Chapter Text

The roar of the Batmobile screeching into the Batcave signalled to Billy and Alfred that it was time to move. They ran to the armoured tank of a vehicle as the doors opened up, Robin scrambling to unbuckle his and Batman’s seatbelts, the latter already soaking the leather in his own blood.

Billy’s breath hitched in his throat as he saw the glistening dark red on pitch-black kevlar. He paused long enough for Alfred to already be by Batman’s side, shifting the broad man onto the medical cot they'd wheeled over.

Robin was answering Alfred’s rapid-fire questions about what happened, how Batman was doing, how long he’d been unconscious. To his credit, Robin didn’t seem as much of a mess as Billy was. The only thing that gave away his nerves the frantic clenching and unclenching of his fists.

Dick took off his domino as Alfred pulled at Bruce’s cowl and made a move to follow his grandfather to the medical bay, when he’d spotted Billy and how absolutely terrified he was.

“Hey, hey Bills,” Dick cooed in a gentle voice, “It’ll be okay. Bruce always comes back from things like this. He’ll be okay.”

Dick tossed his bright yellow gloves now that they were drenched in red and pulled Billy into a hug. Billy gasped, hyperventilating as he watched Alfred retreat into the far corner of the Batcave, pulling the door close behind him.

“Bruce…” Billy managed through his sobs.

Dick just rubbed comforting circles into his back, patting occasionally when Billy struggled to breathe.

Billy and Dick sat by Bruce’s bed, listening intently as Alfred listed off the cover story. Bruce was involved in a yacht accident and was left bedridden for a few days. He’s expected to make a full recovery and was being watched over by their family physician. They appreciated the media’s concern over Bruce, but during these hard times, they’d like to have some privacy.

He chanted it in his head over and over, his eyes tracing the scars along Bruce’s bandaged chest. It was nervewracking, watching the slow rise and fall of Bruce’s chest. Billy anticipated the sudden stop of the rhythmic movement.

“Master William,” Alfred's voice broke through Billy's intrusive thoughts, “Master Bruce’s condition is stable. He is, for all intents and purposes, alive.”

Billy stared blankly at his hands, the distant beeping of the heart monitor guiding the pace of his thoughts. “I…” Billy began, “I know. Batman got injured on JL missions too. I never thought too much about it, but this…” Bruce was out there, a human in an over-engineered suit, with nothing tangibly protecting him other than sheer determination. “…this is awful.”

“Yeah, it is,” Dick muttered beside him.

“Master Richard, you cannot seriously think—”

“— Gotham needs its heroes, Alfred! I’ll stay away from the Rogues, I'll stick to petty criminals, whatever I—”

“— that a fifteen-year-old could patrol the streets of Gotham alone. Regardless of your remarkable skills, this is too much. Even for you. I forbid—”

“– need to do to convince you. I need to patrol today! The city hasn’t had a Batman sighting in nearly a week! The criminals always get bolder, meaner-”

“– you from going out there.–”

Billy cleared his throat, drawing the two’s attention. “I might have a solution?” And if his hands sparked with electricity, he’d claim their eyes were playing tricks on them.

Batman leapt from one rooftop to another, adjusting to the suit and the weight of the cape on his shoulders. His footfalls landed heavily at first, before he made a conscious effort to be lighter on his feet, and had to overcorrect his next jump to compensate. And, just for kicks, Batman did a flip before landing.

A small figure in a black cloak landed beside Batman, with remarkably less flair.

“How was that?” Batman inquired, his own gravelly voice grating with the underlying optimism, “Cause I thought I wasn’t half bad myself.”

“You could have done without the flip at the end, but otherwise you are doing a considerable job, Batman,” Agent A’s voice came over the comms in their ears, “Haunt, how are you holding up?”

The cloaked figure, Haunt, shrugged and a distorted echo came from the dark void where his head should be, “…Myself…doing a considerable job… holding up.”

