Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Something’s wrong with Nightwing.” Barbara heard the sound of a soft thud behind her as Tim dropped from the ceiling, his swirling cape reflecting in the computer monitors.

Barbara looked up from the computer where she was walking Wendy through untangling the finances of a smuggling ring. “And you just now noticed? He’s been like that for months.”

“I didn’t know Nightwing was in town,” said Wendy, looking at Barbara in confusion.

Tim grimaced and shook his head. “I don’t mean how he’s been acting since…you know when. When he became broody. This is new.”

“And you came to me with it? Red Robin. I know you missed a lot when you were out of town, but we’re not really on the best of speaking terms right now.”

Tim sighed and hooked a chair over with his ankle, collapsing into it in a boneless way that reminded Barbara far too much of Dick. “Give me some credit. This isn’t me interfering in one of your arguments. He’s acting weird. Like he’s about to disappear on a long term undercover mission weird.”

Barbara swung her chair around and looked, really looked, at Tim’s face. She still wasn’t used to reading his expressions under a cowl, but the stubborn, mulish set of his mouth was familiar, like he expected not to be believed but was going to do something anyway. “Rob,” she said gently. He flinched. She winced. He clearly was only going to talk around the subject while Wendy was here. “Wendy, can you keep working on this? I think I need a cup of coffee.”

Tim followed her to the kitchen, cowl still up. Barbara poured two mugs of coffee, as Tim fidgeted with teaspoons and her favourite sugar jar. “After all this time, is this really a cowl sort of conversation, Boy Wonder?”

Tim tugged his cowl down so she could see his face, then accepted the mug she thrust into his hands. “Dick’s acting weird. And I’m not talking about anything regarding Damian!” he said heatedly, as Barbara sighed. “It’s fine. I know Damian’s his Robin now, I know every Batman and Robin relationship is different. But he’s not acting like Dick.”

“What happened?”

“There was a firefight at that warehouse down by the docks, the one we’re staking out for Intergang weapon transshipments. Batman and Robin had been checking it out but I heard the sound over comms and swung over to help. It was a mess, seemed to be a load of theme weapons, and a bunch of weird stuff went off. The henchmen didn’t seem familiar with a lot of it. But right near the end of the fight someone sent a golden boomerang at me and it just missed my shoulder before hitting the wall. We got everyone tied up, alerted the cops, and then Dick just…left. He just looked through me, Barbara. He said ‘Thanks for the assist’ and swung off.”

“And there was a boomerang stuck in the wall?”

Tim looked slightly paler than usual, and nodded. “Yeah. And he didn’t say anything. To me.”

“He didn’t check on you at all?”

“He just fussed over Damian.”

Barbara took a deep sip of her coffee. “You’re right. That is weird.” She looked sharply at Tim, who was staring down into his mug, as if it held the secrets of the universe. “Are you all right?”

Tim let out a slow breath. “I’d be better if I knew what was wrong with Dick.”

The next night, as Red Robin went out on patrol, Tim checked in with Oracle first about his plans for the evening, rather than talk to Alfred as he had been recently. It felt familiar, like slipping into a worn old jacket, even though the fit had changed. Tim almost expected to hear Dick making a joke on the line, flirting with Babs, while Cass smothered a giggle and Bruce grumpily reminded everyone to keep things professional on the main channel. But Cass was still in Hong Kong hunting Cricket and untangling what Lynx was planning, Bruce hadn’t spent more than a week in any one country for the past few months as he worked to establish Batman Incorporated franchises all over the world, and Dick? He was so focused on keeping Damian out of trouble and being Batman. He was serious in situations where he’d usually start with a lighthearted quip to break the tension.

“What are your plans for this evening? Patrol? Breaking up gang initiations? The drug trade? Tracking down someone out of Arkham?” Barbara sounded chipper in his ear. Maybe she had missed this too.

“Is there anyone out of Arkham right now that I should be keeping an eye out for?” Tim surveyed his surroundings and started roof-running to head off to his first destination for the night. If nothing else, spending the day working in Wayne Tower then leaving from the Bunker underneath made for a short commute.

“Well Zsasz is back inside, thank goodness. You know about the fact Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy are currently behaving themselves. Batman’s been tracking down Riddler and Two-Face recently…hmmm. Croc’s out but nobody has seen him.”

“I’ll keep out of the sewers then,” Tim joked.

“The smell is better up on the streets. Never fun trying to clean a soaked cape.”

“It does cling to you all night. But fortunately for both our noses, I’m just planning to patrol and check in on a round of front businesses in Chinatown and the Upper West Side. Look in on a bunch of Golden Dragon and League locations.”

“League of Assassins?” Barbara sounded curious. “Do we know about all these safe houses?”

“Some of them are from information I brought back with me. I’ve been updating the data in the system as I check them out. Mostly I’m just tracking activity levels at the locations to see if Ra’s is aware we now know about these places and if he’s pulled people out. I certainly tried to hide the data trail of what I’d found when I left.”

“And I’m guessing you’re looking in on the Golden Dragons for Black Bat?”

“Hey, they were my enemies first! But yes, we’re working this investigation into the new Lynx from both ends; I’m handling the Gotham side. And I want to keep an eye out to see if Edmund Dorrance has popped back up.”

“Red Robin. I know you saw him as a Black Lantern. We both did.”

Tim sighed. “I know. I know. But I’ve seen King Snake come back so many times, I just want to be sure. The dead have been returning.”

“It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you?” Oracle quipped.

“I’ve seen him fall off a building and survive; I’ve seen him fresh out of a Lazarus Pit. I don’t trust that he’s dead unless I know where his body is, and right now I don’t.”

Barbara sighed. “Don’t let it become an obsession. I’ve been down that path and it’s not worth it.”

“So noted.” Tim paused on the top of a building on the edge of Chinatown and squinted a little as his Starlite lenses adjusted to the neon lights. “I’m close to my first stop. Talk later.”

“Good hunting.” The line went silent in his ear as Oracle switched her attention elsewhere.

The first three locations, all Golden Dragons businesses, turned out to be an importer’s storeroom containing crates with fake customs marks, a bakery with extensive coolrooms, and an underground casino full of people with triad tattoos. Pretty standard fare, all clearly active locations. A peek into the cool rooms at the bakery had shown a lot of rising dough and no surprise corpses quietly stashed in a back corner under a sheet.

The next stop was a League of Assassins base. To all appearances it was at a lull; a few bunk rooms fixed up in the office area of an import-export warehouse, likely used by groups of assassins travelling through town. A couple of the beds looked recently used.

A brothel, a restaurant, and then another well-lit basement storeroom. This one appeared to be a daigou business; even late at night people were checking orders and packing boxes, readying them for shipment to China. There were stacks of baby formula and various skincare brands all over the room. More concerningly though were the locked doors to the basement.

Tim clicked on the main line. “I think I have a forced labour business here. Locked exits including fire exits, guards openly carrying weapons, and the workers have that look around them.”

Oracle was brisk when she came on the line. “I’m noting it, Red. Can you confirm your location for me?”

“Two blocks south of Cameron Street; that tangle of businesses behind Cavalieri Close. Basement of the China Fair building.”

“Acknowledged.” Tim could hear the soft sound of typing over the line. “Are you in a position to do anything right now?”

“Not tonight. About to set up some cameras to check.”

Attaching small spy-cameras to the few windows at street level was a delicate operation of not being seen among the shadows and neon lights reflecting off every surface including damp puddles in the street. Tim was almost done when he heard a crash and yell far too close. He’d been spotted.

Several gang members who’d been loitering smoking on the nearby corner of the street turned and headed straight for him. Tim dropped any subtlety and started running in the other direction, aiming for the fire escape of the nearest high building. “O, I’ve been spotted. On the move.”

Tim saved his breath for dodging as shots rang out behind him, trusting his cape to conceal his body and help deflect any bullets that got too close. He jumped for the edge of the fire-escape and pulled himself up smoothly, then tapped his comm line again as he climbed the stairs rapidly heading for the roof and an escape route. “Red Robin to all; I’m under fire in Chinatown. Anyone able to assist?”

“I’m on the Upper East Side,” said Helena. “Too far for a quick hand, and Misfit unfortunately doesn’t know all the nooks and crannies in that end of town yet.”

“Burnley and on stakeout,” said Steph. “Is anyone nearer, Oracle?”

There was silence on the line. Tim glanced back and could see the pursuing Dragons boosting one of the group onto the fire escape. He headed at a dead run for the edge of the building roof.

“Batman?” queried Oracle.

The line remained silent. Tim aimed his grapple for the next building and swung over, dodging behind a lift shaft to hide his change of direction as further shots rang out. Just a little further.

“I’m running a trace,” said Barbara.

“The Question?” asked Tim as he sprinted. Getting rescued by Montoya was embarrassing, but he’d known her long enough she wouldn’t laugh. Too much.

“Out of town still, as are Outsiders. Manhunter’s working late at the office on an upcoming prosecution.”

Tim jumped across to another building and swarmed up and over another wall, falling flat on his belly by a crenellation he could peek around. The Outsiders didn’t need to have people permanently based in Gotham now that Hush was in Arkham. The JSA were all currently across the country. Honestly, they were running low on additional support to call in across the city.

The pursuit behind him was headed in another direction. Tim carefully watched until they were out of sight.

“Thanks everyone, I think I’m clear now.”

Dick, finally, came on the line. “Batman. There was an assist call?”

Oracle sounded almost brusque, as she replied. “All clear now. Red Robin was under fire in Chinatown.”

“Glad to hear it’s sorted. Is there anything else?”

“Not now.”

“Batman out.”

Tim heard the click in his ear that signalled Barbara was shifting over to his frequency. “Okay, you were right. That’s not a normal response from him.”

“Glad to hear you believe me,” said Tim as he got up and dusted himself off, already plotting in his mind the route to his next stop. (It was better than thinking about why Dick had taken so long to respond to a simple assist request).

“Of course I believe you, why wouldn’t I…oh.” Barbara paused for a moment. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

“Completely fine, not a scratch on me,” said Tim, deliberately misunderstanding her question. “I’ve been running solo enough this year that I got pretty good at dodging.”

The thing was. It wasn’t that Dick had done anything wrong. Part of his role as Batman was to focus on his Robin and keep Robin out of trouble and danger. And keeping on top of what Damian was up to was a job and a half for anyone. Tim had heard about the incident with the Joker at GCPD headquarters, okay? And so for all of Dick’s insistence that Damian was doing better, he just needed acceptance and validation to reinforce his good behaviour, this was a level of doing better that still included locking himself in a room with the Joker and a crowbar. And getting away with it.

Tim had never physically assaulted a restrained Joker, was the point. Nobody had ever needed to tell him that that was unacceptable behaviour. (He’d even helped resuscitate the Joker once, all in a panic, in part because of the look of devastation on Dick’s face. Every life was important and worth saving. Leaving someone to die wasn’t Tim’s choice to make as a vigilante, if he had the ability to respond). But all Damian ever did seemed to be getting away with things that Bruce would never have let Tim do, even in his first weeks as Robin.

And so Tim got it. Damian took a lot of energy. A lot of attention. (All of Dick and Alfred’s it felt like, some days). But so much attention that Dick couldn’t respond to a call for assistance?

Maybe he was being unfair. Tim had been on Barbara’s frequency, not on Alfred’s. Dick would necessarily be focused on Alfred’s frequency, as that was the one his partner was on. But the call to the main line should have cut through anyway; it was for emergencies and overrode anything else. If Dick was listening to his comms, he should have received it immediately.

Perhaps Dick and Damian had been in the middle of a fight. Or a stakeout where they had to be silent, and Dick had needed to wait until the fight was over, or move away to where he could speak without being overheard. There were all sorts of reasons someone might not respond immediately on the comms line.

But usually if you couldn’t speak, you’d still click the line to let people know that you were unable to respond. And there’d been dead silence from Dick, even when Barbara specifically asked for his location.

And Tim knew what Dick was like as Batman. He was thoughtful and caring and ready with a joke and didn’t push a person past their limits. And he knew this because once upon a time, Tim had been Dick’s Robin. The Batman Tim remembered teaching him how to use a washing machine and cleaning his scrapes and bruises after patrol and letting Tim tap out when he felt overwhelmed wouldn’t have ignored a call for assistance.

This just wasn’t normal behaviour from Dick. Even when he was stressed.

Tim reached the Bunker and let himself inside. Batman and Robin had clearly already returned earlier. Damian was still in full costume on the other side of the area, deliberately looking away from Tim’s entrance. Dick was at the main computer typing, working on what looked like a tracking program.

This was one of the weird things Tim had noticed, since his return to Gotham. Once, Dick would have asked Barbara or Tim to handle the programming for him. It wasn’t that Dick couldn’t code – they’d all had to learn so they could troubleshoot problems with the computer system – but Dick tended to be slower and more deliberate about it and so usually delegated the work elsewhere. But now he was doing it all himself, even when there were people around who could do it faster and more accurately.

It was like right after when Dick had moved to Bludhaven to assert his independence, but even then Dick had accepted help from Tim and Barbara.

Tim stripped off his gloves (which were looking worn and needed replacement soon) and then pulled off his cape and cowl. He sighed. There were bullet holes in it. Some of the shots had been closer than he’d hoped. “Alfred? I’m going to need some costume repairs.”

Alfred came over to look at the cape and clicked his tongue. “These are bullet holes. Were you getting shot at again, Master Timothy?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Tim pointed out. “I don’t do this for fun.”

“Sometimes I wonder. You didn’t call for help?”

“I did!” Tim protested, then paused. Well. He’d called in an all-points on the open channel Oracle maintained, not on Alfred’s line. Was that part of the problem?

“I certainly didn’t hear you,” muttered Damian, who was crouched on a chair halfway across the room, fingers flickering across a tablet screen.

Tim gritted his teeth to stop himself snapping back. Of course Damian hadn’t heard anything; he wasn’t on the Oracle line. Tim didn’t know all the reasons for why Barbara had excluded him, but it was clearly something revolving around the tension he’d noticed between Dick and Babs on his return to Gotham. “Sorry Alfred, I just realised. I was on comms with Barbara and forgot to include you in the heat of the moment.”

“Well the next time this comes up, I would appreciate it if you could find some time in your busy schedule of avoiding injury to seek assistance.” Oh Alfred was sounding sarcastic today. He must be worried. “Nonetheless, I believe you still have sufficient spares for your uniform while I get this repaired.”

“Might as well get my gloves replaced at the same time.” Tim handed them over. “The wear is starting to catch on my staff.”

Alfred bundled everything up in his arms. “There was a call for you from Master Bruce a short while ago. It would be convenient for you to return it now.”

Tim sighed quietly inside. It had to be important if Bruce wasn’t waiting for office hours tomorrow to call. “I’ll take it, Alfred. Which station is it set up on?”

