Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim stared down at his cup, acutely aware no matter how hard he tried the alcohol inside would never go completely still.

His hand was constantly adjusting, accommodating. And with every movement another wave of ripples would cross the surface, bouncing against the walls before settling enough and beginning the cycle again.

A woman caught his gaze, her cheeks already far too flushed for the fact the gala had only just begun. Miss Astor, a stout brunette in a bright and all too short pink gown, half stumbling as she walked.

Tim smiled and waved, holding his cup in the air as a polite greeting.

Miss Astor lifted her glass in turn, before making a beeline for Mister Vandike, old money oil tycoon and a well known cheater in the right circles.

Even from this distance, the tan line of her wedding ring was still visible. Tragic, if she wasn't already an impressive four time widow at fifty eight. Well less so when all her husbands were already waist deep in the grave. They deserved each other.

Timothy sipped the cup and did his best not to wince at the bitter taste. He never could get accustomed, but taste didn't matter much once he got buzzed enough not to care.

His Bruce would be furious at Tim, getting drunk at a party, at only seventeen. But that wasn't his Bruce anymore.

Well- it was no one's fault but his own.

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It had been years since the Time stream incident, years since he considered the Waynes family.

Red Robin ended up on a mission in Siberia while following a lead connected to a weapons deal within Gotham. What should have been a simple mission blew up far out of his control.

Safe houses compromised, Supplies destroyed, Contacts turned sour, and the cherry on top? His bo staff snapping in half after he nearly got run over by a truck.

And that had been his backup staff.

There was no back up, weapon or comrades.
Red Robin flew solo- everyone knew that.

So did the silhouette who held a gun at almost point blank range aimed directly for his heart. His memories were.. Fuzzy at best, non-existent at worst.

But he remembers the gun. You don't grow up in Gotham and not know guns. But this one? It was nothing like he’d ever seen.

Unfortunately hard to analyze as he felt the searing energy rip straight through his chest and send him crumbling to the snowbank below.

He laid and watched as the figure, fled into the distance, the snow consuming them.

Tim was dying, he knew that. They say the whole “life flashes before your eyes” but at that moment he didn't get a whole movie montage.

He just felt the weight of so many years finally come down to this.

Not in a lucky assassination, or a battle of wills against an arch enemy, not a blaze of glory, sacrificing himself in the end for those he loved.

No, Tim was alone.

Dying because he was too unprepared, and his tendency to push everyone away finally bit him in the ass.

Alone in the start and alone in the end…
What a fucking joke.
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You’d think dying with a gaping hole in one's chest would be faster than this.

But even as minutes ticked by his mind was painfully aware of every millisecond passed.

His limbs were numb, blood loss probably, or maybe that was the fact he was bleeding out in a giant pile of snow.

Either way- the pain had slowly ebbed away, but things only got fuzzier.

It would be soon then.
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God- As selfish as it was? Tim wished, in that moment, his family was still whole.

Even if they were too late, they still would have come.

How long until they realized he was gone?

Or would they assume he finally did them all a favor and went dark for good.
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Would he get a grave?
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What would it even say?

Here lies Timothy Jackson Drake,
Friend (he wasn't a great one),
Brother (only by law),
and Son (not anymore, and not for a long time).

At least if he did get a funeral, he wished that, in his death, their fucked up family would all be together again.

Hell…maybe it would be the catalyst of everyone else making amends. But that was a bit too presumptuous of his place.

Fuck.. If that were the case? It would be worth it.

For a moment, he felt something...

A flash of light, a melodic sound- a voice? And the feeling of something settling in his chest.

But Tim felt his mind receding. And before he could register anything else, he was engulfed in darkness.

Thus marked the uneventful end of Tim Drake.

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Or well…It should have been.

But life had a tendency of never giving him an easy way out, apparently his death was no different.

Tim hadn't expected to wake up. Less so without a smidge of pain, he couldn't remember the last time that had happened. He was warm too, tucked tightly into layers of soft blankets.

Was this heaven? Did he really deserve that?
A warm bed and painless existence- guess he'd done something right. His gaze focused just ahead, and he froze.

There were.. plastic stars plastered on the ceiling. The same stars he’d begged his mom to get despite what it would do to their home value hung just above his head.

Tim was in his bedroom. His old bedroom. The only thought running through his mind? One simple word.

Fuck.

It didn't take too long to accept his new reality.

No he wasn't in an alternate dimension, nor did he switch spots with another Tim Drake, nor was this some weird reincarnation.

Working theory? He'd slipped back in time, his time, possibly triggered by whatever he'd been shot with.

Bart had ranted about “time slips” more than once and it seemed Tim was just a lucky.

Some luck it felt like, forced to do number trains while dealing with the existential crisis of knowing what was to come. The horrors his family had yet to experience.

But he couldn't interfere.
Right?

It- started small. Tim stopped spending all his nights wallowing. Instead he scoured every inch of Crime alley, searching.

It didn't take long, the few times Jason had opened up about his past before B, were enough for Tim to track him down.

Jason had skimmed over a lot of details of his living, and it was enough that Tim had to go hide in a fire escape to sob his eyes out before he was ready to reassess the situation.

Stupid kid brain, he may have his memories- but it seemed his hormones and his pain tolerance had reset. Which he learned the hard way.

Besides, was it stealing if it already belonged to his family? And if he could slip a whole batmobile in a batarang budget for someone as paranoid as batman (heh- try saying that ten times fast). He could slip the cost of some new clothes and comforters to his parents account.

Tim began leaving packages, random necessities. Or food, hiding random treats in cabinets and drawers.

It wasn't much- but Tim was still paranoid about messing with too much just in case his theory was wrong.
He couldn't save him from everything- but he couldn't just leave his brother suffering for so long.

Despite it all… Jason, just a few inches taller and a few less scars. He still took the tires- he joined the family.

And Tim? Watched from afar.

Some days were hard, days where his parents goodbye were a bit too bitter, knowing their promises of a quick return were empty.

And that the family he’d grown to love was just next door. But they were better off without him and he knew it would be game over if any of them ever found out about him.

The temptation was just.. Too much. So he took some inspiration from dear old Dad and curated his own version of “Brucie Wayne.”

But instead of a well-meaning but ditzy “Prince of Gotham” Tim became a menace.

He embraced every griping stereotype that Jason and other Gotham natives had ever believed.

Taking inspiration from people like Miss Astor, people that Tim would prefer chopping his arm off then spend more than a few hours with.

“Timothy Drake” was loud, he was snobby, he never hesitated to complain about anything and every minor convenience was a threat to sue.

“Timothy Drake” only wore the best, only talked to those he deemed ‘worthy company’ and sneered at the rest.

“Timothy Drake” gained a reputation, no one bothered as much with the “Street rat” Mr.Wayne had taken in when they had the bratty demon from hell next door.

It was perfect.

But he was his own worst enemy. He tried, but the more he watched his city suffer, the harder it was to keep away from the call he knew.

Tim stayed in the shadows at first, leaving tips on the desk of the GCPD and even to Batman himself, but he resisted picking up a mask. He couldn't justify the risk.

Red Robin was dead- and he needed to stay that way.

Even without a mask, he had another name. A name given, for the unknown informant who seemed to know all and yet seek nothing in return, alluding even the bat.

They dubbed him after the little red paperclips he put on every file he put into place, and small bird doodles he'd forgotten to erase.

At least they were keeping with the theme of birds in Gotham. Never did he claim the name- at least not then.

Instead he continued Pushing the bounds of what he could get away with, though he did let some dead dogs lie so to speak.

He didn't interfere with Dick and B’s whole blow up, they would sort it out themselves.

Besides, the world deserved Nightwing and Dick deserved the freedom he got away from Gotham.

The call grew stronger after Babs' attack, he’d only lessened and delayed it, but a failure was still that.

Seeing her walking cane at public events only made that pit in his chest grow. Batgirl still “died” because he was too weak to step in himself.

Even then, Tim was still set on staying away.

But.. with Dick and Bruce still at eachothers throats, Gordon and Alfred already overwhelmed with it all, and Jason seeming to outgrow Bruce's iron grip everyday?

He couldn't stand the idea of Babs being so alone in that damned tower.

So, in a moment of weakness, he left a gift. And a note, from Cardinal. A bird of devotion, a homage and reminder of his mission.

It served as a sliver of connection to the family he once had. It was- euphoric.

Despite his failure- despite the suits and the tech he had stashed away, since too long a glance was already too much. Tim managed to stay strong in his refusal.

Of course, that all changed when April came around.

Tim would be damned if he allowed Jason the worst fate, he would not fail again. Even if it meant there was no longer a need for a “replacement." A need for Tim.

He pulled together a profile on Sheila along with hundreds of other Joker confirmed associates worldwide, save the trouble in the future. It was left on the commissioners desk the same way it always had.

Only now it was signed, in bright red ink-
Cardinal.

To no one's surprise, Batman had combed through every single name- he found Sheila among them. It should have been over then.

But Jason- as lovingly stubborn as he was, wasn't satisfied with a simple no.Something went wrong, horribly wrong.

Bad enough that despite his every reservation, despite every instinct screaming at him how bad an idea it was.

Cardinal was given a face.

In the end- Robin still died.
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But Jason Todd lived.

Tim never found out everything that happened. Fleeing before the smoke could settle and questions could be asked.

The public story was a tragedy of a broken boy, recovered by the Bat and returned to father. The family granted privacy to recover after the international ordeal.

And about a year later?
Bluejay appeared, a blonde Robin trailing just behind.

Cardinal continued to work behind the scenes, but from the moment he gave in, Tim knew he'd given in to it all.

Slowly spreading their wings until they gained a reputation of their own in the streets. In Gotham they became a critical source of almost omnipotent level information to the Bats.

People were arrested, disasters prevented, and organizations destroyed long before they could come to fruition.

The only group he left alone was the league not wanting to touch that mes if he could help it.

And he didn't want to make things any more dangerous for Damian. Though he did keep tabs, same with Lady Shiva and David Cane.

It was shaky work, choosing what events to allow and which ones to stop.

But he couldn't beat Luthor to death when Connor hadn't been “born” yet. And let the light develop just enough Bart appeared, then he could stamp it out.

By some miracle, it worked.

The Thomases were saved, and Duke seemed to be doing well. Though Tim had left him be, he never really knew him anyways.

Steph and Cass had joined the family through hundreds of carefully pulled strings and circumstances.

Batgirl and Spoiler made their own legacies. With Steph returned to her original moniker, first Robin, now Batgirl. Instead handing over yet another legacy title to a new sibling,

That last piece was arguably the most challenging of them all. But with all other safe options expended, he bit the bullet and reached out to Talia.

She had been, understandably, uncooperative.

“Look- I'm not asking you to trust me, I'm asking you to trust your instincts”

“And what, pray tell, are my instincts meant to be telling me?" Talia practically purred over the phone.

“Ra’s hunger for power is insatiable. He will see Damian as he sees you, an asset to his grand mission. And if Damian fails-”

“-He will not fail.” Talia hissed with so much venom Tim flinched back.

He had to pull away from the voice modifier for a breath, long enough to recenter himself. Weakness to an Al Ghul was far from worthy of trust, and that's just what he needed.

“By your standards- no. But he is as much a Bat as he is you, and the strength of a black knight is a weakness to a ruthless assassin-”

Tim glanced at the water over the edge of the yacht he planned to chunk the phone over soon enough. Anyone who knew Damians true parentage was a threat, but it was a card he needed to show.

“-Now I ask again, will you be able to protect him against your father?"

She hung up.
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Damian appeared at the manor by the time Timothy returned from his “cruise.”

That was several years ago now.

Batman, Nightwing, Oracle, Bluejay, Batgirl, Spoiler, and Robin. All the Bats had their place. And His shoe box of photos had grown into an entire secret room.

Was it creepy? Yes.
But was it also the best he got to see his family? Also yes.
That and he didn't have to worry about being discovered.

By the time Tim was seventeen yet again, he.. hadn't been able to save his parents. Not escaping the fate of the “youngest CEO” when he took over Drake Industries.

Timothy Drake as a spoiled brat, or a petulant child to pity. Who was only the face of the company for the tabloids and the namesake.

They assumed the charity that sometimes topped even the Waynes was the thankless work of his “lackeys."

Only two people were “in the know” about Tim.

Leslie Tompkins. She didn't know about his past, just that he wasn't the same “spoiled brat” the tabloids portrayed. He made sure of that.

It did help with advancing medical care in Gotham through her clinic, jointly-funded by Wayne Industries, of course. But she also gave advice on measures that the WE overlooked and D.I. could help in.

And Lucius Fox. Tim had swiped him from the W.E. He'd tried the same with Tam, but in this timeline, she moved to Europe in college instead. It was probably better that way.

But if he wanted to maintain Timothy Drake while still having Drake Industries function, he needed at least one other competent person. It was… he was really appreciated.

Though at this point, he was confident Lucius just thought he was fucking weird and that his whole asshole persona was a “defense mechanism” from his “childhood trauma” which was rude.

But he was half the reason Tim stayed sane, so it was worth it.

The downside of having a good relationship with his right-hand man was the fact he couldn't play the “hungover after a wild rich kid rager on someone’s yacht” card everytime he wanted to skip an event.

Even worse, this was an event hosted by the Waynes. Which, despite hating his guts, had to invite him out of courtesy after the latest program collaboration that introduced free vital medications to Crime Alley and other low-income areas of Gotham.

Lucius had given him a glare that rivaled Alfred when he tried making his case for bailing. Unfortunately, knowing Tim wasn't nearly as reckless as Timothy worked against him at times.

Hell- one of the only bonuses of Timothy was that Tim wasn’t new to Galas in general.

Usually, it was acceptable for younger kids not to attend, though Tim was, of course, always an exception for his parents.

But the fact it was hosted at Wayne Manor meant that Damians's presence was not only expected, but it was also practically required to avoid any baseless rumors from flaunting around.

Tim glanced down at his cup, which was now disappointingly empty. He already felt the wisps of a pleasant buzz, but he didn't want to deal with being seen walking around with an empty glass.

Weaving past the crowd, he had a few polite smiles and, of course, some well-timed snobby comments and sneers.

Tim ignored the sensation of an especially glaring pair of eyes as he reached one of the servers. Snapping his fingers, making them rush forward to swap his cup with a now full one.

Casually, he scanned the hall and met the eyes. None other than Jason Todd who sneered.

Timothy would have sneered back, but Tim couldn't bring himself to do it.

One thing Tim could never bring himself to do was flunk classes. Sure he was disrespectful and might skip here and there.

But he never failed. So he happened to still be kicked a few grades ahead in Gotham Academy.

In Jason's grade.

Tim had gotten careless then, but he knew to never make the same mistake again, and now he paid the price.

Tim rolled his shoulders back. Timothy maintained Jason's eyeline, waving exaggeratedly as he waltzed over to the Wayne boys, a sideways smile on his face.

“Ah, if it isn't the Waynes, might I say lovely party so far?” Tim projected his voice, letting his Bristol accent full force to the point it bordered on ear grating.

Jason looked like he wanted to deck Tim for existing, and Damian looked similarly murderous.

Dick, however, ever the actor, had just a moment where his eyes darkened- imperceivable to anyone, not a bat, of course. Then he switched to a blinding smile.

“Timothy Drake, glad to see you are enjoying yourself- Though I swore you’re not of legal age just yet” Dick smiled, gesturing to Tim’s now half-empty champagne glass.

Timothy only smirked and held it up slightly. “Oh, I'm not- but it would be rude to deny an esteemed guest good booze, wouldn't it, Officer Grayson?"

He took another obnoxious long sip while maintaining eye contact.

Dicks eyebrow twitched "It's actually Firefighter now, I only had the honor of serving on the force for a few months before I quit"

"Quit" more like he almost got killed by his fellow officers after exposing a giant corruption scheme. Not that "Timothy" knew that though. But still, he didn't take that bait.

Tim needed some sort of scene. Damian didn't really know him yet; they made sure to keep Timothy far away from baby Wayne.

The last thing he needed was the brat getting curious. That and a scene would mean a damm good excuse to bail.

“Now then- glad to hear that the W.E. has matched Drake Industries in donations for the um… what was it again?" Tim said, looking to the side.

“Right!" He snapped his fingers. “Medical stuff for people who can't afford it, such a noble cause, don't you agree?"

Dicks smile was now very much strained and Jason tensed even more, but not enough yet.

“Say- you used to live among the everyday folk downtown, didn't you, Jason?" Tim smiled, though the words felt like razor blades up his throat.

“I did.” Jason spat, his hands slowly curling into fists at his sides.

Tim hummed, taking another long lingering sip. Just enough, it was bordering on disrespect. Then again, Timothy would never respect Jason, so it worked.

“Then I imagine you’re especially grateful for the noble sacrifice to your kind of people”

In that instance he would have sworn Jason's eyes flashed green, and yet he knew better. They stayed their natural baby blue but were so filled with familiar rage it hardly made a difference.

“Though you likely had a big part in convincing your father- so for that, I must thank you for the opportunity” Tim bowed his head, both in a desperate attempt to break eye contact and as the cherry on top of pissing Jason off.

Timothy always bordered the line of infuriating, but just subtle enough, you couldn't call him out on it. Some tried, and they proceeded to have to keep up with the verbal Gymnastics that would keep even the Riddler spinning.

Most people would be forced to “play nice” and would just find a polite excuse to bail and then complain to the nearest person in earshot. Hell, if Jason did him a favor of being a bit too loud, Tim could probably leave by midnight.

But Jason, ever the unpredictable asshole, seemed to have no qualms about “playing nice." He didn't yell at Tim- but quickly stormed off, muttering under his breath all the way and almost ramming into several socialites.

Dick was quick to follow, apologizing to a few stuffy old crows that continued to glare at Jason as they disappeared from view.

Mission success-
God, he missed real missions; this just sucked.

Tim glanced down at his watch, a Rolex that used to be his dad's. Huh- only 10:30, sooner than expected. He took another sip of the glance and glared at the fact it was already running low.

Well now he could feel a buzz, curse his low tolerance he'd need to slow down to keep pace all night.

“So Drake- you are an associate of my father?" Damian said, his arms now crossed and one of his bat brows raised high.

Tim had to thank years of practice acting for the fact he didn't spit out his drink and jump a foot in the air. Why the fuck was he still here?

“Why yes- and you are the littlest Wayne, the bio child?" Timothy smiled

Damian seemed annoyingly unphased by the little comment and just nodded “Damian Wayne, yes- and I will be taking over father's company, so we will be associates in the future”

“Is that so?" This was new. What angle was Damian going for here? “Then I hope you grow big enough for your britches in time.”

Damian's face screwed up just a bit- fuck, that was Southern slang, dammit, kon. But he could pass it off as being drunk and well-traveled, surely.

“That being said- Father may see you a worthy asset, and while I see the appeal of strong allies- they mean nothing in the face of utter disrespect”

“Whatever do you mean?"

“Don't play coy with me, Drake.” Damian spat in an oh-so-familiar tone, “If you do not cease your venom-filled words towards my brother, I will be forced to make you”

Damian stepped forward, purposefully encroaching on Timothy's personal space with a glare that rivaled Batman himself.

Normal men would cower, Tim had to remember to let a little fear slip through.

“This is your one and only warning, control your tongue or lose it,” Damian said and remained far too close to Timothy for a few seconds too long before pulling away.

“Now I'm off to find better company-” and he left.

Dammit.
Dick was a fucking infection, making him feel proud for the brat being so protective.

But god his Damian would sooner die than call any of them his brothers, let alone stick up for them off-field. He'd come so far- how dare the little shit make him feel proud?

Tim checked his phone, ready to call an Uber, but instead was greeted with a text that made him want to scream.

Well fuck-
Tim was far too sober for this.

Chapter Text

Dick held tightly onto his brother's shoulders, making the extra effort to breathe in much deeper than normal, hoping he would match it.

Slowly but surely, Jason's shoulders dropped. Though his knuckles were still white as he gripped on the edge of the balcony bannister.

It was almost pitch black, too cloudy in Gotham to see the stars. But the dark hadn't been scary since the first night he put on his family's colors and took to her streets.

Darkness was comfort, the only thing to fear was what it may be hiding and well- was he meant to fear Jason?

Yeah right- his brother wouldn't hurt a fly
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or well, he wouldn't hurt Dick!
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WELL- just… nevermind.

“I just- god that guy pisses me off so much.” Jason detached one of his hands and began gesturing wildly back to the entryway that was colored in warm yellow light.

“-One of these days I will reach my limit and smash his smug ass face in.”

Dick snorted “You know what- Id cover for you”

“Really? The golden boy condoning assault outside the masks?" Jason held a hand to his chest, ever the drama queen.

“I never said that.” Dick was quick to establish plausible deniability, “ I just said Bruce has been encouraging us to express our emotions- if you happen to do that through fists then well, I’d hypothetically vouch for your insanity plea deal”

Jason rolled his eyes, but Dick could see a small smirk. “Yeah no thank you, last thing I want is to be shoved in Arkham.”

“Eh- i'd give it a week before you break out,” Dick said, turning to press his back against the bannister. “And you say that as if you wouldn't be carted off to a luxury mental health spa in the Bahamas or something, on B’s dime of course.”

“Fucking paper walls-” Jason sneered, meeting Dicks gaze, his shoulderes finally dropping, “and I guess nepotism is fine when its in our favor yeah?"

“Well now you sound like Timothy Drake-”

“God Dick if you love me never say that again.”

“Well aren't you supposed to be honest with your loved ones?"

Jason shuttered, “Fuck you- Damian is my new favorite brother.”

Dick stuck out his lip in a pout, but paused when he didn't hear a quick snip of ‘you can keep Todd’ from his littlest brother.

He looked around the Balcony, they were alone.

“Dick?" Jason sounded concerned now “You know I didn't mean it right- I don't do favorites, and if I did it would be Cass.”

“No no Jay-” Dick grabbed his brother by his shoulders and practically shook him “ We left Damian.”

“..what” Jason blinked, the gears visibly turning in his head.

As the lightbulb went off Jason began cursing loudly, trying to shove Dick away and bolt for the doors back inside.

Dick let him go and followed a half step behind. At the very least he hoped Damians promise to refrain from manslaughter and or violent threats would hold through even when dealing with Drake.

He owed Damian sooo much ice cream after this.

They stumbled through the gala, the only thing preventing Dick from sending out an amber alert or yelling his brother's name was not wanting to face B’s wrath should he get caught losing his brother.

Between having to act casual when dozens of people were trying to drag him into small talk, and making sure Jason didn't snap and start yelling for B or god forbid Alfred. He was a bit frazzled.

So loud squeak as Jason's hand clamped on his shoulder and yanked him over towards the champagne towers was very justified.

But there he was, Damian with a glass in hand and his back up against a stone pillar, a passive and relatively mild glare on his face as he scanned the room.

It warmed his heart a little how the moment Damians eyes locked onto them they lit up just a smidge.

“The fuck is that? We leave you alone for ten minutes and you decide to drink?" Jason accused, pointing at Damian's cup.

“Honestly, do you think so little of me Todd?” Damian huffed. Last name huh, yeah he was annoyed.

“This is sparkling cider, and you were gone for fourteen minutes, I had presumed you got yourselves kicked out.”

“Dami this is our party- they aren't going to kick us out” Dick grinned, easier now his brother was just an arm length away.

“A shame really…” Damian sighed, taking another long sip of his cider. His gaze was fixed across the room.

Dick followed, half expecting to see his dad “drunk off his ass” playing up Brucie Wayne for the sponsors and not so undercover press.

But instead he spotted an annoyingly familiar face.

Timothy Drake was on what looked like his third or fourth cup of champagne, and chatting it up with several of Gothams elites. Or well- the elite among the elites.

Drake was younger than Jason. And yet he talked with people three times his age with ease. It was a whole song and dance that Dick never did quite get the hang of.

Sure he could follow manners perfectly fine, but he was left completely lost when it came to subtle conversations and god forbid when victorian fan language became a fad a while back.

Timothy was a natural- He'd be a bit jealous if he wasn't disgusted by his very presence in the manor. He had a grudge, sue him.

“You see it too?" Damian whispered, snapping Dick out of his thoughts.

“See what baby bird?"

Damian scowled at the nickname for just a moment and then gestured back to Drake, “He acts like father at these events.”

Jason leaned over, biting an olive off a stick- when the hell did he get food? “Yeah no shit- the perfect socialite prince, cracker?"

Dick did accept a cracker while Damians eyes only narrowed “No you fool- that's the point.”

“Dami I love you, but im feeling a little lost right now.”

Damian let out a sigh as if he'd just been given the weight of the world, but did obliged in gracing them with understanding.

“Fathers act is perfection- but that is because of who he is, I have seen his file on such a persona, it is one of his most elaborate by design-”

Oh yeah- Dick had seen the file too, or well files
The “Pearl Protocol” was anything and everything to do with Brucie Wayne.

From pre planned vacation excuses when Bats got injured to his opinion on every Hockey sports team from here to Metropolis.

Bruce was nothing if not thorough, and as Steph would say “committed to the bit”

“Wait didn't Dad tell you to stop snooping in his files?" Jason said with his mouth full making Damian wince away.

“-You are changing the subject.” He hissed and then his gaze locked back onto Drake “Fathers perfection is planned, Drake's perfection by comparison is just unnerving.”

That was- wait Dick saw the glint in Damian's eye. Dammit not again.

“Damian. We've talked about this… Timothy Drake is not a secret villain.”

Jason nodded and for a split second Dick felt joy at not facing his baby brother's stubborn paranoia alone.

“Yeah Dami, Drakey boy is a very blatant villain, just not the super kind” That was- good enough.

“Now then the mailman you accused last week? Mr.Steffors? He's definitely a Joker goon- has that look in his eyes”
Actually- when had Jason ever once been helpful?

Damian turned his heel to face his brothers, bat brows furrowing, “I have also seen fathers file on Drake, for someone with such a reputation as I have been informed it is woefully bare!"

Dick hushed him as several people turned their heads to the youngest Wayne. He just smiled and patted Damians shoulder as if comforting him.

People probably assumed he was throwing a fit about the party.

But despite being hushed Damian would not be silenced, though he did lower his voice considerably. “I threatened to cut out his tongue-”

Dick groaned, flashbacks of several court cases, half being defamation that had Timothy Drake all over it. “Dami you didn't.”

“-I refused to have Todd's honor questioned in our household, I simply outlined that as the future head of the W.E. I would not tolerate such disrespect!”

“Aww Dami, I'm touched really- but while I'm all for personal beef against the asshole, that doesn't make it investigation worthy.”

“You don't understand- I threatened him, I even used some intimidation techniques that Cain had displayed- and yet Timothy's fear was mild at best.”

“So you were pissed you didn't get little Drakey trembling in his thousand dollar boots?" Jason said, but he did have that same alarming glint in his eyes.

Okay he needed to act before it was all smoke bombs and tranquilizer darts. This was a charity event after all.

“AND I'm stopping both of you right there-” Dick made a T with his hands and looked between his brothers “-Look, while I think we can all agree Drake is far from a heroic guy, I don't think he can be considered a threat.”

He was met with two very disgruntled expressions, though Jasons was less effective with his cheese and cracker filled chipmunk cheeks.

“Maybe he's so perfect just because he is what Brucie pretends to be, nothing more, nothing less.”

Damian and Jason both grumbled but they did seem to drop it, much to Dicks relief.

But of course, being a Bat once the seed was planting he couldn't stop his own mind from wandering.

What did he really know about Timothy Drake?

He was their neighbor first off, and Dick remembered seeing him at basically every gala he'd ever attended.

Dick remembered the shy kid who clung to his parents and avoided peoples eyes. And would greet adults and shake their hands, a little whistle as he spoke from a lost tooth or two.

Tim was adorable. Then things changed, the kid became a brat, normal for any socialite kid as he’d come to learn.

And then of course what happened with Jason was enough to spoil any view of the kid. Though that outright hatred softened to general contempt after what happened to the Drakes.

But just because he wasn't the antichrist himself, didn't make the kid anymore likable in Dicks eyes.

Of course the tabloids began to rack up bigtime.

It was seemingly never ending, and would be much more concerning if it wasn't for him being used to all of Brucie Wayne scandals, all being misunderstandings of course.

God he remembered the one paper about Bruce only adopting kids to get more dates.

Where Timothy's headlines all misunderstandings? Probably not- but then again Dick would be a hypocrite if he judged how people mourned. Besides- Gotham Gazette wasfar from a reliable news source.

…
Huh.

“Damian… how empty did you say that file was?"

Both of his brothers perked up and Jason smirked knowingly,
“Ah so you believe in the dark side now?"

“It was aberrantly empty, half the information was tied to unconfirmed connections to low level drug dealers and some scandals” Damian summarized, his grin a bit too sharp.

“...I'll check it out later, but for now we leave it alone okay?"

Both of them hesitated long enough Dick knew they weren't going to listen for shit.

“Look- We still lack any concrete evidence okay?" Dick sighed, “As far as we are aware Timothy is just as much of a dirty, slimy, self centered, privileged prick as any other Socialite.”

“As far as we are aware it is just right. And I do not like being unaware Richard.” Damian crossed his arms in an almost adorable pout.

“Just promise me- until there's a lead, we focus on the actual present dangers of Gotham okay?" Dick whispered, but relaxed when he got twin nods.

That relaxation lasted only mere moments as a loud almost deafening crash echoed throughout the ballroom sending Dick right on edge.

He shot his hands out and pulled his brothers in close. The noise stopped just as quickly as it began and Dick pulled back, glancing down.

Jason and Damian were wide eyed, a bit startled, but otherwise completely unharmed.

“MISTER DRAKE- ARE YOU ALRIGHT!?" One of the hired servers shouted and Dick quickly whipped around.

The champagne tower that once stood proudly in the hall was now just a pile of sticky liquid and shards of glass that now coated the floor. Timothy Drake being right on the edge, drenched in champagne to the point he looked like a wet cat.

He heard Jason snickering next to him but he paused seeing the little pool of crimson that began to mix with the champagne.

Cursing, Dick quickly but carefully rushed his brothers to the side and hurried to help.

It took a bit of effort, not to maneuver, but to do so in a way that wasn't kicking glass everywhere or showing off a few too many well crafted skills. But Drake had not replied, and Dick couldn't see the damage.

Once he did get close, to his relief the blood hadn't spread much, though he could see a few small shards stuck in his suit pants leg from where he probably fell on the ground.

“Are you alright?" Dick held his hand, checking him over.

Timothy looked up at him, blinking for a moment as his expression shifted into what Dick could only identify as utter disbelief and something.. He didn't know.

But in the next second it was gone, as he swatted Dicks hand away to stand up on his own.

“Don't mind me- despite the apparent death trap at your estate, I am thankfully just fine” Timothy assured.

But Dick could clearly note the small limp as he walked away from the upturned table and the wince as he spoke.

A rather decent sized crowd had gathered from the commotion and Dick spotted a few of the not so undercover press now not so subtly taking pictures of the entire event.

Dick didn't know what to do- as a civilian he could only do/say so much especially with so many eyes. But Drake was still hurt one way or another
He needed to make sure he was okay.

Like a saving grace, the crowd parted just enough for a figure dressed in all white to come stumbling through, Bruce Wayne.

“Boys are you alright!?” His dad yelled, slipping a bit on some of the champagne, “Shit um- Can we please get some staff to clean this?"

Some workers had already begun to gather with dust pans and mops in hand ready to tackle the mess that had become of the ball room.

“We're fine dad. Only Mister Drake got hit by the glass,” Dick explained, watching the subtle flip between Brucie and Bruce back and forth.

Bruce's attention went to Timothy who now stood, still sopping wet from the several gallons of spilled champagne and hands now slightly bloody from his own still undefined injuries.

“Timothy- I am so sorry about this, You are bleeding- Here, my Butler is very experienced in first aid, I insist you let him assess your injuries”

Timothy's expression flickered, several emotions seeming to pass by in seconds before settling on mild pain and annoyed yet polite smile.

“While I appreciate the hospitality, I would prefer to simply be chauffeur back to my estate and be seen by my private physician if it's all the same to you.”

Alfred cleared his throat, making his presence known by stepping next to Bruce. “Master Timothy, I insist you at least let me ensure your injuries do not need any temporary attention until your physician can arrive?"

Drake paused, but he did not look at Alfred or even Bruce, he looked at the crowd and now obvious media personnel.

Was he upset at the scene?
Then again how had he even managed to run into what was about a twenty foot tower in the middle of the room?
By all accounts Timothy was an attention seeker- little brat would probably love the chaos of-

Nope no - No, no victim blaming.
Tim needed help, but he deserved privacy as well.

Dick shot a look at Bruce, flicking his eyes at Tim and then back at the crowd.

Bruce's face didn't change more than a small twitch of his brow, but Dick saw wisps of the cowl in the air around him. He turned to the room and cleared his throat, projecting to the crowd

“I'm afraid I'll have to ask everyone to turn in for the night, possible injury aside. I don't feel comfortable hosting guests with such a big hazard within my estate- but you all have been lovely company this night!"

Quite a few nosy people looked like they were ready to protest, but they had no grounds and they knew it. Besides they had hired security for that night and guards quickly began escorting guests in droves out of the main corridor.

Timothy seemed to relax just a smidge and Alfred took the opportunity to approach and begin leading the boy towards the kitchen where they kept one of the many spare medical kits scattered throughout the manor.

Once both were out of sight and not even a single staff member was left in the corridor Bruce turned to his three sons and raised a brow.

Dick sighed, “No clue, we can check the cameras later- to find out details, but for now just rule it an accident.”

“A happy accident,” Jason muttered under his breath, ignoring the glare he got from Bruce.

Damian stayed silent, glare still transfixed to the still wet floor marked with an almost neon colored yellow caution sign placed precariously dead center where the chaos had once been.

Bruce rubbed at the bridge of his nose “I will deal with shutting everything down and checking in on Alfred, the rest of you can turn in for the night alright?"

By “turn in” he meant “stay out of the cave”

“If you say so dad-”
“Good luck dealing with the leeches- sorry, the paparazzi,”
“Tsk, if you wish father”

They all chimed out, voices overlapping one another without pause.

Bruce's eyes narrowed into a signature bat glare that he leveled over each one of them. He lingered for just a moment more and then quickly turned heel and left towards where he would need to make the trek to the upper level kitchen.

As his footsteps faded and the room fell into silence, the three brothers remained.

That silence lasted all of ten seconds before Jason spoke, far too high above a whisper for Dicks comfort even with an empty hall.

“We're breaking into the cave to check the footage tonight right?"

“I agree for that approach, father need not stress over our theory, as you said Grayson”

Timothy Drake was a mystery, one that Dick didn't have the energy to solve. But the sooner he could lay his and his brothers paranoia to rest the better.

Besides it was basically like brotherly bonding right?

Staying up late to stalk your asshole neighbor to find out whether or not he's a threat to national security that you need to beat up in the dead of night in matching masks?

…
You know- the fact Bruce only had a few grey hairs was a miracle, Dick was barely half his age and could feel his youth being sapped away daily.

“I'm not getting any younger, lets go.”

He ignored the slight confused sound from them both, already a half step towards the cave knowing they would be quick to follow.

Besides, once they were satisfied they could bury this whole thing once and for all. And Timothy Drake could join yet another name Dick let fade from his mind.

Chapter Text

Tim had miscalculated. A minor error in judgment really.

Something in masks could lead to being exposed by some death cult and bound for sacrifice by some fucked up dagger with too many curves. But outside masks?

It was the one mistake that lead to something so terrible, so horrible, so torturously atrocious-

Awkward. Unavoidable. Concern.

Worse than that? It was from Alfred, in the manor. He'd rather be a death cult sacrifice, curvy knife and all.

It was quiet now, everyone had in fact been ushered out mere moments before. Tim would feel bad but he knows Bruce and the others would be secretly pleased they got off shift a few hours early.

He was seated at the kitchen island, the downstairs one that always smelled faintly of vanilla.

On the counter splayed out was a full med kit that Alfred had pulled out from one of the cabinets. He'd already used up several rolls of gauze and bloodied a pair of scissors.

The pair still had a few strands of his designer pants, the chill against his leg was uncomfortable but a necessary step for Alfred to check him over properly.

“Mister Drake, are you quite alright?" Alfreds soft tmbr cut through the buzz in his ears.

Tim’s eyes drifted back down to his ripped slacks, they were custom tailored- the same guy his father used to use. He could care less about his slacks, though he did maintain a small sneer at the “waste."

As for his injuries they were non consequential, or well really more inconvenient.Though they weren't as “minor” from a civilian perspective, and hurt like a bitch.

So at the very least Tim didn't have to hold back the pained winces as Alfred plucked out some of the bigger shards.

Pro tip?
Don't get cut up with glass and then proceed to expose all those wounds to alcohol.

Alfred’s brow was raised in mild concern. It was a lot- he hasn't spoken to the man more than passing greetings in years. He wanted to leave.

“I'm fine- are we about done here?" Timothy snapped back.

It was a weird godsent that he was pretty buzzed and also plain exhausted otherwise he would have no chance at being Timothy to Alfred.

It didn't help that Alfred's face did not contort into a glare, he didn't look at Tim with a newfound hatred. He just looked understanding like he'd done this song and dance a million times with Bruce which…..He probably had.

“Yes you are all sorted out-” Alfred assured as he secured the last of gauze on Timothy's left hand.

Tim looked down, flexing his hand just a bit. It hurt sure, but the wrappings were secure and nothing a little Ibuprofen couldn't fix.

He couldn't allow much rest, he needed to get out of here now. He'd call Leslie in the morning. One advantage of having his spleen back- doctors visits could be delayed.

But to his horror, when he padded down his pockets he found them empty. Fuck- of course the cherry on top of this god awful evening,he lost his phone.

Lucius was going to kill him- well not before Tim killed himself.

“Looking for something?" An all too familiar voice called from the doorway. Bruce smiled a signature Brucie grin, the glint of what was clearly Tim's phone in hand.

That was “Timothy's” phone, and it was 100% clean, but the idea of Batman having his hands on it for any longer than necessary was a detriment for Tim’s already growing anxiety.

He waited mere moments as Bruce was “in range” before snatching the phone out of his hand, quickly glancing over the screen.

There were several texts from Lucius and a few from random people checking in, likely those at the party or who had already been updated on the whole event. Tim swiped them all away and instead opened up his contact for a luxury cab service.

He’d been looking forward to a small stroll home and dismissed his driver early. Now even though he could hobble his way down the driveway, but he doubted the Wayne’s would let him.

“Mister Drake, I insist we drive you. We're neighbors after all so it's no trouble,” Bruce began and yeah no that was about the very last thing that Tim needed. Being stuck in an enclosed space with B, even if just for a five minute drive.

“Really Mister Wayne, while you are a lovely host, I recall the gazette just last week saying you drove your Bently into the harbor” Timothy said, carefully keeping his eyes stuck on his phone screen.

“I'd rather avoid any further injury for tonight if that's all the same to you-”

Of course Tim knew it wasnt Bruce but Steph. After Dick tried giving her driving lessons. He'd done so many times in the Batmobile with Spoiler, but apparently she had gotten used to the better stop time.

They were fine of course- Tim had made sure of that. With a little help from the handy dandy trackers in all of the cars the moment Bruce left the lot with them, along with all of Jason's various motorcycles.

“Ah well, Alfred would be driving… of course,” Bruce seemed a bit bashful now but Tim knew better, “And with all the guests still crowding the main entry, it may be a while before any cab service gets clearance.”

Well Fuck- Tim hadnt thought of that.

Okay okay, two options here.

One?
He insists on getting a cab, but they probably won't let him leave while limping. Not to mention his “leaving” would have to be through the press and other socialites.

There was only so far he could take “stubborn insistence” before it became suspicious avoidance.

And of course there was also the risk of being forced to talk to them for however long his cab took, and running into his ex siblings.

Or Two?
He could allow them to give him a ride, deal with five minutes of driving, collapse in his bed for the night,
ignore Lucius texts for the next fourteen ish hours, and book his appointment at the clinic tomorrow.

.
.
.

“As long as your Butler drives, then I… suppose it is satisfactory given the situation.”

Bruce looked all too pleased as Alfred gave a small head bow “I shall start the car, I ask you wait in the foyer Mister Drake alongside Master Bruce.”

Timothy hummed, waving him off as he began hobbling behind the butler who thankfully slowed his pace a bit.

Not too thankfully, Bruce was hovering.
Always anxious, hidden under layers of angst and emo monologuing, but he was. Tim would be a hypocrite if he faulted him for it.

Mother always said he was a “wound up” kid, but appreciated how “mature” it made him. Even misplaced, he missed the slight smile of pride alongside the ash covered words.

“-I want to truly apologize for the entire incident and assure you that precautions will be taken in the future,” Bruce said in his most flattering PR tone.

Oh fuck how long had he been talking?

“I should hope not Mister Wayne,” Timothy said shortly, thankfully being in pain was a perfect excuse to be an asshole. “For the sake of good business i'm fine with letting an accident stay as such, but I don't imagine others wouldn't be as sue happy”

Saying that as if Timothy had not also gained a reputation for being “sue happy” though that was a whole other fire he didn't care to stoke.

“Ah well I will count myself lucky,” Bruce joked, but he could tell the atmosphere had soured.

“Mmhm-” Timothy replied, making no effort to lighten the mood.

Tim kept his eyes on his phone, replying some half assed thanks and assurances to people he knew he didn't want to deal with in person should they feel “concerned for his well being."

He could feel Bruce gaze on him- but thankfully he had no obligation to acknowledge it and Bruce seemed too much of a coward to try breaking the silence himself.

____________________________________________________________

Alfred, the saint he was, took only ten minutes before the car was “sufficiently prepared” for his departure.

Tim hobbled his way to the door, refusing any offer of assistance from bat nor butler except for the door being opened on his behalf. Sliding across leather seating and settled in the far side of the car pressed against the window.

Bruce slipped in right after him and such with rich people's cars, sat in the seat that was facing Tim. At least not uncomfortably close to the point he felt on edge anymore than the sheer fact of the situation.

But as always, life had it out for him, and Tim couldn't just have ten minutes of silence with his ex father an arms length away.

Bruce broke the awkward silence with a ‘dashing smile’ as he assured Tim, “Please know that any medical bills and the cost of your suit can be charged to the W.E accounts”

Ah- nice to know throwing money at his problems hasn't changed, though it's weird being medical bills and designer clothes instead of a camera or ice cream.

Then again no need for medical bills when they had a whole mini hospital in the basement.

“While I appreciate the offer Mister Wayne- I assure you that I am well within my means,” Timothy snapped back, narrowing his eyes at the man.

“Of course- I simply mean it as a gesture of good will, for such an incident on my property I feel a sense of responsibility.”

God why did it have to be so foggy tonight? Tim couldn't tell how far the drive was from his house. “Really Mister Wayne, i've already said for the sake of a business relationship I hold no ill will.”

Keep it non personal, professionalism is key. The moment they cross into “familiarity” the more likely B is going to become ‘concerned’ in all the worst ways.

Bruce looked ready to rebuttal but Timothy responded by channeling his mothers scathing glare and directed it ten fold at Bruce. It was a bit satisfying watching the man tense up, just a smidge.

The car came to a stop and right before Tim could question what was happening, The window separating the driver's area from the rest of the car rolled down.

Alfred leaned just within view “We have arrived at the gate Mister Drake, what pray tell is your gate code?"

Oh thank god-

“0712” Tim relayed back, his death date funnily enough. Or well- Tim found it funny, an inside joke to himself.

He could pick up the faint beep as Alfred input the code and the loud screech as the gate opened and the car pushed forward.

Unfortunately for him, his parents' taste of luxury included a large property and an even longer winding driveway that made up half the journey to the manor.

In the meantime Bruce and Tim continued with bland small talk, with careful avoidance towards Tims condition and the whole party incident all together.

They ended the small talk with the slightly more interesting topic of the Gotham Opera house getting funding from Drake Industries. Enough to help renovate the place after a Joker attack over a decade before.

Timothy Drake appreciated the opera, and well- to Tim? It had its appeal. And any reparations post Joker were worth supporting.

“Well thank you again for the invite Mister Wayne, I do hope our companies can continue to collaborate in the future,” Timothy said, eyes trained forward as Drake manor came into view.

He needed a satisfying conclusion, to make B feel like he'd succeeded in his role for the night and this was a “case closed” on the entire affair.

So despite his every desire, Timothy turned to meet his gaze.

Bruce had an almost unreadable expression, but then again he always did when not putting on an act like Brucie. Not a hint of Batman then, good.

“Why of course, and please do update us on any future plans as well as your condition once you visit your physician,” Bruce face split into thick plastic grin.

The car went silent as the back was bathed in moonlight as Alfred opened the door, hand outstretched to escort Timothy.

No goodbyes were said as the door closed shut behind him.

