serious. I know I’m on the outs with the League, but youactuallythink you can get me to work foryou two?After I destroyed the League of Assassins, I figured I had made my stance clear on the matter.”

“Yes, well, thankfully, your stance is not a factor,” Lex said, taking another sip of his brandy for emphasis, and Tim’s stomach dropped as the beginnings of an idea began to form in his head.

“Tell me, son, have you heard the tale of how your elder brother, Richard Grayson, once spent time as Slade Wilson’s apprentice?” Lex asked him, and Tim’s hands shook.

“Of course I have,” Tim supplied, “I’m the-- Iwasthe librarian of the Bats. Back when he was still Robin, Deathstroke became obsessed with Dick’s ability, and devised a plan to use him as his apprentice. In order to accomplish this, Slade injected the original Teen Titans with nanobots set to destroy their bodies if Dick disobeyed. The plan worked, up until Dick and Cyborg outwitted him and destroyed the nanobots, freeing the Titans of Slade’s control.”

“A succinct summary,” Ra’s praised, and Tim shuddered as a finger trailed down the center of his back, almost…seductively,“I expected no less of you, Timothy.”

Tim shrugged it off; Ra’s was weird, always has been, always will be. “What about it?” Tim pressed on, “Surely you’re not stupid enough to try the same thing with me? Cyborg made the antivirus for those when he was a teenager, and now every tech-based hero the League has, from Batman to Blue Beetle, knows how to deal with them.”

“Heavens, no, not the exact same,” Lex said, sounding offended, “Though, I will admit we took some… artistic inspiration from his work.”

“The flaw in Deathstroke’s original plot was that the nanobots were foreign invaders,” Ra’s continued, sweeping past Tim into the main room, “They could be removed from the body, or neutralized without any harm done to the infected. Therefore, there was an obvious improvement to be made.”

Lex smiled, setting down his glass. “And, from one scientist to another, Tim, I know both you and I can’t resist the temptation to improve on the technology of yesterday,” he said with a grin, “So, Ra’s came to me with his plans for you, and I realized the logical next step in the nanobots’ evolution; rather than create a foreign invader, to be injected into the bloodstream and hope that the ‘heroes’ don’t find it, why not, instead, make it so that even if the heroesdofind it, which they inevitably will, they won’t be able to do a damn thing about it?”

“What are you talking about?” Tim snapped, “Stop talking in circles and tell me what you did, dammit!”

Lex chuckled easily, shaking his head and saying, “Kids today, so impatient. What I did, son, was I made a way for the nanobots to be spliced directly into the subject’s DNA; any attempt at removing them or otherwise neutralizing them willkillthe subject. And we all know how much your preciousJustice Leaguehates killing people.”

Tim scowled. “You expect me to believe that while I was with the League of Assassins, you spliced killer nanobots into my DNA?” he asked scornfully, “Yeah, no thanks. I know exactly what did and did not enter my body in those three months. Nobody ever took me to an operating table. Besides, I’ve checked my own DNA countless times since then; no foreign components.”

“Oh, Young Detective, I’m almost sad you don’t see it,” Ra’s sighed, his voice heavy with mock pity, “We didn’t spliceyourDNA…”

Lex grinned, gesturing with his glass to the dark room beyond Tim’s shoulder, “We spliced his.”

A cold stone of horror dropped in Tim’s gut as he turned to stare at his son. Sleeping peacefully, chest rising and falling slowly, totally oblivious to the mortal danger he was in. This was… impossible, wasn’t it? Tim knew the contents of Tommy’s DNA by heart; 70% human, 25% Kryptonian, and…

“The unknown 5%,” Tim realized in horror, his eyes widening, “No. No, you couldn’t have.Whendid you--?”

“When you were gallivanting off to find Bruce Wayne,” Lex supplied easily, “Honestly, you think I can’t break into myownfacilities?”

Tim fought the urge to whimper. It all made sense; the unknown 5% of Tommy’s DNA was thenanobots!The foreign influence on his DNA, perhaps some influence from Lazarus Water, was whatmusthave turned his son’s eyesgreen. All this time, ayearin hiding, it was all right in front of his nose and Tim just never saw it!! He was the smart Robin, dammit, he should be able to think of a way out of this!Think, Tim, think!You have to save Tommy! You have to save your boy!

“What’s to stop me from just killing you both right here and disappearing into the woodwork again?” Tim asked, lowering himself into a fighting stance, eyeing both Ra’s and Mercy warily; he wasn’t sure he could take both of them in a fight. Granted, he was wounded and exhausted when he fought Ra’s with the Joker, but now he was rusty and out of practice, and Ra’s had a cyborg superassassin on his side.

“Besides the fact that I severely doubt you could win that fight,” Ra’s smirked, “We have failsafes in place.” He pulled down the collar of his robe, revealing a surgical scar just above his heart; a… pacemaker?

“What you are looking at is a heart monitor,” Ra’s explained to him, “If my heartbeat stops, for any reason, it will trigger the hostile nanobots in your son’s DNA, and kill him. Lex’s heart is equipped with an identical device. If you disobey us, both Lex and I are equipped with these remotes.”

Both men produced small, handheld remotes from their pockets, with only one small red button, and Lex continued on the explanation, “If we decide to push these buttons, Tommy dies. If these remotes are removed more than ten feet from our bodies, Tommy dies. If these remotes are destroyed, Tommy dies.”

“And if, somehow, you manage to circumventallthese precautions,” Ra’s said with a grin, “Somewhere in the world, there is a monk, loyal to me, with a third remote. He has already pushed the button. If this monk does not receive his check-in from me once every day, he will remove his finger from the button, and Tommy dies.”

Tim still desperately tried to think of a way out, there had to be some way, something he could do that would keep Tommy safe; he was a superhero after all, wasn’t he? He was supposed to save the day, he was supposed to be the thing that helped little kids sleep soundly at night, he was…

… he was none of those things anymore. Gotham kids shivered in their beds at the mention of Red Robin, the superhero who went crazy and blew up their friend’s block. He was on the Justice League’s Most Wanted List. He’d killed, maimed, destroyed, and schemed his way to where he was today. As his late father was so fond of shouting at him during beatings, he was an Affront to God, both in his temptations and his deeds. Was there anything of the hero, of Robin, left in him?

There was something. One little sliver of heroics, the one that drove him to protect his son. The one he called fatherhood. And as smart as Tim was, as much as he prided himself on being able to overcome any enemy, any obstacle so long as he could think it through, he saw no good way out of this. There was no way to keep Tommy safe,andescape Ra’s and Lex’s clutches. Tim would have to sacrifice something; either his son, or his freedom.

And there was really only one choice in that.

“I have one condition,” he found himself saying, as his shoulders sagged in defeat.

“Name it, dear boy,” Lex said easily, and a triumphant light came to Ra’s poisonous green eyes.

“I’ll go with you,” Tim said shakily, “I’ll be your soldier, your scientist, your slave, whatever you want. But I choose where Tommy goes; I choose who raises him.”

Ra’s and Lex smiled as all their plans fell neatly into place; the Drake Asset was safe and secure.

“Of course, Young Detective,” Ra’s purred, “Of course.”

Later that day, on the outskirts of Gotham, New Jersey, in the high price neighborhood known as Gotham Heights, a beleaguered assassin by the name of Zeddmore Washington broke into the heavily fortified Batcave, at the behest of an old, dear friend who had fallen upon hard times.

The Cave was silent; Z’s friend assured him that at this time of day, the unassuming 4 o’clock in the afternoon, was the only time when all Bats would be out of the Cave, no matter their shift or patrol time. So, in that empty cavern, in front of the Batcomputer, Z laid the sleeping child in his arms down on the cold stone, frowning softly as he tucked a pillow under the boy’s head.

“Your Auntie Pru, Uncle Owens, and Uncle Z love you very much, young Tommy,” he whispered to the boy, though he was sure he’d never hear, “Live well.”

Carefully, Z laid down a VHS tape and a note next to the boy’s sleeping form, then stole away into the shadows, ignoring the tears falling slowly down his face.

Twenty minutes later, when Duke Thomas returned from his daily patrol, he happened upon the sleeping boy. In a shock, he read the note, stood up easily on the ground:

This is Tommy. His father loves him very much.

Chapter 19: The Times, They Are A-Changing

Chapter Text

Duke didnotknow what to do in this situation. There was a sleeping child in the Batcave.There was asleeping childin theBatcave!! And for once, he didn’t come with a tag that read “Property of Bruce Wayne”!

As the Signal, Duke had been trained in all sorts of things. He knew how to beat a room of gun-wielding goons senseless with nothing but two sticks. He knew how to jump a closing drawbridge on a motorcycle no one with an income less than $6 billion a year could afford. Hell, he even had some preliminary counsel training to calm down civilians after disasters. But this? Child care? This wasnotin the Batmanual.™

Tommy kept sleeping soundly, totally ignoring Duke’s panic attack. Also; Tommy? Where had Duke heard that name before? He racked his brain, trying to dredge up the memories of all the case files Bruce had ran him through; keeping up on cold and current cases was something each Bat was required to do, and Bruce had helped Duke make sense of all of them at least marginally. The system was designed so that if one Bat discovered something pertinent to another Bat’s case, information could be shared accordingly. And the name Tommy…

That was one of the key details of the Red Robin Case!Holy Shit!!This kid had something to do with the Red Robin Case!! Duke ran a hand through his hair; this day could not getanycrazier. “Okay, so,” he said out loud to himself, talking himself through the facts, like Bruce had taught him to, “There’s a kid sleeping in the Batcave. No one else is here. There’s a note, saying his name is ‘Tommy’, and there’s a connection to the whereabouts of Tim Drake. Cool, cool, cool… Man, Duke, today is justnotyour day.”

Duke looked down at the kid, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so. “Sh-Should I wake him up?” he wondered aloud, “Get Bruce? … Get Alfred? Fuck, why is there no protocol for ‘Lost Child in the Cave’? You’d think it happens enough around here…”

“Duke?” a weak, rasping voice asked, and Duke whirled around to face the Cave’s ICU, where the curtain was still drawn.

“Dick!” Duke realized, jogging over and pulling back the curtain to reveal the first Robin, laid up with all kinds of tubes and gadgets sticking out of him, breathing through a respirator, “I’m sorry man, I thought you’d be knocked out.”

Dick chuckled weakly, then winced as he disturbed his wounds from the battle with Hal Jordan. “I was,” he murmured, “Then I heard you freaking out to yourself; what’s going on? Did something happen on patrol?”

“N-No, nothing like that, it’s just there’s-- uh…” Duke started, then petered off; how the hell was he going to explain this?

“Just spit it out,” Dick told him, “Whatever it is, I swear I’ve heard worse.”

“It’s not bad!” Duke assured him, “O-Or at least, I don’t think it’s bad? It’s definitely weird though.”

Dick rolled his eyes from where he lay, “Then I’ve heard weirder. What is it, kid?”

Duke took a fortifying breath, then said, “There is a, uh, small child, sleeping in the Cave?”

Dick looked at him. “What?” he managed.

“There is a small child sleeping in the Cave,” Duke repeated.

Dick laid further back into his pillow, sighing a long, drawn out sigh. “Did you wake him up?” he asked eventually, and Duke shook his head fervently.

“Wh-What am I supposed to do here?” Duke asked nervously, “Do we have plans for this? I-Is there something in the manual I missed?”

“No, no, this one is new,” Dick confirmed, sounding more resigned to life than Duke had ever heard the normally jovial man, “Alright, look; go get Alfred and Bruce, and we’ll go from there-”

“H-Hello?” a high, nervous voice echoed through the Cave, and Duke and Dick froze, “Dad?”

Duke and Dick stared at each other. “Dad??” the voice called again; the poor kid sounded on the verge of tears.

“Don’t just stand there, go help him!!” Dick hissed, and Duke jumped.

“Right, right!!” he nodded, and he threw his helmet back on, jogging back out into the main Cave.

“Uh, hey, kid!” he said awkwardly, “Are you lost?”

“Who are you?” the kid, Tommy, demanded, whirling to face him with wide, fearful eyes, “Where am I? Where’s my dad?”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” Duke said placatingly, holding out his hands, “You’re safe here, no one’s gonna hurt you. My name’s Signal, I work for Batman; you know Batman, right?”

Tommy gulped nervously, trying to compose himself. “Y-Yeah,” he managed, in a voice that was painfully high, “Yeah, I know Batman.”

“That’s great!” Duke said with a smile, “Then you know that Batman works at the Batcave, right? Wellthis,” Duke waved his hands in the air, “Is the Batcave! Pretty cool, right?”

Tommy looked around, from Duke to the Batcomputer to the Batmobile to the expansive caverns, and shivered slightly. “Batman lives in Gotham,” he said softly.

“Uh… yeah, yeah he does,” Duke agreed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly; what was he supposed to say to that?

“Gotham is in New Jersey,” Tommy said, as if reiterating a point he’d already made.

“Um… yes it is?” Duke continued on. Seriously, what was he missing?

Tommy finally looked back at Duke, a new round of tears in his eyes. “I live inAlaska,” he said, his voice wobbling, and Duke gulped.

“Ah! No no no, d-don’t cry, it’s okay!!” Duke said frantically, “Uh, I’m sure there’s aperfectlyreasonable explanation as to how you got from Alaska to New Jersey.”

“N-No, I gotta get back to Fairbanks!” Tommy wailed, “My dad, he gets scared if he doesn’t know where I am! He’ll come looking! He’ll think the Bad Men took me!”

Duke stopped in his tracks. “The Bad Men?” he quoted, and Tommy nodded frantically.

“Dad and I are running away from the Bad Men!” he insisted, “If he comes looking for me, they’ll find him! We have to stop him!!”

“Uh, hey, hey, it’s okay!” Duke assured the little boy, kneeling down to be on his eye level, “I’m sure your dad’s okay! There’s nothing to be scared about, okay? We’re gonna keep you safe, and we’re gonna get you back to him soon, no problem!”

Tommy didn’t seem to quite believe him, whimpering out a small, “Y-You promise?”

Duke stared at the kid’s piercing green eyes. “Y-Yeah, I promise,” he found himself saying, and Tommy flung himself into Duke’s arms, beginning to sob. Duke gasped as the kid drove all the air out of his chest; he hithard.Must have hit his solar plexus or something. Duke winced and patted the kid on the back, trying to calm him down.

“Hey, kid, how would you like to meet Nightwing?” Duke asked, trying to leave Tommy with Dick so he could run and go get Bruce, but to his surprise, Tommy full on flinched against him.

“D-Don’t mention Nightwing,” Tommy told him quietly, as if sharing a secret, “Dad doesn’t like Nightwing. If you mention him, his heartbeat gets really fast and he breaks whatever he’s holding.”

Duke kinda had to stop and think about that one. There was somebody out there who didn’t likeDick?Dick was one of the most likeable guys Duke had ever met! What was he, a jilted ex-lover or something?

“Okay, okay, no Nightwing, got it,” Duke said, half to himself, and looked up at the stairs, “Well, no real alternative, I guess. Let’s go upstairs, kid.”

“Okay,” Tommy said quietly, tucking his face into Duke’s shoulder as he carried him up towards the Manor.

“Hey, kid, can you tell me your name?” Duke asked as he climbed the steps; it would be really weird if he had to explain how he already knew it. Tommy didn’t seem like he’d noticed the note.

“I-It’s Tommy,” he whispered, still trying to calm down from his tears.

“Hi, Tommy, it’s nice to meet you,” Duke said to the boy, rubbing his back soothingly as he kicked at the pedal to open the concealed door behind the grandfather clock in the foyer, “You got a last name?”

“Nuh-uh,” Tommy answered, “I’m in a new place. Dad always tells me what my last name is when I’m in a new place. He hasn’t told me yet, so I don’t have a last name.”

“Uh-huh…” Duke responded vaguely;thatcouldn’t be a good sign.

Finally, Duke stepped out into the natural light of Wayne Manor. Kori was sitting on the lounge at the opposite wall, bored out of her skull, and popped up like a light when Duke passed through the clock. “Duke!” she said brightly, “How was your patrol? -- Who is that child in your arms?”

“I thought you said your name was Signal?” Tommy questioned, and Duke whined sadly.

“Uh, Kori, meet Tommy, Tommy, meet Kori!” he said with fake cheer, then looked Kori dead in the eye and mouthed, ‘HELP ME’.

Kori nodded in understanding as the situation dawned on her, and she flashed Tommy a bright smile, which the little boy tentatively returned. “Hello, little one!” she said warmly, “I am Koriand’r. Where did you come from?”

Tommy swallowed nervously. “A-Alaska,” he said quietly.

“Alaska?” Kori said with overblown surprise, “That is quite far for someone so young! How did you find yourself here? Did you come all by yourself?”

“No!” Tommy said defensively, “Er, I don’t think so. I don’t… I don’t remember…”

Duke set Tommy down on the ground, saying, “Hey, Tommy, how about I leave you with Miss Kori for a sec while I go get Batman, alright? Stay here.”

“Hey, wait-!!” Tommy protested, but at that moment, someone new entered the room.

“Here you are, Mistress Kori, a platter of fresh citrus-- oh!” Alfred gasped as he turned the corner, a silver platter of oranges and mangoes in hand, “Dear me. Master Signal, who might this young man be?”

“Uh, Alfred, this is Tommy,” Duke explained nervously, “I found him in the Cave. Asleep. And alone.”

Tommy eyed the old man warily as Alfred set down the platter, approaching the boy cautiously. “Are you Batman’s Butler?” he asked suddenly, and Alfred stopped in surprise.

“I… well, yes, I suppose I am,” Alfred said ponderingly, and Tommy rushed over to him, hugging the old man’s leg tightly.

“Dad said I can trust you,” Tommy said, then turned back to look at Duke, “NotNightwing.” He stuck his tongue out.That little twerp-!

“Hey, I’m not Nightwing! I’m Signal!” Duke protested, but Tommy ignored him, burying his face into Alfred’s pantleg.

“Dear me, seems like someone’s grown attached,” Alfred mused, “Master Signal, would you mind going up to fetch Master Bruce. I do believe we should settle this matter down in the Cave.”

Duke nodded, then promptly fled up the stairs, leaving Tommy in the capable hands of Alfred and Kori.

Bruce sighed internally as he yawned and stretched and tried to come to life for the day. Bats always kept ungodly hours, so waking up at about 4:30 in the afternoon in order to keep up a healthy-ish sleep schedule for nocturnal crimefighting became a regular routine for a lot of them. What Bruce wasn’t expecting, however, was for Duke to burst into his room, accidentally wake him up from a wonderful dream about Selina, and beg him to come downstairs because there was a wayward child in the Cave.

So Bruce resigned himself to the craziness of his life as he hobbled down the stairs after his ward, his brain only just beginning to function. Wayward children weren’t exactly an uncommon occurrence in his house, but it was strange that this one found his way into the Cave without Bruce’s knowing of it. The last one who didthatwas Tim…

Bruce shook himself, then rubbed a hand over his face, grimacing as he realized he forgot to shave. Ah, well. “Duke,” he said clearly, organizing his thoughts, “Tell me the kid’s name again?”

“Wha-? Oh! He says it’sTommy,” Duke responded, and Bruce stopped in the middle of the stairs, Duke turning to look back at him. “That’s one of the details on the Red Robin Case, right?” he asked tentatively, “The name Tommy?”

“Y-Yes,” Bruce managed to respond, starting his way back down the stairs again, “Yes it is.”

This was a new and startling development; Tommy was a child? Was Tommy still the clone? Is this even the right Tommy, or just a strange, unfortunate coincidence? Bruce reached the Cave, where Alfred and Kori were entertaining the young boy, and Barbara had begun running what looked like a DNA test on the Batcomputer; excellent initiative. Most of the family seemed to be assembled; even Jason had returned from the Watchtower. Bruce would have to ask how the meeting went. But, first things first.

“Hello, Tommy,” Bruce called across the Cave, and the boy turned to look at him. Bruce studied his features; wavy black hair, not quite curly and not quite straight. Piercing green eyes, uncommon intelligence behind them, too. If Bruce had to guess, Tommy was probably at an above-average reading level for his age, possibly a genius-level intellect in the making. Vast potential.

“Hello,” he said uncertainly, eyeing Bruce mistrustfully. Yes, uncommon intelligence indeed; even at such a young age, Tommy was already learning to assess and analyze potential threats, even if unconsciously.

“My name is Bruce Wayne,” he said cordially, "You seem to have wandered into my basement. Do you know how?"

Tommy shook his head quickly, and his hair fell in front of his eyes; Tommy pushed it out of the way easily. A common issue, then.

"Okay, then," Bruce answered, crossing over to kneel next to the boy, "Where were you before? Where are your parents?"

"I live in Alaska with my dad," Tommy answered easily, "But before that I lived in Utah. And before that Manitoba. And beforethatwe lived in a really little place in Upstate New York that I didn't like, so we moved."

Bruce nodded along; Alaska, Utah, Manitoba, Upstate New York. All good places to hide from prying eyes. "No mom?" Bruce asked, "Just your dad?"

"I have an aunt and uncles, too," Tommy said, almost defensively, "But yeah, it's usually just my dad and me."

One aunt, more than one uncle. Interesting. “Okay,” Bruce said again, “Can you tell me your dad’s name?”

Tommy eyed him suspiciously. Most of the family turned to look at the conversation, even Barbara turned to face them while the test ran itself.

“Are you gonna do something bad if I tell you?” Tommy asked, and Bruce raised an eyebrow. Such a cautious question; indicative of a life on the run?

“No,” Bruce answered truthfully. Especially not if Tommy’s father was who he suspected.

Tommy narrowed his little green eyes. “Why should I believe you?” he pressed, and Bruce sighed.

“I’m Batman,” he supplied.

Tommy’s eyes widened with childlike awe, just a little bit; good, so his childhood was still intact. Tommy pursed his lips, then nodded a little bit. “Dad said I can always trust Batman, and Batman’s Butler,” he said sagely, as if quoting a great philosopher, and Bruce allowed himself a small, amused grin. “Auntie Pru and Uncle Owens only call Dad ‘Boss’,” Tommy supplied, and Bruce filed the names ‘Pru’ and ‘Owens’ away for later, “But Uncle Z calls him by a real name.”

“And what name is that?” Bruce asked patiently, and Barbara’s test dinged, signalling its completion.

“‘Tim’,” Tommy said, and up on the screen of the Batcomputer, the grinning face of Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne showed up as a paternal match.

Something caught in Bruce’s throat as he stared at his son’s eyes.

“Oh! Oh! That’s him!” Tommy cried excitedly, pointing toward the screen, “That’s my dad!”

Alfred covered his mouth in astonishment. Cass’s mouth hung open in shock. The whole Cave sat in stunned silence.

A son. Tim Drake had a son. And none of them ever knew.

Soft, quiet sobbing echoed across the Cave, and Bruce turned to look at where Dick lay in his hospital bed, his head propped up on pillows to see the Batcomputer’s screen. “It all makes sense now,” he whispered, “The reason he was so scared, the reason he was so desperate… he was trying to protect hisson.Jesus, why didn’t I see it? What did he hide it for? Why did--?”

“Hush, Grayson,” Damian said softly, something resembling concern or care in his voice as he crossed the Cave to comfort his injured brother, “Don’t work yourself up. You need to focus on your own recovery; then we can deal with Drake.”

Dick’s sobs quieted, but did not stop as Damian tried to get him to drink a glass of water. Jason still stared at the paternity match, looking between the screen and Tommy with a dumbfounded look on his face. “Nuh-uh,” he muttered, half to himself, “No way. No way Replacement got some chick pregnant. No way.No way.”

Steph looked the most distraught, whispering urgently with Barbara and Cass and struggling to hold back tears. “That kid looks like he’s five years old!” she hissed, “Tim and I were stilldatingback then! Fucking hell, Tim would have beenthirteen!Was he-- was hecheating on me??”

Tommy wrinkled his nose distastefully at all of them. “What are you all talking about?” he asked, “Dad wasn’t thirteen when I was born. He was seventeen.”

That managed to get everyone’s attention again. “Wait a minute, that… doesn’t add up right at all,” Roy said puzzledly, “How old are you, kid?”

“Nine,” Tommy said easily.

“Nineyears old??” Barbara asked incredulously, “Thatcan’tbe right.”

Tommy shook his head. “Not years,” he said, as if Barbara had said something supremely silly, “Months. I was born last September.”

Bruce sighed and slumped his shoulders as the rest of the Cave sat in dumbfounded silence. “So youarethe clone,” he sighed, and the whole Batfamily stopped to stare at him.

“Clone?” Jason asked incredulously.

“Youknewabout this??” Steph demanded.

“No. Yes. I-- it’s complicated,” Bruce sighed, tripping over his words as he fumbled for coherent thoughts.

“Well thenuncomplicate it!” Barbara sighed, pursing her lips and giving him a hard look, and Bruce sighed.

“Ugh, about five months ago, I recruited the Justice Society to investigate the whereabouts of Tim’s secret laboratory,” Bruce explained quickly, standing up and stretching out his strained muscles as he did so, “They found it beneath an abandoned building in Paris. Inside, they managed to find evidence that Tim was pursuing cloning technology. But there were no clues to his current whereabouts.”

“And we were not told about thiswhy?” Damian asked harshly, and Bruce sighed again.

“You were compromised, all of you!” he cried, “Hell,Iwas compromised! But I swore that I wouldn’t rest until he was home and I was doing myjob,dammit!”

“HEY!!” a young voice cried, echoing through the Cave, and they all looked down at little Tommy, who clenched his fists and pouted. “It’s rude to ignore someone, y’know,” he muttered, “How do you know my dad? Why are you looking for him? Whoareyou people!?!”

Bruce sighed one final time as his shoulders slumped. He leaned on his cane a bit, and rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “Tommy…” he started hesitantly, “Your dad… your dad was my son. He… he saved my life, and now that everything’s settled again, I just want… I just want my son home. I want my family back together again.”

Tommy eyed him scrutinously. Or, as scrutinously as a nine-month-old clone could. “You mean… you’re my Grandpa?” he asked tentatively, and something stirred in Bruce’s chest.

“Y-Yes, Tommy,” he managed, “I’m your Grandpa.”

Tommy ran forward and hugged him, and Bruce wheezed a little as he felt the impact; quite a strong hit for someone so young. Tommy’s little hands squeezed the fabric of Bruce’s sweater, and he wrapped his arms around the older man’s waist as much as he could, holding on so tight he seemed afraid that Bruce might disappear.

“Dadalwaystalked about you,” Tommy whispered, “He always told me how kind you were, how you helped him, how you taught him to be a dad. I-I always asked if I could meet you, but he always said n-no, and I--” Tommy sucked in a wobbly breath, and Bruce patted his back soothingly. “Thank you for teaching my dad how to dad,” Tommy finished, “You did a really good job.”

Bruce had no idea how to respond to that.

“I have a question,” Roy said, raising his hand as if he were in school, and Bruce turned to look at him.

“Yes, Roy?” he asked, a little unsure of what might come out of the redhead’s mouth next.

“Uh, if Tommy’s a clone, then… who’s clone is he?” Roy asked, and Barbara hummed thoughtfully.

“That’s a good point; running checks now,” she answered, and the Batcomputer hummed away. While they were waiting, Bruce looked beside her, and noticed an old VHS tape sitting beside the keyboard.

“What’s this?” he asked, picking up the tape, and Barbara panicked.

“Ah, uh! That’s, uh--” she floundered, but Duke beat her to it.

“That was on the floor, next to Tommy,” he said, and Barbara shot him a death glare, which he quickly withered under.

Bruce stared at the tape with a new perspective. “Then it’s from Tim,” he said ponderingly, and Barbara cringed.

“Bruce, no, we can’t be sure about that,” she said quickly, “Besides, we have no idea what’s on it, it could be…” she spared a glance at Tommy, “... graphic.”

“It’s from Tim,” Bruce said again, “He put it next to his son. It’s safe.”

“But Bruce-!” Barbara tried again, but her voice died as soon as she saw Bruce’s face.

“My son is on the run,” Bruce said seriously, his voice laced with pain and determination, “Something sent Tim running scared. Scared enough that he entrusted to us the care of hisonly son.This tape is from him; he is trying to tell us something. If there isanyway to help him, it’ll be on here. Nowplayit.”

Barbara sighed, then looked to the others for support. To her dismay, however, there seemed to be nothing but morbid curiosity about the tape’s contents. Cass looked her dead in the eye. “Play,” she said emphatically.

Barbara sighed, then shoved the tape into the player. “Alright,” she sighed, “But don’t blame me when we’re all scarred for life.”

Up on the Batcomputer’s screen, pushing aside the clone donor test, showed a video feed of none other than Tim Drake himself, sitting in a sunny, well-lit room.

“Oh!” Tommy exclaimed, “That’s our house in Utah!!”

“Bruce,” Tim said from the video, smiling a soft, wounded sort of smile, “If you’re seeing this, that means that you’ve met your first grandchild. Congratulations; I’m sure you’re thrilled. And… I’m sure you’re worried.

“If you’re watching this, then that means that something happened to me. I… I went through hell to get you back, Bruce, and someday, no matter how far or how fast I run, that’s all going to… catch up with me. Whether I like it or not. Now I’ll run as long as I can, but… I’m a bird with broken wings. I can’t fly that far. And if they catch me, then… then you deserve to know the truth.”

The Batfamily watched as Tim took a deep breath, and swallowed down a lump in his throat. In the background, a child’s shriek of delight came from another room, and Tim reflexively smiled, only to turn back to the camera and frown again. “I’m sure the rest of you are watching this,” he continued on, “I’m sure you’ve been imagining what the past months have been like for me. I’m sure you’ve been imagining something illegal, something nefarious, something… something that will justify your treatment of me. And all I can say for myself is… please, please forgive me.

“I was so lost. I was so broken, I- I didn’t know what to do. My heart and my head had no idea what was happening anymore, and I came to realizations I was never aware of until just then. You… you never know what you have until it’s gone. And I lost Conner. I lost Bart. I lost Jack. I lost… I lost a lot. And I… Life took so much from me, I just wanted to--- to take somethingbackfor a change.”Tim rubbed his face, and his voice caught and broke in places, like he was crying. Tommy watched his father’s face with growing concern; Barbara checked the results of the clone donor search, and gasped.

“I just wanted him back,” Tim said, almost begging, “Please, you have to forgive me, I just wanted him back. I-I mean, Clark came back, why couldn’t he? Why did he have to stay dead? Why just when I realized that I-- that I-- that Ilovedhim.”

Tim stopped to wipe his eyes.

“And I did everything to bring him back. I went to Rip Hunter, I went to Doctor Fate, I went to Booster Gold, I went to John Constantine, I went to the Spectre, I went to every mystic and time-traveller I could think of, and they all told me I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring my Clone Boy back to life. I was losing it, I was getting sloppy on patrol, I was starting to endanger myself and others, I-- I couldn’t keep being Robin like that, so I took a sabbatical in Europe.

“But all that did was give me time to think. God, did I think. I found an old Lexcorp facility that the Titans busted ages ago, and I got to work. I tried… I tried to grow another one; another one ofhim.And I… I know it was wrong, I know I was wrong, that it wouldn’t be him, but I was just so desperate, I stabilized the sample the only way I could, with my own DNA, and I just-!!!”

Tim stopped, covering his mouth. “It felt like I was underwater,” he explained, “I felt like I couldn’t breathe. And then--- and then---” Tim actually sobbed, and Bruce pulled Tommy into his arms as he watched his son fall apart. “And then his heart started to beat,” Tim sobbed out, “His heart was beating. He was alive, he was living, he had a soul and a life and he… he was myson.Imadeason.And that sound, that heartbeat, pulled me back up to the surface again.

“So Bruce, I’m begging you,” Tim said seriously, staring right at the camera, right into Bruce’s soul, “I’mbeggingyou. Please take care of my boy. He’s all I have left. … He’s all I have left.”

Tim swallowed hard, then took a breath and looked at the camera once more. “And Tommy,” he said again, trying to get a handle on his wobbling voice, “My little Tommy. Thomas Martin Drake-Wayne. This… this is gonna be the last time you hear my voice. And I’m so sorry for that. I’m so sorry, kiddo. I’m so sorry. But… But your dad’s a Bad Man, and he has to go away now, and pay for what he’s done. These people… they’re my family. You can trust them. They’re gonna take care of you. Live a good life, Tommy. I love you so much, and I’m so, so proud of you. Go live on without me.

“I love you, son.”

As the video ended, the clone donor match finally came back on screen. Conner Kent. Superboy.

Tommy sobbed openly into Bruce’s chest, crying out, “Liar, liar, liar!! Why’s Dad lying?? He’s not a Bad Man! He’s not!! He’s not he’s not he’s not he’snot!!!”

Cass only stared at the screen, sighing to herself. “Oh, Little Brother,” she whispered, “Where are you?”

Tim cried out as the bo staff struck his ribs again. “You must pay for your crimes, Young Detective,” Ra’s called from somewhere above him, “One blow taken for each life of an assassin you took!”

Tim gasped in pain as the bo staff struck once more.

“I have the full casualty count here, would you like to hear it?” Ra’s asked playfully, and Tim gritted his teeth as another blow fell.

“It says here that you managed to kill one million, two hundred and seventy three thousand, eight hundred andsevenpeople that day, Young Detective,” Ra’s said with mock pride, “Quite impressive. What number of blows are we up to now, Ubu?”

“Two hundred, Great One,” the tall, beefy man answered, then Tim was struck again, “Two hundred and one.”

“Excellent,” Ra’s purred, sweeping down into the bloodied pit where five assassins with various blunt weapons were whaling on Tim without mercy, one after another.

Tim spat blood at the Demon’s Head’s feet, and Ra’s quirked an eyebrow. “Ah, so there is still some fighting spirit left in there,” he observed, “Though I don’t think I need to remind you what happens if you try to fight back against this punishment?”

Tim grunted as the assassin cronies hit him in the side again.

“Honestly, Young Detective, you’re lucky,” Ra’s mused, “Usually, I value a human life at at least fifty blows per person, but seeing the exorbitantnumbersof your crime, I had to make adjustments. After all, it would be a shame to kill you on your first day.”

Tim tried his best not to scream as yet another blow landed.

Ra’s knelt to be on his eye level, eyeing the wrought iron manacles holding Tim’s arms and legs in place with something carnal and hungry in his eyes. Another blow struck, and Tim grunted.

“It’s alright, Young Detective,” Ra’s purred smoothly, “I know you’re in suchgreat pain.Let it out. Scream. Curse. Shout. Weep. Cry for your mother.”

Tim made a point to only grunt as Blow #208 hit home.Don’t give him the satisfaction,he thought to himself,don’t let him have control.

“My mother…” Tim whispered through bloody teeth, and Ra’s leaned in to listen as Tim let out a pained wheeze from the latest hit. Ra’s tucked a hand under his chin, guiding his head upward.

“Yes, Young Detective…?” he prompted.

“My mother… was abitch,” Tim growled, and he grinned savagely as another blow struck his abdomen.

Ra’s only smiled. “When this unpleasantness is over,” he said standing up and addressing a page nearby, “Have a man and a woman sent to the Young Detective’s room.” Ra’s sent a glance back at Tim, then added, “Apleasantman and woman.”

“It will be done, Great One,” the page said with a sweeping bow, and Ra’s left the chamber.

Tim huffed a breath as another blow landed. Then he grunted. Then he wheezed. Then he shut his eyes tight and tried to power through.

Then he finally screamed.

Chapter 20: It's Good to Be Back

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: The Prodigal Son Returns

Chapter Text

Bruce, Clark, Diana, Bart, and Cassie watched in nothing short of open-mouthed horror as Tim smiled and waved for the cameras, laughing as he gave a warm hug to Lex Luthor and went back up to the podium.

“So!” he laughed, “I’m gonna go off on a limb and assume this is a surprise for most people!”

“Mr. Drake!”a reporter cried from the crowd, “Summer Gleason, Gotham Gazette! Have you really accepted a job at LexCorp? Haven’t Lex Luthor and your father stood opposed for years now?”

Tim laughed lightly, as if the very suggestion of animosity between Bruce Wayne and Lex Luthor was nothing short of silly. “Yes, I know it’s a shock, but I reallyhavetaken a job at LexCorp!” he chuckled, “Lex and my father have never had the greatest relationship, that’s true, but not enough so that Bruce would stop me from pursuing a future. Besides, I’m a legal adult now! I have the right to decide my own fate, and so far, head of LexCorp’s R&D sounds like my best option!”

“Mr. Drake!” another reporter cried, “Pete Parker, New York Times! Shouldn’t you attend college before taking an executive spot at a multibillion dollar company?”

Tim laughed again, waving off Lex as the elder man tried to step in. “It’s fine, Lex, it’s fine; it’s a reasonable question! Thank you for the question, Mr. Parker, but you can rest assured, I’ve taken all required exams from Gotham University and passed with flying colors; have my degree and everything. Bruce was very enthusiastic about my schooling when I was younger, hence why I’m so far ahead of the curve; it’s an unusual situation, so I understand the initial reaction, but I have full confidence in my ability to run this facility, especially with Lex’s welcome help!”

The crowd rippled, and a familiar head of long black hair muscled her way through the crowd. “Mr. Drake!Lois Lane, Daily Planet,” she cried, Jimmy Olsen faithfully taking a million shots at her side, “You haven’t been seen for months, almost a year away from Gotham. Where have you been?”

Tim faltered for just a fraction of a second, his grin dropping ever so slightly, before it was back on in full force. “Alaska, Miss Lane,” he answered easily, “LexCorp owns a lovely compound up there, and with Bruce’s disappearance and illness, I needed some time away to clear my head. Lex, a longtime friend, offered to let me use the cottages up there. The scenery really is beautiful, helps to clear the mind.”

Lois didn’t stop there, though, instead pressing on, “Is it true you had a falling out with your older brother, Dick Grayson? Is this plant supposed to send some sort of passive aggressive message to your family? How do you think this is affecting your father Bruce, still in recovery from his harrowing kidnapping experience?”

Tim’s face fell at the mention of Dick’s name. He tried to plaster a grin back on, but it was far less bright and easygoing than the one before. “I assure you, Miss Lane, Dick and I are on reasonable terms,” he managed, “No, this job isn’t meant to send any kind of message; just that I’m moving on with my life, and that I plan to help Gotham into the future, just as my father taught me to. As for the man himself, I wish Bruce the swiftest of recoveries, and if he’s watching, I’d tell him to relax and rest up; Gotham is safe in LexCorp’s capable hands. No more questions, thank you.”

Lex ushered Tim back into the limousine, and off they drove, leaving a sea of outraged reporters in their wake.

Bruce carefully clasped his hands over his mouth, trying not to betray any emotion upon seeing his son lie and act so fluently, enough so that no one but the most trained would be able to tell he was lying; even Bruce had trouble reading him sometimes.

The rest of the Cave, however, was far less composed. “Luthor!?” Jon growled, “He’s palling around withLuthor!?Why I oughta fly right over there an’ give him a piece of my mind--!”

“Jon,no,” Clark said admonishingly, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. But he still looked disturbed as he glanced up at the Batcomputer, thinking about how much damage someone with the knowledge of Robin and the resources of Lex Luthor could do to the Superhero Community.