Even if he had been back now for several months, the Bunker still felt like Dick and Damian’s space, rather than Tim’s. Dick had gracefully made sure there were enough workstations and had updated Tim on all the new passwords and system upgrades, but it was hard to overlook that the space had been established with the expectation that it was for two vigilantes, not three.

Alfred pointed to one of the side terminals. Tim headed over, running his fingers through his hair to fluff it up and get rid of anything weird from being in a cowl for the past few hours. The scheduled call was already lined up on the bottom of the screen when Tim logged in, so he activated it while suppressing a yawn.

Bruce’s face, in the suit but with his own cowl hanging down his back, resolved on the screen almost immediately. He’d been waiting, then. “Tim. You’re in later than expected.”

“My plans for the evening took a bit longer than I anticipated.”

“Anything serious?”

“A potential forced labour factory run by the Golden Dragons. Oracle and I are investigating it.”

“Hrn.” It was a very Bat noise. Slight disapproval of Tim’s priorities, but not enough to say outright.

“What did you need, Bruce?”

“I read your report on the Ünternet.”

That report had been pretty comprehensive, and Barbara had been over it in detail and already asked further questions that Tim had elaborated on. He understood her interest; the Calculator was one of her long term foes and so she’d wanted specific questions answered. “Is there anything that you’d like me to expand on?”

“Why are you working with Lonnie Machin?”

Tim sighed. “Lonnie was paralysed by Ulysses Armstrong while you were away. I found him, got him out of the situation he was in, and convinced him to work with me. Lonnie’s brilliant, and he gets bored easily, and I figured that it was better to channel his impulses to helping us out, rather than leave him on his own to create more trouble.”

Bruce couldn’t really blame him for this. Not after the number of times Bruce had worked with Selina or Harvey or Eddie. On the other hand, he’d never liked Tim’s tendency to team up with whoever was available. The number of times he’d been scolded for teaming up with Helena, for instance. Or Selina, even while Bruce worked with Selina himself.

“Machin is erratic and unstable and highly politically motivated towards violence. Working with him is a risk.”

Bruce Wayne, hypocrite.

“He’s actually been pretty stable since No Man’s Land ended,” Tim pointed out patiently. “Of everyone causing trouble in Gotham when you disappeared, he was the most cooperative and easiest to work with. There were far more dangerous and unpredictable people running around the city.”

Like Scarab. And Ulysses Armstrong. And Steph.

No. Steph was doing better, now she wasn’t trying to follow Bruce’s orders to toughen Tim up. Barbara had told him so. And she’d been a help when Tim returned to Gotham. He was not avoiding her so much as just avoiding further arguments. By staying out of her way.

“So I noticed in the logs. Ulysses Armstrong tried to blow up part of the city, using Machin for assistance.”

Why did Bruce always have to pick and needle away at this?

“He did. Because he was holding Lonnie captive. Sometimes people have to make compromises in situations like that, Bruce.”

“There is no excuse for unleashing someone like Ulysses Armstrong on the city.” Bruce’s voice was inflexible.

The worst part was that Tim, in the dark of the night, agreed with Bruce. Steph’s actions had been reckless and dangerous and hurt him. And yet… “You say that, but she was acting on your orders, you know.”

“What?”

“Stephanie. She was working with Armstrong. Because you told her to. To ‘make me stronger’, she said.”

“We are not talking about Batgirl right now.” Bruce’s voice shaded into a deep growl. “In any event, I never gave her orders to work with criminals.”

Tim felt the rage build up inside him. “No, you never do. You just put people in situations that they can’t escape, and then judge them when they screw up or can’t meet your high standards!”

“Timothy.” The dark growl in Bruce’s voice made Tim’s spine straighten. “We are not having this discussion. I do not expect you to question my methods.” Great. He was getting told off in front of Damian, and Dick hadn’t even come over to back him up. Dick had been in Gotham as much as possible during that period, and had seen what it was like. Bruce hadn’t. And yet there he was, on the other side of the room, tapping away at the main computer and not paying a single bit of attention.

“Bruce.” Tim gritted his teeth and tried to sound as calm as he could. “In that case, please do not question mine. I made a judgement call that it was better to have Lonnie and his keyboard and his MoneySpider pseudonym working for us and providing additional assistance, than to leave him in a medical facility where he might get creative in his boredom.

“You can change the world from behind a keyboard, according to Barbara. And look, isn’t this better than Lonnie spending his time writing long essays and books on the theory of anarchism?”

“Words and a keyboard can change the world,” repeated Bruce, suddenly sounding calmer and thoughtful. “I’d forgotten. I ran into a writer the other day who told me that. Who always carried a computer to type, because words could change reality.”

“Okay?”

“It had just been a long time since our last encounter.” Bruce shook his head. “If you are convinced that this is keeping Machin occupied with something other than causing trouble or writing polemics against the State, I will not interfere with your methods.”

“Okay Bruce. I’ll keep an eye on Lonnie, but at present, is there anything more I can do for you? I’ve got patrol notes to make and a meeting with Lucius at 9:30am.”

“Not for now.” Bruce ended the call.

Wonderful. Tim pulled up his draft patrol notes from earlier in the evening and started annotating his finds at each location. It looked like the League of Assassins were moving personnel around and pulling out of old safehouses; there’d been changes both in the locations that they’d known about previously (and that Ra’s knew they knew about in the never-ending game of cat and mouse he seemed to play with Bruce), and in the locations that Tim had found on the League computers before blowing up all that data. So Ra’s probably didn’t trust anything Tim had been able to access to have remained secret. That was useful to know.

Once he was done and Tim headed upstairs to bed, he suddenly realised that Dick still hadn’t said anything. Not about Bruce being a pain. Not even to twit him about dodging bullets better. Just sat silently at the main computer, working on reports and programming.

It was alarmingly Brucelike of Dick.

Chapter Text

Helena came home from school, hoping Charlie had made dinner like she’d asked. Reports were due in 3 days and she still had comments to go on half of them, there was a drug ring in Coventry she wanted to check in on that she frankly suspected to be operated by the Genovese Sicilian mafia family trying to bust into Gotham, and Barbara had made noises last night about an upcoming undercover op over the weekend with Jason Bard to investigate employee conditions in a LexCorp manufacturing plant in West Virginia.

She needed a full night’s sleep. She needed three weeks off and a spa trip. She needed five minutes to herself.

The house smelled of pasta sauce. Charlie was vibrating near the door as she came in, looking ready to scream. “He won’t tell me what he wants or go AWAY, Helena!”

Why. Why did she decide to dedicate her life to dealing with children. She was the only heir to the Bertinelli fortune, she was probably the third richest person in Gotham, and for some reason here she was. A teacher, foster parent, vigilante, member of the Birds of Prey, reserve member of the Justice League, and, as she walked into the living room, adopted big sister and confidante to one of the biggest terrors in Gotham.

Red Robin was sprawled out on the most comfortable couch in the apartment, boots hanging over the arm, a laptop propped on his stomach. Helena could see the remnants of a packet of honey roasted macadamia nuts sitting next to him that she swore she’d hidden at the back of the pantry out of Charlie’s line of sight as a reward to herself for finishing reports.

Helena sighed. “Can you set the table for dinner, Charlie? It looks like we’ll have three people eating.”

“I told you she’d be fine, Misfit,” said the teenager who’d grown on her like mould.

Charlie stuck her tongue out at Red Robin and then headed to the kitchen with a flounce.

Helena walked over to an angle where she could see Red Robin’s screen. He reacted by closing windows and shutting out of what he’d been up to, but not before she saw the LexCorp logo on the screen.

“Please tell me that was your homework and that you’re not using my wireless to hack Lex Luthor.”

“I won’t tell you, then.” Helena looked at him with her best ‘I can read your mind and you’re not that clever’ look she’d perfected for teaching. Red Robin just smirked at her. “Ok, it’s some work for Jason Bard. Oracle asked me to chase up some leads she hasn’t got time to get to before your thing on the weekend.”

“Next time Charlie asks you to do something, listen to her. She lives in this house. You are a very uninvited guest.”

Red Robin closed his laptop and swung his legs down, straightening up on the couch. “Yes Miss Bertinelli.” He clasped his hands in his lap and pulled his shoulders back in a perfect display of proper posture. “I’m sorry Miss Bertinelli.” He even managed to sound apologetic and not mocking.

“Brat,” Helena laughed, swatting at his shoulder. “Go wash your hands and change into a mask. I’m not having any capes or cowls at the dinner table and I know you’ll have a spare on you somewhere.”

Helena would always feed her Robin (even if he was calling himself Red Robin now). It was one of those things that all the survivors of No Man’s Land had in common. You always offered food, and it was always accepted, no matter what, because it was available now. There were too many shared memories of cold nights curled up with half full bellies, waiting in a city abandoned by everyone else.

While Red Robin was washing up, Helena went into the kitchen to reassure Charlie.

“I’m sorry. He shows up like this every now and then. I didn’t think to warn you because he’s been out of town.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“No. And neither do you.”

“I mean I did see some things on Barbara’s computer systems back in Metropolis…”

“If you saw it on Oracle’s systems, it’s as likely to be one of his fake IDs as anything else. Just like she’s got an alternate set up for you already.”

Charlie pursed her lips. “Are you sure? Because some of it seemed really convincing.”

“That’s what a good fake ID is for,” said Red Robin, arriving at the table with a smile. “Ideally it’s so realistic nobody ever looks any further.”

Charlie looked sceptical. “So how many fakes do you have?”

“That would be telling. But you know, you need a variety. Some to make you older, some in another gender, some just as a serious back up identity you can disappear into.”

“You’ve got an ID that says you’re a girl,” said Charlie disbelievingly.

“Yup.” Red Robin took a bite of his pasta.

“You’re joking.”

“If you say so.”

“Why?”

Red Robin pursed his lips, then looked sideways at Helena. “Infiltration, mostly. Sometimes we need a woman in the role.”

“But why not just ask the Birds of Prey for assistance? There’s so many vigilantes in Gotham!”

Red Robin looked weary. “Because as Helena will no doubt tell you, my boss is the ultimate control freak and sometimes is…untrusting of outsiders. Plus we had a shortage of teenage girls suited to the job.”

Helena snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

“The control freak bit or the shortage of girls?” Red Robin’s lips twitched with amusement.

“You know which bit.”

There was a period of silence, as they all focused on eating.

“Why are you here?”

Tim stared down at his plate. “Batman. It’s just,” he snuck a glance at Charlie, who was listening intently and trying not to look like it, “some days he really sucks, you know?”

“Rob.” Helena pinched her nose. “You’re asking me this?”

“That’s why I knew you’d understand.” He shrugged, gathering the plates together in front of him. “It’s been a hard few months, and just when I thought everything might be getting back to some kind of normal, HE goes and takes off and leaves us in the lurch. And now this.”

“Which of them do you have a problem with at the moment? Or is it just the concept of a Batman in general? Because, Red Robin, there are currently two Batmen, and neither of them are my biggest fans.”

“Nightwing’s normally fine with you.”

“Nightwing’s barely acknowledged me ever since he put on the cowl. The last conversation we had was about me using too much force.”

“Ooof.” Red Robin looked surprised. “So maybe it’s not just me.”

“Considering yourself the centre of the universe is a common teenage trait. Expand your horizons.”

Charlie snorted.

Helena softened. “What’s the issue? It’s with Nightwing, I take it?”

“Yeah. The last week or so.” Red Robin looked frustrated. “I thought we were getting back to normal after I got home, and we were, but the last few days…it’s like he’s forgotten who I am. I could be anyone. Heck, the way he’s acting I might be less trusted than you.”

Helena heroically put the comment aside. She understood what Red Robin meant. “How bad is it?”

“The way he’s treating me?”

“No. On a scale of, oh, Azrael to…let’s say Flash, how is Nightwing acting towards you?”

Red Robin snorted. “Well I’m certainly not in Azrael territory. Or Red Hood, for that matter. It’s more like…hmmm…polite distant acquaintances. You know how he is during a massive reserves call up when he’s commanding ops. Perfectly polite, assumes you’ll do as ordered, too busy for anything more.”

Helena nodded. She did know.

“Who’s Azrael?” Charlie asked. “He’s that guy with the flaming sword, right?”

“It’s the title of the Knight of the Sacred Order of St Dumas, who yes, has a flaming sword,” Red Robin explained, “But I realise that doesn’t mean a lot to you. What Helena meant was a specific Azrael we both used to know.”

“Nightwing hated him,” Helena said.

Red Robin looked nostalgic. “That’s an understatement. It was the easiest way to wind him up, for years.”

“I mean you hated him too.”

“Me? I didn’t hate Azrael. I just had a very specific difference of opinion with him over topics like excessive force and not listening to me and abandoning hostages. Now Nightwing, Nightwing nursed a particular grudge that he refused to ever let go of.” Charlie looked like she was about to ask. Red Robin waved a hand. “I really can’t explain it to you; just know it was both justified and something he hung onto far beyond the point of reason.”

“Nightwing.”

“He’s the ultimate immovable object if you outrage his beliefs, Charlie,” said Helena. “Completely unreasonable.”

“But he’s always so cheerful!”

“Yep. Because that’s part of his act in costume. Which is partly why he hasn’t been acting like that since becoming Batman.” Red Robin sighed.

Starting patrol from Helena’s apartment felt weirdly nostalgic. It wasn’t that this had ever been a thing; but checking gear while getting ready to go out and joking with someone else about vigilante things had been one of the things Tim had missed while he was overseas. And then once he was back in Gotham, it wasn’t the same. Dick and Damian had their own rhythm, different to what Tim had been used to with Bruce (different to what he had with Dick). It was hard not to feel like he was intruding. To feel left out by their team vibes.

Huntress and Misfit had their own plans for the evening, so as they all left Helena’s apartment building they departed in different directions. Misfit bounced over to the rooftop Tim was on a few minutes later to wave goodbye one more time. She handed him an after dinner mint, then disappeared with a giggle – it was clearly part of her training (and a tease from Helena).

He still ate the chocolate, though.

Tim was still in his backup cowl and cape, as Alfred hadn’t had a new or repaired one ready. This one had been with him in Iraq and was more lightly armoured and worn than Tim preferred, with his own hand-sewn repairs made in the Cradle. It was probably smarter to drop by the Bat-Bunker to see if his new gear was ready, and put away his laptop.

Once Helena and Charlie were well out of sight, Tim dropped back down to street level and the alley where he’d parked his motorbike.

Tim still missed the Redbird, but there simply hadn’t been time in the last year to do the upgrades and repairs that he wanted to improve the engine. It was in one of the car lifts back in the Cave, partially disassembled, waiting for Tim to have time to get back to tinkering with it.