Alfred, as always, kept a small respectable distance. A small part of Tim wished he was within arms reach, not to dare break that barrier but just to have him close, even if just for a few more moments.

“As Master Bruce said, I do hope to hear an update on your improved condition Mister Drake- and my sincerest apologies as head of house for you encountering such a hazard,” Alfred's voice was monotone as always, but Tim could feel the genuine regret in his voice.

“Yes yes, you did.. acceptable work, I will check in soon enough-” Tim pressed his hand against the doorknob, the cool brass was grounding.

As he twisted the door open he couldn't help but feel a weight in his chest. He should ignore itTimothy wouldn't care.

But milliseconds of silence, he could feel it growing. It would consume him heart and soul if he stayed quiet.

“-And… no level of precaution even from the most qualified of help can make up for teenage stupidity, I'm not fool enough not to recognize my own part in the incident”

Alfred's lip quirked, just a smidge “Ah- while I shall not agree with the blame on you young sir, I can definitely attest to the unpredictability of teenage stupidity”

Timothy let out an amused breath “Very well- now I suggest you leave before this fog gets any worse, lest you lose two vehicles within a month.”

He turned away, pulling open one of the heavy spruce wood doors and stepping inside. It took effort not to shiver as the chill of the empty house washed over him, somehow colder than the foggy night outside.

“Goodnight Mister Drake” He heard Alfred speak, it felt farther away.

Tim did not look back, he couldn't bear to see Alfreds expression, knowing that he may not be able to pull away again. He shut the door.

____________________________________________________________

Alfred stepped away from the stairs, watching the sizable wood door creak shut, sealing the boy on the other side.

He was just that- a boy, just as Master Bruce had been. Both just boys when they lost their parents, just with Mister Drake a few years older.

He climbed back in the driver's seat and started the car again, heading back down the winding driveway. The car remained silent, but just a glance in the mirror he could see the way Master Bruce's shoulders were tense.

The same they always had been, except he'd grown out of the pouting lip to match.

“Anything you wish to comment on, Master Bruce?"

Barely a beat passed, a moment of self restraint quickly lost as Master Bruce let out a long and exhausted sigh. “For as crazy as my kids are- I'm just thankful they aren't that level of crazy.”

“I knew his reputation- but that was only from second hand gossip and through what happened with Jay- id given grace of years passed but it…He's just a bad kid.”

Alfred hummed as he turned down another steep gravel drop off “There is no such thing as a bad kid Master Bruce, only ones in pain who do not know how else to express it”

Master Bruce lifted a brow and shook his head, “I get it Alfie- but I can't imagine what sort of pain comes with being Timothy Drake.”

Alfred did not respond, he would not humor words said out of misguidance. Not when his Master was always so stubborn to accept truth outside what he had already decided it was.

But it seemed his old age wisdom knew better, especially since he had heard those exact words from so many over the years pertaining to his young master.

Who knew just how alike they were?
Unlike Master Bruce, Alfred was in no position to hold a hand out to the young lad. Hed gotten close once, but they were both children, and that was.. Well that was the past.

But perhaps.. He could stop by with a pie for the ailing boy, a perfectly normal neighborly thing of course.

Cinnamon Apple would be perfect.

Chapter Text

The cave was bathed in a light blue, the main screen glowing as the scene played out in full Bat-Tech 8k video.

In the frame, Timothy Drake stood. Champagne glass carelessly twirling the stem and chatting with some elites that Jason had not bothered to learn the names of.

He seemed to be enjoying himself and even from the video they could see his cheeks were a bit flush.Fucking- how many had that asshole drank??

Then something changed, he began glancing over to the side. Once, twice, again. Until he stopped bothering to hide his staring at something off screen.

Timothy abruptly excused himself from the group. And in one motion he threw his glass back like a shot of water.

Hell he did so without even a grimace as he took at least three or four ounces of booze in one fell swoop.

Now Jason may not be a good gauge of manners nor pedigree, but judging by the way Damian looked like someone had just insulted his entire bloodline, that was not posh prude approved.

Timothy didn't seem phased though, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and then placing the now empty glass on a random server tray, he promptly marched off screen.

“Hurry up and change screens you imbecile!" Damian snarled, hopping up on his tippy toes and almost folding the chair back on top of Dick.

“It's a recording you brat, it's not going anywhere,” Jason snapped back “But hurry up Dick face”

Dick grumbled under his breath about something vaguely resembling ‘this family’ but it was hard to tell when he decided to mutter Sanskrit, he was rusty okay?.

Regardless- half of a little brother's job was to be an ass, and Jason was the king of asses- or well, that sounded weird.

Thankfully his brother wasn't completely useless, and despite being practically crushed by both Jason and Damian he made quick work of finding and pulling up the next reel of footage.

The screen switched to show the main foyer where the champagne tower was. Or well, it wasn't just one tower, it was like three different pyramids close together, with the middle one being giant. It was just a shit ton of champagne structures.

Timothy came into view, stumbling slightly as he marched with a purpose, finding what he had been so fixated on before, the champagne towers.

Oh a fucking disaster in the making really.

Jason watched as Drake approached one of the towers where servers had been carefully taking off glasses one by one and proceeded to approach an area right next to the largest tower.

Now- he may be built like a brick wall, but Timothy Drake was a tiny ass kid. Hell if he didn't know any better he would say the kid was Damians age except for the height difference and lack of baby cheeks.

“Oh my god he isn't,” Dick said, horror creeping into his voice.

“He is,” Damian sounded equally horrified, though slightly intrigued as they watched the scene unfold on screen.

“Well- good to know the death trap was of his own making,” Jason chimed, recalling Timothy's earlier comment to Dick when he was trying to help the kid up.

To his growing amusement for both the disaster yet to come and his brother's torturous expressions, he watched as Timothy began reaching up, well above his head towards the towers.

The guy even shifted onto his tiptoes to reach far higher than even Jason could manage with no effort.

His watch shined against the stage lights that beamed down as his fingers wrapped around the shallow stem of a champagne glass and he pulled.

Not surprisingly, he pulled just a bit too hard on the wrong weight bearing glass. All three towers crumbled, sending glass shards and gallons of now ruined booze across the foyer.

The rest of the footage was no different than what they witnessed first hand.

Dick paused the tape as B continued shooing away their former “esteemed guests” now borderline trespassers.

“Well there you have it- Drake is just an idiot, so net zero information” Jason decreed, gesturing to the still frame of the three brothers on screen.

Damian looked none too happy with this revelation and crossed his arms in an almost cute pout, had it not been for the murderous glare that accompanied it. “This is nowhere near the level of proof that should have come from this investigation!"

Dick spun around the batchair to face his youngest brother and reached out an octopus arm to draw him closer. Thankfully B had ensured no weapons at the gala and the brat had yet to restock.

“Oh don't be like that Dami, you and I both know that investigations take time” Dick reassured “Especially on a more civilian side, you don't always get results right away”

“I know that Richard.” Damian growled, but stopped trying to squirm out of Dicks hold “But there is no way someone is so idiotic to cause such a scene, surely Drake had an ulterior motive- I just don't know what yet”

“Trust me baby bat, sometimes people are just that stupid. Throw in substances and teenage hormones and well, it's not surprising” Jason curled his lip up slightly at the mention.

“Substances? You believe Drake truly had ties to the drug trade?" Damian seemed to latch onto this new lead with fever, eyes sparking slightly. But his movements were slightly sluggish.

“I wouldn't go that far- but a rich kid with loads of funds and connections in Gotham of all places, who blatantly gets wasted while underage?"

Though Jason did have a little bit of respect for the “officer grayson '' comment, but very very little. “Twenty bucks says he's at least done coke”

“We are not making bets on that!” Dick snapped, pulling Damian closer as if Jason had offered him the coke.

In that moment, Jason was forced to recall the fact his brother was a cop, sure after a few too many "close calls" (blatant murder attempts) he came to his senses and transferred to the Bludhaven Fire Department, but still.

“I am well aware of cocaine Richard, i'm not a baby,” Damian huffed.

“No you’re well aware because you were cursed with B’s DNA.”

“Hey- fathers blood is far from a curse!"

“I mean, you make the bat brows work,” Jason teased, wiggling his own brows and quickly dodging out of the way of a flash of metal. He turned and saw a miniature batarang now embedded in a filing cabinet nearby.

Well- seems B’s lecture only went so far on keeping the baby bat unarmed. Then again, was he really surprised?

“Speaking of you not being a baby but not quite an adult, its about time we actually did call it a night” Dick started and oh boy, Jason could see Damians bat brows furrow into a scathing glare.

“I do not need rest- I need answers which you are denying me!"

Dick rolled his eyes as Damian began trying to break free of his hold once more. But thankfully for him and the filing cabinet, the brat didn't seem to have any interest in revealing any more hidden weapons.

Jason seriously doubted that was the only one.

“I'm not denying you anything Dami,shānt ho jaao,were still going to look into it I promise” Dick said with a lopsided smile as he continued to maneuver Damian in his arms

“But this is very clearly just a stupid drunk accident- and besides answers don't mean anything if you are too tired to follow up on the lead”

Damian's scowl only worsened at the reminder of his ‘childish needs’ but his lack of visceral reaction from being dragged into a hug was enough evidence he was sleepy.

But Waynes are a stubborn breed, and Jason could see the kid gearing up for another fight. Well- maybe he could be useful at least this once, for Dicks sanity and the brats sleep schedule.

“Beyond that, B’s not gonna be happy if you go face first in your oatmeal in the morning” Jason said, smirking as Damian locked eyes on him now.

“Father is a hypocrite should be accost me for sleeping habits, or lack thereof”

“True, but then we would have to explain our whole investigation…" Jason said with a smirk "Which, need I remind you, started because you checked on files which from what I recall you were specifically banned from doing unsupervised”

Damian's shoulders hunched up. But for as stubborn as the kid was, he was smart, he knew when to heel. But he wasn't quite there yet.

“Besides, like it or not you’re still growing- B can get away with no sleep, his brain is fried as is- but you still need to invest sleep in maintaining an optimal condition” Dick said, shooting Jason a thankful look.

“You heard him brat, let Dick take you up for bed, i'll erase the footage of us taking a peak and then we can continue our investigation at a reasonable hour” Jason said.

Damian blinked, seeming to debate on fighting any longer. But Dick sensing that the fight had reached his end and all that was needed was a little push took action.

He hefted the boy up and began running his free hand in his hair.

It took every bit of self control for Jason not to laugh at the way Damian tried and failed to resist melting into the touch.

For as cute as the kid was, he was still Damian, and lifted his head up just enough to address Jason again.

“Should you fail in properly covering our steps, know that you will take the fall Jason Todd Wayne.”

He ended the statement with a glare that was slightly less effective considering the fact he was now blinking sleepily. But Jason just gave a salute in response.

“Yeah yeah, goodnight you little shit” Jason waved him off, turning to claim Dicks now abandoned seat on the batchair aka the comfiest seat in the manor.

Dick made quick work of carrying Damian back up the stairs and out of the cave, and Jason listened as their footsteps quickly faded and the motion lights shut off.

_________________________________________________________

The cave was now dark except for the screen light of the now dim batcomputer leaving a trailing shadow from the ears of the batchair with Jason comfortably settled in.

He cracked his knuckles and quickly got to work.

Starting with opening a “tentative” case file and transferring all the information about the entire Drake’s.
From Drake Industries, their known connections, dealings, and even property management which they seemed to have a decent amount of, mostly overseas.

What normally would be a red flag, but for pompous rich people? Jason had to come to terms with their version of “normal” in past investigations. God he still remembered Bruce having to explain that not everyone with a yacht was trafficking drugs overseas.

Of course he wasn't about to read all that shit right now, but at the very least he could save future him the trouble. Jason went as far as to make copied recordings of the whole party to store in case Damian insisted on “reexamining the evidence again."

But right as he went to delete the cave footage, he paused. Well- Damian might be a paranoid little shit, but even Dick seemed curious. Besides.. How shit faced drunk do you have to be in order to fuck up that badly?

Wisps of memories of him and Willis- who even after a kegs worth could still find enough rational thought and hand eye coordination to help him with math homework on the weekends.

And that was Willis but “Perfect Socialite I-skipped-two-grades-because-im-just-THAT-special motherfucker” Drakey-boy?

It smelled like horseshit-

“Fucking hell-” Jason muttered as he pulled up the footage and began playing it through yet again.
Then again
.
.
.
And again-
.
.
.
and again

Jason pushed the chair back, letting it roll just a foot away as he stared at the screen, frozen and paused right as Drake reached for the glass. Moments before disaster.

It looked no different than the first time he'd watched it, or any of the other dozen or so times. And yet something itched at the back of his mind.

Bat instincts so to say, and he wasn't dumb enough to ignore a gut feeling.
So he kept looking-

Until.. there it was.

Jason winced as his ribs smacked against the edge of the desk from shooting forward so fast. He ignored the pain and quickly skipped back on the film, eyes glued to the screen the entire time.

Right there-Right when Timothy went for the drink.

He wasn't looking at the tower.
Sure you could say that was a bit much, but who the fuck reaches for a glass without even looking at it and doesnt expect a disaster.

It's against human instincts, which don't just magically vanish when you’re buzzed.

It was so obvious Jason felt kind of stupid, then again Dicky nor Demon had noticed it either. But there he was, his gaze clearly on something else. Maybe Damian was right- he wasn't just drunkenly seeking out another glass of booze.

“I thought you were deleting footage, not continuing the investigation solo,” Dicks voice muttered just a few inches from his ear and Jason did not jump a foot in the air.

“Fucking hell-” He wheezed, turning to glare at his brother who had his arms crossed “Why arent you with Dami?"

Dick raised a brow “It's been three hours Jason- he's been long asleep, I went to check on you but color me surprised when your bed was empty”

Jason couldn't help but snicker “Bed empty, no note- hey but the cars still here”
Fuck Rowling, but Jay was still a sucker for a good Harry Potter reference, even to Dicks dismay.

“Oh yeah you are exhausted, come on- I can't carry you but I will roll you up the stairs if need be”

But instead of taking his threat seriously Jason beckoned his brother forward and motioned to the screen.“Just wait- I think I found something”

Dick had his hands on his hips but seemed to accept Jason wouldn't go without a fight, or at the very least his own curiosity won out.

They played the footage and Dicks leaned in, eyes shining with interest.
"Huh-”

“Huh indeed my dear brother” Jason said, spinning the chair slightly, for dramatic flair of course.

Dick placed his hand on the computer and quickly began typing, Jason let him work in silence knowing it was better to let his plan unfold. Nightwing may be a happy go lucky guy, but he was second to Batman for a reason.

Several of the displays flickered to life, each alit with different perspectives of footage at the same time.

“Oh nice- how come I didnt think of that?"

“Because you never think”

“Um okay rude” Jason clipped back, but refocused on the screen.

They watched again and with all the angles aligned, it wasn't as hard to figure out what Drake was actually looking at.

Ms. Emelia Weston, her parents were “new money” after her dads tech firm took off. But they had been in Gotham their whole lifes and seemed to fit right into the upper crust.

That being said- everyone had a reputation. But the Westons were only that of good will, a family that gave back to the community that helped them flourish. Emelia was a student at Gotham University and Jason had even run into her once while dropping off papers to his English Professor.

She was a sweet girl. But she lacked the bite of a true ruthless socialite.

Which explained why she maintained a polite smile even while obviously uncomfortable as Mister Reeves, a man whose age rivaled Ra’s but that showed it, was getting closer and closer as they talked.

Jason was growing more furious as he watched the girl repeatedly try drifting away from the conversation, or politely dismiss the man.

But he was insistent and she continued to look around for any kind of aid. Yet the room ignored her.

Except for Timothy Drake it seemed. You could see the moment Timothy seemed to clock this tension, noting nothing more than a small eyebrow twitch before he glanced away. But then he kept looking, again and again.

It came to a boiling point as Mister Reeves had managed to Corral Emelia over towards the champagne towers. He plucked a glass from the tower and offered it to the girl who seemed to be politely turning him down.

She was underage- but then again there were plenty of kids who accepted a glass or two at a gala.

Bruce makes his kids the exception, not the rule. Again, no one seemed to notice, or care.

Then came Timothy Drake, marching over with a purpose. But instead of seeking another high, his gaze was locked onto the duo. His fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass, watch shining in the light, and he pulled.

Except this time? Jason didn't watch Tim get showered in glass and alcohol, He watched as the towers came crashing down but gave the perfect opportunity for Emelia to book it away.

She took only one glance as Dick helped Tim to his feet, and then left the manor all together with just her clutch in hand.

Mister Reeves stayed looking like a deer in headlights until Bruce kicked everyone out. And for a second Jason could see the mocking smirk on Tims face as he glanced back at the old man.

“Net one information- Timothy Drake isn't just a self obsessed douche” Dick remarked, pausing the video once again.

“Yeah no, take it from someone who knows better?” Jason huffed, crossing his arms, “Those things aren't mutually exclusive to doing one decent thing that frankly anyone with a sliver of conscience would do”

Dick just hummed, though he did seem to take Jason's words. Hell, even the “worst of the worst” in Arkham every other week could be decent people when they wanted to. They just rarely wanted to.

“Well- we’ve established it wasn't as much an accident, though I imagine he didnt mean for all three towers to come crashing down on him”

That much was clear, he'd need to be a self sacrificing idiot for that. Jason could accept a sliver of empathy, that was too much though.

“Now then- are you finally ready to call it a night?" Dick said, but it wasn't a suggestion in his tone. He could and would roll Jason up the stairs.

“Yeah yeah one sec-” Jason huffed, exhaustion weighing on his bones.

He made quick work of deleting the cave footage and putting a buffer that would give them enough time to leave, and then create a convincing loop to fill in for the lost time.

Right as Jason stood up, Dick slung his arm around his shoulders and gave an exaggerated yawn as he dragged him towards the stairs and towards the grandfather clock entrance.

Jason took one last look at the now powered down batcomputer.

Of course you hate a guy, and he turns out to actually have at least one redeeming quality. No sexual harassment of teen girls from creepy old fucks. Yeah well- that was the bare minimum in his opinion.

But it did prove one thing in his mind- Timothy Drake may not be the anti christ himself, but he was far from a hero.

Chapter Text

The stinging smell of alcohol made Tims eyes water, but he couldn't move away. The fumes seemed to fill the small space of the room, no good way of ventilating out. He was forced to endure.

That only lasted so long, the smell only adding onto the flurry of uncomfortable sensations. He winced, unable to hold back a shuddering breath at the sudden pain in his thigh.

Regardless of whatever sedative concoction he'd been given, it only managed to ease a tiny bit of the almost unbearable sensation that was the sharp prick of metal piercing deep into his very flesh.

“Oh mother fu-,” Tim slammed his hand against his mouth. Letting out a harsh breath as the needle threaded back out of his skin.

Leslie looked overall unimpressed at his reaction. Probably still aggravated at the fact he decided to sleep off actively bleeding wounds. Then again- he DID come the very next day instead of after infection had already set in. Small victories.

“You’re lucky I gave you anything since you refuse to get an on record prescription,” She said, her thick jersey accent coming full fold in her annoyance as she pulled at the thread, expertly weaving it into an intricate knot.

You know for a lady in later age- she did not have the lax temper of an older woman. But he respected that about her.

“Lucky me…” Tim winced as she took out a spray bottle of medical alcohol and spritzed it on the wound. Eh- better than champagne.

“I'd gone more than three weeks without seeing your face, I was starting to think you finally got your act together,” Leslie scooted her chair away and tossed her gloves in the bin.

“Well- I live to disappoint” Tim said, looking down at his now stitched up thigh.

Apparently getting showered with glass isn't half bad, but the slipping on alcohol and falling into glass was the kicker.

Leslie continued cleaning up around the clinic room. This one that was of course private, lacking any security cameras in or out (aka an Oracle blind spot). But she was still insistent on keeping it nice even if it was only ever Tim who used it.

“Now I expect by now you know the drill, or do you need a reminder?” She clarified.

“Nope- it's about as ingrained in my brain as your coffee order”

“Speaking of which, you don't have to get me bribery couffee every time you get injured”

Tims eyes wandered to the now empty coffee cup in the trash. Yeah no- Leslie mad about his tomfoolery was one thing. But a tired doc putting up with his stuff? He'd rather say hello to Batman on a stalking mission.

The trash can lid shut with an audible snap and the doctor turned heel to face Tim, a hand on her hip as she glowered up at him.

“Tim, I want you to look me in my eyes and promise you will stay nothing more than a CEO for at least a week,” Leslise ordered.

Right- though he never admitted to being down with Vigilante activities for “plausible deniability” she wasn't an idiot.

He assumed she found out within the first few months. Now they just danced around the topic considering she also treated Cardinal.

It would suck- but he was used to taking the more tech side, and besides sitting at his computer was restful enough for the minimal injuries he had. He could do a week.

“Timothy,” Leslie said impatiently.

Tim shuttered, “Please of all people, don't call me that.”

She nodded but continued to glare down at him until his shoulders slumped

“Okay okay fine- I promise I will not plan any.. Extracurricular activities that would further aggravate my injuries- happy?"

“I'll be happy when you come back in a week and a half to get your stitches out and I see not a single thread torn”

“That's a big ask doc,” Tim said as he picked up his bag from the floor and hefted it onto his uninjured shoulder. Which he apparently now had- whoops.

“It's really not.”

“You wound me~”

“At this point I seem to be the only person in Gotham who doesn't wound you,” Leslie sniped back.

Damm, it was bittersweet having someone who could match him on comebacks.

Tim snickered, thanking the doctor as she escorted him down the hall of the clinic and out towards the ‘secret exit’ which was really just a connecting path to the warehouse next door he could slip out.

But right before he left, a hand landed on his shoulder making him freeze and turn back to the doctor.

Her hand was steady, resting but not squeezing. His skin broke out into goosebumps the moment he registered the contact.

“Tim… Listen to me for a sec hon, You know I became a doctor because I saw how Gotham was a city that hurt,”

Oh fuck she was showing emotion- abort ABORT-

“But it's also a city so full of love for the hurting,” She said with an expression he couldn't identify, he hated it.

“You are a self sufficient and mature young man, but I've seen many like you leave my doors and I end up needing to iron out my black pantsuit.”

Nice fucking job, he made her worried. Sure it wasnt on purpose he got the brute force of three big ass champagne towers, but he was always running to her with his fuck ups.

She deserved better.

“Hey, I can see you doing the spiral, knock it off,” Leslie snapped her fingers a foot away from his face.

Tim flashed a weak smile, “I know I can be concerning but im fine doc, I haven't dropped dead yet.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say as her shoulders dropped “Look- all im asking is you be open to more… you need more.”

He blinked, “What do you mean?"

“Gotham is hell on earth. I'll be the first to admit it- from the insurance to cover every villain of the week, the bipolar weather that's prone to acid showers, and whatever is wrong with the harbor it's not a go to destination”

She put her other hand on his shoulder and Tim could feel his knees weaken just a bit “But it's home isn't it?"

He nodded- what else could he do?
But she was right, Gotham was a shit show and a half. Even with Tims foresight intervention, it wasnt ‘fixed’ just not as fucked up as it could be.

“The whole reason Gotham hasn't become a ghost town or eaten itself from the inside out is because of the community,” Leslies odd expression turned into a small smile.

“I remember being a little girl in Gotham. My neighbor's house was lit a flame by one of the first rogues to ever walk these streets.”

“They lost everything. But by a miracle, they made it out alive. I remember when my mother got the call she ushered me into the kitchen and we raided our stock of canned goods, I passed my father and brother out carrying the old tent”

Tim hung on every word, leaning in just a bit as she continued with an almost nostalgic expression.

“When I went outside, my arms supporting as many jars as I could carry, we ran into neighbor after neighbor- each marching with a purpose to help out.
That family made it, but only because everyone rallied together and gave them hope”

Leslie laughed to herself “Of course that was a long time ago, Gotham has changed, so has its people- but doesnt mean its unrecognizable.”

“That's what being a Gothamite is- it’s knowing the very place you live is shit, but hoping for just one more good day.”

Leslie turned back to Tim and raised one hand from his shoulder and slowly patting down some stray hairs

“You are a good boy, forced to be a man far too young- you have lost so much and yet hope for more, you are the spirit of Gotham Tim.”

Well now he was most definitely tearing up-

“All I ask is you don't let that spirit die, find your community, lord knows you’ve gone long enough on so little.”

Tim chuckled, though it felt a bit wet “Doctors orders?"

Leslie smiled and let go, ruffling his hair as she stepped aside, no longer blocking him and the door.

"Doctors orders Tim- though I'll admit a bit more difficult than not tearing some stitches, but your capable enough"

Tim took the opportunity and shifted away, placing his hand on the door and opening it with a loud creak. He turned to meet Leslies gaze, her face now showing nothing more than a grandmotherly smile and teasing amusement.

"I promise-" Tim said, and this time he meant it.

"Good boy-" She smiled "Now scram so I can get to work"

Tim laughed, but obliged and slipped through the door and into the darkness on the other end.

_____________

God- curse him and his weakness for the people he cared about.

Leslie may be right, that Gotham functioned on community.
But Tim had done without by choice.

He did have one- but he lost it.
Now for the sake of that community that was better off without him, Tim had to work alone.

Besides if she wanted a metaphor, look no further than the original vigilante duo. Mr. “I work alone” Batman and his Robin’s.

If anyone or anything represented Hope in a place as fucked as Gotham it was Robin. A symbol and namesake of more than one person, though of course started with Dick, a legacy born from tragedy to soar in a whole new way.

Robin was magic, but of course this time, he hadn't the privilege to wear the colors. Well- it was for the greater good anyways.

It was bright outside, weird for Gotham but nice nonetheless. Still cloudy as always though, but that was inescapable. Definitely better than the night before at least.

Lucius had taken pity and did not in fact force him to deal with Mister Izbel anytime soon, so again, small victories. But it seemed Leslie had done him the favor of texting the man on his behalf and now he was banned from the office.

Despite pleading his case, that was one of the things he WAS allowed to do. Lucius snapped back with “Timothy Drake would be bed ridden by a papercut-” which fuck you, but fair.

Then again it did mean Tim had the rest of the day to himself, a beautiful day nonetheless. That meant he could get some real work done.

Tim pressed on, dodging a few pedestrians and a gangly old cat trailing behind her owner. He approached his target, right on the edge of the Narrows.

There stood a building, nestled between several other store fronts. On the right a leopard and turquoise themed boutique, cookie cutter if you ignored the fashionable gas masks and antidote canisters. And on the left a “room for rent” law agency. The middle building was what interested Tim the most.

From the colorful metal furniture just outside with chains attaching the bottoms to the concrete below and the bright blue awning. It stood out in more ways than one.

The red “OPEN” sign starred him in the face as he pressed the palm of his hand against the glass. A small bell sounded as he stepped onto the hardwood flooring and the AC washed over him.

Tim barely had the chance to get his bearings before a whistle toned voice called out “Ah morning Alan, the usual I guess?"

He turned to the barista on the other end of the counter, a short girl with a dirty blonde bob half tied up. Her uniform blue paw print top and black overall style apron half unbuttoned.

She balanced a stir stick in one hand but quickly tucked it in her pocket as she smiled at him.

“Mornin Gwen and yeah i'll get the usual, extra shot though- been a long day” Alan flashed a smile, speaking in his best Gotham twang.

Gwen didn't miss a beat, “It'll be ready in a minute, yeh usual seat is open”

Alan thanked her and quickly let the cafe door shut behind him as he made his way towards a two seat table in the far right corner, pressed between one of the larger bookshelves and the glass.

Tim scratched at his wig, a shaggy light brown but the best money could buy for a last minute disguise. Timothy Drake wouldn't be caught dead anywhere beyond Upper Gotham, but Alan Draper was a usual at the “Sleepy Kitten cafe”

The one place that hand ground its beans and didn't threaten to kick him out after his fifth cup of coffee within just a few hours there. It was perfect.

What? Despite what Leslie thinks- Tim does have people ( of course under an alias and at an arm's length) but he would have gone mental had he only gotten along with “Timothy Drake's” crowd for the past twelve years.

Alan Draper was an alias in his past life- utilized in quite a few undercover integration cases, and one of his favorites since it was fairly simple and he got to rock some cool piercings.

So when he'd finally decided the risk of being caught as “Alan Draper” and explained away as Timothy Drake wanting some privacy in Gotham, he was quick to build a second life.

Alan actually works for Drake Industries as a developer and property manager which helped explain away his appearance at many Drake owned properties and affiliates.

“Here you are, Two extra large hot cinnamon Macchiatos with extra whip and espresso shot each” Gwen announced as she approached, two large ceramic mugs in hand that she placed onto the table, quickly covering one with a lid.

“Two?" Alan asked with a smirk as he grabbed the non lidded one and took a sip, savoring the sweet taste that helped even out the otherwise bitter drink.

“We ain't too busy right now- but we both know you'll end up done with the first cup in less than five. Unless you want me to take it back?" Gwen made a show of reaching forward in slow motion and laughed when Alan quickly pulled the second cup closer.

“Nope nope you know best, two cups off the bat is a blessing in disguise I imagine-” He laughed back and placed the cups aside, reaching into his bag and pulling out a laptop adored with dozens of anime and other cartoonish stickers.

“Ooh I recognize that one- isn't that Obsidian's art? I didn't know they started selling stickers,” Gwen pointed to one character from a popular TV show a decade or so back.

Alan smiled “Oh yeah, you remember the commission piece for the art show last summer? Well- just got them into contact with a good manufacturer in Bludhaven and had the honor of being their first customer.”

Gwen beamed, another bell-like laugh as she instinctively smoothed out her apron “Damm and no text to me? A shame”

“I swear- you are an angel yet to reveal your disguise, speakin of angels- you coming to the charity auction coming up? All proceeds go to the shelter”

“I wouldn't dream of missing it,” Alan said with a hand over his chest.

Their conversation was cut short by the bell ringing as a small group of teenagers stepped into the shop, happily looking around and beginning to make their way over to the counter.

“Duty calls- enjoy your drinks and let me know if ya hungry later, Zeek made a staff meal but I can steal some fries on your behalf” Gwen didn't wait for a reply as she scurried back behind the counter and greeted the new clients with a beaming smile.

Tim watched her leave with a smile and quickly reached over to his laptop, pressing onto the power button. A small prick as his DNA was registered, his blood pressure was deemed “safe levels” (doctor orders), then there was a small boot-up screen.

The screen opened to the Google homepage.

Quickly swapping tabs, he plugged his headphones in as he switched over to Youtube, putting on a compilation of “Video Essays” he had saved. The latest being the breakdown of the uprising and downfall of Scientology.

But right as the headset connected and the video intro began, Tim pressed the mute button, still leaving his headphones connected.

Reaching back into his backpack and pulling out a glasses case- a pair of black wide-rimmed frames were fixed onto his face, and he turned back to the screen.

The tech inside the glasses activated and synched up with his laptop, the true display revealing. A pure black screen with dozens upon dozens of red illuminated tabs.

A map of Gotham including dozens of small dots, each color-coded purpose. Allies, Informants, and his own family all on display. Seemed Jason and Dick were headed to the gym together.

There was a chart monitoring Oracle and other Gotham-based or affiliated hackers' movements through any network connected to Gotham- it seemed to be pretty slow, but it was still early in the day.

Even a direct line to both Bat and LOA database systems filtering and reporting through relevant information and sorting it to be glanced over later, if or when necessary.

Swiping each of those tabs aside, he glanced at the laptop's base background; a small red bird icon lay completely still in the far left corner. He clicked and it began to move, shifting forward until the entire screen was covered in the same red color.

A text box appeared

Tim clicked.
Cardinal began his workday.

Chapter Text

Rain or shine Gotham was a city that never slept. For better or worse. On especially good days the streets filled with people out to enjoy the spotty good weather.

But where there were people, there were potential victims. And for an unusually high crime rate, not all criminals preferred to do their business during the late hours of the night.

That's why on top of the Gotham city bank stood a vexing and vicious vigilante. Adorned in bright purple, a symbol of royalty to some and now an identity many Gothamites had come to recognise.

A symbol of safety for the innocent, and danger for the deranged, who plagued the city streets with their villany.

Fast as a bullet, the purple clad vigilante took off, expertly dancing across rooftops to dodge the bustling streets below.

What sort of badassery must she be up to?

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Absolutely nothing.

Because Day shift was one of the most nails-on-a-chalkboard boring experiences that far surpassed any experience with state testing or a DMV appointment combined.

But it was a “necessary responsibility” and “not all parts of Vigilante life are fun Stephanie”.

This was all Dicks fault.
Him and his puppy dog eye stare.

“Take the day shift on my behalf, you'll have more free time after- bullshit.” Steph mocked as she shot another grappling hook, throwing her whole body weight off the building.

There was the moment of falling, a sensation that used to be terrifying and now felt only like freedom.

The line grew taught as it supported her weight, swinging forward as she launched onto the next platform. Gravel scattering the moment her boots made contact with the roof.

“Nightwing is a lying manwhore,” She snapped, feeling a bit of satisfaction at the snort that came across coms.

“I’ll have you know he has had maybe five partners total, myself included” Oracles voice filtered through, a small buzz like warp, but still distinctly Babs.

“Nightwing is a manwhore on principal not in practice- don't worry I know he's really a prude,” Steph said, sliding behind an AC unit as she continued across the roof.

“Right you are. Besides, if he’s a manwhore then that makes me whore prime”

“Babs- Barbie you are a queen among men, an alpha woman if you will”

“Code names Spoiler,” Babs chastised.

“Yeah yeah,” Steph pouted, but obliged.

Babs was second only to Batman himself on enforcing rules in and out of masks. “But we’ve all seen the discowing pictures- you are too elegant a woman to be deemed whore status.”

“Gee thanks-” Oracle sighed, though she did sound amused enough she counted it as a win.

Steph settled down on the rooftop, letting her legs dangle off the side of the building and enjoying the smell of rain from the night before being carried through by the wind.

It was overall, peaceful.
.
.
.
Which was just a polite way of saying boring really.

“Are you sure there's nothing going on?" Steph whined.

“No update from ten minutes ago, no.”

Steph threw herself back, and laid on the gravel with a groan.
It was one thing forced to do patrol alone, but day shift on top of that? Just say you hate her guts.

“And are you sure you cant join me?" Steph batted her eyes, despite knowing (mostly) Babs couldn't see her. “Before you say ‘why target me’ it's because Cass is still on her backpacking trip and I refuse to ask one of the boys.”

Babs sounded sympathetic but sucked in a breath that she knew meant denial.“No dice, it's a flare up day- so i’m in the tower bound.”

Steph sat up, “Oh shit how bad?"

“Im fine, already took my meds, and its half the reason im putting up with your whining that rivals BlueJay”

“Now that's just hurtful, I am not theater kid level drama.”

Babs hummed in lue of another response, which was plain insulting.

As her eyes scanned the busy streets they locked onto a flash of color, bright blue, and her lips split into a grin.

“You know what? If I'm going to survive this shift I need caffeine and sugar, so going dark- tap me in if you get any updates.”

“Will do, and bring me a coffee at the end of shift okay?" There was the clicking of keys on the other end but Steph could hear a smirk in her voice.

“Medium half caff latte with caramel drizzle?"

“Make it a large,” Babs replied and then the comm made a small buzz as it was temporarily disconnected.

Steph grinned, reaching into one of the side pockets of her uniform and double checking she had enough cash to spare for a little patrol treat. Of course factored into her allowance from Bruce.

She snapped the grapple gun onto her belt as she skipped over to the fire escape, making quick work of slipping down and landing on the concrete sidewalk below.

Thankfully no one batted an eye at her, other than a few people polite enough to shift their walking path not to smack into her.

But it was still Gotham, so after triple checking the road was clear she sprinted across like her life depended on it (which it likely did). Once securely across, she happily bounded up to the cafe doors.

The Sleepy Kitten was greeted with the gracious presence of Spoiler in full uniform as Steph used a bit too much strength and the greeting bell more slammed against the glass than just chimed.

She winced but thankfully noted the cafe was practically a ghost town except for a small group of teens huddled around a table with some cards and a man in the far back corner seemingly laser focused on whatever was on his laptop.

"Just a minute!" A sweet voice called out as she approached the counter.

Steph waved at the group of teens that seemed happy to see her. They returned it but then quickly went back to their game.

"Oh my gosh- Well what brings Gotham's finest to this little shop?"

Steph turned back to the counter and froze on the spot.

Holy fucking gay panic Batman-
She owed Dick a million dollars, no- two million-
no her kidneys.

There stood a girl about her age, dirty blonde waves framing her face like a halo. Pulled back by a kitty paw shaped hair clip tucked just above her ear and showing off bright rosy cheeks and wide brown eyes that seemed to light up as she spoke.

There was a God- for the sheer fact she had a name tag.
"Gwen" written in beautiful cursive and a small flower on the end.

"Um yes I-" She cleared her throat, get a grip girl. "I need two large coffees.."

Gwen pulled a pencil out from her apron it had a kitty paw on it "Alright any specifications or just straight black?"

"Oh um- one half caff latte with caramel drizzle, and… what do you reccomend?"

Gwen lit up more, if that was even possible, "I'm not a huge coffee drinker so my go to is the Ice Chai" She placed her pen down and shuffled away from the counter for a sec before quickly returning with a metal tin, showing it off.

Steph nodded dumbly since not a single word looked to be in English.

Thankfully she took pity on her dumbass and quickly divulged an explanation. "The owners husband is Indian so he insists we have the actual spice blend instead of the 'bastardized western version' its to die for really"

"Well I don't plan on dying today but I'd still like to try it" Steph half leaned on the counter, trying her best to look smooth even as her elbow slipped against the plastic menu taped down.

Gwen hand shot to her mouth to muffle a small snort and Steph felt her bones melting in her skin.

She picked up her pen again and jotted down the order in that same cursive handwriting "Okie dokie- that'll be 9.50 total, would you like to make a donation for our upcoming charity event?"

She looked up at Steph, big brown eyes sparkling in the shitty led lights above.

"Well as a protector of Gotham it's practically my duty yeah?" Steph tried to flip her hair before quickly realizing it was covered by her cowl.

"Oh don't feel obligated really," Gwen assured, “You already do so much for our city.”

Steph shook her head, already flustered as is. She fumbled with her zipper pocket to pull out a twenty, "No no it's perfect, keep the change- can I also get a muffin?"

Gwen took the bill and Steph tried not to stare at her hand and the light blue nail polish and small stack of beaded bracelets around her wrist. By the cool feel they were real stones.

"Any preference?"

Steph blinked, "Um..Surprise me?"

Gwen just smiled and winked at Steph, welp her bones were definitely melting- thank god for masks. “I'll have your order ready in a jiffy”

Steph just shot her a thumbs up as soon as the register snapped shut and Gwen vanished behind a doorway.

God Steph you stupid fucking lesbian-
How can you claim to be an elite vigilante if you’re so easily thrown off by a pretty girl?

Well hey- at least it wasn't Ivy this time. She could n o t deal with THAT lecture again, though it was funny watching B flounder when she called him homophobic-

ANYWAYS-
You couldn't blame a girl for trying, sure Dickface didn't have the most extensive dating record and outside of an on-and-off fling with Roy, she didn't think Jason dated period.

If those two idiots managed to juggle their emo angst phase, responsibilities in and out of masks, AND dating- she had a chance.

Not saying of course she wanted to date this girl, hell she JUST met her and in masks at that. B might not outlaw dating, but she wouldn't hear the end of it if tabloids started posting about Spoilers girlfriend.

It's just some delusional daydreaming, a mini teenage fling fantasy if you will. Besides, she was just a girl.

Gwen reappeared with a small brown bag she placed on the head of the counter just out of Stephs reach “No peeking~” she quickly said before beginning to work on the drinks.

…
Well- considering Spoiler just took patrol from Nightwing- she had some free time, right? right??

“Hey so that charity you mentioned- the event is coming up?"

Gwen popped her head up from behind the coffee maker, “Oh yes it's next week. We’re raising money for the local shelter in order to get the funds to transition it to a no kill shelter.”

“I didn't know it was a kill shelter in the first place- that's awful,”

“Yeah well they don't have many options, people here can barely take care of themselves let alone a furry friend, and the shelters can't afford the sheer amount of animals they have on hand already.”

Gwen sounded outright sorrowful, but her eyes held a level of understanding that Steph knew all too well.

Yeah that was- yeah.
One of the pains of Gotham was just how prevalent people in bad situations were, Bruce Wayne and Batman could only do so much.

“But hopefully we get a good turn out, and we raise enough money to start towards our goal”

Hell girl crush aside, she definitely wanted to help. It just so happened she had several connections both in and out of the mask whose pockets were open and free flowing without risk of running out anytime soon.

Besides, it would make it that much easier for Stephanie Brown (psuedo wayne) to pop up in a random coffee shop event if she dragged someone else along.

Steph moved to speak but was cut off as two travel cups were held up in the air by Gwen “Order up!"

The drinks felt warm in her hand’s and Gwen quickly handed over the mystery muffin as well. Which Steph managed to balance by pinning it against Babs drink.

“You’re all set then!"

Oh yeah she was- and well, Oracle has not patched in yet but she couldn't exactly just loiter in the store. Besides, she better run the drink to the clocktower before it gets cold, then babs would really have her head.

Gwen just looked at her, her cheerful smile faltering as she tilted her head “Oh-” she reached forward and tapped one of the cups with a purple colored cardboard sleeve on it “The purple ones yours- I thought it matched!"

“Its perfect” you are perfect.
.
.
Okay she needed to leave before she lost the last of her rapidly depleting brain power because of pretty girl

But before she could turn away Gwen held her hand out, just a bit and Steph froze in place “If it's not too much to ask-”

“Anything, it's yours.”

Okay now she was really delusional or else Gwens cheeks may have turned a bit pink. She let out a nervous laugh “If you wouldn't mind, spread the word about our event yeah? Its for a good cause”

Spoiler grinned from under her mask “Of course, mark my words- Gotham is my responsibility, and so is every soul within this city, including cute little dogs and cats”

Gwen beamed, lowering her hand and dusting off her apron “Alright I won't hold you, responsibility and all, but thank you- feel free to come again”

“I'll try to stop by” She made a small two fingered salute, though it had less impact whilst carefully balancing her cup of tea. Then she walked backwards out of the store, this time enjoying the now much more pleasant chime of the bell.

___________________

Steph on the edge of an apartment building just a block or so from the Clocktower, she had quickly dropped off the coffee and left soon after. Babs didn't seem in the mood for company which she respected.

Besides it was getting late to the point day patrol would be ending, so of course she could take the time to enjoy herself.

Popping off the travel lid she was hit with a very rich and spice filled flavor, it was pretty distinct but she couldn't put a name to what exactly each spice was. Lifting it up to her lips, she took a sip.

Oh- oh yeah- this was amazing holy shit.
It was maybe a bit sweet and strong, but honestly it suited her taste.

Holding the drink in one hand she stuck her hand into one of the many deceptively deep pockets in her uniform and pulled out the brown paper bag.

She pulled it out with little fanfare but took a moment in order to open it since she had already committed to not putting her drink down.

Steph was her one worst enemy. Inside was a muffin, as promised, it looked fairly plain at first glance but Steph could see small morsels of something inside. A berry of some kind? Nah too small.

Giving in against her will, she put down the cup of tea and pulled it out completely.

Lemon poppy seed.
Surprised indeed- but hey she wasn't complaining.

The Muffin was delicious, as expected, and definitely helped balance out how rich the tea was which she had already halfway finished just in the time she had settled down on the building after leaving Babs to her own devices.

It was peaceful-
Fuck how dare she actually enjoy a day shift. Hell had truly frozen over.

A small sound caught her attention, even when relaxing, vigilante instincts never fully turned off. To her relief it wasnt someone sneaking onto the rooftop for a smoke or whatever else.

It was a bird, a Robin more specifically.

“Huh- been a while since i've seen one of you, always just pigeons,” Steph said to well.. herself.

The Robin stood on a telephone line just a few feet away, it hopped sideways just a bit, tilting its head before quickly fluttering over to land equally far but now on the roof itself.

Steph looked at the bird and then down at the half eaten muffin “You… want some?"

The bird, of course, didn't answer.

So she pulled off a small chunk and tossed it forward.

The Robin startled, fluttering back a bit but slowly its gaze jumped between staring her down and the piece of muffin now laid on the gravel roof.

One hop- then two, the bird quickly picked up the muffin and within seconds it had vanished.

Steph threw another piece, this time the bird drew closer.
It was kinda cool seeing it up close, paying attention to the little things like how its tiny body expanded with every breath, and how the breathing picked up just a tad after it would eat.

The Robin had gotten so close it was practically eating out of her hand.

It took every bit of self control and understanding Damians several lectures about wildlife “staying wild” to not try to pet it.