Diana clenched her fists at her sides, remaining stonily silent.

Cassie and Bart, however, were the most vocal. “He’s lying!” Bart cried angrily, “Tim’dneverwork for Luthor,never!He-- He’s gotta be in danger! That’s it! We gotta get over there and save him, so he can come home and--!!”

“Bart,” Cassie said quietly, beggingly, and Impulse stopped, looking at her in confusion, “Please, just… slow down,” she asked softly, and Bart’s eyes widened as a tear fell down Wonder Girl’s cheek.

“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” Bart asked urgently, zipping over to wipe her tears, “Why’re you crying? Don’t cry! We’re gonna get him back, you’ll see!”

“N-No, Bart, we won’t,” Cassie sighed, wiping the tear away herself, “He hates us. You saw, you heard what he said when he came back to Gotham. I betrayed him, Dick betrayed him, the whole damn League betrayed him, and all along, he wasright.And we couldn’t even track him down to say ‘sorry’. This… this has to be some kind of punishment for us.”

“I don’t believe that,” Bart said stubbornly, setting his jaw, “Iwon’tbelieve that. Andyoucan’t believe that either! None of you can!” Impulse rounded on the assembled adults angrily, shouting, “He’s stillourTim! He’s still our Robin! I don’t care what you say or what Luthor says or what Tim is beingforcedto say! There’s something fishy going on here, andI’mgoing to find out what it is!!”

“Impulse-!” Bruce cried, but the speedster was already out the door and across the city. Bruce growled, then levelled a glare at the rest of the Cave’s occupants. “Duke,” he almost snarled, and Signal jumped in fear.

“Y-Yes, Batman!” he yelped, and Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get a handle on his temper.

“S-Sorry,” he murmured, “Does Tommy know his father is back in the city?”

Duke shook his head quickly, “He’s asleep, taking a midday nap or something. Cass is watching him. He hasn’t reacted to anything, so I don’t think he’s heard. I-If he’s got Kryptonian DNA, then does that mean he has Super-Hearing?”

“Most likely,” Bruce said with a nod, “We have to treat Tommy as if he’s a full-blooded Kryptonian, until we test the limits of his powers. Luckily, the Cave is sound-shielded, but from now on, everyone is towatch what they sayin the Manor. If Tommy finds out Tim is back in town, things could get… messy.”

“I’m sorry, the Cave iswhat?” Clark asked incredulously. Bruce ignored him.

“I’d like to speak to Tommy,” Diana said, “I am good with children.”

Jon perked up immediately, saying, “Ooh, ooh! I could help him with his powers! He’s littler than me, but I still remember how my powers worked at that age!”

“Good idea, do it,” Bruce nodded, then turned to Cassie, “Would you like to meet him as well?”

Wonder Girl fidgeted uncomfortably. “I, uh…” she murmured, rubbing at her still-wet eyes, “N-No, I should probably go check on Conner-”

“Don’t worry, Kara’s with him,” Clark assured her, holding up his phone, “She texted me that she found him beating up the Himalayas. Don’t really think you’d get there in time, what with no super speed or anything.”

Cassie sighed, and looked at her feet. “Then is it weird that I feel like I don’t really have a right to?” she said forlornly, “What am I supposed to say? ‘I’m a friend of your father’s’? Tim and I… wewerefriends.Reallygood friends. But after all that stuff with Red Robin, and Ra’s, and the League… I can’t really say I’m his favorite person anymore.”

Diana sighed, sitting down next to her protege and slinging an arm around her shoulder. “Then perhaps you should join Impulse in questioning him,” she said musingly, “Find out for yourself where you stand. Time can heal these wounds, Cassie, time and dedication; just go to him and tell him you’re sorry. If you’re sincere, and if he’s truly still the man he was before, then he’ll see that.”

Cassie wiped her eyes, muttering, “You really think so?”

Diana laughed ruefully. “Men are still a fascinating enigma to me,” she admitted, “I didn’t have the privilege to grow among them as you did. However, as long as I’ve been interacting with them, one thing remains constant: they don’t understand us just as much as we don’t understand them. With men, you must be direct; just go and tell Tim how you feel.”

“Wouldn’t exactly call it a ‘privilege’,” Cassie sighed, but she stood up with a smile, “But I’ll give it a shot. Thanks, Diana.”

With a nervous smile, Wonder Girl flew out of the Cave as fast as she could, leaving only the Trinity left… and Duke and Jon.

Bruce sighed, rubbing his eyes, then his face, feeling the rough stubble scratch against his hands. He’d forgotten to shave again; he needed to pay more attention. “Is what Impulse suggested a possibility?” Diana asked quietly, “Could this all be some sort of elaborate blackmail scheme? Is Tim being held against his will?”

Bruce slumped his shoulders, turning to face her. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, “It’s what I’d like to believe, but… what could Luthor be holding over him? My first thought was that something was wrong with Tommy, but the boy’s in perfect health. Not only that, he’s being guarded by eleven of the most dangerous and capable people on the planet. He’s in the safest spot he could be in, so where is Luthor’s bargaining power?”

“What about something like what Deathstroke did to Dick and the original Titans?” Clark asked, “Those nanobots in the bloodstream?”

“I’ve already inspected Tommy’s bloodstream for anything similar,” Bruce responded wearily, “There’s nothing there, no abnormalities.”

“It might not be Tommy’s life in danger,” Diana suggested, “Luthor could be threatening Tim’s own life. I’ve seen Amazons crumble under less pressure.”

“That’s not it,” Bruce said immediately, and his friends looked at him strangely.

“You sound sure about that,” Clark noticed.

“I am,” Bruce nodded, then frowned unhappily, “Tim has… Tim has never held his own life in high regard.”

Clark and Diana’s eyes widened subtly. “Jon, go play upstairs,” Clark ordered, his tone leaving no room for debate. Looking slightly shaken, the young Superboy sped off into the Manor.

“Duke,” Bruce said, not taking his eyes off Clark and Diana, “Go make sure Jon doesn’t say anything he shouldn’t.”

“On it,” Duke said with a nod, bounding back up the stairs and away from the awkward conversation.

“Bruce,” Diana asked carefully, “Do you mean to tell me Tim is suicidal?”

“Nothing so dramatic,” Bruce said with a sigh, “I have extensive psychological profiles on all my children; after the fiasco with Jason, I was especially careful with Tim. Even more so when I found out about his abusive childhood. Jack and Janet Drake were far from loving parents. Tim was raised to believe he didn’t matter, that his life was merely accessory to theirs; his mother especially drove this idea home with her so-called ‘training’ for his predestined future in business. I… I’m ashamed to say I don’t think I helped matters when I sent him to train around the world with characters like King Snake and Lady Shiva. After becoming Robin, Tim found enough companionship in the Titans and in the Cave that these self-esteem issues were rooted out considerably, but I have noticed a… tendency for self sacrifice.”

“Jesus,Bruce,” Clark sighed exasperatedly, rubbing his temple with his hand.

“I’ve done my best to make all my children feel wanted,needed,” Bruce argued, “But after my…disappearance, all my progress was lost. And… I think we all know I’ve never been the best with emotions.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you allowed asuicidal teenagerto be active as Robin!” Clark snapped, and Diana put a calming hand on his shoulder to help the Kryptonian reign in his temper.

“What’s done is done,” she said softly, “And for what it’s worth, I believe Bruce made the right choice. I have seen what Robin has done for all of these boys; it is a salvation for them. There was perhaps nothing more effective to help Tim gain self-confidence than his time as a vigilante.”

“It was stillincredibly dangerousandirresponsible,” Clark said with a frown, and Bruce nodded in acquiescence.

“Every available precaution was taken,” Bruce said softly, “Tim wasn’t allowed to handle batarangs unsupervised for several months.”

Clark’s hands clenched into fists. “You mean he was using them tohurt himself!?” Clark growled, and Bruce hung his head.

“Keep in mind, this was all several years ago,” Bruce responded, “But… yes. I’m told he confided in Dick.”

Diana merely looked confused. “Why would Tim hurt himself?” she asked, not naively, but still not quite understanding. Bruce and Clark shared a look, remembering that Diana had grown up a sheltered palace life on Themyscira before coming to Man’s World; not only that, her wheelhouse was national and cosmic threats, not street-level. She’d yet to see the horrors of the world like they had.

“Sometimes, in positions of high stress, people develop bad coping mechanisms to help deal with their surroundings,” Bruce explained carefully, “Oftentimes, these so-called solutions are worse than the problems they address. They include alcoholism, drug abuse, and self-harm, among others.”

Diana’s gaze darkened as she processed what he’d said. “I see,” she said eventually, “Would you say such acts of despair are… common, in large cities?”

Clark and Bruce shared a look once more. “Fairly common,” Clark admitted eventually.

Diana frowned, placing a hand on the hilt of her sword. “I will have to patrol Washington more thoroughly,” she concluded.

Bruce chose to remain silent, letting the princess come to her own conclusions. Diana was smart, and compassionate; she would find a way to help those suffering in her home city, he had no doubt. He turned his attention back to Tim, glancing up at the Batcomputer’s screen. The more he thought, the more he couldn’t find a good way out.

“I have no idea how I’m going to explain any of this to Tommy,” he sighed, and he slumped his shoulders.

Clark smiled sympathetically, patting his old friend on the back. “You’ll think of something, Bruce,” he sighed, “You’re the smartest of all of us.”

Bruce looked up at the video playback of Tim’s smiling face. “Hn,” he responded vaguely.

The Himalayas were cold and crisp as Conner and Kara sat atop one of the mountains, Supergirl holding her little cousin in her arms as he winded down. Kon still sniffled slightly, staring glumly out at the mountains stretching off into oblivion, and Kara petted his hair. “Feeling better?” she asked softly, and Conner nodded hesitantly.

“Y-Yeah, I think so,” he sighed.

“Wanna talk about it?” Kara asked, and Conner thought about it for a while.

“I think so,” he sighed again, closing his eyes.

Kara scooted away from him, then turned to face him. “So?” she prompted, and Conner shook himself.

“It’s Tim,” he started awkwardly, “Bruce-- Batman, found something out. Tim… Tim has a son.”

Kara’s eyes went wide, her eyebrows almost reaching her hairline. “Wow,” she stammered, “Uh, congratulations to him, I gue--”

“That’s not all,” Conner continued, cutting her off, and Kara fell silent, gesturing at him to go on, “Tim’s son… it’s a clone. A clone ofme.”

Kara remained silent. “Oh,” she said in a small voice, “Oh,Conner…”

Conner curled up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest. “While I was dead, Tim tried to clone me, but he couldn’t stabilize it, so he used some of his own DNA to make it work,” he went on, “Apparently, all this time, he’s just beenraisingthe kid in some asscrack corner of the world and I--”

Conner’s voice caught, and he wiped his eyes before tears could fall. “Timknowswhat I went through, Kara!” he cried, “Heknowsall the fear and self-doubt I struggled with, how much I had toworkto get a relationship with Clark, how hard Ifoughtto earn my own Kryptonian name.Iconfidedin him, Itrustedhim, and he just… did it all again? To someone else? Alittle kid,at that? Why? Why would he doanyof this, Kara? Hetookmy DNA while I was dead and he just tried to… make another me? I-- I feel so…violated.”

Kara sighed, and she pulled her little cousin into another hug. “I can’t say I really knew Tim all that well,” she sighed, “We didn’t really talk much before…y’know.I can’t give you any answers, because I don’t know too much about what’s going on. But Icantell you that you’re completely justified in feeling like an emotional wreck right now; Tim was your best friend, and he betrayed you. You’ve got a right to bust up a few of the Himalayas.”

Conner chuckled halfheartedly at the attempt at humor, and Kara went on. “But…”she said in a long-suffering sigh, “Idoneed to ask; what are you gonna do about the kid?”

Conner sighed, shuffling closer to her and bracing himself against the cold. “I… I don’t know,” he muttered eventually, “I mean… where does my relationship with him even start? Am I his dad? I-- I’m technicallyeight years old,Kara, I can’t be a dad.”

“Maybe not,” Kara agreed, “But youcanbe a cool, fun uncle.”

Conner frowned. “Maybe,” he said eventually, “But first, I… I need to find Tim. I need totalkto him.”

Kara’s phone buzzed, and she glanced down at the message from Lena. Her eyes widened slowly. “That might be easier than you think…” she said, and she showed Conner the message:

Tim Drake now head of R&D @ LexCorp

“You went off-script,” Lex said accusingly.

“Lois caught me off guard,” Tim responded, fixing his cufflink, “It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t, Tim,” Lex said with a subtle wave to his coat pocket, and Tim grimaced as he was reminded once more of the two red buttons that ruled his life.

“Will do, Lex,” he responded, “Are we doing anything else today?”

Lex paused thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Hm… no,” he decided, “I’ve set you up with a temporary office in Uptown. All the necessary arrangements have been made, you’ll be living in comfort. When the new plant opens over the site of the old Ace Chemicals, of course, your living arrangements will vastly improve. We’ll talk about customization as time goes on, I’m sure you’ll want to feel more at home.”

“Mm,” Tim hummed in response, as if LexCorp were anything less than a prison, “And my staff?”

“Mr. Owens, Mr. Washington, and Ms. Wood are signed on as your personal security detail,” Lex told him, “Daniel Foster and Meghan O’Leary are employed as secretaries. They’ll be arriving at Gotham International tomorrow morning. You’re welcome.”

Tim nodded, “Thank you.” As much as hewantedto be a smartass, he wouldn’t gamble the lives of anyone but himself. If Lex or Ra’s sensed any more rebellion, they might take it out on Tim’s new friends.

“However, we do expect you to begin Phase One of Operation Mockingbird within the week,” Lex continued, and Tim froze.

“Within the week?” he asked, “I was told I was operating on my own timetable.”

“Within reason, Tim,” Lex chuckled easily, “Given your background, Ra’s and I thought it prudent to keep you busy.”

“So that I don’t have time to look into a solution for Tommy and free myself of your control?” Tim asked snidely, and Lex smiled.

“Precisely,” he said smoothly, “Now then, this is your stop. Fifth floor offices are yours for the taking, m’boy. Good luck.”

Tim growled to himself as Mercy slowed the limousine to a stop, and he climbed out, straightening his tie. Luckily, paparazzi hadn’t quite caught up to them yet, so he quickly stepped inside the high-end highrise. He flashed a million dollar smile at the clerk working the front desk, saying, “Hi, there! Tim Drake, back in town. Mr. Luthor told me he’s rented the fifth floor?”

“Of course, sir!” the clerk said with fake cheer, “Here’s your elevator key. Have a nice stay, Mr. Drake.”

“Thank you!” Tim returned brightly, then let his face fall back into a scowl as he took his key and turned away. The elevator carried him up quickly, and he stepped out of it into a gaudy room of red velvet carpets and modern decor. Disgusting.

Tim stalked across the floor to what he now claimed as his desk, a massive affair of smooth mahogany by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. He had a small but powerful laptop at his disposal, as well as several pens, stationary, and other office accouterments. Best of all, there was a crystal bottle full of dark, amber liquid. Tim pulled off the sticky note attached to it, reading a quick,

Heard you liked whiskey.
-L

Deciding it probably wasn’t poisoned, Tim poured himself a generous glass and sat down heavily in his massive leather chair, gulping down an unhealthy amount of the stuff, feeling it burn as it slid down his throat. Tim sighed, closing his eyes and refilling his glass, having beaten half of it in one swig. Pru was beginning to worry about him, but Tim had waved her off whenever the issue had come up. By now, he’d spent about a week away from his son, and in the “care” of Lex Luthor and Ra’s al Ghul. Pardon him if he felt he needed a drink.

Tim’s office filled with a flash of light and the sound of rushing wind, and in an instant Tim had a gun aimed at… “Bart!?” Tim asked incredulously, staring at his old friend as the speedster stood in the middle of the room, looking elated and angry all at once.

“Tim!” Bart cried, breaking into a wide, relieved grin, “You’re okay! I’ve been following you and Lex across town, waiting for you to be alone!”

“That’s… creepy, but okay,” Tim said, putting the gun in an empty drawer, “And you’re here because…?”

Bart grinned wider, if that was possible, “I’m here to rescue you, dude!”

Tim’s heart sank. Oh, poor, brave, naive Bart. “I don’t need rescue, Bart,” Tim sighed, taking a sip of his whiskey, “Go home.”

Bart frowned. “Come on, dude,” he said, “It’s just me. You can tell me; whatever they got on you, I can help.”

Tim almost laughed at the sheer tragedy of it all. There was so much unknown about this; any attempt at disabling the nanobots in Tommy’s DNA could kill him, extensive research needed to be undertaken first. No doubt, Ra’s had learned from his past mistakes and had Lex to put Tim under full surveillance, so there was no feasible way for him to research how to safely disable the trap. It was the perfect blackmail. And out of everyone, out of all the world’s greatest detectives and super geniuses in the Cave and the League, it was the loveable but dim-witted Bart Allen who sniffed out Tim was evenbeingblackmailed. Yet there was still nothing the fastest boy alive could do.

“Trust me, Bart, you really, really can’t,” Tim sighed, “Now please, go home.”

“Not without you,” Bart said stubbornly, “I’m not leaving you here, Tim.”

“Well then, you’d be the first,” Tim muttered, taking another long draught.

Bart furrowed his brow. “You’re underage,” he said.

“So?” Tim asked petulantly, pointedly draining his glass.

Bart frowned, “So you shouldn’t drink.”

Tim laughed bitterly as he set his glass down on the desk. “Everyone’s been telling me what I should and shouldn’t do lately,” Tim said musingly, “Frankly, I’m getting a little sick of it. This is something Icancontrol, a list of things that is depressingly short.So,Bart,I think I’ll keep drinking.”

“Tim, I’mserious,” Bart pressed on, “What is it? Do they have a bomb tied around your neck or something? A virus that only they have the cure for? What is it, man?”

Tim laughed in earnest now, throwing back his head and cackling enough to give the Joker a run for his money. “You think they’re threateningmylife?” Tim laughed as he winded down, “Oh, Bart, if only you were right. Then, maybe, this would all end painlessly.”

Bart furrowed his brow once more. “Tim…” he started softly, until the room was filled with the rushing of wind once more.

“Tim!” Cassie declared, “I need to talk to you!”

Tim blinked in surprise, then sighed to himself. “Oh, it’s you,” he muttered, “Hello, Wonder Girl. Care for a drink?”

Cassie frowned as she touched down on the velvet carpets. “Since when do you drink?” she asked, and Tim rolled his eyes.

“Since today,” he muttered, pouring himself another glass of whiskey, “And I repeat;whatdo youwant?”

Bart looked at her, and Cassie sighed. “I wanted to apologize,” she said, and Tim froze.

“Apologize?” he repeated softly, barely above a whisper, “Bit late for an apology, don’t you think, Wonder Girl?”

Cassie sighed, folding her arms behind her back and fidgeting nervously. “But it’s still owed,” she said, “Tim, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said Bruce was alive, and I’m sorry I told Dick I was worried about you. I didn’t think the League would react like that.”

“But you still stood with them when they tried to haul me away to Arkham,” Tim said accusingly.

“Wait,what!?” Bart gasped, and Cassie flinched.

“And I’m sorry for that, too,” she sighed, “They… they convinced me it was what was best for you.”

Tim sat back in his chair, setting down his drink. “I… wow,” he said, huffing what might have been an aborted laugh, “Now that I think about it… in the long run, it might have been.”

Cassie and Bart looked at each other in concern, then turned back to Tim. “What are you talking about?” Bart asked eventually, “Tim, you don’t belong in Arkham-”

Tim laughed in his face, and Bart’s jaw clacked shut. “You’re kidding right?” he asked incredulously, splaying his arms, “Look at me! I work forLex Luthornow! I made a kid out of my dead friend’s stolen DNA and raised it as my own! I blew up Gotham, I took down the League of Assassins, andnowI’m asupervillain.All before age 20! Sounds a little fucking crazy to me, don’t you think?”

Cassie bit her lip frustratedly, and Bart grew angry. “Don’tsaythat!” he snapped, “You’re not a supervillain! You’re my friend!”

Tim considered that statement for a moment, taking a contemplative sip of his whiskey. Setting it down, he sighed and looked Impulse in the eye. “You’re friend’s dead, Bart,” Tim said coldly, his voice cracking slightly with emotion, “I killed him.”

“Liar!” Bart growled, rushing forward until he was caught by Cassie, who held him back.

“Bart,no!” she growled, wrestling the speedster back as he tried to break free.

“You’relying!” the boy cried, thrashing in Wonder Girl’s grip, “You’re still the same, Tim!You’re still our Robin!!”

Tim stood up and faced out the window, turning his back to them. “No, I’m not,” he sighed, looking down at the city that he used to protect. Now, he’d been ordered to lay waste to it. And the worst part? He was going to do it.

“What about your kid, huh!?” Bart cried from Cassie’s hold, “What about Tommy!? What are you gonna tell him, huh!? The TimIknow would never abandon his own kid!!!”

Tim roared with rage as he spun around, throwing the glass of whiskey at the wall and shattering it against the tile, letting it drip down into the velvet carpeting. Bart and Cassie stopped struggling in shock, staring at him as Tim heaved his shoulders and tried to collect himself.

“Don’t,” Tim hissed, his chest heaving with barely contained rage, “Don’t youdaresay his name again. I’m doing this toprotecthim!”

“Fromwhat!?” Bart cried back, and Tim lost it.

“FROMME!” he screamed, slamming his fists down onto his desk in rage, and watching as the mahogany dented at the impact.

The three former Titans stood still, all that could be heard was Tim’s breathing, slowly winding down to a normal cadence. “Tim-” Cassie started, but Tim cut her off.

“Get out,” he said coldly, quietly, “Get out of my office. Tell Bruce I expect him to keep his promises, and tell the League they can’t stop me. Nowget out.”

Cassie stood up, carefully extricating herself from Bart. “Come on, Bart,” she said quietly, “Let’s go.”

Bart stood up in a huff, then eyed Tim one last time. “We’ll fix this,” he said evenly, with as much conviction as Tim had ever heard him use, “We’ll get you back, Tim. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but wewillget you back.”

Bart and Cassie were gone in a flash.

Tim’s hands shook terribly as he selected a new glass from the whiskey tray and poured himself another glass, sinking to the floor behind his desk and bringing it to his lips to gulp the whole thing down. It burned, and he almost threw it all back up, but he swallowed and gasped and kept it down. Tears fell down his cheeks as Tim poured another glass, shaking and gasping for air the whole time, waiting for everything to just go numb already, totally alone in the lavish prison called LexCorp. Whether he was laughing or sobbing, Tim couldn’t really tell.

Tommy curled up beneath his too-many blankets, not caring about the heat. He’d been here a week, and he just missed his dad more and more. Gotham was too loud, and he didn’t like it at all. He felt terrible, he felt exhausted, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t sleep. Praying hadn’t done anything. Begging the great beyond to give him his life back hadn’t done anything. Trying to fly back to Alaska himself had been met with the sternest scolding he’d ever heard in his life from Jason.

So Tommy just… laid in bed. He didn’t want to think anymore, he didn’t want to feel anymore, he just wanted his life back, and no one was giving it to him. He wanted hisdad.But his dad wasn’t here anymore.

There was a knock on his door. Tommy had heard the footsteps coming down the hall way earlier. “Master Thomas?” Alfred called quietly, “Are you awake, young sir?”

Tommy remained silent, hoping the old man would just go away.

“There are guests here to see you, Young Master,” Alfred called again, and Tommy curled further into his blankets. Doesn’t matter, he didn’t wanna see them.

“He’s awake, Alfred,” Auntie Cass called lightly from the place beside his bed, where she’d been watching over him silently, and Tommy scowled, “Just pouting.”

Alfred opened the door, and Tommy grumbled as light flooded into the room. “Come on, Little Nephew,” Auntie Cass said softly, prodding his form through the blankets, “Time to get up.”

“Don’t wanna,” Tommy muttered back, curling them around himself tighter, as if they’d protect him from socialization.

“Please, Young Master, you’ve been in bed all day,” Alfred said admonishingly, and Tommy murmured out a sound of noncooperation.

“Tired,” he mumbled.

“Liar,” Auntie Cass said, poking him more, “Out, now. Or I pull.”

Tommy raised his eyebrow disbelievingly beneath the blankets. “I havesuper strength,” Tommy said from his blanket ball, “What do you meanpul-- whOA!”

In an instant, after a mass of flailing limbs blankets, Tommy lay dumbfoundedly on the bare mattress, Auntie Cass standing over him smugly, blankets in hand. “There, out of bed,” she said, as if she’d just solved a math problem, “Now you go downstairs and meet guests.”

Tommy pouted as he sat up, shaking out his sleep-disturbed pajamas and smoothing out his hair. Alfred raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more as he stepped out of the room, and Tommy reluctantly followed. He walked through the too-long hallway and down the too-long stairs, stepping into the too-big sitting room, where a bunch of strange people in colorful clothes sat around a few coffee tables, looking at him expectantly. Tommy recognized Superman, and Wonder Woman, but the others…

“Hi there!” a boy with black hair and a Superman hoodie said, zipping up to him excitedly, “You’re Tommy, right? I’m Jon!”

Tommy looked the older boy up and down. “Robin’s cooler than Superman,” he said in response, pointing to the R on his pajamas.

Jon wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Wha-? No he’s not!” the boy said indignantly, “Superman’s the coolest superhero in the world!”

“Nuh-uh,” Tommy said petulantly, “It’s Robin.”

“Superman!” Jon argued back.

“Robin!”

“Superman!”

“Robin!”

“Superman!”

“Boys!” Wonder Woman called admonishingly, “Enough. Robin and Superman are bothequallycool.”

Superman looked insulted, so Tommy stuck his tongue out at the man. Superman made the most confused face Tommy had ever seen.

Wonder Woman knelt down, smiling kindly at the boy. “Hello, little one,” she said, and Tommy noticed her voice was funny; it lilted and stuck in different places than normal. What did Dad call that? … Oh! Anaccent!Tommy smiled, having remembered that.

Wonder Woman tilted her head. “What’s so funny?” she asked, not unkindly, and Tommy giggled.

“Your accent,” he said, “I couldn’t remember what it was called for a sec, but I remembered now.”

“I see,” Wonder Woman said with a smile, “Yes, my voice does sound funny, doesn’t it? English isn’t the only language I speak; my first language is Amazon.”

“Amazon?” Tommy asked, “Like the box?”

“Like the people,” Wonder Woman returned easily, “We all live on a faraway island called Themyscira, where there are only girls, no boys like you.”

“No boys?” Tommy asked, then wrinkled his nose, “Ew.”

Wonder Woman laughed, “The little girls on Themyscira say the same about Man’s World. I am Diana, little one; what’s your name?”

“Tommy,” he said easily, then remembered the manners his dad had taught him, “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Diana.”

Diana smiled kindly. “Good manners,” she noticed, “You were taught by your father, yes?”

Tommy fidgeted uncomfortably at the mention of his dad, but nodded anyway. Diana smiled, “He was a fine man, when I knew him. I know he’d be proud of you.”

Tommy looked at her strangely. “You… knew my dad?” he asked hesitantly, and Diana nodded.

“I fought by his side many times,” she said sagely, “He was wise beyond his years. Just, as I imagine, are you.”

Tommy blushed at the praise. He was good at math, and good at reading, but it still seemed like a stretch to say he was ‘wise’. He wasn’t even a year old yet.

“So, kiddo,” Superman said, standing up behind Diana, “I heard you had superpowers.”

Tommy looked at him suspiciously. Dad didn’t like Superman; not as much as he didn’t like Nightwing, but Tommy could still tell. “Yeah,” he said eventually. He had superpowers; he liked to use them in Alaska, when there was no one around to see, or get hurt.

Superman smiled kindly at him, “Well, so does my little Jonny, here.”

“Dad…” Jon whined, apparently at the nickname. Superman merely ruffled his hair.

“Sorry, sorry, ‘Jon’,” he amended, “Still, why don’t you two play outside? Jon can show you the ropes!”

Tommy looked at the older boy suspiciously. “Won’t someone see?” he asked, and Jon laughed.

“Not wherewe’regoing!” he giggled, “Come on, Tommy! Try to keep up!”

And Jon flew up, up, and away. Tommy stared at where he’d left, then looked back at the adults in bewilderment.

“Better get going, Tommy,” Grandpa said with a chuckle, “Else he’ll leave you behind.”

Tommy’s eyes widened, and he flew as fast as he could after Jon. He caught up, and Jon swirled around him playfully, laughing as they hurtled through the sky. It was a gloomy, overcast day, with a light drizzle and too-cold wind; regular old Gotham.

“Come on, higher, higher!” Jon called, swirling up into the sky beyond, and Tommy wobbled in the air as he looked back down at the Manor.

“We shouldn’t go up so high!” he called back, “Someone’ll see!”

“No they won’t!Relax!” Jon laughed, zooming up towards the clouds, and Tommy bit his lip as he followed.

“I’ve never been up this high before!” Tommy called, looking back down at the ground with fear, “I-I wanna get down!!”

“Hey hey, it’s okay!” Jon said, swooping back down to join him, “Trust me, I do this all the time! Even when I was little, like you!”

“I’m notthatlittle,” Tommy said petulantly, then he looked down at the ground again, “Dad’ll get mad that I’m up so high, someone’ll see!”

“Hey, hey!” Jon said again, pulling his chin up, “Stop looking at the ground, for starters. You can fly, dummy! You can go as high as you want.”

Tommy frowned, “But Dad said-”

Jon smiled fiercely, “Your dad’s not here right now, right? Why’ve you gotta listen to him?”

Tommy frowned. “Cause… he’s my dad?” he asked uncertainly, and Jon snickered.

“Rule #1 of being a kid, Tommy,” he laughed, “Never,everlisten to grownups!”

Tommy tilted his head. “But isn’t that really rude?” he asked, and Jon shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter!” he said, “You’re a kid, you’re supposed to be rude! As a kid, youroneandonlyjob is tohave fun, ya got that?”

Tommy frowned. “I don’t get it,” he said, and Jon laughed as he shook his head.

“Don’t worry, I’m still teaching Damian, too,” he giggled, “I call it: How to Be a Normal Kid 101! And Lesson #1 is going up there!” Jon pointed back up to the clouds.

Tommy squirmed, looking back at the ground and then at the clouds. “But that’s so high…” he whispered.

“Don’t worry!” Jon said, “I’ll hold your hand, okay?”

Tommy considered it for a moment, then nodded. Jon took his hand eagerly, crying, “Great! Come on, you’re gonna love this!”

Jon pulled Tommy through the sky, past the rain and the drizzle and the gloom, and with each hundred feet they soared upward, Tommy’s chest grew tighter and tighter with worry. Dad said not to go too far above the treeline, or someone would see, and the Bad Men would come and take them away. The Bad Men already came for his Dad, Tommy didn’t want to put Jon or Grandpa or Alfred or Auntie Cass in that same danger. He should go back down, he should tug out of Jon’s grip and go back to the ground and go back to bed--

Tommy’s vision was filled with a grey haze as they passed through a cloud, and suddenly, it was a whole new day. The sun shone brightly in the beautiful blue sky, and endless, puffy white clouds stretched on forever and ever, to the ends of the horizon. It was a far cry from the dreary, gloomy day down below, like all of Gotham’s joy and light just got stored up here when they weren’t using it. Jon giggled, letting go of Tommy’s hand and swirling around a little. “Isn’t this awesome!?” he laughed, and Tommy continued to stare at the world above the clouds.

“Wow…” he breathed, and for the first time since Alaska, a smile stretched across his lips.

Conner hovered outside the window of the temporary LexCorp offices in Gotham City, night beginning to fall as pinks and purples ruled the horizon. Wishing he had heat vision to melt the glass, Conner instead flew around to the emergency door and pulled it open, floating onto the fifth floor.

He heard a soft buzzing, like Tim’s white noise generator up close, the clinking of glass, and quiet sobbing. Homing in on it, he hovered into a massive office, directly across from the elevator, with red velvet carpets and modern decor. Disgusting.

The sobbing continued, from behind a large mahogany desk, and Conner hesitantly floated over to find… Tim, in a red button down and white slacks, black tie abandoned on the floor along with his white coat.

In his hands, loosely held between numb fingers, was an empty glass and an almost empty crystal pitcher of what smelled like whiskey. He had a sneaking suspicion it used to be full.

“Tim?” he asked, and Tim startled, pulling his head up and looking at him with red, bloodshot eyes.

He squinted a moment, asking, “K-Kon?” then his eyes went back to normal as he giggled to himself. “Oh, fantastic,” he muttered, “I’m hallucinating.”

Conner frowned; he’d only seen Tim three times in two years and two of those times he’d thought he wasn’t real. “I’m real, Tim,” he sighed, and Tim laughed.

“Sure you are,” he muttered, a drunken grin plastered on his face. He attempted to pour the rest of his whiskey into his glass, but mostly missed, pouring it onto the carpet and catching a bit of it in the glass. “Ah, crap,” he murmured, “Lex isn’t gonna like that…”

Tim shrugged, then downed the rest of it, sighing as he swallowed it down. Conner sighed. “You’re drunk,” he muttered.

“Yes I am!” Tim laughed triumphantly, as if he’d just discovered the cure to cancer, then he devolved into giggling fits, “So, Jiminy Cricket, what part of my conscience are we delving into today?”

Conner frowned. “You cloned me, Tim,” he said accusingly, “You stole my DNA and you cloned me without my consent. … Why did you do that?”

Tim sighed, rubbing his face. “Oh, that part,” he murmured, and he hung his head, resting his elbow on his knees, “I missed you, Kon. I missed you so much, I just couldn’t… I couldn’t bear it.”

“So you thought you’d just grow another one of me?” Conner asked angrily, “Replace me? What am I to you, a new toy!?”

“No!” Tim shouted back, offended, “I don’t know! I wasn’t trying toreplaceyou, I just wanted…” Tim stopped speaking, looking sullen and glum as he stared at the whiskey stain on the carpet.

“What?” Conner demanded hotly, determined to get to the bottom of this, “What did you want?”

“I lost you,” Tim murmured finally, “I lost Bart. I lost my dad. I lost Bruce, and Robin, and the Cave. I just… I wanted something back. I wanted you back. I know it was stupid, I know it was dumb, and nothing I tried worked, but Tommy… by the time I realized what I’d done, he was already alive. I couldn’t just… I couldn’t abandon him.”

Conner frowned. “So what are you doing now, palling around with Lex Luthor?” he asked, and Tim got a strange look in his eye.

“Protecting him,” he murmured, “Have to. They’ll… they’ll kill…”

Conner floated closer. “Who?” he asked, “Who are they going to kill?”

Conner silently begged Tim to just tell him, to end this stupid charade, but Tim sighed and turned away. “Not ‘llowed to say,” he slurred out, “You know that, Tim. Not allowed.”

Tim thunked his own head with his hand, muttering, “Not allowed, not allowed.”

“Tim,” Conner tried, but Tim kept hitting himself, “Tim, stop that!” He caught Tim’s wrist, and Tim looked up at him.

They stayed like that, staring at each other, for a long time. Conner vaguely recalled the last time this happened, Tim pulled kryptonite on him. Even on high alert, Conner didn’t see any moves made for any little green rocks.

“I love you,” Tim whispered, and Conner jerked back in surprise. Tim leaned forward, enough so that the stench of whiskey was overpowering, “I’ve always loved you. I just couldn’t say it. I’m sorry.”

Conner stayed quiet, blinking rapidly and unsure of what he was supposed to say. Tim loved him. What? Huh? When did that happen?? How long was this a thing???

Conner’s voice caught in his throat as he stared at Tim’s face, pouting and drunken as it was. He still felt awful, and violated, and hurt by what Tim had done, but deep down… Conner realized he could never stop caring for Tim, even after everything he had done. And caring for someone, no matter the pain… Ma Kent told him long ago that that’s what love was.

“I love you too,” he said softly, and Tim leaned forward and kissed him.

It was sloppy, it was messy, and Tim tasted like whiskey, but Kon found himself leaning into it just as much as Tim did. He was still holding onto Tim’s wrist, which shifted into a handhold, and somehow, Conner wound up on his back as Tim straddled him.

“T-Tim, we shouldn’t--” Conner sighed, but Tim pouted, kissing his neck and making Kon’s face light up like a Christmas Tree, “Nnn…Tim, you’re drunk, you’re not thinking clearly--”

“I’m thinking clearly enough. And Iwant to,” Tim whined needily into his ear, “Please?”

Conner whined softly, staring at Tim. He was drunk, and depressed, and he’d probably been awake for too long. Also, Conner hadno reasonto do this, he should be angry, goddammit! But… Tim was stillTim.Tim kissed his collarbone, and Conner came to a rash, hormonal decision in his teenage head. “Alright,” he sighed, and they kissed again as Conner tore away Tim’s shirt.

Chapter 22: The Morning After

Chapter Text

The sunlight peeked over the industrialized islands of Gotham, illuminating the Cesspool of the Atlantic in a way that many hadn’t seen in months. Just before the Gothamites got worried about the rapture, however, the city’s regular gloomy clouds began forming overhead, and they breathed a collective sigh of relief.

But as the sunlight filtered into a highrise office in Uptown, Tim Drake slowly, ever so slowly, became aware of himself. His first inclination that something had gone wrong last night was the lancing pain in his head, and when he tried to open his eyes, the brightness of the light stabbed his retinas, so he closed them quickly with a moan.

“Jesus,whathappenedlast night…?” Tim murmured, trying to pull himself up and off of whatever pillow he was laying on; it was strangely warm…

“You mean you don’t remember?” a low, smooth voice asked, and Tim stopped in his tracks. Oh. That wasn’t a pillow. That was a guy.

Tim wracked his brain, trying to piece together what happened. Obviously, he took someone home last night, along with what was probably no small amount of alcohol. Quick! Who did he know that had a low, smooth voice, and would have sex with him?

“Dan?” he asked, still keeping his eyes closed.

“I- I’m sorry, who the fuck isDan?” the voice asked again, wildly offended, and Tim swore as he opened his eyes again.

After the initial pain of bright light, then the slow readjustment, Tim’s mouth hung open as he stared at a bare naked Conner Kent, laying on the carpet with him behind his desk, looking confused and hurt and angry. “Oh fuck,Conner??” Tim gasped, grabbing the nearest piece of clothing (Conner’s leather jacket) and pulling it over his chest, “Wh- How-- I-I-”

It was then that Tim realized that by pulling the jacket up onto himself, he pulled itoffof Conner’s midsection, and gave himself a full view of… Tim yelped in surprise and alarm, throwing the jacket back over Conner, then yelped again as he realized he was nude again, then grabbed atanotherpiece of clothing (Tim’s ripped shirt) and wrapped it around his waist as quickly as possible as his face turned the shade of a tomato.

“Ohfuck,” Tim muttered, staring at his friend in shock, “W-We didn’t, did we??”

Conner scowled and nodded, “We did. And I ask again, who the fuck is Dan?”

“I-- uh…” Tim stammered, “No one?”

“He’s obviouslysomeoneif you thought you were waking up tohim,” Conner demanded hotly, “Would you havepreferredhim?”