At least Damian hadn’t touched it while he was away.

Until that time, Tim was getting by just taking motorbikes out of the general pool. There was nothing particularly fancy about them as Bat vehicles – they had the standard kit and nitro boost setups that made them dubiously street-legal – but they were also easily repaired or replaced if anything went wrong.

As he wound through the streets back to Wayne Tower, Tim took the secret entrance tunnel and triggered the codes to let him in quietly, without setting off any alarms. It was late enough that Batman and Robin had probably already left on patrol.

When Tim pulled into one of the lower parking bays, he saw this was not the case.

Dick was still checking his equipment for the evening before going out on patrol. He was fussing with the mechanism of one of his grapple guns, then moved onto checking Damian’s. Damian handed his grapple over then folded his arms.

Dick was fanatical about grapple maintenance, Tim knew. It had to do with Dick’s thing about catching falling people. He never missed doing his own personal grapple and rigging checks. Even Bruce, even when he and Dick were fighting, would still let Dick look the equipment over.

And Tim was never going to make an issue about it. Not when he had his own little rituals, borne out from his own regrets.

Dick finished the checks, handed back the grapple, and then ruffled Damian’s hair as the kid looked down to attach the gun back to his belt. Damian squawked and ducked away, retreating to a safer space on the other side of the Batmobile, and bent down to check his laces one more time, then stomp his boots.

Dick laughed and said something to Alfred, then pulled open the Batmobile door.

Tim wasn’t jealous. He was not. (Dick and Damian didn’t even appreciate that the new Batmobile was based on The Bug. Same silhouette, and it even flew the same way). It was just…working on the cars together had been his thing with Bruce. It had hurt to come back and see a project that had been theirs taken away from him. Making the car fly hadn’t been the hard part – they’d both gone over Ted’s plans, they knew how it worked – it was about Bruce’s determination to figure out his own way to generate enough lift and stability. And about Tim twitting him when Bruce’s ideas didn’t turn out. And them both ending up covered to their elbows in engine grease.

There would be other cars. But that one had been theirs. (And as close as Tim had thought he’d ever get to flying Ted Kord’s Bug). Seeing it complete and being used by someone else felt weird, when in his head Tim could still hear Alfred coming downstairs to the Cave to sarcastically comment about how far Bruce and Tim had spread components around the garage, the recent sound of an overheating engine being revved, and the fact that dinner was cooling on the table.

Tim had noticed that Alfred hadn’t allowed any of the other project cars to get moved to Wayne Tower.

Tim lurked on the lower level until the Batmobile was safely gone, then headed up the stairs to search through his locker. He heard a pointed cough behind him as he looked through the costume pieces there. No, everything he was wearing was what was in the best shape right now.

“Can I help you?” Tim turned around to find Alfred standing there, Dick’s casual clothes folded over his arm.

“Hey Alfred. I was just looking to see if my new gear was in.”

“I’m afraid it will be a few more days. I believe you have sufficient for the moment?”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, I can get by with this. It’s just a little less armoured than I prefer.”

“Armour is useful when you insist on getting shot at.”

“Alfred!” Tim knew he was whining. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Are you planning to go out this evening? You weren’t home for dinner.”

“Yes, I ate with Huntress.” Alfred’s eyes softened. “Are you running comms tonight?”

“As always, Master Timothy. I expect to hear you on the frequency?”

Alfred could be so pointed.

"Yes Alfred. I'll run a check with you when I'm finished here. I've got a bit of research to do before I head out tonight." Tim moved over to one of the computers and sat down.

There was one thing that Tim could do to check on Dick right now. Maybe there was some chemical or hallucinogen in his system that was affecting Dick’s memory. They all had to take tests after any exposure and regular monitoring tests just in case something was missed.

Tim pulled up his own records on the computer system first. Nothing new there, following his usual baseline. There was nothing that might explain a sudden increase in paranoia (because this wasn’t all in his head). When Alfred moved away, Tim then proceeded to open Dick’s files.

The most recent exposure study was after Dick’s encounter with a hallucinogenic gas released by The Dealer at the Mirror House. The marker that he was still mildly affected by the hallucinogen continued through the next few tests, but it was working its way out of his system. Dick seemed to be testing far more frequently than was routine, so he was probably monitoring the changes.

There were no other possible chemical exposures. Aside from the hallucinogen, Dick’s bloodwork looked perfectly routine.

A dead end. Tim scrubbed his forehead. It would have been too easy just to find that Dick was under some chemical compulsion created by Scarecrow.

Tim hooked up his laptop to charge, double checked that his toolbelts were full, and then ran through a comms check with Alfred, before heading back out. He was planning to swing through even more of the Golden Dragon and League of Assassin sites tonight.

Several hours later Tim was north of Dixon Docks, balancing on the roof of a wharf warehouse, listening to the polluted water of Gotham River lap against the edge of the dock. What he had thought was a goods warehouse for the League of Assassins was indeed full of product, but was clearly being guarded by a different Gotham faction.

Tim clicked on his comm. “Oh, Oracle, wisest of them all?”

“What now, Munchkin?” Barbara sounded amused.

“Have you heard about Penguin or someone else having goons over at the docks recently?”

“Not the western docks,” Barbara said, the sound of her typing filtering through the line. “Has this changed?”

“I’m just seeing a warehouse protected by common for-hire Rogue henchmen. I thought this was a League location.”

“You think someone else has moved into one of Ra’s’ warehouses?”

“Yeah. There’s a distinct fishy smell to this.”

“In terms of the weapons the henches are carrying, or the fresh night air?” joked Barbara.

Tim snorted. “If you think this air is fresh, you haven’t been down by the docks recently. But no, I meant the goons just look extremely suspicious.”

“Ra’s subcontracting out his facilities?” Barbara suggested.

“I know we’ve seen that happen with others, but Ra’s? I can’t imagine he’d stoop that low,” Tim pointed out.

“You may be right about that, Boy Genius. Planning to take a closer look?”

“You know it.” Tim edged along the ridge of the roof, looking for a skylight that wasn’t completely obscured with gull droppings. Hah. There was one, and it wasn’t even properly latched.

Okay, fine, that was suspicious in a warehouse that was probably holding stolen goods, but Tim would take what wins he could get.

He inched the skylight open and after a quick glance down, dropped down to the catwalk ringing the building ceiling.

The space was dark, aside from a small glow at one end, obscured by stacks of crates. Tim crept closer, keeping an eye out for movement. The light was coming under the door of the office; all the blinds on the windows of the room were fully drawn.

Tim quietly abseiled down, keeping an eye on the hired goon standing beside the pool of light. Not exactly subtle. Keeping some crates between him and the hench, he crept over to another wall and leant against it to see if he could hear what was going on inside.

The sounds of a deal being negotiated were clear. Tim tried to pick out the voices talking, but none of them were particularly familiar. Must be a bunch of mid-level muscle.

Then a far too familiar crackly growl sounded in the room. “We have a problem.”

The door crashed open and Tim froze, hoping his cape would blend into the darkness.

“I thought I smelled a little birdie,” said the voice, as a large figure came around the corner, framed in the light. “What are you doing creeping around here?”

“Oh shit.”

Tim stood up and drew his staff as he started backing away. He hit the commline on the side of his cowl, frantically remembering to cue both Oracle and Alfred’s frequencies this time. “Well, good news is I’ve found Killer Croc!” He ducked a blow from Waylon and scuttled backwards, swinging out with his staff to keep Croc at a distance.

“Red Robin!” Barbara was loud in his ear.

“I might need an assist here, Oracle,” said Tim quickly, as Killer Croc’s claws caught on his cape and pulled. “He’s in quite a mood.”

The frequently-repaired cape tore away from his shoulders, shredding in Croc’s claws, and Tim grunted as he felt part of the cowl go with it. His earpiece instantly started making a buzzing noise in his ear as it disconnected from the comm lines, and then fell to the ground with the rest of the torn fabric.

On no. That was the last thing he needed. Fortunately he still had his ordinary mask beneath from earlier. Red Robin turned to Killer Croc and bared his teeth, bringing his staff back up into a guard position. “Now you’ve done it,” he said as he pressed forward in an attack.

Chapter Text

Barbara saw the line drop out and slapped her desk with frustration, rapidly pulling up satellite and cell tower triangulation on the last signal from Red Robin. “I’ve lost Red Robin’s line,” she announced. “A, Red Robin’s last position was in the Upper West Side, in one of the wharf warehouses on the edge of the Finger River.”

“Acknowledged, Miss Oracle,” came Alfred’s voice over her line. “I will direct Batman and Robin there immediately.”

Barbara switched her focus to her own vigilantes. “Huntress, did you get that?”

“I heard, Oracle,” said Helena, sounding slightly out of breath. “We’re on our way as fast as possible. Misfit is ready to start looking, wharf by wharf.” She paused. “He did say Killer Croc, didn’t he?”

“Affirmative,” said Barbara, trying to keep her voice as calm and dry as possible as she typed rapidly. There was no reason to panic yet.

Helena swore. “That’s Croc’s old stomping grounds during No Man’s Land, too. He knows the sewers and storm drains down there better than anyone else in the city.”

“I’m aware, Huntress. Misfit!”

“Yes Oracle?” said Charlie.

“I’m sending you a map of the section of warehouses Red Robin was last seen in. Check them building by building. When you spot either Red Robin or Killer Croc, come back to let me know where they are immediately. Do not engage.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Charlie sounded upbeat. “In and out while spying, my speciality!” Her tracker blipped, and appeared over by the docks.

Barbara saw Helena’s commline switch over to a private connection with her.

“I don’t like this.” Helena sounded on edge.

“There’s no point in worrying about worst case scenarios at this stage.”

“I was trying not to, thanks,” said Helena sarcastically. “I swear, if I have to dredge the river or sewers looking for a body again…”

Barbara gritted her teeth. “I remember that too. This is not the same situation.”

“It sure feels familiar,” Helena retorted.

Barbara, out of instinctual habit, pulled up the Arkham Asylum and Blackgate cell cameras for each of the main Rogues and flicked her eyes over them. “Joker is still locked up. There aren’t any surprises we don’t know about out on the streets.”

Helena was quiet for a moment. “Thanks. For checking.”

“No problem.”

Charlie called in over the comms soon after. “I think I found the warehouse. There’s been a big fight here.” She gave the address.

“Come back to the Aerie now, Misfit!” said Oracle.

“I think I’ll be okay; there’s nobody left here.”

“I’m coming as fast as possible,” Helena said over her comm, “But it’s still going to be another 10 minutes. Go to Oracle, Misfit.”

“She’s here now,” said Barbara. “I’ll debrief her.”

Helena sped up on her motorbike, twisting through the streets of Gotham. She could tell Barbara had her tracker up, as the traffic lights ahead of her kept turning green right before she arrived. It was one of the lesser known benefits of having Oracle on your side. There were many rumours in the city about how Batman and co could travel so fast from one place to another in the Batmobile, but Oracle could and would take over the traffic management system in an emergency.

And a missing Red Robin in a fight with Killer Croc counted as an emergency.

Oracle stayed silent in Helena’s ears as she came in sight of the wharves, counting as she drove along. It was worrying. Usually Barbara would pass on the relevant information as soon as possible. Barbara wasn’t known for prevaricating. If she was concealing it from Helena…it had to be bad.

Helena clicked her commline. “Briefing, O?”

“Please check the area for guards. Red Robin reported several when he was investigating earlier.”

Helena pulled the bike to a stop. The wharf looked deserted, in a way that was unlikely for the area. One of the doors to the building hung open, a hinge ripped out, swaying in the night breeze. Nobody was in sight. She scanned the rooftops around in a full 360°, checking for movement around the edges, for the glint of light reflecting off a weapon. Nothing.

“We’re clear.”

Charlie appeared by Helena’s side. She was subdued and silent.

“Where did you see traces of the fight?” Helena asked. It was, she supposed, a teaching moment. The door hanging off its hinges was a pretty good giveaway, but Charlie was not yet familiar with the expected level of repair around these docks.

“Inside.” Charlie started forward. “Barbara said it would be better if you looked it over for me.”

And that wasn’t ominous at all.

Inside, the building was dark. Helena pulled out a flashlight. The signs of a fight were obvious, in the fallen crates, some broken and kicked aside. She made her way through, tracking the line of violence.

Her flashlight beam caught on a pool of dark on the floor. Helena bent down and picked up the torn cape, her fingers finding the broken cowl.

“Oracle.”

“How bad is it?”

Helena took a deep breath. This was not the same situation, she told herself. Red Robin was older and smarter now. “I’m holding Red Robin’s cape. It…” her voice faltered for a moment. “It looks like it was torn from his body.”

She drew the cape through her hands, noting the patched repairs, the ragged edges, and the fact that the cowl was still mostly attached. All she could hear was a buzzing in her ears as she cast around with her flashlight, seeing the signs of a fight but no blood, no places where a body might have crashed into a wall or a crate and broken it. One of the crates nearby had the lid open and inside Helena could see guns packed in a way that suggested the warehouse was being used by gun smugglers, but there were no bullet holes or spent cartridges around.

“...Huntress. Huntress. Helena!” Barbara’s voice was urgent on the commline.

“There’s no blood,” Helena said absently, still looking around. She took a deep breath. “Oracle. There’s a fight but no blood.”

“Okay. Can you see where they went?” Barbara still sounded anxious.

“I’m going to do a walk through, but we’re right over the river and the stormwater drains. You know where they probably went.”

“Batman and Robin are about three minutes out,” Barbara reported. “You should have backup soon.”

Helena and Charlie swept the warehouse. Apart from some more toppled crates containing weapons, there were no signs of where Croc and Red Robin had gone. Helena noticed a manhole cover out of place in the street as Batman and Robin dropped into the scene.

“Huntress, report.” Batman sounded gruff and almost had the voice down perfectly, Helena noted. If you hadn’t worked with him as long as Helena had, and didn’t see the difference in height, you could almost pretend it was the real Batman, not Nightwing.

The demand was aggravating, but now was not the time to fight over it. Red Robin was in trouble.

“Red Robin encountered Killer Croc in what appears to be the middle of a gun smuggling transaction. They engaged and someone tore his cape and cowl off.” Helena handed over the garment. “I think the fight has moved into the stormwater channels.”

Robin sniffed, looking at the torn cape. “Careless, letting a rogue get his hands on you. A competent vigilante would never let him in arm’s reach.”

He sounded so young. Helena could see so many of her past students in this small child, in his bluster and bravado. He was also not what was needed right now.