Another flutter of wings, and the Robin backed up- its head darting to the side as Steph followed its gaze.

Right on that same telephone line was a Cardinal, huh seemed she was just attracting all the birds at this point. Two bright red birds at that. Must be a male then.

She held out a piece of muffin, tossing it the same place she had fed the Robin the first time, and another piece right next to her for the smaller bird.

But this time the Cardinal did not move, it just stared at her, tilting its head back and forth as if examining if she was a threat.

Well better cautious then dead, bird had good instincts then.
“I don't bite, besides I imagine you're hungry- why deny yourself some free grub?"

Was it a little crazy trying to have a rational persuasive conversation with a bird? Maybe. But hey this was far from the craziest thing she had done.

The Cardinal did not move.

The Robin did, picking up the piece that was in front of it and then quickly flying off. Dipping around the side of a building and disappearing from sight.

Damm- the damned red bird had chased off her friend.

“Happy now?" Steph raised a brow, expecting the bird to seize its claim on whatever muffin was left.

But once again, it stayed still.
This time, just for a moment more- and then it took off, leaving the food behind.

Weird ass bird-

Steph sighed and glanced down at the remains, not enough worth the effort. She made a quick effort of peeling what was left away from the wrapper and tossed it over by the abandoned piece.

Well, someone would appreciate the good baking of what was just scraps to her. Even if Mr Cardinal felt he was too good for it.

She stuffed the wrapper in her pocket as well as the now empty tea cup as she stood, unhooking her grappling hook and preparing to head back home.

Her shift was done, and she had a baby brother to convince into joining her for a fun little charity event not connected to their dad.

Then again she was sure the moment Damian heard the words “kill shelter” he would be ready to give both his kidneys for some animals he didn't even know.

Grappling hook in hand- she lined up with her target and pulled the trigger. A loud whirl sounded out as the hook launched and attached to a building just across the way.

Steph lifted her leg over the edge, one glance at the now foggy and yet ever bustling streets below as the sun began to dip on the horizon and painted the sky an array of beautiful colors.

She took one last breath, then she soared.

Chapter Text

Even apart, his former family never failed to make his blood pressure shoot through the roof.

He was in the middle of a case lead and.. had stopped paying attention to the trackers. There was no reason to considering it was day shift, and that Spoiler hadn't moved more than a block or two in about an hour.

Yet again, he let his guard down.

By the time he had the unnerving sense that something was wrong. It was far too late.

He glanced up at the table of teens that had since paused their game of cards and were now whispering and pointing at the counter.

They were too far to overhear but he could see their expressions- some excitement and others mild concern.

Well- Gothamites did always have a penchant for drama, half of his days as early Robin were spent simply trying to shoo away residents who had gotten so accustomed to violence.

They seemed to have a much higher tolerance for what is “danger worth running from” than practically any other kind of civilian.

It was kind of funny watching random grannys scold some of the “lesser” rogues for making them drop their groceries or scaring their grandkids.

Not to mention Grandma Wilborrow who got a taser shot on Bane once- Tim had framed the photo. He missed that picture.

Alan sighed, popping out one of his earbuds and ready to subtly signal Zeek to deal with whoever had decided to make the Cafe a target in their latest scheme.

But it wasn't some burly man with a knife or even an erratic middle aged woman. It was a teen in bright Purple.
.
.
A very familiar teen in purple.
.
.
Oh- oh fuck.

When his brain caught up to the fact SPOILER herself was standing at the counter, he would have much preferred a robber.

Of course Gwen, being the sweetheart she was, fully engaged in the conversation much to Tims dismay.

He was freaking out.
But Alan was cool as a cucumber. Hey he thought the vigilantes did good work why bother them?

Just needed to focus on his work mhm- j u s t focus.
.
.
.
…f u c k

No matter how hard Tim tried to slip away, he just couldn't he was stuck oh so painfully himself. Even from the corner of the room, his gaze continued to lift just above his laptop with the perfect view of the counter.

Forced to watch his former best friend just a few strides away, and yet ignore her completely.

If he couldn't hear the teenagers, he most certainly couldn't hear what they were saying, and he most certainly couldn't move closer.

Risk being perceived as more than a background character.

Fifteen minutes passed, agonizingly aware of every tick of the second hand from the apple shaped clock hung on the wall nearby.

But soon enough, Spoiler bid her farewell, grabbing her things and leaving nothing but a still ringing bell in her absence.

He was left alone in the safety of the little cafe away from it all, the Bats.. and the Waynes.

Alan stood up, picking up his now two empty coffee cups and approaching the counter where Gwen was cleaning the equipment with a blue colored rag.

She perked up the moment she laid eyes on him and grinned with all her teeth. “Oh my god did you see her? THE Spoiler- walking in full uniform into our little cafe, this is amazing!”

“Breathe Gwen, before you forget how” Alan chuckled.

Gwen let out a small squeak but seemed to compose herself a little “Sorry it's just- i'm a huge Bats fan. And it's rare you spot any while not running from mortal danger so it was nice.”

“No no I understand- I felt the same when I ran into Nightwing getting a bodega hotdog at two am once-”

In another life they were together that night, and Dick always got him extra mustard.

“Nightwing really? Keep your voice down otherwise Zeek will start fangirl squealing,” Gwen joked, but paused when Alan lifted a brow. Before he could say anything she was quick to wave him off with flushed cheeks.

“Oh hush you- now let me see those cups,” She insisted, practically snatching them away. “You want more of the usual or have your taste buds gone numb enough you’re ready to spice it up.”

“I didn't say anything, at least nothing that was implied enough,” He pushed them into her hands as she laughed. “But sure i'll try something new and i'll take you up on that offer of fries.”

Gwen spun around and quickly marched over to the cafe door and banging on it “Oh Ezekiel~ our darling customer has arrived and is famished beyond belief!!"

A sound that resembled a garage door being violently slammed open grated against Alan ears, as the makeshift kitchen window was rolled up.

A head with dark locks knotted back tightly, neat under shaved sides showing off a lighter grey stubble .

Zeek grinned, his smile slightly lopsided with the large crackling scar on one corner, stretching up to sharp blue eyes. His silver snake bites reflecting the rainbow string lights above.

“Full name darlin? Have I finally vexed ya ‘nough yer done with me?”

“Nah I just knew you'd take your sweet time otherwise.” Gwen bit back with a wink.

Zeek laughed, doing his best impression of a smolder but it fell flat with the scarring making it look more like a sneer.

Gwen didn't bat an eye though and laughed as she began relaying Alan's order and ushering him to work.

Zeek made a big show of debating on doing his own goddamn job. But one set of puppy eyes from Gwen and he was grumbling and disappeared in the back to “make tha damm’d fries”

Alan watched, rolling his eyes but staying quiet as Gwen rushed off to deal with a new set of customers that had entered the Cafe.

The guy got on his last nerve, but somehow remained one of his best friends.

Zeek was an asshole. Plain and simple, but an asshole in the same way Jason used to be and well, Tim had unfortunately grown attached to another jerk who he for some reason interacted with willingly pretty often.

Hell their first meeting was him getting fucking mugged by the guy.

It happened about three or so years ago, when “Alan” had gotten off his work shift. He'd already become a frequent customer at the Cafe back when it hadn't picked up and remained just a family business.

Being “Alan”, he let his guard down. Something he quickly regretted when he was grabbed by his collar and shoved into an alley, with some random lanky teen holding a bat to his throat and demanding his wallet.

Tim had been pissed- having a giant drug bust fail as Cardinal, an auction going south as Timothy, and now Alan getting mugged??

So maybe chunking your wallet at the guy holding a bat wasn’t the wisest idea- but honestly he'd really not been in the mood.

Long story short- Tim got away, but needed to suffer through replacing all his IDs which was a pain in the ass.

But he washed his hands of the entire encounter. He hadn't hurt the guy, and he'd gotten away with a nasty bruise and minor inconvenience for a few weeks.

Win win honestly.
That should have been the end of things
.
.
Then he saw the guy again, but as Cardinal. Working for another no-name gang boss. But even after the entire fire fight broke out- he spotted the guy, twice.

Once, pulling another guy out from some rubble, racing in despite the barrage of ammunition and threats across the warehouse.

The second? When Cardinal had clipped his ankle- a hairline fracture. But enough to end up in him getting cornered. He stood face to face with that same kid.

But even as seconds ticked away like hours and voices boomed, The kid looked at Cardinal only once- and then turned away

Had that boy not chosen to risk the wrath of whoever the fuck his boss was. He would be dead.

Tim hated relying on others- but that didn't make him any less grateful.

Besides- it should have been even, the guy mugged him and then saved his life. They were pretty much even. Tim should have left it.
.
.
.
.
But he couldn't.

Outside of the Joker and a few choice characters, Gotham of all places held the worst kind of rouges. The ones that you could see yourself in.

People pushed beyond the brink and who were bent or shattered beyond repair, who now coped through less than legal means (but hey- who was he to talk mr. vigilante).

He'd come to know so many- their stories, the why behind how they were, and he understood.

Two face’s assault, Harley's abuse, Mr freeze wife, not to mention the dozens of others driven beyond insanity due to the cruelty of another.

He had saved Jason the fate of Red Hood, skirting that line of what qualified a villain in a place where morals came second to survival. But try as he might, he couldn't save them all.

The kid- Ezekiel Zorof, just a year older than Tim. Born and raised in Crime alley, had decent grades and seemed to be the kind of guy who'd be able to make it out of the shit cards dealt.

His mom got sick, and well- crime did pay the bills.

Zeek didn't have a PhD education, any meta powers, or bat training. Even before he started messing with the “plot” of his world Tim had gotten damm good at risk assessment and well, he wasn't super villain material.

Likely he would end up “just a goon”,and even more likely, just a number on a casualty report the moment someone decided he wasn't useful enough.

An uneventful end to a random person he barely knew.

But even in his feeble attempts to distance himself he couldn't forget, those wide eyes recognizing Cardinal for what he was, for what they both were. Just two scared kids way in over their heads.

Tim may have understood villains, maybe even pushed the boundaries himself once or twice. But any ounce of wisdom drained the moment he was faced with situations like this.

And here Bruce thought he was "prone to villainous tendencies". Just another lecture, a bitter reminder how little his dad mentor really knew him.

Point was- he could have more lax morals than Batman or even Hood at times. But at his very core, no matter how hard he wanted to deny it.

He became Robin for a reason, not because he was chosen- but because he was needed.

Gotham needed to know there was hope yet, even when it seemed lost. God- guess Leslie had some points

It came to when Alan was found on that same street he had been mugged less than a month before. Face to face with Zeek, who held his wallet out stretched.

“Im sorry-” Fumbling words, filled with too much weight.

Zeek kept avoiding his eyes, but when he did meet them, pools of dark brown were filled with nothing but guilt.
.
.
.
All he saw was his brothers.

—----

It was cold- that's what he said when he offered to go somewhere else and well, the cafe was nearby.

It was about dinner time, and they were already there- that's how he justified buying drinks and a meal for them both.

Zeek had accepted everything, out of guilt and self preservation likely. But after their food had arrived he had one question.

“Why?"

“You wanted to talk- and in the middle of an alley Gotham isn't the best spot, so let's talk”
And they did, they talked,
.
and they talked,
.
And they talked,
.
Frankly- they didn't stop for hours.

From there Zeek was like a street cat, fed once and for weeks he’d pop by the cafe a few times. Order a water or cheap tea, maybe some fries with change, and just talk.

It wasnt without its bumps. With Alan once walking in to Zeek practically melted into his chair with Obi looming over him. Their sharp green eyes framed with their mask and shaggy black locks sending daggers at him.

They were justifiably pissed knowing this was the same guy who mugged Alan before. But shockingly enough for Tim, Zeek offered his own apology and an explanation.

Go just a week later- Alan walking in for his normal fix was a bit shell shocked seeing Gwen chatting away with Zeek at the counter.

He glanced at Obsidian who was peering down from the Library loft, but they just blinked at him like a cat and pulled away and out of sight. That was about the closest to approval he'd get so.

It quickly became routine and Zeek began to open up more, his guilt fading as he became more comfortable. Aka he showed his true asshole tendencies.

Then as such is life in Gotham, after about a month of this routine, someone had tried robbing the store.

Tim got the alert and had rushed over as fast as he could, but he'd been “Timothy Drake” and getting over was one thing, but changing into Alan in the process? It doubled his response time.

When he had arrived, he’d half expected the place to be ransacked.

Instead, he walked in on some random guy knocked out on the ground and Obsidian holding an ice pack to Zeeks head.

Alan stood just a foot from the doorway blinking as he tried to process the entire scene in front of him. But Zeek noticed him first, practically lighting up and waving him down.

“Don't worry yah- Gweny called and tha pigs is on their way, decided to be useful fa once.”

Obsidian had practically shoved him back in the seat “Stop moving- Alan help me he decided to confront a man with a pipe bare fisted, I think he has a concussion.”

Zeek blinked at Obsidian with an almost childlike innocence that in itself was terrifying“...'m not fuckin Russian?"

Y e a h- he called Leslie.

For the last time, long story short.
Zeek had come in only to find the robber threatening Gwen with a pipe. She was fine of course, she may come off as “soft” but she's a Gothamite born and raised.

Of course that didn't stop Zeek from tackling the guy and what turned into an all out brawl ended up with him having a grade two concussion.

But he checked the hospital and found the guy who tried to rob the place had a broken nose and fractured ribs.

Mr and Mrs Fowler had showed up to check in on everything and offered Zeek a job as a cook and “unofficial security” because despite GCPD being shit, they did in fact cite people for hiring someone whose job was “beat people up”.

Hypocrites really.

“DING DING DING I swear if ya just had me make fries just ta stare at em ill throw anotha dictionary at your head,” Zeeks obnoxious voice cut through Tims reminiscing.

Oh right- There was a plate of fries still slightly steaming right in front of him.

“Sorry I zoned out-” Alan replied easily as he picked up a fry and took a bite.

He then promptly spit it out and gagged as he was forced to experience sugar covered fries.

His life was a lie, happiness was an illusion of control, but in fact just chemicals.

And all his happy chemicals had been fucking evaporated the moment his taste buds reached to such a sin on food.

Alan looked at Zeek with an expression bordering on utter despair “What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

Zeek just grinned “Ah many things ya know- but here.”

And if Tim hadn't already checked he would assume Zeek was magic the way he pulled out an identical plate and slid it over.

Alan glanced at the new batch of fries, and with a shaking hand picked one up. To his relief and for the sake of his sanity, the fries were normal and actually delicious.

“So what you decided to fuck with me? Obi is going to be pissed when they hear you wasted an entire batch for a stupid prank”

“Eh their wrath’s worth ya face really” Zeek reached over and grabbed the abomination plate “ ‘sides aint a waste, we all know Jerry loves fries, even sugary ones”

Alan blinked and whispered in disbelief, “Oh my god- you're still feeding the raccoon aren't you?"

“He is not a raccoon, he's-a weird ass cat m’kay? Gweny said so herself-”

“Gwen brought him inside because she lost her contacts, I swore you called animal control on that thing”

“He aint a thing, he's a beloved family member who deserves the finest,” Zeek proclaimed, holding up the plate of abomination fries.

Alan felt a sudden chill up his spine, but there was no time to react before an icy voice cut through the chatter that floated throughout the cafe

“What did you just say?"

Zeek jumped a solid foot in the air, fumbling with the ruined plate of fries and quickly putting it on the counter as he turned to face the devil himself.

Obsidian stood with their arms crossed, green cat eyes narrowed and peering right into his soul. Even with them only being a few inches taller than Alan, they radiate an aura that rivaled many rogues in Gotham.

“AH- Obi!! My pal- since when did ya get in?”

Obi blinked in slow motion “I've been here all afternoon.”

“Ah I suppose so!” Zeek looked like he was going to faint.

You know what- Alan would feel bad, but god watching Zeek squirm after his disgraceful prank, well it felt quite nice actually.

Obi, seeming to realize they would get no answers from Zeek, turned over to Alan. He held his hands up in mock surrender

“I'm just here for the caffeine and fries- I have no part in their shenanigans”

As if a shark smelling blood in the water, it was visible the moment Obi connected the phrasing they. Head on a swivel they turned to face Gwen.

She stood frozen, having long finished serving the other customers and holding Alan's new drink in hand.

But having some level of self preservation had stayed a few feet away the moment Obi appeared.

They locked onto Gwen who was pointedly avoiding their gaze. “Gwen?"

Her cheeks were puffed up and face began to turn red. Was..was she holding her breath so they couldn't interrogate her? Well smart, but ineffective long term.

“Pray tell, who is this mysterious family member” Obi drifted forward, across the tile until they were about Gwen's eyes.

“Unless of course someone new was hired- but then I would be the first to know wouldn't I? But i'm simply dying to know”

Gwen continued to turn red, but she made the fatal mistake of glancing their way. Alan spotted the moment she showed the first sign of weakness.

“Gwendolyn Parkins-” Obi started, but was cut off by Gwen taking in a sharp breath, her resolve shattering on the spot.

Gwens shoulders dropped “I can't help it! He keeps coming back and he just looks so sad- we can always spare the scraps'!”

“That doesn't look like scraps to me”

“Well do YOU wanna eat ‘em?” Zeek held the plate out and even under the mask Alan could see their entire face scrunch up in disgust.

“See- no one in their right mind would wan’ em so it would be a waste not ta go to Jerry!"

Oh boy.
Alan reached for his coffee from Gwen and took a long sip as well as a few of the fries, oh this was amazing.

“You named him!"?

“Well we couldn't just keep calling him the raccoon’!! Gwen protested but it fell on deaf ears.

“I will accept the cats, hell I will accept the dogs- I even let the random parakeet that tore several pages out of my personal copy of the Odyssey but I draw the line at Jerry the Raccoon!!"

Zeek and Gwen both slumped down, looking absolutely pathetic really and oh here's the kicker. Both glanced at each other, just a split second before looking up at Obi with the biggest pleading eyes.

“Na- your right boss, it's just…” Oh fuck- were Zeeks eyes watering? “I can't help it- just… I know what's like to have to survive on ya own- dig through trash cans n shit”

“Been called trash or vermin once or twice, pretty accurate really- but I had ta survive I guess I just.. didnt wanna have that on anyone else” He let out a wet laugh and Obi twitched just slightly.

Gwen sniffled “I'm sorry… you don't ask much of us and we broke your trust, you work so hard to keep this place a float and we just muck around”

Silence.
.
.
.
.

“Scraps only-” Obi began as both Zeek and Gwen perked up, they quickly held up a hand to silence them “No more ruining food just for… Jerry”

Gwen gasped, rushing forward and wrapping her arms around their neck, half dragging them down. “I'm not finished- and again, Jerry stays out of the shop okay!"?

Zeek reached over and ruffled their hair “Yeah yeah boss, loud n clear.”

Obi sighed but seemed to accept the affection for a few moments longer before pulling away “Now if you will excuse me I need to do stock-” and without waiting for a response they quickly retreated to the stairs towards the library loft.

“That was so manipulative” Alan said with a smirk, batting away Zeeks hand when he tried to steal a fry.

“All’s fair in love n war” Zeek smirked, still managing to snag a fry when Alan had paused “ ‘sides- if they truly didn’ want us to, they’d held strong just fine”

Alan turned to Gwen who let out a sigh as she slumped over the counter “Don't look at me like that- its for a good cause”

“For Jerrys sake?"

“See ya get it!"

Tim just shook his head, enjoying a few more of his fries as he listened to the duo dissolve into bickering. It was… really nice. The moments like this where he wasn't “Timothy Drake” or “Cardinal”.

Hell even now- he wasn't entirely Alan. He'd been alone for a while, got to a point more times than he could count really. But he weighed the risks and well- it was one of the few decisions that Tim never regretted.

“Are you sure ya dont want at least one fry eh bud?" Zeek held out a fry, mimicking an airplane motion and seeming to relish in the way it made him gag.

Gwen only cackled at his misfortune and he swore he could hear Obi chuckle float down from the loft.

God- they were such assholes.
But they were hisweren't they?
.
.
.
Take that Leslie.

Chapter Text

Babs let out a muffled scream into her hands as yet another series of attempts turned out fruitless. The same damm brick wall and timer was mocking her very existence.

She quickly pushed with her good leg, making the chair roll away from her wall of screens and over to the other side of her cramped office space.

Her house cane laid propped up against the wall, just plain black except for a few stickers and charms from her pseudo cousins.

Thankfully her meds had kicked in about half way through dealing with Nightwings screaming about how the rotten mayo “Got in my mouth oh my god-” Silently she was thanking her doc for the upgraded migraine meds dosage.

After grabbing herself a cup of hot oolong tea she returned to her desk. Barbara set aside the now empty cup of what Steph had gotten her from that little cafe. It was a well needed dose of caffeine, definitely one she would like to repeat. Aka it tasted amazing.

Taking a long sip of the still steaming cup, she turned her head just enough to stare down at the boxy computer that sat just to her left, taking up an entire small desk of its own with accessories and all.

And that stupid locked red folder still displayed on the old shitty CRT Monitor.

One that she would have been more than happy to burn years ago, had it not served as their single thread tied to the only Vigilante in Gotham not connected to the bats.
.
.
.
Cardinal.

Barbara knew of Cardinal even before she became Batgirl. They had been a known figure in the GCPD back not long after the original Boy Wonder had first entered the scene.

She herself had wandered into her dad’s office and found a large printed out manilla folder, placed neatly on his desk.

The only identifying thing it had, was a small sticky note paperclipped on, with scrawled out block handwriting and a small bird doodle.

“HELP FROM A LITTLE BIRDY,
CARDINAL”

The contents inside had held vital information about a previously unknown / suspected planned Joker attack on the GCPD building itself, she quickly ran to her dad and they took action saving, possibly, hundreds of lives.

When she had raved to her father he had just huffed, reached a hand out to ruffle her hair and said “I've come ta terms tha’ lotsa’ help in Gotham comes from the strangest sources- ya learn to take what lady justice gives ya.”

She couldn't help but notice he said that while staring at the batarang shaped hole in their kitchen cabinet (courtesy of a certain boy dressed like a traffic light of course).

But Cardinal was distinctly unique from the bats and birds. It was a mystery that used to fascinate her, but one she had hoped to solve when she had begun her journey as Batgirl.

Of course it wouldn't be that simple- but still - imagine her shock when Batman himself had to admit that he had as much information about who this Cardinal was as she did. He mentioned only having the strong belief that he wasn't an immediate threat.

Barbara was pretty convinced he was telling himself that only to prevent his spiraling over how much it bothered him not knowing. It became even more of an enigma.

Times changed - Bruce and Dick had their blow up and Dick left for Blüdhaven Batman was left without a Robin, and Bruce Wayne without his son.

It wasn't lonely for long, when Bruce showed up with a scrappy little street kid who looked at her like she’d hung the stars.

Jason took up the famed mantle and suddenly she was dealing with a whole new brat. But how could she not love this kid like a little brother?

All the while she never hesitated to tell him the stories and legends of the other mysterious bird watching over Gotham.

This hidden deeper than the shadows, for which the rest of them roamed. The Red Bird has sewn into the safety of Gotham and her people as Batman and Robin - if not more so. And someone she hoped one day to meet.

Nightwing made his debut, Gotham grew to love their second Robin, and Batgirl became a staple of the team.

But Gotham wasnt a city of happy endings, at least not for many and she wasn’t an exception to that ruling. The Joker chose a new target. Not Batgirl, but “Barbara Gordon”

Some sick way to get to her father. When she was given the warning, it felt like her entire world had tilted on its axis just enough that it left her feeling unsteady.

Cardinal was the one that had warned them
But even with shutting down the original event where his attack was planned. The so-called self-proclaimed ‘clown prince’ wasn’t to be so easily deterred.

Barbara Gordon was shot, walking home from the library
After insisting to the bats that she didn't need a 24/7 surveillance
she had regretted that

Barbara was convinced she was going to die then.

But by some miracle, she'd managed to fight through the blood loss fueled daze enough to call for help.

It was muscle memory beyond that, all the training Bruce had given that she'd rolled her eyes at but then? It was what pushed her to do everything she could to give herself more time, just enough.

She survived, but the bullet had found its mark and the spinal cord damage gave her permanent Hemiparesis. Half her body had muscle weakness, among a slew of other issues

But she was alive.

After her… targeted accident, priorities shifted and things got rough for a while
Dad tried to help where he could, and she likely wouldn’t have coped half as well without him by her side.

The Wayne’s became an ever more present factor of her life, now outside the masks, as well as in. And Wayne Industries began a whole new healthcare campaign in the study and implementation of advanced disability aids.

But there was no going back to the masks, at least not in the way she was before, not in the field.

Batgirl had died, Oracle was born.

She became the eyes and ears for justice in Gotham, and as such she wanted to ensure nothing like what happened to her would happen to anyone else in their makeshift family.

Barbara made it her personal mission to increase security, especially at the GCPD. But of course with something new, you run into kinks. One of which was the files.

The more she fortified, the less and less frequent visits from her favorite red bird became. It got to a point where she seriously had to consider if fortifying the PD was worth scaring off one of their most vital informants.

The answer came just as unexpectedly as the problem, from the same little bird who had likely been facing the same dilemma
It came in the form of a present.

Unlike every other communication that went through the GCPD, the computer showed up at the clock tower. Oracle's new home base.

It was neatly presented in a package wrapped up in a big shiny red bow. It was so off-putting she almost called a ‘code green’.

But in the midst of her panic, she spotted the familiar blocky handwriting. Barbara scuffled off of her wheelchair enough to kneel down and snatch up the small note, pushing up her glasses as the words came into focus.

“TO ORACLE,
FOR BOTH OUR CONVENIENCE
CARDINAL ”

Inside the box was a basic set up for a CRT computer, with accessories included
She continued to kneel on the ground, pulling out every carefully wrapped piece with growing astonishment.

A feeling that only grew when she pulled out the unusually large and most definitely not manufacturer approved instruction manual.

It was written entirely encoded, off what she could interpret just from a long look, there was some Morse code, Caesar cipher, and even ..ancient Egyptian?

It was complicated enough to make the Riddler cry.

Opening the first page was yet another note,
"P.S- ENJOY THE PUZZLE :)"
.
.
.
.
.
It had been the hardest Babs had laughed in a long time.

She spent about a week setting up the stupid monitor, renting way too many textbooks about CRT technology before she even risked trying to mess with it
The manual was, in fact, a fun puzzle to crack.

Once it did boot up though, it was easy to see it had been tinkered with heavily
Despite being ancient by the time she received it, somehow it rivalled bat-tech. Once again piquing her interest regarding their secret little helper.

The files stopped coming, and instead all information was sent via the monitor. Entire caseloads worth of information in fact. There was even a little inbox where they could email Cardinal from.

Of course, they didn't respond to many messages, especially when the children started asking their 3rd favorite color and what species of tree they have personal beef with.

But they would occasionally answer questions, sometimes in a straightforward manner, other times cryptically. Either way- it was how they replied that wasn't.. normal.

Not in the way Damian is overly formal whilst texting, or even Dicks’ garbled misspellings (which were honestly an improvement, considering how much he hated writing in English, even now.)

It was more like Cass- Someone who understood a language but wasn't as comfortable as they should be whilst using it.

Not even robotic just.. Odd. Like an uncanny valley sort of feeling
The oddity only added to the mystery surrounding Cardinal.

Now she had unlocked most of the “Puzzle” each new obstacle solved unlocking a new facet of the tech. Messaging boards, communal evidence logs, and so so much more.

But now- the last folder, one in harsh red labeled “DRAGON PROTOCOL”. No matter how many puzzles she solved, how deep she delved into the code, hell even the hardware. She had yet any luck in opening that damm file.

The sound accompanied a heavy sigh from Barbara as she pressed up her glasses, turning to another monitor, her new evidence upload fully transferred.

Just hours before- Jason had scared the shit out of her, practically breaking into the clocktower in the middle of the day, a bat vigilante equivalent of 3am. He began shoving his phone in her face before she even had the chance to put her glasses on.

A new social media post, with Cardinal as a non linked tag. She had decided to extract the full meta data and cross reference her systems before examining it herself.

Oracle had eyes all over the city, and yet it seemed Cardinal knew every one of her blind spots. It was as annoying to watch, as it was fascinating
Honestly she'd grown somewhat attached to whoever they were.

Bruce however was justifiably going grey over the whole affair.

But try as they might- Cardinal was a ghost
No one could get close without them vanishing in thin air.

Cass had gotten the closest with a record two buildings away, but since that time it seemed Cardinal made the extra effort to avoid Black Bat as much as physically possible.

That didn't mean they didn't have some information.

"Oracle checking in-" Batmans’ voice sounded from the computer and Babs blinked away from the screen, rolling her chair back to the main monitor.

"Oracle at your service, all clear?”

Batman let out an iconic “hmph” and she could pick up on the sound of a grappling hook firing.

“I'm not Nightwing, you gotta use your words Batman.”

“Any sign of.. them?”

Huh- speak of the devil, it seemed both of their minds had wandered to the same neverending mystery.

“Nothing on the streets, but Jay did alert me to a new posting, I haven't looked it over yet,” She said as she booted up one of her side monitors and began filtering through several apps searching for keywords.

Barbara couldn't help but smirk at one of the top videos of the night
“I do have about twelve angles of Nightwing freaking out after getting a Mayo shot to the face though?”

Batman stayed silent but she could picture his assumed half twitch smirk from here.

She continued looking, just listening in on his comm like background music but again, nothing. “Sorry to disappoint Batman, but the most I’m finding are some videos from last week looking at Ivy's vines in the background.”

“Hmph-” Batman grunted again, followed by loud footsteps on what sounded like a wooden roof. “Let me know once you’ve fully examined the evidence.”

Barbara glanced up at the tracker chart and narrowed her eyes at the sole red dot in the dock ward “B- correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you meant to be avoiding the dock ward?”

No response.

“Specifically, avoiding going to the ward alone after your cape got caught on a boat propeller and you almost drowned?”

Still no response, which was guilt enough.

“Batman.” She straightened her posture, channeling her best version of Alfred and her dads’ scolding, combined. It was a force to be reckoned with when done right.

A small pause “I suppose.. this section can wait until Nightwing returns to his shift,” Batman replied, and sounded almost chastised which made her chuckle. Bingo. And victory was hers.

Knowing Dick, he would insist on at least three showers and spend at least another half hour choosing which of, like, four identical costumes felt the least like a “sensory nightmare”.

So Bruce would be avoiding the dock ward for most of the night, for the best after all.

“Now then- about the Cardinal footage? Do you want me to call you back or?”

“Just add them to the file.” Batman ordered and then she could hear the small click of a comm being turned off.

No wonder her dad is still so startled whenever she actually closes out a conversation, dealing with mr. tall-dark-and-brooding all the time.

BUT of course she had a job to do and one she intended to fulfill
Barbara reached behind her main monitor and pulled out a silver and black colored lockbox that took a bit of strength to heave into her lap.

Lifting up the small lock she quickly input the 24 digit password and set it aside on her table to flip open the lid. Inside was dozens upon dozens of hard drives.

Her nails clicked against each one as she shifted through the unorganized mess before finding her target. A conveniently black drive with red lined sides lifted between her fingers and out of the box.

Barbara placed the rest aside, twirling the drive across her fingers as she rolled away and towards yet another side of her desk, pulling out a personal laptop. Custom built and existing on a sole processing system hidden in the cave itself.

Aka, practically unhackable since it was invisible to most modern techniques.

She flicked off the lid and stuck the drive into the device as it booted up, filling the screen with dozens and dozens of various files.

Posts,
Witness statements,
Body cam footage,
CCTV,
Videos,
Photos,
Even evidence examination of anything and everything from a bird shaped batarang (a birdarang? anyways-) and a few fabric scraps from Cardinals’ cloak.

Every little scrap of evidence to Cardinals’ existence, even pictures of his original files dating all the way back when Dick first entered the scene. It was all stored on this file (as well as its three backup siblings).

Barbara made quick work of transferring the evidence from last week, nothing more than some CCTV from a shitty Pizza place, that for some reason Steph swore by, and some blurry instagram posts.

The clearest image they got was from someone's twitter that seemed to have gone pretty viral overnight and even spread outside Gotham. It was a phone recorded video of a guy filming his capture and subsequent rescue from inside one of Ivy's carnivorous plants.

The video started with the guy pressed against the thick green slime covered wall looking none too happy to be there. But he was smiling, rambling to the camera about how “At least if I’m digested I don't have to finish my chem lab”.

It was long enough that, had it not been posted she would have been concerned about him getting free. But it was like something Steph said, “The cameraman never dies?” Which was a perfect example of statistical coincidence, really.

Barbara continued to watch and turned up the volume right as the kid jerked his head up “Shit I think someone’s outside- You think Ivy would let me go if I told her my boyfriend is a huge fan of her work?” Even as he was joking she could see the fearful body language.

There was a muffled voice and then a sword was being stuck into the plant and startling the boy who let out a loud scream.

A mechanized voice called out in an attempt at soothing. “It’s okay, I’m here for you now.”

Judging by the kids' expression, it did not work.

The plant was split open and the guy half tumbled out covered in goo before being lifted up by the black gloved hands of the vigilante. His bird mask staring right at the screen as he got to his feet.

The kid called out in relief, still rambling and hands shaking slightly in a way that jostled the camera quality. But he seemed to calm down as Cardinal stepped forward and began consoling him.

Babs paused the moment right as they took a step back into frame. She cut out their silhouette and moved it over to the main intel side and checked it against her current file.

She clicked off the information file and went back to the guy's Twitter; scrolling down, she paused at yet another post. This time, it was a tweet of a selfie with Cardinal in the background, tagging Gotham University. Must be a student then.

Julian Sparks @elgatogotham @officalgothamgazetteIs being attacked by Ivy a good excuse for turning shit in late?? My buddy Cardinal can vouch https://www.tumblr.com/myficrenders/750387381457256448/elgatogotham-113am-05-13-gothamuniversity-is?source=share 1:13 AM - 03/31 315 8914 Babs snickered, taking a moment to comment below from her alternate account that yes Gotham University allowed extensions for students involved with class 3 or above villains. Ivy most definitely fit the bill. Her amusement died off slightly as she looked at the photo even closer and glanced back to the profile. IDENTITY- N/A Cardinal had helped so many.. But seemed to take their privacy above all else. She understood of course, she knew heroes and vigilantes from here all the way to Star city. Everyone had something they wanted to protect or something they needed to hide from. Still… Being Batgirl were some of the best years of her life, it was a time she missed dearly but looked back on fondly enough. Part of it was the community, the people in Gotham who showed their appreciation in the little ways. Or the bats themselves, people she had grown to consider family in their own fucked up way . . . . It must be lonely. . . . Barbara's phone chimed and she turned away from the screens, leaning forward enough to snatch her case and glance down at it. It was a picture from Damian.

Attached was a picture of a very pissed off looking Robin with Jaybird and Spoiler in the background eating hot dogs over Nightwing while he clutched at his ruined and mayo covered hair with a look of utter distress.

Barbara smiled and sent back a quick approval reply, never one to miss out on Alfred’s pastries.

She glanced back at the screen and let out a long sigh
How do you even begin to reach out to someone who doesn't want to be found?
.
.
.
The bright red “Dragon Protocol” folder sat in the corner of her vision, and above it a still blinking sign.

ACCESS DENIED
TRY AGAIN 22:27:18

But then again, she had never been good at giving up, had she?

Oracle cracked her knuckles and rolled forward, setting her phone aside and refocusing on her computer.

Her fingers danced across the keyboard, and the symphony of clacking turned into almost a hum as the systems were forced to keep up with someone who, of course, had no intention of slowing down anytime soon.

Her main monitor lit up and displayed a map, one that showed the entire city and extended territory of Gotham.

A few clicks and red dots began to appear, one after the other, until it looked like paint splatter against the screen.

Oracle was the eyes and ears of Gotham, and nothing would stop her from solving the most tantalizing mystery of her entire career.

She would stop at nothing except a small break tomorrow for Alfreds' pie. But other than that nothing would stop her from her goal
.
.
.
Cardinal would be found, and she would welcome them with open arms.

Chapter Text

A shutter raked down his spine as Tim continued to chug what remained of his sad paper coffee cup. Far too bitter and textured if the grounds across his tongue were anything to go by.

It was- disgusting.

Normally he wouldn't be so picky- but the Sleepy Kitten had ruined his ability to suffer through with shitty coffee. He hadn't had the chance to stop by in a few days, not enough time to swap looks and Timothy couldn't be spotted dead anywhere near the Narrows.

Tim took another sip as if somehow it would suddenly taste much better. Unfortunately he knew miracles were real, but suddenly fixing his coffee on command was not one of those miracles.

“Timothy Jackson Drake- are you even listening to me right now?" Lucius' snapped his fingers, startling Tim to meet his gaze.

He was the only man that could look downright terrifying even with his little blue bow tie and red rimmed glasses. All the more reason Tim respected him so much. Not enough to not speak his mind though-

“I just don't see the big deal,” Tim protested, “I'm not even working a full shift, just stopping by to check on a few things.”

“A week and a half- until you got your stitches out,“ Lucius pushed up his glasses with a heavy sigh, “It's been six days dammit.”

What, so you expect me to just sit at home?” He snapped back, a bit defensive.

“I expect you to know your limits, I know you seem to be oblivious to that which is why I seem to have to remind you.”

Okay that was a bit far. Sure he doesn't have the best track record of “self care” and “healthy boundaries” but he hasn't died yet!
.
.
Again..

“Lucius, you're treating me like some insolent child, I'm not going to drop dead from stitches just by attending a few meetings!"

Lucius paused, arms still crossed though his gaze was slightly obscured by a reflection off his glasses. His mustache twitched and Tim watched the tension leak out of his muscles and the man's scowl switch into a small smile.

“You know what Tim- maybe you're right”

“I- I am?" Tim blinked, this felt like a trap.

“If you insist on taking some meetings then as CEO I cannot stop you” Lucius sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone “But of course- as your Chief of Staff, I must insist you stick to a schedule”

Lucius just smiled more, his gaze now taking on a distinct glint. It was a look he’d seen more than a few times, but it was usually directed at Tam or Luke.
Which meant- definitely a trap.

Tim didn't know where this was going, and that alone was terrifying. He had to stop himself from taking another sip of his sludge someone dared call “coffee” out of habit.

Without another word, Lucius pressed a few buttons on his phone and then lifted it up to his face, Tim could hear the ringing. He hoped it would ring out.

Unfortunately yet again, he was not so lucky, and a small click signaled whoever
was being called actually picked up.

“Ah hello this is Lucius Fox on behalf of Drake Industries wanting to update you about the recent scheduling issues”

There- haven't been any scheduling issues?

Tim tried to shift closer to hear but was stopped by Lucius outstretched hand just a few inches from his chest. Sure he could push the hand aside but that would involve initiating contact which- no.

“Yes yes I know your boss has been dying to get in, speaking of has he yet to fill his afternoon? Oh yes our CEO in fact is available to meet on my behalf”

Okay so he was just… passing on a meeting?
Boring- but Tim could deal with contractors, he'd done so long before he was old enough to even intern at the company.

His inventing supplies had to come from somewhere. And Tiny Tim with an Amex had to learn which suppliers had good quality and were easily bribed to keep the transactions.. Under the table.

“Sounds great!" Lucius grinned, looking far too happy “I assume he is all set for transit otherwise the company can provide a cab?"

“Oh of course no need, the door man will prepare for your arrival in about an hour? Yes yes all good- talk soon, and thank you again for the last minute accommodations”

Lucius pulled the phone away and pressed the end call button. The contact said “Diana” did he know a Diana? Well besides Wonder Woman but Lucius wouldn't be calling her so then who-
.
.
No.

Tim stumbled, slamming his coffee cup against the counter as he braced himself, looking up at Lucius with utter betrayal in his eyes “No.”

Lucius, unwavering in his cruelty only smiled back, “Oh yes.”

“Anything but this Lu please i'm begging you-”

“You wanna work today? I'm giving you work,” Lucius reiterated “and besides you broke our deal at the gala.”

Fuck. What could he even say?
“Is this victim blaming right now?"

“You and I both know you could do Quantum Electrodynamic equations in your sleep- Jace can attest” He said with a sigh that read i'm-not-angry-just-disappointed.

“A few glasses of champagne did not make you forget basic physics to know damm well pulling that glass would have sent the whole thing down”

Tim hunched his shoulders, half grateful for the gel in Timothy's hair that his face wasn't suddenly covered. It wasn't that Lucius was wrong. (though Tim did not in fact anticipate both towers collapsing like that)

But dear god did he hate having Authority figures.
He could absolutely ditch this meeting too- but he respected Lucius too much for that.

“So… I have an hour before I have to deal with Izbel?"

“Plenty of time for me to send someone to get you some better coffee, and you to re-read your file on the bastard.”

That got a small snicker from Tim “Is there no way I can get out of this?"

“Unless you manage to concoct yet another miraculous incident then no,” As if reading his mind, Lucius raised a brow “ and don't even debate it, lest Leslie and I both wring you out for it”

Well shit- Tims day had just gone from sort of not great to downright awful. “How long is that coffee?"

“However long it takes you to accept your fate, get ready in the meeting room, and about ten minutes” Lucius replied without missing a beat.

Tim looked down at his current cup, lifting it up and quickly chugging half of it. He took the half empty container and tossed it in the trash can nearby before meeting Lucius' eyes again.

“Let's get this over with.”

Lucius just smiled and pushed up straightened his sleeves “As you wish, Boss.”

God- kill him now.

____________________

Timothy Drake sat back, leather chair creaking just slightly as he adjusted in place. The bright light streamed from all angles from the corner office and illuminated the various stacks of paper strewn across the long conference table.

He adjusted his signature golden watch, a final gift from his father. A reminder of responsibility to uphold the company, but more than that, the Drake namesake.

Gold wasn't his color. He inherited his mothers cool undertones, but it was part of the image so he would have to cope.

Thankfully his coping mechanism had arrived, a fresh cup of coffee. A Grande brown sugar shaken iced espresso with twelve extra shots and a dash of cinnamon.

It was a sugary monstrosity and held about twice the daily recommended dose of caffeine - therefore it was perfect.

Tim picked up his cup and took a long sip, his eyes trailing down at the file placed just in front of him. It was in a fancy Drake Industries patented file, but of course it had nothing to do with work.

To anyone else it would look like some boring data reports for an offshore branch in Turkey that didn't exist beyond the paper trail and some hired hands.

Through Timothy's Versache sunglasses?

It was a condensed informational report on anything and everything relating to Mr. Charles Izbel.

Now he didn't like crossing Cardinal tech with his work life, but then again he'd rather take that risk than be caught dead with files detailing his business partners' adultery scandals.

Charles Izbel is a… character.
A self made man (if you discount his great grandfather's secret fortune) who found his way to the big leagues in pharmaceutical care and for some reason decided to set up shop in Gotham of all places.

To be fair, plenty of people were sick just about every day- adding high risk job market and anything and everything from falling clown pianos to toxin concoctions of the week.

Still- the man must pay a fortune in warehouse security alone.

With Drake Industries new healthcare program for lower city Gotham, unfortunately Izebel Inc was one of the best and most convenient suppliers available. The man was more than happy to cut them a deal for the “honor” of associating with Drake Industries.

In short- he was a suck up, an opportunist, a bit of a sleaze, but he produced a good product and was genuinely a decent business partner as long as their communication stayed strictly over email.

He was also a perfect inspiration for Timothy Drake.

A loud buzz sounded out and Tim took another long sip of coffee, waiting until it got just loud enough to grade against his very senses before he finally pressed down.

“Mister Drake? Your guest has arrived shall I send him up” A nasally woman's voice responded without further greeting.

“Thank you Angie and yes send him in-” Timothy replied.

The comm buzzed off and Tim sat back in his chair, savoring his last few moments of peace. Those moments were in fact, very brief.

STEP, STEP, CLICK

Twin giant wooden doors slammed open and Tim was greeted with the man himself, Charles Izbel in all his glory.

His yellow blonde pompadour was practically glowing from the sheen of the conference room lights bouncing off an absurd amount of layered hair gel.

Izbel waved with his free hand, his other gripping tightly onto his gold and diamond encrusted walking cane, the wood shining so much he would fool many into believing it was metallic.

Despite the man barely leaning into his 40s he relied on the aid after an industry accident. The details were kept fairly under wraps but from what Tim could tell, nothing too suspicious, just mildly tragic. Enough he would almost feel bad for the guy.

Yeah- almost.

“Mister Izbel, welcome in!" Timothy grinned, pushing his chair back as he stood and strutted over to greet the man.

Mr. Charles Izbel lifted up his hand and pushed up his sunglasses on top of his pompadour, they seemed to stick to the hair. “Timothy Drake as I live and breathe, you know I have assumed you'd gone and died and your assistant was covering it up”

“Ah Angie is skilled indeed, though I'd hope that's not on her set.”