Batman smiled, before aborting that action entirely and settling for a satisfied nod. “Right. Don’t strain yourself keeping up with me, Bil– Haunt. In fact, it might be better if you stay behind while we’re patrolling. And remember, you do not engage in any conflict.”

Haunt nodded, “…Do not engage in … conflict…”

“Good, let’s move.”

Commissioner Gordon stood on the rooftop of GCPD, a hand laid on the Bat-Signal, staring out at the surrounding rooftops. Haunt made a move to jump down to the Commissioner when Batman put a hand on his shoulder. Quizzically, Haunt looked at him, tilting his head slightly in confusion. Batman just smirked, and pointed at his eyes with two fingers, then at Billy’s.

Watch and learn.

Batman dropped down, a little ways away from Gordon. The sound made Gordon turn, just in time to watch Batman's slow rise from his crouched landing position, the cape accentuating his silhouette.

“Commissioner,” Batman greeted simply.

“Ever the dramatist, aren’t you Batman?” Gordon shook his head, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“…dramatist… Batman?” Haunt chittered as he dropped onto the ledge of the rooftop, perched on a gargoyle.

Gordon jumped at Haunt's appearance, then turned back to glare at Batman, “You’ve got another kid under your wing?”

“Haunt is a temporary accomplice,” Batman stated flatly, “He has years of experience, despite appearances. And you will treat him with the respect he deserves, Commissioner.”

“Alright, alright,” Gordon relented easily, surrendering with his hands in the air. He turned to Haunt, a small smile on his face, “Hey Haunt. I’m Commissioner Jim Gordon.”

“…Hey… Jim…” Haunt nodded.

Gordon looked over at Batman.

“He echoes people’s speech.”

“Ah, of course. In any case,” Gordon reached into his tan trenchcoat, pulling out a manilla folder. “Here.”

Batman took the folder, thumbing through it slowly, making a low grumbling sound as he read. “The underground meta fight club? I thought we wrapped this case a month ago.”

“Seems like some wannabes have cropped up now that there's a vacuum in the market,” Gordon sighed, then looked at Haunt and back at Batman. “You sure the kid should be seeing this? He seems… vaguely meta.”

“…Vaguely meta,” Haunt agreed, “Sure… should be seeing this…”

Batman levelled Haunt with a glare, then sighed, “I get the feeling I won’t be able to stop you, Haunt.”

“…Won’t be able to stop…Haunt.”

“Barbara Gordon,” Batman greeted as the sound of bustling cape settled on their little rooftop stake out.

“Gideon Kingsley.”

“The reporter from Gotham Gazette? Good theory, but incorrect.”

“Worth a shot.” Batgirl stood from her landing position, taking in Batman's companion. “Who’s the new kid?”

Batman stood from his crouched position at the ledge, storing his binoculars away in his utility belt. “Batgirl, meet Haunt. He’s lending us a hand today.”

Haunt bowed slightly, not alleviating Batgirl’s suspicions. “Robin isn’t around? After the beating you took last week, I thought you’d be more likely to be taking another week off than him.”

“It’s a school night,” Batman said in lieu of an actual explanation. “As it is for you.”

Batgirl waved her hand dismissively at Batman before turning to Haunt to properly observe him, “So what do you do?”

Haunt floated a few inches in the air, then dropped back down gracefully.

“That’s it?”

Batman gave Haunt a nod– permission– and the latter stood on the ledge of the rooftop. The air sizzled with charge, and Haunt briefly sneered at the natural atmosphere of Gotham. He held it for a second before a crackle of lightning and thunder broke through the silence of the night.

“Wha-” Batgirl started, then regained her composure almost immediately, “What about your no meta policy?”

“The policy is exaggerated. Besides, Haunt isn’t a meta.”

“He’s not an actual, like, ghost, right?” Batgirl half laughed, then hesitated, “Are you?”

“…not an actual… ghost…” Haunt confirmed, then turned to Batman, “…Barbara Gordon…?”