“Have you ever even seen a picture of Killer Croc?” Charlie asked curiously. “Because I have, when I was reading his file. Oracle and Huntress made me read about all the Arkham rogues that are currently free. He’s seven and a half feet tall and built like a truck. He eats people. He’s got scaly skin that’s almost bullet proof…”

“He is not bullet proof,” cut in Batman, with a growl. “He is however extremely tough, and nobody should be fighting Croc alone.”

“In that case, we shouldn’t be leaving another vigilante alone with him for this long,” said Helena sharply. Every minute Red Robin was out of sight was another moment something might be going wrong. Her hand moved to the crossbow by her side, reminding herself where it was. It could get through Croc’s hide.

Red Robin wouldn’t want her to kill Croc if he was dead. If he was still alive however, Helena felt that Robbie could deal with her roughing Croc up a bit. As a consequence for putting them all through this again.

“This manhole cover is the only sign of where they might have gone,” Helena explained. “I figure we start here rather than the river.”

Batman gave a short nod. “Lead on.”

Misfit bounced down to the stormwater drain, landing neatly on a ledge, well clear of the murky water. Her shoes squelched in the muck. “You don’t want me to go in there, do you?” she asked anxiously.

Helena sighed and dropped straight down into the centre of the channel, landing with a splash. At this point she was not going to be precious about the amount of cleaning her costume would need later.

Batman landed with a squelch next to her, Robin more fastidiously, even as his high laced boots sunk into the sludge under the water. There were wet splashes of muddy water up the sides of the channel, clearly recent. “Upstream?” Batman asked.

“Might as well.” They started wading forward, Misfit bouncing from ledge to ledge in line of sight, still trying to keep her sneakers dry.

As they waded upstream, it was obvious that they were heading in the right direction. More signs of disturbance became evident along the route. A grate torn off its hinges. Muddy bootprints on the ledges Misfit was using, and the imprint of a staff beside them.

The echoes in the tunnel brought the sound of a fight ahead. The group sped up.

A cavern opened up ahead of them, one of the many caves in the Gotham stormwater and sewer systems. The city was riddled with them in various states of repair; some had fallen in or become blocked during the earthquake. Some had been reinforced with brickwork and concrete over the years. Some seemed like old secret tunnels from colonial days, transformed by the passage of time into part of the municipal water system.

Killer Croc was pacing one end of the cavern, snarling. One arm hung loose by his side, disabled by the batarang poking out of the meat of his shoulder. Red Robin was perched high up one of the cavern walls on a small natural ledge, holding his bo staff in front of him defensively, and occasionally swinging it when Croc got too close.

Helena didn’t even stop to think. She drew her crossbow, aimed it, and sent a bolt into Killer Croc’s other shoulder. He turned around with a snarl and headed rapidly towards them.

Helena reloaded.

“Huntress, couldn’t you have waited?” sighed Batman, as he drew several batarangs from his belt and threw them at Croc. The charging rogue dodged two, but the third lodged in his disabled arm. Batman nodded at Robin, by his side, and charged into the fray.

They slammed into Killer Croc at the same time with simultaneous roundhouse kicks, which he shrugged off. Robin followed up with a punch; he pulled back immediately after with a hiss, staring at his hand as he shook out his fingers. Helena snorted. He’d been warned about Croc’s skin.

Batman instead aimed his punch into a nerve cluster of the arm with the crossbow bolt in it, ducked away from Croc’s relatatory swing, and followed it up with a showy spin kick to Croc’s head. It was a very Nightwing move.

“Come on,” Helena said to Misfit, as they edged their way around the fight towards Red Robin. Helena kept her crossbow fixed on Killer Croc, looking for a promising target, but things were too confused for her to take another shot.

She glanced away for a moment, to look up at Red Robin. “How are you doing up there?”

Red Robin gave a short laugh. “Never better. Growing up in the secret tunnels under Gotham prepares you for moments like this.”

“There are secret tunnels?” Charlie asked.

“He’s joking. He means the ones we’re in right now,” Helena answered. “Need a hand getting down, Robbie?”

“Well, if you’re offering, I won’t say no,” said Red Robin, sounding slightly pained, the angle of his head making it clear he was tracking the fight below, not Helena and Charlie.

“Okay!” said Charlie brightly, and abruptly disappeared.

“Misfit no!” Helena gasped. That was not what she’d meant. Charlie reappeared next to Red Robin on the ledge.

There was a moment when everything looked safe, and then the ledge crumbled under the additional weight. Misfit and Red Robin fell.

Misfit blinked out as she bounced, as she was trained, reappearing next to Helena with a gasp. Red Robin dropped his staff and tried to rotate in the air, then slammed into the water below. His body was still.

Tim came to to the sound of people yelling at each other. He tried to sit up and focus his eyes to look what was going on, but hands grabbed each of his shoulders and held him in position.

“Stay still! Huntress told me you were not allowed to move!” said Misfit on one side.

“You need a concussion check. It would be a shame if you lost what few brain cells you have,” said Damian, Damian? from the other side.

Tim squinted at the yelling figures. They resolved into Batman and Huntress, in each other's face, standing over a tied-up Killer Croc.

“I’ve told you before not to charge in without checking the situation,” Dick said furiously, using his additional height to loom somewhat over Helena. “That was completely irresponsible of you!”

“Oh like you’re doing better,” said Helena in a cutting tone. “At least I show up for emergency calls!”

“Your protégé caused that ledge to collapse!”

“Your Robin didn’t even know how to punch Croc without hurting himself!”

“You deliberately endangered everyone in the cavern by not waiting for my signal!”

“It was my search, Batman! I was leading it! It was not your call!”

“If you’re so eager to take responsibility for this whole operation, then you had better sort out the mess you made, Huntress.”

“Oh no. I don’t follow your orders, Batman, and Robins are not my responsibility! I have already asked Oracle to call the GCPD and will be taking Croc to be picked up and taken back to Arkham. You can check your own partner for a concussion!”

“Red Robin isn’t my partner,” said Batman.

Tim bit down on his lip. On either side of him, Charlie and Damian both hissed.

Helena reached down and grabbed Killer Croc’s arm. He was still conscious, Tim noted, and tied up with a grapple cord. “Come on Waylon. You walk with me out of this drain, or I use you for target practice. Misfit!”

Charlie hopped to her feet, patting Tim on the shoulder one more time. “I’m really sorry for making you fall, Red Robin,” she said solemnly. “I’d better help Huntress.” She trudged over to stand by Helena. Killer Croc, who had clambered to his feet, bared his teeth at Charlie, and she jumped back a little and made sure she was safely on the other side of Helena to Croc.

Dick came over and knelt down next to Tim, running an impersonal hand over his neck and shoulders.

“I’m sore, but it’s a dull pain, not sharp,” Tim reported in answer to Dick’s questions. “Can I sit up now?” He got a nodded yes.

Damian hovered by Dick’s side as Tim gingerly levered himself up to a sitting position. It still hurt, but in the sort of way he was used to and could ignore, particularly after a few painkillers. Dick sent Damian off to go and scout and retrieve batarangs from around the cavern.

“Can you take your mask off? I need to check your pupils.” Dick said gently, then started to run through the basic series of concussion questions.

As Tim pulled off his mask and steadily answered each question in turn, he realised there was one really obvious question that Dick skipped. “Aren’t you going to ask me my name?”

“We’re vigilantes,” Dick explained in a patient tone of voice. “It’s very rude to ask a hero what their real name is, particularly while you may be mentally compromised.”

And while yes, that was standard policy on mixed missions where some people had secret or non-public identities, this was Dick. He knew who Tim was. There was nobody here to overhear. In any normal circumstance Dick wouldn’t hesitate to get Tim to recite his full name.

But these clearly still were not normal circumstances.

Tim followed the beam of light that Dick shone into his left pupil, and then the right. He answered all of the questions without any of the in-jokes or silly remarks he’d usually throw into the mix to make Dick groan and shake his head. The one time he said “Lex Luthor” to the question about the President, just to make Dick groan, Dick instead looked even more concerned until Tim corrected the answer to Obama.

“You really don’t remember who I am, do you?” said Tim with a sigh. It was impossible to ignore the fact that Dick was still treating him like a random acquaintance.

“You’re Red Robin,” said Dick in his ‘talking to injured people’ voice. His Robin voice.

“No, I mean you don’t remember a single thing about our relationship, do you?”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t remember what you’re talking about.” The look in Dick’s eyes was like he was politely humouring this whole conversation, and filing away notes about concussion symptoms.

“Don’t you remember that we fight crime and corruption…”

“And never swerve from the path of righteousness,” completed Dick automatically out of habit. There was no sign of additional recognition in his eyes. The oath had not jarred anything loose in Dick’s memory.

It had been a long shot, Tim knew. Dick wasn’t Bruce, with his habit of creating backup plans for backup plans. But still, he felt disappointed it had not worked.

“Okay. Hmm.” Tim chewed his lip. “Oh! How do you feel about Jean-Paul Valley?”

“Jean-Paul? He’s back?” Dick drew up and started glowering. It looked like an unconscious action, Tim noted. “What do you know about Valley?”

“He’s dead, Batman,” Tim said patiently. “He’s really really dead.”

“There wasn’t a body.”

“I heard he got resurrected as a Black Lantern, he’s dead. The new Azrael, Michael Lane, isn’t though.”

“Oh, Lane.” Dick relaxed a little but still looked put out. “How do you know Lane anyway?”

This was getting ridiculous. “He stabbed me the other week, remember? With both of his swords?”

Dick absently pressed a hand against the Bat over his chest, then converted the move to checking his gauntlets. Hah. Tim had thought that the whole getting stabbed thing had hurt Dick more than he was willing to admit. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Dick didn’t seem to remember anything.

Dick eventually decided that Tim was safe to move, but that he needed a further checkup, as he could not rule out a concussion. He watched Tim like a hawk as Tim got up and walked across the room without wincing or wobbling. But as they exited the drains to street level and the waiting Batmobile, Dick didn’t take Tim to the Bunker and Alfred for medical attention. Dick, after loading Tim into the Batmobile, took him to Leslie’s clinic.

Normally, Tim would have been fighting this the whole way. Leslie was far more likely to fuss over a possible concussion and insist on an extended recovery period. But on this occasion, Tim suspected the reason was far more simple; Dick apparently didn’t even realise Tim knew Alfred’s identity. Even though they were living in the same penthouse apartment.

To be fair, they’d both been busy this week, and barely run into each other when not in costume. But still. This was utterly ridiculous.

Tim cooperated with the whole rigamarole of getting to the clinic as patiently as he could, trying to ignore Damian sitting next to him and poking him in the side every five minutes to demand his attention. It was frustrating. He didn’t have a concussion. And even if he did, he certainly didn’t want or need Damian being the one to monitor him. But it was Damian or nobody, as Dick was driving, so Tim put up with it.

Leslie ushered them into an empty treatment room as soon as they arrived, wrinkling her nose a little as she looked between them.

“Red Robin has a possible concussion. Could you look him over for treatment?” Dick asked in his most Batman voice. Even though it was Leslie.

Leslie smiled at Tim. “What was it this time?”

Tim looked down at the pool of water slowly gathering around his feet, seeping out of his costume. “I fell off a ledge during a fight with Croc and hit my head. I’ve passed field concussion checks; this is really just a confirmation check.”

Leslie clicked her tongue. “You know that head injuries are nothing to make light about. Go and take a shower and wash your hair; I’ll leave a set of scrubs out for you.”

Tim gave in and cooperated. He cleaned up, got changed, sat through a full concussion check with Leslie (which was fine! Just as he’d said!), had several small scrapes cleaned and bandaged, waited while his costume was rinsed out and quickly run through the clinic’s dryer, and got dressed again so he could leave the clinic as Red Robin, just like he’d arrived.

When he entered the waiting room to leave the clinic, however, there was nobody waiting for him. Dick and Damian were gone.

Chapter Text

With no one to herd him off to bed and Alfred to fuss over, Tim took a detour on his way home.

Even for Gotham, the brownstone that Tim was standing in front of gave off creepy vibes. The stonework was elaborately carved around the lintels and a pair of gargoyles perched by the upstairs windows, glaring down at passers by.

The sodium yellow streetlights in the street let shadows drop across the carvings, making them look like they were moving and tracking those who passed in the street below, when the light flickered. It was a common technique used in construction across the city; many of the old stonemasons had added it to their carvings, letting their gargoyles and grotesques leer out across the city to ward off the curses and evil soaked into the bedrock of Gotham.

The crouched gargoyles, in the shadowed, shifting light, could be confused for a pair of Gotham vigilantes, swathed in capes to mimic the wings. Dick had made a game of it with Tim, when Tim was younger and still learning how to be a vigilante; looking like a gargoyle was one way to stay concealed on a stakeout. Dick had been so good at it he didn’t even need to rely on the assistance of a cape to soften his outline and suggest wings. (Dick had also made a game out of hiding as a gargoyle and dropping down from above on Tim, to ‘improve his situational awareness’, when they were both out in the city on the same night, or on Azrael to scare him at any opportunity possible).

To those in the know, this pair of gargoyles were an advertisement and warning about the building’s owner. The one on the left was modelled on Etrigan.

Red Robin knocked on the front door. The sound echoed on the other side, through the house.

The door opened and a tall, brown haired man with a wide white streak running over his head from his widow’s peak, wrapped in an elaborate dressing gown, glared down at Tim.

“It’s never a good evening when one of you lot comes to visit.” Jason Blood looked wide awake despite the hour, tapping his fingers against the doorframe.

“I need your help,” said Tim. “I think Batman is under some sort of spell or compulsion.”

Blood sighed. “You’d better tell me about it privately.” He turned and stepped out of the doorway. Tim followed him inside, shutting the heavy door behind him.

“I thought I heard the Justice League sorted all that out months ago,” said Jason Blood as he led Tim through hallways lit with flickering candles and torches down to the cellar. Tim tried not to be too obvious as he glanced around; for a demonologist, Blood fully committed to the aesthetic.

“It’s not the time travel thing, and it’s not that Batman,” Tim explained. “He’s out of town right now. I mean the one who has been looking after Gotham all year.”

“You mean Nightwing,” said Blood.

Tim sighed. “We’re not supposed to be that obvious about it, but yes.”

Blood stopped in a large vaulted room, where the walls were decorated in old paintings and further gargoyles snarled from the corners of the room, and motioned to a pair of chairs by the fireplace. “Sit down and explain your concerns.”

“You believe me?”

“I believe you have enough sense not to seek me out without a very good reason.”

Tim perched on the edge of the nearer chair and gripped his hands in his lap. “I first noticed the situation about a week ago, now. I ran into Batman while on patrol on a number of occasions and he reacted oddly to my presence. It became obvious, at least to me, that he couldn’t recognise me.”

“Tell me if I’m incorrect, but haven’t you changed your costume recently?” Blood looked pointedly at Tim’s outfit. Which was a bit piecemeal after the night Tim had had, but was still clearly not his old Robin costume.