The man let out a gruff laugh and stuck his hand out in greeting. Timothy didn't hesitate to meet his hand. A wide grin on his face and, pearlescent teeth on full display

Timothy cleared his throat and half helped guide Mr.Izbel to his seat on the other end of the conference table. As soon as he was settled he turned heel and went back to his desk.

“Now then, I know the arrangement was last minute but I do hope this meeting is still satisfactory.”

Mr.Izbel waved his hand “Ah not a bother at all, I know you young ceo types have better things to do than business.”

Timothy hummed, grabbing the data reports for the Turkish branch and straightening them. “Well life has a way of shifting priorities around when you least expect it”

“Call it whatever you'd like, don't worry I was young once too.”

Tim took another long sip of his coffee as he shoved the “spare” files into one of his drawers he would need to resort through later.

Well- best get this over with.

“It goes without saying that the project has been a huge success, especially with the collaboration of Wayne Enterprises-” Mr.Izbel nodded absentmindedly as Tim spoke.

“My team has already tracked a giant stock jump with all corporations involved, yours included, so congratulations”

“Congratulations indeed- it seems this collaboration was for the best on both ends.”

Mr.Izbel was smiling but something about it felt..different. It made Tim uneasy, but it must just be being in the same room as this sleazebag. He took another sip of his coffee.

"A wonderful opportunity taken advantage of"

It did reflect well business wise, tons of good PR and press, but Tim could care less.

Mr.Izbels eyes lit up at his words "Speaking of wonderful opportunities, such is the reason I insisted on meeting in person for once instead of through assistants"

He watched as the man leaned over, the one button at the front of his suit straining as he folded over to grab his briefcase. Thankfully the button held as he snapped back and landed the case on the table with a loud thud.

"Well most projects are run through my planning manager but for you I make an exception" Or well- Lucius did, not that Mr.Izbel needed to know that.

The man nodded, flicking over the golden clasps of his suitcase and folding it open. "Ah yes I'd met with him before- Alvin right?"

"Ah close enough, but it's Alan Draper-"

Mr.Izbel paused in his shuffling of papers and raised a brow, half of his face wrinkling as he did so.

"Are you sure? I could have sworn it was Alvin-"

Timothy laughed "Despite my reputation I do try and know the names of my close employees"

Or the fact they were the same person.
It would have made Tim nervous except for the fact it wouldn't have been the first time he had slipped up and introduced himself as Alvin instead of Alan.

It was the name he'd gotten used to the first time around, he only changed it because he got so fucking tired of Jason constantly referencing Alvin and the Chipmunks when he was in deep cover.

“Christmas Time” in Jason's chipmunk impression added onto the Red Hood modulation made him want to go deaf and scream. God- is it bad he misses it?
.
.
.
That's- besides the point.
Alvin was dead and gone, Alan was what remained.

Speaking of Alan, His own “Event Planner” had a very interesting interaction with Mister Izbel just a few weeks prior.

Only now as "Timothy Drake" did he keep his disrespect down to carefully constructed comments instead of outright demeaning remarks and threats. Had it been any of his other employees at the other end, Tim would sooner get his supplies from Nanda Prat.

But he could handle it. So he coped.

Shuffling caught Tims attention as his gaze returned back to Mr.Izbel, a decent sized stack of papers in hand.

The man slipped half of the papers into a folder and then with practiced precision slid it across the table. It glided and slid just in front of Tim perfectly placed to the point he wouldn't even have to stand up.

"Impressive" Timothy remarked earnestly as he reached forward and picked up the folder.

It had a fair amount of weight to it, and the papers were still warm. Freshly printed then. Apparently he wasn't the only one doing some prep before the meeting.

“I hope you find the opportunity equally impressive,” Mr.Izbel smirked, his expression giving no idea as to what it was. Only that he thought himself clever.

Timothy flipped open the file, reading the title on the second page and felt his chills shook across his limbs. Timothy slipped through his grasp, leaving just Tim.

He had to stop himself from reaching to clutch at his hair instead of his clothes. It was just Tim, but Tim couldn't afford to slip up something as basic as simple mannerisms.

Eyes trailed down to the golden watch that curled heavy around his wrist.
You are a Drake, a Dragon- act like it.

Tim tore his gaze away from the watch, steadying himself as his thumb slid over the edge of the paper. A small shock of pain as the edge stained crimson, papercut. He didn't even flinch, shifting that page aside and picking up another.

“Mister Izbel,” He began, holding it up and facing the title towards the man “What is this?"

Mr.Izbels sly smirk turned into a full grin, his hands slipping together and fingers barely managing to overlap from his bulky rings.

“It’s an opportunity, Mister Drake”

__________________________________________________________________

Tim groaned, grabbing his cup, he longed for that bittersweet relief, but none came. Sighing he set the now empty cup alongside its three predecessors.

“Shit-” Tim pressed his call button, “Angie can you have someone bring me up another cup?"

No reply. He pressed again. “Angie? You there?"

On cue- he could pick up on the faint clicking of shoes from the hall. Huh she must have read his mind then.

The door creaked open and Tim put on his best Timothy grin, “Angie you are a saint.”

But instead of a snort laugh in response, he was greeted with a deep huff, “That she is, and that poor woman deserves a fruit basket and a raise.”

Tim blinked as he looked at Lucius, the man with his arms crossed and hands disappointedly caffeine-less.

“She already has an amazing salary and besides fruit baskets rot so easily.”

Lucius raised a brow and it didn't take more than a few seconds of staring before Tims shoulders dropped “Fine fine, I'll write her up another bonus this month but I'm still firm on the fruit baskets.”

“Then get her some fancy ass cheese and wine,” Lucius quipped back, quickly moving to settle into the chair next to Tim.

“Now- talk to me, you should have been home hours ago, that's besides the fact you’re still recovering.”

Tim sighed, he really didn't have the energy to explain. Instead he quickly grabbed that folder and slid it over to Lucius. The man raised a brow but didn't comment further as he took the folder, flipping it open and scanning the first few pages.

They stayed silent, Tim fidgeting with the bandaid on his thumb and just glancing up to see Lucius eyes widen from behind the red colored frames.

He paused, snapping the folder shut and holding it in place, “Is he serious?"

“I don't imagine he would draft an entire agreement and present for two hours straight if he was anything less.”

“So? Why are you still looking this over if you rejected it.” Lucius said as he threw the folder back on the table.

Tim was a master of concealing his reactions, years of practice in deep cover and living with Cass he knew just how to keep every little cue muffled.

But he was longing for coffee number five and Lucius could see right through him, a “dad” thing he said.

Lucius sat up straighter, “Tim- you are not merging Drake Industries to that man.”

“I know-”

“Then why on earth haven't you rejected him yet!?"

“Because,” Tim stressed “Half of the conversation was him offering how I was young and didn't need the stress of being a CEO while enjoying the so-called best years of my life,”

Lucius raised a brow but Tim waved him off, “If you tell me it only gets worse from here I will run out of this building sobbing and leave you to deal with the PR mess.”

“That wasnt what I was going to say” Lucius lip twitched, “But the image of you fleeing grounds like some heartbroken hallmark actress would make a good card cover for Tam,”

Tim chuckled half heartedly, not really in the mood for joking.

“Tim,” Lucius began, “You know I'm here to support you, but I need to know what you’re thinking- as much as I've honed in my dad skills dealing with my four brats, I still have yet to accomplish mind reading.”

“The first half- I didn't care about. But the second? You know I'd sooner die than work with him, but some of what he said was, unfortunately, very astute.”

Lucius leaned forward and motioned for him to continue.

“Drake Industries is just that, an industry we cover a lot of ground and despite my best efforts a lot of our campaigns that focus on Gotham have been falling short.” Tim sighed, trying to stop his eyes from wandering to the folder again. It was all outlined on every page. His shortfallings in neon tab sticky notes and yellow highlighter.

“This healthcare deal was amazing- but it was very long overdue, and it fell short of what resources could do if we had… more.”

“So you feel a merger with Izbels Pharmaceuticals will fix it all?" Lucius asked, but he seemed earnest.

“No. Well- Maybe? Look I don't want it- but its… it's not just about me” Tim argued, “I'm in charge of a legacy- and I have power to change a lot of lifes.”

“And if dealing with Mr.grease pompadour means saving lifes? Is that really so bad I want to at least think it through?”

Lucius' slight scowl faltered and he got that misty look in his eyes. That same one every time Tim so much as hinted at his parents. He avoided his gaze, afraid of what side of himself he might see reflected back.

He seemed ready to say something but was cut off by Tim jerking upright, elbow shooting to his face “ACHOO-”

Tim sniffled, moving his elbow away and pausing at the tissue in front of his face, Lucius eyes now shining with growing concern. “Are you coming down with something?"

He accepted the tissue with a sniffle and quickly shook his head “No no i'm fine.”

“Probably just reacting to the fumes of whatever god awful cologne Mr.Izbel bathed in, I swear I've never been happier for such a large table- I could feel my eyes watering from across the room.”

Lucius seemed to relax just a bit at the joking tone returned, “Regardless, I think it's about time you head home.”

“It's not that late”

“It's eleven.”

Tim blinked, “Oh.”

“Yeah, Oh-” Lucius huffed, standing up once more “Now get your stuff, im driving.”

“Lou, really I'm fine, it's not the first time i've slept in office and I really need to get my head on straight and decide if I'm actually entertaining this or if he just happened to push all the right buttons.”

“You have paid interns for a reason, and you know I don't approve of sleeping in the office- especially when you have stitches.”

Oh right- Tim had honestly forgotten about that.

“It's not even that bad, really” He insisted, tossing the tissue away.

“Eleven, you have eleven stitches”

Tim snapped his fingers “Ah yes but in multiple locations, so it's not that impressive anymore.”

Lucius for one, did not look impressed. But then again Tim was an independent person, it wasn't like he'd drag him out if it came down to it. That was always more his ex brothers thing.

“You’re an idiot.”

Tim gawked, opening his mouth to defend himself only to feel his senses overcome yet again and a much louder sneeze sounded out. His head jerked so rough it slammed forward and smacked onto the table.

“Oh oh ow owowow owww” Tim whined, hands clutching at his forehead as the stinging radiated across his skull.

The pain subsided just enough for him to look at Lucius and see the man, car keys in hand, grabbing at Tims bag.

“Wait wait wait- Lou im fine,” He tried to insist, but it was too late.

Papa bear mode had begun. Lucius rolled up his sleeves and reached over, lifting Tim to his feet from under his arms. Not that it was difficult considering his unfortunate build.

“No if ands or buts young man, you’re going home and to bed- im driving,” He declared “and if I so much as catch a wiff of you working remote i'm shutting off the company wifi and letting everyone take a day off.”

Tim had no room to protest, barely managing to shove half of his desk into his bookbag before Lucius snatched it and began guiding him out of the office and towards the nearest elevator with a heavy hand.

Well guess he was, in fact, going home.

Tim was ushered downstairs, bidding quick goodbye to the last of the guards already in the middle of their night shift. Stopping just long enough to escort them to the parking lot.

Lucius' old car smelled like those shitty gas station pine refreshers and leather with a hint of cigarette smoke, not that he ever did smoke, but he knew Luke borrowed the car enough back in highschool the smell must have stuck.

The radio would scream if you turned it to the wrong frequency or drove too close to the harbor. But otherwise it switched between various jazz tracks, Maynard Ferguson, Benny Goodman, Frank Sinatra, and Nat King Cole.

Tim honestly enjoyed the songs even if he usually preferred more swing style, not that he'd admit it, but he was pretty sure Lucius knew.

He watched the city streets fade away as they drove more towards Bristol's empty space. Land was a luxury in Gotham, but to Tim it just felt barren.

Lucius pulled up to the gate, punching in the code without any prompting. 0712. The gates swung open with a creak and quickly shut behind them as the car began up the winding driveway up to the manor.

At the very least it was a low fog day, low enough that Tim could appreciate the greenery lining almost every inch of the property. Including his mothers once prized Topiary garden that was just faintly visible from the road.

Orange Colored Sky reached its final notes right as they pulled to a stop just in front of the doors. The car turned off before Tim could insist Lucius stay in.

Swinging his bag over his shoulder he opened the car door with a click and stepped out, he used his leg to ensure the door had actually closed this time around before beginning up the stairs.

Lucius' footsteps stayed just a few paces behind. He could hear him as he approached the door, fiddling with his keys as his hand wrapped around the brass knob.

The door swung open and he was greeted with the cold chill, moonlight streaming in from the Palladian windows at the head of the room.

Tim took a deep breath, Lucius steps had since stopped, he knew full well the man was probably just behind him waiting for him to go inside so he could go home. He turned around.

Lucius smiled at him, a warm sight that made his worries fade away just enough. “Now, I know you hate when I do this but,”

The man reached into his satchel, one that Tim hadn't even noticed he was carrying and he lifted out a brown paper sack, holding it out.

He took it and looked it over, It was just a plain sack. But when he flipped it over he saw the distinct cursive writing “Timothy” with a little heart on the i.

Tim met Lucius' gaze and the man held a hand up before he could speak.

“Now before you go trying to reject a good meal- Tanya insisted. Besides it's just a pulled pork sandwich and some other treats.”

Tim blinked, holding the paper in hand as it crinkled in his grasp.

“It's far too late to be eating now, but you'll have something since you’re not going to the office right?"

“..Right.”

Lucius looked satisfied and closed his satchel, “Now then, I better get going before I get pulled over by Batman for a speeding ticket.” He took an extra pause, a beat, an opening.

An unspoken invitation yet to be rescinded, that if Tim wanted his old spot back, it was his. But then Jace would have to dig around for the old comforters while Tiff wrestled with the couch, Tanya would have to make more eggs in the morning, and Luke would rat him out to Tam for visiting without giving her a heads up.

Tims lip twitched into a small smirk, “Thanks Lou, and tell Tanya I said thank you as well.”

“Of course” Lucius said “You rest up, i'll check in later alright?"

Tim nodded, words failing otherwise.

With that said, Lucius turned heel and walked back to his car. Tim heard the engine jump a few times before settling into a low rumble. No matter how many times he insisted, Lou would never accept a newer model.

Lucius waved from his seat as he pulled out of the half crescent driveway, leaving Tim alone once more.

He shut the door.

______________________________________________________

Tim had put the lunch in the fridge, not bothering with unpacking anything knowing that he wouldn't be able to stomach much after having had almost nothing but coffee all evening.

A nasty habit really, one that even his father insisted would catch up to him. But it wasn't like he'd live long enough to see the consequences now would he?

Tim reached up, wiping away some of the condensation from the bathroom mirror. He looked himself over, raking his hand through his still damp hair and untucking his shirt from his basketball shorts with a yawn.

He reached forward and pulled on the tap, running water filling his ears once more as he went to brush his teeth.

The strong mint taste unbearable for a few seconds before it evened out as he looked around the bathroom, making a mental checklist of a few chores he could get done on his day off.

A small shine caught his eye and Tim looked over to the edge of the counter, The shiny golden rolex laid limp to the side, undone and both ends curling over themselves with only the clock face looking back.

Tim stared at it a few moments too long before turning back to the sink, a quick spit and rinse he put his brush away and turned to leave again.

His hand paused right at the light switch, eyes trailing to the watch again.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Timothy climbed into bed, covers wrapping around in a cocoon of warmth as all light was snuffed out via layers of black out curtains.

In his bathroom, the sink still covered in a few remaining droplets of water. The counter now empty, the watch lay alone stuffed inside the drawer below, the eyesore going untouched until he would need to take up the Drake name once more.

And despite the absurd amount of caffeine in his system, for once, sleep came easy.

Chapter Text

Even with the windows cracked open, allowing in a rare pleasant breeze from Gotham- the scent of vanilla continued to dance around the kitchen where Alfred worked.

It had been there ever since Martha and Thomas were newlyweds. They had insisted on baking a cake for themselves for just about every occasion.

Martha finished her painting she had been working on for months?
Classic chocolate cake with extra frosting.

Thomas scored a company deal he had been stressed over?
Simple but sweet carrot cake, a dash of cinnamon on top.

Of course it was far from perfect, frostings would clump together, edges would burn, stacks would cave in or slump together. But they refused Alfreds help and seemed pleased regardless of the results.

"It's not pretty but it's still sweet, that's what matters right Alfie?" Thomas had said with that beaming smile, eyes crinkling.

That with Martha's pleased smirk when they'd shown him the molten lava cake, emphasis on molten he couldn't deny them.

"Quite right young master, young mistress- now please do partake before the chocolate continues to pile on the tile floor."

"AH- Thomas grab the spoons- no no the fancy ones!"

The cake did, in fact, taste sweet enough to make up for the mess.

By that he wasn't surprised when for their first anniversary, they were determined to bake their own cake. A fairly ambitious recreation of the triple layer vanilla that they’d had at their wedding.

He had been working in the garden, checking in on some of the newly sprouted Perennial blooms. Bee balms, Butterfly weed, Cardinal flowers all beginning to show their colors and hopefully maintain them for the years to come.

A loud scream had Alfred grabbing his rifle and booking it to the kitchen, ready to protect his young master and mistress no matter the cost.

But instead of an unwelcome guest, he was met with Martha and Thomas- sharing twin sheepish expressions as Alfred burst through the double doors.

Martha had globs of white frosting trickling down her shirt and one giant chunk covering her eye making her resemble some sort of Goosebumps pirate. Her lips curled into a sheepish smile as she waved Alfreds rifle down.

Thomas looked no better, a layer of cake batter having taken shape instead of his usual chocolate brown mustache and his shoes resembling frosty the snowman.

Assured they were safe, he had the time to take in the disaster that had become of the antique kitchen. The walls and ceiling coated in what looked to be an explosion of white and vanilla so strong it made his eyes sting.

It would have been horrific had he not been slightly impressed how they managed such a feat. Twas also one of the few times Alfred refused to clean their mess entirely by himself.

But even with the absurd amount of cleaning chemicals to get the kitchen spotless once more. The vanilla smell remained.
.
.
.
.
.
Even after they were…long gone.

A screech snapped Alfred out of his reminiscing and he turned his gaze over to the far side of the kitchen island.

“Jason get your grimy hands off my pan!” Stephanie continued to screech, her hands shooting out to guard the cookie tray that laid on the counter.

“They’re too thin and going to burn if you don't fix it-you’ll waste the batter,” Jason argued, parrying her strikes with a whisk. “Just let me help you you little shit!”

“Language Master Jason,” Alfred interjected, pausing in his repetitive motions rolling out a large sheet of pie dough over the kitchen island.

“Sorry Alfie,” Jason chirped, but did not cease in his harassment.

Their continued bickering faded into the background as Alfreds apron was tugged at. He turned and had to look down to catch the sharp green gaze of his youngest ward.

Damian held up a crimson bowl high above his head. “Alfred- does my batter seem suitable?”

Leaning down to look it was… at the very least edible this time around. “Very good young master, though you are meant to mix the powders before adding in the eggs.”

“Why?” Damian raised a thick brow, “It all goes in the same place.”

“That it does, but unlike cooking- baking is a science,” Alfred hummed. “Every step relies on chemical reactions that allow most baked goods to come to life.”

“Getting the steps out of order or changing a few things won't always be detrimental, but before you break the rules you must understand what each does lest you ruin it.”

Damian looked to mull his words over for a moment before nodding. “Your wisdom has become of use once again Alfred, I shall trash and remake once more following your advice.”

“No need for unnecessary waste, set it in the fridge and we shall find another use for it.”

Damian did not respond but quickly turned heel and crossed the kitchen, dodging an oven mitt flying and past his siblings towards the fridge, bowl in hand.

Alfred hummed and returned his attention to what he'd been trying to work on. With a quick check the dough seemed to be just the right thickness, not sticky and yet holding together wonderfully.

Lifting the dough above the pie crust and with a practiced hand gently pressing curves into the side as the edges began to take shape, waves that hugged the tin barrier.

He looked over to the spare dough already running through dozens of designs, it was a gift after all so it was an opportunity to put some extra zest that hopefully the boy would appreciate.

CLICK, CLICK, CLICK,

A familiar pattern echoed across tile flooring just outside the kitchen. The sound of Barbara's cane tapping on the floor between sets of steps.

She entered his line of sight, half her weight balanced on the embellished black cane and in her other hand balancing a glass case dome.

“I got the dish you asked for, I hope it's big enough I couldn't get to the other one,” Barbara called out, her glasses half falling off her nose as she entered the kitchen. “Big pain day so I was not about to risk using the step stool.”

Alfred took a half step to go assist but something made him pause and instead he smiled in greeting. “Ah perfect timing Ms. Gordon, please take a seat you must rest when your body demands.”

“It seems my body demands more and more everyday.”

“Sometimes that is simply what it requires, however vexing that may be,” Alfred paused. “Speaking of, I myself am a bit vexed that you did not hail for someone to come fetch you.”

“Why Alfred even if I am a lady does not make me in constant need of aid.”

Alfred raised a brow as Barbara reached inside the kitchen itself and braced her shoulder against the entryway- but being a gentleman he did not push the matter.

She always did get touchy around questioning her capabilities even before her incident. “Many things you are, a lady is debatable.”

Barbara let out a small snort, her glasses falling victim to gravity’s pull and clattering onto the tile floor. “Ah lovely, this is what I get for misplacing my chain.”

At her laugh Alfred watched a head of black spikes pop up from behind the counter. Damian, his eyes lighting up the moment he registered her presence.

As insightful as always he took only a moment to take in the scene before a scowl made its way onto his face and he whipped his head over to address his siblings.

“Todd, Brown- cease your childish bickering and aid Gordon!”

Jason and Stephanie froze, her hand gripping a large chunk of brown locks and Jason half holding her in the air. They took a moment to process his words before scrambling over to offer aid and arm in turn.

Steph locked arms with Barbara and escorted her to the island seating, black cane
now hanging off the crook of her wrist.

Damian swiftly picked up and carried the glass dome over to the counter, setting it down with a small clink.

Jason hovered just a few feet behind in the middle of the kitchen, seeming more focused on shuffling over to "fix" Miss Brown's cookie tray.

Though right as Barbara seemed to be ready to shoo off the extra attention, Steph had spotted Jason's not so subtle advances.

Her hand shot out and grabbed a wooden rolling pin as she took a half step forward. But pausing when Alfred cleared his throat.

Stephs shoulders hiked and she slowly turned with wide eyes. They kept each other's gaze until she sighed and swapped out the pin for a plastic spoon instead.

Alfred gave her a small nod in approval before turning back to his work.

Though he had grown accustomed to the chaos of the manor, he really did need to focus on the task at hand.

All that was left was to cut and design the topping and finish the filling. But of course that had to wait since several someone’s had decided that the “cinnamon challenge” was a worthy training exercise and had drained his entire stock.

As the instigator he did not hesitate to task Master Dick of refilling said stock.

A loud scream from Jason followed by shouts from Damian and Steph and guffawing laughter from Barbara cut away at any change of continued focus for the time being.

Now only if Master Dick would hurry back with the cinnamon.

__________________________________________________________

Dick could feel his hands shaking, his thoughts racing as he desperately searched the recedes of his mind for answers.

In both hands fingers wrapped tightly around the glass bottles, eyes darting between them as if somehow it would click any moment now.

An impossible choice, between cinnamon sticks, or the ground kind. Not to mention the dozens of brands and types laid before him. He didn't know what to do.

Both he'd picked out were the same brand, “Simply Organic” as if it was mocking him. This was far from simple.

His Pitamahah deserved nothing but the best for all that he’d done for him over the years- add salt to the wound he knew he was far too polite to say anything if Dick picked wrong.

But this wasn't his “add from the heart” seasoning, this was baking- apparently a “delicate art akin to science” that Alfie took so much pride in.

Dick could not mess that up just because he couldn't figure out which was the “correct” one.

“You’ve been starin pretty hard there, need any help?” A sweet voice snapped Dick out of his spiral.

Right next to him, a box of yellow cake mix in hand was a girl about a foot shorter than him with a short blonde bob and big doe brown eyes looking at him with concern and maybe a bit of amusement.

She looked, normal? Which in Gotham was kind of terrifying.

He almost hesitated to answer until his eyes trailed down to a friendship bracelet, made of a rainbow of glittery beads that somehow clashed with themselves. But hung on the end was clearly a bottle of pepper spray.

Now that was more like home.

Dick realized he must have been quiet for a bit and cleared his throat. “Ah well-My grandfather sent me out for cinnamon, but I'm out of my element here.”

He helplessly gestured to the mountainous shelf of options as if to help give plausibility to his entire debacle. God Jason would give him so much shit for this. But it was deserved.

It felt a bit embarrassing, a grown ass man struggling to pick out cinnamon. But he always ordered his spices imported or from local markets instead of a grocery store.

The girl's expression lifted into a smirk, but not a judgemental one. She took a half step, spinning to face him and examining the jars with interest.

“Hmm, good brand choice- and well priced, what is he making?”

“Oh um- apple pie.”

“In that case.” She plucked the jars from his hands and put them back on the shelf.

Dick watched in awe as she stood up on her tiptoes and grabbed another bottle of ground cinnamon and presented it to him. He took the bottle in hand and looked down at the label.

“McCormick, I swear by it really- maybe a tad pricier but I assure you it's worth it.”

"Speaking from experience then?"

"Yup! I help bake for the cafe I work at, so lots of trial and error with ingredients." She gestured to the box in hand. "But sometimes store quality beats any fancy imported stuff."

Dicks shoulders dropped and he clutched the bottle like a lifeline. “Thank you Ms..?”

“Parkins, Gwen Parkins-” She said without hesitation, either he gave some reason to seem trustworthy or she did not see him as a threat by name alone.

“Thank you, really, I'll find some way to repay you.”

Gwen didn't seem to take his words seriously but within a beat her eyes sparked and she met Dicks gaze with a totally innocent expression as she reached into her jacket pocket.

Oh god was he going to be robbed by some girl in the bakery aisle? Babs still hadn't let it go since the incident in the deli.

But instead of pulling out a weapon or even uncapping her pepper spray she pulled out her phone. It was a clear case, but with dozens of little stickers, paper doodles, and a ripped dollar bill? all tucked inside.

The screen was shoved in his face showing, well, a cafe. One smashed between several faintly familiar brick buildings. Narrows then.

It had blue awnings and the outside actually had furniture, metal from the looks of it but painted all kinds of colors half chipping away.

‘The Sleepy Kitten’ was scrawled above in semi cursive turquoise lettering. It was honestly pretty nice looking for a place in Gotham.

Dick glanced down at the store front once more and yeah he had mostly looked just to be polite, now he was genuinely curious. He used to know just about every store in Gotham by their blueprint.

Of course now he had his own city to meticulously memorize, so it's not a surprise he'd overlooked a few things. Besides who was he to deny the opportunity of discovering a secret gem before any of his siblings.

He had a reputation to uphold as the cool older brother, and he couldn't do that if he wasn't in the know of cool older brother things, like the newest place to hang or whatever Damian had called it, vibe?

“This is the cafe I work at-”

Oh okay- not being robbed, just being solicited. Would he prefer being robbed though?

“-and we're hosting a fundraiser in a few days, this saturday to be specific, it's in collaboration with the Gotham branch ASPCA to help funding for the Gotham shelter to turn into a no kill shelter.”

“Oh that’s-” Dick began.

Gwen interrupted, her previous bravado now somewhat sheepish, “Seriously no pressure about the whole ‘making it up’ stick, I’m advertising to just about everyone who doesn't try and mug me within ten minutes of chatting.”

Honestly pretty sound qualification.

“No no I was just a little surprised is all, but I'm always open for some charity- do you have a flyer or anything?”

She did in fact have a flyer, and a pretty nice one at that.
It looked like it had been hand drawn at some point and then copied over a billion times.

Dick thanked her before heading to the checkout with his prize in hand, though he did make the extra effort to fold the flyer neatly so it wouldn't be crushed or crinkled on the ride back.

A ride that turned out to make him regret not talking Bruce into borrowing one of the cars instead of sticking to his bike. Gotham was always just above freezing. Regardless of how many layers you threw on there was still that chill that seeped in.

Even during sunny days, the streets didn't absorb the heat enough to last more than a few hours after the sun went down. After so many years Dick had never gotten fully comfortable with it.

Sure it wasn't half bad for vigilantes in specially engineered suits built for beyond sub zero temperatures.

But right now he wasn't Nightwing, he was Dick Grayson in sweats and a leather bomber fighting for his life with the clouds looking moments from giving in and pouring half of gotham harbor on his head.

Add onto that, he could feel the phone buzzing in his jacket, probably both Jason and Steph spamming him on Alfreds behalf.

The GPS predicted a little over ten minutes to the manor.
Following road rules and all, as he should.

Especially as a former cop, esteemed leader of his own hero group, and eldest of about a half dozen impressionable kids.

The light flicked yellow, he pulled up just a few feet away, plenty of time to do the responsible thing and slow to a stop to wait.

…
But then again- patience had never been his forte.

Dick revved his bike, tires squealing as he was launched forward and zipped across the lane and down the street. He wove through cars, each movement perfectly executed.

Well outside him skirting a tad too fast around a corner enough that he felt the balance shift. Only sheer experience and a performer's balance to thank for the fact he hadn't started sliding into an alleyway.

The zip of adrenaline was well worth it though. Besides Alfred did tell him to “hurry back” which is basically a seal of approval as far as he's concerned.

Ten minutes turned into four and a half as Dick zipped up the driveway and around the large stone fountain. He kicked out his bike stand after coming to a skirting stop and didn't hesitate to gather his bag and hop off.

The manor was, for a fun comparison, a maze. Not including the twisting tunnels below ground where the birds and bats nested.

Dick had always been used to never being quite familiar with his place, he was a traveling performer afterall. Locations changed constantly, and there was some fun in always having some new place to explore.

But over the years the manor had become that place he could traverse even if he was stripped of all his senses. Speaking from experience, he still gets shit from Steph about breaking her “third favorite vase”.

He moved with practiced ease, a small grin on his face as he heard the chatter from down the hall, and a bit of bickering from the sound of it.

Dick shot through the double doors and down the final stretch of hallway, having abandoned his shoes at the entrance he angled as soon as he made contact with tile instead of hardwood and slid the final distance into the kitchen.

“Honey I'm home!” Dick shouted, bag rustling as he shot his hands in the air.

The kitchen was a mess. Dozens of trays of cookies and other sweets covered just about every inch of available counter space.

Except for the island where Babs gave him a small wave in greeting, sipping at a water bottle.

Damian was seated next to her, his legs dangling off the stool as he stared him down, slowly blinking like a cat instead of a hello.

Steph and Jason were side by side, aprons on and rolling out what looked to be yet another batch of cookies. Did they even have any more trays in the manor?

“What no hello for your f a v o r i t e older brother?” Dick teased as he dropped his bike helmet by the entrance and strode closer.

“I may owe you my kidneys, but not my respect,” Steph said without looking up from the table.

“I- okay?”

“And what about you little wing?”

Jason looked up just long enough to gaze him over. “I'm just surprised you didn't get lost in the supermarket so congrats on finding your way home.”

He froze, face turning alarmingly white and distraught. “You did actually get to the supermarket, right?”

Damm those improv lessons for what it did to Dicks heart. He huffed, brushing a bit of hair out of his face and holding up the plastic grocery bag as evidence as he waltzed over to the little free counter top where Alfred stood.

The man lit up as Dick came into view, his face wrinkling just slightly as he smiled. “Ah Master Dick, you are back sooner than expected- I hope your mission was successful?”

Dick reached around to pluck the container from his bag and placed it on the counter for Alfred to inspect.

He raised a brow “McCormick? Can't say I'm familiar with the brand.”

Well, too late to go back and change his mind now. “Someone recommended it.”

“Ah then I suppose it's worth trying.”

Babs smirked “Because we all know taking kind advice from strangers in Gotham always goes swimmingly.”

Dick brushed her off and quickly walked over to the fridge. Reaching inside his bag he felt around for the slip of paper and quickly pulled it out. The flyer for the Sleepy Kitten Cafe that was still folded into a square but fairly undamaged.

He plucked one of the fridge magnets off, careful not to knock off Damians painting of the gargoyle over on 8th and put the flyer still folded on top. Unfolding it would mean covering Damians painting, so he'd deal with it later.

Satisfied he stepped away and moved to join Babs at the table, taking the seat that Damian had seemingly abandoned to go mess with something else.

She gave a small nod and then held out a glass of water that he happily accepted and chugged down with ease, the unpleasant awareness of his own throat quickly vanishing.

“You sped over here, didn't you?”

Dick hummed, pulling the cup just a half inch away from his lips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Babs raised a brow, looking amused. “You do have an idea how many security systems I'm in- correct?”

“Ghora piśācī, that's why I make such an effort to stay on your good side."

Babs’ raised brow melted into a small smile as she shook her head. “At least someone in this family has self preservation.”

The kitchen continued to stay busy for the next hour it took for the pies to finish, in the meantime Alfreds famous chocolate chip cookies had been up for grabs for all to partake.

“This should last at least a week,” Steph said while holding a cookie in both hands. “Might need to make more though.”

“Brown, this is twenty five batches.”

“She said what she said.” Jason backed up, his words muffled from the cookies in his mouth.

Well Dick was already on his 6th cookie, so maybe a week was a bit optimistic. They did agree to slow down just a tad after a strong side eye from Alfred.

But soon enough with the pies finishing and Steph having dragged Babs into another room to rest and watch Criminal Minds.

Because apparently the rest of them got “too invested” but Dick just couldn't stand the procedural inaccuracies and absurd amount of obstruction.

"Woah Alfred you really have outdone yourself,” Jason whistled, half leaning on the counter and finishing off his… actually Dick had no idea how many cookies he had eaten so far.

Damian shoved him aside to get a view and nodded approvingly at Alfreds creation.

It was a marvel of an apple pie, golden crust of interwoven strips and braids of dough into a beautiful pattern. Not to mention it smelled delicious. The scent of cooked apple mixed with nutmeg and cinnamon was to die for.Manohara indeed.

“How soon until we can dig in?” Dick asked, already salivating a little at the spices that lifted up and stung his senses.

“If you boys would like a pie then I would be more than happy to make another, but this is for a gift I intend to deliver as soon as it has cooled.”

Dick picked up one of the last cookies set out, the other twenty one batches having been stored away for any hope of lasting until the end of the week at the rate they were going.

“So who is it for exactly- must be special since you rarely make something so intricate.”

“Didn't he make those fancy lemon cakes like last week?”

“Yes but that was for the gala which was a wonderful event and-” Dick was cut off by Damians loud huff.

“You mean that disaster of an event,” Damian huffed. “A ruin to Alfred’s good planning due to someone else's idiocracy.”

The implied “someone else” Dick could practically sense Jason's slight sneer at even alluding to the guy. But something else caught his attention at that moment.

Alfred being hard to read is like saying coffee is bitter, sure you can add stuff to it to make it sweet but that bitterness never quite goes away. He raised Bruce after all.

But the boys having grown up with the man it was hard to ignore the way his expression tightened just slightly.

Jason was the only one brave enough to ask, “Alfred- who is it for?”

“It's customary to get well gifts especially with those you are on good terms with.”

Dick clasped his hand on Jason's shoulders, silently demanding he calm down before he ends up arguing with Alfred. Said man ignoring the metaphorical steam out of Jason's ears as he began to pack away his apron.

Unfortunately needing two hands on Jason meant that he had no hands to spare to grab at Damian as he wound up like a spring, brows pushing together.

“You and Timothy Drake on good terms?” He spat the name like a curse.

“I have no reason not to be- besides it would reflect on the Wayne name to have failed as hosts and then not checked on the young lad.”

Dick sent a glance to his brothers, reminding them of the “evidence” in the cave they weren't supposed to have found. Not that he'd be surprised if Alfred already knew.

Alfred slid the glass container Babs had gotten closer to his side, pulling out bright blue oven mitts as he lifted the lid and set it down with a clink. With grace he picked up the masterpiece of a pie and sealed it inside.

“But if you are all so very concerned I could use someone to hold the glass while I deliver it- tis quite a ways drive.”

“He's our next door neighbor?”

“Next door in Bristol is wildly different than next door in literally anywhere else,” Jason lifted a brow, arms crossed over his chest.

“My next door neighbor back in Pakistan were nomads within the mountains whose distance fluctuated thr-”

Dick cut his brother off as he placed a hand on his shoulder. “So you want to go- right now?”

“I can wait however long it takes you to debate who, if any of you, will accompany me, but I'd prefer to be back before the night fog rolls in.”

Alfred produced a small golden pocket watch and hummed “That being said I should go change into more.. suitable attire.” He didn't wait for a response before setting the glass lid over the pie and quickly leaving the kitchen in silence.

Leaving Dick, alone, with his two brothers.
The silence lasted about ten seconds.

“I for one would rather go deal with the girls’ wrath crashing their binge night than step foot in that asshole’s estate.”

That was- about what he expected from Jason honestly. Not that he felt any different though, he’d seen the guys yacht before and the amount of gold embellishments made his eyes burn.

“You fool,” Damian spat, “Do you not realize the opportunity presented to us!?”

Jason raised a brow as if staring would present the answer itself. Damian rolled his eyes with way more force than necessary and gestured to the table.

“The.. pie?”

“YES!” he snapped. “An opportunity to infiltrate the Drake estate and see first hand if his life is truly as perfect as he presents to be.”

“Oh oh shit- I kind of forgot we were investigating that guy.” Jason admitted, earning a scathing glare from Damian.

“Wait- how?"

“I admit I may have been a bit tipsy.”

“You aren't even-” Dick cut himself off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Icchati Kṣānti, you know what nevermind just- Damian just what are you planning?"

Damian changed his stance, and it was as if watching the invisible mask seal over his face, his brother fading to Robin.

“We must accompany Alfred of course to ensure his safety in enemy territory-”

“Okay first off? enemy is a bit much.”

“No no it isn't.”

“Jay are you seriously do-”

Damian slammed his hand on the table or well- his foot since he'd apparently climbed on top of the counter to stare down at his brothers. “Cease your interruptions at once!”

Jason looked far too pleased as he waved him on. “The floor is yours baby bat.”

Damian's eye twitched but he continued, “One of us may accompany Alfred, while a duo can come up with a clever ruse to further infiltrate the estate and gain as much information about Timothy Drake.”

“No offense Dami but the estate is almost as big as the manor, and that's just from the outside- no way we can get more than a base infiltration, add that rich people in Gotham means ridiculous level security.”

God did they really need to use the word infiltration?

“Sounds like a cowards complaint to me.”

Jason froze and, oh god he had that glint in his eye. “Run that by me again you little shit?”

Dick moved to grab Damian and at the very least pull him off the counter top but Damian pulled out a flash of metal that made Dick freeze in his tracks.

It- was he being threatened with a fucking whisk!?

“We are Waynes, and beyond that- we are Robins, to see such things as limits instead of minor obstacles to overcome is cowards’ speak.”

Oh great he was pulling out the unity speech, bravo, god why did he have to be so cute?

He could have told Bruce “no more kids” and been done with it. But nooo- he didn't want to be an only kid and now he's stuck with these heathens.

“-it's settled then!”

Dick blinked, pushing the whisk aside and stepping between the two. “I’m sorry, what exactly is being settled here?"

Damian scoffed, folding his arms and- yeah that was enough. Dick reached out and plucked his brother up by under his arms and deposited him on the ground.

He looked none too pleased, but did not thrash or shout so it was a win.
“We don't have time to get floor plans so we can simply request a tour of the estate, and if something appears of interest then we can implement the ruse.”

Dick blinked, and blinked again. Looking at Jason who also had his arms folded with a shit eating grin and oh god they were serious, and even worse, it wasn't that bad of a plan.

“Alfred will kill us if he finds out we used his attempt at hospitality for one of your stalking trips.”

Jason stepped forward, swinging one arm out and tugging Dick over to his side. “I think you mean our stalking trip.”

“Besides I’m sure Alfie will be plenty distracted with all three of us to keep track of.”

Speak of the devil, a few clicks on tile and Alfred entered the kitchen, his flour covered clothes now replaced with a sensible beige trenchcoat and a new pair of white gloves to boot.

“Have you decided which one of you will be joining me?"

Jason pulled Dick in closer, meeting his brother's eyes with a small nod. Damian shifted closer to his other flank, but making it clear he was staying silent.

“About that…”

Watching Alfreds eye twitch conveyed just about everything Dick was feeling and then some. God- Why couldn't he have stayed an only child?

Chapter Text

Domestication when you truly take the time to think about it is a fascinating process. One that occurred through selective breeding over dozens of generations or by sheer circumstance.

Regardless, every time they were given a purpose, a reason to be alongside humans enough to change so irrevocably than how they would be otherwise.

Cows were for meat and dairy, Sheep for the same and their wool, then of course Dogs and Cats. The key difference being that in times where hunting dogs and micing cats aren't as useful, they remain so beloved even without their “purpose.”

Did you know Pigeons were domestic?
Thousands of years breeding birds, not for companionship, but for communication in eras where anything beyond a telegraph was a work of science fiction.

But the moment that fiction became reality, what happened to our beloved birds? They were abandoned the moment they were no longer of use.

Even their lifespans were cut short, forever stuck watching, longing for something they can't even recall, but feel in their very bones. Yet they remain doomed to be viewed as nothing more than pests infesting civilization.

Where else were they meant to go?
The wild was taken from them- they had nothing left but the people who no longer saw any use and therefore, no reason to love.

The grey and blue white speckled bird looked up at Tim with wide trusting eyes as his hand reached closer, pausing in silent permission.

The Pigeon tilted her head, but made no move to shuffle away even as Tim’s fingertips graced along her head.

Her feathers were soft, puffing up just a little as he stroked down her wings. A beautiful pattern of individual feathers making up each intricate design.

Wisp let out a happy coo, cocking her head to further examine Tim’s hand while still accepting the affection.

"Don't worry I've got you-" he assured as he reached his free hand under and wrapped gently around one of her legs.

It looked mangled, as if caught up in some wire and pulled all different directions. The bird shifted, but made no move to struggle away.

Some semblance of trust or breed in blind adoration overriding what would be natural instinct.

Checking his grip for a moment he paused in his petting to wrap his hand around her body, careful to pin her wings in place.

Then with a swift tug, he popped the leg clean off.

Wisp moved her head curiously, reaching her neck out to peck what was formally her left leg.

Tim only allowed it once, not wanting her to start pecking at the wiring.

He set the mangled leg aside and reached across his workbench. Thankfully it only took a few moments of scouring through spare parts to find a leg. Even the tone of pinkish grey artificial flesh was a pretty good match to her other leg.

W.I.S.P. aka his Wireless Intelligent Surveillance Pigeon.

It was one of the first projects he worked on when he got reset into this lifetime. As much as he would have been just fine donning his suit the same week as his death, he was in a five year olds body with no training.

So, W.I.S.P. was his way of keeping eyes on the city. Smart criminals knew to avoid cameras, but no one looked twice at little birds that stayed even after the guns sounded off.

Of course this Wisp was THE Wisp, the original, and the one he took extra care in keeping up with her repairs, even the small stuff.

It wasn't necessary per say. Her A.I could simulate pain, but she wasn't actually feeling anything necessarily unpleasant. It was nothing that inhibited her functionality at least.

But of course, a mangled leg might make her recognizable. Not that many would notice, it was still something to consider.

Not to mention if someone who had half a heart to try and help, well a rehabber would get a fun surprise trying to check the supposed wound and instead discovering advanced AI Drone tech.

That and… it just felt wrong to leave them hurt like that, even if it wasn't real.

Tim grabbed his wire crimper and made quick work of matching up the colors and securing each attachment. The whole process took maybe five minutes and all the while Wisp seemed content just being held in his other hand.

“All done,” Tim said as he set the tool aside.

As soon as he loosened his grip and set her down on the desk, she unfurled her wings and gave a few experimental flaps as she began circling around the steel top.

“Yeah yeah I'll let you out in just a minute-” Tim paused as a small chime caught his attention.

He spun around his chair and spotted a small window popped up on his computer, but too far to make out what it was for sure.

With a sigh he stood up, grabbing his tool in his free hand and walking across the room.

Side stepping around a giant glass case, three mannequins back to back- each adored in black and red fabric.

His Cardinal uniforms, back to the “first edition” that was more of a sorry excuse for a sewing project gone..okay. Suited just fine for a young teen looking to explore punk fashion, not as much for a serious vigilante.

As he reached his computer he set the tool down to the side and leaned down to examine the screen as a familiar contact came into view.

[Lucius 2:47PM- Angie confirmed the interview with Vicky Vale next weekend… Make sure your calendar is clear.]

[Lucius 2:49PM- And you better make sure you eat that sack lunch before it goes to waste.]