“Not a topic of discussion at the moment.” Batman gave Haunt a vaguely apologetic look. “I trust you know why we’re here, Batgirl?”

Marvel never got to sneak around all that much. Granted, it was hard to be stealthy when he was wearing a bright red spandex suit with a white and gold cape over his shoulder. And his supervillains were always courteous enough to be very loud about their crimes.

It’s sorta exciting to sneak around with Batman and Batgirl, wandering down hallways and doors with the thrum of cheering and fighting nearby.

Haunt occasionally got sidetracked listening to the commotion. It was horrifying, hearing the echoing of sadistic cheers over the gush of blood splatter and screaming in agony.

He could do something. Marvel could do something.

Batman put a hand on his shoulder, and Haunt went with him.

Eventually, they found themselves in the rafters, high above a brightly lit arena and the audience around them. Haunt was a little confused when Batman brought out a tripod and a camera, which started taking pictures of the place from all angles.

“Evidence,” Batman explained in a low whisper. “Can’t convict unless we have proof.”

Batgirl kicked the unconscious body of a crewman she’d taken down, “So, how are you liking tonight, Haunt?”

Haunt thought about the question, trying to figure out a concise way to explain his feelings.

Batgirl laughed, taking pity on him. “Alright. Would you say it’s been good? Bad? In between?”

“…in between.” He pointed at the arena, “Bad.” Then pointed at Batgirl, “Good.”

“Aw, aren’t you a charmer?” Batgirl cooed, leaning against the metal railings. “Say, where’d you find him, Batman?”

“Picked him up off the shelf at the sidekicks store. Magic aisle.”

Batgirl scoffed, “Since when did you tell jokes?”

The comms spurred to life as Agent A’s voice filled Batman and Haunt’s ears, “Pardon my intrusion, sirs. But I must take my leave. Batman Prime is getting a little restless.”

Batman’s shoulders tensed. An almost imperceptible shift in posture, before he nodded and whispered into his comms. “Roger that, Agent A.” Batman looked through the pictures, then pocketed them and the camera equipment. “We have what we need. Let’s go.”

“Woah, woah. We’re just leaving? We’re not arresting anyone?”

“It’s too risky. There are too many people. If we act now, they’ll bring their operation even more underground.” Batman pointedly turned his gaze at Haunt, “Not tonight.”

“Can’t we at least rescue the metas?”

Before Batman could protest, Haunt stepped forward.

“Rescue.”

Things had gone sideways very quickly.

There were only 3 rounds of fights today, so only a handful of metas were on location to begin with. Batman had located the green room they were being held in, and Haunt was supposed to keep a lookout as Batman and Batgirl blew down the door, took down any guards, and got the metas out.

As it turns out, the green room had actually been full of big-shots who couldn’t afford to be seen in such a facility. As such, they had a lot of hired muscle. Who hit very hard.

Needless to say, Batman had yelled at them to fall back very quickly.

“How’d you get the room wrong?!” Batgirl yelled as they were chased down the winding corridors, vaulting over half-emptied crates.

“It’s— hrng.” Batman growled in lieu of an answer, which Haunt took to mean Dick had made an educated guess that resulted in the worst possible outcome.

Batgirl pulled them into a room, slamming the door shut behind them. Batman shoved his body against the door to keep it shut as the gaggle of bodyguards caught up to them.

Cursing, Batgirl scrabbled for a stray crowbar and looped it through the door handle. Its effectiveness was negligible as the door continued to bulge and Batman continued to lose his balance.

With no other choice, Haunt ripped the full-face cowl off his face and cast a reinforcement charm on the door.

The door held its shape a lot better, but the charm wouldn't;t hold forever. They needed to get out now.

“Batman?” Haunt called, only just realising Batman had crumbled to the ground, hunching over his gut.

“You can talk?” Batgirl questioned, then shook her head as she looked over Batman’s injury. “He took a hit back there. Right to the guts. Though it shouldn’t be affecting him that much.”

Maybe Batman could brush off a hit to the gut, but 15-year-old Dick Grayson?