“Wh-no!Dan’s my--” Tim gulped nervously, “--assistant?”

Conner raised an eyebrow judgingly, “You’re banging your assistant?”

Tim groaned in despair, holding his head in his hands as he nursed a migraine and embarrassment beyond belief. “Only a few times,” he murmured defensively.

“Uhhuh,” Conner said, as if reaching some sort of conclusion, and Tim jolted up as he realized how that sounded.

“N-No, wait, it’s not what you think!” he stammered, “Dan and Meg are friends, i-it’s not like--”

“DanandMeg?” Conner asked in outrage.

“Fuck,” Tim swore, wishing he’d just kept his fool mouth shut.

“Let me guess;Megis your assistant too?” Conner all but growled, “Jesus,I can’tfuckingbelieve you!”

“No, Conner,please,it’s notlike that!” Tim begged, and Conner turned to him.

“Oh yeah? Then tell me what itislike, Tim,” he responded, and Tim grimaced.

How could he explain Dan and Meg and his team without mentioning Ra’s al Ghul? Ra’s involvement in this was to be kept under wraps for as long as possible, as was the plan from the beginning, and any misstep… any misstep meant Tommy died.

“I-- Ican’t,” Tim sighed eventually, and Conner’s gaze hardened.

“Youcan’t,” Conner repeated, “Or youwon’t?”

Tim whined sadly, “Both! Please, Conner, justtrustme!”

“How can Itrustyou?” Conner argued back, “You took my DNA! You cloned me! You’re working forLex Luthor!And as far as I can tell, you just used me for free sex!”

Tim groaned, still rubbing his head, “Conner,please,i-it wasn’t like that, I didn’t mean to-!”

“I can’tfuckingbelieve I fell for that drunken ‘I love you’ bullshit,” he growled, standing up and gathering his clothes in a rage, “You’re just banging whoever you can get your hands on, aren’t you!?”

“N-No, Conner please!” Tim called, but Conner was already pulling his jacket on. Damn that super speed!

Conner eventually stopped for a moment, starting to come off his rage high, and he looked at Tim with so much conflicted emotion it hurt. “We…” he started awkwardly, then turned away, “We shouldn’t have done this.”

Conner sped away in a rush of wind and a scattering of papers, and Tim sat there in his office, alone, naked, and shaking.

This was… this… he couldn’t deal with this. Tim begged his racing thoughts to stop as he pulled his pants on, then stood up and went looking for his whiskey. He needed a drink;Sweet Jesushe needed a drink.

Conner thinks Tim had sex with him just to have sex.

Tim couldn’t evenrememberlast night.

Tim shook his head, chasing the thoughts away, then laughed in triumph as he found his whiskey bottle… totally empty. “No…” he muttered, inspecting the crystal glass and shaking it as if it might magically fill up again, “No no no no no no no!”

Tim growled and threw the bottle as hard as he could, watching it smash against the warped modern art monstrosity Lex called a statue.

Conner and Tim hadsex.

Connerhates himnow.

Tim screamed with rage as he kicked the statue as hard as he could, toppling it over and off its stupid little pedestal. Fuck you, Lex! Fuck you, Ra’s!

Tim wanted more than anything to justtellConner or Bruce oranyonewhat was going on.

But if he did, Tommy would die.

He needed to start work on Operation Mockingbird tonight.

Tim screamed one last time as he punched the wall with all his strength, though the reinforced concrete did not budge. His chest still heaving, Tim made his way over to his desk and picked up his phone, calling the front desk. “Hi, this is Tim Drake on the fifth floor, can you have another bottle of whiskey brought up?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Whiskey?” the clerk asked in confusion, “B-But Mr. Drake, it’s only six o’clock in the morning-”

“I DON’T CARE!” Tim snarled, then felt bad as he heard the clerk yelp in alarm, “L-Look, just have it brought up, alright? I’ll pay a good tip.”

“O-Okay, sir, c-coming right up,” the clerk stammered, “I-I’m sorry but… we’re out of whiskey, s-so is rum okay?”

Tim breathed a calming breath through his nose, trying to calm down. “Rum is fine,” he sighed, then hung up the phone and sunk to the floor, holding his head in his hands.

How could this get any worse?

Conner nearly crashed back into Titans Tower, all the way back in San Francisco, looking for some modicum of comfort after the emotional disaster that had been his morning. He wasn’t quite paying attention, and accidentally superspeeded into the common room, lost in intense thought and no small amount of anger.

Cassie and Bart jumped in surprise as he entered the common room, though the rest of the Titans (Raven and Beast Boy were really the only ones living in the Tower at the moment) merely spared him a glance.

“Well, that’s certainly a messy tangle of emotions you’ve got there, Conner,” Raven sighed blandly, taking off her hood as the gem in her forehead gleamed in the light, “What seems to be the problem?”

Conner growled, wishing he had another mountain to punch, but the Himalayas couldn’t take much more punishment. “It’s fuckingTim!” Conner finally snapped, confused and hurt and angry all at once, “He’s-- He’s-- I don’t knowwhathe is!”

“Easy, Supey, slow down!” Garfield laughed easily, “Take a chill pill, pull up a bean bag chair, and tell your good Titans buddies what happened.”

Beast Boy patted the bean bag next to him while Cassie and Bart found their own seats. Conner sighed, but after finding no suitable way to keep up his tantrum, eventually crossed his arms and sat down heavily in the bean bag chair, clenching his fist around his leather sleeve.

“So…?” Cassie asked carefully, “What happened? No one’s seen you since yesterday.”

“I went to talk to Kara,” Conner sighed, “And then I went to go see Tim.”

Bart and Cassie grimaced, and Garfield and Raven shared a look. “Tim, huh?” Gar asked, feigning nonchalance, “Haven’t seen him in a while. What’s he up to these days?”

“He’s working orLex fucking Luthor,” Conner growled, “I tried to ask him why, but he was sodrunk off his asshe couldn’t talk straight. Half of it was just mad ramblings and sappybullshit.”

“Well you certainly sound betrayed,” Raven acknowledged, floating a little further forward, “But I sense something more, something more recent than that.”

Conner’s face heated up. “I…” he stuttered, “Sh-Shut up, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to you, obviously,” Raven pressed, “We’re your friends, Conner. You can tell us.”

Conner closed his eyes, an inscrutable expression on his cherry-red face as he thought long and hard. “Tim and I had sex last night,” he said eventually, and the whole Tower fell silent.

Raven blinked in surprise. “I… I see,” she started, but even the normally stoic girl was totally taken aback. Which, of course, meant that the more excitable Titans…

“HOLY SHIT!!” Bart screeched, jumping up and down in his seat, “No fucking way! Nofuckingway!! Ohdudethat’ssocrashI’msohappyforyoutwoyouhavethebestchemistryeverandeveryonesawthewayTimlookedatyouandit’saboutdamntimeyourealizeditandfuckedalreadyand-”

“Bart!” Cassie called admonishingly, though she herself was red in the face and possibly trying not to laugh, “Slow down.”

Bart closed his mouth, stopping the stream of superspeeded words (which Conner could, unfortunately, understand) and smiling sheepishly. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Conner grimaced as he got the usual wolf-whistle and punch in the arm from Garfield, a tradition for any of the Titans who finally hooked up, and sighed as he waited for the excitement to die down. Finally, even the most oblivious among them realized something was wrong.

“And you’re not happy about that because…?” Gar asked, and Conner sighed.

“You didn’t pay attention to the whole ‘he works for Luthor now’ bit, did you?” Conner asked scornfully, and Garfield’s face drooped a little.

“Nah, I was,” he sighed, “Dick’s been keeping me and Rae updated, Damian too. But, I mean, Kara and Lena made it work, so I thought-”

“Tim’s not Lena,” Conner growled out, and Garfield stopped talking, “Lena’s at LexCorp because she has no other choice.Tim…he shouldn’t evenbeat LexCorp. It… it doesn’t make any sense.”

Garfield frowned, sitting back further into his bean bag, and Cassie leaned forward. “But youdidtalk to Tim, right?” she asked fervently, “What’d he say? Did he let on at all why he’s doing any of this?”

Conner winced as he remembered the drunken mess he’d talked to last night, and the poor decisions that followed. “Like I said, he was drunk,” Conner sighed, “Verydrunk. Like, he thought I was a hallucination at first.”

Cassie winced, Gar and Bart sat back in their chairs, and Raven floated forward. “And I’m sensing you didn’t like that,” she said blandly, and Conner wrapped his arms a little tighter around himself.

Raven frowned as she focused, using her empath abilities to find the source of the problem. “There’s the usual shame and disappointment there, from finding a friend drunk and having unwise sex,” she mused, and Conner squawked indignantly, “But there’s also something sharper there. Embarrassment? Jealousy?”

“Jealousy?” Garfield parrotted quizzically, “What’s there to be jealous about, big guy?”

Conner grumbled out something unintelligible as his face heated up like a watermelon. “It’s stupid, just forget about it,” he muttered, “It’s not important.”

“Like I said, it’s important to you,” Raven reiterated, “Conner, please; tell us.”

Conner looked up, and though he expected to find the usual amused eyes and catcalling, Garfield, Bart, and Cassie all looked sincere and concerned. Plucking up what little he had left of his courage, Conner cast his eyes to the floor and said, “When we woke up today, he thought I was someone else.”

There was silence from the other Titans for a long, long time. “Oh,” Garfield said eventually, “Oh damn.”

“I-Iknowit’s dumb, it was just one night, he was drunk as hell, it shouldn’t have mattered,” Conner sighed, unable to stop now that he had started, “But I mean, last night, he told me he loved me, and that he made that Tommy kid because he missed me so much, and fuck, I’m not made outta stone! So I believed him and we did it and then when we woke up he just puts on that stupid ‘Timmy Wayne’ act and calls me by the wrong name and I just-- I felt soworthless.Was… was he just using me to get laid? Do I matter at all to him or not? I know I’m being stupid, but I-- I don’t like beingusedlike that.”

“Hey, hey, stop that,” Cassie said immediately, sidling up to pat his arm, “You’re not being stupid. We all know you’ve had issues with being… appreciated. It comes from a childhood in a lab.”

“Trust me, dude,” Bart interjected, “I knowallabout that.”

“And Tim’s not that kind of guy,” Garfield said confidently, “He might’ve started playing for the other team, but something like that doesn’t change that easy. He wasn’t using you, I’m sure of it.”

Conner sighed, looking down at the floor. “…Thanks, guys,” he said eventually, “I… that means a lot.”

“It’s what we’re here for,” Cassie said quietly, rubbing his back soothingly, then got a hard look in her eye, "Though something is bugging me about this now that I've had a minute to process."

Conner looked at her in confusion, "What is it?"

Cassie pursed her lips, trying to find a delicate way to put what she had to say into words. "H-How drunk was Tim exactly?" she asked finally, and Conner grimaced.

"Very," he sighed, and Cassie grimaced herself.

"Conner you've got to promise me you'll never,everdo something like that again, alright?" she said fiercely, and Conner jumped a little.

"I-I mean I wasn'tplanningon it, but--" he started, and Cassie stomped her foot in frustration.

"Dammit,Conner, just promise!" she cried, and Conner gulped.

"I promise! What? What'd I do??" he fumbled, and Cassie sighed.

"Conner, I know you, I know you'd never do anything like this maliciously or try to take advantage of Tim or anything of the sort, and I know he initiated and you went along with it, but-" Cassie bit her lip, "Conner, if he wasthatdrunk, then he couldn't legally consent."

Conner paled as an expression of abject horror came over his face. "N-No, I-I didn't... IsweartoGodI didn't mean to--" he stammered urgently, looking to the rest of his friends, and Cassie placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Easy," Cassie sighed, "I'm not blaming you, you just made a mistake. It's your first time doing anything like this, you only know how this works from movies and stuff. Like I said, you're naive, not malicious. Justpromiseme that if he's ever that drunk again when he comes onto you, just... be a little more assertive in your objections?"

Conner nodded quickly, eyes still wide as he sat back in his seat, trying to come to terms with what his life had become. The rest of the Titans sat back in shock, Bart and Gar feeling especially guilty for not picking up on that particularly problematic part of the situation sooner, instead focusing on the comedy.

Raven was no less embarrassed that she hadn't picked up on it, but pursed her lips thoughtfully as she took it one step further. "Something is causing Tim to drink excessively," she murmured, almost to herself, "We should endeavor to find the cause, so that a situation like this does not arise again."

Conner nodded quickly, holding his head in his hands and rubbing his face.Nothing like this wouldeverbe happening again.

Conner then groaned as he remembered something else.

“What is it now?” Garfield asked, and Conner held his head in his hands miserably.

“I just realized I still have to go and talk to that kid!” he muttered forlornly, not looking forward to that awkward conversation at all.

How could this get any worse?

Tommy went down to breakfast the next morning, trying to be quiet as he crept down the too-long hallways. As he hit the stairs, a floorboard creaked, and Tommy stopped for a moment, waiting and listening to see if anyone was stirring. It seemed like he hadn’t drawn any attention, so he continued downward, and another board squeaked. Tommy stopped again, but this time some memory stirred at the back of his head, and he smiled as he remembered that the floor of their apartment in Utah used to squeak like that. Tommy had found it delightful, making the floor creak and whine with each step; it helped with training his powers, too, cause he could tell when he was floating and when he was walking.

Then he got sad as he remembered his dad, and pushed through it, stepping down the stairs a little faster. He was done being sad. Gotham was sad, and not being with his dad was sad, but that didn’t mean Tommy had to be sad. Even though it was cloudy, the sun was still shining, just out of sight. Bottom line, he wasn’t spending one more day holed up in his room.

Tommy hit the bottom of the stairs, looking around for any of the Manor’s inhabitants, but it was mercifully empty this time of day. Tommy had figured out that for some reason, nobody woke up until around 4 in the afternoon, giving him time to explore. It was a shame he’d just never taken the opportunity before.

He reached the kitchen, or at least, what he thought was the kitchen. Everything in the Manor was way bigger and way different from the little apartments and cabins he’d lived in before. Tommy opened a cabinet, then frowned as all he found was raw ingredients; sugar, flour, baking soda, and the like. He moved to the next cabinet, finding afternoon snacks, like cheetos, chips, and mountains of junk food. As much of a gold mine as it was, Tommy knew he shouldn’t eat stuff like that so early, so he went to the next cabinet, and finally found the cereal. There was raisin bran, (ew) cocoa puffs, cheerios, and, thank God, froot loops.

Tommy grinned as he pulled the colorful box down, set it on the counter, then went looking for a bowl. After finding one, (a red one) he started pouring the sugary goodness, then grimaced as he accidentally overpowered and sent some of it tumbling down to the floor. “Oops,” he muttered, putting the box down, then jumped as he heard clacking on the tiled floor. However, he stopped panicking when he realized it was just a dog, coming to see what was going on.

“Oh!” Tommy exclaimed happily, going over to pet the giant canine, “Hello puppy. You scared me.”

The dog whined inquisitively, inspecting him for a moment, before wagging its tail slightly and letting Tommy run his hand over the smooth black fur. “I didn’t know Batman had a dog,” Tommy said absently, patting the animal’s side gently, “Are you a superhero too? Batdog?”

“Bathound, actually,” a voice said easily, and Tommy nearly hit the ceiling as he jumped in fright. Damian stood in the doorway, eyeing him blandly as the dog wagged its tail eagerly and went to his side. “Good Morning to you as well, Drakespawn,” he said as he absentmindedly patted the dog’s head.

Tommy screwed up his face, floating back down to the ground. “Stop calling me that,” he muttered, “And why are you up? None of you get up before noon besides Duke.”

“You’ve been watching?” Damian asked, sounding either nervous or impressed, Tommy couldn’t tell.

“Listening,” Tommy answered, thumbing his ears, “Super hearing. It’s… kinda hardnotto hear.”

“I see…” Damian responded musingly, stepping further into the kitchen, “I suppose we’ll have to start watching what we say, then.”

Tommy frowned; Damian didn’t seem to like him all that much, which was fine, because Tommy didn’t likehimall that much. The older boy wrinkled his nose in distaste as he saw the mess made on the counter. “Obviously Drake didn’t teach you much in the way of hand-eye coordination,” he muttered, “Or nutrition, for that matter. Why you Americans insist upon stuffing yourselves with such sugary imitations of food is beyond me.”

Tommy scowled as he began scooping up some of the wayward froot loops and throwing them in the trash. “I like froot loops,” he said petulantly, “They’re yummy. And stop talking about my dad like that.”

It had taken him a while, but Tommy eventually picked up that Damian only referred to people by their last names, except for Grandpa. He was weird.

“I’ll say what I please,” Damian answered, taking the bowl off the table, “And please, allow me to make you something properly healthy before you die of heart attack. I’ve already lost Grayson to the clutches of cereal, I shall not lose you too.”

“Hey!” Tommy cried, lunging for the bowl, “Put that back!!”

“Justtrustme,” Damian told him insistently, expertly pouring the bowl back into the box without spilling any of it, (how’d hedothat?) “I’ll make you somethingfarbetter. Give me half an hour. You may play with Titus while you wait.”

“Half an hour??” Tommy whined indignantly, “But I’m hungry now!”

“And so long as you go play with Titus, you’ll still be hungry in half an hour,” Damian responded dismissively, tying an apron around his waist, “Go play in the Cave. Titus and Batcow enjoy each other’s company.”

“There’s a Batcow?” Tommy asked suspiciously.

“Of course there is,” Damian answered, gathering pots and pans, “Now go play, Drakespawn. Your breakfast shall be ready soon.”

Tommy scowled, said, “That’s not my name!” then sped away to the grandfather clock that hid the entrance to the Batcave. Tommy hesitated for a moment, not quite remembering how to open it, before the dog, Titus, came up behind him, brushing past him and clawing at the glass of the clock with his paw.

“Oh!” Tommy exclaimed, opening the little glass frame for him, and Titus pulled the pendulum with his teeth. In response, the clock swung open, revealing the passageway.

“Good dog,” Tommy said with a smile, and Titus shook in response, trotting down the stairs. Tommy followed, reveling the quiet stillness of the Cave. he wasn’t quite sure how it worked, but the Cave was just… quiet. There was no sound of the bustling city, no noise of the house moving or the shuffling of feet. Just the soft drip, drip, drip of water and the constant humming of the computers.

And the beeping, wheezing of Nightwing’s breathing machine. Titus trotted away to a place in the back of the Cave where, sure enough, there sat a small corral with an honest-to-goodness cow. Titus and the cow barked and mooed at one another respectively, and touched their snouts together with affection. Tommy watched the strange display with interest, smiling a little as Titus wrestled his way through the fence into Batcow’s pen, when a hoarse voice called, “Damian?”

Tommy knew exactly who had spoken. He stood stock still as he heard Nightwing shift in his hospital bed, behind the curtain in the back of the Cave, where all the noisy medical machinery was. “Damian?” the bedridden man called again, “Are you there? Or did Titus just wander into the Cave by himself?”

Titus barked in response. Batcow mooed. Tommy hovered slightly closer to the curtain, not even sure why he was doing it.

“Titus?” Nightwing called quietly, his voice still hoarse, “Here, boy! C’mere!”

Titus barked twice, stubbornly staying by the cow’s side, and Tommy heard Nightwing sigh and settle back down onto his pillows. “You’ll take the cow over me, huh?” he asked no one in particular, “Figures.”

Tommy reached the curtain. Slowly, still not even sure why he was doing this, he reached out toward the white fabric, then clenched it in his little fist.

Tommy heard Nightwing’s breath still. “I know you’re there,” he stated, and Tommy shivered at the low, commanding tone in his voice, haggard as it was. Nightwing didn’t sound anything like he sounded before, now he sounded… well, not angry, but…dangerous.

“Why don’t you show yourself?” Nightwing asked him, and Tommy shivered as a cold sweat traveled down his back, “Unless you’re scared of a man confined to a hospital bed.”

Tommy clenched his jaw. He might not be quite sure why, but he needed to do this. If he was going to live in the Manor, he needed to face Nightwing, no matter how scared of him he was. No matter how mad he made Dad.

Besides, Dad wasn’t here right now, was he?

Tommy threw back the curtain, and he and Nightwing stared at each other. Nightwing blinked in shock, whispering, “T-Tommy…”

Tommy looked at him intensely. He looked… broken. He was tall, he could tell even lying down, and had some muscle on him, like Dad and Grandpa and Damian and all the rest of them. Some of it had faded from the weeks spent lying in the hospital bed, but the echoes were still there. He had black hair and blue eyes, just like most everyone else in the Manor. At least… TommythoughtAlfred’s hair used to be black.

Most of all, though, he looked… human. Just like everybody else. Tommy had been imagining a seven foot tall brick of a man, with fangs for teeth and horns in his forehead, and large, leathery wings for added dramatic effect. After all, that was the only sort of thing that could scare his dad. But here Nightwing was. Just… laying.

“You’re not so scary,” Tommy said, mostly to himself, and Nightwing stared at him.

“W-Who said I was scary in the first place?” he asked quietly, and Tommy hovered to his bedside, sitting down in one of the simple folding chairs.

“My dad,” Tommy said easily, “He doesn’t like you. At all.”

“… Oh,” Nightwing responded, a twinge of sadness in his voice, “I see.”

They stared at each other a little more, neither kid nor grownup sure what they were supposed to say.

“My favorite superhero is Robin,” Tommy told him, fidgeting uncomfortably, “So I made Dad and Uncle Z and Uncle Owens and Auntie Pru buy me all the Batman and Robin toys I could find. I read all about how Batman and Robin took down the bad guys, and how they were the greatest team in the world, and I just… loved it. All of it.”

Nightwing listened to him attentively, not like all the other grownups who lost interest halfway through. Nightwing was hanging on his every word. That was… new. “So… how does it feel living in all this now?” Nightwing asked him, waving his arm vaguely to the Cave.

“Finding out my Grandpa was Batman was pretty cool,” Tommy admitted, wringing his hands in his lap and smiling in spite of himself, “And Alfred’s really nice. So’re Duke and Jason and Auntie Cass. Damian’s mean, though; he took away my cereal.”

Nightwing sighed sadly and shook his head. “He takesmycereal away, too,” he muttered in commiseration, “But he cares. He’s just bad at showing it.”

“Like Grandpa,” Tommy supplied, and Nightwing grinned.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “Just like Bruce.”

Tommy looked the man up and down, still not quite believing that this bedridden vigilante could possibly be the source of all his Dad’s trouble. The way Dad talked about him, Nightwing could have been the Devil himself for all Tommy knew.

“I didn’t think you would be so…” Tommy started, and Nightwing looked at him.

“Handsome?” he said with a grin, but something was off in the playful twinkle in his eyes.

But Tommy still shook his head, instead saying, “Real.”

“You… didn’t think I was real?” the man asked quizzically, and Tommy shrugged.

“No. Maybe. I don’t really know,” he sighed, kicking his feet in the air and frowning, “Whenever I tried to ask my Dad about you, about Nightwing and the Batfamily, he’d always get… really angry. And really sad. Dadnevergot that angry. Not unless I talked about you.”

“Oh,” Nightwing whispered in response, “I… I’m sorry.”

Tommy shrugged. “S’okay,” he murmured, “You didn’t know.”

Nightwing and Tommy sat there together a little longer, and Nightwing finally put out his hand. Tommy stared at it, then looked up at the man’s eyes. “It’s nice to meet you, Tommy,” Nightwing told him, regret and sadness lacing his voice, “My name’s Dick. Dick Grayson. Your dad’s very important to me, and I’m sorry that we couldn’t meet until now.”

Tommy looked back down at the hand again, then stuck out his little hand to shake it. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Grayson,” he said cordially, and Dick winced.

“Please, kid, I’m begging you,” he sighed, “Call me Dick. ‘Mr. Grayson’ makes me sound a million years old.”

Tommy giggled, and Dick giggled with him, though the man then winced in pain as it disturbed his bruised lungs. As they sat together in a much more companionable silence, Titus’s barking drew their attention to the front of the Cave, where Damian was approaching with a platter of the sweetest smelling food Tommy had ever smelled.

Tommy gawked as Damian set down a tray of fresh flatbread, a simmering stew, little round balls of cheese, fritters, a mixture of oil and spices he’d never seen before, and three cups of hot tea.

“Breakfast is served,” Damian said proudly, bringing Dick a lap tray to eat at while bringing another little chair to sit at a side table with Tommy, “bil hana wa shifa.”

“What?” Tommy asked, and Damian pursed his lips.

“It is Arabic,” he explained, “It means ‘with joy and good health’. I am wishing you a good meal.”

“O-Oh! Uh… thank you!” Tommy stammered quickly, still staring wide-eyed at all the food while his stomach grumbled.

“Damian, I’m grateful, but I keep telling you, you don’thaveto cook me breakfast every morning,” Dick sighed, though there was a smile on his face as Damian gave him a bowl of simmering stew and some flatbread.

“Nonsense,” Damian answered, “Pennyworth needs to rest, and if it weren’t for me, you would be eating those sugary cereals every morning, rather than a proper breakfast.”

“Wh-Whatisall this?” Tommy asked as Damian handed him his own supply of bread and fritters, “I-It looks delicious!”

If Tommy didn’t know better, he’d say the tips of Damian’s ears flushed as the older boy smiled. “It is Arabian breakfast, Drakespawn,” he said with no small measure of pride, “This is zaatar w zeit, a flatbread with oil and spices. These are called labneh, they are balls of yogurt cheese with olive oil. This is falafel, it is a fritter made from chickpea dough. And this stew is shakshuka, it is tomato and egg based.”

“Wow…” Tommy whispered, taking an appreciative bite of the zaatar w zeit and widening his eyes as he tasted all the new flavors and spices. He swallowed it down, then stared at Damian with newfound awe.

“Do… do you like it?” Damian asked, a hint of nerves in his voice, “I… I’m afraid it’s been sometime since I made zaatar w zeit and I’m not certain I remembered the recipe correctly-”

“It’s fantastic!” Tommy exclaimed, and Damian blinked as Dick laughed at him, taking his own bread and dipping it in the shakshuka. Tommy attacked the rest of his meal, gulping down the new flavors and spices with gusto, reveling in the spice and the sweetness, while Dick grinned with amusement and Damian preened.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Damian told him, and Tommy nodded excitedly, swallowing down the mouthful he’d been chewing.

“Mhm!” he hummed in response, happily chowing down with the two people in the Manor he’d disliked the most only an hour ago.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he had a life here without his dad, and maybe… that was okay.

Tommy was never gonna spend the day in bed again.

Roman Sionis, AKA Black Mask. One of the most despicable pieces of scum to ever grace Gotham’s shores, andthatwas really, really saying something. He sold drugs to kids, ran a human trafficking ring, and probably listed drowning puppies as his favorite pastime. For ages, he’d had the Bat breathing down his neck, but just the same as ever, Bruce was unwilling to kill, and Black Mask had enough money to forego the courts. Red Hood had gunned for him hard, back when he first entered the scene, but Black Mask had managed to dodge him long enough for Hood to lose interest.

Tim had had a shitty day, probably one of the shittiest he’d ever had, andthatwas really, really saying something. Which meant he was so, so glad that it was ending on a high note as he soundlessly dropped from the ceiling vent in Sionis’s office.

“What the fuck!?” Sionis cried, reaching for his gun, but Tim was already across the room, knocking it out of his hands and wrapping his thighs around Black Mask’s head in a move he saw in a movie and always wanted to try himself.

“Just so you know,” Tim whispered softly, sitting on Mask’s shoulders, “I’m gonna enjoy this so much more then I should.”

Tim felt no remorse as he swung his weight around and squeezed his thighs together, snapping Sionis’s neck and twisting his head back like a bottlecap.

Roman Sionis didn’t feel a thing as his body dropped to the ground.

Tim got off of him, shaking out his legs. “Black Widow made that look so much easier,” he muttered, then picked up the glass that Black Mask had been drinking from. He sniffed it, then downed it and put it back. “Blech,” he muttered, stalking away, “Turpentine.”

Operation Mockingbird had begun.

Chapter 23: Mockingbird, Part 1: The Offer

Chapter Text

Jim Gordon grimaced as he entered the top floor office of Sionis Technologies, weaving past beat cops and detectives alike as the police took care of the scene. He walked over to Bullock and Montoya, his two best detectives, who stood over a body bag, zipped shut.

“Commissioner,” Montoya greeted.

“Jim,” Bullock said with a nod.

“Montoya, Bullock,” Jim responded, then regarded the black bag lying on the floor. “Open it,” he commanded, and the mortician sighed as he zipped the bag back, revealing the face.

Jim sighed, taking out a cigarette, and muttered, “It’s him, alright. Black Mask is dead.”

Jim turned around, facing a shadowed corner of the office, and called out in a loud voice, “You know anything about that, Batman?”

Sure enough, Batman stalked out of the shadows, his cape billowing out behind him. “What have the police found?” the Bat asked, and Jim grinned slightly; that was Batcode for he had no fucking clue.

“Well, got a 9-1-1 call from a secretary at about midnight,” he started, “We arrived at the scene, the docs gave him a once over. Only one bruise on his hand as a sign of a struggle, and his neck was snapped clean, head turned all the way around like a goddamn owl. Never seen anything like it.”

Jim lit his cigarette, taking a long drag from it before looking at the Bat’s inspecting eyes. “Hood had it out for Mask, didn’t he?” he asked suspiciously, “Any news fromhim?”

Batman grimaced, and Jim grimaced too. They both knew he knew it was Jason under there, so they both knew what the real question was: did you kill him?

“Red Hood didn’t do this,” Jason answered, and Jim breathed a sigh of relief. Then took another fortifying breath.

“... And what about anyotherwayward birds?” he asked cautiously, and sure enough, the Bat’s expression darkened.

“Red Robin hasn’t been seen in months,” he answered.

“Yeah, ‘not seen’,” Jim repeated, turning away to look out the window, “It’s not the same as ‘found dead’.”

Batman grimaced, then eventually said, “I’ll have Oracle retrieve the autopsy report and crime scene analysis when they’re ready.”

Jim turned back in a huff, growling, “Now what makes you think you can just break into--- and he’s gone.” Jim cursed as he stood talking to empty space, and Montoya had the gall to grin at him. Jim scowled at her good naturedly, muttering, “Back to work, detective.”

Jim considered the prone form of Black Mask once more, then turned to look out the window again. Lightning struck the sea as clouds darker than Gotham’s usual loomed on the horizon. A storm was coming.

Carmine Falcone looked out the window at the storm rolling into Gotham. He had been master of this city once, before all the crazies moved in. Back when people had a certain respect for authority, for order. Then the Bat came, and the status quo was destroyed. Falcone knew that there were certain groups in the city that didn’t take kindly to the destruction of the status quo; he vaguely wondered what their play would be. Wait it out? Or raze it all and start again, as they had in the past?

Carmine shook his head, stopping these thoughts in their tracks. It would do no good to wonder about the actions of certain groups, especially when certain groups could get rid of him on a whim. As much as he hated to admit it… Gotham wasn’t his arena anymore.

Lightning flashed over the sea. Carmine sighed, looking at his feet slightly, then looked back up. “Are you going to stand in that corner all night, Batman?” he asked the figure looming in the darkness behind him, “Or are you going to talk?”

“Ooh, swing and a miss, Falcone,” a voice much too high to be Batman’s snickered, and Carmine turned to watch as a short young man in a red suit and gold bandoliers stalked into the moonlight, “I’m not Batman.”

“So you’re not,” Carmine agreed, clutching his cane a little tighter. A new mask; that was dangerous. Or, now that Carmine looked closer… maybe an old one. “Red Robin, I presume,” he said, hoping his gamble payed off.

The young man grinned, clapping his gloved hands. “Second time’s the charm, it seems,” he said with a smirk, “Not bad, Carmine. Still sharp as a tack.”

“Black Mask,” Carmine said rather than answering, “I’m assuming that was you?”

“It was,” Red Robin agreed easily.

Carmine swallowed nervously. “And am I next?” he asked, and Red Robin grinned wider.

“Not unless you don’t do what I say,” he responded, crossing the room to Carmine’s desk, gesturing to the unopened bottle of rum, “Do you mind if I have a drink?”

He was already pouring himself one, even going so far as to sit on Carmine’s desk nonchalantly. Carmine pursed his lips, and steeled his nerves. “By all means,” he answered cordially, and Red Robin grinned.

“Salute,” Red Robin said in Italian, Carmine’s native tongue, and took a swig. When he finished the glass, he set it down and smacked his lips, looking out the window contemplatively. “You know, I’ve always kinda respected you, Carmine,” he sighed, “The Last of the Gentleman Gangsters, a relic of times long past here in Gotham. A piece of history in my own backyard.”

Carmine smiled thinly. “Perhaps this city merely needs reminding of the good old days,” he answered, and Red Robin laughed mirthlessly.

“Oh, Carmine. This isGotham,” he laughed, “Therewereno good old days.”

Carmine grimaced, then looked out the window at what used to be a bustling metropolis on the rise. It was rough, but people used to respect people back when he was young. “There used to be,” he sighed wistfully, then turned back to his guest, “So whatdoyou want from me, if you’re not here to kill me?”

Red Robin smiled, then hopped off Carmine’s desk. “I want you to leave, Carmine,” he said, and Carmine shivered as the tone shifted from playful banter tothis is in no uncertain terms an order, “I want you to take your money, take your family, move down to that retirement place you’ve been holding in Key West, and never step foot in Gotham again.”

Carmine tightened his grip on his cane. Sure, it was something he had been considering for a while now, but to just betoldto do it, rather than doing it himself… it left a bad taste in his mouth. “And why would I do that?” he asked, and the vigilante sighed.

“Now, here I thought the ‘or I’ll kill you’ was implied,” he muttered, “Look, Carmine, I don’twantto, but I will if I have to. Things are about to change in this city; I’m about to be running it.”

Carmine gave him a hard look. “Last I checked, Red Hood tried the same thing,” he answered, “Gave me and Penguin quite the scare, but we managed to hang on. Salvatore Maroni and Black Mask, too. What makes you think we can’t outlast you?”

Red Robin laughed, then answered, “Red Hood was driven by teen angst that he never grew out of and unresolved daddy issues.Mymotivations are far more…compelling.”

Carmine set his jaw, “And what might they be?”

Red Robin grinned at him with a sultry expression on his masked face. “Why,Carmine,” he asked in a voice that reminded Falcone of Catwoman, “Why does a young person do anything? I wantattention.”

Carmine scowled;thathe didn’t buy one bit. There was more to this, and dammit, he was going to find out what. “Attention?” he pressed, “From who?”

Red Robin giggled at him. Then, he opened his mouth and began to… sing. Sing a nursery rhyme. One that Carmine knew well. His knuckles grew white around his cane as red Robin finished, and a cold sweat traveled down his back. “You’re dealing with things you don’t understand, boy,” Carmine whispered to him urgently, “If you have any sanity, you’ll heed that rhyme’s warning and stay far, far away from this.”

If Red Robin was shaken by the fear in Falcone’s voice, he was good at hiding it. “Sanity, huh?” he asked, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “Think I’m running a little low on that, lately. Sorry.”

Carmine stared at the boy with trepidation. As far as he knew, not even the Bat trifled with certain groups. This boy, this Red Robin… he was going to get himself killed. “I won’t do it,” Carmine said clearly, making his voice as steady as he dared, “You’ll have to kill me.”

Red Robin pouted, splaying himself dramatically over Carmine’s desk once more. “Ughhh!Are you sure?” he whined petulantly, “Can’t I just… threaten you a little more?”

Red Robin took a small wooden box out from beneath his cape, tossing it through the air to Carmine, who caught it with little difficulty. “Good reflexes,” Red Robin praised.

“I played catcher when I was younger,” Carmine explained, “What’s in the box?”

“Open it and find out,” Red Robin answered, sitting up in one fluid movement.

Carine lifted the lid on the little wooden box, feeling the tug of a magnet keeping it closed. He swallowed hard as he saw what was inside. “What are these?” he asked quietly.

Red Robin grinned savagely. “Those are Salvatore Maroni’s testicles, Carmine,” he answered, “Funny thing; he said ‘you’ll have to kill me’ too… Though, to be fair, he’s not saying much of anything these days.”

“Where’s the rest of him?” Carmine asked, closing the box. He didn’t particularly like Maroni, rival families and all, but he held a certain respect for the young firebrand. He wanted to know what was done with his body.

Red Robin hummed. “Oh, let’s see… I had a friend of mine toss his hands and feet into the river,” he said, counting it off on his fingers, “Another friend put his arms and legs in the trunk of a burning car. We dumped his torso in the swamp outside the city, and his head… I mailed to his widow. She might want to take it to the crematorium soon.”

Carmine clenched his jaw, trying not to shake with rage of fear, he couldn’t tell which. “And I assume the same gruesome fate will befall me if I refuse your… generous offer?” Carmine asked, and Red Robin grinned at him from where he leaned lazily on the desk.

“Like you gangsters always say,” he said menacingly, “It’s an offer you can’t refuse.”

Carmine grimaced at theGodfatherquote. “Answer me one thing, then,” he said shakily, and Red Robin tilted his head with interest.

Carmine swallowed, then screwed his courage to the sticking place. “Why are you seeking the Court?” he asked, and Red Robin’s playful expression dimmed, just a little bit. Finally; some modicum of the truth.

“I don’t have a choice,” Red Robin whispered, and Carmine was struck by how lost he sounded, how young, how… alone.

That one sentence changed Carmine’s entire perception of the masked man before him. He had undertaken enough blackmail in his own life to know what expressions were which, why each word was selected carefully ten minutes before the sentence was spoken. Red Robin wasn’t a conqueror… he was a prisoner.

“Oh, you poor boy,” Carmine sighed, his expression softening, “I’m so sorry.”

Red Robin’s mouth hung open for a little bit, before his expression hardened and he scowled. “I’m not looking for pity, Carmine,” he growled, “Leave Gotham. Tonight. You have twelve hours; or I bring the Falcone Crime Family to an end…permanently.”

Red Robin slinked back into the shadows, and Carmine shivered, before stepping over to his phone. “Denise?” he said, dialing the number of his receptionist, “I apologize for the hour. Could you please activate our assets in Florida?”

Carmine looked out the window at the storm, “I think it’s finally time I retire.”

Selina Kyle sighed as she slipped into her apartment, tired from a long night of cat burglary. Her cats meowed at her, and Selina smiled as she knelt to scratch them behind the ears, then sighed and looked up at the darkness of the kitchen, extending her claws. “Show yourself,” she called out, “Or you’ll see this Cat still has claws.”

“Ooh, Selina, touchy, touchy,” a smooth voice purred, and Selina relaxed immediately as Poison Ivy stalked into view, Harley Quinn bouncing with excitement at her side, “Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

“Pamela, Harls!” Selina greeted happily, crossing the room and pulling the two other women into a hug, “I didn’t know you’d be stopping by! What’s the occasion?”

“Word through the grapevine is Carmine Falcone’s pulled out of Gotham,” Ivy said cooly, “Quickly, too. And no one’s seen or heard from Maroni in a while. And, well… weallknow what happened to Black Mask.”

“Welp, so much for the Bechdel Test,” Harley murmured.