Well shit.

Interview stress could wait, Tim was reminded food existed and now he felt as if he would die if he did not savor every bite of whatever the lovely Mrs. Tanya Fox had made for him.

“Looks like you’re joining me for lunch,” Tim sighed.

Wisp made no complaint but moved to settle on his left shoulder then looked at him expectantly.

Tim chuckled, then walked over to the panel and pressed his hand over the mold- a quick flash of light and air hissed as the pressure lock was released.

The wall swung open as Tim took a large step out, careful to avoid the hardwood below that he knew his staff had just polished last week.

His hand curled around the outer frame as he gave a final push into place, a soft click echoing as he took a few steps back.

What was before a large entryway had been completely covered up, the edges obscured by framed layers of dark silk curtains that clung to the ceiling and flowed across the hardwood floor.

Inside the encasement of silk was a lone visage on the wall, a painting. Delicate ornate carvings curled across the edges of the dark spruce frame that still smelled faintly of the outdoors.

The portrait, having been finished not long after he had turned fifteen, for the second time now. And one of his parents last extended visits.

They had hired this guy from Italy, said it was the “city of artists,” Luca Greco, a man who wore too much hair gel and smelled of cigarettes- but he was good at what he did which is exactly why they had spent a small fortune flying him first class to prepare to have the Family Portrait done.

He remembered the bustling of that afternoon, the stage lights gave him a headache, not helped by the stuffy suit with far too many layers. But he didn't complain, having already been corrected after fidgeting with his watch too much.

Jack had ensured his shoes were extra shiny, double tied and the ends tucked into the leather folds so they wouldn't swing about. The leather was pristine, as if coming just out of the box for this occasion, which maybe they had.

Janet wore her emerald and gold necklace, the one that matched so beautifully with the pearl drop earrings she'd gotten on their third anniversary in Romania. Their last big trip before she had to take a few year’s break when Tim was born.

They stood side by side, serious expressions on their faces, while Tim stood right in the center. Both of them had a hand on his shoulder, their wedding bands glistened in a way the painting failed to capture.

It wasn't visible, but he knew they were both holding hands just behind him- his father occasionally stroking his thumb across his mothers hand.

Honestly, he'd never been a “patron of the arts,” not as much as his parents proclaimed to be anyways, but he did love that painting.

After they… He didn't hesitate to move it from the grand fireplace in their tea room to what used to be his fathers spare office. Now it stood, covering up most of the wall surrounded by bookshelves collecting dust.

The final gate between who he was and who he pretended to be, surrounded by silk curtains, it hung over him.

A reminder.
Of the one case he failed to solve.

…

Wisp let out a soft coo, tickling some of the hairs against his neck and making him shiver. Tim reached down and rubbed a thumb across her head. “You're right, let's go.”

His leg muscles took a moment before deciding to cooperate, as he turned heel and walked out the door.

Tim paused for only a moment as he slipped his hand in the frame right as it began to slip shut. Just a crack open so light could still come in.

They didn't deserve to be alone in the dark.

_________________

Tim gave a hard tug and undid the suction that kept the fridge shut. He tried not to wince at the harsh blue tint as the shelfs were lit up.

It was fairly empty.
Some zesti cans, a few old coffee cups he'd “saved for later” then never touched again, and a box of old chinese food.

Tim picked it up and had to hold back a gag at the smell, but his main crew had just finished their temporary contract and Ms.Mac had just left on her yearly vacation earlier last week.

So unless he trusted someone brand new to task with the entire manors upkeep, it just needed to wait.

One more accidental sniff and Tim failed to hold back a gag. Yeah there was definently no waiting on that.

….On his to do list then.
He needed to Eat,
Let Wisp free,
Clean the fridge,
and Get back to work

First on the list though, Tim snatched the brown paper lunch bag and with his other hand, he tossed out the chinese food to the- apparently half overflowing trash can. He let out a harsh breath through his nostrils.

Priorities Tim, focus.

Eat first,
Let wisp go,
Clean the fridge,
Take out the trash,
then Get back to work.

Tim took a moment to go back and grab a zesti can before exiting the kitchen and right into the dining room.

His footsteps echoing in the long empty halls, the room hadn't been used as long as he could remember- nothing more than a display with no visitors. But hey, the fake fruit looked to be dusted for once.

Wisp shifted but Tim quickly stopped her. “Not here”

She looked at him, tilting her head, but thankfully settled back down.
“Well eat in the garden, multitask with your release.”

The manor wasn't that big, but when every step echoed and each hall looked eerily like the next, it was easy to understand why she felt so restless on their way outside.

He took a seat on one of the benches, setting his lunch aside and balancing the can on the side armrest as he situated.

Wisp hopped off and perched on the wooden side, settling down in place but not flying off just yet. Guess he had company for once.

Tim cracked open the can, lemon lime flavored, and slowly undid the top of the lunch sack.

The smell of spices was instant as he pulled out a frankly overstuffed pulled pork sandwich. It was cold but honestly he didn't have the patience to run back inside.

“Some orange jello, cucumber slices, strawberries, and homemade pretzel bites- Miss Tanya you spoil me,” Tim praised as he began to dig in.

He could see the cloud cover over most of Gotham just down the hills. But of course Bristol was as close as you could be to Gotham but still get the benefit of at least half the year that wasn't complete cloud cover.

It was the main reason his mom was so obsessed with having a fancy garden, that she made by hiring people of course. Having a lush garden in Gotham where you'd be lucky to grow anything that wasn't a root veggie? The world's equivalent of gold crusted well- anything really.

God this really was delicious, he needed to visit them later- or at the very least text her his sincere thanks for saving him from yet another microwave meal.

Eat was about scratched off,
Wisp was still sitting with him but basically released,
He still needed to clean the fridge and take out the trash, but he could call Miss Tanya, And then Get back to work.

“Solid plan right Wisp?" Tim joked, cucumber slice in hand.

But there was no response, not even a slight rustle of feathers behind him.

“Wisp?"

She hadn't flown off though, instead Wisp was perched exactly where she had been before. Joined by two other birds by her side.

A Cardinal and a Robin.

“Well- you two aren't mine” Tim half joked. But of course being birds, they didn't laugh, just continued to stare at him.

Wisp seemed non perturbed by her new feathered friends and even seemed like she was trying to snuggle up to them.

Most of his birds only had the most basic “pack instincts” but Wisp being as old as she was, her AI had developed a few.. quirks.

That could really be the only reason she seemed to be so comfortable with two random birds.

He glanced down at his leftover sandwich bread, just a few small chunks left. Picking apart the pieces he reached aside and let the crumbs lay across the wooden slab the birds rested.

The Robin peeled away first, not hesitating to peck at some of the crumbs and gobble them down with ease. Only pausing in its enjoyment to glance up at Tim after each bite. But after a few rounds seemed to accept he wasn't going to do anything and just focused on the food.

The Cardinal on the other hand tilted its head. Its red feathers shifted as it adjusted itself ever so slightly, but it made no move for the food. A small pause as he met beady black eyes stared back at him.

Tim shifted slightly away, maybe the Robin was more comfortable eating around him- trusting for some reason, or maybe desperate. The Cardinal just needed some space.

But despite his shifting, there was still no move to go for the food. He was half worried that The Robin would eat it all. He wasn't all that worried about Wisp- she had a pouch to store food but she didn't need to, at least around him.

Of course, almost sensing his concern, The Robin had stopped eating. Instead its eyes stayed locked onto Tim, or its other red feathered friend. But other than a few hops in place, it stayed still.

The Cardinal was stiff- and well he couldn't exactly read a bird, it looked almost distressed when The Robin stopped, looking to Tim as if he had any say in the matter.

Great now neither of them were eating. Not that he really cared, but if they didn't the crumbs would attract ants or he'd need Wisp to eat it and then deal with cleaning out her food pouch on top of his steadily increasing list of maintenance chores.

“If you don't want any, more for your little friend then, but there's plenty to go around for you both”

God- why was he trying to rationalize with a bird why would he even care if he ate or not- surely he could provide for himself. Or well- guess the bird had pronouns now, but at least not a name.

Just Cardinal and- It hopped forward.

The bird gave one last glance at Tim who felt frozen in place as if one breath would break the moment. Its bright orange beak opened up and took a chunk of bread, quickly swallowing it down.

The Robin joined in right after, happily continuing to feast alongside its friend as they slowly chipped away at the last of the crumbs scattered about.

“There we go, stubbornness fails in the face of desire,” Tim smirked, feeling some small victory.

“That's a quote from…someone- I think?” Well didn't matter, not like he was going to be fact checked by a bunch of birds.

Tim sat back, bringing the can of zesti up to his lips. Huh- it really didn't matter what he said right now. God wasn't that nice.

A stress free break to just sit in the garden, enjoy a simple meal with some unexpected company after some well needed maintenance work. Hell maybe he needed to take Leslies advice and make time for himself more often, take up a habit to really enjo-

“Unauthorized entry 3:28 PM, activate security protocol?” A robotic voice chirped out of Wisp without her beak moving.

The moment her command registered, Tim coughed as zesti shot up his nose in shock. He slammed the can down, ignoring the sting in the back of his throat as he whipped around to her.

His movement startled both the Cardinal and Robin. Both birds spooked, taking flight and in a flurry of wings and limbs disappeared out of sight, he'd feel bad but he had bigger issues to deal with.

Reaching forward under the feathers on her chest, feeling around for the small pin and pushed in. A light blue screen popped out showing-

“Oh dear god no-” Tim was going to vomit, no he would faint- maybe both? Hopefully on his side- actually maybe it would be better if he choked to death.

All of his Wisp birds were connected to his security system, but for well- security- he only allowed them into the “main” outer cameras. Which meant his only angle was of the front gate.

A Gate that was now just closing behind a hauntingly familiar car, the Wayne family fucking limosine parked in his driveway.

Tim flipped through the cams but couldn't get a visual. Honestly just the idea of anyone showing up made him regret having eaten a full meal as a wave of nausea hit like a punch in the gut. But he didn't have time to panic, they were already inside the main gate.

Tim took a deep breath and swiped away the screen. His hand found its way into his hair giving a small tug as he stared down the bird.

“Disarm security protocol and default to branch security, keep eyes.''

She didn't hesitate to unfurl her wings and take off, beginning the only five or so minute journey to where the car was.

Okay- Visuals oncoming, and if all else he would access his personal systems. Actually scratch that, he couldn't be caught anywhere near his normal tech so he would need to rely on Wisp, but she was capable so that was out of his hands.

Think- what did he know?

The Wayne car obviously meant “civilian business” which was honestly more alarming than if the Bat himself showed up in his window.

At least then he could scream his head off and demand he fucking leave without worrying about social consequences.

If anything it was the sane response to Batman showing up in your house.

Tim threw his trash in the paper bag and let his legs carry him back inside, barely closing the door as he raced through the hall and chunked it on top of the now almost completely full can. But of course his priority list had shifted again.

Eat, or well he did that now- one less thing, Wisp was back in action, and chores could wait for the fact that the Waynes were coming to his fucking house.

Tim ran his hand up grabbing at strands of hair, loose hair- oh god and his outfit. He was in fucking drop crotch sweatpants and a AC/DC band shirt.

Okay okay focus- first priority? Clothes.

____________________

Wayne manor was something to gawk at for sure, a giant gothic Victorian castle and miles of real estate in a place like Gotham? It was the best money could buy and then some.

Honestly even after living lavish for as long as he had, Jason still considered anyone who could afford a basement living pretty fucking nice.

Drake manor though?
They weren't even at the building itself and Jason found himself annoyingly impressed.

Bruce never really put that much emphasis on the outside of the manor, sure Alfred took a lot of pride in his gardens but even those only surrounded the house and a few independent lots.

This place looked like a legit garden, like one you would have to pay money to visit and walk around in. It was practically something right out of like a TV set or a fantasy painting just from how extravagantly perfect everything was.

“Are those carved bushes?" Jason asked, half leaning on Dick and taking satisfaction in making him stumble a bit over some gravel.

“They’re called topiaries Todd,” Damian dodged past them both, gaze remaining steadily forward. “But yes, these ones are very nice.” He seemed to be looking at one in particular that looked like a cat playing with a ball of yarn, but in fancy ass bush form.

“Woah that's high praise coming from Mr. ‘the crystal chandelier is tastefully quaint’.”

“To be fair the chandelier used to be much nicer before I got my hands on it,” Dick said, proudly puffing up his chest.

Jason was careful to keep his steps on the stones and not go waltzing through patches of grass. Drake didn't deserve his consideration, but then again neither did the hypothetical gardeners who worked their asses off deserve his disrespect.

“Did we really have to leave the car over by the gate?” Damian griped, a tone that would normally make Jason roll his eyes.

Alfred on the other hand didn't blink an eye at the sass, his hands perfectly balancing the glass dome and the only thing standing between them and the sweet sweet scent concealed inside.

“Well Master Damian, I am unaware of how to contact Mister Drake and by entering the gate we at least give the man some time to prepare for the surprise visit.”

Damian leaned over to Dick. “Time to hide evidence-”

Jason had to hold back a snort at the utter despair on Dicks face. But hey, little bat had a point. All the more reason they needed to hurry the fuck up.

Okay…
Maybe Jason was a bit tense.

He’s spent literal years doing everything he could to avoid the path of Timothy Drake- and he’d been extremely successful up until Bruce came waltzing in talking about a gala where Drake was the “guest of honor”.

The last thing that prick deserved was to be HONORED- but baby bat would kill him if he fucked up their plan by being a prick himself, so he just needed to let off a little steam.

Speaking of little-
“Just means you need to walk faster to make up for your short ass legs.”

Jason didn't bother to look as he felt the swoosh of air and a shout as Dick seemed to wrestle Damian back.

“Language Master Jason, and Master Damian- while I understand your feelings towards your brothers goading, I thought we promised weapons would stay at the manor- Oh and Master Dick, your shoe is coming undone.”

There was a duo of “Sorry Alfred” followed by Dicks “Oh-” as he paused to relace his shoe, making the trio come to a stop right as they reached a clearing in one of the garden pathways.

The garden seemed to run along every inch of the long ass gravel driveway, branching off in all sorts of directions. Some areas seemed to blend together almost disorientingly so. But others were distinct like the topiary section and this one point that looked like a maze.

It finally seemed to come to somewhat of a “close” right at the end where they finally approached the manor itself and its fancy half circle driveway with a… oh god that was a fucking fountian in the middle?? That was basically asking to be harassed by mosquitos every time you decide to step outside.

A small pigeon landed on top of the fountain, fanning out its wings and turning over to the trio. It cocked its head to the side, big ol googly eyes seeming to stare into his very soul, it was dorky and he loved it. But his eyes drifted back to that damned fountain.

“Dick have I told you-”

“Your hatred of capitalism?"

“Wha no-”

“Your carnal desire to stick it to the man?"

“Ew dont say carnal and I-”

“Oh oh! Is it that fountains outside of public places are just cesspools of mosquito larva?"

Jason stared at his brother and fought every ounce of Cain instinct rushing through his bloodstream.

“Is there ever a day you decide not to be a Dick?"

Dick stroked his chin, faking a look of contemplation before a shit eating grin answered before he even spoke “Well of course not- then I’d just be a Richard”!

Thankfully Jason's battle of wills was overturned by Damians tiny hand shooting out and jabbing Dick right in the ribs.

Of course they’d all taken plenty of beatings, but there was something about tiny fingers that managed to get right between the ribs.

Dick recovered from his half bent over pose with Alfred now at least a few feet ahead, having not even taken the time to glance back. But well after so many years of Bruce, he was immune to their bullshit. Or at the very least got really good at tuning it out.

“So Baby bat, how’s your latest painting going-?" Damain blinked. “You know- the one with the blue flowers?"

Thankfully someone got their dads wit and was well read enough to understand what “blue blood” meant.

Damian's eyes lit with understanding in seconds. “I'm a bit worried about the paint- I ran out and had to buy a substitution last minute, it's a good color match but not ideal.”

Well yeah- last minute infiltration was the last thing they needed, but hopefully after the sheer amount of also last minute planning, it would be fine.

Damian's gaze turned sharp. “Is there a particular reason you are asking or don't tell me you are genuinely engaged in my past times?"

Aka “Did you fuck up or did you just forget the plan?" Which it was neither thank you very much.

“Well you mentioned having not decided what to do to fix the whole paint problem-” Jason hummed to himself. “Its viscosity right that's the word?"

“So- what do you think is better, keep the paint thin and layer up, or put it on thick and hope for the best?"

Dick looked like he was sucking on a lemon and kept sending less and less subtle glances to Alfred who was admiring a giant row of bright orangish yellow flowers that Jason frankly had no idea what they were called.

Damian however, ever the dramatic pre teen, was always way too invested when they did “code talk” not to mention it was just fun.

“That's complicated Todd- too thin you run the risk of the underlayers of paint being visible, that and it's extremely aggravating even for one with as exceptional patience as myself.”

“Uh huh-”

“But too much, while it may ‘get the job done’ so to speak- you risk overwhelming the piece and causing the canvas itself to rip or otherwise be compromised.”

“So what I'm hearing is better to lay it on thick?"

Damian looked unamused, “Sure- if that is the interpretation easiest for your mind to comprehend, it is not worth the debate.”

Jason opened his mouth but was cut off by Dick reaching back and stopping Damian and him mid stride. “Alright enough painting talk- we’re here.”

“Ah so you insult my artform-”

“What no-”

Jason stepped past his brothers and over to the giant wooden doors, sealing away the rest of the Drake Manor from the world.

Alfred already reached his hand up, knocking on the door exactly three times and then pressing the doorbell once right after.

He didn't check but could hear footsteps as his brothers caught up and they waited.
.
.
.
And waited.
.
.
.
A n d waited.

.
.

“Maybe a surprise visit wasn't the best idea-”

“Yeah no shit” Jason muttered, carefully avoiding the side eye from Alfred.

“We saw his car here Alf, maybe he's just now waking up-?"

“Or hiding away any.. loose pallets,” Damian hissed under his breath.

Jason rolled his eyes but impatience trickled up his spine and settled on his shoulders. Damian was already on edge and it wouldn't be long before Dick started trying to fill the silence.

He glanced at Alfred, expression as impassive as always but he could see the small scrunch of his brow, disappointed for sure.

You know what? Timothy already thought he was an asshole, why not live up to that reputation? Their investigation didn’t exactly call for starting on the right foot.

“OR Maybe he didn't hear you the first time around,” Jason said, a smirk splitting his face.

Before anyone could stop him Jason moved forward, dodging Dicks attempt to grapple him back and let his entire fist bang on the door. So much for not being a prick- oh well.

“DRAKE- YOU OKAY? OR DYING FROM BLOOD LOSS!?"

The chimed cascade doorbell echoed through the almost barren house and Tim jumped in place, half stumbling over the edge of his rug as he frantically tried to finish buttoning his shirt.

God it wasn't even ironed he looked like he'd just gotten back from a trip just minus the tan.

Of course he'd spent half of his “preparation” time just storing away anything that could be minorly suspicious, sure it wasn't like Alfred was going to be wandering around his house, but better safe than sorry.

He hadn't even taken a moment to check Wisp cameras, so all he could do was pray that he’d recovered enough since the stitches incident to not start cracking the moment he spent more than five minutes with Alfred.

“That's it-” Tim said to, no-one really. “Keep it down to five minutes and I'm good, piece of cake right?"

He looked over at the vanity mirror, his hair still half falling over his face. God he looked a mess, eyebags barely concealed by a bit of makeup, shirt tucked in to obscure some wrinkles, and he'd just given up hope on taming his hair.

Apparently he was out of his quick dry gel and there was no way he had the time for trying to hairspray it all down.

Tim secured the last button in place and in one motion tipped forward, yanking the door open with his foot and stumbling out of his room, down the hall and towards the first set of stairs.

He propped himself half on the varnished railway, with a strong kick off the wall moldings he slid down with practiced ease.

Almost- just the last curve and he would be on the bottom floor- from there it was just a one hundred and thirty eight second brisk walk to the front door, greet Alfred, assure he's fine but resting, and then finally take the trash out.

“DRAKE- YOU OKAY? OR DYING FROM BLOOD LOSS!?"

Tims grip on the railing tightened on reflex, the sudden friction he felt his entire body shift forward.

It was only a split second of managing to lock his ankle over the side that prevented him from flying off directly onto the staircase.

Instead he just crashed at the end with a loud thump. His body was none too pleased if the ripples of pain were anything to go off of.

Shooting his hand up to grace along where his stitches were, his shoulders dropped the moment he confirmed they were intact.

Now onto the more worrying stuff.
That was Jason's voice.

All strategy, out the fucking window, why on gods green earth was Jason Todd-Wayne on his fucking doorstep.

Okay okay- logic here, Jason’s here, so is Alfred's car. Either Jason took the car without permission and decided to come here? Unlikely but possible.

He asked Alfred to drive him over for whatever reason, and the man agreed, motivation unknown and even more concerning.

Or Alfred took Tim’s lack of update personally, decided to come over, and Jason tagged along.

Tim came to a full stop in front. Air flooded his lungs to the point it strained against his ribs, he let the uncomfortable feeling simmer for a moment before letting it out in a controlled exhale.

His gaze wandered just a bit to the small alcove right next to the doorway, what was designed to resemble a book nook.

But the cushions were far from comfortable and half the books inside weren't even the first in their series, all collector's editions though, only bought for the pretty covers.

Janet had adored that little alcove, not because of her love for books, but because of the impression she knew it gave right off the bat.

One that anyone who stepped foot in the Drake Manor would know, and one she could control.

“Control perception, you practically control the masses.”

When she had said it, champagne glass hung a bit too loosely against perfectly manicured nails, it was a joke.

But it was also advice, and a piece that Tim took to heart.

Small cracks rippled down his spine as he straightened up his posture, rolling his shoulders back into place and lifting his chin.

His hand brushed his hair back enough it wasn't completely in his face, while his other hand rested on the brass door handle in front of him.

He could do this-
Timothy twisted the brass knob, and the door swung open.
_____________________

Maybe allowing the boys to tag along on his delivery had not been the… wisest decision. But it was a necessary one when put into context of his intentions besides delivering a get well treat.

It takes about ten positive impressions to begin undoing a negative first impression, and from the conversations he had overheard Mister Drake had a far from sparkling reputation.

If Alfred’s plan to extend a hand across the bay to this poor boy had any chances, he needed to at least become familiar with his young masters, even if not on the best of terms.

Now he couldn't hold back a glare at Master Jason as he banged his fist on what looked to be fine mahogany doors. As much as he got leeway with his far from steller upbringing, he had been a Wayne for well over half of his life.

But before he could open his mouth for any kind of reprimand, his train of thought was derailed as he heard the distinct click of a door unlocking.

It seemed the boys were just as keen as they went silent, and Jason took half a step back from the door. Just in time as it swung open, Mister Drake stood on the other side.

Timothy had on a fairly casual outfit, most likely having not planned on any company. But the silk shirt was slightly unbuttoned and tucked into his trousers, still well put together.

The most jarring however, was the boy's hair. Alfred was a bit taken by the much longer than expected slightly wavy raven black hair that seemed to fall in two distinct curves from the mid part.

The boy's stare drifted from Alfred and Jason just over his shoulder and towards his other boys.

There was a flash of expression, definitely mild shock, but he recovered enough to return to a placated smile.

“Ah Alfred and..company.” He tilted his head. “So where's the fire?"

Alfred smirked. “Must there be a problem for a visit?"

A small confused hum came from Master Damian, Master Dick shuffled over and whispered in his ear, likely to explain. Thankfully so, Master Jason would have urged him to call the fire department for ‘shits and giggles’ as he says.

“A first time visit, and an uncalled one I would assume so-” Timothy's eyes flickered to Jason. “Not to mention your apparent concern that I'm at risk of.. bleeding out?"

Jason puffed up his chest slightly, looking a bit annoyed but thankfully bit his tongue.

“Apologies, I was unaware of how to contact you,” Alfred started, now holding up the glass stand, “But I wished to drop this off, of course my young masters were curious and asked to accompany me.”

“Is that so?" Timothy's gaze flickered from the container then back up to Alfred as he leaned on the doorway, blocking any view farther than a few feet inside the manor.

“It is.” Damian spoke up, side stepping Dick and flanking Alfred as he met Timothy's eyes. “Pennyworth wished to give you a ‘get well soon’ gift as a result of the incident on the Wayne estate.”

The boy fixed his own posture, almost as practiced as Timothy. “As the future Wayne heir, such an accident should have never occurred- and as a result I am humbly requesting that you accept the token and allow us to… begin to make amends for such an incident.”

“Ah, while I'm pleasantly surprised a Wayne would go out of their way to be civil- I already talked with your father and insisted we were fine.” Timothy assured.

“So while I appreciate the gesture, as long as you have kept the receipt you can simply return whatever this token is and call it a done deal hmm?"

Before Alfred could insist otherwise he was startled by a loud clap as Jason's sour expression had suddenly changed into an eager grin.

“Welp we tried that's a shame anyways if you insist guess that means more pie for us.”

“Jason No do you even know what I had to go through to get that cinnamon!?”

“All the more reason Alfreds baking shouldn't be allowed to go to waste!”

Damian looked absolutely furious, his brows furrowing in a way very reminiscent of a young Master Bruce right before he had managed to shatter a porcelain sink, with nothing more than a bar of soap and a rubber duck.

“You absolute insolent buffo-”

“I'm sorry Pie?"

Alfred looked back at Timothy, the boy now fully upright, just one hand clutching the side of the doorframe. He seemed hesitant, but leaning forward just a tad, grey blue eyes now fixated on the foggy glass container.

“Yes Mister Drake, I was unsure of your preferences so I opted for a classic cinnamon apple pie.” Alfred lifted the lid up just slightly, letting the strong spice blend and smell of sweet tart apples fill the air.

Timothy took a step out of the doorway before seeming to catch himself, shoulders hunching up- but there was still that spark of interest in his gaze.

“...I suppose since you went through all the trouble-”

Alfred allowed his shoulders to drop as he held out the pie container, but right as Timothy's hands reached out to accept the gift he saw Damian step back into view.

“Since we are on such good terms, would it not be too much to ask for a glass of water?"

Timothy looked as if Damian had just pulled a knife out on him.

Alfred shot a side glance to the boy. “My apologies Master Damian, I was unaware the walk over was so taxing?"

It was a low blow considering the boy's ego, but he would rather not deal with any bickering while he was so close to gaining just a bit more of the boys' acceptance.

But as he turned to Master Dick and Master Jason, both stayed silent.
…How peculiar?

Timothy turned to face Damian, lip curled in a small sneer, but the expression all but froze as Master Damian spoke up, voice now much softer but still just as cutting.

“So you really are cross with father?"

“What? No no I’m-”

“No no It's alright Drake- we failed to be hospitable to you, it is no surprise you have hesitation,” Damian nodded to himself, already beginning to turn away. “I'll survive the walk back to the car, as well as the drive all the way back-”

Timothy shifted, he showed nothing but a cool casual demeanor, but Alfred had raised a half dozen children, trained vigilantes at that. He looked wildly uncomfortable, but on the verge of agreement.

Alfred should really step in…
But then again, the boys needed to have their impression without his interference. He stayed quiet.

A beat passed, and Timothy let out a long suffering sigh, “Fine- just a glass of water.”

“Perfect” Damian said and in a flash, slipped past Drake and into the manor.

Timothy balked, and sensing weakness- Jason slipped past as well, only managing due to the fact BOTH double doors were now cracked open.

“Oh my god you two can't ju-” Dick pleaded, as he also slipped inside after his brothers.

Timothy turned to Alfred who was doing his best to hide his amusement. “Well Mister Pennyworth, welcome in I guess.”

“Ah why thank you Mister Drake.”

Alfred stepped in, pie container still in hand.
______________

Welp- His hope of keeping the entire “visit” to about five minutes had been shattered the moment Damians lazarus green eyes portrayed nothing but distress at being denied WATER of all things.

Before he knew it, Damian had locked onto the weak spot of him and Bruce being on bad terms and now he was in his fucking HOUSE.

Just a glass of water- that's bullshit.

He took a deep breath. Refocus, this is… very far from ideal- but he just needed to get them to the kitchen and then get them out as soon as possible.

Piece of cake.

Timothy- no Tim yeah Timothy had slipped away just about the moment he managed to pick up on his brother's stupid “plot” to get inside his house.

Tim was so so lost.
Like he knew he was no longer “in the loop” but he couldn't imagine a single explanation why all of them would not only decide to tag along with Alfred but try and find a way in his house.

Was it an investigation? Did it even matter why at this point?

Held by the rules of Gotham upper society and the fact that with Alfred there he couldn't just pull a “Timothy Drake” throw a few insults and tell them to get off his property.

So he might as well multitask, do his duty as an “honorable heir” and figure out why the fuck they were so keen on getting inside.

Also… he really wanted some pie.

“Woah- I guess graduating early meant you were a baby genius, but I didn't take you for a book lover?" Jason called back and had Tim rushing to shut the doors and hurry over to the alcove.

Tim was relieved to see Jason hadn't grabbed any of the books, of course he could care less about Jason of all people admiring his mothers book hoard, but he most definitely had a few spare weapons stashed away inside some of the books.

“Oh I'm not, these were my mothers-” He said, taking some small pleasure as Dick practically latched onto Jason's shoulder and dragged him away from the alcove.

Ha- Dead parent privileges strike again.

Damian stood at the edge of the hall, his head raised and radiating an aura of self importance. Nothing new then, but still Tim was fighting not to squash then and there, he needed to play a good host, for Alfreds sake.

“Follow me then, to the kitchen.” Tim said as he quickly began down the hall, trying his best not to fidget with his hair that felt not quite right without slicked back faced with company. But he could cope.

The walk to the kitchen thankfully wasn't far, but they all seemed to be taking their sweet sweet time every step of the way. Damian for sure was walking at about a quarter of his normal speed, seeming to admire the decor.

Which he would believe, if they weren't in the hall that his mother had decorated after she was “inspired” by Buddhist temples in Burma. Of course Tim had been in Burma for a mission once and found the whole place stunning.

But trying to replicate the opulence of those towering golden structures within a narrow hallway with Janet's creative touch of “peacock feathers” and random buddhist religious symbols now made nothing more than knick-knacks.

It bordered on tacky, it was just no one was brave enough to go telling Janet “the Dragoness” Drake that to her face.

So he knew Damian was holding back a vicious scowl of disgust.

His mothers taste wasn't completely awful though, it was just this path that had gotten the worst of her “money can't always buy taste” treatment.

In fact there were other far more pleasant paths to the kitchen, but this way they would be as far away from his “business” and bedroom as possible.

That and with all the decor, it was especially hard to move through without moving something or making any sound.

Tim turned a corner, luckily dodging a random array of windchimes and hearing a small yelp from Dick as he seemed to not be as lucky.

Jason quirked his lip at an especially… tasteful bouquet of yellow dyed ostrich feathers pinned in place by a golden snake sword sheath on the wall.

“This place looks like a maze- how the fuck do you not get lost?"

“Language Master Jason- and this place looks lovely.”

“Thank you Alfred- and it's actually quite simple, as long as you aren't a complete buffoon when it comes to directions,” Tim quipped back, keeping a few paces ahead.

As he took the time to glance back, the glare Jason shot at him in return was worth it.

“Alright, we're here-” Tim flashed a paparazzi worthy grin as he led them into the kitchen.

Compared to the rest of the house that had either been blessed by or suffered from his mothers “inspiration” the kitchen was simply, average. Or well as average as a Michelin star chef's expensive home kitchen could be like.

Tim hummed, looking as Alfred held up the glass container “And where shall I put this?"

“You can set it on the counter over by the silverware, far right,” Tim explained, opening one of the glass cabinets and pulling out a fairly large glass.

“And here you are, Tiniest Wayne.” He handed it over to Damian, enjoying the brats small eyebrow twitch.

Jason seemed to be staring him down, arms crossed over his chest and looking about as excited to be in the house as Tim was to have him in it.

Dick on the other hand made himself right at home, pulling out one of the bar stools and taking a seat. “So Timothy, how are you feeling?"

Tim blinked, trying to focus on Dick instead of Damian using the fridge ice dispenser. Was he seriously here because he was checking up on him?

No no- he could see Dick being polite, as usual, and maybe even was mildly concerned for Tim’s well being. But Jason and Damian? Fat fucking chance.

“You looked pretty cut up after the whole incident- though it's been about a week now, how are you holding up?" Dick continued, a victim smile still on his face.

Tim sighed, pausing on how he would have responded versus how he should and choose peace.

“Your butler was right and I did end up needing stitches, but thankfully they come out this weekend.” And even better, he managed to follow Leslie’s “don't be a dumbass and rip your stitches” lecture. He just needed to survive the week.

Tim’s eyes glanced over to Jason who was still half brooding in the center of the kitchen, standing adjacent to Dick but not bothering to pull out a bar seat to sit.

Of course, he was pulling the “silent observer” good for the fact he didn't seem up to conversation. But that wouldn't do for getting Tim any information now would it? Thankfully he knew just what buttons to press, underhandedness aside.

Tim met his eyes and grinned. “Nothing a little pain meds can’t do to take the edge off, and maybe a little something extra.”

A beat passed in silence before Tim’s face split into a grin. "I'm kidding I'm kidding- no need to worry Officer Grayson!"

Jason looked downright furious- but shockingly held his tongue. Seemed he wasn't the only one playing nice for Alfreds sake then.

Dick laughed as well, but his brows creased looking vaguely uncomfortable. "Ah haha- and Well It's not Officer anymore."

"Oh that's right- Gotham Fire department yes?"

"Bludhaven actually, but coming from the sister city I do get calls out to Gotham on occasion."

Damian had finally ceased messing with his fridge's fancy ice maker and was gripping the now almost overfilled glass in his hands. The edges clouded over from the cold but he made no reaction other than his eyes flicking to follow the conversation as he sipped his drink.

Well- he was meant to be a good host.
“Anyone else care for a refreshment?"

Dick quickly denied, Jason didn't say anything but Tim took his silence as refusal, while Alfred took a quick pause. Well if anyone he would be actually willing to cater towards, it would be him.

“If it's no trouble- a cup of tea?"

Tim held back a smirk and gave a half hearted gesture over to the kettle, normally reserved for his coffee, but he did have some pretty decent tea blends.

“Help yourself, the tea is in the shelf just above, as are sugar cubes and some local honey.”

Alfred gave an approving nod and moved away from the tray and the rest of the group as he began filling the kettle.

“The to-go cups are also on the shelf just above,” Tim added before turning his attention back.

As a Drake, he was raised with manners and he knew that normally Alfred wouldn't dare ask for anything as a guest, especially an unannounced one.

But then again maybe he was purposefully giving them space, probably hoping the boys would “bond”.

Ha-he loved Alfred, but not THAT much. A to-go cup of tea would have to do.

"So back to your employment- Fighting fires is dangerous enough, but I can't imagine what putting villains in the mix would do-” Tim whistled, “Are you sure it's worth it?"

“Well of course, but been in Gotham this long, not anything I'm not used to.”

That was for sure.

“But hey high risk high reward, not that any of us really need to work its just for appearances or enrichment at this rate-”

Tim could see the simmering rage he sparked, and even light interest in Damain’s gaze, as he continued to take his time sipping down the drink.

Tim could see the moment Jason lost his battle of wills to not butt in. “So that's what being CEO is to you? Enrichment?"

“Be nice”, Dick hissed, but Jason had already latched on. Seemed some things never changed, even now he was stubborn as ever.

“I mean you can't seriously mean that-” Jason sneered. “That’s below even the likes of you.”

Tim had to focus not to let his gaze soften at his brother, even when looking at him like that. “Do I?" He challenged. “Mean it that is?"

Dick sat up, half leaning back enough to tip over the barstool, without an acrobat's balance that is, as he slapped Jason's shoulder with more force than necessary.

“Sorry about him, didn't get his morning coffee.” He laughed, sounding casual, but Tim could tell it was his ‘I’m trying to please you because I'm freaking out’ laugh.

Jason didn't drink coffee, even now. He knew that.

“Well I’d offer you a cup but I'm afraid my shipment has been delayed until further notice.”

“Shipment?"

“Of course, I have a dealer in Morocco,” Tim scoffed.

“But there was an… incident and the entire shipment was lost at sea- it'll take a few weeks before they even have the chance to redo shipments but I hold out hope they'll prioritize one of their best customers and I'll get word before long ”

Said “incident” being their boat was hijacked in the middle of the Atlantic, no casualties thankfully. He'd looked into it and it just ended up being some issue with a local gang and an “extra fee” not paid.

“An incident you say?" Damian spoke up, setting his now empty glass on the counter.

Tim had a split second flinch, there wasn't a coaster that was a labradorite countertop imported from Madagascar. He could see the small rim of water already beginning to form on the edge.

His parents had been out of the country when it was imported and it was probably the most they ever bothered contacting him. A call almost every hour on the hour the day it was delivered.

One of the backsplash corner pieces got nicked and of course the company offered to replace it for free, but Tim hadnt known peace until they did.

Alfred moved in, like an angel, picking up the glass and placing a red wood coaster underneath “Master Damian, please be mindful of our host’s estate.”

“Apologies Pen- Alfred.” Damian did not seem the least bit sorry.

“Thank you,” Tim added, and he meant it.

Alfred gave him a small nod before returning to the kettle, seeming to have found the cups on his own and had already begun to steep.

Ah that was his Oolong, at least steeped twice, five minutes each. Almost ten minutes, six hundred seconds, of just straight prep, clever.

But it was in a to-go cup, and could obviously keep brewing on their way out of the manor.
This was the window then.

“Alright you’ve had your drink and Alfred’s is all ready- now thank you for the pie, anything else or are we good?" He said, purposefully sounding a bit short with his ‘company’.

But before Alfred could do the polite thing of excusing themselves with an ‘we should be heading out’ or otherwise. His window slammed shut in his face.

“Actually one more thing-” Dick spoke up, half raising his hand.

Tim held his breath praying for the patience he currently lacked. “Yes… Dick?"

Dick showed no shame, lowering his hand and tipping forward on his stool. “Where's your bathroom?"

“Well Dick-” He most definitely didn't mean the name now “It's just down the hall, fifth door on the left.”

Dick stood up and Tim saw Damian make half a step forward- and. Oh- oh my god was that seriously the best plan they could come up with? Just exploit rich people's strict hospitality rules and pure numbers?

Honestly- he expected way better. But of course he still had no idea what they wanted, better to nip their half assed charade in the bud, now.

Right as Damian opened his mouth Tim waved a hand in the air, “Actually why don't I just show you the way, don't want you getting lost”

“I also need the restroom-” Damian proclaimed as he walked over to Dick, half yanking him off the barstool and turning to look at Tim. “ I will ensure Richard arrives safely.”

God he was even using his “cute innocent kid” voice. It was bone chilling and only years of practiced acting kept him from physically shivering.

Tim recovered quickly and gave another flashing smile. “Seriously, this place is a labyrinth-”

Dicks eyes widened, shooting a glance to Damian who still had his mouth half hung open. “I mean, are you sure?"

“You don't want to leave Alfred in your kitchen unsupervised- he might end up making you a spaghetti or something.” He laughed, but Tim didn't give him the satisfaction of a response.

If anything he trusted Alfred to be the most.. hospitable even unsupervised. These two however? In his dreams.

“I don't even think I have the ingredients for Spaghetti right now and besides its-”

“A Labyrinth you say?" Jason butt in, looking all too pleased and Tim felt his resolve waver just a smidge. “I thought you said it was pretty easy to get around.”

“For me at least, yes it is.”

“For anyone who wasn't - ah what did you say”? Jason snapped his fingers, looking all too smug “A complete buffoon when it came to directions right?"

No- no no no

“Then we should have no problem, fifth door on the left? Piece of cake” Damian said and already began dragging Dick away who seemed more than happy to follow.

Tim felt a strike up his spine. The iron grip control he held, he had let loose, and Jason had struck. All because he fell to childish taunting dammit.

“Well you-”

Tim was cut off by Jason waltzing over to his fridge and opening the doors, swinging them open “I changed my mind on a drink- you got any sodas?" He asked AFTER already sticking his head in.

“Yes but they’re-” Tim started but paused as Damian and Dick had already disappeared from sight. His head twitched over to Jason who was humming to himself while holding the fridge wide open.

That Motherfucker.

Okay- readjust grip, he hasn't lost control over the situation yet. That bathroom was still on this wing of the manor. If they took too long he could track them down, find them snooping, and then have a damn good reason to kick them out.

Even better- Alfred would be so ashamed of their piss poor manners he would never try and bring them over ever again. Yeah that would be plan B, but for now- Plan A was still functional.

“You know, for someone with your means I'd assume your fridge would reflect that,” Jason said, reaching inside and picking up one of his half week old coffee cups with a grimace.

Tim snapped, of all people to judge him Jason?? “Well for your information, my staff contract ended and my housekeeper is on vacation- I haven't had the time for a grocery run.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back, spit out some half laugh joke about the economy and be done with it. Instead he could feel eyes glaring into the side of his skull.

Alfred, smelling blood in the water, or more like a person whose eating habits fell short of his standards, moved from his side of the counter and joined Jason next to the fridge.

“I'll say Mister Drake- would you like me to do a grocery run on your behalf?"

Tim ignored the heat coloring his cheeks as he shot one last glance to the hallway, Dick and Damian’s plotting be damned- he needed to prevent a surprise visit reprise and now.

Alfred's brow was furrowed in concern, and Jason had apparently found a can of doctor pepper stashed- somewhere and had already cracked it open.

“Well Alfred, I assure you that will not be necessary”
____________________

“Richard I implore you to take this infiltration more seriously- we’ve barely escaped this hall and yet you have almost set an end to two separate vases,” Damian hissed, speeding up his pace.

Dick gave a half hearted smirk as he dodged past another piece of decor. “Easy for you to say, you’re like half my height- it seems the Drakes didn't account for anyone over five ten in their presence.”

Damian rolled his eyes, pushing through as he had already passed the fifth door on the left, though made sure to keep a careful track of where it had been for relocation.

Drake had been right that any novice of directions, aka any of their caliber of training, except Todd of course- could find their way around with ease. But at the rate of Dick’s anxiety it was driving him up a wall.

It seemed out of uniform, in a scenario where the risk of confrontation could not be solved with some strong words and stronger kicks, his eldest brother fell short of any and all expectations.

Then again- at the risk of Alfred’s wrath should he learn of their scheme behind his friendly visit, it was understandable.

A reflection of light caught his eye and Damian shot a hand out, making Dick freeze. There was a shift as Dick seemed to slip more at ease, his movements much lighter when not ringing with mild anxiety.

Damian dropped his fingers into a fist shooting two towards the doorway with the light in a quick motion as he began slinking forward, copying a move he had perfected in his earliest days of training.

They turned a corner and were freed from the extravagant escapades of the Drakes' travels and into a much larger room, one that resembled a gala hall, repurposed.

“Woah- this whole place felt like a vacant museum but this is a whole new level” Dick whispered, sounding almost thrilled.

This was far from their mission, but then again if he intended to learn about Drake, much can be learned from their home and familial line both.

The “Museum” hall was just as such. The room was filled with glass displays lining almost every inch of the surrounding walls and looping throughout the room in pathways just large enough for a duo or small huddle to shuffle through without disturbance.

Even the walls were lined with displays and various pieces of art taking up just about every available space, save a few tasteful inches in between each piece. It was strangely exquisite for what would have normally been such a chaotic area.

“Touch nothing.” Damian sighed as he stepped further into the hall. “You know not what might be booby trapped.”

Dick snickered but shut up as Damian’s glare bore into his skull. Sex jokes- maybe it didn't matter if he had brought Todd either.

Damian rolled his eyes but pushed through, weaving through the rows of glass cases and examining each exhibit. A case of arrowheads from Africa, a rosetta stone from Egypt, an array of coins from all over- and was that?

A genuine diamond of a painting on display, he could tell right away by the style alone but he recognized this piece. Todd referred to it as his “art nerd tendencies” but he preferred having a keen eye for such things.

The piece, displayed in a beautifully ornate wood. He remembered the name, Water serpents two- or well Wasserchlangen.

“Oohh something catch your eye?" Dick asked, pausing as he leaned over Damian to peak. “You know it?"

“The artist, Gustav Kilmt, is well known in proper circles- but this among other works vanished after the Nazis took over his home country of Austria. He had already died by then but his family had managed to recover several pieces and resell them to museums or private auction.”

“It seemed the Drakes were one of said Private Auction winners,” Damian pulled away from the case “He was…. a very good painter”

One of his favorites.

Damian turned, ready to continue down the hall but was almost stopped by Dick grabbing at his shoulders.

“Oh Dami dont-” Dick tried, but it was already too late.

It seemed this room connected to another, this one filled with taxidermy.