“Yes, but this came on well after that. I don’t think this is some short term memory thing. There was an incident last night, and I ended up having a long conversation with Batman. He had no idea of who I was, and more seriously, did not recall anything we’d previously done together.”

“So you suspect magic of some sort?”

“I can’t think what else it could be. We’ve got tests for all the normal compulsion drugs and toxins from various Rogues, which we test for regularly, and there’s nothing obviously different in his recent results. I’ve tried to break hypnosis with trigger phrases that might have helped, and none of them worked. And I seem to be the only person he’s forgotten – he’s reacting normally to everyone else. Magic seemed the only explanation that made sense. So. What is there that could remove someone’s memories of a person like this?”

Blood gazed into the fire. “There are flowers and herbs of course. Poppy. Dogwood. Charms involving those can take away memories, though usually not quite in such a targeted fashion.

“More likely though, you should get a magic user to see if they can see a spell around him, or find out if he’s been exposed to an artefact or item or substance that has made him forget. And then, of course, he might have traded his memories to a demon.”

Tim looked sharply up. “That seems unlikely.”

“I am a demonologist,” Blood pointed out. “There is always the possibility that someone has made a deal with a devil. But I have not noticed the presence of any other demons in Gotham in recent months. Not since your Batman returned.”

“Do you mean you sense them earlier, like during the Black Lanterns?” Tim asked.

Blood laughed, shortly. “No. It was some time after that. It seemed that someone was trying to complete the ritual that summons the demon Barbatos.” Blood hummed to himself. “It is not the only time that I’ve noticed that ritual in recent years. Batman, your Batman, has consulted with me about it before. The cult associated with the Bat comes and goes.”

“Would you be able to break such a spell?”

“It depends on what has caused it. But if you can find out what Nightwing has been exposed to, then I would be willing to try and remove the effects.”

“Thank you,” said Tim.

“Don’t thank me yet. If you do identify any possible causes, you would need to bring me the item to examine, and I would also need to examine Nightwing himself.”

“That can be arranged.” Tim would drag Dick down here by force, or trick him into coming, or whatever was necessary, to fix this. “It’s enough to have a target to investigate now.”

The next afternoon, Tim let himself in through the vigilante side entrance at the Aerie and took the elevator up to the top floor. Barbara had left a message on his cell demanding that he drop by as soon as possible. As the doors slid open on her computer room, Barbara swung her chair around and looked at Tim.

“Come here,” she ordered. “I need to see you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Barbara,” Tim said as he walked over to her. “I’m sorry my commline went out on you.”

“Don’t you scare me like that again!” Barbara scolded as she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned forward, resting her head against his chest. Tim’s arms came up and around her shoulders, hugging back. “It was no more fun a second time around than it was the first.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I know. You never do. But your line dropping out right after you told me you’d found Killer Croc!”

“It wasn’t exactly fun for me either,” Tim pointed out.

“Oh, she’s had a full report from me,” said Helena behind them. Tim straightened up and turned to see Huntress leaning against a table near the windows. “I got to explain to Oracle, in detail, how I found your torn costume, again, and you were nowhere nearby. Can you please stop losing clothes when you’re fighting?”

“I didn’t do it deliberately!”

“And that really makes it better when I’m wondering if I’m about to find your corpse. Or your skeleton.”

Tim sighed. “I’m sorry, Helena.”

“You’d better be. Get over here, brat.”

As Tim walked towards her, Helena dragged him in for another hug. He hugged back as hard as he could, feeling her arms shaking a little. “Twice was enough. Don’t make me come looking for you a third time.”

“I really didn’t mean for things to go that way.”

“On the upside, I do believe you about Batman. He’s acting completely unlike himself.”

“Is that all it takes? Me almost dying?”

Helena gave a short laugh. “For anyone who was there the last time we all thought you were dead, it’s more than enough. There was not a scrap of panic that I saw.”

Tim let go of Helena and stepped away, looking between her and Barbara. “I went to see Jason Blood last night.”

“After the fight?”

“Yeah, after I left Leslie’s – who said I was fine, by the way – I had a talk with him about what’s been happening. Blood agreed that it sounded like magic, for such a quick change in personality. He also thought it might be a demon.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a mystery on your hands,” Barbara joked. “Good thing I’ve got a team of my own to help you investigate it.”

Tim blinked. “You want to help?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” asked Barbara. “What’s the point in being the best information broker in the community if I don’t use it for my family?”

Tim felt a lump in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

“Are you making him cry?” asked Dinah from the doorway in an interested tone of voice. “I wasn’t sure the Bats did that.” Charlie popped her head around Dinah as well, then headed for a comfortable chair.

Tim turned and made sure to grin cheekily at Black Canary. “Oracle here is offering me the combined powers of the Birds of Prey to investigate my mystery.”

“What’s the mystery?”

“Why is Nightwing acting like he’s forgotten who I am, and is there a magical reason?”

“He’s been complaining to us all week about it,” Barbara said, gesturing everyone over to sit down at the table by the windows.

Dinah took her seat and looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Has anyone checked for a mindwipe yet?”

Helena hissed. Barbara looked away. Tim shrugged. “The only person he’s not reacting to is me, and it would be pretty specific for someone to deliberately alter his memories to remove one person. It could be, but I think something he’s come into contact with may have caused it.”

“I could ask J’onn to take a look,” offered Dinah. “I…probably can’t or shouldn’t ask Zatanna. Under the circumstances.”

“Would J’onn help?” Helena asked. “Is he talking to you right now?”

“In this case, he would if I asked,” said Dinah confidently. “He likes and respects Nightwing. He wouldn’t even need to be nearby to check. He doesn’t like having to do this sort of thing but he knows why it can be necessary. Especially if it’s just to rule something out.”

“That would be great. This is really turning into an old fashioned Birds of Prey operation,” said Tim, looking over at Dinah, who grinned back at him.

“Excuse me,” said Charlie crossly, “You’re not a Bird.”

Tim pointed at the symbol on his chest. “It’s Red Robin. Besides, I’ve been a reserve longer than most people here.”

Dinah was looking dangerously misty eyed. “Back when it was you and Ted and Nightwing as my backup, yeah.”

“Back when the flirting over comms never stopped,” agreed Tim. “My poor impressionable ears…”

“Want to investigate my Crays, Ted,” carolled Helena.

“Oh Nightwing stayed over last night but it wasn’t like that, Dinah,” joked Dinah.

“I seem to remember you peppering Ted with technical questions, Rob,” said Barbara grumpily. “In fact I remember a time when you kicked Nightwing out of my apartment because you wanted to talk computers to Ted so much.”

Helena smiled at Charlie. “He’s been the team’s little brother brat since before there was a team. Unofficial reserve status ever since the first time I bailed him out of trouble with an Odessa gang.”

“Hey. HEY. If I remember correctly I was the one who pushed for you to help with the Clench rounds one and two, and your first Birds of Prey mission was right after that.”

“Which Babs was totally against,” remembered Dinah, still looking soft. “But yes, he’s been hanging around forever.”

“Why did I let any of you into my new Aerie?” Barbara asked the view, looking away from everyone else. “It was so peaceful here, up above the city, and then I had a moment of weakness and coded entries for you evil harpies and the Teen Wonder. I don’t know why I did that; I haven’t even got a thank you note for my help from any of you for years.”

Tim bit his lip. “I didn’t realise you’d missed them.”

Helena leaned over to Dinah to whisper, quite loudly, “He wrote Oracle thank you notes? How did she get the oversocialised kid and I got the food stealing brat?”

“She used to have one tacked up by her computers,” Dinah whispered back. “Very careful copperplate handwriting. I think she kept it up to shame all the other vigilantes visiting.”

“I can hear you, you know,” snapped Barbara.

Charlie looked between the adults and Tim. “I take it back. You definitely fit in here.”

Tim nudged her side with an elbow. “She trusts you too, you know. You wouldn’t have Aerie access otherwise.”

Charlie looked doubtful. “Yeah but I can bounce in anywhere. Keeping me out is the difficulty.”

“She didn’t even put Black Bat on the list,” said Tim. “Barbara’s little sister.”

“Now don’t you start that again,” said Barbara, turning around.

“I’m just saying, you gave Hank Hall access, but not Black Bat?”

“She’ll get access when she’s based back in Gotham. Until then it’s safer to restrict the list to people operating in the city right now.”

“So what’s the reason for no Robin?”

Barbara looked pleased with herself. “That’s between me and Batman. Robin doesn’t need another voice confusing him on his commline yet. And anyway, I thought you were just complaining about being in the middle of our disputes.”

Tim felt something click into place in his mind. “This is all you two playing ‘who has the more annoying protégé’ isn’t it? It’s some beef you had while I was away…”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” said Barbara, now sounding exceedingly smug. “In any case, given recent events, I can’t say I was wrong in my judgement of the matter.”

“Didn’t they get the control chip out?”

“The more important question is ‘why was it overlooked in the first place’, I think.”

Charlie leaned over. “Control chip? Is that why the new Robin is so…so…” She seemed lost for words.

“No, unfortunately he came to us that way,” Tim murmured back. “But it certainly didn’t help. Batman keeps telling me he’s been doing the best he can.”

Dinah headed off to find some privacy while she called J’onn. “Just in case,” she said. “I might need to talk quickly. But hopefully he can check right away.”

Barbara turned back to her computer and started typing away. Tim took over one of the spare computer terminals and started searching for the demon that Blood had mentioned.

The first match he found was some old notes of Bruce’s that dated back to when Tim was still in training. It described a historical blood sacrifice ritual to summon Barbatos, the Bat Demon, and Riddler forcing Batman to complete the steps of the ritual. Tim paused, looking at the specifics. The steps involved in summoning the demon were fairly gruesome. Particularly the description of what Riddler had done to a baby. The bones associated with the ritual and accompanying curse were laid to rest in the mausoleum on the Manor grounds. It didn’t seem immediately relevant, but a possible avenue of investigation.

Dinah came back about half an hour later. “J’onn took a look, after I explained the situation. He said there was something strange about Nightwing’s mind, but he couldn’t see that any magic user or psychic had tampered with it. He’s reluctant to investigate further at this time, unless we find anything compelling, particularly without Nightwing’s permission.”

“So no mind wipe spell?” asked Barbara.

“No. And I’m not surprised. You said the change in behaviour was really recent?” Dinah looked over at Tim, who nodded. “Well that tracks. J’onn said if there was any recent manipulation it would be really obvious to him, and he didn’t see that, and, uh, last time we had this problem, the change in behaviour was immediate after the adjustment.”

“Thanks for checking,” said Tim.

Barbara nodded. “I know it must have been difficult for you.”

“Well, J’onn wasn’t thrilled,” said Dinah philosophically, “but he understood why I was asking. And why it was me, in particular.”

Chapter Text

Barbara had pulled a feed of all the uploaded video and audio records from the Bat-Bunker, various vehicles, and masks for the last few months and had run the footage through an algorithm to look for anything strange that stood out. “The problem is Dick doesn’t remember you, isn’t it?” she said to Tim. “So I’ve compiled the times that Dick’s mentioned you.”

“Have you reviewed it yourself?” asked Tim as she transferred the files to his screen and he pulled on a set of headphones.

“No, I thought this level of nosiness and snooping was more up your alley.” Tim looked over at Barbara and raised an eyebrow. She laughed. “Okay, you’ve known me too long to fall for that. It was more that I thought you’d prefer to have less people looking over this.”

“Thanks, Babs.” Tim turned his attention to the screen in front of him.

Barbara had searched through records all the way back to when Tim had left Gotham. He sped through the recording of that last fight in the Cave – not really something he wanted to dwell on (he’d replayed the conversation in his mind enough times) – and skipped through the next few files, working his way forward.

“Lose the attitude, Robin. I can still offer Tim Drake his old job back.” The recording came from the Batmobile. Tim’s breath caught for a moment at the sarcasm. No. No, he couldn’t deal with that right now. It sounded wrong, but he wasn’t wallowing in what could have beens right now.

The next one he stopped at was equally stunning.

“It looks like Tim Drake was right all along.” The words rang in his ears, sounding echoey and far away. Tim habitually glanced down at the time stamp – close to when he broke out of the Cradle – and paused the tape as he took a few deep breaths. Dick had said that before Tim had come home the second time.

It sounded weird – who was Dick talking to that he kept calling Tim, Tim Drake? – but it was an acknowledgment that Tim had never expected to get.

No wonder Dick had agreed with him as soon as he had explained his theory. Dick had already started to believe.

When Tim listened to more of the file around the soundbite, he became more and more confused. Dick had tried to resurrect Bruce? In a Lazarus Pit?

“You hypocrite,” he muttered to himself. “It won’t be the same, Tim, you said. You don’t know that his soul will come back, you said. Where does it stop? you said. Glad to hear you listened to your own advice.” It was unfair. Tim had gone off on a quest and cooperated with Ra’s Al Ghul in his quest to find Bruce. Dick had instead faced a decision over whether Bruce was more important than his principles; whether it was worth risking everything to get a Bruce that might not be quite himself.

He’d been there too. Knowing that Dick was also not strong enough in the face of such temptation – it hurt. Dick had been able to talk him down, in Tibet. There had been nobody able to do that for Dick in England.

“Are you all right over there, Short Stuff?” Barbara’s voice cut through his reverie.

“Oracle, did you know Dick tried to resurrect Bruce?”

“I heard something about it but never got the details. Why?”

“He used a Lazarus Pit. We’ve been looking for interactions with magic. Who else was there who might know what happened?”

It turned out there was one person who had been there through the attempt to resurrect Bruce, who would also likely be willing to talk to Tim about what had gone on. He called Beryl.

“Yeah, your Batman brought the decayed corpse of what he thought was the old Batman to Rendle Colliery. It was right creepy.” Squire sounded like she was still creeped out.

“Was that your first Lazarus Pit? What did it look like?”

“I’m not in a hurry to see another, let’s say. And I thought you’d seen a Pit before. It looked like a lake of boiling lava.”

“Lava. So it was red?”

“More orangey but yes. Does the colour matter?”

“It varies in the records. Most of the ones I’ve seen are green.”

“Well this one was decidedly not green. And the body was in there for over an hour before it resurrected and came stumbling out towards us.”

“An hour?” That seemed an awfully long time for the resurrections Tim had seen. He wasn’t an expert, and he’d never seen a long-dead body revived, but usually it was pretty quick.

“Yeah. The second time was a lot faster than the first.”

“Beryl. Someone else went into the Pit? Not just the clone?”

“Didn’t you know that? Batman put Batwoman in it, after she’d been injured in a rockfall.”

“Huh. Did Batman touch the Pit at all?”