“I’ve heard,” Selina said carefully, ignoring Harley’s comment, “What about it? Certain things change, everybody knows that. Besides, Falcone, Maroni, Mask; they were all relics or hotshots. No skin off my back if they’re gone.”

“But that’s not all!” Harley interjected, “Apparently, there’s some secret meetin’ going on tonight!”

“Don’t know where it is, but everyone’s invited…” Ivy continued, “Everyone but us.”

Selina frowned, crossing her arms. “Sexist?” she asked.

“Unlikely,” Ivy sighed, “More likely, they know we’re on the path to reform, and don’t want us involved.”

Selina frowned deeper. “That can’t be good,” she murmured, “I should… I should tell Batman.”

“Would’ya??” Harley asked excitedly, “We thought we should, but things have been so hectic lately, and the Birds ain’t out in Gotham so much anymore, so we thought we should come to you ‘cause-”

“Sirens stick together,” Selina said with a smile, “Of course I’ll help, Harls. I’ll go now; make yourselves at home, girls, I’ll be back soon. Thank you for coming to me.”

“Of course!” Harley said easily, a wide grin on her face as she raided Selina’s fridge, “You’re the most heroic of all of us, Selina!”

Catwoman stopped in her tracks from where she’d been going for the window, and her heart skipped a beat. Her… a hero?

Some warm, fuzzy feeling, like melted butter, settled over her chest, and she smiled as she leapt out the window without another word.

Bruce sat in the Batcave, gnawing on his finger with worry as he watched Jason, Roy, Cass, Steph, and Damian’s suit cameras, wincing as he watched Roy almost miss a jump, only for the archer to pull himself up. Kori and Roy were still relatively new to him, but he’d begun to treat them like family. Kori was due in a month or two, and not a moment too soon; the Tamaranean princess was itching to get back out onto the streets, enough so that Bruce actually had to wrestle her down once when she’d heard that Jason and Roy were in a firefight with Two-Face.

Bruce caught himself in a fantasy as he thought glowingly about havingthreegrandchildren in the house. Shaking his head of such thoughts, he got on the comms as a light flared up on the Batcomputer. “Robin, there’s some petty robbery going on down on Billfinger Street, take care of it,” he said quickly, and Robin clicked a button on his communicator, indicating he had heard, and changed course.

It had been a quiet night. Too quiet. Bruce was nervous; after Black Mask’s death, it was possible that something was stirring. And if that something was Tim… Bruce didn’t think he could bear that.

“Grandpa?” a high voice called, and Bruce turned in his chair to see Tommy coming down the stairs of the Cave, yawning wide and accidentally beginning to hover over to him, “What are you doing up so late?”

Bruce smiled, pulling the boy down and onto his knee, holding the sleepy child upright. “I’m helping your Uncle Jason do Batman things,” he explained easily, “What areyoudoing out of bed, young man?”

Tommy pouted as he leaned into Bruce’s chest, murmuring, “Couldn’t sleep.”

“And why’s that?” Bruce asked, discreetly signaling Barbara to take over Oracle duties, which she did with no complaints; Bruce had been butting in on her territory since he came back and she didn’t like it.

“Kept thinking about Dad,” Tommy sighed, “Didn’t want to, so I came down here to see what you all do at night.”

“Ah,” Bruce sighed, pulling the boy into a hug awkwardly. How was he supposed to respond to that? Did… did Tommy not want to think about Tim?

That probably wasn’t healthy… right?

God, he was terrible at this.

However, before he could figure out how to broach the subject, Tommy sat up in his arms. “Someone’s in here,” he whispered, and Bruce and Barbara stilled immediately.

“How can you tell?” Bruce asked quietly, and Tommy turned to him with wide, fearful eyes.

“I hear four heartbeats,” he whispered, “Yours, mine, Auntie Babs’s, and…that one’s not Alfred.”

Bruce nodded, then looked at Barbara, who was already palming a batarang. Tommy pointed soundlessly to the back of the Cave, and just as Bruce was about to guard the boy with his body, a familiar voice rang out, “Oh, relax, Babs, it’s just me!”

Bruce’s breath caught and his heart stuttered. Catwoman stalked into the light, and she, too, stopped in her tracks as she sighted him. “B-Bruce,” she whispered.

“Selina,” Bruce answered, just as awkward.

No words passed between them for a long time, until Selina finally took a shaky step forward. Bruce stood up, absently handing Tommy to Barbara. In a few quick steps, Selina and Bruce ran into each other’s arms, and Bruce shuddered slightly as he felt her arms around him again. “Cat…” he whispered.

“Bat…” she responded quietly, her voice wobbling slightly. She pulled away, pushing her goggles up to wipe her eyes, and smiled as she said, “Y-You’re back!”

“I am,” Bruce said in return, “Thanks to Tim.”

“Tim was right?” Selina asked in a hushed whisper, “Really?”

Bruce nodded quietly, frowning softly, “We’re still trying to find him. Bring him home.”

Selina nodded, then hugged him again, tighter than before. “You were certainly missed, Bat,” she sighed.

Bruce smiled, then led her back to the center of the Cave. Tommy frowned from his place on Barbara’s knee, looking at Selina strangely. “Are you… my grandma?” he asked eventually, his voice uncertain and foggy from sleep. It seemed he was bad at waking up, just like his father.

Selina, meanwhile, balked at the word ‘grandma’. “I… I’m sorry, who is this?” she asked quickly, and Bruce chuckled a little as Barbara put Tommy down and went back to work, shooting a quick hello at Selina.

“This is Tommy,” he said with a smile, tussling the boy’s hair, “He’s Tim’s son.”

“Tim’s-” Selina gasped, then caught herself, looking at the little boy, crouched down, smiled, and opened her arms wide for a hug, “Oh, what the hell. Yes, I’m Grandma.”

Tommy grinned and tackled her in a hug, and Selina grunted at the force of impact. “Strong little fella, ain’t he?” she managed, and Bruce smiled at her from where he reclaimed his chair.

“He’s a quarter Kryptonian,” Bruce explained, “It’s a long story. And one I’d be happy to tell you, if you’re staying.”

Selina looked up from where she was cuddling Tommy, and smiled at Bruce. She thought back to a conversation with Dick, months earlier. “I think I will be,” she said eventually, “But there’s something you need to know.”

Monarch Theatre. It was the one place in Gotham where everyone agreed to just stay away; you couldn’t move drugs there, the city wouldn’t fix it up, and the Bat never patrolled there. It just felt wrong, like hallowed ground after what happened to the Waynes. The last good people in Gotham. That was why the Rogues were a little nervous as they all got messages demanding their presence at the theater, that night, no less.

All the big names were here, Two-Face, Penguin, Riddler, Mr. Freeze, Scarecrow, Bane, Clayface, Killer Croc. And some of the smaller names, too; Man-Bat, Mad Hatter, Victor Zsasz, Firefly, even Kite Man was here.

“Why have us all gather here?” Riddler asked aloud as they all sat at a table onstage, “What’s the motive?”

“And why just us?” Penguin agreed, looking to his fellow Rogues sharply, “Why not the Clown? Why not Quinn or Ivy?”

“Quinn and Ivy have gone straight, and everyone knows it,” Two-Face growled, flipping his coin, “And the Clown’s in a cage; where he belongs.”

There was a general murmur of assent from around the table; no one liked Joker.

“I don’t like this…” Bane murmured from where he stood against the wall, “It reeks of a trap.”

“Didn’t any of us learn from what happened to Black Mask?” Freeze agreed emphatically, “Or Maroni and Falcone?”

“Ah, man, why am I even here?” Kite Man asked from the crowd, “You guys are all bigwigs! I’m just a petty crook!”

“I assure you, gentleman, it is no trap,” a voice called from the rafters, and the Rogues all pointed their weapons as a short man in a black cowl and gold bandoliers stepped into the light, a sly grin on his face.

“This…” Red Robin said with a smile, “Is a business opportunity. Welcome to the Mockingbird Syndicate.”

Chapter 24: Mockingbird, Part 2: The Plan

Chapter Text

The Rogues bristled as Red Robin stood in front of them, most standing and raising their weapons. Red Robin, however, merely smiled as he gently pushed Penguin’s umbrella away with his finger. “Gentlemen, please,” he sighed, “If I were here to kill you, don’t you think I would have done it already instead of introducing myself first?”

“Not necessarily,” Riddler said suspiciously, twirling his cane and narrowing his eyes, “This is Gotham, after all. We’re the megalomaniac capital of the world.”

Red Robin laughed lightly at the joke, chuckling, “Yes, I suppose that’s true. But would you believe me if I said I’mnothere to kill you?”

“If you’re not here to kill us…” Freeze murmured, powering up his gun threateningly, “Then where are Maroni and Falcone?”

“They both received separate offers,” Red Robin explained, moving past Bane with no worry about showing his back to an enemy, and sat at the table, “Falcone accepted. Maroni didn’t.”

Riddler narrowed his eyes. “You mean Maroni wouldn’t cooperate with whatever you’re planning,” he deduced, “And Falcone was too old for your purposes.”

Red Robin smiled a smile with no joy, no happiness, no pleasure; just a razor-thin grin, like a crescent moon on his lips. “Got it in one, Ed,” he acknowledged, “Please, everyone, take a seat; we’re all friends here.”

“Arewe?” Two-Face asked suspiciously, refusing to sit, “Most of the people in this room I’ve shot at.”

“That’s true…” Red Robin acknowledged, “But then again, there’s also one thing everyone in this room has in common.”

Penguin scoffed, “Oh please, we all know what you’re going to say. We all hate Batman.”

Red Robin spread his hands placatingly, as if to say,Well, whatcha gonna do?“I hope you’ll forgive the cliche,” he sighed, “But I promise, this is an offer you won’t want to pass up.”

“Feh,I’ve run enough bullshit scams in my life to know one when I hear it,” Two-Face growled, walking towards the door, “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, Red Robin.Hasta la vista.”

“Step out that door and my assassins murder you,” Red Robin called, and the room fell silent. Two-Face turned, a grin on his face.

“How do you know my men haven’t scoped your assassins?” he asked, and Red Robin continued smiling.

“They haven’t,” he said plainly, “In fact, you should all be made aware that all of the henchmen you brought along-- henchmen I specifically told younotto bring, by the way-- are dead.”

The Rogues growled and rumbled, and Bane snarled. “Proof!” the wrestler roared, “I demand proof!”

Red Robin shrugged, then reached into his utility belt. After a bit of digging, he pulled out a human tooth, then threw it onto the table. “That was from Penguin’s second,” he said, then placed an eye on the table, “Two-Face’s,” a finger, “And yours, Bane. Need I go on?”

The Rogues said nothing. Red Robin looked around at all of them. “No?” he asked the room, “Are you sure? I have more body parts, if you want.”

“Oh, shut up!” Penguin snapped, “You have our attention.”

“Good,” Red Robin said with a smile, then it melted like a snowball in hell as he added, “Thensit. the fuck. down.”

The Rogues sat. Red Robin smiled, “Good! Now then, I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here and threatened your lives.”

“It crossed my mind, yes,” Freeze muttered, and Red Robin looked at him strangely.

“Hm,” he murmured, “Don’t remember you being so sarcastic, Victor.”

Freeze narrowed his eyes, “We haven’t met.”

“Oh, but we have!” Red Robin said gleefully, “In fact, I’ve met all of you before!”

Red Robin looked at each of the Rogues in turn, waiting to see who would figure it out. “Oh, come on!” he sighed, “Nobody? I didn’t even change my codename all that much! I just added a color!”

Riddler laughed, and the table turned to him. “What’s so funny, Nygma?” Two-Face growled, and Riddler grinned from beneath his bowler.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, then turned to Red Robin, “You’re the third Robin all grown up, aren’t you?”

Red Robin cheered, clapping enthusiastically, “Haha!Excellent! Ten points to Gryffindor!”

Scarecrow grumbled, muttering, “And why should we care what any of the Bat’s brats has to say?”

“Well, Jonathan,” Red Robin sighed dramatically, kicking his feet up on the table and producing a flask from his cape, “Here’s the deal. Everyone in this room wants something, something I can help you get.”

The Rogues looked around the table, all grumbling and shifting. “And what do you think those things are?” Bane asked suspiciously, and Red Robin sighed.

“Well, let’s go around the table, shall we?” he asked, and turned to his left.

“Oswald Cobblepot, AKA The Penguin. The last son of one of Gotham’s oldest families, living off the last of your inheritance from your late grandfather. Despite a rough childhood being ostracized by your family due to your interests in ornithology and business, seen as beneath men of high stature such as the proud Cobblepots, you tried your best to advise your father on managing the family’s funds, but he wouldn’t listen. Your father died of cancer when you were thirteen, and the bank repossessed your family’s centuries-old mansion, kicking you and your ailing mother to the streets, so you did the only thing you could; you made a name for yourself in Fish Mooney’s old gang, and took her spot after a meteoric rise through the ranks. You provided for your mother until she died, and by then, you had been locked into a life of crime. Oswald, what you want most is to make your mother proud by becoming successful, either in crime or business, and reclaim your family home and honor.”

Penguin straightened and flushed, and the Rogues stared at him. Scarecrow burst out laughing, pointing and saying, “Bwah ha ha ha ha!!Oh, poor little Oswald! So scared you might be adisappointmenttopoor old mummy!!”

Just as Penguin rose in anger to kill the crazed psychiatrist, Red Robin raised a placating hand, turning his blank, soulless smile to the Scarecrow. “Dr. Jonathan Crane, AKA The Scarecrow,” he said, and Scarecrow stopped laughing at the tone of his voice, “Son of the late great Gerald Crane, you lost your mother to a house fire. The image of your mother burning to death haunted you and your father ever since. Your father, a well-respected pharmacist, began concocting a drug to eliminate the human brain’s fear response, but after being shot and killed by then-Detective James Gordon, you accidentally overdosed on your father’s cure. After a few months spent catatonic, you seemingly recovered and pursued a career in psychiatry, specializing in fear. However, when your obsession with fear and near-torture of your test subjects became evident, you were ostracized from the scientific community. Forced to continue your work illegally on the unwilling and unsuspecting, you took on the persona of the childhood boogeyman that used to terrify you: the Scarecrow. What you want most, Jonathan, is to find the ultimate fear, to understand why your father was so obsessed with its defeat.”

Scarecrow swallowed slightly. “How do you know all this?” he asked, and Red Robin grinned, merely holding a finger to his lips.

“Trade secret,” he whispered, then looked back at the table, “Harvey Dent, AKA Two-Face. You at first were searching for a cure to the intense burns on your face, but now, you seek the respect that you lost when you had to stop being the District Attorney. Dr. Victor Fries, AKA Mr. Freeze. You wish to save the life of your ailing wife, Nora, currently frozen in suspended animation. Basil Karlow, AKA Clayface, Waylon Jones, AKA Killer Croc. You two wish to get your powers under control so that you may once again join the public sphere, but by now, you’ve both spent so long as villains that there’s no hope of return. Edward Nygma, AKA The Riddler. You were a brilliant game designer and CSI, stifled by the the incompetence of those around you and underestimated your whole life; you seek to prove everyone who ever doubted you wrong. Bane, you wish to prove your mettle against Batman, the only one you deem worthy enough to challenge you, enough times so that he doesn’t get back up.”

Red Robin turned to face the sea of lesser villains, chuckling, “And the rest of you want respect and a paycheck. I could and would go through all of you, but we’re on a bit of a schedule. Please, if anyone has any grievances being left out, let me know.”

Freeze bristled, his cold gun glowing and humming once more. “So now you’ve laid our life stories out for all to see,” he growled, “What’s your point? Or will you keep talking in circles all night?”

“Well, if you hadn’t keptinterruptingme,” Red Robin muttered under his breath, “My point is, Victor, I want to go in on a joint business opportunity with you all. Individually, each of you has proved a match for Batman in one way or another, but he’s always triumphed over you. My grand plan is called the Mockingbird Syndicate; it aims to bring cohesion to his lawless city, organize crime taken to its logical extreme. First, every gangbanger and crime lord in this town will share a universal take, to be divided up based on participation, a system whichIwill dictate. Secondly, none of the take will go to me; I have my own funds. Third, we will utilize coordinated assaults to ensure that no matter where any member of the Batfamily is, at least one of our jobs is successful.

“You see, people have tried in the past to eliminate crime in Gotham, or to eliminate Batman. Neither of these has worked, for a myriad of reasons, but the fact of the matter is, we’re not getting rid of either anytime soon. So, the best we can hope for, and what I’m proposing to you all, is coexistence. Batman gets his prize every once in a while, but we always get ours. To his knowledge, another Rogue has been stopped while another goes free, but to us, it’s a resounding success. We both get what we want, but us Rogues just get… a little more. Like I said, individually, you’re all a match for Batman. Think of what you could accomplishtogether.”

The Rogues considered his proposal for a moment, looking about at their peers, before Killer Croc finally laughed in a horrid, deformed voice. “People have tried to bring Rogues together before,” Croc snarled, and even though the sound of his voice at least unsettled most, Red Robin regarded him with a pleasant, polite smile, “Amanda Waller uses pain of death for the Suicide Squad. Gorilla Grodd and Lex Luthor tried to use the so-much-more speech on the Injustice League. Hell, even the old turf wars back in the day, between Joker and Riddler, we all teamed up in one way or another. Each and every attempt crashed and burned in spectacular fashion.What makes you any different, Red Robin? How can we trust you?”

Red Robin smiled. “I’m glad you asked, Waylon,” he said slyly, clasping his hands in front of him and looking at all the Rogues gathered, “It’s true, so-called villain team-ups have been disastrous in the past. Batman, Superman, and the Justice League have thwarted all attempts at a team-up in one way or another. Why should the Mockingbird Syndicate be any different?”

Red Robin grinned as he produced a photograph from his cape, throwing it onto the table. The Rogues inspected it, and Penguin looked up. “The hell is this?” he asked, and Red smiled pleasantly at him.

“It’s the Rogues’ Cemetary in Central City, Oswald,” he explained, “Captain Cold, Weather Wizard, Captain Boomerang, the Trickster, they all come and pay their respects to those fallen. They care enough to honor those things. Do you know why?”

“Because Central City is a fairytale land of lies and disgustingly blind optimism?” Riddler asked scathingly.

“That may be so,” Red Robin admitted with a laugh, “But the reason is because they’re allfriends,Edward. That’s the reason the Central City Rogues have survived as a team as long as they have; they’refriends.They would fight and die for each other. I intend to build a similar rapport with all of you.”

There was silence for a moment. Then, all at once, the Rogues burst out laughing. Red Robin continued smiling, waiting for the raucous guffaws to quiet down.

“Us?Friends?” Two-Face roared, shaking his head as he hefted his gun, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! What, were you expecting us all to hold hands and sing Kumbaya? This is Gotham! Everyone here has the God-given right to treat each other likeshit!”

“Indeed!” Riddler agreed, coming down from his own fit of giggling, “As if I’d ever lower myself to working alongsidetheseimbeciles!”

“You’d sooner find us all kicking up our feet and having a beer withBatman!” Penguin laughed, wiping his eyes behind his monacle.

Red Robin lowered his head in acceptance, and Bane regarded him with pity. “Besides, how can you expect us tobuild rapportif we don’t even know your name?” he sighed, “I know you Bats. Even when Red Hood played for ‘our side’, he never gave up Batman’s identity, nor his own. You’re all too loyal for that.”

Red Robin tilted his head for a moment, as if considering. “Excellent point, Bane,” he said after a moment, and the Rogues all looked at him as he drew up his thumbs under his cowl, “Please, allow me to introduce myself.”

The Rogues gaped in open-mouthed silence as Red Robin actually, fully pulled down his cowl. No second mask, no domino, no nothing. Just an actual, honest-to-Godface.And a face they recognized…

“No. fucking.way,” Two-Face growled. Or, now that Tim thought about it, it might have been Harvey Dent.

“All this time, the Robin that flew the nest has been…” Scarecrow murmured, and Riddler smiled, leaning forward with interest.

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, heir of Drake Industries, Wayne Enterprises, and now the darling of LexCorp,” Nygma said confidently, and Tim smiled.

“At your service,” he said cordially, then Freeze narrowed his eyes.

“You wish to build rapport,” he said icily, “You know our life stories, our deepest secrets and most private motivations. Rapport is to happen among equals; you cannot get by with only your face.”

“You want my origin story?” Tim asked, tilting his head, and Freeze nodded as a general murmur of assent went through the Rogues. Tim shrugged, “It’s not all that interesting. I was a lonely little boy, so I snuck out at night and followed Batman and Robin around with a camera, taking pictures. I knew the first Robin as a civilian, and when he performed a technique I knew only his civilian identity could perform, I extrapolated both his and Batman’s secret identities. I lived with this information until I was thirteen, and the second Robin died.”

The Rogues flinched. Sure, they all talked big, but none of them ever really wanted tokillRobin. He was just a kid, after all. Innocent, just trying to do good. More than once, they’d scolded Batman in their own ways for bringing children into his war, but the Boy Wonder persisted. Eventually, they’d just told their men to pull their punches until the kids at least hit puberty. All except the newest one; they didn’t know what the Bat fed him, but he was a bloodthirsty little psychopath that needed to die.

“After Batman grew increasingly violent, and threatened breaking his own code, I sought him out and became the third Robin at his side,” Tim finished, “No big deal.”

“No big deal?” Riddler asked, twirling his cane idly in his hands, “That I don’t buy. You’re a mystery, Mr. Drake-Wayne, and an intruiging one.”

“Just Drake is fine,” Tim corrected, and Riddler looked up.

“Oh? Trouble in paradise?” he asked, then grinned, “Which brings me to my second point: you say you sought Batman out. You were his loyal little soldier. So, Red Robin: why are you here?”

Tim sighed, clenching his fist so tight the leather in his gloves creaked. “Now see, Ed, I knew this question was coming, but I still wasn’t looking forward to it,” he sighed, then let the tension in his shoulders go and let out a calming breath, “But I suppose I have to answer, don’t I? I’m sure you all noticed that for a while there, Nightwing took over as Batman. Even now, it’s Red Hood donning the Cape & Cowl, not the original. Nightwing, he…replacedme. With the current Robin. Just because he’s Batman’s biological son. No regards to the fact that he’s amurderous psychopath that should have never been allowed to wear the R.”

The Rogues shared a look at the sheer vitriol in Tim’s voice, the hard look in his eyes as he growled out the sentence. It certainly sounded believable enough.

“So Nightwing cast you out,” Riddler said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “Why?”

Tim laughed mirthlessly. “He thought I was crazy,” he answered, “Even tried to have me thrown in Arkham. All because I dared to believe Batman was still alive when everyone else thought he was dead. So I proved myself right, I brought Batman back, and I left.”

The Rogues bristled. “So Batman was as good as dead,” Two-Face growled, “And youbrought him back!?”

Tim looked the mobster dead in the eye. “That man means the world to me,” he answered evenly, “He’s saved my life more times than I can count, in more ways than you can imagine. He rescued me from my abusive parents, and gave me a home. So yes, I brought him back. That is why the objective of the Mockingbird Syndicate is not tokillBatman, a thing which I have concluded is impossible, but simply tomanagehim. Besides, we have other Bats to kill.”

“Oh?” Scarecrow asked, “And who might those be?”

Tim smiled thinly, cocking his head. “Nightwing,” he sighed, “I want to hear him ask me for mercy as I choke the life out of him. I want to hear him beg me for forgiveness as I flay him alive. I want to drive him to such despair, such depths of pain and sorrow, that he does it to himself. Only when Nightwing is dead and gone will my vengeance be complete.”

Scarecrow blinked; that was certainly more bloodthirsty than he expected of a former Bat. Tim had even surprised himself a little bit, but who could really blame him? Dick ruined he life. He wanted to return the favor.

Penguin, meanwhile, shifted in his seat and took a haughty puff from an expensive cigar Tim hadn’t even seen him light. “Onedead Bat, even if itisNightwing, ain’t exactly ideal,” he muttered.

“No, but it’s what you’ll have to deal with,” Tim agreed, nodding his head, “Killing any one of the Bat’s brood will result in retaliation, retaliation that we cannot afford. So, we kill one. And, if I do it, Batman will be too confused to truly respond with anything but grief. You see, gentlemen, this is all building up to something; something big. Something much larger than any of the people in this room. That will be the endgame of this endeavor; that will be the day we take this city for our own.”

The Rogues all looked around at each other. “How big we talkin’ here?” Two-Face growled lowly, and Tim smiled.

“How’d you all like to wage a war against the world, rob Gotham for all it’s worth, hit the Bat where it hurts,” Tim said, growing more and more excited at the prospect of his plan, “Andget away with it.”

“So, just to be clear,” Freeze said slowly, “You are going to give us a team, a plan to manage Batman while continuing our own criminal endeavors, cures to our conditions, comradery, a dead Nightwing, and the biggest score of our lives?”

Tim smiled, “That’s the hope, yes.”

The Rogues all hummed thoughtfully, sitting back in their chairs. Freeze was the first to moce forward, placing his gun on the table. “You are a genius,” he said, and Tim straightened at the praise, “You have the resources of LexCorp. With you, I have a hope of saving Nora. I’m in.”

Clayface was next, placing his amorphous hand on the table. “I don’t really like all this crime stuff,” he muttered, “I just got really, really unlucky. And you say you can fix…this?Hell, I’m in.”

Killer Croc looked down at his scaly arms, then looked at the table. “Fuck it,” he growled, “What could be worse than this?”

Penguin hummed, rubbing his chin in deep thought. Then, finally, he set his umbrella on the table. “My mother was a good woman,” he said, “You think you can help me get my home back? Then I’m in.”

“You’re the most puzzling case I’ve ever come across, Red Robin,” Riddler grinned mischeviously, “I know there’s more than what you’re telling us. You’re a Bat, after all, there always is. But I want to see this through; I want to see how this riddle ends. I’m in.”

Scarecrow tilted his head, considering Tim for a long, long moment. “What is your greatest fear?” he asked suddenly, and Tim thought for a moment.

“Someone very close to me dying,” he answered truthfully, and Scarecrow nodded.

“I’m in,” he rasped, placing his hand on the table.

Bane sighed, placing his large hand on the table. “I am interested to see how you plan to break the Bat in your own way,” he mused, “I’m in.”

All eyes turned to Two-Face, who took out his coin. “Call it,” he told Tim, and the vigilante answered “Good Heads.”

Two-Face flipped his coin, then turned it over in his hand. He considered it for a moment, then put it in his pocket. “Looks like I’m in,” he muttered, placing his hand on the table.

“Perfect!” Tim cried happily, clapping his hands together, “Now then, first order of business: Poker Night.”

The Rogues all shared dumbfounded looks. “You’re fucking with us, right?” Croc asked, and Tim looked offended as he pulled out a deck of cards.

“Not at all!” he cried, “Team bonding isveryimportant, Waylon. Never underestimate the power of a card game.”

The Rogues groaned and slumped in their chairs. “Youcan’tbe serious,” Riddler muttered, but Tim was already dealing.

“Nope!” he said gleefully, “Trust me, it’ll be rocky at first, but you’ll learn to love it. We’ll meet one night every week, different days, obviously.”

Penguin shook his head, “You can’t gather us all in one place every week. Batman will notice.”

“That is why I’ve thought of a plan addressing that situation,” Tim answered easily, shuffling the deck once more for good mreasure, “You’ve all heard of the US government’s policy of a ‘Designated Survivor’, correct? Well, I’ve devised a ‘Designated Distraction’. Chosen at random, one of us will go out and cause havoc for the Bat, distracting him from what’s really going on. I’ve gone ahead and taken the liberty for tonight.”

Clayface leaned forward as he begrudgingly swept up his cards, “What do you mean ‘taken the liberty’?”

Tim smiled, picking up his own hand. “Joker’s wild,” he answered cryptically.

Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn sighed as they laid in each other’s arms on Selina’s couch, waiting for their fellow Gotham Siren to return. Ivy was a little distracted; Harley had done her jobverywell, but as she basked in the afterglow, Harley perked her head up, tilting her ear toward the kitchen.

“Red…” she asked nervously, “Do you hear that?”

Ivy’s eyes opened wide, and she called upon the Green as fast as she could. At first, she was only protecting Harley, but then realized that Selina would kill her if she didn’t get the cats as well, so she quickly pulled them into a protective sphere of shrubbery too. Just as Harley asked what she was doing, Ivy cried out in pain along with the Green as an explosion ripped through Selina Kyle’s apartment.

Jason growled as he was thrown backward in his pursuit of the masked assassin, blown away by an explosion. Jason grunted as he got back up, looking for the bald woman desperately, but she was gone. “Damn it!” he snarled, then aimed his grapple up at a rooftop, only for it to… explode. Jason whirled, and realized in horror what was going on as explosions tore through Gotham.

Jim Gordon groaned as he finally stumbled back into his house, fixing himself a cup of coffee and lighting another cigarette. Barbara kept trying to get him to quit smoking, but Jim just didn’t have the strength; what was the point, here in Gotham? Everybody died sometime.

Jim sipped his black coffee, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses and inspecting the case files he’d brought home from work. Montoya and Bullock were up his ass about staying up so late, “You’re damn near seventy now, Jim, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

But this was Gotham. It demanded late hours and early rises, at all times of the day. And Jim couldn’t let her down. Not after giving her damn near seventy years of his life. He sighed, looking out through the window across the city, to where he knew the massive statue of Lady Justice would be standing in the harbor. He’d dedicated his life to her, to Gotham, and what did it get him? Not damn much, that was for sure.

But he’d keep going. Work until the work was done.

Jim sighed, cracking his neck and sipping his coffee again. Now then, about that chopped up body in the swamp…

Jim heard a sharp beeping coming from the kitchen. He’d been in enough bombthreat situations to know what that meant. Jim ran for the window, jumping out of it with a crash and landing on his lawn in a pile of broken glass as his house burst into flames. Jim watched for a moment, the house where his little girl grew up, all gone, then got a hold of himself and got on the radio.

“This is Commissioner James Gordon, reporting a possible arson case,” he said harshly, and the line crackled.

“Hold on, Commissioner, we’re dealing with a lot of arson calls at the moment,” the operator said back, and Jim’s stomach dropped.

“Is Firefly back on the loose?” he asked, and the operator came right back.

“It’s not him, sir. Please, just hang on; we have a helicopter up there trying to see what it says.”

“Whatwhatsays?” Jim demanded.

“It’s a message,” Robin said, from where he, Arsenal, Black Bat, and Batgirl sat perched on a high tower, surveying the carnage below, “Someone has burned a message into Gotham. And I think we all know who.”

Bruce, Selina, Barbara, and Tommy all stared in abject horror as the feed from the Batsatellite (yes, that wasactuallywhat it was called; thank you, Dick) showed them a bird’s eye view of the city in real time. They saw the burned message, written across the whole city in fiery red ink.

RED ROBIN WAS HERE

In a manor not too far removed from Gotham proper, a woman met with a council of her peers, speaking in hushed tones. They dined in opulence, mindless servants with glowing yellow eyes and pallid, pale skin providing them with champagne served in crystal flutes.

“This ‘Red Robin’ is new,” one mused, “Will he become a problem?”

“Unlikely,” another scoffed dismissively, “He will go the same way as Red Hood; yet another crazy to lick the paint off Arkham’s walls.”

“But Red Hood caused much damage before being dealt with,” a third protested, “Can we safely assume that this is more intervention from…a certain individual?”

“A certain individual’s organization was destroyed not too long ago,” a fourth sighed, “He is of little consequence.”

“But he still lives, you all know that!” the first cried, “If Red Robin is his harbinger, then we must prepare for-!”

“Enough.” the woman spoke for the first time, and the rest fell silent. “We will monitor Red Robin closely,” she said carefully, “See what his game is. Then, if he is an asset, we invite him to rule with us; he certainly has the blood for it.”

“And if he is a threat?” one of them asked, “If he speaks a whispered word?”

The woman levelled the coldest glare any of them had ever seen.

“Then we send a Talon for his head.”

Chapter 25: Nero's Fiddle

Chapter Text

Chapter 26: Ablaze

Chapter Text

Tim hummed softly as he considered his hand, frowning in concentration. Harvey frowned, muttering, “Come on kid, we ain’t got all night.”

“Don’t rush me, Harvey,” Tim groused back, then looked back at his cards, “I think I’ll… fold, for this round.”

“Ha!No balls,” Oswald laughed, shoving forward his pile of coins, “I’m all in!”

Ed shook his head, reshuffling his cards for the fifteenth time. “Morons,” he muttered, but a sly grin came over his face as he shoved half his coins forward, “But I am intrigued to see what you’re so excited about, Oswald.”

“Who cares?” Victor sighed, shoving a small stack of coins into the pot, “With how cocky he’s acting, he’s probably got a Royal Flush.”

“I’m not acting cocky!” Oswald protested, and the rest of the table raised eyebrows at him judgingly. “I’mnot!” he whined.

“Sure, man, whatever helps you sleep at night,” Tim said with a shrug.

Oswald growled, then sat back in his chair grumpily. “Basil, for fuck’s sake, place your bet!” he scoffed, and Clayface jumped. Or… as much as an amorphous blob of clay could jump.

“Right, right, sorry,” he murmured, considering for a moment, then carefully narrowing down his finger and moving five coins forward.

“Ha! Bitch,” Waylon laughed, “What’s that pansy-ass bet? You think this is some penny-bet shit in Atlantic City? Screw that, I’m all in.”

Penguin and Killer Croc stared each other down, and Riddler grinned from behind his cards. “Alright, alright, just play your hands,” Tim sighed, waving his hand vaguely, and Oswald laughed in triumph.

“Haha!!Trio of aces! Read ‘em and weep, Croc!” he crowed, and Waylon grinned savagely, showing off rows of razor sharp teeth.

“Four of a kind,” he growled, splaying his cards on the table while Oswald groaned.

Ed then placed down his cards. “Straight flush,” he declared smugly, “I’ll take that pot, boys.”

The whole table groaned, and Ed laughed as he collected his winnings. Tim smiled to himself as he threw his royal flush back into the deck to be shuffled by Two-Face. So far, he’d say Poker Night was a resounding success. Just as Harvey was dealing out the next hand, the burner phone he kept in his belt began to ring, and Tim jumped up. “Scuse me for a second, gotta take this,” he muttered quickly, then fled into the corners of the room. He knew the Rogues would be listening intently, but any information passing here would be inconsequential.

“Is it done?” he asked as he picked up the phone.

“I dunno, does Gotham normally go from forty degrees to seventy in a few hours?” Pru muttered, “Yes, dumbass, it’s done.”

“Thank you, Prudence,” Tim said sincerely, a sad smile on his face, and he heard Pru recoil over the phone.

“Gah! Don’t call me that! Y’sound likeLuthor,”she muttered, and Tim grimaced.

“I’m at work,” he explained, “I’ll see you at the office. Poker Night’s going well; tell the others I said hello?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she sighed, “And you should know, we had a visitor a little while ago.”

“Is that so?” Tim asked, discreetly taking his flask from his hip, “Who?”

“That Kryptonian boytoy of yours,” she answered, and Tim choked on his whiskey.

“Wh--guh,what did you just say?” he gasped out, and Pru growled over the phone.

“You just took another fuckin sip, didn’t you!? How many times to I have’ta tell ya, that’s gonna kill you someday if you don’t get a fucking handle on it ya-!!”

“Always a pleasure, Pru, but I have work to do,” Tim cut her off coldly, “Goodbye.” And he hung up. He felt mildly bad about hanging up on Pru, but he’d apologize in the morning. Besides, he wasn’t lying; he reallydidhave work to do. Luckily, that work included a nice relaxing game of poker.

Tim took a fortifying sip of his whiskey, then replaced his flask at his hip as he went back to the table. So, that was that, then. Gotham was on fire, well and truly. Right now, as he took his seat, smiling sheepishly at some of his father’s greatest enemies, dozens, if not hundreds, were burning to death. Because of him. He did this. He ordered Z, Owens, and Pru to set those incendiary bombs. He arranged them into the words that were now branded onto the city’s soul. He was the one who did this. Him.

Tim thought back to the bright eyed little kid who begged to be Robin, all those years ago. If only that little kid had just kept his fool mouth shut.

Maybe then he would have killed himself like he planned and none of this would have happened.

Tim picked up his cards, trying to ignore the burning shame in his gut as he smiled and realized the stark truth: the world would have been better off if he were dead.

“I’m all in,” he said, shoving his coins forward and looking down at his hand. 2 High. The literal worst hand in the game.

All in on the worst hand life could have dealt him. Damn if that wasn’t poetic. Tim didn’t bother mentally asking God or Bruce for forgiveness tonight; he already knew the answer would be no.

Bruce and Selina zipped through the burning streets on a motorcycle, stopping by a blazing tenement building. “Firefighters won’t be able to get here for another few hours,” Bruce said, already running towards the building, “There might be people trapped inside. Catwoman-”

“Already ahead of you,” Selina called back, running alongside him, “We should see if the fire escapes are still intact; that impromptu suit of yours has got fire retardant gloves, right?”

Bruce almost looked insulted as they came upon the mangled remains of the fire escape. “Of course,” he said haughtily, “What do you take me for?”

Selina laughed at him, then frowned as she kicked the metal staircase lightly, feeling it give way beneath her foot. “Damn bastards,” she muttered, “These staircases aren’t anywherenearup to code. They’re practically melting off the building!”

“It’s Gotham,” Bruce sighed solemnly, “We need to make sure there aren’t people still trapped inside. Find a window.”

“On it,” Selina answered quickly, then scoped out a pane that looked the least on fire. “There!” she cried, smashing the glass with her fist, and Bruce gave her a look. “What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Bruce answered, an uncharacteristic grin on his lips, “That wasn’t very cat-burglar like.”

“Oh, quiet,” she muttered, vaulting through the open window, “We need to get people out.”

“I’m right behind you,” Bruce answered, following her in.

“It’s worse than we thought,” Montoya sighed as Jim Gordon finally made it to the GCPD, watching as officers ran throughout the old building, setting up victims and refugees with blankets and coffee as the city struggled to cope with the emergency. “Red Robin knew exactly what he was doing,” Montoya continued, gesturing down to a map, “All the buildings he hit? Most all of them were age-old tenements, none of them were even close to up to code. They all went up like a box of matches, and all the fire escapes are either melted or so hot they’re unusable. The boys in the GCFD are doing the best they can, but he also got as far away from all the fire hydrants as he could, so they’re having trouble getting the water where it needs to go. The superheroes are helping, but once this stuff starts burning, there’s some sort of chemical in the incendiary bombs he used that makes it hard to stop. We think it’s some kind of variation of Napalm.”

“And all that while spelling his name across the city in fire,” Bullock growled in astonishment, “Jesus.That’s one hell of a brain he’s got.”

Jim looked down at the map, wincing at the angry red splotches of dry-erase marker noting where the fires still raged. Quietly, he remembered the bright-eyed Robin who was always so eager to discuss his findings in a case file, or just talk to Jim on the roof during slow nights. Once or twice, the kid would even bring homework he got a good grade on, just so Jim would tell him “Good job.”

He remembered the shy smile, the nervous shuffling of feet, the glowing pride under praise. The bright eyes, filled with wonder and joy for living. How could someone like that do something like this? Was that bright-eyed kid really so long ago?