Dozens of glass eyed heads staring back at him. Each beautiful creature turned into nothing more than decor.

“The floor plan showed the personal quarters were past these rooms, we need to push on,” Damian said, voice controlled as he shoved Dicks arm off and continued through the room.

Thankfully this one at least opened up, and Damian could keep a distance from most of the displays.

As much as he had grown apart from the ideals instilled into him by his grandfather and mother, the league at its roots had a mission to the world. He may not have agreed with how far they had strayed from that mission, but he would not deny feeling some pride in the label of “eco terrorist.”

Not that he'd ever tell father that. Brown would find the humor though.

But to see so many creatures, some he knew by heart back from times he would spend in the mountains or hillsides outside the various bases, it was sickening.

Trophies were one thing, marks of victory- of a conquest, or of a meal well earned. He had known many people who lived such a lifestyle, and never had he seen those who respected nature as much as the league than those who hunted.

His eyes trailed to a display case, set up like a scene in nature or encased in a portrait. But there was no paper, nor was there any movement of the family of jackrabbits posed inside.

Their expressions were lifeless, even when posed on those clay forms. He wondered- what were their last expressions like?

Damian shook his head, steeling his eyes forward as he continued to push. But his movements were brought to a sudden halt as his ankle made contact with one of the displays that was strangely in the middle of the walkway.

His hands shot over, quickly fixing the positioning in reference to the indents in the floor from just who knew how long they had been there. Without even thinking, he looked inside.

That was- not Taxidermy, but still interesting.

It was a vase, not too unlike the ones Richard almost put an end to. But this one was like a Krater- though the style was distinctly not Greek in nature.

It showed a scene straight out of mythos, a hoard of people holding up offerings to a hand reaching down from just above. A god figure for sure, though he could not recognize its origin.

Damian continued to trail around, watching the picture story unfold. The god hand, beginning to decay until all that was left was a skeleton. The world below growing into chaos.

But there was still a part of the vase and…nothing. A shard, broken off as only the wrist of the skeleton hand was on display. The rest, missing. A story unfinished.

How disappointing.

“Huh, cool vase,” Dick commented as he slipped past Damian and to the entrance, to their goal. “You coming?"

Damian paused and then pulled away, following his brother's lead, for now that is. “Of course- but do try and avoid any wall art this way.”

Dick let out a small snort and rolled his eyes. “Uh huh- hurry up.”

Damian did not show any fondness, but he did allow a small smirk to grace his face as he followed suit. Time was of the essence afterall.

______

Tim, in layman's terms, was going to scream.

Dick and Damian had been gone about ten minutes now, it was only a one hundred and seventeen second walk with a brisk pace from the kitchen to the bathroom. That left over over five hundred seconds unaccounted for and well, counting.

His sense of time had also been lead alarmingly away listening to Alfred ramble on about improper eating habits and Jason try and make every “quick tip” into a ten minute long story, which was far too easy.

He couldn't even check where they were- the manor had no cameras on the inside whatsoever.

Tim knew far too many hackers who even if by sheer happenstance would learn far too much for his liking with just a few clicks.

It helped the only rooms his parents insisted on any security being their “collection” room, filled with artifacts they had procured from their archeology exports or procured through other means he didn't know or care really.

Though those cameras had been down for months now and Tim never really went in those rooms except if shipping something off to an “old colleague” or two.

God he really did need to get to rehoming their exhibits- but even just the thought of going through it all gave him a migraine.

Well- it wasn't going anywhere…

Over seven hundred seconds now, a small part of his brain unhelpfully chimed in. But not quite enough time for him to justify being “concerned”.

“-Oh but of course that was years ago so it doesn't matter much now,” Alfred said with a laugh.

Huh-
…

Alfred had less wrinkles. It was a weird thing to notice but he did. The man looked much younger than he remembered, even though he was most certainly older than when Tim had first met him.

He smiled brighter, his body language was proper but relaxed, he looked much lighter than what Tims memory served. That and he had no qualms about talking Tim’s ear off.

Tim appreciated it though, in a way. For years hed wanted nothing more than to hear more of Alfreds stories, but the days the man gave him more than a glance let alone the time for one of his tales was few and far between.

He'd never really gotten to know him.

But that wasn't the case anymore, not the not knowing him, but the fact Alfred seemed- happier. One of Tim's success stories this time around. He looked so much lighter. And well, that was worth it all wasn't it?

All the more reason he could not fail them now.

Tim sat up slightly clearing his throat. “Lovely story Alfred, truly.”

“But I am a bit worried that your boys may have gotten themselves turned around and-”

A loud screech as the barstool was roughly shoved back, Jason hopping down. “No worries I got it, you enjoy your chat.” He said, already pulling out his phone and leaving the kitchen.

In seconds, he was now alone, with just Alfred- Jason probably alerting them to Tim’s suspicions and hopefully dragging them back before he needed to intervene.

… Then again was it wise to let Jason go unsupervised as well?

“You best go ensure Master Jason doesn't also get himself turned around, though once the boys return we really must be going,” Alfred said, glancing down at his wrist watch.

Oh thank heavens, Tim could get his grip back- literally and metaphorically so to speak. He flashed a charming smile and gestured back over to the half full kettle.

“You're probably right- but help yourself to seconds, though I won't be too long.” Or at least he dreaded being too long.

They had well breached a thousand seconds by now, and that was time unaccounted for that Tim did not feel comfortable with.

Alfred seemed to take his offer in stride, or took pity on his slightly frazzled form and waved him off.

Tim didn't hesitate or even wait for the man to begin working on his second cup before he began down the hall, Jason's footsteps now an echo just out of reach.

That- would not do.
____________

This was… quite unusual.

Alfred sighed to himself as he closed the last cabinet. He'd just been searching for a lid for the to-go cup, since the cabinet Timothy showed him was lacking. But in turn found something else entirely.

The Drakes’ kitchen was about double the size of the Waynes with grandiose cabinetry to boot. But outside of a cabinet for cups and plates, and one for tea and coffee- the rest were completely barren.

Despite being in a family full of investigators he would not be so easily pulled into throwing aside manners for the sake of his own curiosity.
…
Then again, he still hasn't found that lid.

Alfred stood back, still in minor shock as he had finished scouring every inch of the kitchen.

He found several sets of elite chef knives that must have cost a fortune, rare spices imported from all over, and various kitchenware that was so extravagant it was most definitely decor more than function.

And yet- there was not a fruit or vegetable to be seen, let alone any food or sustenance. Half of the fridge was taken up by caffeine or small snacks that while a few were somewhat healthy, couldn't possibly be enough to sustain a young boy.

Of course- how could he blame him?

Alfred set his cup aside on the counter, picking up the kettle in his other hand and allowing the water to pour in, steam rising up and dancing across his face.

Master Bruce had been especially… difficult when it came to eating after his parents had passed. Even now as an adult with a half dozen kids of his own, there were days that food seemed to be more of a chore than an enjoyment.

Alfred had learned early on the best methods to get Master Bruce to eat- nothing too harsh on the stomach or tongue, nothing that took more than a few minutes to prepare, and absolutely nothing that could not be reheated later in case he just couldn't bring himself to finish.

He had only expanded on his methodology with each kid to enter under his care.

But while each child had their own particular method, none had been as particular as Bruce. None of the others had simply refused to eat all together, or limited their range as it seemed Mister Drake had.

Alfred glanced over to the pie, while not the most substantial meal, it was something. Of course a whole pie to one self could serve as a ‘mental block’ as Master Bruce had put it before.

The jump between a package of strawberries and a container of pre washed and cut made all the difference to convince oneself to eat when it felt like a chore.

He let the tea bag drop back into the container as his gaze refocused on that pie container. Well- he could worry about delivering some other meals in the future, for now- maybe a little treat of convenience would help make all the difference.

Now- where was that cutlery drawer?
____________________________

Dick paused as he felt his phone vibrate, pulling his eyes away from Damian examining Timothy's “habitat”.

Which had so far been about the most normal part of the house especially when compared to the taxidermy wall and random artifacts he chose to believe were acquired legally for his own sake of mind.

It felt like an invasion of privacy for someone they only assumed was mildly suspicious at best. But Damian insisted that “to learn about a target, you must see them at ease” and well- Dick had fought many thirteen year olds in his life, but he never claimed to have won many of those fights.

At least Damian had agreed it was “too risky” to go digging through his room and seemed satisfied with just snooping through halls.

Dick clicked on his phone screen and sucked in a quick breath, he could see Damian from the corner of his eye pop up like a meerkat and scrunch up his nose.

“What is it now?"

“Jason texted- Timothy assumed we got lost and was about to go find us, Jason left first but wouldn't be surprised if he's following.”

Damian quickly straightened, wrapping the edge of his shirt over his hand and carefully pulling at the doorknob until it shut with a quiet click. He wasted no time in turning heel and rushing back down the path they came.

Dick barely had time to send a response to Jason before following after. Fumbling his phone slightly as his shoulder knocked into a random statue bust. Enough to feel the impact, but not make it shift.

“Be careful!” Damian hissed, examining the statue for a moment.

“Dami, my little brother whom I love so much-” Dick sighed. “I cannot keep up with you while trying to text Jason and avoid the literal maze that is this house decor!”

“Then leave Todd on read, his message has been received, what more use is he!?”

“Because we spent so long in the mini museum I have no idea how long it'll take us to get back before someone gets there- which means we need Jason to stall.”

Damian looked frustrated, but knew Dick had a point. He seemed to find his own solution as Dick suddenly felt tiny hands wrap around his bicep and yank and suddenly he was being led down the hall.

Well that- would just have to fucking do then.

Dick got the okay from Jason just a minute or so later and used his non grappled arm to slip his phone back into his side pocket.

Though any sense of relief vanished the moment he realized that they had stopped moving and were now stuck still in the middle of the hallway.

“Dami wha-”

“Todd confirmed he could stall?"

“He hasn't responded yet, but what exactly are yo-”

Instead of answering, Damian tightened his grip on Dicks arm and gestured down the hall. Dick followed his line of sight to, well, a doorway. It stood out for several reasons really heck this entire hall did.

The area was barren of any extravagant decor except for a few fancy curtains, but each was drawn shut.

Except for one.

One lone window with the curtains wide open letting light cascade inside, following the light it shined directly on a door. The only door he'd spotted so far in the entire manor that was still open a jar.

Before he could even begin to think of a response, Damian had detached himself from Dicks side and was lifting up his shirt again to push open the door the rest of the way.

“Jason can stall but not long enough for us to pursue a random lead Damian we need to-”

Dick froze, his mind carefully blank as he adjusted to the room. It was the closest thing to “homely” in the entire house.

There was what looked to be an office set up, the walls surrounded by bookcases not too unlike the alcove from when they first walked in but at least this area felt actually functional.

But what caught his eye was the floor, polished wood floors smothered by long shimmering curtains that covered half of the wall. He didn't care about the curtains though, it was what they were displaying.

“Those are the Drakes, right?" Damian's voice was carefully controlled, but he seemed just as unnerved as Dick felt at the sight.

The portrait of Jack and Janet Drake, their faces half obscured by the curtains but he knew it was them.

God they looked so different than what he remembered and yet exactly the same. He'd never seen them as more than just two usual faces among the crowd at whatever Gala Bruce had dragged him to.

It had been weird not seeing them around anymore.

“Yeah, you read the file right?”

Shockingly, Damian shook his head. But seeming to sense his utter bewilderment his little shoulders hunched and he scowled at the painting.

“Father being away for business meant Pennyworth has been keeping extra care to ensure the cave is prepared for his return.”

“Really? Alfred stopped you from sneaking in?”

“He said next time I broke a rule he would not aid in my convincing father to foster any more cats I acquire during nightly ventures.”

Ah okay that made more sense.

Damian's annoyed expression quickly shifted to almost painfully uncomfortable to the point concerned questions were on the tip of Dicks tongue before he was interrupted.

“What… happened?”

Right. Damian had still been settling in then- god had it really only been three years? It seemed to be just about the only thing anyone talked about. Gotham was a city of tragedy sure, but outside Bruce- Jason had described the upper class as “untouchable” in a way, well unless they were targets.

It was one thing to be killed by a rogue, but for the Drakes? It was just a tragedy. And one that left their freshly fifteen year old son in the guardianship of an old friend.

But before Dick could respond, he saw Damian tense- and a mere moment later he also felt a chill up his spine. Footsteps, echoing through the hall. He glanced at Damain in pure panic but it was already too late.

The sound thundered closer and Dick barely had enough time to whip around to the doorway as the figure came into view and-

Jason stood half panting and glancing behind him. “There you are- what the fuck you said you were on your way already!!”

“The door was ajar, we decided it necessary to investigate.”

Jason let out an incredulous laugh. “Seriously what on earth was so necessary to investigate that-” he went silent.

His gaze trained on the Drakes’ portrait on the wall. Jack and Janet’s faces were obscured by the curtains, with only Timothy's face showing. He looked Damian’s age, and if that wasn't all the more heartbreaking.

That portrait wasn’t of the man the tabloids fawned over like a steak, vulture picking away pieces. It was just a kid. Standing with his parents, for a family portrait. He didn't look happy, sure but he looked- content.

Fuck- what on earth were they even doing here?
This was wrong.

Making up his mind, Dick turned, ready to drag his brothers out of the room and leave such a sacred area unbothered anymore.

But right as he opened his mouth, a bang sounded out from behind Jason making the boy flinch.

The door, that had been left half open when his middle brother burst through, had now been slammed all the way open, banging against the side of the bookshelf on the other side.

Timothy Drake stood in the doorway, the light from the window shining behind him as his shadow fell over the portrait. His face was obscured by shadow but his expression was still clear as day and yet unreadable.

His shoulders rose and fell with panting breaths as he gripped onto the doorway, sharp blue eyes now resembling daggers that he fired mercilessly at all three brothers.

His face flashed, a million emotions flickering across as his eyes darted to each person in the room and then the portrait.

“Get out.” He whispered, but his voice cut through.

“Timothy we’re sorry it’s-”

Dick was cut off by Timothy jerking his hand in the air, silencing him once more as the daggers pressed down.

“I. don't. care.” Timothy spat out each word. “I have no ill will towards your father, and even less so towards Alfred- but you?”

Dick flinched back as Timothy's finger shot out- and he could see Jason's unsure shuffle and Damian’s shame faced stare at the whole scene.

“We were never friends- and this? Now we’re barely fucking civil-” He seethed but steamrolled on, “I don't care what the hell you were doing, and even less do I want your guilt ridden half apologies just for the fact you were caught.”

“All I want- is you three gone and my respect for Alfred means I don’t want to cause a scene either- so get the fuck back to the kitchen, we will do our cordiel Socialite required goodbyes and I can pretend like this never happened, is that good enough for you Wayne?”

“T-that’s-” Dick swallowed a lump, but it remained. “Yes that's- we-we can um- we can go.”

Timothy sneered, marching past all of them and taking the time to shove Dick’s shoulder enough to make him stumble. He watched as Timothy walked over to the portrait, pausing for just a moment and then grabbing both ends of the curtains and yanking them shut.

The entire wall vanishes in a mirage of silk. And leaving nothing more than a boy, body lined with nothing but distress. A feeling caused by Dick and his idiot little brothers.

Dick could feel the shame in his gut, coiling deep in his chest and squeezing. But he stayed silent. A beat passed and when he was sure Drake was finished he slowly moved.

Jason and Damian put up no fight as Dick grabbed onto their shoulders and briskly walked them out of the room.

There were a few moments where they stood in the hall, Dick’s grip remained firm on his brothers’ shoulders as they faced respectfully away from the room and instead to the window outside.

The garden was in full view, a small grove of colorful foxglove seeming to fit the mood just right. A beautiful sight- with a pain so easily overlooked.

Fuck- how could he begin to fix this?

Timothy came out of the door, slamming it shut behind him as he glowered at the trio. “Let's go.”

Was there even a way to fix this?

They followed.

The path back to the kitchen was a blur- so were the hasty goodbyes. Alfred definitely picked up on the soured mood of the trio- but despite everything Timothy looked eerily normal.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth long after they had climbed back inside the car and begun to drive off.

_______________________________

Tim’s heart hammered in his chest, each breath punching out and each wheeze not quite filling his lungs. It left him gasping, breathless, helpless. He hated it.

Fingers gripped tighter onto the cold stone counter, but the temperature was hardly grounding. If anything it just made him more aware of the heat pulsing through his body.

Each attempt, desperately trying to push through the panicked fog that had taken over his mind only served to pull the reins just a bit further out of reach. He was losing control.

He was-
He-

…
…
Ah-
He was having a panic attack wasn't he?

How inconvenient.

Tim glanced over at the doorway, Alfred had long since gone, all of them had. He was alone once again in that kitchen, and yet the one chance any cries would be quickly answered the one time he would rather die than have them be.

The Waynes had been running freely around his estate while he had been helpless to do much of anything. Even as a Drake, he was helpless.

Time had been working against him from the start, he should have known better than to “play nice” with those three involved. Honestly? He didn't know what he was upset about. The sheer terror of them being so close to everything mixed with the fact of the portrait glaring down at him as the cherry on top.

He didn't even need to fake his utter disarray at the entire situation. It was the saving face in front of Alfred that was the hard part.

But it was fine now- he was alone.
He was alone, with years worth of careful work being tested by his own madness. No no he wasn’t mad- he wasn't anymore- no no no he never HAD been.

Dick had been wrong then.
He wasn't broken, he wasn't crazy, and he sure as shit wasn't mad.

Tim stumbled, his ankle throbbing as waves of pain. A hiss of breath managed to remind him that he was still able to breath.

Fuck- he kicked the trashcan, the nearly full trashcan he still needed to deal with.

But it wasn't completely full yet- it would waste space to just throw it out as is considering the journey to the cans.

There was the fridge? No no that was too MUCH then and especially all the liquids it would just make a mess and he had no clue where the mop was and it just- it was all too much.

God this was a mistake-
He should have played up the asshole, to hell with Alfred and told that demon brat to fuck off instead of playing up such an obvious ploy. He never should have let himself slip.

Frustrated tears welled up in his eyes but by pure strength of will he forced them back. He was stronger than this, he had dealt with worse than this petty bullshit. He would NOT cave now.

A flash of light caught his eye and he glanced back up to the counter, the pie still sat neatly on its display. Taunting him. The whole reason he got into this mess.

Before he knew it- Tim was pulling himself back towards the pie, grabbing the glass and dragging it back from the edge of the counter with a scrape against the stone.

The one missing slice oozing, a few drops slipping over the side and staining the perfectly good counter with its sticky slime. The coaster still discarded to the side, the empty glass still half perched on it.

He stooped, right as the pie was pulled towards the edge, only balancing by his hand gripping the glass edge. The strong sweet smell turned pungent the closer he brought it to his face. Everything smelled of pie.

Tim blinked-
…
The trash was full now.

He walked over to the sink to rinse off the glass container, it would be rude not to return a dish, and like hell would he be going to the Waynes’ house anytime soon.

Besides- Tim needed to watch the cameras, make sure they were gone, that he was a Drake and nothing more.
____________

“Are you boys alright?” Alfred asked, the window separating the driver and passenger sides of the limo halfway cracked. But the man's eyes were visible in the mirror.

Dick put on a showman worthy smile. “Just fine Alfie- just a bit tired you know?”

“Ah of course, allow me,” Alfred offered. The limousine window slowly slipped shut with a mechanical whirl and the lights in the back dimmed to almost darkness aided by the heavy tint.

Damian looked down at his hands, examining the few shades lighter crescent indents on his palm. A result of his nails clenching down. He had trimmed them recently too, but it seemed enough pressure even dull knives could be formidable blades.

Dinah had spoken to him many times, about his extreme compartmentalizing and shutting down the moment he deemed things "unnecessary” or “bothersome”. It wasn't his fault emotions were confusing, it was just easier to lock them away.

But she had insisted that he should treat it as a mission, to identify his emotions and track evidence to retrace their origin.

He was… upset.

But it was an upset that felt more- volatile than just ruining the mission. It felt raw. As raw as Drake's words felt cutting into his skin, even whilst not directed at solely him.

“That was… bad-” Jason broke the tense silence in the back seat, his brow furrowed heavily as he sat stiffly.

Grayson on the other hand was a twitchy mess, knee bouncing and his hand wringing out the back of his neck enough to make a bruise. “Bad is the least of it.”

They were also upset- Damian did not like that.

“I apologize for ruining the mission- my recklessness underestimating the target caused this whole disaster.”

Jason huffed. “ ‘ts not your fault baby bat-” He paused for just a moment. “Or well, maybe a little.”

Damian scowled, but did not protest.

Dick let out a suffering sigh. “In hindsight? The whole plan was stupid, we could have investigated Timothy literally anywhere else, asked his friends, maybe a little cyberstalking- anything but wandering around his house with Alfred around.”

Damian could agree, this was not some villain base to infiltrate. It was a home, and a place he was unfamiliar. Seemed his eagerness had gotten the best of him.

“What's that face?” Dick asked and Damian looked up.

Jason had hunched in on himself even more, nipping at the skin on his lip.

“Todd, spit it out.”

“It's just,” he began, “I don't think those would have worked either”

“What do you mean?”

Jason shifted, face now solely glued to the window. But he continued without the need for Damian to threaten him. “I met Timothy when I transferred to Gotham Academy, I was the new kid, and Bruce adopted street rat- sure I had the Wayne name penned on my shit but I was still an outsider.”

Dick looked ready to jump in at the “street rat” comment, but Damian motioned to silence him as Jason continued.

“Of course that meant I was quick to learn which kids to avoid if I didn't want to deal with getting my shit stolen or painted as the aggro street dog to mummy and daddy. Timothy was never one of them though.”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said.” Jason cut him off. “Doesn't mean the prick was innocent, he was never holding the smoking gun sure- but he was always just, there.”

Damian sat forward just slightly.

“It was weird, everyone said they knew Timothy Drake, but I can't think of anyone I'd consider close to him- and it always felt like he was being talked about or talked to,” he sighed. “But never with.”

“So- Drake had no friends?”

“Dami!”

“Sorta-” Jason winced, “I can say for sure, whatever friends he did have back from school, he didn't keep around.”

Well that caught his attention.
“Explain Todd.”

“After the Drakes’ death, there was already some level of social outcasting- mainly just kids convinced orphan cooties were a thing, or who weren't trying to suck up to an heir who was sure to be whisked away to whatever distant relatives pockets could use some more padding.”

Damian could see the rant continuing but held up his hand in pause. “Grayson never explained- how did the Drakes die?”

Jason blinked, “You trying to tell me you didn't read the file?”

“Two words- Alfred, stray cats.”

“That's three words dipshit but message received.”

The two boys maintained a moment of eye contact, seeming to debate which of them would ‘break the news’ but honestly, Damian was a trained assassin, he had been familiar with death even before he knew how to produce life.

Dick sat up in his seat, adjusting to not slide against the leather as he met Damian’s gaze. “Well- apparently Jack Drake’s side had a history of heart conditions and he was prescribed some meds.”

“He’d been taking them for years, unfortunate for someone his age but necessary in retrospect. But then his old private doctor passed and he got a new one, a few months and well- apparently paperwork at the old clinic wasn't the most organized.”

Dick was eerily still now. “The new doctor misread the old reports, he assumed two of the meds were duplicates and cut one off.”

“Jack and Janet had just returned from a trip and had a dinner reservation later that night-” Damian didn't like his tone, “Timothy had a school trip and no one would really be checking in for at least a few days.”

Jason looked uncomfortable now, and that only further pushed the edge of Damian’s mood. Why were they not just saying it?

“Jack had a heart attack in the middle of the night, there was no saving him-”

Was- was that really all? All the shifting and nervous glances for a simple heart error?

“He was found beginning to rot with Janet curled next to him, having committed suicide in her grief over losing her husband.”

Oh.

"How did she-"?

"Poison- overdosed on his heart meds."

“And who-?” Damian dared to ask.

“The housekeeper lost her key, so Timothy came home early to let her in.”

No.

Dick didn't seem finished though, though Damian was half tempted to silence him. He did not want to know more. But he had wanted answers- hadn't he?

“There was a full investigation, GCPD and Batman both confirmed what happened.” He winced. “They even reopened the investigation twice.”

“Why?”

“Because Timothy was convinced they were murdered-”

Damian went silent, and Jason re-entered the conversation. “They were not of course, it was tragic still- hell I felt bad enough I actually tried talking to him.”

Jason's expression twisted. “That was of course until he almost got me expelled for several piles of horseshit that if it wasn't for my good grades and Dad’s full pockets, he would have succeeded.”

So that's where the grudge came in.

“Anyways, when it turned out he didn't get carted off with some estranged relative and instead ended up in custody of the- Fall family or something? I can't remember the name- but doesn't matter much considering he got special emancipation the moment he turned sixteen less than a year later.”

“Most of his online presence is regarding what happened to the Drakes, the fallout- and then just about every bender and drunken accident since then.”

Damian pressed his nails back into his palm. “So then what now?”

“Hmm?” Dick asked, an aura of exhaustion around him.

“The investigation- are we done?”

That’s the question isn't it?
There were still so many questions unanswered, and even more that Damian had gathered.

Yet just like that pot, the story was left cracked, pieces missing and incomplete.

He wanted answers, but part of him was anxious about what he would feel once he received those answers.

Dick seemed to think for a moment, joining Jason in staring at the rolling fog covering most of the hillside and roadway as they continued back. “We have time- but for now, I’d call a pause.”

Damian released his palm, a small trickle of blood from a microscopic incision of his nail. He wiped the blood on his shirt.

A pause was… satisfactory.
______

Tim watched the gate swing closed, locked into place as the limo faded from view. Yet he didn't feel any bit of relief, and he knew he wouldn't even after the Waynes had left his property completely.

But he still had things to do. As overwhelming as it was, he didn't have time to delay. Especially something as trivial as the trash. He was being dramatic of course.

Drama brought nothing but problems and good reality tv his father would joke. And that they were above being subjected to reality tv. His lip barely managed a twitch at the memory as he shuffled through the once more barren halls.

Pain shocked up his spine as Tim bent over, grabbing at the roll of trash bags and tearing one away with more force than necessary. He slammed the cabinet shut and then winced at the cacophony as he shook the bag loose.

It didn't take that long to grab the undesirables in the fridge ranging from “I know I won't eat it so might as well” to outright rancid. This is what he gets for always eating out.

The bag wasn’t full by the time he had mostly cleaned out and then wiped down the fridge, but it had enough weight to it he didn't care as he tied it off and walked over to the trash bin, ready to grab bags and make the trek to the cans back outside.

He set the bag down, careful to check that it wasn't leaking after the half gallon of coffee he'd unceremoniously dumped inside since he was pretty sure Ms.Mac got the industrial strength, but better safe than sorry having to track down the elusive mop.

Tims foot pressed down on the can as the lid snapped up and he felt himself freeze.

Right on top, smushed face down into the rancid chinese food was Alfred's pie.

But even now, it still smelled nothing short of divine.

Fuck- Tim could feel the knots in his stomach, looking down at the other trash bag that held just about the rest of the food he had left in the house.

He was too tired to leave, nor did he want to task some poor underpaid delivery driver to deal with Bristol hills during a heavy fog night.

Tim shut the lid with a loud bang and stepped away from the bag now on the floor.

He just… couldn't right now.

But he still felt like he was starving, and if he was hungry it would be a pain in the ass to sleep which would only mean he would be more exhausted tomorrow and just.

Tim glanced over to the coffee maker, the container of Oolong tea still sat out. That- could at least take the edge off?

He half stumbled over, cursing himself as he began tripping over the bag he had abandoned on the ground.

Tims hand shot out to catch him, gripping onto the counter top as he managed not to eat shit in his own kitchen.

“Just my fucking night-” He hissed, using his free hand to brush back the hair that had covered hid face as he righted himself.

His eyes caught a flash of light on the counter and-

Oh…

With a shaky hand, Tim released his grip on the counter and grabbed the small napkin, all too familiar cursive writing scribbled on.

Dear Mister Timothy Drake,

As much as I grouch, a growing boy should really be accepting food when he can- for convenience I went ahead and cut a slice of the pie for you. I found your saran wrap while on the hunt for a to-go cup lid so don't fret about eating it right away.

Speaking of which, while I have been made aware you have plenty of space in your fridge, the pie is made with no dairy so can be left out for about two days as long as it is sealed.

I hope you enjoy,
Alfred Pennyworth.

He knew the pie could be left out. He remembered, making Pie with Alfred, they did it the first Wednesday of each month whenever apples were in season.

It was something only he had Alfred did. Working in harmonic silence until they could reap the sweet reward.

“No-” Tim rasped out, hand shaking just slightly.

The napkin sagged in his hands, white sheet becoming a translucent grey as Tim held it too close to his face. Tears streaming down his cheeks dotted the napkin.

It was the only time the kitchen would smell like anything else besides Vanilla.
The smell reminded him of home.

It wasn't home- It was the Wayne Manor. And he wasn't a Wayne anymore.

Tim set down the napkin, eyes now transfixed on the porcelain platter. A single slice of apple pie on display, covered in a careful layer of wrapping.

A silver fork carefully balanced on the end.

He shouldn't.

The moment the wrappings were torn away, the smell of cinnamon and fresh apples filled the space. Strong, and yet more comforting than overwhelming.

He wasn't worthy of this.

Tim held the saucer in hand, fork in the other as his back slid down the cabinet, ignoring the uncomfortable chill of the tile floor.

He didn't deserve this, he wasn’t family.

The crust was thick, it cracked against the pressure. And yet the sides oozed out, filling dripping as he continued to press down until a sizable chunk broke off.
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He wasn't a Wayne.

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Tim took a bite.

Chapter Text

A butterfly effect- a small wing flap to a tornado sounds ridiculous, but you have no idea when or what that butterfly might be.

All the more reason to seize control of the winds themselves the moment they sway in your direction.

But sometimes, there is no seizing the wind. Only doing your absolute best to walk forward while being battered around like a fucking rag doll.

Or maybe wind wasn't the right metaphor- more like running into the eye of a tornado and hoping you manage to keep your feet on the ground.

Steph was losing her footing already.

“DAMIAN PLEASE ITS FOR CHARITY!!" Steph begged, slamming her elbows onto the table.

The physical sting of her funny bone meeting stone was nothing when compared to the emotional turmoil from this thirteen year old.

Damian sat coldly, dismissively sipping his glass of apple juice and cruelly ignoring her plight.

Steph groaned, resting her head on the counter and enjoying the small chill. "I would have thought you of all people would be jumping to help some poor defenseless animals not be killed."

Damian set his drink down next to his plate with more force than necessary, finally meeting her gaze with a glare. "Of course I support their mission- but I can simply donate remotely, no need to attend."

Yes- yes very much a need to attend. A need that had to do with a batista whose eyes were like honey pots and laughed like chimes in the wind.

"It's about showing support!" She protested "A Wayne showing interest in this could mean whole crowds of people coming to support and giving their funds."

"And as a Wayne I could simply donate triple the funds such blatant pandering would otherwise provide."

Damian reached around his glass and picked up a piece of buttered toast on the side, lifting it up to his mouth but pausing before taking a bite as his assessing gaze fixated on Steph. “Why don't you cease your pestering and simply head off on your own?"

Actually, it was anything but simple- because Steph had been tasked with keeping an eye on Damian while Alfred ran some errands around town. Aka- she was on babysitting duty.

Why on earth she was held responsible was a matter of pure desperation.

Bruce was still “On a business trip” outside the fucking Milky Way, and Cass was overseas helping establish her own group.

Jason had on campus classes and “just so happened” to sign up for office hours for one of his professors he set her up, she knew, Babs was still recovering, Alfred had errands, and…. What was Dick’s excuse again?

Didn't matter now-
The hard part wasn't even watching the brat, it was making sure he didn't KNOW you were meant to be watching him.

Last time someone let it slip they had to call “all hands on deck” and they found Damian sunbathing on a floatie three hours away on a random Jersey beach. He'd been gone for like an hour and a half.

“And on top of that- you waited to inquire about my attendance until the day of, which is completely inconsiderate of my personal schedule- what if I had plans?"

“Do you, have plans?"

Damian took a large bite of toast to avoid answering her question, which was an answer in itself.

But before Steph could push any further, she picked up on a small sound from down the hall. A shuffling and jingle of keys.

No one else was supposed to be home, nor would they be coming home for several hours.

Damian seemed to notice too, and within a blink, toast still in mouth, he now had a butter knife clenched in his hand.

Steph grabbed the butter dish itself, ignoring the look from Damian. But he'd already grabbed the one reasonable weapon and she could always chunk it like a brick.

They met eyes and Damian did several one handed motions. Steph nodded, skirting along the other side of the island and approaching the edge of the counter.

Damian readied the knife as she clutched the butter dish, both flanking each other as the sounds drew closer.

A figure slipped through the doorway and with a war cry they both attacked. The figure let out a girlish scream- limbs flying in the air as it cried out.

She recognized the voice and Oh-

Dick stood, a mess of limbs, his head jerked awkwardly to the side as a butter knife was embedded in the wall just a few inches from his face. The Butter dish had slipped out of her hand and shattered on the floor.

Damian paused, his hand still mid air after having chunked the knife. He reached and pulled the toast out of his mouth. “Oh Richard- you startled us”

Dick buffered, mouth opening and closing like a ventriloquist doll with no speaker. “I startled YOU-” His voice raised into that high tone again.

Damian shrugged and went back over to the table to continue his breakfast as Steph shot Dick a sheepish smile. “Welcome home?"

Dick sighed, his eyes slipping shut for just a moment before his hand slicked his hair back, letting the waves fall back into place. “You know what- why am I surprised?"

He reached up to the knife in the wall and yanked it out with ease, walking over and pausing for a moment. His brows scrunched together before his eyes darted over to the shattered remains of the butter dish on the floor.

Dick sighed again, even heavier this time and just set the knife in the sink to be rinsed off.

“To be fair I wasn't expecting anyone to be home right now-” he said as he walked over to the pantry and pulled out the broom and dust pan.

“Neither of you have school, it's a beautiful day outside- why not make plans?"

Steph skidded around the shard remains and over to Damian, ignoring the growl as she threw her arm around his shoulder. “I mean I t r i e d to invite Damian out to a little local cafe, but he's being stubborn.”

Damian rolled his shoulders, moving like a snake as he tried to slip away but Steph moved faster, continuing to keep balance and bat her eyes at Dick half hunched over the destroyed butter dish while wrangling him.

“Brown is the one who sprung these supposed plans on me last minute- with no consideration of my will or scheduling.”

Steph cupped her hand to her cheek as if whispering. “He has no plans,” she said, not lowering her voice whatsoever.

“It would do you good to get out of the house, it's been four days Damian.” Dick said as he lifted up the now full dustpan and emptied it out. “Even Jason stopped sulking already.”

“Bold of you to assume his sulking has not simply transitioned into venting- we both heard the lecture after Bluejay's last patrol.”

To be fair- a lecture over zoom call had less impact that Bruce probably hoped for. Thankfully Jay had found an outlet of investigating some new guy around the alley instead of bullying random Rouges.

Dick didn't protest, but instead leaned against the counter. “So what exactly were you trying to convince him to do?"

“A charity event at a local cafe- I was invited and didn't want to leave by myself, it's an all day thing but I'd like it to get there early before the crowds."

Dick paused- getting a strange look, then again when did he not look strange? "Wait, where is the cafe?"

"Far end, Narrows."

Dick snapped his fingers, and in one fluid motion pulled away from the counter and over towards the fridge. He picked up a bright green caterpillar magnet off and pulled out a piece of paper.

“Sleepy Kitten right?" He said, holding out the sheet of paper to Steph.

Damian tried to look disinterested but Steph could feel his gaze as she looked at the paper flyer for the charity event.

“How'd you even get this?"

“From my cinnamon savior of course-” he said with a cheeky grin.

Steph blinked. That- you know what? She was better off not questioning any of that. She instead accepted it for what it was, an opportunity.

Steph sat up in her chair, flipping the paper out of Dicks hand and showing it off with a beaming grin. “Well you wouldn't wanna disappoint your savior now would you? Means you can drive us!"

Damian let out a squawk, gearing up to object but Steph cut him off, her attention now solely on Dick. “We can grab some brunch, enjoy the ambiance and spend time in the Narrows for once that isn't related to our nightly ventures-”

“That sounds lovely Steph, but I'm still on call- and I don't want to worry about being whisked away half way through.” He sighed, but she caught the small gleam in his eye. He was tempted.

Time to unleash the ultimate secret weapon.

Steph deflated in her seat, letting out a downright pathetic sigh- she could see the betrayal on Damian’s face when he caught on to what she was doing, but it was far too late.

“It's okay… I was just really looking forward to bonding with my brothers.”

And with that, ladies and gentlemen, Dick Grayson-Wayne crumpled like a house of cards. Whipping to Steph with borderline tears in his eyes, horrified at the mere IDEA of denying her “bonding time.”

Dick snatched the paper, already putting the address into his phone and ignoring Damians increasingly desperate attempts to grab his attention.

“Okay okay it's a short drive, and worse case scenario, I get called over. They don't close until 11- so plenty of time to pick you guys up before then!"

Damian loudly moved his chair- taking his dishes and setting them in the sink. “Well then you two have fun, I shall enjoy an unusually serene estate.”

But right as he moved to wander off Dick grabbed his shoulder. “Oh no you don't- Steph is right, we are in desperate need of some bonding- and you are in desperate need of getting out of the house.”

“Now, both of you get dressed- I need to grab my going out jacket, be ready to head out T-minus twenty minutes!!"

Dick gave no further warning before disappearing down one of the off hallways from the kitchen and leaving Steph and Damian alone.

Damian turned his glare onto Steph, looking as if he hoped to melt her with his gaze alone. He'd been spending way too much time with Jon. “That was low, even for the likes of you Brown.”

Steph grinned, leaning down to Damians height, condescending of course. “Oh trust me baby bat-” she ruffled his hair and stood up, getting a head start upstairs.

She needed all the time she could afford. After all, she was aiming to impress.

“-I can always go lower.”

Damian had desired two things from his afternoon in his father and grandfather's absence. That was to simply enjoy a meal he'd managed to put together himself, and continue to stay indoors.

He was brooding, not “wallowing in his misery.”
But even if he was, it would be justified from the catastrophe that was his brilliant infiltration plan. He had misjudged his opponent, and faced the embarrassment of consequences.

Of course his questions about Drake had only grown, and he didn't intend on stopping his investigation until he got the full puzzle. His failure only meant he needed time to reevaluate.

But before he could begin to start down that avenue, he would need to come to terms with the pit in his chest when he even thought of the man.

However, any chance of planning during his brooding was destroyed by Brown's insistent pleading and subsequent winning over of their eldest. Who was disappointingly weak to such clear manipulation.

Well- hopefully such a noble cause would mean better company, or at the very least tolerable.

The car idled as Dick put it in park, quickly unbuckling his seat belt. “Alright best parking in the Narrows- and only a small walk to the cafe, and you guys say the planning was unnecessary.”

“Best spot in the Narrows huh-?” Steph asked as she hopped out of the car, adjusting her light blue dress “So we're now only 45% likely to come back to a broken window.”

“No ones going to break our window,” he sighed.

“As much as it pains me to agree with Brown, you did opt to bring one of Father’s... nicer cars.”

Dick paused, glancing back at the car. “I-…worst case scenario Uncle Harvey’s law firm deals with our insurance.”

Well- Damian couldn't argue with that now could he? Dent was very capable in ways Father often fell short, in other words his oversight was comforting.

This was far from Damian's first time in the Narrows but most of his experiences had been in the dead of night, jumping between rooftops without the time to truly admire the area.

From sunup to sun down, the Narrows were bustling, the threat of violence significantly dropped during the daylight hours.

People were walking all around, on the way to or away from work, dipping in and out of shops or chatting to the side of honking cars and bikes. There were vendor stands lining the streets, yelling out their wares while debating with customers over the cost of the smallest grape.

One in particular had a whole crew laughing as music played and showing off stands of fruit. The main stand stood a burly man, knife in hand as he chopped up a giant watermelon, the entire cutting board stained bright red.

Damian could smell just how fresh it was.

Dick was already a step ahead, flashing a smile and quickly rattling off some Spanish faster than he could interpret and soon enough all three of them had their own little triangle of the melon.

Damian ignored the smug smirk as he took a bite, the juice practically falling onto the ground despite his best efforts. It was messy, and uncouth, and completely unbecoming of a Wayne or an Al Ghul.

“God this is delicious- I fucking love markets,” Steph moaned as she finished off her piece, glancing over to Damian’s with only a single bite out of it. “You gonna finish that?"

Damian met her eye, and shoved half of the melon in his mouth.

The walk was surprisingly pleasant all things considered, and after finishing their melon and dumping the rinds in a small patch of grass (good fertilizer or at the very least easy access to a hungry animal) they had arrived at the cafe.

It was- eccentric.

The bright blue awning he could see from down the block, and mismatched metal furniture chained to the concrete below, and yet every seat was filled with customers laughing and chatting amongst themselves.

Dick pushed the door open and a small chime bell sounded off as they stepped inside. It was bustling, people gathered, drinks in hand or flipping through books that seemed to come from the half dozen bookshelves lining the walls.

Any wall space that was free had been covered in various works of art or knick knacks.

Steph tapped him on the shoulder and pointed up, pulling Damian’s gaze over towards the second story, a whole library in itself.

Well- seemed someone involved in this establishment had taste.

“Cinnamon boy I just knew I recognized ya-!" A Gotham accented voice called out and Damian’s attention was drawn to the short blonde woman just behind the counter, as she beckoned them forward.

Dick grinned and waved, grabbing both Steph and Damian by the shoulders and mushing them forwards. “Hi Gwen- woah this place is busy isn't it.”

Gwen beamed, a motion he had seen many times by Richard. “Yeah the turnout has been amazing- a lot of these people are regulars stopping by on their lunch break as a show of support, so it'll likely calm down in a half hour or so. But I'm super glad you could stop by- who are these two?"

Damian stepped forward before Richard could butcher his introduction. “My name is Damian Wayne, Richard is my eldest brother- I shall make clear I was dragged here against my will.” He ignored Dicks hiss and steamrolled on. “But I am pleased at your cause as well as the fact that the manner of your establishment shows some level of taste.”

Gwen blinked, but instead of turning up her nose or laughing him off as most did she just continued to smile. “It's a pleasure Damian, and the decor is all Obi and their folks- you might spot them up in the library, which feel free to browse. We encourage people to read whatever they like but if something has truly caught your eye there are prices inside. Any profit made today, books included, will be donated so please indulge.”

Damian raised his chin, “I just might-”

As soon as he finished Gwen turned her attention to Steph, tilting her head in a way that caused her hair to fall over her face. “And you are?"

Steph- turned pink? “Oh um- My name is Stephanie- or well just Steph, these are kinda my brothers, it's complicated.”

Gwen brushed her hair behind her ear with a small chuckle. “Alright then Just Steph- and no need to explain to me hon- when isn't family complicated?"

Steph laughed just a bit too loudly, throwing her elbow on the counter. “You got that right!" She shifted, her elbow slipping and almost knocking over a jar of pens.

It was only thanks to trained instincts she managed to grab it, and yet she still floundered on putting it back on the counter.

It made no sense-
Brown flushing, her odd speech patterns, and now this clumsiness?
Oh for god's sake was Brown ill and yet had still insisted on coming?

While Damian appreciated her tenacity for supporting such a mission that was plain idiotic.

He turned to Dick, hoping his eldest would have the insight to pick up and call their visit short. Despite how daft he appeared, Richard was a people person, he picked up on cues that would allude even Cassandra's clever perception.

Dick however, had an understanding gleam in his eyes. But instead of rushing to press his hand against Brown's forehead he looked almost- thrilled? Was he debating on her downfall? As far as Damian was aware they had not any recent disagreements.

Ah- except for the condiment man fiasco.
That was it then. Brown was sick, Dick was complicit in her suffering out of some petty revenge. He would expect that sort of behavior from Todd but well, they weren't so different in the end.

Damian would not interfere though, even Dick would not compromise their health and safety no matter how petty, so he would let it slide.

Gwen straightened her posture. “So what can I get ya guys?"

Dick leaned forward, making a show of examining the board then sighing as he turned to Steph. “I have no idea- any suggestions Steph?"

Steph’s eyes widened. “Oh I haven't um- been here before”

Dick tilted his head, curls falling in place and yet piercing blue gaze did not waver. “Really now?" He paused just long enough and then clapped his hands together.

“In that case can I get a medium hot hazelnut coffee? Normal cream and sugar please.”

Gwen nodded, already scurrying off mid order, which seemed unprofessional. But then again this was a small establishment and an even smaller counter space. “Absolutely, anything else?"