“Oh yeah. He waded right in carrying Batwoman. But he was in full costume.”

“The costume isn’t fully waterproof,” said Tim absently. Dick had gone into the Pit? “How deep did he go?”

“At least waist deep before he put Batwoman in to soak. Then he climbed out.”

“Has anyone touched the Pit since?”

“Nah, it’s well locked down. The mine itself is now Crown land so Her Majesty’s Forces have it locked up to keep anyone out. Knight and I are keeping an eye on it too.”

“Hmmm. Thanks, Beryl.”

“Any time. You know you’re always welcome in England; we’ve saved each other enough times.”

So Dick had been in a Lazarus Pit, though not for long, and a while back. The same pit that the dead fake Bruce, a clone made by Darkseid, had been soaking in for over an hour.

Tim turned to Barbara. “What do we have on Lazarus Pits?”

Barbara pulled up the database of information they had on Lazarus Pits, compiled from both the Bats and the Birds of Prey’s research. As they sorted through, there was little that Tim had not already seen and read. Known locations of destroyed Pits. Bane’s quest to eliminate them all. An explanation of how the Fountain of Life differed from an ordinary Lazarus Pit (which Tim had not fully understood, as it mostly sounded like Bruce trying to rationalise something mystical the Sensei had explained to him). An approximated list of a recipe that Bruce had apparently used to create a Lazarus Pit in the Tuvan Ruins in Siberia at one point. And, interestingly, a report from Cass that mentioned she had encountered a Lazarus Pit while searching for her mother, Shiva.

Cass’ reports were usually dictated by speech recognition software. The details of her fight with Shiva were definitely less thorough than Bruce let the rest of them get away with filing, but there was enough there for Tim to realise there had been something weird about this Pit. Cass had mentioned a ‘burning woman’ who could raise the dead.

With a 13 hour time difference, Cass might still be awake in Hong Kong. Tim placed a video call.

The call connected and Cass’s face appeared on the screen. She was stripped down to the sports bra she routinely wore under her costume, towelling off her hair. Some of it was sticking straight up. Cass had to be getting ready to go to bed.

Cass smiled. “You called?”

“I’m glad you’re still up. I’ve got a problem you can help me with.”

Cass set the towel aside. “Go ahead.”

Tim explained their investigations into Lazarus Pits. “And it seems there was something different or off about the Pit that Dick used. And I noticed that you had seen a Pit that could raise the dead?”

“Yes. In Bosnia. Nyssa Raatko said she altered the Pit to bring back Nora Fries.”

“Wait. Nora Fries? Victor’s wife?”

“Yes. It did not work well.”

“She was this burning woman you mentioned?”

Cass nodded. “She could throw fire and make the dead live.”

“The dead?”

“There were many skeletons to fight.”

“Did Nyssa tell anyone what she did to the Pit?”

“She kept it a secret.”

“And now she’s dead,” Tim mused. “Hmm. What colour was the Pit?”

“Orange,” said Cass. Her face went distant for a moment. “Orange and the liquid felt thick.”

Another orange Pit. Could it be that the green Pits were closer to Ra’s original recipe and the orange ones were altered for a different purpose?

“Thanks, Cassie.”

“Do you think the Pit changed Dick somehow?” Cass asked.

“Perhaps. He didn’t report any effects from entering the Pit afterwards, but he did fly all the way back to America immediately afterwards. I think something strange may have happened in that Pit.”

Cass was silent for a moment. “Better to find out and know.”

There was definitely something off about the Lazarus Pit in England. It sounded too much like the one Cass had encountered. The effects of Lazarus Pits were generally immediate and temporary, but the exact result varied significantly. Usually it involved a brief burst of madness and rage, though Tim had seen stranger things: people cured of blindness; people cured of madness; he had seen Ra’s Al Ghul transfer his consciousness between bodies (though that had been with the Fountain of Life). What if something weird and Darkseid-related had come off the corpse and ended up mixed into the Pit? Could that have caused issues? Would there still be residue?

Barbara, fortunately, still had an aeroplane and Lady Blackhawk to fly it. Zinda filed a new flightpath to London, leaving as soon as possible, to take Dinah, Helena and Charlie to investigate the Pit.

“I need a sample of the water. But don’t let it touch you.”

“I’ve been in a Lazarus Pit before, Red Robin,” reassured Black Canary. “I have no interest in repeating the experience. We’ll get the sample, seal it up, and bring it back as fast as possible.”

“The three of us should be enough for any trouble that comes our way,” said Helena. “Plus I haven’t been to Europe in ages, even if it is the UK.”

Charlie was just hopping from one foot to another, looking excited. “I’ve never tried to bounce so far before. I still think I could get in and out without anyone noticing.”

“You’re flying over, Charlie, because I’d rather you had back-up nearby if anything goes wrong,” said Barbara somewhat squashingly. “Though we do need to test your range sometime soon.”

Charlie’s eyes sparkled. “Oooh. Can we? Misfit, World Traveller!”

“Not until the end of term, please, Barbara,” said Helena, looking to the ceiling.

“Alfred. When Dick tried to resurrect Bruce, what happened to the corpse afterwards?”

Alfred paused over the pile of clothes he was folding and looked over at Tim. “What makes you ask that, Master Timothy?”

“Barbara and I were reviewing some old data, and it came up.”

“You’ve been working with Miss Gordon a lot recently, haven’t you?”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “She and I have been sharing data on some of the cases I’ve been working on. It’s been like old times.”

“It’s just I’ve noticed that you haven’t been coordinating with Master Dick and Master Damian." Alfred gave Tim a sharp look. "Or always remembering to check in with me when you have issues."

Tim hasn’t so much been deliberately avoiding the rest of them. It’s just…what’s wrong with Dick made it really hard to be near him, because Tim couldn’t cope with the way Dick just sort of looked through him right now. And he needed to figure this out. He was onto something here, with the Lazarus Pit idea. He could feel it. It was the most prominent time that Dick had been in contact with anything magical in the records for the last few months.

Plus Damian? Damian was always with Dick. And when he was not near Dick, he was hovering in a corner somewhere, keeping a sharp eye on Tim. Even when Damian seemed distracted by his phone or katas or drawing in a notepad, he was always ready to comment on what Tim was doing or correct him, if Tim forgot something or made a mistake.

It was frustrating, having a little shadow lurking in the corner of his vision. Never participating in anything Tim was doing, just hovering there, never out of sight, keeping busy.

And every time Tim talked to Alfred, he got to hear pointed comments about Damian and what he's been up to. The relentless campaign to convince Tim that actually, wouldn't it be nice if we all got along together? Wouldn't life be easier?

And yes of course it would be, but Tim had worked with plenty of other heroes he didn't particularly like (who other people disapproved of), in his time. He was still able to work with Jean-Paul Valley, even after Abattoir. After Bane. The issue wasn’t working with Damian. It was that Tim couldn’t risk trusting him again yet, even with all of Dick's reassurances. As Damian was so very very good at noticing whenever Tim had extended a temporary truce once more, and trampling across Tim’s boundaries immediately.

It was very hard to make peace when your offer of truce was considered condescending, and forcibly rejected.

"I'm sorry for forgetting to include you on the emergency call the other day, Alfred," was what Tim said instead. "I'm not used to having people I work with in Gotham on separate networks."

"There were changes, while you were away," Alfred noted.

"I can see that. Which is why I've been trying to catch up. The…body. Of the clone, or whatever it was. What happened to it?"

Alfred pursed his lips. "Well naturally it needed to be disposed of. We had enough people with Master Bruce's face known to be in Gotham at that time."

Hush, Tim filled in mentally. Though apparently Thomas Elliot was now back to being a mess of scars and bandages.

"So did you bury it? Melt it down? Put it back in the vault in the Cave?"

"I made sure it was no longer in a position to cause any problems."

Did that mean Alfred had found a pit of lime somewhere? Did they have that many caustic substances in the Manor? "Alfred, please." There was no hope for it; talking around the issue wasn't working. "Where is it? It might be relevant to a case I'm working on."

"I returned it to the vault in the Cave, where it is under a high level of security. It seemed safest, until we could establish a safe method of disposal. I believe Master Bruce expressed an interest in studying it."

"And has he?" Bruce wouldn't have been looking for traces of magic. But if he had done any work, it would be worth checking to avoid repeating tests.

Alfred sighed. He looked very tired and old, Tim suddenly realised. "He has not been home for long enough to conduct thorough investigations as yet."

"Thank you for your help." Tim got up.

"Might I assume that I am about to receive a notification about security measures being disabled?"

"I really do need to take a look as part of this case. I promise I'll be quick and leave everything as I found it."

"See that you do."

As Tim made his way out of the Penthouse apartment to head down to the Cave, he spotted Damian, who was curled up in a chair near the front door, stabbing at the tablet he held, his eyebrows drawn together.

Damian looked up as soon as Tim approached the door, a small petulant frown on his face. "Going out?"

“Yep.”

“It is early.” It was four o’clock.

“I’m not going out in costume. I need to do some research in the Cave.”

“Why? Is the Bunker not suitable? Grayson made sure to move everything relevant there.”

Why was Damian so insistent on needling into everything Tim did?

“I need to use some of the older equipment.” This had the benefit of being true. A lot of the equipment for measuring alien energy readings were things that they used rarely in Gotham. The lab set up in the Bunker didn't contain some of the more specialist equipment.

Damian's forehead wrinkled as he frowned more, clearly thinking hard. "Are you trying to conceal your research?"

Yes. From you. "Well it wouldn't make sense to tell you about it then, if I was?"

Damian put his tablet aside and got up. "I should accompany you."

"You really don't need to do that."

"I am unfamiliar with there being any equipment in the Cave that is not present in the Bat-Bunker. Clearly this is a situation that needs to be fixed."

Tim abruptly recalled Dick specifically sending Damian away 'to guard the Gordons', back when they were facing their parents as Black Lanterns. Damian, who barely came up to Tim's shoulder, suddenly looked very small.

Tim was about to go and poke at a corpse that looked like Bruce. A corpse Damian had apparently had to fight himself.

Even if Damian was asking to come? Maybe? In a roundabout way? Letting him come with Tim seemed like a really bad decision.

“Has Dick taken you to the new Wayne Industries forensics lab yet?” Tim asked. He might have proposed the idea, as a logical extension of the Batman Incorporated concept Bruce was currently so obsessed with, but Dick had been the one to help Tim the most with the set up, and had been the most excited about the project.

It made sense. Dick was the member of the family who had been a beat cop, reliant on ordinary policing resources, and knew better than anyone the shortages and downfalls of police department forensics. Plus, having a proper accredited lab attached to the family business meant they could get legal, admissible forensic work done in-house, rather than risking sending it out or relying on various police department labs not to have someone like Corrigan in them, muddying the waters.

It had been nice working with Dick on the design, both of them bouncing ideas off each other. It had made Tim nostalgic, like they had been hanging out together with full run of the Cave because Bruce was off on a Justice League space mission, choosing replacement equipment after No Man's Land. It had felt like a small peace-offering, something that had been just theirs.

"No." Damian sounded cranky.

Apparently Dick had thought so too.

"You should ask him to, if you want to see different equipment. We installed some Thanagarian and Atlantean tech down there."

Damian looked away. "Grayson has not invited me. Doubtless he feels the equipment in the Bat-Bunker is sufficient."

This was getting nowhere. "Well there you go. You should talk to him about this. Not me. He's your partner." Tim tried not to sound too bitter.

Damian looked back at Tim, staring into his shoulder. "Has he seemed different to you, recently?"

Even Damian had noticed now? That he was Dick's only focus? "Different to what?"

Damian studied Tim intensely. "Just different. Overbearing. Talking less about old cases."

“I can’t really say so.”

“Tt.”

Now. If you’ll excuse me.”

Damian dropped back into his chair, in a huff. Tim finally, finally, got out the door.

The corpse looked half mummified, locked away in its niche in the Cave. Tim gritted his teeth and opened the cover. He’d handled worse. He’d been soaked in worse in the sewers recently.

Flesh sample. Skin sample. Attempt at a blood draw that resulted in no liquid – not surprising under the circumstances, so Tim took a second puncture sample over where a vein had been, to get the dried out blood cells.

The strange thing, as Tim ran tests over the body using his detection equipment, was not the clear signs of being submerged in a Lazarus Pit. It was that there was a definite background pattern that Tim was probably a world-expert in at this point: the Omega Effect.

The clone was supposed to have been created by Darkseid. The energy readings definitely seemed to bear it out.

The Lazarus Pit residue, however, seemed unusual. As if it may have been affected by the energy.

Tim turned his scanners from the hunt to find Bruce up higher. There were definitely trace readings of Omega Effect energy elsewhere nearby.

Dick had mentioned something about finding some signs of Bruce’s travel through time when Tim had been working with the Justice League to pinpoint Bruce’s location. There was a chapel or something.

Hopefully it was recorded on the computers.

There was still a connection to the main server set up in the Cave. Barbara had been using it on occasion.

Tim sat down and flexed his fingers. Time to go check for any details in the system he hadn’t already read about the Omega Effect and whatever artefact Dick had found from Bruce’s trip through time.

Dick’s report was remarkably comprehensive. The little notes and links in it, pointing to cross reference Tim’s own investigations and confirm his conclusions, gave Tim a warm glow. As described by RR in regards to other artefacts identified, the cowl showed age-related degradation of several centuries. The artefact still contained lead plating in the mask section that, when tested, was revealed to be post-atomic lead, marking the mask as having been created after 1945. Dick had not only believed him, but had been able to prove that what he found had belonged to their time period originally.

The location Dick had found the cowl was noted as “adjacent to the Underground Railroad” and “under the Chapel of Barbatos” in his records. The same demon that Jason Blood had mentioned.

Dick had noted that there were two routes to the location where he found the cowl. The closer one started from the fireplace upstairs in the library.

Chapter Text

The route to the Chapel of Barbatos started in the library, at the fireplace. Not a bad place to hide a secret passage; the fire in the library was rarely lit, being a room full of old and quite valuable books. Tim examined it closely, but the most striking elements of it were the horse’s head, like a knight chess piece, sitting on the mantelpiece, and three carved roses set directly below the sculpture, into the frame.

If Tim were investigating Checkmate, the knight would obviously be the place to start. But for a secret passage built into the Manor centuries ago…Tim touched the roses and felt them give way under a little pressure. He pressed firmly and heard a click.

The back of the fireplace slid downwards, revealing a passageway behind it.

Tim ducked under the mantelpiece and into the tunnel, lighting the flashlight in his hand. As he ran the light around the walls, he saw another set of roses carved near the entrance. Pressing them gave another click, and the fireplace closed behind him.