“Yeah…” Jim sighed sadly, hanging his head and slumping his shoulders, “Hell of a brain.”

Duke yelped as he barely dodged a falling beam of burning wood, nearly falling off his motorcycle. Good God, everything was on fire. Gotham looked like a bona fide hellscape now, rings of fire and all. He… he needed to get to Crime Alley. The youth hostel, all the kids he stayed with, he needed to make sure they were… he needed to get there.

Duke whipped through the streets, a spark of bright yellow in a sea of fiery red, bursting through the flames too fast for them to catch him. He rode there purely on instinct, no landmarks recognizable in the sea of flames, until finally,finally,he reached the Martha Wayne Memorial Youth Hostel. Or… what was left of it. “Oh God,no!” Duke cried, jumping off his bike as he ran toward the burning building, breaking down the front door and shouting, “Is anyone still in here!?”

“Help-! Help us--!!” a weak voice cried from somewhere to his left, and the Signal didn’t hesitate, leaping over a burning beam and running into the main hall. Inside, he saw nearly all the kids he’d stayed with just a few short months ago, before he got swept up in all this crazy Bat stuff, all terrified, covered in soot, and begging for help.

“I’m here!” Duke cried urgently, running to them, “It’s gonna be okay!”

“H-Hey, I know you!” Tyrone from the Bowery said in awe, “You’re the Signal! You’re out and about during the day and all that shit, right?”

“That’s me,” Duke confirmed, picking up one of the poor souls who’d fallen unconscious from smoke inhalation, “I’ll sign autographs later, come on, we gotta get you all out of here!”

“B-But everything’s on fire!” Serena from the South End yelped, “We’ll never make it out!”

“I’ll help you,” Duke promised, herding them all towards the front door, “Here, someone take this kid for a sec.” As they came upon the fallen beam, he handed the unconscious kid off to Tyrone, who took him gingerly. Grimacing in anticipation, Duke set his shoulders, then moved toward the beam. “Once I get this up, run for the front door and get as far out into the street as you can, alright?” he said nervously, and the youth hostel kids all stared at him.

“You’re crazy, man!” one of them cried, “You’ll get burned!”

“I’m not crazy about it, trust me,” Duke sighed, then crouched under the beam, “Just do it!” Before he could lose his nerve, Duke pushed up with all his strength, groaning under the weight of the beam as he tried desperately to get it to shift upward. So far, his suit was doing its job, but he could feel the searing heat, could hear the leather and kevlar begin to bake abd bubble on his back.

“Ngh-! Go!!” Duke gasped desperately, and the kids yelped as they spurred into action.

There was only room for one of them to pass through at a time, so Duke grunted with effort as he struggled to keep the burning beam aloft. Pain lanced down his back, and he grimaced as he tried to keep from making any sort of sound. Just as the twelfth kid passed under however, Duke couldn’t take it anymore, and roared in agony as his legs shook, his shoulders screamed, and his backburned.Finally, all fifteen kids passed under, and Duke all but collapsed as he let the beam down. Just as he was going to make his way to the door, he heard something else shift behind him, and turned wildly.

“H-Help…” a hoarse voice rasped quietly, barely heard over the roaring fire, “P-Please help…”

“I’m coming!” Duke cried desperately, scrambling over burning rubble and dodging falling debris as he made his way toward the sound. As he found the origin, he almost threw up; a kid, no older than Damian, trapped beneath a bunch of burning rubble, his skin charred and melted in places. He locked eyes with Duke, and Duke stared at his blue eyes, so filled with pain, begging for help, for a savior. For a Signal.

Duke slid down a pile of rubble toward the kid, ripping any and all loose debris out of the way so he could pull the kid out. “I got you,” he chanted, gritting his teeth against the pain as he slung the kid’s arm around his shoulders, dragging him back toward the door, “I got you, I got you, I got you, I got you!”

Duke limped toward the door, shunting the kid over the fallen beam before leaping over himself, then grabbing him again and continuing his march. The kid whimpered a bit, but made no other sound as Duke finally stepped out into the relatively clear streets. Gasping for breath, Duke revelled in the coolness of the air, laying the kid down on the street, as far away from the burning hostel as he could manage. Townsfolk had come down into the street, some with buckets of water, others just to escape the flames, and along with all the escaped kids, watched him pull the last victim from the fire.

“Hey, it’s the Signal!” one of them cried, “He just saved that boy!”

Cheers and applause came from the crowd, and Duke grinned in delirious relief as he fell to his knees, totally exhausted.

“I got you,” Duke whispered to the kid, looking down with a grin, “I got-- oh no.”

The kid was crying, gripping Duke’s uniform as tightly as he could, blue eyes focusing and unfocusing as he seemed to look at Duke and through him at the same time. “No no no no no!” Duke whispered, shaking the kid lightly as the life drained from his face, “N-No, I got to you, I got you, I-”

“H-hurts…” the kid whispered hoarsely, and Duke noticed suddenly that the cheers had died down fast, “Hurts so much… make it stop, Mr. Signal, m-make it… stahh…”

The kid never finished his sentence. His eyes stayed wide open, and his grip slackened on Duke’s chest. “No…” Duke whispered, pulling the charred body close to him, “No, no please, I got to you, I made it in time,please…”

The street watched in solemn silence as the Signal broke down, sobbing openly as he held the burned body of a child in his arms, rocking softly, back and forth, as if the embrace might change his cruel fate.

Sometimes, the heroes don’t make it in time.

“Richard John Grayson, what theHELLdo you think you’re doing!?!” Barbara snapped in his ear, and Dick winced as he landed on a rooftop, nearly crying out as he disturbed his ribs. The Nightwing Suit still fit a little oddly in places, he needed to build up muscle again before it would really fit right, but this was an emergency.

“I’m doing my job, Barbara,” Dick answered, pressing his finger to the comm, “I can’t just lay there while everyone else puts their lives on the line. I need tohelp.”

“Dick, you’re still on aventilator,for God’s sake!” Barbara argued back, “The last thing you should be doing is breathing in all that smoke-!”

“I’ll take it easy,” Dick lied, searching the horizon for any signs of life, “Don’t worry, Barbara.”

“Don’t you pull that ‘Don’t worry Barbara’ shit withme!” Barbara growled back, and Dick smiled slightly as Barbara’s tirade melted into the background noise. It may seem odd, but this… he missed this.

A scream sounded somewhere to his left. “I need to go, Barbara,” Dick said quickly, running across the rooftop, “I’ll see you back at the Cave.”

“Oh no, don’t you fuckingDAREhang up on me you little-!” and Dick switched off his comm. With a mischievous grin on his face, Dick Grayson leapt down into the alley below, in search of a damsel in distress to save.

Nightwing rides again.

Hours passed. The Justice League, Justice Society, and any other hero they could spare all descended on Gotham, trying desperately to put out the fires, but Red Robin’s pseudo-napalm just wouldn’t quit. Green Arrow and Black Canary saved a school bus full of kids. Superman stopped a building from toppling over on top of a crew of firefighters. Black Bat leapt out the window of a burning building, whisking two kids to safety just as a gas stove caught fire and blew. Jay Garrick, Wally West, and Bart Allen all raced around the city, pulling people out of buildings as fast as the Speed Force would allow and transporting them to the emergency refugee camps that had been set up at every fifth intersection. Arsenal loosed a fire-retardant arrow into the midst of a blaze in the parks, hoping to stop the spread as much as he could. Even a very pregnant Starfire could be seen acting as support, helping to carry supplies to and from shelters; she received many compliments from the old ladies of Gotham, and questions on when she was due and who the father was. Most surprisingly, however, the people of Gotham rejoiced as the emerald light of willpower filled their fiery red sky, raining down a construct fire extinguisher as a new Green Lantern made his debut.

“Hey there, uh, Mr. Batman… sir,” the new Lantern called out nervously to Jason from where the vigilante stood on a skyscraper, surveying the citywide response efforts, “Don’t think we’ve really… y’know… met yet. Ganthet sent me. My name’s Kyle.”

Jason considered “Kyle” shrewdly, taking in the strange mask, the new-looking uniform, and the shaky way he hovered in midair, like he still wasn’t used to flying. Greenhorn, no doubt about it. “Thanks for the help, Kyle,” Jason told him, firing a grapple down toward the Narrows, where it looked like Robin and Batgirl needed help evacuating a building, “Try not to get yourself killed.”

Kyle gaped in surprise as Jason swung away, looking down at the burning city. “Th-That’s a possibility?” he whimpered in fear, then shook his head after a moment. “Head in the game, Rayner,” he whispered to himself, then set about putting out the rest of the fires.

Bruce and Selina were at their sixth building that night, and Bruce had just helped an elderly woman escape the flames of her apartment, only for a burning beam to fall and trap he and Selina inside. “Grah!” Bruce growled, thrown back by the spray of embers, “Damn it!” he tried to stand, then grunted as his legs gave out from under him, and he fell again.

“Bruce?” Selina asked fearfully, running to him from where she’d been looking for another way out, “Bruce, are you alright!?”

Bruce coughed away the smoke in his lungs, tried to stand again, and once again failed. “D-Damn it!” he grunted, desperately willing his wretched body to go just a little farther, “Just one more-!”

“Bruce-!” Selina gasped, trying to lug him to his feet herself, but just as she got some momentum, a beam toppled from the ceiling, smashing onto the two of them. Selina cried out as it struck her, and Bruce roared in pain and alarm as he pulled her down and away from the worst of it.

“Ahm…” Selina murmured, “I-I’m okay, Bruce, I can wa-- woah-kay, I can’t walk.” Selina whimpered as she tried to stand, only for the world to spin around her and she collapsed right back onto Bruce.

“Concussion,” Bruce grunted, trying to drag the two of them away with all the effort his exhausted, less-than-healed limbs could muster, “The beam, it hit you in the head. I-I tried to pull you away in time, but mydamn body-”

“Bruce, it’s not your fault,” Selina sighed sadly, crawling alongside him toward a less-on-fire corner of the room, “Come on, just call Superman and we’ll get out of here.”

Bruce nodded, then gritted his teeth against another cough. “C-Clark!” he cried, “I need an assist!”

Across the city, Superman grunted with effort as he struggled to keep the burning facade of a skyscraper from keeling over in the flames. Something about these flames was off, like a tinge of sickly-sweetness in the air, and he couldn’t quite place it. Whatever it was, though, it was throwing him off his game. Not enough to disable him, but enough to make him dizzy. Enough to make a generally easy task like keeping a skyscraper upright a relatively daunting one. Then, of course, he heard his best friend cry for help. “Gah!” Clark gasped, “Superman to Oracle, Bruce is in trouble and I can’t make it to him! Can anyone get there!?”

“Bart, Jay, and I are all running on fumes,”Wally panted over the comms, “We need water and snacks before we head back in there. Superboy, where are you?”

“Busy!” Conner growled over the line, seeming like he, too, was having trouble holding something up,“Wonder Girl, Cyborg and I are trying to get this tenement evacuated, but there’s something in this fire, it’s screwing with me-”

“Me too,” Clark growled, grunting as he shifted his weight against the skyscraper, feeling rubble slip away and tumble down onto the streets below.

“Shit, both of you?” Green Arrow asked over the comms, “Crap. Who wants to bet Red Robin mixed some kryptonite into his napalm?”

Clark grimaced as it all clicked into place. That… made too much sense. “Please,someoneneeds to get to Bruce and Selina,” he panted, “They won’t survive otherwise!”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” Wally promised, but the poor man sounded totally exhausted, and exhausted speedsters were prone to fainting at the most inopportune times.

“I’m moving,” Jason growled over the line, “I can be there in a few minutes.”

“He might nothavea few minutes!” Clark protested, “Please, we’ve got every superhero in the damn country here! Can’t anyone make it in time!?”

Tommy watched with growing fear and apprehension as Superman,Supermanof all people, struggled to save his Grandpa. Grandma and Grandpa were breathing in too much smoke, Tommy could tell, people weren’t meant to breathe in that much smoke, their lungs could stop getting enough oxygen and they could suffocate, they could die,Grandpa could die and Tommy would be all alone again--

Tommy was moving before he even registered what was happening. One minute, he was standing in the Cave with Miss Barbara, and the next, he was soaring through the Gotham sky, still alight with fire and filled with smoke. He was a speeding blur of motion as he whizzed past Uncle Jason in his Batsuit, moving at what seemed like a snail’s pace to Tommy, each desperate footfall taking what seemed like ages. Then, he passed by Superman, still struggling to hold up the skyscraper, staring in astonishment at the little kid who flew past him at the speed of sound. Next he saw Wally West, moving faster than Uncle Jason but still far too slow, Tommy saw how ragged and tired his steps were, he wouldn’t make it in time, he wouldn’t, Tommy had to make it instead, he needed to help Grandpa,he needed to save Grandpa-!!

Tommy flew through the flames like they were nothing, feeling only slightly woozy as he felt somethingwrongin the air. But that didn’t matter; all that mattered was that he made it to Grandpa in time. Tommy flew into the burning apartment, searching desperately, and sure enough, in an instant, he found them, collapsed on top of each other, a beam about to fall-!

Tommy darted forward and caught it, hovering over his grandparents as they stared in astonishment. “T-Tommy…?” Grandpa whispered quietly, and Grandma looked up deliriously.

“Bruce, I think you’re right about that concussion,” she murmured, “Because it looks like we just got rescued by four flying toddlers.”

“I’m not letting you die!” Tommy cried shrilly, throwing the burning beam away as he grabbed his grandparents by the shirts, “You’re not allowed to!” Before either of the elder heroes could react, Tommy flew up, up, and away, towing them along with him, and burst from the burning building with time to spare.

Just as Wally West and another boy wearing a leather jacket flew to the scene, Tommy set Grandma and Grandpa down in the street, touching down himself as they coughed out the smoke and breathed in fresh air. Tommy’s lip quivered, and tears welled in his eyes as Grandpa struggled to sit up, his old body worn out and spent, finally giving out on him after five hours of saving people; far longer than he’d been expected to be out in the field.

“Tommy…” Grandpa sighed, and Tommy tackled him in a hug, burying his face into his chest.

“Neverscare me like that again!” Tommy sobbed, clinging to the black fabric of Grandpa’s impromptu suit, “Please! I c-can’t--- I can’t lose another dad!”

Bruce’s heart shattered as he pulled his grandson close, cradling the boy in his arm, as the other found its way to Selina, who crawled up to close the hug. “We’re not going anywhere, kid,” she murmured, still woozy from the concussion she’d suffered, “Not anytime soon.”

Tommy didn’t respond, only shook his head and sobbed harder.

Meanwhile, Conner Kent stared in astonishment, looking between the toddler, Bruce and Selina, and the burning building. Did… did he really just see that? Was that really… Tim’s son?Hisson? And just like that, he was being a hero? No costume, no mask, no protection, no nothing?

Conner stared at the little boy, still sobbing in Bruce’s arms, and instantly fear lanced through him. This fire had kryptonite in it, Tommy could havedied, diedbefore Conner even had a chance totalk to himandOh God his son could havedied--

Then Wally snapping his fingers finally brought Conner out of it. “Superboy?” Flash asked, “Superboy!”

“Y-yeah,” Conner startled, still staring for a bit, then he grinned to himself, for a moment forgetting all about Tim and the weirdness surrounding all of that. Tommy, his boy, just saved two lives, just like that!

“That’s my boy,” Conner whispered softly, no small amount of awe in his voice.

After twelve hours of fierce firefighting, the last of the flames finally went out. Over a hundred people were confirmed to have lost their lives, with death tolls climbing by the hour as new bodies continued to be uncovered.

Most of the heroes collapsed from exhaustion at Wayne Manor, and Alfred busied himself making everyone as at home as he possibly could. Clark, Conner, and Kara (who’d shown up as soon as she’d finished a robbery in National City) were all treated for acute kryptonite poisoning, which of course meant orange juice and basking in the sun for a while.

Kyle Rayner and Jaime Reyes, the two rookies of the event, traded stories and superheroing tips over a glass of tropical juice as well, smiling and joking and pretending they hadn’t both just seen all the horrors of the world in one night.

Ted Kord had fallen through a weak beam, and so now was in the infirmary for burns and splinters. Booster Gold stayed at his bedside the whole time, refusing to budge an inch from his friend.

Other than Bruce and Selina, there weren’t too many other casualties; the main symptom was just exhaustion. Jay, Wally, and Bart were all ecstatic when Alfred provided them all with mountains of gourmet food, which Damian and Mrs. Joan Garrick graciously helped prepare. Dick bowed his head sheepishly as Barbara, Bruce, Jason, and Damian all took turns chewing him out for his recklessness. Cass, Cassie, Steph, and Diana all crowded around Kori, eagerly asking questions and poking her pregnant belly, as if the twins might spring out on command. Tommy fell asleep, tucked into Bruce’s side most of the time, though he agreed to be traded off to Selina or Cass occasionally if Bruce was doing something. Everyone remained mostly unharmed, just relaxing and trading stories… well, mostly everyone.

Duke Thomas, AKA the Signal, sat in the infirmary, staring at nothing. He couldn’t feel his back. The beam he’d lifted, it’d had some of that napalm stuff on it. It clung to his suit, burning his back so hot until the third degree burns set in. It didn’t hurt. Duke knew why; it burned off the nerve endings. It didn’t hurt solely because it wasn’tpossiblefor ittohurt. That… wasn’t a comfort.

Besides, his back was nothing compared to… compared to…

Duke couldn’t get that kid’s face out of his head.

“Hey kid,” a voice said somewhere to his left, and Duke turned to look at the Blue Beetle and Booster Gold, looking at him with something like concern, “You okay?”

Duke looked at his hands. They were still covered in soot. Soot and blood. “I…” Duke murmured, trying to answer, but he just shook his head instead. His shoulders started to shake. “S-Sorry, this was my first big disaster, I- I didn’t know…” he whispered, and Ted and Booster shared a look.

“Ah shit,” Booster sighed, pushing up his goggles, “First disaster, huh? That’s gotta be tough. I’m sorry, man. It’s the worst part of the job.”

“Y-yeah,” Duke stuttered, “Yeah, it…”

Ted grimaced as he reach over across the space between the beds and held Duke’s arm, and Duke looked at the hero. Ted Kord was a brilliant engineer, he knew. No powers, but still fighting the good fight, with whatever technology he could muster. Along with his partner, the time traveller Booster Gold, and his protege, the armor-clad Jaime, he helped keep El Paso safe. He was a good man. Like Bruce, if Bruce wasn’t an emotionally constipated asshole.

“Something happened, right?” Ted asked him sadly, and Duke shuddered under the man’s kind gaze, “Someone you couldn’t save?”

Duke closed his eyes, and the kid was still there. “A… a youth hostel I used to stay at, it was on fire,” he whispered, and Booster and Ted stayed respectfully silent, “I managed to get everyone out, b-but one kid, he was… he was trapped under the rubble. I pulled him out, I saved him, but once we made it out, he… he…!”

“Oh,” Booster sighed, standing up and scooting the two hospital beds closer together so that Ted and Booster could hug the young vigilante from either side as he cried, “Oh, kid.”

Duke just sobbed, leaning into the two other heroes. He knew what being the Signal meant, he wasn’t naive, he knew what the risks were, but… but knowing and seeing were two different things. And Duke justsawa child burn to death in his arms. How…

How can you possibly prepare for that?

Chapter 27: Conversations in the Dark

Chapter Text

“I, like everyone else, was shocked and appalled as the fires raged across our fair city,” Tim said to the crowd, tears glistening in his eyes as his vice wobbled slightly, “This…Red Robinthinks he can break us, tear our city apart, burn us down so that we are nothing. Well, I say Red Robin doesn’t know Gotham!”

The crowd cheered, and Tim took a breath. He stood on the burned rubble of a tenement building in Crime Alley, where a small podium with the LexCorp logo had been ostentatiously nailed on and a press conference hastily convened. “This city has seen more hell than I think any of us would like to admit, but each and every time we get knocked down, wealways get back up!”Tim went on, pounding his fist on the podium for emphasis, and the crowd cheered again, “We cannot be broken. Not this easily. So, I extend my warmest thanks to all the heroes, super and otherwise, who worked tirelessly yesterday to save countless lives, and like you, I mourn all those that were lost. I mourn for all those that lost their lives, their homes, and their families. That is why, effective immediately, LexCorp is partnering with the Gotham Municipal Construction Department, New Jersey State Division of Property Management and Construction, and Habitat for Humanity, torebuildall affected areas with safe, affordable housing for the poor, and all those affected by these fires.”

The crowd lost their minds, cheering and hollering as loud as they could. After all, close to 10% of the city’s housing had been affected; whodidn’twant it rebuilt as quickly as possible?

Tim smiled sadly for a moment, waiting for the cheering to quiet down, then continued speaking. “Not only this,” he said, and the crowd waited on baited breath, “But also, once these new apartments are completed, I promise topersonallypay for the first year of rent, forallresidents!”

“For God’s sake, Bruce, turn that shit off!” Jason finally growled, and Bruce muted the newscast. “Look at ‘im,” Jason growled, “Smilin’ and talkin’ likehewasn’t the one who burned down all those buildings in the first place!”

“Calm down, Jason,” Barbara sighed, and Jason rounded on her.

“Calm down!?” he demanded, “Calm down!?He just burned down half the city, and now he’s turnin’ around like he's the goddamn Second Coming! Are we seriously just gonna let him get away with this!?”

“Unfortunate as it is, we don’t have a choice,” Bruce sighed, and the whole Cave turned to look at him. “Tim knows what game he’s playing,” Bruce went on, “If we expose him as Red Robin, he’ll expose us as the Batfamily, and we’ll all have targets on our backs.”

“So fucking what!?” Jason growled, “I’ve lived with a target before! Hell, so have most of the people in this room! If we’re not willing to face the consequences, we shouldn’t be fucking doing this-!”

“Jason,” Bruce snapped, and Jason shut up. Bruce took a moment to collect himself, then pinched the bridge of his nose as he added, “I’m sure no one here is simply running from the issue. If need be, I would gladly fight for my ideals, even if it meant I was against the city. Butwewouldn’t be the only ones in danger. Alfred, Commissioner Gordon, Tommy, and Starfire’s children, when they come, would all be in danger as well. We learned this lesson with Joker, when he killed you and paralyzed Barbara. Our secret identities are secret for a reason; our allies would reap the repercussions of our actions.”

Jason clenched his jaw at the mention of Tommy, and his kids. He… he wouldn’t do anything that would put those little tikes in danger.

“Do you really think Tim would…dothat?” Dick asked quietly, leaning against the wall and hiding a wince as he disturbed his not-quite-healed lungs, “Put Tommy in danger like that?”

Cass immediately shook her head. “Little Brother cares for Little Nephew,” she said certainly, “Loves him. Would die for him. It’s who he is.”

Steph, meanwhile, hugged herself quietly, avoiding meeting Cass’s eyes. “I’m… not so sure,” she whispered, and the Cave turned to her. Steph bit her lip, then continued, “Don’t get me wrong, I don’twantto believe Tim’s changed, but… well, the Tim I know wouldn’t burn down tenements either. Something happened, in that year he was on the run. I know those videos we saw all made it look like homey, single dad, domestic shit, but… I don’t think any of us can deny there’s something dark in him now. Something broken. Something… evil.”

“Little Brothernot evil,” Cass reiterated, clenching her fists at her sides, “Little Brothergood.”

Steph sighed, shaking her head. “Cass, I’m sorry,” she said, sounding on the verge of tears, “But I don’t think he’s your ‘Little Brother’ anymore.”

“LIE!” Cass shouted vehemently, then started pointing around the room, crying, “Jason kill, still family. Damian kill,still family. Ikill, andstill family!”

Cass was crying now, and she wiped her eyes with her arm as she sobbed out, “Little Brother still good. Still family.Still family.”

“It’s alright, Cass, shh,” Dick sighed, pulling his sister into a hug, “We’ll get him back. Don’t worry; we’ll get him back.”

Steph grimaced, but she said nothing more as Cass’s sobs slowly subsided. “I’m just saying, none of us have had so much as a conversation with him in years,” she sighed, “Things change. People change.”

“And I’m not disagreeing with you,” Barbara sighed heavily, wringing her hands, “But we can’t give up hope. Not… not yet.”

“But we cannot risk moving on him either,” Damian sighed, crossing his arms and staring at his older brother on the screen, “Drake is certainly a genius. Just like that, he’s outsmarted the entire Batfamily in one move.”

Silence hung over the Cave as Bruce steepled his fingers, humming in thought. This whole situation was too strange for his liking. The only buildings targeted were tenements; old, dilapidated structures that only hadn’t been rebuilt because the city wasn’t wealthy enough. And now, Tim was immediately rebuilding them. He’d created a catalyst for reconstruction, and undertaken it. If that was the goal, then why go the extra mile and burn his name into the city?

At first, Bruce thought Tim wanted to get his attention, lure the Bats out into a confrontation, but that didn’t make any sense. If Tim wanted a fight, he could have it easier than burning the city down. Plus, all the hints Tim had dropped, both in public interviews and in the video tapes sent to him, seemed to bely that he simply wanted to be left alone. That, and he’d made no other attacks on the Bats or their operations. In fact, despite a recent Arkham breakout, regular Rogue activity had been suspiciously quiet; Bruce suspected Tim’s hand in that somehow.

But if this stunt wasn’t for attention, Tim wouldn’t have used the Red Robin name. No, he was definitely looking forsomeone’sattention… the question was whose?

Barbara wheeled herself into the chaos that was the GCPD. Papers were still scattered everywhere, though most of the officers had finally gone home after the state of emergency was lifted. All except one.

Barbara found her father, huddled into his long coat, hunched over his desk. He hadn’t shaved, he hadn’t showered, he hadn’t slept. “Dad?” she called softly, and Jim turned to her.

He didn’t have to say anything. His red-rimmed eyes and far-too-exhausted expression said it all. Their house was gone; Jim was homeless.

“Oh, Dad,” Barbara sighed, taking his hands. They were rough and calloused, and his skin was dry. “Come on,” she sighed, “I told Bruce what happened. Alfred already has a room opened for you at the Manor, and Steph’s out buying you a new wardrobe. It’s gonna be okay.”

Jim’s shoulders shook for a moment as he bowed his head. He scratched at his graying beard, and wiped his eyes before tears could fall. Jim was an old man; he was raised in an age where asking for help was looked on as weakness, where misfortune was the result of some moral deficiency. So now, in this hour of need, he’d intended to just get by on his own, by any means necessary, but his Barbara, his beautiful, sweet Barbara, more kind and thoughtful than him, had reached out this olive branch to him.

“Thank you,” he whispered softly.

The drive across Gotham River was a short one. Barbara had a nice hatchback, paid for by Bruce, that was modified so that a woman in a wheelchair could drive it, with paddles by the steering wheel instead of pedals, and Jim just watched out the window, watching the doom and gloom of the inner city give way to actually pleasant weather, for once. Rolling green lawns sprawled out into the New Jersey countryside, accentuated by magnificent mansions dotted every half mile or so.

Finally, they drove through the wrought iron gates of Wayne Manor, the peach gravel crunching beneath the tires. Barbara smiled at him supportively, and Jim smiled back, patting her shoulder in affirmation. The car rolled to a stop, and as Barbara waited for the machine on the roof to provide her with her wheelchair, Jim stepped out of the car, picking up the small duffle that now held all his earthly possessions: a toothbrush, a pack of cigarettes, his father’s cufflinks, and the only thing he’d managed to save from the fire, a picture of Barbara and her mother.

As he looked up toward the Manor, Bruce Wayne himself stood at the top of the steps, leaning slightly on a cane, and flanked by his family. Jim walked out to meet him, and Bruce hobbled down a step to meet him. “Jim,” he said with a sympathetic look, sticking out his hand, “I’m so sorry.”

Jim took it, then shook it, then was caught off guard as Bruce pulled him in further for a hug. Jim stiffened for a moment, then leaned into it, closing his eyes slightly. He’s known Bruce Wayne since he was a little boy; hell, he’d been the detective assigned to the Waynes’ murder, he pulled the boy out of that alley himself. He knew a hug from Bruce was about as rare as a sunny day in Gotham, so he took the offered comfort gratefully.

The crunching of peach gravel behind him signalled Barbara rolling up to them, and Jim pulled away, smiling at the boy he’d watched grow into a man. “Careful, Bruce,” Dick said playfully as he stepped down to help push Barbara up the stairs, “Any more of that, and we might just believe you have emotions.”

“Hn,” Bruce responded vaguely, somewhere between a laugh and a retort. Jim grinned.

“Oh, he has ‘em,” he said snidely, “But damn if he ever lets you know about ‘em.”

Bruce stared at him with mock betrayal, and Dick looked at him in awe. “Et tu, Brute?” Bruce asked, and Jim snickered.

“Ah, let an old man have his fun,” he sighed, then got a far more serious look on his face, “Bruce; thank you.”

“Of course, old friend,” Bruce told him, taking him by the shoulder and leading him up the stairs and into the manor, “It’s the least I can do.”

“Besides, we’ve gotta use all the rooms in the Manor forsomething,don’t we?” Dick said with a laugh, and Jim smiled gratefully.

It was a good thing he was friends with both Bruce Wayne and Batman. And a better thing that they were one in the same.

“Commissioner Gordon,” Alfred greeted, clicking his heels and bowing formally, “Welcome to Wayne Manor. Please, allow me to show you to your room.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Jim said gratefully, “Just Jim is fine, really.”

“Very good, Commissioner,” Alfred amended, and Jim sighed.

“Don’t even try,” Dick told him, walking past, “Took me years just to get him to stop calling me ‘Master Richard’.”

Jim could have sworn Alfred smiled smugly at that, but said nothing as he was led past opulent wooden halls and a half dozen Wayne kids whose names he didn’t quite remember, until he was brought to a room on the second floor. It had a queen size canopy bed, a small table and chair for coffee, and a wonderful view of the sprawling lawn outside.

“Mistress Barbara is across the hall, Mistress Cassandra is to your left, and Young Master Damian is to your right,” Alfred told him, “I assure you, they are all quiet sleepers. Mistress Stephanie shall return shortly with a wardrobe for you, and rest assured, she has been instructed to be in keeping with your current ensemble.”

“Oh, Alfred, thank you,” Jim said bashfully, setting his duffle bag down on the bed, “You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble-”

“It’s no trouble at all, Jim,” Alfred said, and Jim stared at the elderly Briton. Alfred smiled.

“Once upon a time, there was a detective who pulled a little boy away from the corpses of his parents, and showed him there was still goodness in the world,” Alfred told him softly, “And for that, I am eternally grateful. Please, stay as long as you need, Commissioner.”

And with that, Alfred closed the door to his room and left Jim alone. Jim smiled softly to himself, then set his badge, his father’s cufflinks, and the picture of Barbara and her mother up on the little table by the window. He really didn’t deserve friends as good as these.

Tim tossed and turned in his bed, moaning softly as his face twitched rapidly. It was dark, he was alone, just… walking. Forever onward, into the dark. There was no one around. Nothing.

Tim started to run, but the nothing just kept going. There was no light, no sound, nothing. Just him. Tim tried to scream, but no sound came out. He was alone.

“What are you doing?” a young, high voice asked, and Tim whirled around, finding himself face to face with… Robin. But it wasn’t Damian. No, Tim knew that red uniform anywhere. It was his own.

“Why are you doing this?” his younger self asked him, looking at him with concerned, pitying eyes, “You’re not a villain. Why are you acting like one?”

“You know why!” Tim told him fiercely, “They’ll kill Tommy if I don’t cooperate!”

“So Tommy is worth all those people’s lives?” Robin asked, tilting his head, “Who are you to decide who gets to live and who has to die? We’re heroes, not executioners. You understood that once.”

“And Istillunderstand it!” Tim sighed frustratedly, running a hand through his hair, “It just doesn’t matter! I’m doing what they tell me to!”

“You’re lying,” Robin said accusingly, shaking his head, “You’re just looking for an excuse, so that you can justify your behavior. There’s still good in you, Tim. You just need to fight!”

“Wrong,” a new, colder voice said, and Tim and Robin turned to see a tall, lanky man in a black cowl step out of the shadows. “If we resist, Tommy dies,” Red Robin said emotionlessly, “We established long ago that any potential harm to Tommy is unacceptable. Therefore, we cooperate. That is the only logical course of action.”

“Logic doesn’t always account for morality!” Robin argued back, “We just killedhundredsof people! Because Lex and Ra’stoldus to! That’s not what heroes do!”

“Our current circumstances do not allow for the luxury of heroism,” Red Robin argued back, “We are to simply do as we are told, until such time as circumstances change.”

“So what!? You’re just going togive up!?” Robin cried angrily, and Red Robin tilted his head.

“Yes,” he answered.

Robin screeched with rage, throwing himself at his older self, and Tim watched in horrified silence as before Robin could even land a blow, Red Robin flicked out the knife at the top of his bo staff and rammed it through the boy’s heart.

Robin coughed, then fell to the ground with a short, pained cry. Blood pooled around Tim’s feet, and Red Robin stared at him, as if expecting something from him.

Tim did nothing. The blood kept pouring, rising until it covered his feet, rising up his ankles. Red Robin continued to stare at him. Tim looked around, and gagged as he saw more bodies laying on the ground.

Jack Drake

Kon

Bart

Cassie

Cass

Jason

Alfred

Bruce.

The blood still rose, enough so that Tim was swimming in it. It rose up his chest, up to his neck, and all the while, Red Robin’s eyes bored into him. “Wh--ack!!-- What do you want from me!?” Tim cried desperately, sinking down into the blood, but Red Robin remained silent.

The blood crested the top of Tim’s head, swallowing him whole, and Tim sat up in bed with a gasp.

His chest heaved for breath, and he shook as sweat dripped off his frame. He shuddered, pulling the covers up to wrap a little tighter around himself, and gazed out the window of his bedroom. The lights of Gotham twinkled down below… but far less than usual. Because he’d burned some of those lights away.

Tim shivered, then reached over to his nightstand and felt around for his flask, grabbing it and taking a long draught, gulping it down. Talk about nightmares…

Tommy smiled happily as he played with his Robin action figures on the floor, the sun filtering through the windows softly, just rising above Mount McKinley in the distance. His dad sat at the counter in the kitchen, sipping on his cup of coffee and reading the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner. Dad had said that next week he wanted to take Tommy hiking up the mountain, to show him the world, and Tommy was pretty excited. He hadn’t been up that high before, even though he could fly, because Dad didn’t let him go above the treeline.

Once, he’d tested that theory by flying up on top of a tree that was way higher than all the rest, but Dad hadn’t liked that, so he stopped doing it.

Tommy was just about to make Robin knock out Mr Freeze and save Batman when suddenly everything got a whole lot darker. He looked out the window, and the sun was gone, along with Mount McKinley. He spun around, crying, “Dad?”, but his dad was gone, vanished from his spot at the counter. The newspaper fluttered to the ground, and Dad’s favorite mug shattered, spilling the coffee across the hardwood floor.

Tommy whimpered in fear, beginning to fly around the house, shouting, “Dad? Dad!Dad!”

There was no one in the house. Tommy blinked, and the Alaska house was gone, replaced by nothing but inky darkness. However, off in the distance, there was one figure, standing with his back turned. He had black hair, a thin frame, and a red shirt. “Dad…?” Tommy asked fearfully, but the figure didn’t turn. Tommy flew forward desperately, but never got any closer to him. “Dad!” he shouted as loud as he could, “Dad, please! Come back!DAD!!”

Dad didn’t move, and Tommy couldn’t get to him. He pushed himself as fast as he could, but no matter how fast he flew he just couldn’t make it. Just as the darkness swallowed Tommy’s vision, he saw the shadows, vaguely human-shaped, latch onto Dad’s frame, pulling him down, clawing at him, and whimpered in fear as he knew what they were; the Bad Men.

Dad’s last words to him echoed in his mind, and Tommy fell down into the darkness.

“I love you, son.”

Tommy woke up with a shout, throwing off his covers in terror. “Little Nephew?” a voice asked to his left, and Tommy yelped in surprise as he sighted Auntie Cass, perched at his bedside, looking at him with concern.

“A-Auntie Cass-!” he stammered, trying to ignore his racing heartbeat, “Wh-What are you doing here?”

“Heard you… moving, in your sleep,” Auntie Cass told him, struggling with her words for a moment. She did that sometimes, Tommy noticed, especially when she was tired, “Came to see if alright.”

“O-Oh, right, th-that makes sense,” Tommy acknowledged shakily, trying to steady his breathing, “I-I’m okay, it was just a nightmare.”

Auntie Cass furrowed her brow. “‘Just’?” she quoted, and Tommy nodded.

“Y-yes, ‘just’,” he confirmed, “I-I’m okay, you didn’t need to wake up for me. I-I’ll try to be quieter.”

Auntie Cass only frowned at him sadly. “No,” she sighed, “You had a nightmare; sleep, not possible for a little while. Want some ice cream?”

Tommy shivered, already missing the warmth of his covers, and looked at her strangely. “Ice cream?” he asked incredulously; back with Dad, money had been a bit of a problem. Ice cream was only for very, very special occasions; like Tommy’s birthday party, or when Auntie Pru, Uncle Z, and Uncle Owens came to visit.

Auntie Cass, however, nodded sagely. “Nightmare cure,” she confirmed, “It’s magic.”

Tommy resisted for a moment, then gave in to his childish temptations. “Okay,” he said with a small smile, “Maybe just a little.”

Auntie Cass smiled, scooping him up into her arms and carrying him down the stairs before he could say anything. “Ack!” he cried, trying to wriggle free, “Auntie Cass! You don’t need tocarryme!”

“Wanted to,” Cass said simply, holding him tight to her chest as she descended the stairs easily, “No struggle.”

Tommy pouted, but ultimately went limp and allowed her to carry him without issue. Finally, they reached the kitchen, and Auntie Cass set him down at the counter while she rummaged through the freezer. “Flavor?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Oh! Um, anything’s fine,” he said quickly; he really didn’t want to be any trouble.

“We have many,” Cass assured him, “Favorite?”

“Uh… mint chocolate chip?” he asked quietly, and Cass smiled as she produced a tub of the heavenly green substance from the freezer.

“Mint chocolate chip,” she agreed, then rummaged through the cabinets for two bowls and spoons.

Tommy watched carefully as she doled out portions, very large portions in his opinion, but he wasn’t complaining, and shove his bowl in front of him. “Eat,” she said simply, digging into her own, and Tommy took up his spoon.

Carefully, wanting to make it last as much as he could, Tommy took a small spoonful and put it in his mouth, smiling at the coolness on his tongue and the familiar minty flavor. It really was perfect.

“Good?” Auntie Cass asked, and Tommy nodded quickly.

“Very good, thank you!” he responded.

She smiled, then said, “So. Nightmare?”

Tommy pursed his lips, poking at his ice cream a bit. “It was about my dad,” he said eventually, and Auntie Cass leaned forward, “I just… it’s been a long time since he went away. What if… what if he’s really not coming back? What did… what did I do wrong, that he didn’t stay?”

Auntie Cass’s eyes widened, and in an instant, Tommy found himself restrained by yet another of her strangely unbreakable hugs. “Ack!” he protested, but she didn’t let go, no matter how much he squirmed.