Well- if he was forced to be here might as well take advantage of Richard’s wallet.

Steph shoved Dick slightly, moving to step further in front of the counter but leaning over as to be more visible to Gwen. “Can I get an Iced chai and a blueberry muffin please?"

Damian turned up his nose in distaste, he would not let Brown's illness subject her to poor decision making and further her suffering. “Brown I am aware you have a horrid taste- but ordering a chai? Here?"

Gwen perked up slightly, but he cared not if he hurt her feelings. It was not an insult to her skill if she was simply given inferior ingredients from the start.

But Steph jumped to defense first. “Actually the owner’s husband is Indian, refuses the bastardized American version- trust me Dami it'll be fine.”

Gwen had since returned to the counter, Richard’s drink in hand. Her eyes were slightly squinted, leaning forward as she seemed to analyze if she believed Steph’s words. Well she must have seen something because suddenly she lit up into a bright grin.

“Coming up!” she laughed. “And for you Damian?"

For a split second Damian felt odd about being called by his name to what was practically a stranger, but well now he had an answer. He needed to ensure Brown was in fact not mentally compromised.

“I too will have an Iced chai, and… do you happen to have any middle eastern desserts?"

She grinned. “You enjoy Baklava?"

Yes, yes he did.

Dick was doing everything in his power not to scream as he guided his siblings over to the table. He knew something was up as soon as Steph pulled out her “ultimate secret weapon” one that she had definitely picked up from Jason.

He wasn't as “Easily manipulated” as most of his siblings believed, but after Jason… he always regretted not listening, and he refused to make the same mistake again.

Besides, whatever was important enough for her to pull that was worth taking seriously. And Damian had been wallowing since the moment they arrived back at the manor after Wednesday's whole- event.

It was getting to the point Alfred was concerned over the utter lack of attempted break ins to the cave in Bruce's absence. So it was a win-win situation he decided to take.

And oh god was he thrilled with the outcome.

Steph had a crush, a crush on a barista. It was a hallmark meet cute that made his heart melt. Not to mention after jumping to her defense from Damian, Gwen had appeared just as interested.

Dick sipped his drink, enjoying the subtle nutty taste as he continued to glance at Steph, practically half hung over the table and dreamily starting over at the counter.

Gwen had been right- and in the half hour they had been there, the cafe had cleared up considerably. There was still that quiet humm of chatter from the groups spread out, but it had gotten “quiet”.

He spared a glance at Damian who was still picking at his crumbs of Baklava, his now empty chai cup half tipped over as well as he held a book in his other hand.

“Art of War by Sun Tzu,” which, well- that was about what he'd expected when he disappeared to the upstairs library and returned with a small skip in his step.

The good thing about Dami reading was it was just about the one time he let down his guard. Other than when he was sleepy of course.

Dick leaned over, nudging Steph with his shoulder and shying back a bit as she startled. “Hey- you should take my card and go buy Damian another round before he starts getting hangry.”

Steph glanced over at him before looking back at Dick. Her eyes narrowed just a bit before she sighed. “You know?”

“I know.” He admitted.

“Am I that obvious?”

“Well-” He paused, “You’re not discrete? But not too bad.”

Dick grabbed the sides of his chair and scooted closer, “Why not go for it? I know you lied about this being your first time chatting.”

Steph's face did something complicated before falling on slight embarrassment. “Well when we first met it wasn't exactly… me.”

“Ah-” In a mask then. A shame, but shockingly, not Dick’s first rodeo with almost that exact scenario. “Well what's stopping you now- you gotta start somewhere.”

“She's busy,” Steph objected, and gestured back to the counter.

Dick looked to the counter and yes, while the cafe had emptied quite a bit there was one patron in particular who was sitting right next to the counter and chatting away with Gwen.

He was a pretty average height guy with mousy brown hair and some freckles spotted across his cheek bones.

Gwen half leaned over the counter chatting to him as he took another large gulp of his drink. They seemed to at least be familiar, comfortable even. But not in a romantic sense from what he guessed, and he was rarely wrong.

“Then we'll both go-” He stood. “You good by yourself Dami?"

Damian didn't even bother looking up from his book, just waving them off dismissively.

Dick held back an eye roll and picked up his plate, He puffed up- ready to not so subtly shove Steph in the direction to help.

But right as he opened his mouth his voice was drowned out by a loud blaring alarm.

Eyes were drawn to them from all over the cafe as he cursed quietly, scrambling to pull his phone out of his pocket.

Silencing the alarm as he checked over the message. Oh shit.

It was a five alarm, and he needed to get over there now, no time to rush them home. Fuck and it was in the warehouse district, that was going to be a mess and a half- maybe even a cover up? He'd need to wait for fire inspector reports before doing much else and-

“Dick?" Steph craned her neck to stare him down “Everything... fine?"

Double Oh shit.
Dick winced, meeting her gaze. “I’m so sorry-”

“Wait-don't do this to me.”

Damian finally tore his eyes off his book as Dick grabbed his bag and began ruffling through it.

“I told you I was on call, I really gotta go-” He protested, pulling out one of his spare debit cards and a hundred in twenties and handed one stack to each of them. “This should cover food and drinks until I can get someone to pick you guys up.”

Damian opened his mouth but Dick quickly moved his hand. “Dami don't you dare call a cab or walk home- just enjoy the library and I promise I'll make it up to you with a trip to the animal sanctuary.”

Thankfully all the fight left Damian as he handed the debit card to Steph. “Well now what?"

Dick forced his panic to the back of his mind, the call was bad, he knew that if they bothered calling him in.

But he needed to keep a smile, no need to burden them with tragedy more than they already were. And not to worry about them following him to a five alarm fire.

He grinned, a playful smile and ruffled her expertly styled hair. “Well now you gotta roll solo, but this is far from your first time without backup- now be brave and keep an eye on your brother, I love you both.”

Dick pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and to Damian’s before all but rushing out the door.

He didn't wait for a response, he didn't have time for a proper pep talk or even a consolation- he needed to go and now.

And to his luck, the car window hadn't been broken by the time he came back.

So take that 55% odds!!

Steph held the card in hand, looking over to Damian who thankfully seemed to have taken Dick’s words seriously and wasn't going to flee the moment she took her eyes off him.

Still- what was she going to do?She prided herself on “not giving a fuck” but right now she very much did, give a fuck that is.

But before she could go down her, totally justified, mental spiral, a small finger jabbed into the side of her arm.

She jumped, whipping to face Damian whose eyebrows were creased in complete distaste.

Ah that was his worried expression.
“What's up?"

“I want more food and another of this chai,” Damian demanded. “As for yourself, you look like you could use a warm tea of some kind- and something else easy on the stomach.”

“Are you… trying to help me?" Steph said, as if she didn't believe her own words. Which she really didn't.

Damian pulled his book further up to obscure his face. “Just- go do what you must, I will wait here unless you require my aid- but we should both hope it doesn't come to that.”

Was Damian- trying to wingman her? It was weirdly adorable, but mostly weird.
But if Damian was being supportive then maybe it wasn't just Dick’s delusion… maybe she could do this.

Steph stood up. “Yeah you're right- I've got this!”

“Uh huh- ask if they have any Warbat.”

She waved him off, already walking over to where Gwen and her friend were, their voices becoming clear as she approached.

“- I don't care how rough your week has been, any more shots and I’ll get a chance to test out if the defib in the back works.”

Her friend scrunched his nose and let out a heavy sigh. “As long as Zeek hasn't got his hands on it, I'm sure it works just fine”

“I think the bigger concern is Jerry.”

“Wait wait- don't tell me you guys snuck him into the back?"

“Of course not,” Gwen protested, but when the boy raised his brow she avoided his gaze. “He sneaks in all’ his own.”

“Of course he does-” The boy sighed, hunching his shoulders down.

However the moment Steph drew closer to the counter his head jerked up and locked onto her. She almost froze in place then and there- but no she needed to be brave.

Gwen looked up at her, big brown eyes lighting up. “What's up buttercup?"

Steph died then and there, but still managed to find her voice. “Damian finished so I’m grabbing seconds, and maybe a hot tea?"

“Of course!” Gwen beamed, “Ey Alan- You don't mind me bailing right?”

Alan shook his head, pulling his eyes back to his friend and giving a hesitant smile. “Duty calls, just yell at Zeek to hurry with my fries- I’m a paying customer too ya know.”

It seemed a bit chiding, but Gwen only laughed, he had a humor like Jason then- noted.

Steph followed as Gwen walked back to the other side of the counter and by the register.

“Well to start- What kind of tea do you like?"

“Well what do you have?"

Gwen blinked before glancing over to a wall that- oh god. Steph was face to face with a floor to ceiling shelf filled with jars, cans, or small baggies, each an almost handmade looking label of what she could only assume was tea.

“Y e a h- its a cafe, and Obi’s family are tea snobs, if it can be a tea- we probably have it,” Gwen hissed through her teeth.

“That is- kind of amazing but also holy shit?"

Gwen leaned forward on the counter, her blouse ruffling slightly under the aircon. “When I say I first got the job and was told I had to memorize them? I almost quit then and there.”

“So then why didn't you?" Steph asked, eyes scanning but names and colors blended together.

“Eh, it’s Gotham, worse jobs for worse pay- it’s honestly a pretty good gig.” She got a look in her eyes, something almost somber before falling back on Steph. “So- tea?"

“Um… surprise me?"

Whatever was left of Gwen's somber expression vanished. “I'll have that ready in a jiff-” she said with a wink before turning to the tea mountain.

God she was such a fucking lesbian- but hey despite Dick ditching her, she was doing pretty well. Maybe not the stage of flirting but she was working and she didn't want to assume customer service as mutual interest.

Besides- Damian was playing wingman which was not something she ever expected in her lifetime. But go off little man. Steph looked up- and Damian wasn’t at the table.

Lesbian panic aside, she quickly scanned the room but she couldn't see those telltale black spikes anywhere. Where the fuck was-

“Brown, have you gotten your tea?"

Steph did not yelp but she most certainly did jump, clutching her chest as she turned a glare onto the brat.

“Damian, my littlest brother whom I love and adore,” she said in a sing-song voice, “I thought you were reading?"

“I finished,” he said, refusing to elaborate.

“Wait what- you just picked it up like a half hour ago?”

Damian's lip curled in a slight sneer. “It was less than a hundred pages- to be still occupied would be an embarrassment.”

Steph sighed, of course, “So you got impatient for your treat- ?"

Damian stepped up, mimicking an intimidation tactic from Jay- but it fell short as soon as she noted he was on his tippy toes. “Have you gone deaf as well? I asked if you received your hot tea- it is imperative preventive treatment is taken before you reach the next stage.”

“What the fu-”

Steph cut herself off as Gwen returned, a steaming cup in one hand as she set it on the table “Here you go! It's Oolong, with just a little sugar and honey, it's one of my favorite simple blends.”

Her gaze turned to Damian as she smiled. “Need help?"

“Where are your animal books- I would have asked the friend you mentioned but they cannot be located.”

“Oh shi-oot, they probably got distracted sorting something in the back,” Gwen winced. “But yeah animal books are over there, feel free to harass Alan- I swear he knows this place better than I do.”

“Oh and before you go, here take his drink-” Gwen quickly ducked behind the counter and pulled out a coffee cup, a red sleeve and handed it over to Damian.

Damian put both his hands out to grab the coffee and glanced over at Alan, but did not move yet.

He made a not so subtle nod to the tea and refused to tear his eyes away until Steph took a gulp.

Once she did he nodded, satisfied, and headed off.

“He's a strange kid- cute though,” Gwen admitted with a shrug.

“Oh absolutely, just don't let him hear you say that-”

“Noted-” she chuckled, “and speaking off, which pastry did he want again?"

Steph wracked her brain for a second before snapping her fingers. “He asked about Warbat? I imagine whichever kind that is.”

“Oh yes- I think we have some, it's a different style of Baklava that's cream filled- basically the difference between ice cream and soft serve,” she said, quickly ducking down the large glass dessert counter and pulling out a small rectangular pastry.

“Huh- didn't know that,” Steph admitted as she set the pastry bag aside.

Gwen seemed to light up even more. “Fascinating right? Honestly I've always loved pastries, it was yet another reason I accepted this job- tea memorization and all. And with Obi’s parents being so obsessed with bringing different cultural treats to Gotham, I learned to make so many more treats and really just facts in general-”

Steph paused, waving her hand out. “Wait wait- do you bake everything?"

Gwen tilted her head aside, her angel wing clips barely keeping the hair out of her face. “Well most of it anyways- but Mrs. Fowler definitely helps.”

“That's- amazing Gwen.”

Gwen turned a shade of pink, and this time Steph wasn't as convinced it was just the lighting. “Thank you- but seriously I better stop before I talk your ear off”

Oh hell no-
Steph practically put half her weight on the counter “What no- you can't just offer the concept of baked goods beyond my Americanized imagination and not tell me absolutely everything?"

“Are… you sure?"

“Absolutely.” More than anything else in her life, literally ever.

“Okay okay if you insist, then how about the fact that a lot of desserts in Japan most were actually introduced by western influence and actual traditional desserts include mochi or dorayaki can still be-”

Oh yeah- so sure.

Damian balanced the coffee in his hands- it was warm against his palms and yet the smell of espresso was so strong it felt like his eyes would water if he were any weaker a man.

Damian reached the table and went to fork over this monstrosity beverage but paused. Because on the man's laptop was a very familiar logo.

Drake Industries in big print with the small flying dragon just to the side.

Maybe this outing was not, in fact, a waste.

Alan seemed to be even more focused on his computer, avoiding acknowledging Damian whatsoever. Perhaps he recognized him?

It was not uncommon for the Wayne name to be looked down upon by residents of the Narrows or Park Row, seeing them as nothing more than socialites “playing amongst the common folk.”

A while ago- Damian would have said they were right.
However- A while ago, was not now.

“Are you an associate of Drake Industries?"

Alan startled, knocking his knees into the table. He barely managed to catch two coffee cups from spilling everywhere.

His reaction time was impressive, but then again his perception of “impressive” feats was extremely warped.

“What-?" He balked, looking at Damian as if he was a ghost.

Damian made a small show of swirling the drink in hand. “An associate of Drake Industries? Your laptop has a sticker of the company logo-”

Alan slapped his laptop shut- looking at the back with an expression of mild horror. Had he forgotten his own decor?

“Right.” He grit through his teeth. “So what do you want?"

Damian finally placed the drink on the table. “Well what I want is directions to this establishments books on various animals- as well the barista asked I give this to you as she is occupied speaking to Brown. However I am also intrigued by your connection to Drake Industries- are you one to deny a child their curiosity?"

Alan's face screwed up like he'd sucked on a lemon as he picked up the drink. “Did you poison this?"

Now it was Damian's turn to balk. “I- no?"

God why couldn't Richard be here- Damian was skilled, but not when it came to dealing with civilians who could very easily shut him down with no reprieve.

Something in his tone must have rung true since Alan proceeded to drink the monstrosity, tension practically melting out of his shoulders as his Adam's apple bobbed with each gulp.

He finished with a sigh and reopened his laptop, the small laminated dragon shining, taunting Damian- but he recognized when he shouldn't press.

“Well if you will not answer, will you still aid me in finding a good book?"

Alan didn't answer, so Damian did the rational thing and loudly pulled out the chair across from him and took a seat.

He stared at the man's head as he hunched over, tapping away at his keyboard.

He was probably waiting for Damian to give up. Were he any normal teen he might have- but considering his training in Nanda Parbat and the fact Damian had done stake outs as Robin in the cold and rain, he would not be so easily dismayed.

Surely his investigative skills- he could locate the section himself and browse to his taste. But now it was a manner of principal.

Alan was good- he'd admit that. He played off occasional glances very well, his only give away was just how each time he set his coffee cup down with more and more force.

It was amusing.

About a half hour passed, with Gwen sneaking over his treat since Brown had seemed to have forgotten him entirely.

He'd even finished the treat and his new chai tea without wavering from his staredown to the man.

Finally, Alan's chair screeched as he pulled it back, standing up fast enough to almost startle Damian. Almost.

“Fine fine you want an animal book I'll get you one.”

Alan marched over to a bookshelf just adjacent to where he had been before and without a double glance, plucked a book off and marched back.

He unceremoniously tossed the book at Damian who caught it with ease.

He glanced at the cover and- “A Pocket Guide to Pigeon watching?" Damian asked with a sneer.

Alan nodded, looking amused at his reaction as well. “Amazing and complex creatures, and some we have just about all over- of course I completely understand if its too boring an animal for you.”

That sounded like a challenge- and Damian was tempted, but what did he have to prove? This was not one of his brothers- there was no bragging rights of being proven correct, just satisfaction.

But would that be enough?

“I'm not getting up again- so it's either that or find something on your own and hope you can reach.”

Damian spared a glance to the shelf that, regrettably, was just a bit higher than he could be able to achieve without some skilled moves that would be otherwise unallowed in his civilian form.

He sighed, but as a final petty notion, he also refused to get up. Remaining sat just across from this Alan as he read about pigeons of all things.

Well- as Father said, not all investigations are without their upsets.
And besides, the first page had a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Steph sighed, melting into the counter as Gwen continued to ramble, her eyes sparking like firecrackers as her hands waved around- hair swaying with each motion and the halo blonde accentuated with those angel wing clips had her entranced.

Words blurred, she should probably push herself to pay attention to what Gwen was saying, it was probably important or at the very least interesting, but she couldn't.

Steph was captivated by those deep honey pot eyes, and couldn't help but lean in.
Those pretty eyes… that weren't looking at her.

Steph followed her gaze and felt her soul leave her body as a boy stood next to the counter, a slightly awkward expression on his face as he stood just a bit away. He was tall but baby face she could tell he was young, even when drowned in his red hood and sweats.

Despite bronze skin, Steph could practically see the harsh blush the moment he recognized eyes on him. “Um- hi Gwen, I'm so so sorry to interrupt,” he said, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

Gwen waved her hand out “It's no problem hon- what can I get for you?"

“Mom’s regular please, she's coming home late and I wanna have it ready for her-” He replied, lighting up like the sun and honestly? Steph couldn't even be the least bit annoyed at how sweet he sounded.

Gwen seemed the same, her entire expression radiating nothing but fondness. “Of course Duke- and ya sure you dont need some yourself? You look half dead.”

Duke leaned against the counter, blinking blearily before mustering a bright smile. “I'm all good, just classes kicking my ass- and I thought middle school was rough.”

Steph held her tongue from calling out “Language” on pure instinct.

Gwen laughed as she finished up what looked to be a large hot coffee and set it on the counter, the lid being a bright yellow color.

“Well how about a chocolate chip cookie-”

Duke's eyes sparkled, but he quickly shook his head. “I didn't bring that much cash with me- I walked over ya know?"

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “Good practice never carrying much walkin Narrows, even during the day kid- but consider it on the house.”

Before Duke could decline Gwen had already whipped out a small pastry bag and placed the cookie inside, holding it out.

Duke hesitated to take it, big almost gold colored eyes wide as he stared at the bag. “Are you sure? I have some change so I can at least give something, it's a fundraiser day afterall.”

Gwen tossed the bag, making Duke catch it mid air as she pulled back. “Today is a day of giving yes, so take the damn cookie Thomas and let me continue my ramblings.”

Duke blinked, golden eyes falling on Steph for the first time as his expression lit up into a grin. “Oh hi!”

Steph snickered and waved back.

Duke ducked and in one motion he pulled out a handful of crumpled dollar bills and some change, shoving them in the tip jar.

“I'll be going- thanks Gwen!" He called out quickly before sprinting out, coffee and cookie in hand.

The doorbell chimed as it shut and Steph watched as the kid jumped back, almost running into a taxi- The car beeped as she could practically hear the apologies falling off his lips. He shot a thumbs up to the window before disappearing into the crowded streets.

Gwen laughed, shaking her head with a sigh. “God that kid- I love em.”

“Why can't Damian be that much of a sweetheart?"

Gwen shot her hand out with a knowing look. “Don't let his adorableness fool you- kid is a menace, I swear I've seen him tackle more muggers than most officers.”

Steph balked “Seriously? I mean he's tall but this is Gotham.”

“Yup- but he's born n raised, I swear that kid sees danger and runs at it with glee.”

That amount of reckless abandon reminded her of Damian, gave them all a heart attack at least once a week- assassin training aside. Steph looked at the pastry on the counter, shit how long ago did she get that?

She picked up the bag and turned to their table only to find it empty. Oh fuck where the fuck had he gone now? Did he catch a bus home? Dick was going to kill her- no no Alfred was. Dammit she let lesbian longing get in the way of babysitting.

Steph paused as she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, she met Gwens eye’s with a knowing look as she pointed across the cafe.

Sitting at a completely different table was Damian- one leg crossed over, a book in hand. To anyone else he looked mildly amused, but Steph could tell he was practically vibrating with excitement.

What. The fuck?

Steph quickly walked over, barely recognizing the fact that he was sitting with Gwen's friend Alan and instead focused on the fact Damian looked like- well a kid?

Before she said anything Damian looked up, eyes sparkling and he blurted out, “Did you know Pigeons produce milk to feed to their young?"

Oh my god- he'd finally lost it.
“I- no?"

“They also were used as messenger birds due to their phenomenal homing abilities- especially during several American wars.”

“That's nice Dami, but what are you ta-” Steph winced as Damian slammed his hand on the table.

“Inform Pennyworth that I wish to go birdwatching- he can retrieve the necessary provisions.”

Gwen spoke up, apparently having followed Steph and now only standing a foot or so behind with her hands on her hips. “Alan- what did you do?"

Alan tensed up, avoiding Stephs gaze and oh shit she knew him. Or well sorta- but no mistaking, he was the laptop guy the first time she came here.

“You brushed off the kid onto me-”

“Not a kid,” Damian interrupted, now staring back at his book.

“-The child onto me and he stared at me until I got him a damm book, well I got him a book now what's the problem?"

Gwen rolled her eyes but Steph spoke before she did.

“You broke him.” She said, meeting Alan's light brown eyes and gesturing at Damian. “Look at him, he's broken!"

Alan glanced at Damian and then shrugged. “Not my problem either way- now will you please leave me in peace so I can work?"

“You're always working-” Gwen sighed, bordering on dramatic.

“Because there's always work to be done,” Alan protested. “No rest for the wicked after all, now anything else or can I continue.”

You know what?
Steph couldn't deal. Besides, she did what she came here for. She pulled out her phone and texted Jason demanding pick up.

Thankfully she barely had time to send another mildly pleading threat before Jason's typing bubble popped up.

Asshat: [Ha. You lost him?]
Silly Billy: [no]
Silly Billy: [but i'm about to lose my shit if we don't get back]
Asshat: [Coords?]

Steph sent the address and to her relief got a confirmation and a twenty minute ETA. Well that was just enough time to close on a good note and be able to show her face again sometime next week.

“Alright Damian, Jason’s on his way to get us- ready?"

Damian snapped his book shut and held it out to Gwen. “Brown, give the good woman Richard’s card, I wish to purchase this book.”

“As you command my liege,” Steph agreed, dropping her head in a bow as she waltzed towards the counter once more.

Gwen looked far too amused as she rang up the book, Steph made sure to click max tip and shove what was left of her spending cash into the tip jar.

“All set!” Gwen said as she handed over the paper bag, book inside.

Damian accepted the bag and then quickly riffled through his pockets. He pulled out the hundred cash Dick had given him and handed it right to Gwen.

“Please put this towards the fundraiser total- and do contact me if the cafe does not reach its goal, Wayne Industries will be happy to make up the dividend,” he proclaimed, then turned heel and walked off.

“He doesn't even have a phone…” Steph amended.

Gwen laughed at that, shoving the money in what looked to be a raccoon shaped cookie jar under the counter. Once she came back up she held out a notebook and pen, now looking somewhat shy?

But before Steph could ask what was up- her attention was instead drawn to Damian who had returned to Alan's table. The man looking on the verge of tears at the sight of him.

God Jason could not show up fast enough.

Damian tried to withhold his glee at his new treasured possession. Who knew pigeons descended from such mighty beasts as dinosaurs still maintained such complex lifes and behaviors?

It was fascinating and he had one person to thank.

Alan looked downright devastated when he noted Damian approaching him again, but whatever slave labor he was enduring under Drake could wait until Damian had his word.

Damian cleared his throat, and waited until the steady clicking of keys had ceased and Alan was looking right at him.
His- huh…

Damian hadn't noticed he was wearing contacts. Something he’d learned was all too common in the west, but it was still a bit unnerving, noting that small circle over the eye.

Eyes were windows to the soul after all, and they obscured.

Damian shook his head- he had returned for a reason after all. “I wanted to thank you, and compliment your good taste,” he said, lifting his chin as he spoke.

Alan blinked, glancing aside, his contact even more visible from the side. “Um- thanks?"

Damian nodded, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a small card that he set on the table, tapping it twice with his finger.

Satisfied, he walked away. The deal was set- as his Mother had taught him.
Damian made his way to the doorway, Brown still standing next to Gwen.

God it was as if the whole afternoon they had been glued by the hips, except for whenever Gwen had customers, even then Brown was only a few feet away.

At this rate she was going to infect her with whatever illness she had procured through her own carelessness. While Damian normally refused to interfere in his siblings' antics, he would not simply allow her to jeopardize the health of a civilian.

“You should sanitize your hands,” he said, feeling a small pleasure as he startled Brown.

“Why's that?" Gwen asked, tilting her head.

“I will not allow Brown's carelessness with her own health infect you.”

Steph blinked. “Damian, what the hell are you going on about?"

Damian puffed up his chest, glaring at her. It was one thing to play careless, but to deny when confronted with the facts? That was just disgraceful.

“Your clumsiness, flushed complexion, stuttering sentences, the signs are all there Brown.” He stepped closer. “You are ill, or at least in the beginning stages- and since the hot tea seemed to not have helped, in fact I would say your symptoms have worsened since you have arrived.”

As he spoke, Steph’s entire face turned scarlet, just proving his point. But instead of admitting she had been found, she rushed forward- one hand wrapping around his chest and the other covering his mouth.

Damian thrashed, not wanting to be victim to Brown's infection, but she seemed to gather supernatural strength as she began to drag him away. And he refused on principal to stoop to the low of biting her, however tempting.

He barely paid attention to Steph’s stuttered apologies, face an even more vivid shade of crimson as she shoved Damian to the doors.

“Cmon I can hear Jason's bike from here, now lets go.”

Damian screeched behind her hand, caring not for the stares they received.

“I promise I'm not kidnapping him-” Steph called out. “If I was it wouldn't be this asshole!"

Well now Damian had no choice- he sunk his teeth into Brown's hand, ignoring her yelp and taking the opportunity to leave the cafe. He would need Jason's aid if he wished to deal with Brown effectively afterall.

Steph waved her hand, she could see the teeth imprints, how fucking hard did that brat bite her? Never again- as much as she loved Alfred never again.

Gwen stood in front of her, notebook and pen in hand, her face slightly flushed “Are you... okay?"

“I’m fine-” Steph sighed, “shockingly, not the first time”

Gwen nodded, suddenly turning away and going silent.

Before Steph could ask what was up- a man appeared behind the counter, his silver piercings shining from the lights and holy shit he was built like a brick house, bigger than Jay even.

He met Steph’s eyes, and his expression morphed into what could only be called a “shit eating grin” as he called out “Quit being a pussy and ask for her number already!"

Without a breath passing, Gwen had turned bright red and whipped to him. “Shut up Zeek- before I break your fucking Bat!"

Zeek put his hands up in surrender, but Steph honestly was very occupied.

She- did not compute? Holy fuck had she been hit by some toxin and didn’t notice? Because there was no way this was her reality.
“You um- what?"

Gwen sighed, the fight visibly leaving her. Her hands were so soft… “I would like your number Steph… please.”

Honey pot eyes met hers as she placed the pen in Steph’s hand. “So… is that a yes?"

“YES-!" She winced as some customers turned over. “Yes yes, so much yes um hold on-”

Steph fumbled with opening the pen as she scribbled down her number. And her socials, and she barely held back from writing her social security number.

Gwen took the paper, tearing it off the pad and folding it in half. She stuck it in her apron pocket with a smile. “I'll text you then.”

“Yeah yeah- anytime yeah,” Steph stuttered out. She could feel her phone buzzing in her pocket, and she really did need to catch up with Damian.

“Yeah-” she said, before unceremoniously ducking out the cafe door, her heart still thudding against her chest.

Holy shit-
She can't stop winning.

Tim watched Steph stumble out the door and Gwen practically squeaked as she scurried back behind the counter, dodging Zeek’s attempts to give her an encouraging noogie.

That had been- a lot holy fuck Tim could still feel his heart banging against his ribcage. At least now it was over, and hey Gwen got herself a date.

Did that date have to be Stephanie? No- but the universe hated him.
But that was a fact he'd long since become accustomed too. And just one more thing on his long list of threats to keep track of... yippie.

Add on the fact he forgot he put the damn sticker on his laptop after the third time someone tried kicking him out of his own company building in disguise because apparently he looked like a “lost kid.”

Which was he technically a minor? Yes- but also fuck them.

Of course Damian of all people would notice and decide to bring it up. Thankfully as a civilian stonewalling was a completely valid method of dealing with people. Especially “strangers” in public.

Speaking of Damian-

At the edge of his table was a small card, it was cream in color, but any information had been placed face side down. So he was left wondering unless he wanted to bear the risk of touching the thing.

Then again- he was Alan. Damian had no reason to poison his coffee, or any reason to add anthrax to a random card. Besides, this Damian was… different.

He was more childish- in a good way at least. Still as socially inept as always, but he hadn't been threatened even once so, improvement.

Tim glanced back at the card and well- Fuck it.

He reached out, fingers gracing against cardstock as he slipped it off the edge to get a grip. He brought the card to his face, flipping it over and reading the inked text on the other side.

Tim blinked, flipping the card over again as if it would suddenly become something else, as if the words would change. But no- he knew exactly what this was.

His lungs strained in his chest as Tim held his breath, his shoulders shaking- but despite his best efforts, his will waned as he burst out in belly laughter.

Eyes watered as Tim’s forehead hit the table, entire body shaking in snickers despite his will, but he just couldn't stop. Every time he tried a new fit of laughter started up.

Honestly if he had any less self restraint, he would be concerned about scaring people of a Joker incident.

But as is, everyone there knew him. Or Alan at least.
And they smiled fondly as he continued to smother his own cackles.

Could anyone really blame him?
When he was just given the business card to the hiring manager at Wayne Industries, the company he used to own.

Damian trying to poach his own employees, the little shit. Even better he knew the brat had to have swiped them from Bruce’s desk, he could even see Bruce’s name scribbled out and Damian added instead.

Did he just carry these things around? How many people had he tried to “hire” on behalf of his dad’s company?

God-
Tim couldn't remember the last time he laughed this hard.
.
.
.
.
.
It was nice.

Chapter Text

Unclipped Wings

Scars fade- but even then sometimes when you look, you can tell exactly where it used to be. That reminder now only held in memories instead of a physical sign.

Because that's what they are, reminders. Of simple accidents, dumb mistakes, and sometimes things better left forgotten outside the mark it's made.

Tim was used to his patchwork skin, he was practically an SFX master by the time he'd become Red Robin- but on his team, or with his fellow heroes, he didn't dare cover them.

Scars in their line of work were marks of honor, of battles well fought, and things they survived when they really shouldn't have.

Coming back- he lost so much, but losing his scars had been especially unsettling.

Being robbed of the body he lived but would never have again. Sometimes when he traced his skin, it was almost as if a phantom of a mark was still there.

In this life, each scar he gained was almost a comfort- knowing he could still get them at all. That he was still alive, and healing.

At least, that was what was on his mind, tracing the slightly raised scar on his thigh from the champagne glasses, stitches now just removed. It still stung just a little, but that too would fade.

“There you go, you’re all fixed up,” Leslie hummed as she rolled her chair back, pushing her glasses up after examining the scar.

Tim blinked, finding his way back into his own mind and then met her watchful gaze with a smirk.

He threw his head back, hand on his forehead. “Tell me doc- how long do I have?"

She just rolled her eyes as she began cleaning up the small exam room in the back of the clinic. “You'll be fine- thankfully, but you're lucky the glass didn't hit a major artery.”

Lucky- always lucky.
“Well what can I say, I'm a lucky lucky man.”

Leslie stood up from her chair, bracing on her knees as she walked over, a lollipop in hand. Tim reached out to grab it but instead was hit on his forehead.

His hand shot up, pouting out his lip as she lowered her head to stare him in the eyes. “You're a lucky fool that's what you are-” she said, pressing the lollipop into his palm.

Tim ignored her comment as he undid the wrapper and popped the red sphere into his mouth, rolling it across his tongue for a moment before speaking. “Oh come on what's got you in a sour mood- not happy to see your favorite patient?"

That got a small smirk from Leslie who just shook her head “Favorite pain in my ass more like- but it seems all my favorites keep showing up more and more.”

Tim paused at that- fuck had things really gotten that bad in his absence? He assumed the bats had picked up the slack- they always did when he disappeared normally.

Even if they hadn't, crime had been down for a bit- he hasn't bothered to look into why.

Was it a cover up?
Had he missed something?
Fuck fuck fuck he needed to get back out now.

Tim was snapped out by a sharp twinge on his cheek, blinking as Leslie released her small pinch. “No wandering off while I'm talking to you young man, you sure you don't have a concussion?"

“Nope you cleared me after the gala and doctors orders, no other incidents.”

Leslie raised a brow. “You actually followed through?"

“Of course-” he said, slightly accosted.

Leslie just sighed, a sound that held many years and many more responsibilities. “As a doctor you are cleared-”

That sounded like a “but.”

“But-” Called it. “- As one of my favorite pains in my ass, an all clear also means to still take it easy for a bit, understood?”

Tim nodded, standing up and grabbing his bag- his Alan wig still half stuffed inside. Maybe he had time to drop by before heading into the office and later he could go out as normal with-

Leslie grabbed his hand, so gentle it made Tim freeze up by mere instinct as he turned to her. Eyes filled with an emotion he didn't want to comprehend.
“Tim… promise me you'll take care of yourself.”

“For once?" he joked, trying a smile, but she didn't laugh.

Tim sighed, his shoulders dropping as he turned to face her completely. His hand still in her own, it was warm. “I promise I'll do my best.”

Leslie shook her head, but he could see the ghost of a smirk as she patted his hand. “That's all I ask-”

He waited until she was the one who let go, her hand falling to rest against the off white of her doctor's coat.

Despite being at the clinic almost every hour, it was always expertly pressed. Tim was half convinced she had an ironing board stashed away somewhere he'd yet to find.

Leslie stepped away, walking over to the door and ready to leave so Tim could do his back hall escape.

But right as she left Tim took one step forward, the noise of his shoe against linoleum making her pause and look back at him just a moment.

Tim wrung his hand against the strap of his bag. “See you soon?"

“Ha-” Leslie smirked, pointing a finger at his chest. “Let's hope not too soon.”

Tim nodded as the door closed shut behind her, the room now bathed in artificial blue light.

The responsible thing would be to enjoy his day off and spend the afternoon relaxing at the cafe.

It would be easy, to make that call, follow through on his promise to Leslie.

Tim paused as he heard a small sound.
tap,tap,tap

He turned to the skylight window- a familiar silhouette casting a shadow into the room.

Wisp tilted her head, one eye peering down at him and fluffing up her feathers, as if ready for flight, but she didn't leave yet. A bird goes with the flock after all.

Tim chuckled, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth and tossing it into the can in one smooth motion as he yanked open the outside door.

A small whistle sounded as he felt Wisp settle down on his shoulder. She let out a happy coo, nestling into the side of his neck as he stroked her chin.

It would be easy- but he couldn't take it if someone got hurt because he was ‘taking it easy.’

Besides- he’d promised a lot of things in life, but one thing many people learned the hard
way- Tim always found a loophole.

The city breathed as its residents slumbered, each tucked away safe. Others, well, they came alive during the night- and not always for the right reasons.

Arthur wasn't from Gotham- he didn't know each alley and its residents by heart, he couldn't identify a toxin by the smell of the wind, and worse, he couldn't filter between the normal city noise and a threat.

An outsider's weakness. He swore people could tell, and one thing that had gotten his ass handed to him many times. All the more reason he should’ve packed his bags and went back home years ago.

But hell- what kinda job would accept a guy who dropped out of high school and whose job references were gangsters?

It was supposed to be an easy shift- but one thing he'd learned since ending up in this damned place, nothing was ever easy.

It was all hands on deck for the latest shipment overseas, drugs not people- he was a degenerate but not a monster.

But of course as soon as they'd almost wrapped up, he saw his buddies stiffen up just mere moments before the skylight shattered.

It was chaos.

The way Batman jumped in and out of shadows taking down each goon with such precise ease was terrifying. Even more so compared to the fact he kept vanishing even when looking right at him.

Not even two steps behind stood Robin with a sharp tongue and sharper blade who wouldn't hesitate to use either, already bolting towards his first victim as they both managed to cut their crew in half.

The other half quickly ran to the supply room- Arthur in tow as they tried to salvage what they could.

But as soon as he heard the gleeful cackle and saw a flash of dark blue, he jumped away- right as a row of crates came toppling down on half of the crew.

Standing on top was Bluejay.
He made a show of popping the collar of his leather jacket, a wicked grin only half covered by the dark blue almost black helmet that was strikingly similar to the Bat himself except without the pointed ears.

Tufts of black curls waved as he leaped onto the ground, a bat in hand as he swung at a set of pipes and bathed the room in smoke.

Arthur fought his way past the fog, barely dodging a swing from Bluejay’s bat as he advanced to another group.

He and another pair managed to make it to the supply room itself and barely had a glance of relief before Nightwing came careening down from the rafters and all but crashed on his coworker. Crashed if it wasn't for the practiced ease he landed and flipped the man over his shoulders, into his partner and crashed them both into another row of crates.

Call em a coward- but Arthur knew he would be just another number to the booking list that night if he didn't find a way out and now. There was no respect for deserters, but hell if he cared if these people respected him.

So he did what any sane man would do, hiding in the smoke from the busted pipes; he grabbed a duffle bag loaded with enough crack to get him several month's rent and booked it.

Well- at least now the only screaming was coming from his legs as he sprinted across the far side of the warehouse district.

Arthur continued to push until it felt like his limbs would fall off if he continued much further. His back pressed against the inner wall of a hopefully abandoned shipping container, he let himself breathe.

Of course every breath was almost drowned out by the lapping of waves as the harbor crashed against the concrete walls nearby.

Well- this was far from the best. But it could tide him over until sunrise- then he could take his stash back to his apartment and figure it out from there. Just needed to avoid a bat.

He reached into his side pocket and pulled out a small blade. A butterfly knife, a gift from his cousin a while back. He'd been so proud to show off all his tricks.

Flipping the knife, the blade glinted slightly and the weight was comforting in his hand.

It wasn't a gun- but he wasn't really looking to kill.

Arthur sat there for a while, the wisps of sleep beginning to crawl into his mind and try to bury his thoughts, but he fought to stay coherent.

Then again, who would find him? Bats were too busy dealing with the rest of the crew- they wouldn't care about one guy who slipped away.

A sound from the edge of the container had Arthur sit up with a start, knife in hand and ready to fight tooth and nail.

But instead of some druggie sniffing out their next fix it was-

“A fucking pigeon?" he whispered to himself, staring at the bird who stared back.

It ruffled its feathers, wings puffing slightly as it scratched at the dirt below. Damm fucking thing gave him half a heart attack. What was it even doing so far from downtown? He'd expect a seagull or something.

The bird continued to look at him- taking a few shuffling steps forward. It paused,
examining him, and then let out a coo that echoed off the walls and dug straight into his skull.

It continued to coo and chirp and rustle. It was just a damn bird- he should care less, but dammit was it annoying and, well, Arthur didn't much want the company right now.

He adjusted his elbow and in one fluid blow, chunked the knife at the floor just next to the bird. The knife hit and clattered to the bottom, the sound ringing out inside the container as in a flurry of feathers the bird took off and into the distance.

Arthur sighed, standing to his knees and leaving the bag further inside the container as he walked over to fetch his knife.

Just his luck anyways, getting startled by a damn bird. But thankfully now it was quiet, except for the sounds of the city and its harbor of course.

But right as he picked up his knife, A sound cut through the noise, a sharp ticking as something scraped against the outside of the container. It made him freeze on instinct, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

Quietly as he could, he raced back to the bag, knife in hand. Sweaty palms clutched to the strap of the bag as his eyes darted around wildly, he could feel his heartbeat in his chest.

But the sound had ceased. Damnit- Gotham noise had him on edge.

It was fine, no one was really-
click

What was?-
click click click

The sound drew closer, repeating, always a beat of three as it echoed into nothingness.

Scraping against the outside metal sheet started up once more, the occasional tinking over grooves made it sound like claws being dragged across.

Arthur’s chest seized, one hand reluctantly releasing the bag as he instead covered his own mouth.

He didn't dare make a sound, hopefully whoever or whatever it was would move on, and soon.

Then as before- they stopped.
The silence was scarier than the noise.

But he looked at the end of the container, nothing but rolling fog and the vague outline of the city in sight. Could he risk it? Better to run and hope his legs carry him then risk being trapped.

Arthur stood up, muscles tensing, he could feel the sharp sting in his jaw from just how he was clenching his teeth.

Slowly, he wrapped the duffle bag strap over his shoulder and began to take slow shuffling steps closer towards the light.

He shuffled, then paused.
Listening.
Waiting.
And then started up again.

It felt like time warped as he finally drew closer to the edge, moonlight peering through the clouds smiling onto his face. He looked around; it looked clear.

Then, in one rare moment of bravery, he took a step out, whipping his head to where he last heard the sound and… nothing. Not even a stray cat.

Arthur let out a huff, his breath joining the fog from the harbor as he beat himself for getting so worked up. He'd survived this long anyways.

Gripping tightly onto the strap, he turned- ready to make his way to somewhere else or bear the trip back to his place, better than whatever the fuck that was returning.

One step- and then
click click click

He spun around, almost tripping over himself as he peered at the top of the storage container. As soon as his vision focused, he felt his heart drop.

Perched on top, silver claw-like hands gripped onto the edge with force, its legs half hung over the side and yet balanced perfectly.

The dual long winding crimson cloths, waved in the wind, seeming slower than the breeze itself and yet staying afloat.

Arthur could recognize it as humanoid, sure- somebody in a costume, he could see the belts and the staff clutched against those jagged silver claws. But looking at its face- god its face.

It was a mask, one resembling a plague doctor, a modern iteration at least- a symbol of pestilence with those red glass eyes that almost shined as it tilted its head from under the hood.

He knew who- no what- this was.
And it was no Bat.

Cardinal jerked its head aside, the clicking sound emitting once more alongside an eerie humming, almost like a birdsong but distorted and wrong.

One of its hands loosened its grip, instead tapping its claws against the edge of the crate.

A small ting ting ting ting sounding out as it slowly connected each finger with a metal scrape.

Arthur couldn't take it, he wanted to run but he knew damn well he wouldn't be fast enough. He had long since abandoned the wisdom of his mother, the words that bore into his skin and left their mark- and yet their message remained.

He was not a religious man, and yet when faced with the devil he resisted the urge to beg to a being who he had long since fallen out of favor with.

“Begone foul beast, you have no power here!!" Arthur yelled, pointing his knife up. But his normally booming voice fell short against the silent figure still perched, still clicking its claws against the metal.

To his horror, it straightened, drawing its legs tight as it stood atop the box. Casting a shadow down upon him as its torn cape continued to whip around from the breeze.

“A Beast you say?" Its voice echoed, modulated of course, yet nonetheless it sent another chill up his spine.

“You-” Arthur's throat tightened as the words struggled to fight their way through his panic.

“Me?" Cardinal parroted, and he could practically feel the wicked grin under that mask.

A whistle of wings sounded out and Arthur dared to tear his gaze away from the figure and over to the powerline that stood just far enough from the harbor to be in code.

Perched on top, half a dozen birds- pigeons, gulls, crows, others he didn't even recognize from just the glance he took.

They were all staring, expecting, probably to feast in what remained of his soul when this thing was finished with him. No man met Cardinal and returned to the force the same, if at all.

He wasn't a lucky man, but he'd be damned if he didnt take that chance while he still had it. “What- do you want?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, and faster than his mind could comprehend the motion, Cardinal had leapt down and landed on the crate below. It approached, now just a few feet away from Arthur.

“I want?" Cardinal parrotted again, before leaning forward just a tad. “What.. you have.. to give-”

What the ever loving fuck did that mean? Arthur’s grip tightened on the duffle anxiously and oh.

“You- you want fuckin drugs? You robbin me?" Arthur blinked, his grip tightening even more, though now on the hilt of his knife.