“No, no no no.” Billy quietly muttered as he saw the black Kevlar flicker in and out of existence. “Not now.”

The disguise should’ve held out for the entire night. But a sustained glamour would’ve sapped his energy, which he needed to keep the door from breaking open. Billy just sent a silent thanks to Alfred who’d urged Dick to get in uniform before the glamour.

The Batman suit faded almost instantaneously into the bright red-green yellows of Robin’s uniform.

“Robin?” Batgirl half screamed, half accused.

“Ugh…” Robin groaned, whether out of pain or embarrassment of being caught. He was still hugging his gut, which wasn’t exactly an ideal condition to be in.

The door was rattling. The sounds of shouting outside started to sound suspiciously more organised. A small groan of metal as the crowbar bent in half.

A healing spell hung on Billy’s lips, but he did not have the reserves to pull off so much magic. But Dick—

Robin put a hand on Haunt’s arm, squeezing it slightly. It’s okay. But it wasn’t.

Haunt looked up at Batgirl, who looked just as distraught as he did.

There wasn’t any other way.

Haunt jogged away from the door, much to Batgirl’s confusion. Robin looked up through furrowed eyebrows, before his lenses widened in realisation.

“You can’t—”

The door burst open, and Billy really didn’t have a choice then.

“SHAZAM!”

They couldn’t have seen him, right?

Lightning at such close proximity was blinding, and it wasn’t like they got a chance to catch his face before the lightning struck either, right?

And they couldn’t have seen Robin and Batgirl either, since Marvel had scooped them up and flown out the window as soon as he could. And he was very fast. Right?

Right!

No such luck with Barbara Gordon though, was there?

Haunt (he’d transformed as soon as they got to a rooftop halfway across the city) shuffled on his feet awkwardly as Batgirl paced, waiting for Robin to regain consciousness enough to be yelled at.

When Robin managed to keep his eyes open for longer than 10 seconds, he was met with the glare of Batgirl.

“So,” She began, “care to explain what the hell just happened tonight?”

"Uh, remember last week when Batman sort of shattered his ribs? He's not– He's not doing so hot right now. But Gotham needs a Bat, and Haunt volunteered a solution."

Batgirl scoffed, “You mean Captain Marvel?” She looked at him, and her eyes widened almost instantly in recognition. Hmm, maybe Haunt should’ve put the cowl back on now that they were illuminated with city lights. “Is– Is that Billy Batson? Dick, he’s twelve!”

“He's a lot more experienced than he looks, and I started when I was twelve!” Robin defended, then paused, “You know who I am?”

“‘Course I do, why else do I make excuses for you skipping class?” Barbara sighed, “Billy, please tell me you aren’t actually Captain Marvel?”

Billy really didn’t like disappointing Barbara.

“So the guesses at Batman's identity?”

“C’mon, what part of the Batman persona makes you think he’d tolerate some sixteen-year-old actually knowing who he is? I just picked some random names from a conspiracy board. I check for Batman's plants, obviously.”

“B puts plants on conspiracy boards?”

“I’d be surprised if he isn’t on all the conspiracy boards.”

When Bruce was conscious enough to be allowed downstairs, he was met with the sight of three identical Batmen chasing each other under the Batcave’s tall ceilings.

One Batman grappled past him, flicking Bruce’s face with the end of his cape.

Bruce let out a long sigh, before clearing his throat.

“Hello, fellow Batman!” One of them greeted him while doing a handstand on the T-rex.

“Undo the glamour right now, and I’ll tell the Teen Titans about Lex Luthor’s new underground facility.”

Instantly, the glamour was lifted and Billy and Dick sat at the Batcomputer innocently.

“Psh, pushovers.” A voice suddenly appeared beside Bruce. A suspiciously familiar voice; familiar in very bad ways, unfortunately.

“Barbara Gordon.”

“Bruce Wayne.”

“On second thought, I’m keeping those LexCorp files to myself.”