“Oh, Little Nephew,” she sighed, and Tommy stopped as he heard the tears in her voice, “Not your fault. Never your fault.”

Tommy leaned into her hug, just a little bit. “B-But,” Tomy whispered back, his own tears welling up in his eyes, “What else could it be? He said… he said nothing would ever take him away, but now he’sgoneand I don’t know what to--”

“Shh,” Cass whispered, hugging him tighter, “Not your fault.Little Brother is… lost, right now. But hewillcome back. To you, to me, to Bruce; to everyone.”

“Promise?” Tommy whispered quietly, curling up into her lap.

“Promise,” she responded, not quite believing it herself.

Duke walked into the Cave that morning, knowing everyone else was still asleep. Normal patrol times weren’t for another ten hours, the only reason he was up was because he had the daytime circuit.

Dr. Thompkins had cleared him for duty, reluctantly, because there was simply nothing to be done about his back anymore. The best they could do was add extra padding to his suit to make sure it didn’t irritate his burns too much, and put on ointment every night before bed. Duke had to lay on his stomach, so that it could dry. He hated the scent of it, like menthol and sadness, but it was nothing compared to the images seared on the inside of his brain.

A kid, burning to death, begging him to make the pain stop. And there was the name of the culprit burned into the city, and no one, not even Jason, had acted on that fact. Duke was going to change that.

He pulled on his helmet, starting up his bike. Normally, Oracle would have an automated crime response program running to guide him before she woke up, but Duke didn’t connect to it. He had one goal in mind and one goal only; the Signal’s bike roared out of the Batcave, headed straight for LexCorp Gotham.

Tim sighed slightly to himself, rolling out a kink in his neck and regretting his existence as he sorted through mountains of paperwork at his desk. Apparently, on top of all his other responsibilities, he wasalsoexpected to oversee the conversion of the former Ace Chemicals plant into a suitable LexCorp facility. Wasn’t going great, to say the least.

His reconstruction project was going well, however, and he’d successfully gotten samples of Waylon Jones’s and Victor Fries’s blood down to the BioLab. Basil Karlo’s clay matter had also been sent down, but that one was a lot harder to figure out, so Tim wanted to take a look at it himself, first. Procuring the deed to the old Cobblepot Estate was going well, and he was still working on a more creative solution for Harvey… he’d made it clear he wanted to keep the scars on his face, they were a part of him now, and Tim respected that, but he still wanted a way to appear in public without people running and screaming in terror.

Normally, this would be a time when Tim would reach out to Zatanna or Doctor Fate for an illusion charm, but they weren’t really on speaking terms right now. Who was on the bad guys’ side that would make an illusion charm for him? Wotan? Unlikely. No, there had to be a tech solution to it, but justwhatwas the question.

For the others, however, things were going well. The paperwork was all set to admit Jonathan Crane and Edward Nygma as employees of LexCorp, as soon as they were given clean bills of health from Arkham Asylum. (Tim was bribing the warden, obviously) Once that was done, Scarecrow could put his chemistry expertise to good use and start helping the BioLab with cures for Waylon, Victor, and Basil. Ed would be given free reign in the R&D department whenever Tim was busy, and Tim was honestly thinking about calling him for help with the Two-Face disguise problem. And so far, his staff was loving that the cafeteria was now catered by the Iceberg Lounge.

All in all, the Mockingbird Syndicate was looking to be a resounding success. They were still in the preliminary stages now, but Tim had a feeling that once he managed to cure Nora Fries, he will have won their trust. Bane was especially hesitant to come around, but Tim had faith. Once Tim explained his master plan to take down Bruce, he figured Bane would be onboard. Now he just needed tothinkof that plan…

“Mr Drake, there’s someone here to see you,” Meghan said from the door, a hint of nervousness in her voice, and Tim looked up.

“Oh?” he asked, dreading the eventuality of Lex or Ra’s, “Who is it?”

A bright yellow glove shoved Meghan to the side roughly, and Tim’s face hardened.

“Red Robin,” the Signal growled, “You’re under arrest.”

Bruce knocked lightly on Duke’s door. They’d talked about what happened, obviously, but something still wasn’t sitting right with him; something in his newest ward’s voice when they’d been discussing how best to treat the burns.

“Duke?” he asked softly, pushing the door open, “I hope I caught you before patrol, I wanted to… talk.”

Duke’s bed was empty. Bruce looked at his watch. Duke wasn’t supposed to start patrol for another hour.

In an instant, a handgun, a sniper rifle, and two submachine guns were trained on the Signal’s back as Z, Owens, and Pru snapped to attention. Dan and Meg quickly went for the elevator, finding a way out as Tim and Duke stared each other down.

“Hold your fire, I’ve got this,” Tim told them, not looking away from Signal, “Duke, I want you to think very carefully about what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I’ve thought about it,” Duke growled, “And either I’m gonna bring you in, or I’m gonnabring you down.”

Tim frowned. “Bold words,” he said, “I take it you lost someone in the fire?”

Duke growled, putting up his fists and drawing his yellow escrima, and shouted, “You killed him!”

Tim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I killed alotof people, I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

Duke snarled, running forward, and Tim sighed. He dodged to the left, letting Duke leap over the desk and hit nothing, sprawling onto the floor as Tim stood up easily, twirling his pen in his hand. “His name wasSammy,you son of a bitch!” Duke shouted, springing to his feet and taking another swing, which Tim dodged easily once more, “He was just a damn kid!Ten years old!!”

Tim grimaced, but showed no other outward emotion as he dodged Signal’s wild swings. He flipped backward in a handspring, then threw his pen forward. Duke yelped in pain as it struck his finger, getting him to drop his escrima, and Tim fiddled with his tie.

“Now,” he sighed, “Are you going to listen to reason, or am I going to have to embarrass you further?”

“Shut UP!” Duke snarled, snatching up his escrima and running at Tim like a wild animal. Tim sighed, then undid his tie and pulled it free from his neck, wrapping it around Duke’s arm and pulling it to the side, bashing into his shoulder with his own, feeling something crunch and give way. “AAARGH!!” Duke screamed, and Tim let him go to nurse his injured arm.

“Now that was a dislocated shoulder, possibly a broken shoulder blade,” Tim told him, “Hurts like hell, trust me, I know, I’ve had it before.”

Duke growled, staggering to his feet and clutching his arm to his chest. “Not enough to stop me,” he growled, and he arn at Tim again, swinging his other arm.

With another long-suffering sigh, Tim dodged inward, grabbed Duke’s injured arm, and spun it around in the most painful way possible, so that Duke was on his knees as Tim held him. “GrrAH!!” Duke cried out as Tim twisted his wrist, and Tim sneered.

“Do I have your attentionnow?” he asked, and Duke made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a grunt.

“Good,” Tim said, “Now Duke, I want you to listenvery carefully,m’kay? M’kay. It’sgoodthat you’re angry, that’s the sign of a good hero. Righteous anger, grief for those lost, it’s what makes you go out there and do what you do; trust me, I still remember going out there for the first time. The rush you get, the sensation of flying, the feeling of bullets through your hair; I remember all of that. But another part of being a hero is knowing to pick your battles. Coming after me?Dumb move.”

Duke gasped in pain as Tim wrenched his arm a little bit more. “No one else was doing anything,” Duke growled, “If they weren’t going to, thenI would.”

Tim shook his head, “No, no, Duke, see, that’s theproblem!They’re not dumb enough to evenattemptthis! EvenDamianknows better, you know why? Because I’muntouchable.”

Duke craned his neck to look at him, and Tim smirked. “I’m Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, not to mention a hero of the city after funding the reconstruction effort,” Tim told him, “You have no evidence that connects me to Red Robin, none that doesn’t incriminate you as well. Oh, sure, the Bats are all but deputized nowadays, but tell me; what would Joker do if he found out that the big bad Signal’s parents are still alive, and not only that, but had the audacity to survive one of his gas attacks? I, for one, think he’d finish the job. Honestly, orphanhood is pretty much a Batfamily tradition, wouldn’t you say?”

Duke’s eyes widened in fear. “You…” he whispered, “You used to be a hero! You chose me to succeed you! Why are youdoingthis!?”

Tim regarded Duke for a moment. Behind his cold eyes, he was sure he gave nothing away to the boy as he leaned in, very closely, and said, “Maybe I’m justfucking. crazy.”

Duke’s eyes widened at the dark, murderous tone Tim took on, then he yelped in pain as the former Robin finally released his arm, fiddling with something on his chest beneath his shirt. “Now, seeing as how this is your first emotional breakdown, I’m willing to let this slide,” Tim told him, “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Duke, don’t waste it. Oh, and if you try anything like this again, I’ll let Joker know which hospital your parents are staying at. Now then, if you’ll excuse me;Conner, here boy.”

Duke held his arm and whimpered slightly as a few seconds passed, and the room was filled with the sound of rushing wind and scattering papers. “Did you just call me like fuckingdog?” Superboy asked, hovering in midair as Tim grinned at him from behind his desk.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Tim told him, “Take Signal here back to the Cave, if you wouldn’t mind, Superboy. He needs some medical attention. I think Batgirl or Arsenal would be more than happy to take on the daytime circuit for today.”

“You okay, Duke?” Conner asked him, keeping a wary eye on Tim as he scanned Signal for injuries.

“Mmph…My pride, mostly,” Duke muttered, pulling himself up to his feet, “My bike’s still downstairs.”

“You’re not riding anything with your shoulder like that,” Conner told him, “I’ll fly you back. Take the elevator and wait there, I need to talk to Tim.”

Duke nodded slightly, limping past the Assassin Trio with what was left of his shattered pride. Conner crossed his arms, and Tim raised an eyebrow.

“So?” Tim asked, pouring himself a drink, “What did you want to talk about? Or would you rathernottalk, like we did the other night?”

Conner’s face went red. “I… uh…” he stammered, and Tim smirked, taking a sip.

“Where’s all this bashfulness coming from, all of a sudden?” Tim asked him, a smirk playing at his lips, “I seem to recall you beingmuchmore enthusiastic about it that night. Am I notattractiveto you anymore, Clone Boy?”

Conner blinked rapidly, then shook his head to clear it of very, very inappropriate thoughts. Tim was playing the Catwoman Game, andfuckhe was playing it well. That wasnot fair.

“That’s not it,” Conner said, silently addingdefinitelyin his head, “A-And, I’m sorry about that. I should have… I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?” Tim asked innocently, fluttering his eyelashes, “I certainly don’t remember anything.”

Conner flinched. Tim laughed scornfully, saying, “Well, good to know even half-Kryptonians give in to their urges once in a while. Though, I can’t imagine you’ll wantthatlittle detail escaping to the public, would you-?”

“Stop it,” Conner growled, “I know what you’re doing.”

“Oh?” Tim asked playfully, sipping from his whiskey and making sure to pucker his lipsjust right.

Conner growled, “You’re trying to make me angry. Or guilty. Or both, probably, knowing you. Above all, you want this conversation to end so you can go back to wallowing in self-pity.”

Tim blinked. Conner smirked, saying, “You forget, I knowyou,too.”

Tim scowled, “Alright, fine then. Say what you want to say, Superboy.”

Conner sighed, screwed his courage, then looked up. “That kid of yours is something else, you know that?” he said, and Tim’s expression melted into one of shock, “When Bruce and Selina were trapped in one of those blazing tenements, me, Clark, and Wally couldn’t get to them in time. Tommy flew in like it was nothing; I don’t even think he knew what he was doing.”

Tim’s shocked expression morphed into one of abject terror as he dropped his glass. “Bruce and Tommy werein the field??” he gasped, “No! No, I timed this perfectly! Bruce should still be recovering, he shouldn’t have been--”

“When have youeverknown Bruce to rest for the recommended period of time?” Conner asked, raising an eyebrow, and Tim bit his tongue.

“Touche,” he admitted, “But Tommy is achild.He shouldn’t have beenout there.If I had my way, he’dneverbe out thereat all.”

“He’s a strong kid, Tim,” Conner said, “You can’t stop him from being a hero.”

“Like hell I can’t!!” Tim snapped, standing up in a rage, “I’m hisfather!”

Conner frowned. “How come you sent him to live with Bruce, then?”

Tim’s anger faltered, and he grimaced as he sat back down. “He’s not safe with me,” he sighed, “I thought Bruce would at least keep him out of a cape… I-I mean, he’s onlyfive years old,physically, and evenless soin real time-”

“Tim,” Conner said seriously “No one’s crazy enough to put him in a cape permanently right now. He just flew out of the Cave before Barbara could stop him.”

Tim pursed his lips, and wrung his hands. “He shouldn’t have been out there at all,” he muttered, “Oracle should have-”

“Oracle is in a wheelchair, and Tommy has super speed,” Conner sighed, “Tim, come on, man. He’s safe, trust us. But he still needs his dad.”

Tim hung his head, resting his shaking hands on his bottle of whiskey. “He’s better off without me,” he said in a small voice, and he turned his white noise generator back on, so that Conner couldn’t hear his heartbeat anymore. “Get out of my office, Superboy.”

Conner frowned, but hovered slightly in the air. At super speed, he leaned over Tim’s desk and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I love you, Tim,” he sighed, flying away, “No matter what you do, no matter what you think. Idostill love you. And so does he. Don’t forget that.”

And Superboy flew up, up, and away. And Red Robin sat at his desk and tried very hard to drink that kiss away.

Chapter 28: Not This

Chapter Text

Ra’s al Ghul frowned as he watched the live video feed of the Young Detective’s office. Whether or not Timothyknewabout Ra’s surveillance, he wasn’t quite sure, but so far, nothing negative had come of it, so he kept it.

This was the second time that the clone had interfered in Timothy’s affairs, and shown… shall we say, “interest” in him. Ra’s was unsure how he felt about that… perhaps he might someday soon have to take matters with Timothy into his own hands. He wouldn’t want anyone getting any illusions of freedom, of course.

Ra’s watched as Timothy gulped down the whiskey like it was water, and smiled as he watched those unkempt raven locks fall in front of his eyes. The Young Detective swept them away without a second thought. He smiled, his lips curling upwards as the beginnings of an idea began forming in his mind.

As entertaining as it was to watch Timothy banter back and forth with the clone, channeling his inner Selina Kyle, Ra’s was all too aware that Catwoman’s games belied actual attachment. Timothy, being his ward, was not allowed to have any attachments, none that weren’t purely business or physical. He must be shown that these forays into romance would not be tolerated.

However, Ra’s had raised a teenage daughter; he knew that simply telling the boy “no” wouldn’t accomplish much of anything. The power of love cannot be stopped, after all, if his grandson’s existence proved anything.

But love can be soured. And Ra’s had a feeling he would greatly enjoy the process…

Jim stumbled down the stairs blearily, bumping into the occasional wall as he searched for the kitchen and, hopefully, a pot of coffee. He entered a vaguely white and cream tiled place, and smelling the scent of pancakes on the air, determined that he’d found it. He fumbled around the counter, accidentally burning his hand on something, before finally closing his hands around what was undeniably the handle of a coffee pot. Jim grinned with triumph, took the mug that had somehow appeared on the counter in front of him, poured it, then came alive as he took a good, long draught of the blissfully hot, bitter, life-giving coffee.

Then he slowly became aware of the world, and that he was standing in the middle of the breakfast making process of Wayne Manor. Nearly the whole family was seated at the table, and they were all trying (and failing) to suppress their laughter while Barbara (the little traitor) took pictures.

“Uh…” Jim murmured, “Sorry?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dick laughed, guiding Jim down to a seat at the table, “We’re kinda used to the whole ‘coffee zombie’ thing.”

Jim scoffed indignantly, “I amnotacoffee zombie-”

“The evidence begs to differ, Jim,” Bruce said snidely, raising his eyebrow as he discreetly took a sip of his own coffee, and Jim scowled.

“This is payback for that emotions crack yesterday, isn’t it?” Jim muttered, and Bruce shrugged.

“Maybe,” he answered.

“Woah, Bruce can hold a grudge?” Steph asked in wonder, “Holy crap, remind me toneverget on his bad side. I donotwant to see what Batman with a grudge looks like.”

“Jason,” Cass said sagely, and the man in question squawked in offense from where he was helping Alfred in the kitchen.

“Sorry, Jay, but it’s true,” Roy sighed, shaking his head with a smile as he sat down at the table with the others, holding his own cup of coffee, “Mornin’, Jim, how are ya?”

“Better, Roy, thank you,” Jim answered, nodding in acknowledgement at the other man. There was an unspoken agreement now between the two of them that they were, in fact, the only two sane people in the Manor, along with maybe Duke, but depending on how long he hung around the Bats, that ship might have already sailed.

“Good Morning, friends and family!” Kori said with a wide, happy smile as she floated into the room, “How are you all today?”

“Doin’ fine, Gorgeous,” Jason answered, kissing her on the cheek as he handed over her morning smoothie. Kori grinned with delight as she returned the kiss, then floated over to sit next to Roy, kissed him, and began chugging her drink happily.

Jim’s eyebrows raised at the sight, but he knew better than to say anything. Not disapproval, just surprise.

“Did any of you speak to Duke this morning?” Bruce asked once everything seemed to have settled down a bit more, “I meant to catch him before patrol, but he had already left by the time I knocked on his door.”

“No, but I did notice he left an hour earlier than usual,” Barbara said, checking her laptop. After a moment, she frowned, “He didn’t connect to the Training Wheels Program.”

“Well, perhaps if you didn’t give it such an insulting name,” Damian muttered, handing part of his Arab breakfast to little Tommy, who took the flatbread with gusto.

Jim smiled as the kid chowed down happily, chuckling as Selina quietly admonished him to slow down. It reminded him of Barbara, at that age.

“That’s not it,” Barbara muttered with a roll of her eyes, “And I’ll have you know that my naming schemes areflawless,thank you.”

“Considering the golden standard for naming schemes around here isDick,I’m not sure that’s a high bar,” Steph snickered, and Dick scoffed in mock offense.

“My names areperfect!” Dick cried, waving his fork in the air, “Name a more iconic term than ‘Batmobile’. Go on, I’ll wait.”

“A few of them are nice, yes,” Damian admitted, “But once you began getting into the territory of ‘Bat Shark Repellant’, it truly just became ridiculous.”

“I wasnine!” Dick cried defensively, and Jason laughed as he walked over with the fist plate of pancakes.

“Holy unoriginal prefixes, Batman!” he said, mimicking the high tenor that Dick had had at that age, and the whole table laughed as Alfred arrived with the rest of breakfast.

“Breakfast is served,” the old butler said, taking his own seat at the end of the table, “Bon appetit.”

And the Waynes dug in. It really was strange, Jim decided, watching this gaggle of vigilantes behave so…normally.However, he certainly didn’t miss the empty space toward the end of the table, where age-old coffee rings stained the table cloth.

“We’re kinda used to the whole ‘coffee zombie’ thing.”

Jim frowned, remembering the boy who wasn’t here, but should be. Turning away from the empty place, he went back to nursing his own coffee.

Then, of course, because this was Gotham, the totally unexpected happened. In a whoosh of rushing air, Superboy appeared in the middle of the kitchen, delicately carrying a boy in bright yellow armor.

“Duke!” Bruce cried, standing up instantly and crossing the room at near superhuman speeds, “What happened!?”

“Broken shoulder blade,” Conner told him, letting the vigilante down and onto his feet, “Signal bit off a little more than he could chew with a Rogue, that’s all.”

Duke grunted, but said nothing more as Bruce frantically examined him.

“Which Rogue?” Batman asked, and Conner shrugged.

“It was a quick run-in with Two-Face,” he said easily, “He knew none of you were on the job yet, so he called for me.”

Bruce was too concerned with the injuries to notice, but Jim caught the way Duke shot Conner an appreciative smile. So, a coverup of something embarrassing, then. Impressive that Superboy had the balls nowadays to lie to Batman.

“Strange,” Bruce murmured, “Two-Face usually doesn’t go out in the daylight. Let’s get you down to the Cave for treatment.”

Duke nodded, blushing sheepishly as Bruce and Alfred led him away. “Sorry I ruined breakfast…” he murmured, and Alfred shushed him.

“Oh, hush, Master Duke,” the old butler sighed, “You didn’t ruin anything.”

As they left, Jim looked back at the others, who were all somewhere between concerned for Duke and in awe of Conner. “You all saw that, right?” Dick asked quietly, “It was so fluid! So natural! Like nothing!”

“I almost didn’t catch it,” Steph admitted.

“What?Whaaat?” Tommy whined, and Selina patted his head gently.

“Never you mind, dear,” she whispered, and Tommy pouted, going back to his breakfast.

“No fair,” he muttered, but didn’t raise any more fuss. He was a surprisingly well-behaved kid, for his age. Like his father in many ways.

Roy, meanwhile, shook his head. “Bruce is still on a cane and he still scares the crap outta me,” he muttered, “Didn’t know Conner had it in ‘im to pull a Tim.”

The table went silent, holding its breath as Roy realized his mistake. “What about my dad?” Tommy asked, and Roy panicked.

“Uh… Oh, um, nothing, kid, don’t worry about it,” Roy tried to deflect, but Selina merely rolled her eyes.

“What Roy here istryingto say, dear, is that your dad was the only one who was ever able to lie to Batman and get away with it,” Selina sighed with a smile, “Well, now the only one except Conner.”

Tommy nodded in understanding, said, “Oh, okay,” then went back to his breakfast. Just like that.

The table collectively let out the breaths they didn’t know they’d been holding.

“I’m gonna go check on Duke,” Barbara declared, then turned to Jim, “Wanna come with, Dad?”

“Hm? Oh, sure!” Jim said after a moment, startling himself out of a doze, “Right behind you.”

Barbara wheeled down the halls, going up to the grandfather clock in the sitting room and pulling on the pendulum. Jim’s eyebrows raised slightly as the clock swung open, and Barbara wheeled herself through the darkened passageway.

Jim followed cautiously, then gaped at what he saw. As Barbara went down the newly built ramp, he gawked at the expansive darkness that stretched in all directions. “So… this is the Batcave, huh?” he asked aloud, “Didn’t realize it was an actual cave. Always thought that was a euphemism. Is that a dinosaur?”

“My favorite’s the giant penny,” Babs told him, tugging his hand as he got to the bottom of the steps, “Come on, the Batcomputer’s over here.”

“Batcomputer?” Jim asked dumbly, and Barbara grinned.

“Thank nine-year-old Dick for all the names,” she said, “Like Jason said, unoriginal prefixes.”

As they drew closer to the medbay, they saw Conner leaning against the Batcomputer, idly watching as BBruce chewed Duke out for “being totally irresponsible” and “you shouldn’t have gone against any major Rogue without at least Oracle as backup” and “are you listening to me, young man?”

Jim grinned slightly, watching as Duke’s eyes practically glazed over at the tirade of worried/angry words. “So,” Barbara asked as they stood next to Conner, “Who was it really?”

“Who do you think?” Conner sighed, and Barbara grimaced.

“Tim,” she sighed, and Conner nodded. Jim grimaced slightly.

“Duke tried to go after him, those fires really shook him up,” Conner explained, and Barabara nodded.

“Think I should schedule something with Dinah?” she asked, and Conner hummed.

“Maybe, if he asks,” he said eventually, “But it should be his choice. One of you should definitely talk to him regardless, though.”

“Of course,” Barbara said wit a nod, then she bit her lip, “God, I hope he’s alright.”

“Duke or Tim?” Conner asked, and Jim watched as his daughter fidgeted nervously.

“Both,” she answered.

“Careful, careful!” Tim cried at his employees, “This is a woman’s life we’re dealing with here, guys! Try not to jostle her so much!”

“Right, sorry Mr. Drake!” one of them called back.

“I know you’re not supposed to comment on a woman’s weight, but she’sreallyheavy,” another one whined, and Tim shook his head fondly. Apparently, the reason LexCorp had survived so long was because all their employees were good-natured idiots.

He grunted as they finally let her settle, and he immediately sprang up to help Victor and the lab hands hook up all the necessary tubes and wires. After a few minutes of work, they had a heart monitor up, and one of the doctors gave a thumbs up as they got a read on a steady pulse.

Tim wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled as he watched Nora Fries float serenely in her cryogenic stasis pod, and Victor sighed at his side. Tim patted his shoulder comfortingly, and even though there was a containment suit between him and the shoulder, the symbolism was still there.

“We’ll get her back soon, Victor, I promise,” he said earnestly, “LexCorp Metropolis is currently working on a cure for her disease, and the Atlanta laboratory is collaborating with us to try and find a solution to both your conditions. This’ll work.”

“Thank you, Tim,” Victor said, his voice still distorted by the filter in the suit, and he turned to face the former vigilante, “I never thought I’d say this, but… you are a true friend.”

Tim beamed back at him. Patting Victor on the shoulder one last time, he turned away and snuck in a quick swig from his flask, mentally filing away the fact that he’d now earned Mr. Freeze’s trust. He took out his cellphone, dialing Z. “Z, how’s the lab doing with Waylon Jones’s blood?” he asked balancing the phone on his shoulder while he signed some construction paperwork Dan had brought down for him.

“Progress is slow, but it is progress,” Z assured him, “They seem to have run into a bit of a problem with the lab rats.”

“Oh?” Tim asked, shooting a quick smile of greeting at Owens and Pru as he reentered his office.

“They seem to keep eating each other,” Z told him, and Tim grimaced.

“That’s probably a bad sign,” Tim sighed, “Alright, I’ll go and help them out tomorrow morning. And my poker buddies are aware that we’re meeting again on Friday this week?”

“Of course,” Z answered, “Mr. Nygma seems to have set up a group chat.”

“Ha!” Tim laughed, “That’s awesome. Thanks, Z, you can head on break if you like; I hear Oswald imported some Alaskan salmon for lunch today.”

Z hummed over the line for a moment. “Salmon does sound good…” he murmured, “I’ll return to duty in five minutes.”

“Take twenty, seriously,” Tim told him, “I’m not Ra’s; I treat my employees correctly. Enjoy lunch, Z. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Tim Drake,” Z answered, and they both hung up. Tim slumped in his chair, spinning idly with boredom.

This was, in hindsight, the most enjoyable part of his day. He got to do what he wanted, actually run an R&D department, even if it was LexCorp instead of WE, and he was genuinely helping people. It felt… nice. Almost like old times. Almost.

Tim sighed, took another swig from his flask, then tried to focus on his paperwork. Zoning requirements, complaints from the homeowner’s association about construction noise, (really?) legal stuff for the Cobblepot Estate… everything was running smoothly, but it was also all blending together.

As Tim continuously set pen to paper, he found himself dozing off as the monotony of it all finally got to him. Read this, sign that, bribe him, threaten her, etc. etc. It was all so boring. Tim eventually found himself daydreaming as curly black hair and coke-bottle sunglasses danced across his memory.

He thought about it for a while, that fleeting touch of his lips on his cheek, and couldn’t help the dopey smile that came over his lips. He blushed as he imagined the best scene of all; Tim and Conner, wrapped in each other’s arms, watching as Tommy played happily on the floor of Wayne Manor, Bruce happily overacting as Tommy’s playmate, letting his son rest his weary head for just a moment. Tim smiled as he melted into Conner’s side, nestling into the hold a little longer and just wishing for it to never end…

“Boss? Boss!Boss!” a voice called sharply, and Tim jolted awake.

“I’m up!” he yelped, then looked up at Pru, who was laughing at him. Tim grumbled something, then wiped the pen ink off his face with his hand, only succeeding in smudging it further. He looked outside, and grunted slightly as he realized night had fallen. How long had he been asleep? Longer than he usually was, that’s for sure.

He shook his head to clear it, then tried to block out Pru’s dying snickers as he returned to paperwork. Ah, crap, he smudged his signature; shit, he’d need to ask for another copy of this…

The elevator dinged. Tim looked up, and Pru stopped laughing. He didn’t have any meetings today, especially not so late. He gave Pru a sidelong glance, and she patted her submachine gun. Owens levelled his rifle at the door, and the doors slid back to reveal…

Owens dropped his gun immediately. “Great One,” he saluted, bowing lowly as Dan and Meg copied his movement, eventually followed by Pru as Ra’s al Ghul glided across the room, approaching Tim’s desk and never once breaking eye contact.

“All of you,” Ra’s commanded, “Leave us.”

The assassins didn’t dare disobey, but they were sure to send Tim sympathetic looks as they piled into the elevator. Ra’s didn’t say anything until the doors closed, and they were alone.

“Ra’s,” Tim greeted, trying to ignore his body’s trembling, “What brings you to Gotham?”

“You do, Young Detective,” Ra’s purred, sweeping around the desk and holding Tim by his shoulders. Tim shuddered.

“Operation Mockingbird is still well within an acceptable timetable, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said, trying to ignore the soft, almost caressing touches down his back.

“I’m not worried about the mission,” Ra’s told him, tracing his fingers around the back of Tim’s jaw; Tim fought every instinct to flinch, “However, I am worried you are becoming…distracted.”

“B-Befriending the Rogues is the easiest and surest way to earn their loyalty,” Tim said defensively, trying to subtly lean away from Ra’s hand, but the immortal followed him.

“I’m not talking about the Rogues,” Ra’s said, and Tim finally did flinch as he felt his hot breath on his ear, “I’m referring to theclone.”

“C-Conner?” Tim murmured, “What’s Conner got to do with anythin---gghhk!”

Tim choked as suddenly Ra’s hands were around his throat, pulling him out of his chair and shoving him to the ground, pinning him down. “R-Ra’s--?” he questioned, trying to breathe, and his eyes widened as Ra’s looked him up and down, head to toe, like a predator sizing up its prey. No way…

Ra’s eyes narrowed, “You are attracted to him, yes?” Tim did nothing. Ra’s rest his knee just above Tim’s hip, and Tim whined as he realized that the slightest application of pressure could dislocate the joint. “Don’t lie to me, boy,” Ra’s growled, and Tim closed his eyes as he quickly nodded, gasping for breath.

Ra’s sighed, slackening his grip on Tim’s neck and removed his knee from his hip, and Tim tried to breathe easy for a bit. “R-Ra’s, what-?” he asked hoarsely, but Ra’s was still on top of him, a pondering, almost melancholic look on his face.

“I was afraid of that…” Ra’s admitted, then he began squeezing Tim’s neck again, hard enough that Tim soon began to kick his legs desperately, straining for breath.

“Ra’s!Ra’s!” he gasped, and Ra’s let him breathe again, but only just.

“Romantic attractions are a dangerous distraction, Timothy,” Ra’s told him, “One that you cannot afford, especially not in your current…predicament.I have raised a child before, Timothy, and a teenager at that; I know that simply telling you ‘no’ will accomplish little. A demonstration, however, toshowyou why such behavior is unacceptable…”

Tim’s eyes widened as Ra’s laid a hand on Tim’s groin, tugging at his zipper. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

“That,I think, will speak so much louder thanwords,” Ra’s whispered, swooping downward, and Tim finally bucked with all his strength and managed to kick Ra’s off of him, breaking his grip and gasping for breath.

Tim kicked Ra’s across the face, then scooted across the floor as fast as he could so that he was backed up into the corner where the window met the wall, his chest heaving as adrenaline surged through his veins. “Oh,hell no,” he whispered, “I’m not gonna-- with you--no!”

Ra’s merely wiped his cheek, then eyed Tim hungrily, gaze sweeping up and down his disheveled frame. “Oh, but youwill,Young Detective,” Ra’s murmured, and Tim’s heart stopped as the immortal reached into his sleeve, “You will…”

Ra’s produced the remote.Theremote. “N-No,” Tim whispered fearfully, not taking his eyes off of it, “No, not for this, please no. Don’t use it like this, Ra’s, please, I’m begging you, not like this-!”

“You will submit to me, Timothy,” Ra’s said, circling his thumb around the small red button, “Or your son dies.”

Tim’s heart stopped. He couldn’t do this. Please, God, no, he couldn’t do this. Not this. Anything but this. Please, come on, if there was anybody up there still rooting for him,anything but this.

Ra’s approached him slowly, taking his hand, guiding him to lay on his back on the floor. Tim hyperventilated as he complied, not taking his eyes off the remote for a second. “Ra’s…” he whimpered, tears beginning to leak down his cheeks, “Ra’s,please.Not this.Not this.”

“Please,” Ra’s purred to him, wiping the tears away, “Don’t let that discourage you from resisting slightly, my Young Detective… I far prefer prey that fights back.”

Tim squeezed his eyes shut as Ra’s kissed his neck.

There was a church on the outskirts of Gotham, the parish of St Dumas, where a tall man with blond hair sat in prayer. He kept his head bowed, reverent before the Lord, and pondered on the things that had been happening in his city as of late.

It was no secret to him that Red Robin and Timothy Drake were one in the same. After all, he had once patrolled the Gotham rooftops at Tim’s side, the Batman to his Robin, for a time. But he had been a blasphemous sinner, then, unconcerned with the repercussions of his actions and brainwashed by the religious order he had been born into.

Bruce Wayne, when he had recovered from his spine injury, and Tim Drake, showed him that he was wrong. And ever since, Jean-Paul Valley, AKA Azrael, had been trying to become a better man.

And now, Tim Drake had fallen into the dark. Jean-Paul knew all too well what that was like. So silently, he bowed his head, and prayed for Tim’s soul.

And if it ever became clear that Tim had fallen too far, that his soul would never be saved… Azrael would pay Red Robin the same favor Robin had paid him all those years ago. And take him down.

Light peeked over Gotham’s horizon as Tim huddled into the corner of his office, shaking like a leaf. Ra’s had left half an hour ago, but not before he’d taken what he wanted.

Tim had bruises up and down his body, in the shape of Ra’s hands. It wasn’t enough that Tim could still feel his touch like a brand on his skin, no; Ra’s needed to leave his marks for all the world to see.

Eight hours. Eight hours of the deepest circle of hell Tim had ever been in. And then he’d left, just like that. Like nothing ever happened. Like it was Tuesday for him.

Tim shivered. He… he needed to shower. He needed to clean. He neededclothes.

Tim stood on shaky legs, pulling on his slacks and running down to the employee bathrooms, eternally grateful that no one used them on the graveyard shift, and turned the water on as hot as it would go. Tim scrubbed at his skin with all his might, but no matter what he did, the bruises, the marks, they didn’t disappear. They never did.

Tim stayed there for who knows how long. Finally, he turned the water off, then went back up to his office, wrapping about six towels around himself to cover up his shame. His desk was… a mess. In more ways then one.

He needed new copies of all the paperwork. And a new desk. And a new carpet.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t look at these ones anymore. Tim grabbed his bottle of whiskey off his shelf, forgoing the glasses, and sat in the farthest corner of the office, where he didn’t need to look at his papers, or his desk, or his carpet.

He wanted to not think. Tim popped the top off his whiskey, then chugged about a third of it, trying to wash the taste of Ra’s out of his mouth. Heneededto not think.

Tim shook his head, trying to think of Conner. Of strong, safe arms, that didn’t touch him like that, but… but all he could think of was laughter, pain, begging, tears, and burning hands raking across his skin. Tim chugged more of the bottle, trying so, so hard to get his brain to justshut the fuck up.

Tim looked over at the mirrored walls of his office. Robin stared back, judging him.

Tim smashed the mirror. Because fuck his younger self, and any and all guilt/trauma/alcohol related hallucinations. His knuckles bled, and Tim stared at them in wonder.

Right. Glass hurts. Tim just hurt himself. He hadn’t done that since…

Dick had told him to call if he ever hurt himself again. But… this didn’t really count, right? He just punched the mirror. He didn’t mean to. Besides, it wasn’t like he could just call Dick up andnotstrangle him.

Tim shivered, gulping down more whiskey. That probably wasn’t healthy, but he was so past the point of caring. Without quite knowing what he was doing, Tim grabbed one of the shards of broken mirror and drove it down into his arm, relishing in the pain for just a moment.

It was bliss, really. Just pain. Pain that he could control, pain that others could not force onto him. Simple, efficient. Pain, then blood. That was it. It was easy, simple.

Why had he ever stopped doing this before? Tim couldn’t quite remember. Wow, that whiskey was working fast.

Tim sliced a bit more of his arm open. It felt good, and he kinda thought the little red lines were funny. Tim giggled. Everything was funny.

The world was funny, the broken mirror was funny, the different reflections of Tim and Robin and Red Robin and Bruce and Ra’s and the Joker staring up at him from the broken shards on the ground were funny, what had happened to him just now, well, it was all just so fuckingfunnywasn’t it?

Tim fell onto his side, feeling particles of glass cut into his skin as the whiskey bottle tipped over and spilled its content around him. He giggled some more, feeling his consciousness fade in and out.

And he’d been having such a good day, too…

Chapter 29: The Desert

Chapter Text

Pru sighed as she cracked her neck, walking into the office. Honestly, the guard duty was a boring job, but at least she had good company. That Meghan, quite a woman…

Pru shook her head, earning a strange look from Owens, which she answered with a sneer. Owens turned away and raised his hands in surrender, and Pru winced as she saw the one black glove he wore to hide the bionic prosthetic. In Z’s shoe, she knew, there was a bionic foot, and she subconsciously rubbed her own neck, feeling the surgery scar and the small bump of the artificial larynx they’d put inside her. All scars from their run-in with the Widower, before the Boss finally managed to put him down.

Now, even though she didn’t have to carry around an external electric larynx like cancer patients, the League’s advanced medicine still wasn’t enough to stop her voice from having at least a slight buzzing quality to it. She still sounded like a really good robot when she spoke. It… was better than it could be, but she missed her old voice. She missed not having some metal voicebox stuck in her neck like a goddamn Transformer, but here she was.

The elevator doors dinged, and Pru, Owens, Z, Dan, and Meg all walked out onto the main office floor. Pru stopped in her tracks as she noticed the dark stain on the carpet, leaking from the right side of the door to the Boss’s office. She also noticed the top of a head of raven black hair and a hand sitting far, far too still.

No. The Boss was important, there was no way Ra’s would just kill him… was there?

Pru stayed frozen as Z ran forward immediately, crying, “Tim!” The man slid to a stop, and as the rest of them finally found the strength to move again, they found Z crouching over the Boss, who was passed out and bleeding but definitely, thank God,breathing.

“Oh Jaysus…” Pru muttered, running a hand across her bald head, “I thought he was gone…”

“Not yet,” Z sighed, taking the Boss’s arm in his hand to inspect it, “Luckily, he seems to have missed the radial artery. Owens, go get the aid kit; this may need stitches.”

“On it,” Owens responded, already bounding away to get it. He returned moments later, crouching down next to Z and opening the kit, fumbling around for sutures.

“Wait…” Meghan said quietly as she squinted and crouched down, poking the hem of Tim’s shirt. After a moment, she gasped and lifted it up, revealing to them all a bruise the exact size and shape of Ra’s al Ghul’s hand placed in a very not-okay way. “Oh,” she murmured, “Oh, Tim, no…”

Tim didn’t respond, but the gravity of the situation wasn’t lost on those conscious. Z’s hands shook a little, but he clenched his fists as he said, “Owens, the med kit. We’ll deal with…cleanuplater.”