The walkway was quite narrow, clearly running in a gap in the walls between rooms, along the old sections of the building where the servants’ and work rooms of the building were divided from the family rooms. It quickly came to a staircase which descended below the basement level of the building, into the foundation, and then opened up to create more space.

The ceiling of the passageway was vaulted, for support and as part of the foundations. It reminded Tim more than a little of some of the catacombs he’d been in, over the years. Passing through another doorway, he found himself in a room that almost looked like a gallery, complete with suits of armour on display down both walls, and a tiled mural of a red rose surmounted with batwings in the centre of the room. There was obvious dust through the room, but the rose at the centre was clear.

It was not a particularly subtle design for a secret entrance. The code to enter the passage had been a rose, after all.

Tim knelt down beside the mosaic and played his flashlight beam over the tiles. Along with the lack of dust, there was a lack of grout between each tile in the rose design. He placed a hand on the nearest rose petal and leaned on it. The petal gave slightly under the weight.

A spring loaded trapdoor then. Tim climbed to his feet, stepped onto the centre of the rose, and then jumped. The impact made the rose petals slide apart, dropping him down a shaft.

He landed in a crouch below, rolling to disperse the force, beside a broken staircase. The stairs seemed to have collapsed from age, but the fallen rocks lying around were clear earthquake damage. The stonework down here was clearly even older than the tunnels above; it reminded Tim of some of the oldest parts of the city’s basements and passageways under the city. It reminded him of some of the blocks they’d seen during repairs to the Cave after No Man’s Land.

Tim pulled his Omega Effect detector out from his belts. The signal was increasing ahead of him. He stepped through the doorway in front of him and stopped suddenly, confronted by what had to be the chapel Dick had mentioned.

The word Barbatos was scrawled on one wall, surrounded by the name Thomas hundreds of times. Ragged old banners hung from the ceiling. Rows of seating ran along one wall, opposite a stone lectern. There were fallen candelabras, surrounded by dried wax which had dripped and embedded itself in the rock floor of the room. And at the centre…the outline of a bat, in front of what was either the moon or, to Tim’s familiar eye, the light of the Batsignal.

The paint on the wall still looked fairly recent. There were smoke stains on the roof from the candles.

Tim had been around enough magic and magic rituals over the years to tell when a space had been set up for some sort of ceremony. The layout of the room suggested someone with a particularly theatrical personality had decorated the room; Simon Hurt had been exactly that level of melodramatic.

Tim carefully took samples of the room for analysis and inspection by Jason Blood. The banners, the wax, a scrape of the paint from the bat painted on the floor. Once that was done, he eyed the batsignal on the floor. Presumably it was another trapdoor, like the rose?

He stepped forward.

The floor once again gave way, dropping Tim down into the railway line that ran under the Cave and all the way out to join up with the main Gotham lines. The tunnel had regular niches along it, each filled with a small pedestal. It was familiar; Tim had taken the subway rocket down this route many times before the rocket was lost in the earthquake, and had used the rails as an emergency access route for the Batmobile before.

What was different, this time, was the grating noise of rusted metal moving up ahead. Tim sprinted towards the noise, only to see a portcullis lowering itself in a doorway set into one of the niches. He ducked through, to find himself by the dock on the underground river that flowed past the Cave. There was no boat, but there was the dark shape of another tunnel opposite, and he carried a grapple gun. Tim fired a grapple into the wall on the other side of the river, and set up a traverse line above the water, clipping his belt on and pulling himself across, hand over hand.

Tim unclipped and dropped to the ground at the other end, shining a flashlight down the tunnel on the other side. The walls were coated in limestone drips, causing ripples and columns along the walls and stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Most of the stalagmites on the ground, however, had been roughly hewn out, leaving a passageway to walk.

As Tim threaded his way between hanging stalactites he suddenly was confronted with the shadow of a large one almost completely blocking the centre of the tunnel. He played his light over it, revealing a giant hanging sculpture.

It looks like a vampire or a demon, wrapped in bat wings. As Tim drew his Omega Effect detector out with his other hand, he already knew what it would say.

The carving was humming with Omega energy and traces of ritual magic. It had to be a statue of Barbatos. Behind the carving, the readings were even higher, pointing towards a twisted and broken metal gate set into the tunnel.

Behind the gate the tunnel twisted again, leading to an ancient stone well set in the centre of a cave. As Tim played his light over the walls, he saw a set of antlers mounted with a sun painted on the wall between them, an extremely ragged cape and cowl hanging between them. The detector went crazy in Tim’s hand, just like it had in Iraq.

Bruce had stood here, when travelling through time. Bruce had left his cape and cowl behind, in one of the many messages Tim had searched the world to find. Dick had retraced these steps himself, to find this very room, after Tim had explained what Bruce’s clues looked like.

Dick had stood in this room, looking at the moth-eaten cape and cowl hanging on the wall, and believed Tim. He had verified that Tim wasn’t a fabulist, convinced by strange coincidences. He’d replicated Tim’s work and taken that to the Justice League.

Dick had believed Tim, and believed in Tim and found evidence to verify that belief. A little kernel of relief unknotted in Tim’s chest.

There was soot across the ceiling of the cave, from candles and fires carried by previous visitors. High on one wall, candle soot formed the letters B.W. at about the same height as Bruce’s reach. There were again drips of what looked like limestone on the floor, but when Tim knelt down next to some and scraped them with a knife, ancient wax came curling up, probably from candles placed there centuries ago.

It was a place that felt oppressive with the weight of previous rituals.

Tim peered down into the uncovered well, playing his flashlight down the sides, and seeing the light reflect back from below. A pebble dropped in the well splashed noisily; the well was reasonably deep, given the water table was well below the depths of the Bat Cave complex.

Tim inspected the cape and sliced off a piece, moving carefully to avoid touching it as he packed it into a sample bag to take to Jason Blood. He added the candle wax scrapings to another sample bag.

Hopefully, Blood would be able to tell whether a demon had indeed been here, from the samples. If not, then he would bring Blood here in person to check.

There was one final stop he needed to make.

Tim followed a branching tunnel out of the cave complex, which led up to one of the Wayne Family mausoleums in the Manor graveyard. The one he needed was set further down the hill.

The crypt that contained Dominique’s body, the last sacrifice to Barbatos, did not have a particularly well cemented-in cover stone. Tim was able to shift it out of position with a crowbar. Perhaps Bruce had quietly wanted to have access to the grave if necessary.

Inside, Dominique’s skeleton remained intact, laid out on a silk-covered tray. Tim took a deep breath, then reached out and carefully removed one of her metatarsals, which he slipped into a sample bag and then into a pouch. Touching the dead never really got easier, even when it was clean bones like this.

“I’ll bring your bone back,” Tim found himself promising Dominique, as he lifted the crypt’s coverstone back into place. “I just need it to help save a member of the family, and to reverse the harm that Barbatos has brought. Bruce said you helped him. I hope you can help me too.”

Barbara called. “Misfit is home.”

When Tim reached the Aerie, Charlie was sitting on a chair, halfway through a bottle of Gatorade. A second, already empty bottle lay next to her. She looked a little pale and peaky, but her face lit up when she spotted Tim.

“I made it back! Three and a half thousand miles in one trip!”

“We had time for you to fly,” Barbara said fussily, as she put a plate of cheese and crackers down on the table. Charlie immediately stacked three crackers on top of each other and shoved them in her mouth.

“Yes, but I wanted to try and see if I could get back by myself. And I did!”

“Keep eating. You look exhausted.”

“Yes, Barbara,” Charlie said around a mouthful of crumbs.

“Did you get to see the Lazarus Pit?” asked Tim.

Charlie nodded, chewing. “Yep! Knight and Squire took us. I have your samples.” She fished in a pocket then held out two small sealed tubes.

Tim accepted them, and pulled out his detector. The tubes both registered the Omega Effect, but in a wavelength that was different to that which Tim had measured before. He looked up from the detector, feeling an intense wave of relief. “This is it. There was energy from the Omega Effect in the Lazarus Pit. Something weird and unexpected must have occurred.”

Jason Blood set all of Tim’s samples out along a table in his underground laboratory, testing each one with his magic. He paused over the metatarsal bone.

“This is heavily steeped in demonic magic, more than anything else here. What is it from?”

“It’s one of Dominique’s bones, who was a sacrifice to Barbatos in the 18th century,” Tim explained. “It was the only thing I knew had definitely been exposed to the demon, for you to compare against.”

“So scientific, you Bats,” Blood chuckled. “It is a useful baseline.” He waved his hand over the table. “All the candle wax, the scraps of red fabric and the scraps of black fabric have similar demonic energies around them, though less intensely. The water from the Lazarus Pit and the black cape fabric have strong echoes of Omega energy from Darkseid. It also…hmm. There are traces of the Anti-Life Equation here. ”

“Batman walked into that Lazarus Pit several months ago,” Tim explained. “And according to everyone who saw him afterwards, he seemed fine and unchanged, but there had been a clone created by Darkseid and permeated in the Omega Effect soaking in that Pit for an hour beforehand.”

Blood stared at Tim, his eyes slightly unfocused. “You yourself carry a halo of the Omega Effect around you, Red Robin. It is soaked into your costume and your very skin. You spent too long chasing after it, and the Effect was pushing you away, trying to make you travel, to leave. Were you also exposed to the Anti-Life Equation?”

“No more than anyone else,” Tim said absently. “I heard it, of course, and I’ve been teammates with those who use it but…no. I was never captured by it. Oh.” He stopped. “Loneliness + alienation ÷ misunderstanding. Of course. Is that what caused the memory loss?”

“Has Nightwing been in close proximity to anyone else who has been exposed to Darkseid’s energies for long periods since his time in the Pit?” asked Blood.

“He hasn't been around Batwoman since they went into the Pit together. And she was possessed by the Anti-Life Equation previously. I think,” Tim hummed for a moment. “Yes. Batman is the only other person he has been around that has been exposed to the Omega Effect recently. And he’s been constantly out of town. He’s barely spent a week at a time here since returning from the timestream,” Tim explained. “So I guess, yes, it would only be me.”

Blood pursed his lips. “I think that Barbatos latched onto your brother, trying to pull himself back into this dimension, from the ritual traces he disturbed and the attempted summoning, earlier in the year. But even as the demon was pulling himself here, trying to bind himself to Nightwing, the Omega Effect was pushing Barbatos out, to leave.

“So when the demon encountered you and realised you carried the same energies, he twisted the magic, forcing the compulsion to leave caused by the Effect to instead force Nightwing away from his close connections, to reject his knowledge of you. Any remaining traces of the Anti-Life Equation would not have helped. With the Omega Effect entangled in that purpose, Barbatos could establish a firmer hold on Nightwing. And the stronger his disregard of you became, the further Barbatos could pull himself into this dimension.”

“Can Barbatos be banished? And the effect undone?” Tim asked.

“It should be possible,” said Blood. “But we must move quickly.”

As Tim walked out the front door of Jason Blood’s townhouse, he saw a shadow fall to the ground out of the corner of his eye and heard the soft whisper and thump of a vigilante landing.

Robin.

Damian, who had clearly been perching in the shadows on the facade of the building like a third gargoyle, waiting for Tim to come back out, stalked up to Tim, his hands curled into fists. “You are hiding something!”

“I’m investigating a case,” Tim said, feeling instantly defensive.

“You have not told Batman or Pennyworth what this case is about! There are no reports filed on the computer systems! Even Batgirl says she does not know what you are up to. My only conclusion is that you are concealing something major from the team!”

Damian really was incredibly nosy, Tim thought. Obviously, he had not learnt his lesson about trying to snoop in Tim’s files. And then Tim realised – every person he had been researching this case with had been someone Damian did not know or had no working relationship with. Damian followed Dick around, getting prickly and snarling at anyone who got near him, and in a city like Gotham that meant that people avoided working with Damian unless they had to. Whereas Tim had always been able to talk anyone he encountered into teaming up and helping out.

Even Oracle wasn’t talking to Damian. Damian didn’t even know who he needed to ask to find out what was going on.

Tim sighed. He was going to have to be the bigger person here. And he probably could use Damian’s help.

“You know how Batman’s been acting weird?”

“If you recall, Red Robin, I mentioned that to you,” said Damian with a sniff.

Let it be. “Well I’ve been investigating why that happened. And Jason Blood here,” Tim turned towards the door of the brownstone, where Blood still stood silhouetted in the doorway, watching the two of them with a pensive look on his face, “has confirmed for me that Batman is currently under a sort of curse. From a demon.”

Damian bridled immediately. “Batman is not possessed by a demon!”

“Red Robin did not say he was,” said Jason Blood, in a deep, patient tone. “Batman has encountered Barbatos and it continues to bedevil him and cause him trouble. We have been seeking a solution to rid him of this burden.”

“And I think we have a solution,” Tim said, looking Damian in the eye. “But to fix Batman, so he returns to normal, we need to perform a ritual in a specific place.”

“If you are going to do this, I should supervise, as his partner,” Damian said haughtily.

“If you want to help…I mean supervise, then I need you to find Batman and bring him to the cave where you found the statue of Barbatos.”

“We will set up the ritual there tonight. Bring him before moonrise at midnight,” said Jason Blood.

Damian looked between Tim and Jason Blood in the doorway warily. “And you believe this will not harm Batman?”

“Robin,” said Tim, hearing the emotion in his voice. “I would rather hurt myself than hurt Batman.”

Tim led Jason Blood into the cave complex via a winding route that used the railway tunnels, then across the river to the statue of Barbatos.

Jason Blood eyed the carving. “That is not inaccurate,” he said at last. “It was likely made by someone who had seen Barbatos incarnate. Now. Where is this cave?”

Blood paused as he entered the space. “Yes. This should work.” He proceeded to set about preparing for the ritual. Tim followed the orders he was given; laying out candles where told, hauling a bucket of water from the well in the room for Blood to carefully pour out, stepping over lines of salt and chalk-drawn symbols without smudging them.

“They’re on their way,” Oracle confirmed in Tim’s ear, as Jason Blood finally gave his approval that the ritual was ready to go ahead.

Tim sat, cross legged, in the centre of the circle, his back to the Bat cape, facing the tunnel entrance, waiting.

Damian’s voice soon echoed through the passageways. “Yes, Batman, it is essential that we are here right now. Your presence is required.”

The two came into the cavern and Dick paused at the entrance, Damian shifting behind him to block him in somewhat.

“What’s going on here?” Dick’s voice was light, but in the way that suggested he was prepping for violence if he didn’t get an answer he liked.

“Batman. We believe that Barbatos is trying to re-enter this realm, and you, as one of the last people to encounter his power, are necessary to seal him away from this realm.” Blood sounded assured and composed.

“If this is so important, why hasn’t anyone mentioned it before now?” There was an edge to Dick’s voice.