Owens gulped, then nodded, handing everything over to Z. Dan merely shook as he watched them work, his eyes wide and unseeing. Meghan whimpered as she held a hand to her mouth, and Pru immediately crouched beside her, holding her shoulders supportively. “R-Remember, he ain’t got a spleen, Z, so you gotta be careful about-” she started, but Z cut her off.

“I know!” he snapped, then took a breath as he tried to collect himself, “I know, Pru. Please, just… let me work.”

Pru nodded, then hugged Meg a little tighter. Dan rubbed his face and went into the other room, trying to calm down.

Owens poured some of the rubbing alcohol over Tim’s arm, and suddenly the Boss’s eyes were wide open. “Gah!” he cried, and Z grunted as he caught a punch to the face, “Get off of me!”

Tim jumped to his feet, stumbling over himself as he tried to run, only to fall on his face and try to roll, staggering up and back down and landing hard on his back, then from there trying to scoot away into a corner. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, and even though his eyes were open, it was obvious he wasn’t quite seeing them. “Please,” he whispered, closing his eyes tight, “Please don’t hurt me-!”

Pru’s heart broke as Z and Owens raised their hands in surrender. “Easy, Tim,” Z said slowly, not moving any closer, “It’s me, Z. And Owens, and Pru, and Meg, and Dan. We aren’t going to hurt you.”

Tim’s breathing slowly normalized, and he cracked an eye open. “Z-Z?” he asked quietly, and Z nodded.

“Z,” he confirmed, “Just us. You’re safe now, Tim. You’re safe.”

Tim dropped his arms, and his shaking limbs relaxed slightly. “I… I…” he winced and held his head, “I’m hungover.”

Owens fought off a fond smirk as he shuffled forward, “You’re also bleeding pretty bad, Boss. Want us to stitch you up-?”

“NO!” Tim cried, and Owens leaned back, and Tim shook his head, “I-I mean, no thank you, Owens. I’ll… I’ll do it myself.”

He stood on shaky legs, like a fawn walking for the first time, and sat on the floor with them, taking the needle and thread from Z and beginning to stitch up the gashes on his arm. There was silence for a while, only Tim’s slight whimpers as he put needle through flesh and tugged. He bowed his head slightly, stopping mid-stitch as his shoulders shook.

“Tim?” Meg asked quietly, “Are you-?”

A tear dropped from Tim’s eyes to the ground, and he finally just broke down. Meg hugged him, and Z placed a supportive hand on his shoulder as Tim sobbed, trying to explain himself. “H-he made me--!!” he sobbed, “Th-Th-The remote, I c-couldn’t--, I tr-tried to stop him but he j-just-!” and Pru finally shushed him.

“You stop that right now, Boss,” she said quietly, but forcefully as Owens resumed the stitching, “This sure ashellain’t your fault. It’shis,alright? It’shisfault. And someday, I don’t know when, butsomeday,we are gonna make himpay.All of us.”

Tim shook his head, trying to stop crying, but the enormity of what had happened to him had finally registered. He just sobbed, and sobbed, and let everything out. Owens finished hist stitching, and they all just sat there in silence, on the floor, up against the wall, in a puddle of dried blood and whiskey until finally, slowly, Tim’s sobs died down to sniffles.

“I… I need a new desk,” he whispered quietly, and Z squeezed his shoulder.

“We’ll get you a new desk,” he agreed.

“I need new paperwork,” he added, and Dan nodded.

“I’ll order new paperwork,” he said easily.

“I need a new carpet,” he continued, and Owens nodded.

“I’ll go shopping.”

“I… I needno oneto find out about this,” Tim finished, and they all looked at him.

“Boss… this isn’t anything to beashamedof--” Pru started, but Tim cut her off.

“No one will know,” he reiterated vehemently, “No one.Please, I… I’m already a monster to my family, I c-can’t-- I can’t handle the way they’ll look at me if they--”

Meg just drew him into a tighter hug. “Okay,” she said finally, “Okay. No one has to know.”

Tim closed his eyes, and tried to block out the everything. Pru sighed, then picked up the Boss’s empty whiskey bottle and dropped it in the trash. Time to get to work.

Conner gulped slightly as he stood outside the sitting room at Wayne Manor, Barbara glancing at him worriedly. “You don’t need to do this if you’re not ready, you know,” she told him, and Conner nodded.

“I know,” he said, “I know. But… well, shit, he’s my kid too, isn’t he? I remember way back when, I would have done anything for a relationship with Clark like I do now. I… I need to do this, Babs. I’m ready.”

“Okay,” Barbara said with a nod, “Remember, nothing about LexCorp.”

“Right,” Conner agreed.

“Then he’s all yours,” she said finally, wheeling to the side.

Conner nodded, took a fortifying breath, then stepped into the room. Cass and Dick were sat on the ground with Tommy, playing with Batman & Robin action figures that Steph had gone out and bought at some point. Dick and Cass locked eyes with Conner, then they shared a look.

“Hi, Tommy,” Conner started, and Tommy looked up.

“Hello,” he said, then went back to his toys. Well, that was an excellent start.

“Little Nephew,” Cass said softly, “Manners.”

Tommy groaned dramatically, but eventually put his toys down and stood up, dusting himself off and pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Hello, I’m Tommy, it’s nice to meet you,” he said cordially, though bored, sticking out his little hand, “What’s your name?”

Conner knelt, taking Tommy’s hand and shaking it. “I’m Conner. I, um… I knew your dad.”

The boredom was immediately washed away, replaced by a spark of interest in Tommy’s green eyes. “Really?” he asked.

Any other kid, and that would have sounded like childlike wonder. With Tommy, it sounded like an interrogation.

“Y-Yeah,” Conner stammered after a moment, “We were… well, we were… it was complicated.”

“Mm,” Tommy hummed, “I’ve noticed that a lot of grownup things are.”

Was… was thatsarcasm?Jesus Christ, this reallywasTim’s kid.

“L-Look, Tommy, you know that…” Conner started, then bit his tongue, “You know you weren’t…born normally,right?”

“Of course,” Tommy said, like Conner was the dumb kid and not him, “Dad cloned me. He grew me in a pod, because he was alone, and wanted someone smart to talk to.”

Tommy said that last part with a nostalgic grin, as nostalgic as a six/two-year-old could get, and Conner grimaced. That soundedexactlylike something Tim would say to get someone to stop asking questions.

“Okay, that’s good,” Conner continued, “And you know that clones come from somebody else, right?”

“Yup,” Tommy said, “He made me from his own DNA, and somebody else’s.”

Conner paused. Alright, here goes. “That somebody else was me,” he said seriously, “I… I’m your dad, bud.”

Tommy looked at him for a long time. Dick and Cass held their breath. Conner waited. And waited. And waited. “Uh… Tommy-?”

“No you’re not,” Tommy said quietly, and Conner blinked.

“Wh-What?” he asked dumbly.

“No, you’re not,” he reiterated, balling his little hands into fists, “Dad’smy dad, andyou can’t replace him.Youdidn’t raise me,youdidn’t live with me,youdidn’t play with me,he did!You’renot my dad!!”

“T-Tommy…” Dick said softly, reaching out, but Tommy shook him off.

“No!” he cried, wiping tears away as they began to fall, “No!! M-My dad-- My dad wassad,all the time! He wassad,alright!? He only ever smiled when he looked at me, Iknow that,that’s because he wassadand he was trying to hide it from me but Iknew!And he was sad because he was all alone, becauseyouleft him alone!”

Tommy pointed an accusing finger at Conner, who swallowed guiltily.

“Dads are supposed to love each other and help each other, butyou didn’t do that!So you’re not my dad!” Tommy shouted again, “You’re just a-- a--DNA donor. Ugh!”

Tommy half-scoffed, half-cried as he flew away faster than Conner could stop him, making a beeline for the Batcave. “Tommy-!” Dick called, but it was no use.

“I-- I’m sorry, Conner, I didn’t expect him to-” Dick started, but Conner just shook his head.

“N-No, it’s alright, I… I don’t know what I expected,” he sighed, “He’s… he’s kinda right, in a way. I wasn’t there for some of the most important parts of his life; I didn’t see his first steps, I didn’t hear his first word, I… I wasn’t at his first birthday party. I… I wasn’t there, for any of it.”

“Still, I didn’t think--” Dick started, and Conner grinned ruefully.

“That I would get beaten in an argument by a six-year-old?” Conner muttered, “Yeah, me neither.”

“I’ll go after him,” Cass said, standing up quickly to follow Tommy down to the Cave, before she turned back and smiled sympathetically, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Conner lied, sitting on the floor dejectedly, looking down at the discarded Batman & Robin toys, “I’m okay.”

Tommy huddled into a dark corner of the Cave, next to Batcow’s pen. He sniffed quietly and wiped his eyes, scowling all the while. Batcow meandered over to him, tilting her head inquisitively, and Tommy looked back at her.

She blinked slowly, then touched her snout to Tommy’s neck, and Tommy yelped at the coldness, flinching away. “Quit it,” he muttered, scooting a little further away, “I’m trying to be mad, you’re not helping.”

Batcow blinked again. She meandered further forward, then licked Tommy before he could react. “Ack!!I said quit it!!” he protested, scooting even farther so that Batcow couldn’t get to him, “Stupid cow.”

“Moo,” Batcow responded, sounding slightly offended.

“She wants you to stop being sad,” a voice called quietly, and Tommy jumped as Auntie Cass stepped into the light, approaching carefully with a sad smile on her face.

“M’not sad,” Tommy muttered, curling in on himself, “I’mmad.”

Cass sat next to him, affectionately petting Batcow as the Bovine Crusader nuzzled her hand for attention. “Why?” she asked, and Tommy turned his head away from her.

“Conner,” he muttered, “OrSuperboy,or whatever he calls himself. He’s not my dad, and henever will be.”

“Why?” Cass asked again, and Tommy growled.

“Just‘cause,okay!?” he snapped, “Why do I have toexplaineverything!?Daddidn’t have to!”

Cass frowned, and Tommy sniffled as he wiped his nose with his sleeve. “He didn’t explain why he left,” he went on, “Or why I’m here, or why his dad is Batman, or, or…anything!He didn’t explain anything, so why do I have to?”

“Little Br--Timis… strange,” Cass said after a moment, and Tommy turned to her. She didn’t face him, instead picking at stray rocks on the ground, “Loves, but not himself. Survives, but never lives. Wins, but never victory. Whole life is… defined by others. So we must tell him that he is loved, that he is alive, that he is victorious. And he listens. But he never learns.”

Cass smiled sadly, bumping Tommy on the shoulder, “And then you came. And he loves you; he loves you so much. So much it hurts. Would do anything for you, even go away. I… don’t have answers, Little Nephew, but I know Tim. Tim loves, and he only ever acts because he loves. So out there, wherever he is? He’s there because he loves you.”

Tommy blinked, then huddled further into himself. “But I wanna see him again…” he murmured sadly, tears falling down his cheeks, “Doesn’t he know I lovehim,too?”

Cass sighed, pulling Tommy into a tight hug. “I don’t know, Little Nephew,” she sighed, “I don’t know.”

They sat like that for a little while, Tommy just soaking up the comfort, holding on to Cass’s arms. “But why didn’t he tell me we were related toBatman?” he sighed after a moment, “That’sso cool…”

Cass smiled, “What is it like, having dad as favorite superhero?”

Tommy blinked at her owlishly. “What?” he asked.

Cass blinked in return. “Favorite superhero,” she repeated, “Robin, right?”

“Right,” Tommy said, nodding his head, “But Damian’s Robin.”

Cass blinked one last time, then began laughing. Tommy turned beet red, shoving her roughly as she continued snickering and giggling. “Stop it!!” he protested whinily, “Stop laughing at me!!”

“Snrk!!--S-Sorry, sorry--” she gasped eventually, pulling herself back up into a sitting position, “B-But,more than one Robin,Little Nephew.”

Tommy’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates. “Woah,” he whispered, “Auntie Cass, you just blew my mind.”

Cass giggled, “Thought so. Come on; show.”

Cass pulled Tommy along by the hand, taking him over to the display of suits at the back of the Cave, then pointed to the first one. “Dick,” she said, pointing to the scaly panties and pixie boots, “First Robin, when he was little, like you.”

Tommy gawked, “No way. DickwasRobin!?”

Cass nodded, “Mhm. First. Invented it.”

“Woah,” Tommy whispered, staring at the pixie boots with something like reverence, “The first Robin costume…”

Cass pointed to a display case separate from the rest, held in a place of reverence. “Jason,” she said quietly, “Second. Got hurt, had to stop.”

Tommy stared at the display, floating over to it gently. He inspected every rip, every tear, every dent in the kevlar. He circled around, taking in the tattered cape, the burned fabric. He frowned. “Ow,” he said quietly.

“Ow,” Cass agreed.

“But he got better, right?” Tommy asked fervently, and Cass nodded slowly.

“Eventually,” she clarified, “Yes. Eventually.”

Tommy nodded, then floated back to the display cases, pointing to the Batgirl costume. “And that one?” he asked, and Cass blinked. She’d only meant to show off the Robin costumes, but if he was curious…

“Barbara,” she said, and Tommy wrinkled his nose.

“How’d she do Batgirl stuff in a wheelchair?” he asked, and Cass snorted.

“Wasn’t always in a wheelchair, dummy,” she admonished, pushing him teasingly, being met with much protest, “Barbara was first Batgirl. Made it, invented it. Refused to go away, so Bruce trained her.” Cass looked up at the black and purple cowl sadly, adding, “Then she got hurt. Hurt like Jason. Had to stop.”

Tommy floated up to stare into the eyeless cowl with her. “But she didn’t get better, did she?” he asked quietly, and Cass shook her head.

“No,” she said sadly, “No she didn’t.”

Tommy frowned at the cowl, and Cass shook herself. “Next,” she said, tugging him along, “This one. Little Brother.”

Tommy looked at it, then gawked. He inspected the third Robin suit thoroughly, looking for every single little detail. The cape was black on the outside, but yellow on the inside. It was black and red, and this one actually hadpants.Green pauldrons protected the shoulders, and Tommy could almost imagine his dad as a boy, putting this on to fight crime every night alongside the legendary Batman.

“H-How…” Tommy started quietly, “How’d he become…?”

Cass opened her mouth, but before she could answer, a voice interrupted her. “He showed up on my doorstep one day and wouldn’t leave,” Bruce said, and Cass and Tommy turned to see him walking up, having discarded his cane; he was working on building his leg strength back up.

“Grandpa!” Tommy cried happily, barreling into Bruce’s chest, who grunted as he caught gale-force child to the ribs once again.

“Hey there, Tommy,” he said breathlessly, and Cass snickered at him, “So, you want to hear about your dad’s time as Robin?”

“Yes!!” Tommy cried urgently, “Yes yes yes yes yes!!”

Bruce set Tommy down on the ground, so that he was looking up at the Robin suit, and crouched down next to him. “After what happened to your Uncle Jason, and your Auntie Barbara,” Bruce started sadly, “I was very sad, and very angry. Kind of like you are. I wasn’t being a good Batman, like that, so your dad showed up at my door and told me to cut it out, just like that.”

“Just like that??” Tommy asked, and Bruce nodded with a chuckle.

“Just like that,” he confirmed.

“But how did he know you wereBatman!?!” Tommy questions eagerly, and Bruce smiled.

“He figured it out,” he said, “When he was only nine years old. He’s smart, just like you.” Bruce poked Tommy on the nose, and Tommy squirmed out of it with a smile.

“Really?” he asked, and Bruce nodded.

“Really,” he confirmed, “And like I said, he just wouldn’t leave! So he stayed, and he became my son.” Bruce hugged Tommy tight, pulling Cass in on his other side, and looked up at Tim’s Robin suit with tears in his eyes. “I was too late to save one of my Robins,” he said quietly, “Only fitting that one of my Robins saved me.”

Tommy didn’t quite get the gravity behind Bruce’s words, but he still knew glowing praise when he heard it. And he looked at that suit with all sorts of awe now, grinning like a loon and imagining the toys he played with. That was hisdad.HisdadwasRobin!!

“Cool…” he whispered. He still had a lot to figure out, especially concerning his dad, but right then, in that moment? He’d never been happier to beTommy Drake.

Three weeks passed. Something just ate at Tim on the inside, something dark and needy and something he couldn’t get rid of. They got him a new desk, they got him new papers, they got him everything he wanted. But he still felt so… unclean.

So Tim did something he never did before: he went to church.

Of course, not while anyone was there. No, that would be far too conspicuous. Tim Drake-Wayne, the darling of Gotham, seen at church? It might endear him to the masses, but it was too far from a break in his character, he couldn’t risk it.

So that was why Red Robin chanced flying across the rooftops at midnight, the moon rising high in the sky, and stepped into the small, cold, dark parish of Saint Dumas.

Tim took off his cowl, stepping toward the altar. Moonlight filtered through the stained glass, shining down on the golden cross still standing serenely at the back of the church. Jesus Christ languished on the cross, blood dripping from His crown of thorns, and the Messiah regarded Tim with painted, lamenting eyes.

All there was in this room was Tim, and the God he didn’t believe in.

“Why do You hate me?” Tim asked God, standing at the altar and inspecting Christ’s painted features closely, “What did I ever do to You? What’s going on up there that made You decide ‘Y’know what? Let’s go fuck with my old friend Tim Drake. It’ll be a fucking hoot!’”

Christ said nothing in response. Tim clenched his fists. “Say something!” he demanded of God, “You’ve never held back before, why start now!? If You hate me, just smite me now and get it over with! Strike me with lightning, give me cancer, anything! Just do it! I’m done here!!”

Tim shoved Jesus over, knocking the cross down to the ground in rage. “COME ON!!” he screamed at God, “Come on, You omnipotent bastard!! I’m right here! If You’re really up there, stop fucking around andkill me already!!”

“Thou shalt not test the Lord, Timothy Drake,” a voice said behind him, and Tim turned, pulling his cowl back up in panic.

Moonlight glinted against golden armor as a red cape furled out of the shadows. A bronze sword reflected the light as it rose into the air, before bursting into flame, bathing the Angel of Death in fiery golden light.

Tim growled and drew his bo staff, dropping into a defensive stance.

“Azrael.”

Chapter 30: Judgement Day, Part 1

Chapter Text

2008

Tim watched in abject horror as Bane raised Bruce high above his head. Tim tried to move, tried to throw a batarang,anything,but his exhausted, beaten limbs were still trapped underneath the pile of collapsed rubble Bane had shoved onto him.

“I could kill you…” Bane mused, and Bruce struggled in his grip to no avail, “But death would end your agony, and silence your shame. Instead, I will simply…

“BREAK YOU!!”

Bane brought his arms down, and Timscreamedas he watched Batman, hisidol,hiseverything,be snapped in half over Bane’s knee like a pencil. Tim heard the vertebrae in Bruce’s spine snap, he knew what that meant, heknew,but…

Bruce crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll, passing out from the pain, and Bane dusted himself off. Tim screamed and struggled, raging against the rubble he was trapped beneath, but it did nothing. “NO!!” he wailed, “NO!NO!!!BATMAN!!BATMAN!!!”

Bane turned to him, tilting his head slightly, regarding him coldly. “You have fight, little bird,” he said as Tim struggled, “That is good. That means you are alive. That rage? That righteous anger? That grief for those lost? They are the markings of a good hero. I know that feeling. The exhilaration, the rush, the feeling of bullets flying through your hair; I crave it. And I know you crave it, too.”

Tim glared at Bane with all the hatred he could muster, but the villain’s mask betrayed nothing. “Grow, little bird,” Bane told him, “Grow, and become strong. Grow, and learn to hate. Then, when you are ready, challenge me, as your mentor did. I broke him. Let us see if someday,youwill breakme.”

And Bane walked away, and Tim stared at Bruce’s limp, lifeless body. “Bruce!” Tim cried, tears beginning to leak out from underneath his domino mask, “Bruce--!!”

2014

Tim stood in the dark church, holding onto his bo staff tightly. Azrael stood on the other side, his sword blazing with fire.

“Azrael,” he spat venomously, “What areyoudoing here?”

“I’m a priest, Timothy,” Jean-Paul said smoothly, “This is a church. I minister here.”

Tim scoffed, “So what? You think catching a few souls for a man in the sky is going to somehowredeemyou? To bury all the lives you’ve taken!?”

Jean-Paul shifted, his armor clinking. “God forgives all, Timothy,” he said, “It took me many years to realize that, but eventually, Ididrealize it. The only question is whether or not we let ourselvesdeservethat forgiveness.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “So you just drank the Kool-Aid?” he asked scornfully, “Went from ‘Deus Vult’ to ‘Kum Ba Yah’?”

Jean-Paul inclined his head, “I am still a warrior. But I am a warrior of justice, not of the Order of St Dumas. Not anymore. You showed me they were wrong, Tim.Youdid. Please, let me pay you the same courtesy.”

Tim flipped his staff into a fighting stance. “Our problems aren’t the same, Jean-Paul,” he growled, “I’m not brainwashed. I’m doing this because Ihave to.”

Jean-Paul took a step forward, “Once upon a time, I believed that, too. Please, Timothy, Idon’t want to fight you.”

“Then that’s a shame,” Tim growled, “Because I’ve had areally long day,Azrael, and I want to fightsomething.”

2008

Tim didn’t trust this ‘Jean-Paul Valley’ one bit. He was an unknown, and he didn’t understand why Bruce was trusting him so much. Maybe there was something there that Tim couldn’t see, but… well, Tim couldn’t see it.

But he had to admit, Jean-Paul was effective as Batman. Since Dick refused and Tim was too young, there was no one else for the job. While Bruce recovered,someonehad to do it, and as long as Tim was there to keep an eye on the new guy… well, what was the harm?

As it turns out, there wasa lotof harm.

Jean-Paul couldn’t handle the stresses of the job. He began spouting a whole bunch of religious nonsense about saints and sinners, how the unworthy would never make it to Heaven, and that he was the personification of God’s Divine Wrath. Tim had never put much stock into Christianity, that was something Jack Drake had done with gusto as the belt blows fell, so Tim had been skeptical of Jean-Paul from the beginning, but hey, for some people it helps, right?

Well, not Jean-Paul. He began killing criminals left and right, “sending them to God for judgement”, and disgracing what little credibility Batman had left. It took Dick and Tim both to stop him from killing Bane, but that was only barely.

But Bruce was still recovering, and Jean-Paul had already beaten Dick into the ground. There was nothing to be done.

But Tim would change that. Bruce had entrusted Tim to keep an eye on Jean-Paul, and he’d failed. Tim never failed without correcting his mistakes.

So. Time for Robin to take down Batman.

2014

“Are you a God-fearing man, Timothy Drake?” Azrael asked him, and Tim growled lowly.

“Stop preaching at me and fight!” he snapped, rushing forward and swinging his staff, which Jean-Paul blocked easily.

“Please, Tim, don’t do this,” the Catholic hero begged, “You’re a good person, Iknowyou are. You saw the goodness in me, even back when I was a monster. Please, I see the goodness in you! Just let me help you!”

“Shut--the fuck--UP!!” Tim cried, swinging wildly with each strike, and Jean-Paul backed further toward the door of the small church.

“Don’t make me fight you!” Azrael cried, swinging the Sword of Sin downward as Tim blocked.

“Don’t make melaugh!” Tim cried back, shoving Jean-Paul backward and through the double doors of the church, watching him sprawl down the steps and into the streets, his armor clanking noisily. “You used to beBatman,Jean-Paul,” Tim growled, standing over him.

Jean-Paul staggered to his feet, leaning on his sword as he looked up. “And you used to be Robin,” he responded, and Tim screamed in rage as he leapt down, resuming the attack.

2008

“VALLEY!”

Jean-Paul turned, his armor gleaming from beneath the Cape & Cowl. The Sword of Sin blazed in his hands. Tim stood his ground, gritting his teeth as he put his staff in front of him.

“You have to stop this!” he cried, “This iswrong!”

“Sending sinners to Hell is wrong?” Jean-Paul asked, his voice distorted by the mask he wore, a demonic parody of the real Batman, “No. Letting sinners live to plague Gotham further is wrong. And you would do well tolearn,Robin. Perhaps then, your mentor would not have been broken by a weak fool like Bane.”

Tim squared his jaw. “I won’t let you kill anyone else!” he cried, palming a few batarangs, “I’m taking you in!”

Jean-Paul chuckled darkly from behind his mask, “You cantry,little Robin.”

Batman and Robin ran at each other, screaming bloody murder as rain pounded on the rooftops of Gotham.

2014

Jean-Paul rolled to the side as Tim’s staff struck pavement, swinging upward with his sword, catching only empty air. “You are lost, Timothy!” he shouted, then rain pelting against his armor, “Let me help you!”

“I don’tneedyour help!” Tim cried back, “I know what I’m doing!!”

“Trust me, youdon’t,” Jean-Paul told him, and if Tim had even been just a little calmer, he would have noticed the pleading tone in the knight’s voice, “Someday, there will come a judgement, as it is foretold in the Scriptures. Wouldn’t you rather be on the side of the angels when it comes?”

“I don’t believe in myths and fairy tales!” Tim shouted back, swinging at Azrael again and again, “They’re just lies for blind old men and gullible children!”

“You believe enough to rage against God when things go poorly for you,” Jean-Paul told him, either blocking his strikes or taking them with his armor, “Deep down, you know what you’re doing is wrong, and you wantsomeoneto hold you accountable!”

Tim screamed wordlessly, bringing his staff down hard.

2008

Robin and Batman fought back and forth, hissing and spitting like alley cats as they desperately struggled to beat one another. Tim had never faced anyone as experienced as Jean-Paul, but then again, Jean-Paul had never faced anyone as skilled as Tim. After a long, hard fight, they were both breathing hard, bleeding from various places, and trying to end the fight.

Robin landed a kick to Batman’s head, wincing at the way the metal dug into the kevlar, and Batman grabbed his leg, swinging him through the air and sending him sprawling to the ground. “You can’t beat me, Tim!” Jean-Paul growled at him, and Tim struggled to get up as the knight stalked across the roof. But then, Jean-Paul did the unexpected; he took off his helmet.

“But youcanjoin me,” he said, kneeling and holding out his hand, “Together, we can do God’s Will, and rid this city of its sin, like He did to Sodom and Gomorrah. Together, we can be God’s Wrath, the Angel of Death. Together, we can be Azrael.”

Tim stared at him. He’d seen Jean-Paul without his helmet plenty of times, but somehow, this time, in the rain, with adrenaline flooding his brain, this felt… different. He stared at the curly blond hair, hanging in stringy locks around his face, plastered to his skin by sweat and the rain. He took in the blood oozing slowly from a cut on his cheek. He took in the piercing blue eyes, and a dark corner of himself Tim had been trying to close off whisperedhe’s pretty…

Tim took Jean-Paul’s hand unthinkingly.

2014

Tim screamed as he struck Jean-Paul, again and again, and bore down hard as the knight struggled to stand. “Iknowwhat I’m doing iswrong!!” he screamed in his rage, pounding his staff downward onto Azrael’s armor, “I just--don’t--fucking--CARE!!!”

And Jean-Paul looked up at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Idon’t care!” Tim screamed back, unsure if it was tears or raindrops on his cheeks anymore, “I’m broken, I’m a monster,so what!?I’m still alive! For somefucking reason,I’m still alive!! What’s the point of it all!? Why do anything good if all God is going to do is screw me overagainandagain!!I---I WISH I WAS DEAD!!”

Tim screamed as he flung himself at Azrael, and the knight rolled back and up onto his feet, his sword blazing brightly. “Youarea good man!” he protested desperately, “You do not deserve to die! You do not deserve to be punished! And I promise you,Godis not punishing you. God punishes no one; He only forgives. The only ones who punish us are ourselves!”

Tim set his jaw as his chest heaved for breath, and he and Azrael stood facing each other. “So what are you gonna do about it?” Tim asked him, “No matter what you say, Jean-Paul, I won’t stop. Ican’tstop. What matters more to you? My soul? Or the city’s safety?”

Jean-Paul tore off his helmet, letting it roll to the ground. Tim widened his eyes behind his cowl, staring in shock as Jean-Paul held out his blazing sword in front of him, grinning wildly. His blond hair was soaked, and there was a hard glint in his sky blue eyes that made Tim’s heart skip a beat.

He’d stopped trying to hide the corner of himself that whisperedhe’sstillpretty…

“I am a priest first, and a hero second,” he declared, grinning fiercely as he stared Tim down, “You ask what’s more important, the city or your soul? Your ultimatum is easy!

“Your soul!”

2008

Tim held Jean-Paul’s hand, blushing fiercely as his brain ceased to function properly. It had been so long since he let himself feel like this about a boy, or in Jean-Paul’s case, aman.A hot man, at that. Jack had beaten it out of him, he’d thought, but apparently some little sliver of it was still there, and it was going through puberty.

Then, finally, Tim’s brain kicked back on. As Jean-Paul smiled, pulling him to his feet, Tim used the momentum to pull him down and slam his knee as hard as he could into Jean-Paul’s head, knocking him out.

Jean-Paul slumped forward, laying still in a grimy puddle, and Tim stood panting over him. Did he just… win?

Tim spat blood at the ground, grinned, and said, “Fuck God’s Wrath. I’mRobin.”

2014

Tim stared at Jean-Paul in shock. His soul?Hissoul was more important than saving Gotham? That… that didn’t make any sense, why was Azrael--?

“It’s okay, Tim,” Jean-Paul said quietly, approaching him slowly, like he might a frightened animal, “I’m going to bring you to Batman, and everything will work out. It’s going to be okay. I’ll save you.”

Tim backed away. “Y-You’llsaveme?” he asked with a scoff, though it came out shakier than he would have liked, “Pretty words, pretty face, but you’re all talk. Youcan’tsave me. I’m too far gone. I’m too damaged.”

Jean-Paul blinked slowly. “You think I’m pretty?” he asked.

Tim blushed, opening and closing his mouth. “Uh…” he said intelligently. Who knew his childhood crush on Jean-Paul Valley would come back to bite him in the ass at a time like this?

Jean-Paul grinned again. “See?” he asked, “You can still feel love, even if I can’t return your feelings. You can still pay compliments, even after all you’ve lived through. There is a good man in you, Tim. Let me find him.”

“Y-You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tim stammered, backing away, “Please, j-just… I won’t come quietly. You’ll have to kill me!”

“No, I’ll have to knock you out,” Jean-Paul corrected, “One way or another, I’ll save you, Tim. You’ll see.”

Tim gulped as Jean-Paul threw down his sword, raising his fists. “I’ll save you,” he declared, and he ran forward.

Tim dodged beneath the punch, dancing to the side, and Jean-Paul punched again and again. Tim growled, slamming his staff into Jean-Paul’s side, but the Catholic merely caught it and ripped it from Tim’s grip, forcing him to stumble forward. Tim groaned as Jean-Paul backhanded him, sending him sprawling to the ground in a grimy puddle. The scars on his arm burned as the dirty water seeped through his suit, and Tim grimaced as his head spun. He couldn’t get captured or taken in, he needed to stay at LexCorp, where Ra’s and Lex could watch him. If he was in jail, or worse, in Wayne Manor, he couldn’t continue Operation Mockingbird ontime. He’d have to beat Azrael and disappear into the night, like he always did.

He tried to stand up, but finding that he couldn’t, attempted to crawl away, feeling around the ground for something, anything, and closed his hand around something warm.

“Sorry, Tim, this is gonna hurt,” Azrael said from above, and Tim roared, swinging the whatever-he-was-holding around, and heard Jean-Paul’s short, pained gasp as metal rended metal.

Tim stared in shock as Jean-Paul looked down at the gash in his abdomen, now bleeding profusely. Blood ran down the Sword of Sin’s edge… onto Tim’s hands.

Tim let go of the sword in shock, holding a hand to his mouth in horror as Jean-Paul collapsed onto the steps of the Church of St Dumas the Redeemer. “It-- It’s okay, Tim,” he coughed quietly, blood dripping from his lips. Tim must’ve cut into his lung. “It’s okay,” Azrael whispered, “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. You can still be forgiven. You can still be…saved…”

Tim stared at Jean-Paul, watching as his fingers went limp. “A-Azrael?” he whispered in horror, but the knight did not respond. “Jean-Paul?” he asked again, and again, there was no response.

Tim stood up on shaky feet, stumbling away from Azrael’s corpse. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

Tim killed someone. Not a villain, not a nameless civilian, but ahero.One of thegood guys.Someone who was trying tosave him.

Oh God. OhGod-!

The cuts on Tim’s arms burned. Some of Azrael’s blood had mixed with the Gotham water and seeped into them. He didn’t care. Tim grabbed the Sword of Sin, dragging it with him. He couldn’t leave behind his fingerprints, he’d have to take the murder weapon along.

Azrael didn’t move.

Tim stumbled away into the night.

And the next morning, an elderly woman, still devout and dutiful in her faith, went to go worship at St Dumas’s, looking forward to Father Jean-Paul’s sermon. The young man always knew just what to say…

And she screamed in horror as she discovered his slain body, draped on the steps to the house of the Lord he spent his life serving.

Chapter 31: Judgement Day, Part 2

Chapter Text

Chapter 32: Judgement Day, Part 3

Chapter Text

Tim grunted from the impact as Azrael landed a punch on his shoulder, and Tim tried to swing the Sword of Sin around to catch him in the side, only for his opponent to dodge out of the way just in time.

“That blade seems too heavy for you, Red Robin,” Azrael taunted, “It’s the weight of your sins wearing you down!”

“Gotta say, you’re more true to form with the whole ‘Angel of Death’ routine,” Tim taunted, hefting the Sword upward to hold in front of him, “Though to be perfectly honest, having every word you speak be some biblical one-liner is kinda exhausting.”

“Talk all you like, Red Robin,” Azrael told him, running forward, “You cannot talk your way out of judgement.”

“Screw you, I can talk my way out of whatever I damn well please!” Tim retorted, dodging to the side just a bit too slowly as Azrael’s gauntlet caught his thigh, cutting open the reinforced kevlar with ease. Uh-oh.

Tim rolled up and onto his feet, blinking rapidly as he felt the bruise on his thigh begin to ache. “So you’ve got a new metal for your armor, huh?” he asked breathlessly, trying to ignore the sudden spell of dizziness that hit him as he stood up, “Impressive, that it can cut through Battech.”

“It does its job well,” Azrael told him, and Tim heard a slight smirk in his voice as he picked up the Sword of Sin from the ground.

Wait, what!? When had Tim let go of that!? It must have been when he dodged out of the way, but why couldn’t he--? Whatever, too late now, think, Tim,think!

Tim growled, pulling out his bo staff and scanning the rooftop. He smirked as he realized that Azrael was right where Tim wanted him.

“Hey, Azzie,” Tim called, fingering a button on his utility belt, “What was that verse about the fires of hell?” Tim pressed the button, turned his head away, and felt the scorching heat as the gravel beneath Azrael exploded.

He’d been preparing to fight the whole Batfamily, after all. Tim had always been the best at preparation, so he’d prepared his battlefield to be totally to his advantage. Hidden explosives, hidden weapons, hidden booby traps, all set up in the span of a day or two. He’d been hoping to save them up for the Bats themselves, but desperate times call for desperate measures; this new Azrael needed to godown.

“Cute,” Azrael coughed from the opposite side of the roof, and Tim looked up in shock as the armored hero ran through the flames, the Sword of Sin blazing brightly in his hands, “But my armor protects me from your paltry flame! For I have been baptized infire!”

Tim yelped as he rolled out of the way, cursing himself as his head swam and he heard the telltale sound of metal striking stone, a harsh shriek that set his ears ringing. What was up with him today? He should be better than this!

Tim leapt up onto his feet, cursing and grumbling as he took one of the capsules off his bandolier, then popped it open and pressed the button. From the fuse box meant to power the building, an automated machine gun sprung up, pivoting and aiming for the foreign heat signature, Azrael, and opened fire. Tim darted across the roof as Azrael held up his arm to shield from the bullets, swooping downward to grab the suped up taser he’d left buried among the gravel, then turned on his heel to face Azrael, who by now had advanced far enough to simply cut Tim’s machine gun in two;rude.

Tim ran forward, roaring a battle cry, acting like he was about to swing at Azrael’s torso with his staff, only to let go of the weapon at the last minute, sending it careening through the air into Azrael’s face, while Tim drew a pistol from his hip and fired, hearing the metallic pinging as his bullets hit home and Azrael was finally knocked off balance. As the knight fell backward, Tim leapt onto him, activated the taser, and jammed it into the chink in the armor between his chestplate and helmet, letting 150 miliamps of electricity course through Azrael’s veins.

“Well, if fire won’t do the job,” Tim growled, “How bout somelightning!?”

Azrael roared in pain, then seemed to grit his teeth and shift his weight. Tim’s foggy thoughts couldn’t quite catch up to what that meant, so his reaction to move was too slow; the sudden searing, lancing pain in his side was evidence enough for what had happened.

“Explosion, south side of the building!” Robin said urgently over the comms, “I hear sounds of battle!”

Jason immediately turned in midair, swinging to the south, when he, too, started hearing the telltale sounds; machine gun fire, the pinging of metal on metal, occasional voices. Jason hit a rooftop, ran across as fast as he could, then jumped and swung again, scanning the horizon for any sign---there!

“I’ve got him!” Jason cried into the comms, “On me! Looks like he’s fighting someone, but I can’t quite tell who-”

As Jason got closer, the Batfamily closing in behind him, his voice died in his throat. He landed on the rooftop in question, just as a man in a white tunic and golden armor shoved Tim’s broken, bleeding body aside, standing up and breathing heavily.

Tim made a small whimpering sound as blood flowed from his abdomen, but seemed to fall unconscious as his armored assailant stood up… holding the bloody Sword of Sin in his hand.

“Who are you!?” Jason demanded, using the growliest, gravelliest Batman voice he could muster.

The man looked up, his face hidden by a golden helmet, now dented in a few places from his fierce battle just moments before. “Azrael, the Angel of Death,” he said, and he planted the Sword of Sin tip-first in the ground to remove his helmet, “Though in another life, they called me Michael Lane.”

Jason gawked as he recognized the black-haired priest from Jean-Paul’s funeral. “Why did you kill Jean-Paul Valley?” Jason demanded, “Why attack Red Robin!?”

“You’re mistaken, Batman,” Lane responded, shaking his head as the rest of the Batfamily arrived in force behind Jason, “I did not kill my predecessor. There is only ever to be one Azrael at a time, and each Azrael serves for life. No… Iavengedhim.”

“Avenged him!?” Nightwing growled, “What the hell are you--!?”

“Oh holyshit,” Arsenal gasped, cutting him off suddenly, “You don’t mean--!?”

Lane only nodded. “Red Robin has received the same mortal wound as his victim, and the Sword of Sin has been recovered. St Dumas’s justice has been served, and my work here is done,” Lane explained, replacing his helmet, “Now, he is for you to judge, Batfamily. I look forward to working with you in the future.”

Before any of them could react, Azrael took his sword and leapt away, leaving them with nothing but empty roof, and Tim, unconscious, and bleeding out.

“Oh shit,” Jason realized, running forward and sliding onto his knees to kneel beside his little brother, quickly pressing his hands to the wound to apply pressure, “We need first aid over here!!”