“You have been carrying a part of him around with you, hidden away, latched on to your mind,” said Blood solemnly. “It was too much of a risk to advise you any earlier, in case the demon tried to control you further.”

“I would think I would have noticed if I was possessed!”

“Look at me,” Tim said. “Who am I?”

“Red Robin,” said Dick, sounding quietly confused.

“No. Who am I?”

“I…don’t remember,” said Dick, his voice cracking slightly. “Why don’t I remember?” The memory loss was getting worse.

“And that’s why we’re worried. Please. Work with us.” Tim willed for Dick to listen.

Dick looked around to Damian. “And you believe this too?”

“There is something wrong. Something strange happening. You have not been yourself,” said Damian quietly. “And I trust,” he swallowed, “That there is no intent to harm you here.”

“Batman. Dick.” Tim stared hard at his brother, willing him to listen. “Please trust us.”

Dick, almost in a daze, stepped into the centre of the circle and gracefully folded himself into a seated position.

“Reach out and touch the other’s hands. And close your eyes,” Blood ordered, then began to chant in Latin.

Chapter Text

Dick closes his eyes. And Dick can see…

His doorbell rings and he answers it and it’s “T-Tim Drake?” who says to him “Hi Dick. Bruce told me to see you. He said he could teach me how to be a sharper detective, an all-around athlete, stronger, faster – you know, all the skills a new Robin needs – but only you could teach me how to be his partner.” ¹

And he’s in New York and meeting with Tim at the very top of the Empire State Building and Tim says “As one Robin to another, I’m asking you for help.” ²

And he’s looking out over Gotham with Tim as they discuss a case and he says “Okay. You’re a good kid. Batman made the right choice.” ³

And he’s with Bruce who’s back from the quest to take down Azrael, and Tim is standing by his side, and Bruce is asking “Can I count on your help?” and he replies “You know it” and Tim replies “Yeah!” and all three of them are gripping hands together as Tim jokes “One for all…!” ⁴

And he’s Batman and he’s jumping into a motorboat with Robin, with Tim at his side and he’s saying “Not quite stealing, Robin. More like borrowing one of Dad’s toys.” ⁵

And he’s flying the Batplane with Robin by his side and he’s hungry because he forgot to eat, again, and Tim is listing off foods like a little shit “Well I’m sure there’s plenty of coconuts down there. Fresh coconut milk. Boiled coconut. Tossed coconut salad” all because he hates coconuts. ⁶

And he’s running through the tunnels of an underground base and Robin is by his side and the tunnels split and he carols out “You take the high road and I’ll take the low road” and Tim replies “and I’ll be finding a place to eat before you”. ⁷

And he’s Batman and he’s at the computer tracking trouble and he says “we won’t get there until it’s over” and Robin points out “Unless we take the subway rocket” and he says “I don’t know…” but he wants to and he glances at Tim and Tim wants to and so they’re going to take the rocket because they’re both such adrenaline junkies. ⁸

And he’s in a rollcage racing Tim in the tunnels to cross Gotham Harbour unseen. ⁹

And he’s working on building his new car and calling Barbara for help and she asks why Robin isn’t doing this, because Robin’s the gearhead, but he can’t call, because Tim is training in Paris again… ¹⁰

And he’s arguing with Robin in the Clocktower as Ted Kord is at the door and Barbara insists “Someone has to leave! Ted can’t wait out there all night!” and he orders Robin “In the other room, Boy Wonder,” as Tim says “No way” and somehow he’s the one who ends up hidden in Babs’ virtual reality room even though Robin’s the only one of the four of them who isn’t in civvies… ¹¹

And he’s standing at another funeral, at Janet Drake’s funeral, full of memories of his own parents and Tim is a small sad figure immediately in front of him. And he’s shaking hands with Tim and he wishes he could comfort Tim but all he can say is “It was the least I could do, Tim. Believe me – I know what you’re going through. If you need any help, any time…” ¹²

And he’s holding Tim’s face in his hands, looking at a hematoma on Tim’s cheek. ¹³

And he’s folding laundry as Tim tells him that Jack didn’t even notice the bruises. ¹⁴

And he’s calling Tim’s phone because Jack is dead and Tim isn’t answering and he’s pleading for Tim to pick up. ¹⁵

And he’s coming in from a long night ready to crash and his phone rings and he picks it up and it’s Tim, Tim who sounds hesitant on the other end and he says “No, you’re not catching me at a bad time. I’m just getting in.” ¹⁶

And he’s standing on a fire escape, his leg still hurting, and his world has burned down, and Robin is rambling about adoption and all he can say is “What are you talking about, Tim? Bruce is going to adopt you?” and Tim cries “No! I mean he was. But he’s not now. I’ve got this uncle… so I don’t need, you know…anything, really…” ¹⁷

And he’s walking around the furniture covered in dust sheets in the Manor, Tim by his side, as they find a space to live in. ¹⁸

And he’s unsealing the clock with Tim so they can get back into the Cave. ¹⁹

And he’s abseiling into the Cave with Tim to get around the bricked up entrance. ²⁰

And he’s looking through the wreckage of the Cave with Tim at his side, at the ceiling that has fallen in. ²¹

And he’s standing there with Tim as Bruce looks over plans of the Manor, as they rebuild. ²²

And he’s balancing at the very top of Westward Bridge, looking out at Blackgate, at where Bruce is incarcerated, and he can hear Tim’s voice behind him saying “Don’t jump!...I mean, it can’t be all that bad, right?” and he’s replying “It’s pretty bad…” ²³

And he’s punching Hugo Strange in his smug face for brainwashing and trying to kill Bruce and Tim is screaming “Nightwing–!” and grabbing his arm and pulling him back, back away from Strange… ²⁴

And he’s throwing himself in front of Bruce to block an energy blast and he falls down and it hurts oh god it hurts and suddenly Tim is gripping his shoulders as he stares at the sky, and Tim is crying… ²⁵

And he’s back to back with Huntress on the yacht’s deck, fighting the League, and suddenly Robin comes sprinting out of the hold and smashes into both of them, pushing them all off the deck as the yacht explodes… ²⁶

And he’s tackling Tim away from an exploding car… ²⁷

And he’s screaming because the building is on fire and he can’t see Robin, he can’t see Tim, Tim hasn’t come out… ²⁸

And he’s shooting Tim with a freeze ray to save them both… ²⁹

And he’s in the Cave and Tim is in a hospital bed, writhing with pain… ³⁰

And he runs into the Cave and sees the hospital bed and it’s empty, the sheets are clean and drawn and Tim is gone… ³¹

And Tim is DEAD, the Joker has killed another of his little brothers and joked about it and he’s punching Joker in his face and suddenly Tim, Tim?! is grabbing his raised fist and hauling back screaming “It’s me, Nightwing! Stop this!” ³²

And he’s clearing up after a fight beside Azrael, who says “I’ve seen you with Robin – you like Robin” and who is Jean-Paul to question this? “You got a problem with Robin?” ³³

And he’s jumping Jean-Paul Valley who’s gone mad again and is back being controlled by St Dumas and the Azrael suit and Robin is there by his side, Tim’s always by his side… ³⁴

And he’s turning to face a pack of ninjas at the Manor because Tim needs him, and for Tim, he’d fight a thousand ninjas… ³⁵

And he’s standing shoulder to shoulder with Tim as Tim worries over his injuries and he says “I’m fine, Red Robin. Besides…you’re here now” and they’re firing their grapples together as they swing into action… ³⁶

And he’s swinging and calculating the catch and Tim slams into his side, but he has Tim, they’re clear of the street, he’s caught his brother. ³⁷

And it’s dark and the world feels hopeless and he’s fighting in an alley with Robin guarding his back, Tim who looks like the world has ended and he’s telling Tim “One. As long as you’re with Batman – or me – you’re safe. Neither of us would ever let anything happen to you. Two: we don’t quit. Not once has anyone who knows Batman’s mission failed to get up again after being knocked down. And three: Batman doesn’t kill. Not ever” and Robin, and Tim is standing there in front of him saying “One: Jason Todd. Two: Jim Gordon. Three: so far. Sorry,” and his heart is breaking because even as Tim refuses to listen to him about Bruce, the trust remains in Tim’s eyes for him… ³⁸

Oh god. Timothy Drake. Is Tim. It’s his Tim.

He opens his eyes. And Tim is sitting there, eyes wet and shining, gripping Dick’s forearms even as Dick grips Tim’s, their wrists pressed against each other in monkey grip, the first grasp his parents ever taught him, when he learnt how to catch for a trapeze. He can’t let go. He’s caught Tim.

Footnotes:

1. New Titans 65 back
2. Showcase ‘93 11 back
3. Batman: Shadow of the Bat 2 back
4. Batman: Shadow of the Bat 29 back
5. Batman 512 back
6. Nightwing 143 back
7. Nightwing 143 back
8. Detective Comics 681 back
9. Robin 67 back
10. Nightwing 16 back
11. Birds of Prey 19 back
12. Batman 455 back
13. Robin 12 back
14. Robin 12 back
15. Identity Crisis 7 back
16. Robin 156 back
17. Nightwing 110 back
18. Batman 512 back
19. Gotham Knights 42 back
20. Detective Comics 676 back
21. Batman 554 back
22. Gotham Knights 1 back
23. Gotham Knights 26 back
24. Gotham Knights 10 back
25. Infinite Crisis 7 back
26. Robin 33 back
27. Nightwing 6 back
28. Nightwing 97 back
29. Blackest Night: Batman 3 back
30. Detective Comics 696 back
31. Azrael 16 back
32. Joker: Last Laugh 6 back
33. Gotham Knights 14 back
34. Azrael: Shadow of the Bat 91 back
35. Nightwing 138 back
36. Detective Comics 874 back
37. Red Robin 12 back
38. Gotham Knights 26 back

Chapter Text

The next evening, Dick went out to find Tim himself. Barbara had offered to turn on Tim’s tracker, but Dick had refused; he knew Tim. He needed to prove to himself he knew Tim, and where Tim went, when he was in one of these moods.

His first few ideas were a bust, but there was an outline of a cowl and cape at the top of Westward Bridge. Dick climbed up. Tim was sitting on the top of tower at one end, feet hanging over the edge, looking out at Blackgate. Dick made sure to scuff his boots as he sat down beside Tim.

It had been a while since they’d been up here together. He knocked one boot against Tim’s beside him. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Tim knocked his boot back.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

“You already did, yesterday.”

“Doesn’t stop me saying it again.”

“You’re welcome.” Tim was still staring out at Blackgate, like it held the secrets of the universe. Maybe it did, to him.

Dick wondered what was running through his head. Dick had run that prison once; he’d started a riot and a breakout in a chaotic 48 hours in No Man’s Land. Bruce had been incarcerated there, after Vesper died. And Jason—Jason was in there right now.

(Dick didn’t really regret that Jason was locked up. He was too unstable. He’d fought the transfer to Blackgate, even though Arkham had said Jason’s issues weren’t insanity. Just criminal behaviour).

The silence stretched between them. Dick had always been able to wait Tim out, until he was ready to talk; Tim never stopped talking, sometimes. But right now, the peace between them was too fragile, like a bubble waiting to pop—it was up to him.

“I don’t really know how to describe how it felt,” Dick said, as he watched the lights of the city glistening on the water, far below. “I knew your name, knew your past, but it was like there was a wall between that knowledge and my feelings. It’s something I never want to feel again.”

“Nobody has ever accused you of having too few feelings,” said Tim quietly.

Hah. There he was. Dick leaned sideways, pressing against Tim’s shoulder for a moment, before straightening. “It must have been hard, seeing me like that.”

“The worst bit,” said Tim, then stopped. Dick waited. He’d wait as long as Tim needed; Tim deserved that right now. “The worst bit wasn’t knowing that something was wrong with you; it was that little voice in the back of my head, telling me that maybe I’d made a mistake; that this was the way that things were now.”

“Oh Tim. No. Of course not.” Dick felt sick.

“I know that now! But it was there, ticking away in the back of my head. It was hard to silence.”

“Do you remember the first time we had to go to Blackgate?” Dick asked.

“Back when we were Batman and Robin?”

“Back when you were an opinionated little nuisance and we were tracking down Azrael, yeah.”

“I remember standing on that cliff and tapping out, yeah Dick.” Tim sounded cynical.

“I was so proud of you back then, you know? You were so scared, but you were still able to tell me you weren’t confident. I know you always think things through. Overthink them, even. You’re allowed to say when something doesn’t feel right.”

“Fat lot of good it did me last time,” muttered Tim. Ah. Yes, that was exactly where Tim’s head was right now.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you then. About Bruce and about Robin.” Dick would cut out his soul and lay it on the ground tonight, if it would help. “I miscalculated. I knew you’d always have my back, and I knew I could rely on you, whatever happened. I forgot sometimes it takes you a little longer to be sure, even when I can see you’re ready.”

Tim sighed. “You weren’t wrong. I did manage. It’s just…” he stopped again.

“It would have been nice to be asked?” Dick said wryly. The fact that one of Dick’s eternal complaints with Bruce now lay between him and his little brother—it hurt.

Tim looked frustrated. “It would have been nice to have my opinion acknowledged rather than ignored. That’s what this has felt like—that I’m easy to overlook.”

“It’s the height,” Dick suggested, trying to lighten things. “You’re still so short, sometimes I forget to bring my eyes down low enough to spot you.”

“Hah.” Tim shoved an elbow into Dick’s ribs, directly into a ticklish spot. “Maybe the air is too thin up there at your great height to remember that some of us aren’t trying to brush our heads on the clouds.”

“Anyway. Thank you for coming to find me. I was lost and I didn’t even realise it.”

“Well it is sort of my thing, as a Robin,” said Tim, a slight amused note creeping into his voice. “Location of missing Batmans and convincing them to act like themselves again, my specialty.”

“What a rubbish specialty, really. Why ever do we need that?”

“Take it up with all the rogues obsessed with mind control. And Bruce’s whole thing about self control.”

“Dear Gotham Colleges, you have too many professors obsessed with mind control. Please remove three before they become supervillains. PS: I am not a crank.”

Tim snorted and leant into Dick’s side. “That doesn’t get rid of the ones we’re already dealing with.”

“At least we could shut down the pipeline of new ones,” Dick pointed out, cautiously wrapping an arm around Tim’s shoulders to pull him closer. Tim just snuggled in more.

“Did I ever tell you about my theory that there’s a curse on Gotham University?” Tim sounded animated. “It’s why they have so many PhDs who go crazy.”

“A curse. In Gotham. That sounds novel.”

“I know, but if you look at the faculties that have the biggest problems with developing supervillains, you can see a pattern emerging…”

It wasn’t perfect. Not everything was fixed. But listening to Tim chatter and needling him to keep going, it felt like the old times. Like the start of something better.