“R-Right!” Steph yelped, grabbing the medical kit from behind her back and running over to kneel beside Jason, opening it with shaking hands.

“What was Lane talking about!?” Dick demanded, “What did he mean ‘justice has been served’!? He just stabbed Tim!!”

“Keep up, Dick,” Roy muttered, slinging his bow over his shoulder as he ran to go help with the stitches, “Don’t you get it?Timkilled Jean-Paul. The Capekiller is Red Robin.”

Dick stopped in his tracks as the rest of the family all struggled to stop Tim’s wounds from killing him. All functions ceased, Dick.exe has stopped, hold up,what!?No, it couldn’t be true. It was impossible. There was no way Tim, sweet, dorky, innocent, lovableTimkilled Jean-Paul Valley. No way. No way he would go out and kill heroes.No way.

“Grayson!Grayson!Richard!” Damian was shouting, and Dick finally jolted back to the present.

“I’m here!” he yelped, “I’m here!”

“We need the Batmobile,” Damian explained quickly, “We’ve managed to stitch Drake’s wounds well enough, but he has a fever and he’s still bleeding heavily. He needs Pennyworth and Dr. Thompkins,quickly.”

Dick blinked rapidly, staring down at Tim’s too-thin, too-pale form, and the pool of red slowly spreading around him, and instantly knew that the Batmobile would be too slow. Tim’s lips were chapped and turning blue, his side was a mess of blood and gore, and there was only so much they could do for that in the field. And the Batmobile wouldn’t get Tim to the Cave in time.

Dick opened his mouth, and managed to stutter out, “Conner. He needs you.”

All at once, the Batfamily heard the crack of a sonic boom,felt the rushing of the wind, and looked up to see Conner Kent, Superboy, hovering in the sky above him, looking stricken as he saw Tim on the ground, bleeding out.

“What happened!?” he demanded.

“Later!” Jason growled, “Get him to the Cave! And get Leslie Thompkins, immediately!”

“Alfred’s already preparing the infirmary for surgery,” Oracle said over the comms, her voice tight.

“I’m on it,” Conner promised, scooping Tim up into his arms, feeling how light he was, how thin, how…frail.Conner disappeared in a gust of racing air.

Jason sat back on his hands, still shaking from the adrenaline as Steph shakingly packed up the medkit. “B-Back to the Cave, ASAP,” he managed.

A few minutes later, they all sat in the Cave, shellshocked and restless, waiting for any news from the infirmary. Duke was playing with Tommy upstairs, trying to distract the young man from any goings-on in the Cave; they still had no idea how they were supposed to explain any of this.

Conner had stumbled out from behind the curtain, covered and blood and with a faraway look in his eye as Alfred and Dr. Thompkins did their work hurriedly. “He…” he murmured quietly, trailing off uncertainly.

“He what!?” Dick pressed immediately, “He’s going to make it!?”

“He has an infection,” Conner managed, absently letting Cass guide him down to a chair, “We thought the antibiotics were handling it, but… but he kept getting worse so Dr. Thompkins asked me to check and… he doesn’t…”

“He doesn’t what!?” Dick pressed again, desperately, and Conner swallowed as he tried to find his voice.

“He doesn’t have a spleen,” he whispered hoarsely, and the entire Batfamily sat back in shock.

“He doesn’twhat?” Jason asked incredulously, and Conner slumped his shoulders, hanging his head and staring at the ground.

“He doesn’t have a spleen,” he said again, “It’s not there. There’s a lot of scarring, and a few things that look surgical, but…someone took it out of him.”

“Oh my god…” Barbara realized, holding a hand to her mouth in shock, “I didn’t realize it was…”

“What?” Dick asked her urgently, “Didn’t realize what!? Please, guys, come on! You’re killing me!”

“I-I’m sorry, it’s just, I…I knew,” she whispered, and Conner’s head snapped up.

“Youknew!?” he growled, his eyes beginning to glow and angry red, “You knew he lost his spleen and you didn’ttell anyone!?!”

“I-I’m sorry!” Barbara said quickly, “I didn’t realize it wasgone,but he… the night he was back in Gotham, and he attacked Damian, I noticed he was bleeding. He said he’d torn his stitches, that some assassin in Iraq had gotten lucky. Some guy calling himself the Widower.”

“The Widower?” Damian asked intensely, “You’resure?”

Barbara nodded silently, remembering the footage Tim had forced her to watch.

Damian crossed his arms and bowed his head. “The Widower is a member of a splinter group of assassins, called the Council of Spiders,” he said, his voice quiet and distant, “They were a thorn in my grandfather’s side for quite a while. I knew recently a confrontation had come between Grandfather and the Council, but I never realized…” Damian cut himself off, shaking his head, “Drake is lucky to have escaped losing only his spleen.”

The other vigilantes remained silent. Bruce was in the infirmary, alongside Alfred and Leslie, providing any assistance they may need. No news came from behind the curtain for a long time.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Tim drifted back toward consciousness. He became aware of his toes, then his fingers, then slowly, the rest of his body. He felt the tug of stitches in his abdomen and forearm, both in various states of healing. His cowl still felt heavy on his face; so he’d made it back to the office and cleaned himself up? Unlikely. Tim was in horrible shape, even before his ass-kicking. And whatever he was laying on was far too soft to be his carpet.

He then became aware of the slight tug of the IV in his arm, and the soft beeping of a monitor. Oh God, was he in a hospital!? No, no, that didn’t make sense. He was on a rooftop; who would’ve called the ambulance?

Tim heard the steady dripping of stagnant water, and smelled the familiar cool, stale air. Oh thank God, he was in the Cave. Tim relaxed into his bed.

Oh dear God, he was in the Cave.

Tim’s eyes rammed open, and he sat up quickly, ignoring the pain as someone shouted at him, trying to hold him down; big, callous hands, ones made for fighting, and Tim panicked. He’d had bad experiences with hands like that recently.Ra’s!his frazzled, foggy, over-tired mind whispered fearfully,It’s Ra’s!!

“GET OFF ME!!!” Tim screeched, “DON’T TOUCH ME!!” He thrashed in Ra’s grip, hissing and spitting like an alleycat, and managed to slam his fist into Ra’s nose. As Ra’s fell backward, Tim ripped out his IV, tumbling off the other side of the bed and trying to steady himself on his feet and run, phantom hands raking across his skin while he did so, and collided with something as he fell through a curtain, hitting the stone floor hard.

“Gah!” he grunted, trying to stand again, and he felt someone grab his wrist.

“Timothy,calm down!” an accented voice snapped, and though some small part of Tim logically noticed that the voice was too high to be Ra’s, his heart reacted anyway and Tim kicked at the vague shape, breathing hard and trying to fight off tears as the grip wouldn’t let go.

“Let me go! You can’t make me do this again!!” Tim begged, exhaustion flooding his limbs as he squeezed his eyes shut and curled up into a futile ball, holding up his hands as if they would stop what was coming. “Please, Ra’s…” he whispered fearfully, “Not again…!”

Something sharp pricked his neck, and Tim gasped as something flooded his system. All at once, the nausea returned, and Tim was back out before his head hit the ground.

Damian stood in dumb shock as he slowly let go of Drake’s wrist, retracting the sedative needle from his neck. What kind of a reaction wasthat?Such fear, such abject terror, and the…acceptanceafterward. The resignation. Where was the proud, sneering, powerful Drake from before? Who was this scared child in his wake?

Father hobbled out from behind the curtain, nursing his broken nose as Todd and Grayson hauled Drake up between them, carrying him back to the hospital bed. Brown stood in place, as if her feet were glued to the ground, watching Drake go by with a stricken expression and fear in her eyes. Kent merely sat in his chair, a hand over his mouth as he, too, only stared.

“I don’t understand,” Damian said uncertainly, “I meant him no harm…?”

“It’s not your fault, Damian,” Father assured him, wincing as he heard the telltale click of handcuffs as Todd and Grayson restrained Drake, as was standard procedure after such an incident, “Tim’s just… confused.”

“You mean he’s avictim,” Brown growled, the shock finally giving way to anger as her fists clenched at her side, “I know that kind of look, that kind of fear! I see it every night in the Narrows on the girls I save!Ra’s… that evilbastard!”

“Brown, what are you on about?” Damian groused, growing increasingly annoyed at everyone speaking in riddles. Usually that was left to Nygma.

Then, Kent seemed to realize Brown’s point. His eyes glowed red with heat vision as his teeth clenched. “I’m gonna fucking kill ‘im,” he growled, standing up in a rage, “I’m gonna find him and I’m gonna fucking KILL HIM!”

“Slow down, there, buckaroo,” Harper said placatingly, holding Kent’s shoulders, as if the archer could do anything to slow the half-Kryptonian down, “Dude’s been alive for thousands of years; think he’s lasted this long by letting angry teenagers rough him up whenever they want? He’s gonna have kryptonite, Conner, and he’s gonnakill youwith it. And unlike him,you don’t come back from that.”

Kent’s chest heaved with rage, but instead of flying off he merely turned and cried out with rage and he punched some unfinished equipment, sending some appendage or another spinning off into the dark. Then he sat back down and crossed his arms, trying to reign in his temper.

“I still don’t understand,” Damian sighed, “What has happened to him? What does Grandfather have to do with this?”

“Damian…” Brown said, giving him an almost pitying look, as if Damian had ever been pitiable, “I’m sorry. It makes sense that you don’t know, we’ve been keeping you off cases like these until you were older.”

Damian scowled. “I’m oldernow,” he said forcefully, “Tell me what has happened.”

Father sighed, heaving his shoulders and withdrawing into his ‘Batman’ voice. “Based on the evidence,” he said wearily, hints of ‘Bruce Wayne’ leaking in emotion, “We can safely assume that sometime recently, Tim was raped. Presumably by Ra’s al Ghul.”

Damian blinked. He stared at Drake, just beyond the curtain, still sleeping soundly as the sedative did its work. Grandfather was not known for his gentleness; Damian knew of his many lovers over the centuries. The most recent ones he had seen retreating from his grandfather’s quarters in the morning with swollen eyes or bruised cheeks. His grandmother was still unknown to him, buried in some unmarked grave in Nanda Parbat. Mother had refused to discuss her.

To think of Drake as the same as those poor, wretched souls, bruised and nervous, with faraway, fearful looks in their eyes whenever someone got too close… It made him angry.

Tim drifted back to consciousness once more, this time far more coherently. His head felt clearer, lighter, even, and he opened his eyes blearily, staring in confusion at the far away cave ceiling.

Oh, right. The Cave. Joy.

The symbol on his chest buzzed, almost incessantly, but Tim soon recognized the pattern: morse code.

Tim waited for the cycle to restart, then began to translate: B-E C-R-U-E-L.

“Be cruel?” What did that mean? Then Tim put it together; obviously, this was communication from Ra’s. He’d foreseen an eventuality like this, of Tim being captured by the Bats, and thought of a cover story to safeguard the circumstances of Tim’s servitude. “Be cruel”. Be cruel to his family and friends so that they really believe he’s fallen to the dark side. Tim scowled; of course that was the plan.

Quietly, on his leg, he tapped out a reply: R-E-F-U-S-E-?

The reply came immediately. C-O-N-S-E-Q-U-E-N-C-E-S

“Consequences”. Of course, why would Tim think any different? The same old threat that he wouldn’t dare defy. What he hated more is that he knew it would work.

Tim took a deep breath, closing his eyes again. Time to lie like he’d never lied before.

Chapter 33: Judgement Day, Part 4

Chapter Text

Tim sighed as he opened his eyes and sat up, having sufficiently prepared his character. No more Robin. No more Tim. Just Red Robin was in control now; Red Robin, the one who was betrayed, who was cast out, and who heldno mercyfor the ones he once called family.

“Tim,” a familiar, gravelly voice said urgently, and Red felt a hand on his arm; at first, there was some twinge of emotion, of fear, but Red shoved it down maliciously.

“Good morning, Master Tim,” another voice said, and Red finally took it in. Bruce Wayne sat at his bedside, with a broken nose that had been recently bandaged. Alfred Pennyworth stood off to the side, most likely to check up on the health monitors.

Red grinned coldly. “Hello, Alfred. Hello, Bruce,” he raised his hand, pointedly letting the handcuffs clink noisily against the rails of the hospital bed, “So glad to be back home.”

Bruce frowned. “I’m sorry, Tim, but it was for your own protection,” he sighed, “You were going to hurt yourself.”

Red blinked for a moment; had he tried to self-harm before he’d become fully lucid? No, that seemed unlikely. More likely, he had attempted to escape, only to be recaptured and restrained; standard procedure. Red sighed. “Oh, darn,” he muttered, “We can’t have me doing that, now, can we? No, it’s only okay whenother peoplehurt me.”

Bruce frowned deeper, growing more concerned. “Tim?” he asked quietly.

Red smiled at him. “Speaking,” he lied.

Bruce narrowed his eyes, “What have they done to you, son?”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Red asked, “The only people I remember hurting me areyou.”

Bruce blinked. Good, Red had him on the back foot. Then, of course, Bruce’s expression hardened, and his eyes grew cold and distant. Red grinned wickedly.

“Nice to see you again, Batman,” he sneered, “It’s been a while.”

Batman didn’t react. “You’ve retreated behind emotional walls as a defense mechanism,” he noted cooly, “It’s a technique I taught you, however unintentionally.”

Red smiled and tilted his head, “I learned by watching you, Dad.”

“This isn’t you, Tim,” Bruce said, and it was Bruce this time; there was too much emotion for it to be Batman. But his expression hadn’t changed… Red was confused. But he could still save this.

Red grinned. “No, it’s not theoldme,” he corrected, “This is me, now, Bruce. Get used to it.”

“Tim,please,” Bruce sighed, holding Red’s hand tightly, “Just tell me what happened? Tell me what went wrong? I want my son back. I want my Robin back.”

Red scoffed, “You already have Damian.”

Bruce looked him in the eye for a very long time. “I wantmyRobin back,” he reiterated.

Tim stared at Bruce for a long time. Then Red scowled. He stared Bruce straight in the eye, held his gaze unblinkingly, and said, “Your Robin’s dead.”

Bruce blinked.

Red went on, “He’sdead,Bruce. He died when you died, but he didn’t know it yet. But it was too late for him to go back, too late to get back what he lost. Didn’t stop him from trying, though;damndid he try. He triedso hardfor you, Bruce, went to hell and back… then hell caught up and found him anyway. It’s kinda like Orpheus and Eurydice, y’know? He went bravely into the depths, got what he came for, and left victorious! But when he looked back…

“It was all gone again.”

“Tim,” Bruce sighed, “Please…”

“Please what?” Red pressed him, “Pleasewhat,Bruce? Please stop? Please let me help you? Pleasebelieve me?I seem to recall saying a few of those myself recently,but not a damn person in this house listened to me.”

Red rolled his eyes, waving his hands around at all the infirmary paraphernalia. “Comeon,Bruce,” he sighed, “What are you gonna do? Throw me in Blackgate? Better yet,Arkham?As soon as you do, the whole world’s gonna know Bruce Wayne is Batman. Including all the Rogues. Including the Joker. You can’t keep me here forever, Bruce. There’s only one way out of this:let me go.”

Bruce hung his head. “I can’t do that, Tim,” he sighed, “You’re staying here until we know what’s really going on.”

Red gave a long suffering sigh, melodramatic and drawn-out as he flopped his head backward onto the hospital bed. “Ughhh,I was afraid you’d say that,” he sighed, “But you do know I’m not staying in this bed, right?”

“The bloody hell you’re not!” Alfred snapped, and both Bruce and Tim jumped at the Englishman’s sudden fervor. Alfred however stood his ground, standing up to his full height and pressing out his waistcoat, saying, “Master Tim, you’ve just survived a very serious injury, made worse by a very serious infection, made worse by your misplacedspleen!For God’s Sake, how the bloody hell did you manage to lose track of your own damnorgans!?” At that moment, Alfred seemed to catch himself, and hastily added, “Sir!”

Tim blinked rapidly. Then Red threw back his head and laughed. “Oh man, finally! The butler speaks!” he crowed, “I was wondering when you might say something, Alfred. Thank you for the concern, but I’ve got this under control.”

“Then why did Jason find you bleeding out on a rooftop with a serious infection?” Bruce pressed him, and Red shrugged.

“I was busy,” he said, and he wasn’t exactly lying; hehadbeen busy. He’d been figuring out ways to save his friends from the same hell he was living at the moment. So if that meant missing the fact that those cuts on his arm hadn’t gotten cleaned properly and those dizzy spells were a pretty big red flag, then so what? He was still alive, wasn’t he?

Barely,the tiny little voice of Robin whispered in his ear.

Red tuned him out.

“But seriously,” he sighed, rattling his handcuffs a little more, “Youknowme, Bruce. You know I can break out of these handcuffs anytime and make a break for it, and let’s face it; those shower curtains over there aren’t exactly gonna stop me. There’s only one place you can put me, if youreallymean to make me stay.”

Red held Bruce’s conflicted gaze for a long, long time, watching as his father went through all the stages of grief in rapid succession. Denial, rage, bargaining, sadness, and finally… acceptance.

“Alfred…” Bruce said slowly, his voice heavy with grief, “Prep the holding cell.”

“Sir-!” Alfred protested, but as he met his surrogate son’s eyes, he bit his tongue as he, too, recognized that there was no good way out of this. “At once,” he murmured, then turned and threw aside the curtains as he marched away.

“... I wish you weren’t making us do this, Tim,” Bruce sighed, sitting back in his chair.

Red grinned at him, “Sucks to be you, then, doesn’t it?”

A few minutes of heavy silence passed, and Alfred returned, unable to speak, only nodding his head that it was done. Bruce stood, uncuffed Red Robin, and hauled him to his feet, cuffing his hands behind his back once more. Red didn’t resist, merely letting it happen and grinning wide as could be.

Then Bruce walked him past the curtain. A clear path was made from the infirmary to the holding cell, lined by those he once called family; Red kept his head bowed, but made sure to meet the eye of everyone he passed.

Duke looked bitter, still nursing his broken shoulder.

Stephanie looked sad, glancing away the moment his eyes met hers.

Roy looked pitying, shaking his head as Red passed him.

Kori looked like his mother, frowning disapprovingly but not saying a word.

Jason looked lost, staring the whole time Red passed him by.

Damian looked wary, keeping a hand on his utility belt and watching Red carefully.

Barbara looked nervous, her fists clenched white on the arms of her wheelchair, her mind still on Tim’s threats from a year ago.

Jim looked somber, pursing his lips and crossing his arms as Red passed, not betraying any more emotion than that.

Selina looked melancholy, watching him with a sort of weary acceptance as she realized her little kitten was a kitten no more.

Cass’s face betrayed nothing, she only watched him soundlessly, studying him intensely for any weakness, any imperfection or discrepancy. Red didn’t show her any.

Conner looked angry, narrowing his eyes at Red, who looked away, unable to take it; not that he’d ever let anyone know that.

And last of all was Dick, who looked so crushed, so devastated beyond all belief, so lost, that Red almost laughed out loud.

Then he was at the door. And Bruce shoved him inside his new plexiglass home, and Red grinned wide from ear to ear as he immediately shed his cuffs and turned around to face them all. “We just gonna stand here all day?” he asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, “Or do you all have something you wanna talk about?”

The Judge of Owls sat in her chair, lost in deep contemplation as she watched the leaves fall amongst the shadows out her window. Far away, the glittering lights of Gotham proper shone against the gloom, but it was still Gotham, after all; the gloom was always there.

She watched as an owl (the bird kind) waited in the bare, gnarled branches, watching the ground intensely.

“Red Robin” was beginning to become a problem. First, those fires in the slums, now this stunt of uniting the Gotham Underworld under one banner, a feat that even Red Hood had not been able to accomplish. According to her spies within Arkham Asylum, it seemed he had even somehow won the respect of the Clown. To the Court, he would either be a great ally… or a dangerous enemy.

She knew his breeding, of course; he was more than suitable for the role of Owl. A fine, proud bloodline, from the roots of Gotham, not to mention a rearing in the honored House of Wayne. Out of all the Wayne Heirs, he was by far the most viable; not the circus performer, not the street urchin, and certainly not the halfbreed. The girls were…interesting,as prospects, but neither had the right breeding; the Brown girl was a nobody street rat, and the Cain was the daughter of their hated enemies. No, only the Drake would do.

But could Timothy Drake be trusted? His father certainly could not. That was why the Court had had him killed; but fixed it to look like Captain Boomerang’s work, of course. And then there were his…romantic imperfections, but similar things had been successfully swept under the rug in Court dealings before.

And if Tim Drakewereto be successfully turned to their side… his lowborn siblings could all be made magnificent Talons. The Gray Son would finally be within their grasp, as it was intended all those years ago; they had been intending to wait another generation, now that Bruce Wayne had interfered, but the daughter of the House of Gordon seemed to be unwilling to provide them an heir to the Gray Son. If the Gordon girl was not made pregnant soon, the Court may have to revert to the original plan and make their Gray Son a Talon now, as an adult. It was not ideal, but it could be done.

But this was all conjecture; she was getting ahead of herself. Everything hinged on Tim Drake, and her judgement of him. The Court awaited her decision.

Red smiled as his family stared him down, and he stared right back. “Okay yeah, I’ll bite,” Jason said, muscling his way to the front, “When’dja get raped, Timmy?”

Tim’s mouth hung open in shock, along with most everyone in the Cave. “Jasonyou can’t justask something like that-” Roy hissed, aghast, but Jason shrugged him off.

“No! He’s strutting in here all toughlike, Roy, I wanna hear his response to this!” Jason retorted, “Either it’s all an act, or it’s not. That’s what this is all gonna be, right? Some fucked-up round of mind games? I say we come out swinging.”

Tim finally recovered his wits, then shook his head as Red resolidified his place. “Oh, Jason,” Red sighed, “Always the blunt one; trying to perform surgery with a chainsaw. What could ever have made you think that I was raped?”

Jason scoffed, “Oh, I dunno, how about when you woke up screamin’ about Ra’s touchin’ you and shit?”

Red blinked for a moment, then filed that information away for later; his episode when not entirely lucid had finally been identified. “Oh,that,” Red said, tapping his chin, “I see what you’re talking about now. Those waking nightmares, amirite? So hard to control. If you must know, back when I was looking for Bruce, there wasn’t exactly a line of people ready to help me. Ra’s was the only one who offered. He hadconditions.”

He lied as easily as breathing. It was the perfect cover story; elements of the truth, but in the wrong order. Yes, he had been raped by Ra’s, that much would be fact to them by now, but if he could confuse the timeline of it, he could still deny the League’s involvement in his current endeavors, which was the ultimate goal; hemustmake the Bats believe he was acting of his own accord, otherwise they would go looking for Ra’s leverage, and Ra’s wouldusesaid leverage without hesitation.

They will have killed his son without even knowing it.

The Bats, meanwhile, seemed to buy it. Dick looked just about ready to throw up. Damian and Bruce looked disturbed to their very cores. Selina, Steph, and Conner looked ready to march up to Nanda Parbat and kill Ra’s themselves. Jason, meanwhile, only shook his head and swore under his breath.

“Jesus,” he muttered, unable to meet Tim’s eyes, “I-- I’msorry,Tim. I’m justsorry.”

“Don’t be,” Red assured him, hugging himself and looking at the ground to seem more vulnerable, “It only happened every night or so.”

Dick threw up.

Inwardly, Red grinned like a madman;That’s it…he thought,Eat it up… Believe all this bullshit I’m feeding you…

“Any other questions?” he asked quietly, making his voice wobblejust rightto make it sound like he was on the verge of tears, but trying to power through it.Make them suffer for every word.

“Y-Yes,” Bruce managed, “Jean-Paul Valley. Who-?”

“I did,” Red admitted quietly. The Bats sat back in stunned silence.

“Tim…” Bruce murmured, “Why…?”

Red ducked his head, not letting them see his face as his shoulders shook subtly. “He wasn’t supposed tobethere--” he whispered, putting just the barest hint of a hiccup at the end of his sentence, “I-I-It was an accident…”

“... An accident,” Duke repeated dumbfoundedly, and Red nodded along with him. “So those fires…” Duke asked slowly, the rage building in his voice, “Weretheyan ‘accident’ too!?”

Red wiped his eyes of tears that were never there to begin with, then looked up, glad that the whiteouts of his cowl hid the lack of redness in them. “You mean the slums?” he asked, his voice level and even, “No, of course not. That was all intentional. It went exactly according to plan.”

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!!” Duke screamed, slamming his good fist against the glass, and Red grinned savagely as he pressed his face against the glass, right in front of Duke’s strike.

“Got me there,” he admitted, “Janet Drake was a Grade-A, stone coldbitch,and she raised me good and well, Duke. Those slums needed togo,and go they did. The only problem you have is that I got the job done better and faster than any limp-dick lawyers or chicken-shit bureaucrats could have. Gotham isdiseased;rotten to the core. We need to tear it up by the roots, so we can plant something new. Or, in my case;Slash & Burn.”

“You killedhundreds of people!” Duke cried back, and Red laughed.

“Hundreds ofpoorpeople!” he corrected, “They were never going togo anywherein life! The world won’t be lacking for their loss; there are plenty of bodies to fill the meat grinders, Duke. And for those that survived, life is better than ever; they get new, affordable, clean, safe housing. What’s a few lives then, for the eradication of poverty, and homelessness in Gotham?”

“I was a poor kid,” Steph said defensively, “I grew up without a mom and with a dad who hated me. I went to the bad schools, I did drugs, I smoked, and so did Jason! We were street rats! The same kind of street rats that filled those tenements! Are you saying our lives don’t matter!?”

Red looked her dead in the eye. He’d loved this girl. She’d taken his first kiss. She’d been his first love.

“Yes,” he said evenly.

Steph gawked, straightening her back and covering her mouth in shock. She turned away as tears came to her eyes, and managed to gasp out, “I don’t evenknow youanymore!”

Red grinned, “And that, my dear, would be the point. None of you know me. Not anymore. It’s been two years since we last saw each other; I’ve changed alotsince then. Been through a lot. Had my perspective changed on a lot of things. Things like saving the world, for instance.”

Red glared at each of the Bats in turn, holding their gaze for a long, long time. “A wise man once said that criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot,” he began, eyeing Bruce snidely as he quoted the man’s earliest teachings asThe Batman,“And he’s right. So, he intended to rule them throughfear;tointimidatethem into submission. But intimidation only gets you so far; you can only throw so many heads in duffel bags before it starts to get old, and that superstitious and cowardly lot starts upping their game. Because you’ve drawn lines in the sand, you’ve arbitrarily defined right and wrong according to your own sense of justice, and just hoped that the rest of the world followed suit.

“That’s not how Lex and I see it. No, he recognizes that there are gray areas; there are bad things that good people must do and there are good things that bad people must do, and that is how society works, and has worked for the last fifty thousand years. You can’t save the world with fear and lines, Bruce. You save it with a smile and a handshake…and a knife in the back.”

Red threw back his head and laughed a little, beginning to pace about his cell frantically, “Think about it! I’m a young, dashing, single representative of a multibillion dollar international company; people will be lining up to shake my hand, if only because they want to fuck me. I have the power to make them do whatever I want, to single handedly dictate war and peace, embargoes and trade agreements, national borders and election results. All with money and a friendly smile, maybe a blowjob or two. I can solve world hunger, drop the crime rate to zero, make this world a better place, all because I do not adhere to the same broken sense of morality and justice thatyou peopledo. I am free.”

And isn’t that just the greatest lie ever told?Robin asked, and Red stomped it down maliciously.

The Bats stared at him as Red finished hiscoup de grace,all with varying looks of disgust and awe. Red grinned as he raised his eyebrow challengingly. “You all think that you can save the world by protecting it,” he said, “I know that the only way I can save the world is torule it.”

“So you burned down those slums because they didn’t have a place in your new world order?” Jim asked solemnly, and Red nodded.

“I did,” he confirmed.

“Tim,why?” Conner finally burst forward, “Why are youdoing all of this!?I know you’re still in there somewhere! Isaw it!”

He’s so close,Tim whispered in his own mind, his hand almost drifting up to hold Conner’s through the glass,So close…

Red reasserted himself viciously, putting down the hand and grinning wildly. “What yousawwas a cute little faggot too drunk to say ‘No’!” he sneered, and Conner reacted as if he’d been shot as Red slammed his fist against the glass.

“Your Honor?” an aide was in her rooms, and the Judge of Owls turned from her thoughts.

The servant bowed low, and said, “The Court awaits your decision on Red Robin, Your Honor.”

She stood, nodding slightly, and took up her mask and cape. “I have come to a decision,” she declared.

High, raucous, whooping laughter began to rule his voice as Red melted away into something not quite Tim and not quite Robin; something more unhinged and uncaring than either, a thing that didn’t have a name yet but had always been bubbling there, just beneath the surface, ever since Tim had spoken with a man in a diner, and danced with a clown in a sewer. The part of him he feared more than any other, but the one that feltso goodto lean into.

A wide, crazed, Joker-patented smile spread across his lips as Tim’s shoulders shook and laughter filled his cell. Barbara backed up in horror as thisthingmade itself known. “Hey,Conner!” he said suddenly, giggling incessantly, as if he just couldn’t help himself, “Stop me if you’ve heard this one before!!!

“Ah! Oh, Conner! Yes, right there! Keep going!Don’t stop!!”

Conner turned red as a beet as he turned away from the giggling bastard in shame and disgust, softly begging, “Stop it.”

“Ahh~!” he responded, throwing himself against the glass dramatically, “Oh,Superboy!You’re sostrongandhandsome!Do itharder, please!”

“I saidstop it!” Conner cried, covering his ears as if that would do anything, “STOP IT! I didn’tmean to!!I didn’tknow any better!!”

“HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!” he responded, falling over himself with laughter, “Oh yeah, sure! I’m surethat’llstand up in court!!HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!”

Tim threw back his head andlaughedlike he’d never laughed before. For so long, he’d been afraid to lean into this side of himself, that’d been growing and festering over two years, and now he finally got to let it run wild. To see what it could do. And apparently, it could doa lot…

“GOD!This feelsamazing!!” Tim laughed, prancing about his cell and shaking out his limbs like they were new as his voice took on a high, wheezing lilt, all too reminiscent of a Clown they all knew and hated, “It’s likefreedompersonified! All this time I’ve been looking at the world all wrong-- the world isn’tsad!It’sfunny!!Hilarious, even!!”

Tim turned to face his family once more, still wearing his wide, too-wide grin, “I like it.”

Cass stepped forward, squeezing Kon’s hand supportively as she gently guided the Kryptonian away. Tim grinned as he waited for her to make the first move, his chest heaving with slowly dying laughter as he chuckled slightly under his breath.

“And Tommy?” she asked, and Tim blinked as the laughter slowly retreated, and Red and Tim and Robin fought to regain their places.

“What about him?” he asked, not quite sure who he was at the moment.

“You weep for him,” she said plainly, “Care for him. If all this is for the world, then why love him?”

Tim blinked. He fought, he fought hard. He stood there blinking for a long, long time until finally common sense won out and Red took his place once again. Red smiled thinly. “Let me let you in on a little secret, Cass,” he whispered conspiratorially, “I don’t.The kid’s just a failed experiment that I couldn’t get rid of. Didn’t have the heart to abort him, that’s all-- choose life, right?”

Cass narrowed her eyes. “Liar,” she said clearly, and she turned on her heel and marched straight out of the Cave.

Red scoffed. “Whatever you say, sis,” he muttered, turning his back to the Bats as Tim’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

Then he heard the sound of shattering glass. Actual glass, not the metaphorical kind, and Red turned to find the glass of his cell totally destroyed, and standing with his fist outstretched and a hopeful, terrified expression on his young face was…

“Tommy!?” Tim asked brokenly, and it was like cold water had been splashed upon his face. Red, Robin, and the laughter all melted away like the tide, and all that was left was Tim, dumb, stupid Tim with no common sense and just a need, anintense need,to keep his boy safe.

And here he was, right there. Two feet in front of him, staring at the unfamiliar cowl he wore with fear and trepidation in his young eyes. “Auntie Cass said my dad was here,” he said fearfully, backing up a step, “Who’reyou?”

Tim couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy--

“A-Are you one of the Bad Men?” Tommy asked fearfully, taking another step back as Tim took a shaking step forward.

Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy Tommy---!!!!

Tim ran forward, ripped off his cowl, and fell to his knees, wrapping his son up in the tightest hug he could muster as he just began tocry.“Oh my God you’re alive!!” he gasped, weeping openly as he held on for dear life, kissing his son’s hair, clinging to him to make sure he was really there, “Oh my God! You’re safe, you’re alive, you’re okay---”

“D-D-Dad…?” Tommy asked quietly, and Tim held him out at arm’s length, to show him his face. Tommy gazed at him with awe, poking his cheek in disbelief.

“It’s me, kiddo,” he whispered quietly, nodding his head weakly, “It’s me.It’s me.”

“Dad?” Tommy whispered, still not quite believing it, and tears began to well up in his emerald green eyes, “Dad--!!!”

Tommy dived into the hug, knocking Tim over, and Tim just wrapped around his son in a protective ball, hugging him as tight as he could and not letting go. “It’s me! It’s me, kiddo, I’m okay!!” Tim gasped, sobbing like a baby as he justheld his son again aftertwo years,“I’m never gonna let go! I swear I’ll never go again, I’mso sorry!!”

“Y-Y-Y-You big j-j-j-jerk!!” Tommy gasped between sobs in reply, “I was so scared, and all alone, and wh-wh-why didn’t youtell meyou were Robin!?!”

Tim didn’t have any response, so he justsobbed.So guttural, so surreal, so heart-wrenchingly authenticreliefthat it felt like he shed a million pounds justcrying.His son was safe.His son was safe. His son was safe in his arms and that was all that mattered right now.

Wait… wasn’t there a reason why he didn’t do this before?

Ra’s al Ghul sat on his throne, tapping his finger against the armrest as he watched the Young Detective’s tearful reunion with his son through the hidden cameras he’d secretly installed in the Red Robin suit.

“How very disappointing,” he sighed.

“Oh my God,no,” Tim realized all at once, and he sat up, prying Tommy away from him and standing up.

“D-Dad!!” Tommy protested, but Tim was too busy having a panic attack.

“Oh my God!!” Tim realized, staring at his son fearfully as his chest heaved, “OH MY GOD!!Ra’s!Ra’s if you can hear me,don’t!!Please, for the LOVE OF GOD,DON’T!!”

“Tim?” Bruce asked quizzically, taking a hesitant step forward, “What are you talking about…?”

Tim quickly ripped his cowl back on, hyperventilating as he fumbled to find any sort of communicator, and finally found his old League earpiece, shoving it in place and activating it. “Ra’spleasedon’tdothisI’msosorryitwasanaccidentpleasegoddon’tdoit!!!” he begged over the line, falling to his knees in desperation, looking at Tommy intensely for any signs of pain or discomfort.

“I’m afraid I will be forced to, Young Detective…” Ra’s purred over the line, as if he had any reservations over it, “Unless…”

Tim latched onto that word like it was a piece of driftwood floating in a hurricane. “Unless!?” he demanded, “Unlesswhat!?”

“Tim, what’s going on!?!” Dick asked desperately, rushing forward, but Tim socked him in the jaw on reflex, sending him sprawling.

“Unless you leave that Cave right now and do not embarrass yourself any further,” Ra’s growled, “The boy has given you an escape route--use it!”

Tim blinked for a moment, thenran.Like he’d never run before, Tim surged forward, leaped over Barbara, and made a break for one of the bikes on the other side of the Cave.

“TIM, STOP!!” Bruce roared, going after him.

“DAD, COME BACK!!” Tommy wailed as Conner held him back, so that he wouldn’t get himself hurt.

Tim was on a bike, he started the engine and pushed it as fast as it would go out of the Cave and into the night air. Behind him, all the Bats began to give chase, on various vehicles much faster than his own.

“I-I don’t get it??” he gasped into the comm, roaring down winding forest roads to get into Gotham proper, “What’s my punishment? I fucked up. I fucked upbig.This isn’t the type of thing you let go, Ra’s.”

“You’re right, Young Detective, and I’mnot,” Ra’s told him, “One of your lies gave me quite the inspiration, I’m afraid. ‘Every night or so’, I believe you put it?”

Oh holy Jesus no.All thoughts stopped in Tim’s head, all functions ceased. “Every night…?” he whimpered.

“Every night,” Ra’s confirmed, “As evidenced by recent events, once was not enough discipline for you, Young Detective. Perhaps a more…hands-onapproach is needed.”

No. No, God, he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t survive that. Him and Ra’s…every night…no. No, it was unthinkable. Inconceivable. Unimagina---

Tim hit a rock and fell off his bike, crying out as he went tumbling ass-over-tea-kettle onto the asphalt, his kevlar shredding against the road as his leg bent at an unnatural angle and his head slammed down hard twice in a row. He tumbled to a stop, broken and bleeding on the road, and groaned as he sat up only to realize he’d torn open the stitching that Alfred had done, and his side was now bleeding profusely again. This was… the worst injury he’d had so far. And the Bats were in hot pursuit. He was… he wasn’t going to get out of this, was he? He was going to fail, and Tommy was going to die,all because he was too fucking scared of Ra’s al Ghul--!!!

A tall, dark, armored shadow loomed over him, and at first Tim thought it was Batman, come to drag him back to the Cave. Then his eyes widened as he realized he was so, so wrong.

“Tim Drake,” Deathstroke said, drawing his blade, “You’ve made very powerful enemies, kid.”

“Slade?” Tim asked dumbfoundedly, “Wh-What areyoudoing here??”

“I’m a killer for hire, Tim,” Slade explained as if he were dumb, “I’m here because someone’s paying me. Alot.Now, I came for a fight, but here you are, already bloodied up and helpless; it’s almost too easy. Almost.”

Slade raised his katana. Tim blinked slowly, watching through a half-torn cowl as it rushed toward his chest. Well… this was it, wasn’t it? Ra’s wouldn’t blame him for getting killed, he knew the man well enough. He didn’t punish the sons for the sins of the father, not after the father was dead. He had principles, even if they were warped beyond all recognition. If he died doing Ra’s bidding… then Tommy would be safe.

And that was all that mattered.

He heard the roar of the Batmobile just as Deathstroke’s blade pierced his heart, and Tim gasped as pain blossomed in his chest. He stared dumbly at the blade, slick with his blood, and began to chuckle weakly. He fell back, then looked at Slade’s orange and black mask.

“Th-Thank you…” he murmured as his vision darkened, “F-Finally… finally…free…”

Slade withdrew his blade as the kid fell limp beneath him. In all his years of killing… he’d never heard anyone thank him for it. He melted away into the forest before the Bats could spot him, disappearing into the night they thought they owned.

The Judge of Owls sat back in her chair, confident in her decision.

And Ra’s al Ghul sat back in his, confident of the same.

Tommy broke out of Conner’s grip and raced after his father, screaming through the sky until he found the spot on the road where…

Tommy stopped. He fell to his knees in front of the limp, lifeless body, covered in black and gold and red…too much red…

He was dimly aware of his family around him but all Tommy could see was his father’s blue eyes, staring unblinkingly at the sky.

“Dad?”

The End…

...?