Cardinal tapped its silver claws against the side of its thigh and like a magic trick he'd seen as a kid, a small cylinder sprung into an impressive staff. It was dark, almost rusted looking, and yet he knew to be wary of it.

“Tainted-” Cardinal said, pointing at the bag. “Was.. trap, let me take… you- go home”

The humming he hadn't realized was there ceased as it- they said, words like a promise. Their staff was out- and yet Arthur didn't feel like it was a bomb about to go off. But how could he trust them?

“The fuck you mean it was a trap? Who the hell would poison an entire metric ton of crack, you'd kill all your buyers!" Arthur protested, unconsciously taking a half step towards Cardinal.

“Not from Gotham… death.. To some worth it- remove competition.”

Arthur looked at the bag, it had several pounds, enough to split and sell for thousands to hundreds of people. It would keep him fed and housed for months. But if this fucker was right- it would kill all of the poor saps he sold to.

Fuck.

Cardinal took half a step forward and Arthur held his knife out again, the comforting weight felt heavy.

With a magnet click, the staff was stuck, fully extended, onto their side. Silver claws lifted up, hands passively in the air as red glass stared him down.
“You.. good man- not want… on conscience.”

Arthur laughed, a bitter sound as his knuckles were turning white. “A good man? You don’t even fucking know me.”

“You trying.” Cardinal said, like it wasn't a question “Arthur… Mullins… From Chicago- you come Gotham… why?"

Arthur stared them down, he didn't have to answer- he knew that. Fuck, he was just tired. “I-”

He looked down at the bag, and no longer was it an easy pay day. It was just a burden, and just as rotten as the rest of Gotham made him. He didn't care if Cardinal was lying at this point, he just wanted..

“I don't know anymore.”

Arthur swung his arm, and he let go.
The duffle bag fell at Cardinal’s feet as he flicked the knife open, swinging it over his fingers as it snapped shut with a loud metal click.

“I'm not a good man,” Arthur said. It wasn't a question. “But I don't want anyone dyin just cuz I’m too stubborn”

Cardinal snapped their staff off the side and lifted up the duffle bag strap, silently inspecting the contents before slinging it over their shoulder. They looked at Arthur, unblinking.

And in a blink, Cardinal was mere inches away- silver claws wrapped around something, beckoning.

Hell- what else did he have to lose?
Arthur held his hand out.

The claws felt cold as they pressed against his hand, but they moved with a level of care he hadn't felt in a long time. Then all at once, pulled away.

“Hard but need- Keep… trying-” Cardinal’s voice echoed.

Arthur examined the blank crumpled paper in his hand, looking up to ask one of the dozens of questions he still had only for- nothing.

He was alone. His eyes darted up to the wire and most of the birds had all but departed. Except for a lone Pigeon, the same one he'd scared off- and by its side, a bright red Cardinal.

Arthur uncrumpled the paper and did his best to process the words.
It was a number, a support group for ex criminals, and a list of businesses that would take in people even with his record.

He paused, rereading the paper over and over as if one more time and the contents would change, but no, there it was. Resources, a way out of this hell he'd made for himself.

Because for some fucking reason that being saw something he didn’t see in himself.

Arthur turned to the harbor, the waves seeming quieter now. “Hell… what do I have to lose?"

With a final flick of his knife, he slipped it back into his jacket pocket, and began the long walk back to the bus station. He was ready to enjoy a warm bed, and for once- be brave enough to face tomorrow.

Cardinal watched as the man disappeared into the distant fog washing on land from the harbor. And the night went quiet once more.

They reached into their side pockets and pulled out a handful of bird seed. A quick jerk of silver claws scattered across the roof to the small flock had gathered. Most eagerly dove in to enjoy the treats, the crows especially going after the sunflower seeds they'd added in with the colder weather.

Dusting off their hands they leaned over the side of the building, feeling gravity shift as they let themself drop.

Wind around them whistled as it battered around the long crimson strips of cape falling behind them like tattered wings. The sound only crescendoed as the ground grew closer, and all went silent.

The world around them slowed, and moonlight glinted off the grapple gun as it fired off, hooking onto a crane as they soared.

They flew, riding each powerful whip of metal cord and letting their non-existent wings carry them up and away as the sounds of the sea faded, replaced with the bustling of the Gotham streets below.

One extra hard push, they leapt from the side of a metal scaffolding, setting the grapple onto their hip. Claws clicked together and a small whirring sound started up- and in one swift descent their hands shot out and stuck against the side of the building.

Gravity continued to weigh as they scaled the building with ease, magnetic clicks sounding as they reached the top.

They swung their body over the edge, stretching like a cat as their claws dug into stone and hefted them up. Satisfied, they perched on the edge- the sounds of Gotham slipping away as the upper air chill took hold.

“Coo?" A flutter of wings as Wisp perched on their shoulder, barely hesitating to grab onto the scarf wrappings around their neck. She made quick work of maneuvering the fabric until she could comfortably nestle against their neck.

With a sigh Cardinal reached up and under the jaw of their mask, flicking a small switch. Their hand came back down and moved one of the cape tails to cover Wisp.

“Here you go girl, help with the chill-” Tim's voice came through, quiet but there. “Even though you can’t even feel the cold.”

Wisp, not caring for his sound argument nipped at the edge of his clawed gloves and burrowed further into the fabric.

Tim rolled his eyes, lifting his wrist as he pried up one of the armor straps and revealed his screen. The tips of his clawed gloves folded back as he began to quickly type in information, a quick mission summary report for his own files and to reference when he wrote his note dropping the whole duffle bag of poisoned drugs at GCPD headquarters.

The Bats seemed to handle the rest of the supply and from his own surveillance no one else had come within his area. Of course anyone else sneaking away wouldn't be a problem since those cams wouldn't be shut down from his tech.

But all in all- pretty good night. He just hoped that guy took his advice. It was a wonder he'd recognized him, but seeing that face again after seeing it only once before, in a back room of a coroner's office after an entire crew was killed after a rival sabotage.

He hoped he made it this time around…

With a moment to rest he quickly went over his supplies, a few smoke bombs short, some ball bearings, and- dammit his spare rebreather was busted, then again it was his spare- and he had the one installed in his mask.

Tim typed a note on his computer but paused as a small light caught his eye. He glanced up and oh it was sunrise.

He carefully nudged the scarf, earning an annoyed chirp from Wisp as she poked her head out. “Check all assets, No Bats within what region?"

Wisp paused, cocking her head and then a small automated voice called out “No Bat presence within… ten miles-”

Perfect.

Tim did once final glance around, a final check he was alone. Then again who else besides a bat would be on the top of a giant building in old Gotham. Bracing himself on the edge of his third favorite Gargoyle, Tim was careful not to jostle Wisp as he moved closer to the edge and let his legs dangle off.

Moving his hands under the jaw of his mask, and with a quick click, hisssss he pulled away the doctor's mask.

The cold air hit him as he stretched his jaw. His eyes adjusting to the sky without a red filter over them. He still wore a mask on the lower half of his face, the rest covered in eye black. But it felt nice without the extra layer.

A breath, and the unmistakable sound of gravel shuffling.
Tim yanked his mask back in place, bo staff ready as he whipped around to face the rest of the roof.

Only to find- oh

Tim lowered his mask, looking at the small gathering of birds that had seemed to follow him from the docks. They always seemed to flock around him eh?

Most weren't even his birds. But then he started carrying seed around and well-

“Take your treat ya brats” Tim huffed, dumping what was left in his seed pocket and scattering it behind him, letting the birds enjoy.

A flutter of wings as they each began to dig in, while Wisp just continued to huddle inside the wrappings of his scarf.

With that he settled back down onto the stone edge, feet dangling as he stared out at the city skyline, sun just beginning to peak up the distance and drown out the cloudy moon.

Tim reached under his scarf, pulling a clasp off his armor chest and lifting out a small box. he pressed the sides which expanded as he adjusted the lens on the small camera.

He lifted the camera to his face, eyes adjusting as he framed it to the Gotham sunrise, a flock of birds coming in from the distance as the city was beginning to wake up once more.

Tim pressed the button, and the image was marked in more than just his memories.

Chapter Text

There’s something about the stars, thousands of lights, split up in their modern eighty eight constellations. Stars further than most minds comprehend, and some of which long since reduced to dust- and yet their light still shines down upon the earth.

They marked the minds of millions, billions if you include those turned to dust themselves. Though the skies they once knew by heart have long since morphed into something unrecognizable.

Still, a mark of joy even in their absence from the light that remains. It warmed something deep in his soul that he didn't bother trying to identify.

“Oh woah was that almost a smile?” Barry said, half leaning forward off the bench. Streaks of blonde hair sticking up as if he'd been electrocuted… which was not entirely unlikely.

Bruce stayed silent, refusing to dignify a response. To which Barry only made a show of scooting even closer, bit by bit, until Bruce let out a heavy sigh.

“It was a.. not scowl,” Bruce replied, letting himself lean back and ignoring the cracks that rippled up his back.

“Well that's the not scowl that means mild wonder- so what's worth wondering? Admiring the stars right- I swear no matter how many times I see them even from back on earth they never fail to look stunning!”

Bruce paused, just long enough to process that no, he had not reached the “hours without sleep” mark to experience hallucinations, and nowhere near the neurotoxins that plagued Gotham’s streets.

Last he checked of the ship's guide, they were still a galaxy or so away from earth.

“Explain.”

Crystal blue eyes sparked, literal lightning sparks seeming to zip across the iris as he split into an eager grin as if he had been dying to explain, which he probably had.

He could have held a hand out and changed his mind. Taken it as a he “didn't need to know” fact and moved on with his evening until they got back.

But Bruce didn't have the heart to shut him down. For how much Flash got on his nerves, their last mission was- rough. Intergalactic relations gone sour, with several threats towards the entire Milky Way and its allies. It was tedious, but necessary.

Barry's energy, while a bit much at times, was comforting.

“There's this chart.”

“A chart?” Bruce parroted, turning away from the stars and facing Barry directly.

Barry just nodded, seeming to accept that explanation as reasonable. Of course he knew it wasn't, he was just doing it on purpose. It was an easy out for Bruce, but he’d already committed.

“A chart, Barry?” Bruce said, leaning in a tad closer. Though his normal intimidation stick didn't work on any of his coworkers, not since their impression of him had changed from “entity” to “father of too many.”

“Wally gave it to me.” Once again, as if that explained everything.

A blink. “And is Wally suddenly an expert on my facial expressions enough to categorize them in a chart?"

“Of course not-”

“Of course not,” Bruce sighed, fighting the urge to rub the bridge of his nose, but he'd just had it reset a few hours prior. “Then who did?"

Given a few more seconds, Bruce might have come to the conclusion himself, but speedster thinking was an anomaly in itself and he'd rather not bear through those unnecessary seconds.

“Dick made it.”

Of course, as if his eldest would deny an opportunity to give him hell, especially within the league. “And let me guess, Dick gave it to Wally?"

“World's greatest detective right there!" Barry cheered, clapping at super speed which ended up just sounding like a buzz.

He only ceased when the distinct sound of one of the shuttle doors rang out, perking up like a dog at whoever entered.

A flash of green was all the warning he got before instincts kicked in, hand shooting in the air to grab at- “A protein bar?"

Hal shrugged, half leaning against the doorway “It’s for Mr. Mighty Metabolism over there-”

A blink and Barry had already snatched it and started chowing down, practically moaning at the taste.

“Why throw it at me?"

“Because I hate you, and it's funny, and we both know it wouldn't have hit you anyway with your weird ass ninja moves,” Hal replied, listing off each finger before pausing.

“What were you guys talking about anyway? Oooh, scowl 38- ‘mad at my kids’ right?"

Bruce was proud of himself for holding back a very justified eye twitch. His mission had taken more out of him than expected then.

“I doubt my own son would betray me and give you the chart- so then who?" Jason maybe but he preferred Stewert if anything.

Hal paused, raising a brow with a much more smug expression then Bruce would like. A beat passed and he ever so slowly turned to Barry, his cheeks puffed up full of granola, who just shrugged.

“Who else has access to this… chart,” Bruce grit out, though he was more minorly annoyed than anything else. Besides, a leak of information to analyze his facial expressions? Could be pretty serious.

“Fuck if I know,” Hal shrugged, pulling another bar from his bomber jacket and tossing it to Barry like playing fetch with a dog. “I know Diana has it, and she probably gave it to Clark by default- though he doesn't really need it, natural Spooky translator that one.”

Barry finished his third protein bar and paused whilst unwrapping the next. “Oh, I know J’onn got it from Clark because he kept apologizing for misunderstanding you-”

“-And I'm pretty sure he gave it to Arthur, who probably gave it to Shay Shay.”

“I'm sorry, Shay Shay?” Barry said, voice quickly going up several octaves. “Dude! How are you still in one piece?"

“Well, according to Diana, she appreciates my ‘pathetic dog energy’ as the kids say-”

Bruce paused, fighting every urge to knock them both out. Or maybe it would be easier to knock himself out.

“I.. don't think kids say that.”

“Well our kids will~”

“Hal, do me a favor and please be quiet.” Palming for his utility belt, Bruce was reminded of its unfortunate absence.

“What no cherry on top?” Hal batted his eyes before waltzing over and laying himself halfway across the bench, his head in Barry’s lap.

Out of everyone in the league, with Hal's time in the military and Barry's all around touchy nature- it wasn't uncommon to see them clinging to one another. He’d gotten used to it. Didn't mean he wanted any part of it though.

He didn't mind the occasional pat on the shoulder, but constant physical contact from anyone who wasn't one of his kids was hard on a good day, and it had been a long week.

Bruce shifted, just slightly further away from the duo. Thankfully having learned his boundaries over the year's, neither commented and continued to chatter away.

He glanced up at the navigation screen, only a few hours out. But not nearly fast enough.
Could he justify an accelerated speed?

It would be risky so close to Earth, but if he timed it just right he could change the entry axis by a few degrees and miss, but that would shave off at least two hours from the journey and in turn would-

He was cut off by a hand wrapping around his wrist. Jerking his other hand he paused moments from breaking the offending wrist, well if he could.

Clark just smiled, that disarming midwestern one he used to his boss and old ladies intimidated by his stature. Bruce met it with a scowl as he slowly allowed his hand to be pulled away from the navigation pad.

“What do you want?”

“Hmm, maybe for you to not send the ship hurling into the sun because you’ve reached your social limit?”

Bruce just scowled, and by the glint in Clark’s eye he wondered what number that one was. Dick had officially been demoted from favorite child for the day.

“I would have made it.”

At that statement Hal rolled over, still half on Barry’s lap and now- Diana? When had she even-

“Wait wait Spooky, like I love this little ‘will they won't they’ thing we got.” No, just.. no. “But I mean come on you can’t be THAT over my company.”

“There are multiple factors in why I believe returning to Earth as soon as physically possible would benefit us all.”

“And is one of those factors Clark’s correct observation that you have reached your social limit?" Diana pipped in, betraying him.

Bruce just let out a classic “Hmh-” and trained his eyes back on the navigation system, begging the clock to run faster.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better-” Hal sighed, shuffling across Barry's lap just enough so he brushed against Bruce thigh, it felt like his skin burned from the unexpected contact. What was it- overstimulation? Jason had researched it.

“Constantine doesnt have the chart- because fuck the British.”

Barry gasped, slapping Hal's chest. “Dude!! Batsy's Dad is like the most British guy in the world,” he whispered without lowering his voice.

“And? Just means Agent A is the exception for the colonist bastards-”

Bruce regretted taking off his utility belt for the sheer fact he was without Kryptonite and too bone deep exhausted to fight all of them off whilst maintaining the delicate hyper speed guide that wouldn't send them into the sun.

Diana let out a booming laugh, and the normally soothing sound was just a tad too loud. She continued to laugh, slapping Hal's leg- and from the slight and all too satisfying flinch, she hadn't held back her strength to her fellow hero.

“While I too enjoy partaking in the verbal desecration of such colonist bastards- I did come for a reason. Shayera has requested your presence, Hal.”

Like the dog he was, Hal practically jumped up from Barry's lap, dusting off his shoulders with a grin. “Oh? Where shall I find this lovely lady?”

“I cannot say- she insisted that if you were worthy of talking to in person, you would have no trouble finding her amongst the other crew on board our ship.”

“Already at the worthy talk?" Hal sighed, though it was more wistful. “Well, as fun as it is making your eye twitch, Spooky, looks like I've got a date.”

And without further prompting, he quickly exited the room, Diana hot on his tail as she shot dual thumbs up to Bruce. She was his new favorite.

“Do you think Shay actually asked for him?" Barry asked, half sitting up and rubbing his thigh.

He could practically sense Clark’s noncommittal shrug from behind him “Likely not, she's never one to enjoy being bothered after a hard mission- but then again company might be exactly what she needs.”

A moment of tense silence passed. It wasn't often Bruce left a mission feeling rattled but too many close calls and being away for as long as they had, everyone was on edge.

He could see it in the way Barry had forgotten to eat, how Hal had seemed to seek contact from his friend and antagonize Bruce- searching for that familiarity. Even Clark and Diana didn't shine as bright as they did on other days.

Bruce hadn’t even spoken to half of the other members, but the air on the ship felt- stiff. As he said, several factors contributed to him wanting to hurry their expedition home.

He knew it was only a matter of getting back and getting some well needed rest. Most of the issues would solve themselves.

Barry, never one perturbed by silence, gave a small somber smile. “Two birds with one stone then, thank god for Diana- I was sure Batsy was a dick joke away from putting us in holding cells.”

That felt a little dramatic. “That would be an extreme misuse of our resources, and a damper on our energy supply to contain so many people.”

“Don't say you weren't tempted.” Bruce said nothing. “That's what I thought,” Barry replied, seeming self satisfied.

In a classic midwestern move he had gotten all too accustomed too, Barry slapped his hands on his thighs with a loud “WELP-” as he began to stand up “-my leg’s half asleep and I'm starved, so time grab some grub- later Spooky and Boy Scout respectively!"

Then in a more literal flash, he was gone- probably to track down J’onn since the martian was the only one not perturbed by his eating habits and could even keep up with his intake compared to the rest of them.

Clark chuckled, patting Bruce on the shoulder. “Well- I best make sure the emergency rations go untouched until we’re well within Earth's gravity.”

The Kryptonian stood, wincing just a bit as he straightened and Bruce paused in his brooding just long enough to raise a brow.

Clark, ever observant even without the damned chart, just smiled. “A n d I'll stop by the med center to double check before we reach the Watchtower.” Bruce raised his brow a touch higher.

“And inform Lois I'll need a few days off to recover-” A beat longer. “And I'll let her know why so she can yell at me on your behalf for shouldering an entire space ship because Oliver dared me I couldn't.”

Bruce nodded, turning his attention back to the ship's countdown- though each tick of the clock no longer felt like an eternity.

He could hear Clark’s footsteps retreat, pausing only a moment at the doorway “Do me a favor Bruce- don't touch the guides unless necessary, just call Diana if someone gets on your nerves that much”

Bruce didn't turn to him, a small smirk gracing his lips in the reflection of his keypad
“No promises Kent.”
_________________________________________________________________

The light of a dozen screens bathed the brick walls of the clocktower, the only shadows cast from the figure in the middle, shifting her rolling chair to each monitor, hands flying across the keys, each click more like a symphony than a cacophony.

Or, well- it was music to Babs’ ears.
Especially once the full court document that was “lost” by the new court prosecutor popped onto screen, attesting to a man's innocence. Her fingers danced to the side, forwarding a copy to several sources.

The man would be freed within the hour, if her father had any say in it- even less.

She leaned back- chair rolling slightly as she let the tension that had built up slip down her shoulders and back. The movements felt a little stiff, but at the very least her spine had stopped screaming at her for existing, so a win.

A small creak and her eyes shot back up to the screen. Without a pause, she called out, “One of those better be for me,” turning to the shadows painting brick.

A beat, and then stepping out of her shadow, Batman melded out, a cup of coffee in each hand as he approached.

“Of course. I'd rather have my credit cards work, thank you very much.”

Barbara let out a small snicker as she eagerly accepted one of the drinks, her other hand reaching over to the edge of her desk and picking up her cane. In one motion she locked the end onto another chair nearby and shot it towards him.

A moment before the rolling chair came crashing into him, Bruce’s hand shot out and grabbed the end, quickly spinning it around and taking a seat, his own coffee in hand.

Babs took a sip, and tried not to let her expression show, but of course sitting across from the Bat he noticed instantly.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, sitting up a little. “ It's a half caffeinated latte, I even got the extra caramel.”

“No no it's- the order is fine,” Babs replied as she set the drink aside. “I guess my tastes have just been ruined for subpar coffee.”

“And a fourteen dollar latte from Batbucks is suddenly subpar?"

“Compared to hand ground imported mixtures for half the price, yes,” Babs said, taking another sip of the drink before coming to terms with the fact she couldn't deal with the taste and setting it aside.

“Where might this new and improved place be?" Bruce asked, taking a long sip of his own Batbucks cup with a little Riddler caricature face drawn on.

“It's called The Sleepy Kitten; Steph got me a drink there just a little over two weeks ago, and I never looked back.” Babs paused, about to drop the topic as girl talk and nothing more. But she could see the tension where Bruce carried himself, and the way that Batman had yet to slip away completely.

It was Oracle's job to be a bastion of knowledge, and why hoard all that knowledge if you can't use it to terrorize those you call family? “I think she's flirting with a barista at a local cafe and is using buying me coffee as an excuse to go at least every patrol.”

Bruce blinked as the Bat slipped away and left a concerned and mildly horrified father. Justified, from what she recalled of the boys' dating lives. “Oh.”

“Don’t worry, she’s clean,” Babs added. Sure, her check was surface level, but it confirmed she was nothing more than a civilian. “Besides, I get coffee, Steph gets to visit her new favorite barista- no negatives here.”

“That-” Bruce paused, eyebrows furrowing. “I can't say much since she so adamantly rejects respecting me as a father figure.”

“You are a father figure, she just refuses to respect you-”

Bruce let out a small chuckle at that, moving his cup to his lips but pausing just before a sip. “Speaking of my children in all capacities, how are they?"

Babs paused again, pushing up her glasses just slightly. “Isn't Dick usually your source for interpersonal updates? Or did you assume his information was faulty for whatever reason- because I can say since you’ve been gone, I haven't been bribed into any coverups.”

Well, there was the situation with the giant penny, but she hadn't needed a bribe after Jason sent her the security footage.

Bruce didn't answer- and suddenly she was forced to accept a whole other situation. “You did speak to Dick right when you got back right?"

The man took a very pointed sip of his coffee which made Babs sigh. “What happened?"

“I know about the chart.”

Oh yeah that- huh, she’d forgotten about that thing. “And?"

“Lantern got his hands on it,” he explained, spitting the name like a curse. Though she knew better. It was more a ‘manner of principle,’ as Damian would say.

“Oh-” Babs said, trying not to laugh at his clear distress.

How was everyone? Well they were fine as far as she was aware, Jason had classes, Steph her new almost girlfriend, Cass had been FaceTiming regularly and was fascinated when she almost got mauled by a wild tiger… best avoid that detail.

“Same old, Dick had a rough call about a week ago, massive warehouse fire- another reason I think he'd appreciate seeing his dad.”

Bruce tensed just slightly but nodded, good.

“Other than that and Damian’s new bird obsession,” Babs hummed. “I’m half convinced he and Jason have constructed a dove cove and are keeping it hidden in one of the spare manor rooms.”

She ignored Bruce’s “Wait what-” as she pulled up one of her monitor screens.

“As for myself, I just found the missing evidence for the Arccardo case.” She rolled her chair aside just slightly as Bruce scooted up next to her. “After your investigation was cut short, I had Bluejay do a search to the prosecutor’s summer house and wouldn't you know it- the convenience store did have their USB security footage stolen.”

Barbara spun her hand around and suddenly there was a usb, rolling between her fingers. She let the metal glide across each knuckle before handing it over to Bruce.

He examined the USB and smirked. “I suppose this found its way to Batman?”

“Oh of course, and by extension, wouldn’t you know it- the ever helpful Mister Dent happily took on the case, pro bono- after having been handed the evidence from Batman himself.” She chuckled to herself, “That there is the spare.”

Bruce set the USB back down on the desk with a shake of his head. “So then I take it Harvey had fun pretending to be me for a few nights?”

“Of course- and he kept trying not to squish Damian’s cheeks- but the kid was just so focused on his role of protecting his Uncle.”

“Damian?”

“With either Bluejay or Nightwing a few rooftops behind at all times, of course.” Babs waved him off. “Trust me, I’d rather have Uncle Harvey continue to consent to being your body double. It’s just more convenient for everyone involved.”

“Don't have to tell me twice.” Bruce paused, his eyes going a bit soft as he reached his hand out, settling it on her shoulder with a firm pat. “Good work out there. Keeping everyone safe, and going above and beyond for the mission.”

Barbara smiled, “As per usual?”

“As per usual,” Bruce parroted, “but I do have one question- how did you get the idea to recheck the prosecutor?"

“Why Bruce- all that credit goes to our favorite little bird.”
_________________________________________________________________

Little bird.

Bruce took a moment to process the words, even with the espresso now making its way through his systems. But it was less a click and more of a firecracker set off as he leaned forward, chair creaking under him as he examined the file report on screen.

“Cardinal is back?"

“They were only gone two weeks Bruce, nothing too unfamiliar from them-” Babs pointed out, not moving her eyes from the screen, face still bathed in that electronic blue, “but yes, they’re back officially, even dealt with a bag of drugs as well, drugs that slipped past the rest of the flock.”

Her fingers danced across the keyboard, and the main screen crackled to life, security footage of a warehouse right as the planned raid had taken place. Each small square was an entirely different scene- where his kids fought fiercely.

Bruce didn't restrict a fond smile watching Dick throw himself off a support beam to take down a goon, or Jason’s bat swinging into pipes and filling the room with steam to aid in Damian’s sneak attacks.

It was especially humorous watching Harvey jump in and out of shadows- not throwing a single punch and yet managing to “take down” dozens of goons by sheer intimidation and enough smoke screen to disguise Robin's hits as his own.

Thankfully, his old friend had years of experience imitating him, otherwise he could practically picture the idiotic grin on his face making seasoned thugs run away screaming, especially those who usually cursed his existence as the rare symbol of “non corruptible law” in Gotham.

Then he watched as one man, managing to slip past each one of them by sheer luck alone- grabbed a duffle bag and booked it.

The screen changed to the perspective of the alley’s cameras nearby, all blurry of course. Having good security in Gotham was a careful balance to protect yourself but avoid having the mob knocking at your door.

All at once, the screens fizzled and turned to static.

The static sound ceased as Barbara clicked the monitor off. “The duffle bag showed up at GCPD headquarters about an hour later.”

“And the suspect?"

“Arthur Mullins- he was a non violent offender, so of course as per usual the only update we have is footage of the man going to a local crime recovery support group and now on the bus for his new job at Drake Industries.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples slightly. As much as he had grown to… respect Cardinal’s work, it was aggravating how easily he let these criminals go.

It was better than taking justice into their hands to kill or maim, but pardoning just about everyone they saw fit- it was hard to just accept it.

But despite his reservations, Bruce never interfered as long as they weren't reoffending. He'd gotten that lecture from his Jaybird more than once.

A long pause as they stared at the screen, now moved to a few seconds before the static. It was quiet, almost serene compared to how his week had been thus far.

The serene atmosphere was broken as Barbara whispered just under her breath, “It drives you crazy,” he paused and met her gaze. She was smiling- albeit a strained one, “doesn't it?"

Bruce smiled as well, “You say that as if it doesn't drive you equally insane.”

“True true-” She paused. “God I really wish I knew what the deal was with the birds-”

“Oh god don’t even bring them up-”

But there was no stopping her now, “You- you remember Nightwing freaking out over only having one tourniquet- during that?"

“And a random gull dropped two down to a civilian nearby?"

“I- the cameras weren't even cut out,” Cardinal hadn't even been close by, “and Bluejay caught the bird- it was real- it bit him and it took Batgirl and a large fry to get it to leave.”

“They all are, real-” Bruce insisted, and at her raised brow he pointed a finger defensively. “Trust me. I checked- many times, in fact.”

“But are you sure,” Barbara said, voice bordering on manic desperation.

“What do you think!?" Bruce snapped back, matching her tone with a hand in his hair. “At this rate I'd accept Cardinal being a pile of birds in a cloak!"

They both met eyes for a moment too long, and crumpled into dual fits of laughter. His deep chuckles were accentuated by lighter fitting laughter- which grew louder, deeper and higher. Until they were both leaning on each other, eyes filling with tears as their lungs strained to keep up the exertion.

It took a while to compose themselves. Bruce let out a sigh as he relished in the small burn from his cheeks, strained from his grin. Babs' laugh filtered off and she quickly wiped her eyes and straightened her glasses.

“So I take that as you still made no progress finding them?"

“Bruce, if I ever get even an inkling of a hint of an idea of who they are, you’ll be the first to know so I can rub it in your face.”

Bruce let out one last chuckle, shaking his head as he reached down and picked up Barbara's cane that had fallen to the ground, setting it back on the side of the table.

“Now enough shop talk-” Babs proclaimed as she scooted her cane further along the desk and tapped the edge of Bruce's now mostly empty coffee cup. “You need more than caffeine to stay upright. You should head home, I sent a message to Dick you’d returned the moment you walked in here.”

Of course she did- “And let me guess, Alfred as well?"

Barbara just smiled, so sweet, and yet so vicious. “Now- we have the night handled, its Bluejay and Spoiler’s shift, so go home, talk to Dick, and prevent Damian from procuring a whole army of pigeons.”

Pigeons?
Alfred refused payment, but his father deserved a raise.

And it was in that moment, offered the rest he'd craved, the opportunity to hang up the cowl and get some sleep for the first time in recent memory, that he could feel the exhaustion of those long weeks pressing down against him and, well, he knew when he crossed his limits a few too many times to be healthy.

“You promise it's handled?"

Barbara opened her mouth, a reassuring look on her face. “I pro-” But speak of the devil, right as the words left her mouth Oracle's screen lit up.

An Arkham Outbreak alert on full display.

Without skipping a beat, Barbara slipped away and Oracle took charge, spinning around and quickly flipping through her screens faster than Bruce could process. An almost uncomfortably long pause that left him on edge ceased with a sigh.

“It's just Riddler Scarecrow and a few low ranks, and after his last supply went up in flames Scarecrow will probably be headed underground for now so he shouldn't be a problem for a bit.”

The lower rank escapees would stand no chance against any of his kids. But Riddler, Edward Nigma, while most certainly not the most dangerous of his rogues, was someone meant to be taken seriously lest you face the consequences. Gimmicks and all.

“I can handle it.”

“You can handle a much needed rest, and the emotional responsibilities of being a father for your children, who rely on your strength- that you need time to replenish instead of running ragged across the streets of Gotham,” Barbara snapped, tearing her eyes from the screen. “Go home Bruce- and trust Jason and Steph, trust me.”

“I do-”

“Then go home- we’ll be fine.”

Bruce hesitated a moment too long; even whilst exhausted, his mind was running on overtime. In that one sentence, it ran through every circumstance, every memory of how fast things went from fine to horrors that kept him from sleep.

How many times? And how many more times had he not been there? There were so many what ifs- no matter where in the city, it would never take him more than a half hour. But in thirty minutes, eighteen hundred seconds, so much can happen.

Bleeding out can take less than five minutes, 300 seconds. He remembers back then, the time he almost wasn't fast enough, thirteen seconds clicking down as he carried his baby boy's limp form out of that damned warehouse.

It had almost been too late.

“Bruce.” Barbara's voice cut through and snapped him into attention, meeting her gaze.

A beat, green eyes boring into his soul, challenging.
In those eyes he saw Batgirl, the kid who refused to take no for an answer, who fought, not like a man and a boy who had lost everything- but a girl who had everything to lose.

He saw those eyes in that hospital room when he'd even tried to suggest she step back into the light and away from the shadows of their nightlife.

Even after the unimaginable burden, she showed the fight that still burned like an inferno and refused to be snuffed out.

Those eyes that had seen so much, and still shined with a determination stronger than he'd known what to do with- and that had grown far beyond him.

That girl, into a woman, and a leader- one that he couldn't be prouder of even if he didnt know how to voice it.

Eyes, challenging him. Not as a rebellious mentee, but as an equal.
What else was there to do, but yield?

Bruce sighed, his shoulders dropping just a tad. “Alright, Batgirl, you win.”

He tried not to smirk at her baffled wonder at the name, one she hadn't been called in so long. But he could see the satisfaction emigrating from her very core.

With a whisk of his cape Batman disappeared into the shadows. But instead of heading to Gotham’s institute or streets, he headed to the hills that made up the upper side and where the Wayne Estate nestled near the coastline.

Jason was saved, he’d made it- his boy who was in danger in the first place because he had not trusted his kids. He wouldn't make that same mistake again.

Besides, they'd be fine.
If not? Big sister was watching over them.

Chapter Text

Gotham was a shit place to live, full stop, end of story.

The air tasted heavy, the humidity falling in waves even though the harbor was far from sight. It filled just about every inch of the city in what others would probably consider a “smog”.

The beautiful harbor waters were polluted beyond most scientist comprehension, the ground itself was practically profane, animals and plants were out for blood. It was eerie, and cold, and half the year was bathed in cloud cover so thick you questioned if the sky ever was really blue.

That wasn't even getting into the astronomical crime rates or the fact that getting an education made you more seen as a threat than with any level of respect.

Hell, there was a mugging just about every block every hour of the night. And the so-called “scoundrels” that walked Gothams streets were about the most trustworthy people around.

It was ridiculous to the point of hyperbole, but it was home.

High above the streetlamps, nestled alongside the gargoyles that watched over the city as long as Gotham was a whisper in the streets. Where the humid air brought the scent of sea and rain, and the humm of engines below like a purr across the streets.

It was peaceful.

“-And god her eyes they’re like honeypots, did I tell you what she said when she first saw me?" Steph gasped out, half dangling off the ledge with just her arms wrapped around the torso of Jason’s second favorite Gargoyle.

He glared, even though he knew that it wasnt that visible from under his helm. It was the thought that counted.

“Yes she called you Gotham's finest,” he said, doing a horrible impersonation of Steph’s voice. “I remember, just like I remember the last fourteen times you told me about your girlfriend just this week.”

Steph floundered, her grip slipping slightly as she scrambled back on the roof, the part of her face that was visible colored bright pink from where she had her under mask pushed up.

“She's not my girlfriend- we haven't even gone on an official date yet!" she protested.

Jason twisted his wrist, his bat making a small clink as it bounced off the concrete divots. “And yet everyday you aren't in class or on mandatory patrol, you’re at that coffee shop.”

“It's only been two weeks!” Steph huffed, letting go of the Gargoyle as she sat back on her heels. “Or well, one week since she met me- so I havent been a lesbian disaster that long.”

Jason paused, and chose violence. “So we aren't counting last month? Or the Ivy incident, or the train kidnapping, or when Harley got the smiley piercing, or when supergirl was dared to lif-”

“Okay okay you made your point!” Steph yelled, half shoving him over, though she only succeeded in making him knock over a few pieces of gravel. “God you're so homophobic-”

That got a snort, two seconds in texts with really any of his friends would disprove that in a heartbeat, but she knew that. But he couldn't just let her off scott free.

“And you’re a bitch.”

Steph turned, a sneer taking up her face. “Takes one to know one bitch boy.”

He kept her gaze for a beat before a small snicker slipped out and he leaned back further away from the edge. “You got me there-”

A moment of pause, though more out of boredom than anything.

There was only so long Steph could last keeping her not-yet-girlfriend out of her mouth, and only so long Jason could listen before deciding pushing her off the roof was worth the lecture.

Then- a miracle from god, or well a goddess, his comm sparked to life.

“Come in Indigo team?" Oracle's voice came through.

Jason didn't hesitate to click his jaw to the side, activating his end. “Blue here, what's the status Mama bird?"

“Don't call me that.”

“Sorry Mommy-” Steph chimed in and Jason bit his lip to hold back another snort.

Used to their bullshit, she steamed on without missing a beat- rattling off information, an Arkham outbreak. Just Crane and Riddler, then a half dozen no names. But definitely just what was needed to spice up the night.

“-And thats- north… got…. Tree-...subway?”

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” Jason paused, “You cut out on my end.”

He turned to Steph to make sure it wasn't just him but she had her hand held to her earpiece so yeah, not just in.

There was a pause, then a static crackling on the other end. “-llo? Hello? Can you hear me”

“You’re coming through now, is there something interfering with the signal?” Steph asked, her previous joking slipping away at what could be a serious concern. Comms didn't just fizz out.

“Not that I can see from my monitors, but if the issue keeps up I may have to go offline to fix it-”

“Would we be alerted?”

“Not likely unless you try reaching out to me and get no response.” There was a clack of keys from the other end. “But in the case comms stop performing, the proximity frequency should keep you two in touch no matter what- and worst case scenario, activate your beacon.”

“What would you consider… an emergency?” Steph asked, glowering down at the list of escapees on her screen. “Because I do not want to deal with Calender Man shaped like a fucking globe-”

“I don't think he's had enough time to whip up an on theme costume,” Babs added, her voice sounding more distant.

“A wig for Mother’s Day then? Shouldn't be too hard to find- please god let him wait and be someone else's problem.”

“True, but there's Cinco de Mayo?" Jason offered, scrolling through the list and making mental note of the faces they’d need to hunt down tonight. “Though most people just use it as an excuse to get wasted.”

“Again, Mother’s Day, bottomless mimosas to drown out the parental guilt.”

“I mean the man's name is Julian Gregory Day- he's gotta have some mommy issues tucked in there, though I imagine he wouldn't last ten minutes with the wig on before crying.”

“Please don't full name the rouges,” Babs commented sternly.

“Bruce does it-”

“Because that's his way of trying to remind them of their humanity, it’s your way of a passive aggressive mockery or a thinly veiled threat.”

“Okay and?"

Babs let out another heavy sigh, and Jason could faintly pick up on the sound of wheels as she pushed her chair back from her desk.

“Look- speaking of Bruce, he just got back, and I just about had to shoo the man out of the clocktower with a broom.”

Bruce was back? Last status report had turned a two day mission into two weeks, and yet he still didn't expect him back so soon.

Before so much as a hello to any of them he decided the mission took priority once more.

Then again he'd rather deal with a B who was at least somewhat coherently rested after a rough mission then raw dog an interaction so soon after their last disagreement.

Though Jason was still totally in the right for giving Black Mask hell that week. Even if it was “venting out frustrations” after the stupidity with Drake.

“Please tell me Bat isn't about to show up and we have to drag his ass home,” Steph said, trying to hide the concern in her tone.

“He better not be,” Babs sneered with enough venom to remind Jason why he respected her so much. “Besides, I sent him to go check on Dick, we all know it's been rough...”

Fuck- right. Jason hadn’t even heard about the whole incident until Dick had pulled the “pineapple” “I’m dead fucking serious” codeword asking him to pick up Steph and Damian. It wasn't until baby bat let slip about a work call he decided to check in and it was- bad.

An entire apartment complex went up in flames, no one died thank god- but several people were hurt, including one of Dick’s close work friends. Apparently it was “his fault” because the self sacrificing dumbass took not being able to save them all as his own burden.

Jason tried to help where he could, but there was only so much to say. Hopefully Bruce, even with all his emotional repression, would be enough to lift at least some of that burden up.

He paused for a moment, noting the silence and Steph staring right at him. He shook away the last of the pit in his chest and tried to joke into the comm.

“So no summoning the big Bat away from the nest unless in a life or death situation in the hypothetical situation you need to cut off comms to fix em? Lest we face your unfathomable wrath, of course."

A small chuckle from Babs and the tension seemed to dissipate, for now at least.

“Exactly, though hopefully the tech issue solves itself without needing a full reboot,” Babs said, muttering a bit under her breath something he couldn't make out.

“Now then, I just sent you pin drops of assumed locations for three of the escapees and a probable identity on a Riddler fun house. Crane shouldn’t be an issue tonight but keep an eye out, okay?"

“Whatever you say Mama bird.”

CLICK

A n d- Yup, she hung up on them.

With a swing of his legs, Bluejay hooked his bat over one of the guard rails behind him and used the momentum to hop up onto his feet.

Spoiler, a smidge less dramatic, just did a small backflip. Her hand resting on her hip as she waved around her comm. “So- what playlist we going for?"

Bluejay paused, glancing down at the list once more as he popped the collar of his jacket. “Well- it’s just you and me, pick whatever the hell you want. Time to actually listen to some good fucking music, huh?"

An all too gleeful smile was the last thing he saw as Spoiler adjusted her mask to cover her full face and pulled up her comm, typing way too fast for him to read before tucking it into her utility belt.

Guitar started echoing through his helmet just a beat later. “I hopped off the plane at LAX with a dream and a cardigan-”

Oh yeah- this was gonna be a fun night.

There was nothing like dropping off an entire borrowed van's worth of small-time criminals at Arkham with Mr. Saxobeat blasting through the speakers.

It was worth it for the absolute devastated look in Gordon’s eyes knowing exactly who they were (though unspoken for plausible deniability of course, but they knew, and he knew they knew) whilst being helpless to do anything but wave them in the gates.

Steph half leaned out the window, enjoying the feeling of wind washing over her even with her hood up as Bluejay skirted around corners and took a “shortcut” every two blocks or so. Advantages of knowing the city.

About fifteen minutes passed, tearing down the Gotham streets and watching the streetlights flash by before they screeched to a stop in a seemingly barren parking lot outside what looked to be an old factory.

Bluejay threw the van into park and popped open the hood as he hopped out. She followed and watched as he yanked something out and slipped it inside his jacket pocket, zipping it shut.

“What's that for?”

“Well it’s a lot of hassle to steal a car that won't start, besides I'm sure Mister Mallory will want his deposit back.”

“I don't think you have any deposit on a stolen van-”

“Probably not, but hey, gotta show some courtesy to those who have enough common sense to surrender right away,” Jason said, patting his pocket as he began walking towards the factory doors.

Steph took a moment and shut the hood before following after, looking up at the towering doors, probably meant to accommodate some machinery being moved in and out.

Of course it looked like just about any desolate factory, the old chipping brick, panel windows half smashed with rocks or balls, and random graffiti tags all over- some half covered by the overgrown weeds that surrounded the place.

The only hint it wasn't just your run of the mill crackhouse was a banner half draped outside with the words “Fun and Games!!" spray painted on and tons of arrows leading inside.

“This is one hundred percent a Riddler trap right?"

“Oh absolutely,” Jason replied with just a bit too much excitement. “But better than chasing the fucker down-”

“Oracle come in- any update status before we head in?" Spoiler asked, pausing when she received nothing but static in turn.

“Guess we're going in blind- but nothing we haven't dealt with before.” He walked forward with a purpose, pressing a gloved hand to the door but pausing just before pressing it open. “You down to play?"

That sounded like a challenge- and one that she would never turn down. So with a puff of her chest, Steph marched right up to the door and put her hand right next to his.

She held his gaze, channeling every bit of serious professionalism she had. “Quit stalling and open the door pussy-”

Jason paused, shaking his head. “God you're such a bitch-”

Then, before she could retort, he shoved the door wide open.

Inside was pitch black, though the moment they both stepped in, the doors slammed shut with an echoing bang as they were blinded with several spotlights glaring down at them.

It took more than a moment and some frantic blinking before their eyes adjusted to the room around them.

It was, well, a factory, except the conveyor belts had been covered with- stuffed animals?

Teddy bears, mostly, but she could make out a few rabbits and cats. They were all layered, almost on top of each other on shelves. Some were even posed in various scenes like a window shop display.

All of them were obviously older, and didn't look as much like the “cookie cutter” dolls you'd find now. Some even had little outfits sewn on, or wear stains showing that, at one point at least, they were loved.

The only ones that looked somewhat newer were the ones scattered around the factory machinery itself. Some purposefully placed, one by one, in a line along the conveyor belt. There were entire belts of near identical bears but one row with missing arms or eyes.

It was- a little unnerving once you looked beyond the minor wonder of what looked like an off brand santa's workshop.

“What the fuck-” Jason muttered under his breath, looking at a small trolly cart filled with headless plushies.

“Oh don't tell me you’re scared of some dolls?” Steph teased as she began to waltz towards some of the bears.

One in particular caught her eye, it was almost black brown in color, with little black thread paws and big blue bead eyes, half covered by its own fur. She paused, looking at the bear and slowly reached her hand out.

“Spoiler wait-” Jason called out but she ignored him.

She reached over to the small bear, carefully gracing across the off faux fur. Of course she couldn't feel from under the gloves, but she imagined he was soft. Lifting it up, there was a little shift of weight like beading.

As her hand adjusted, she felt something hard. It was a metal key. She shot a look at Jason who was still standing in the middle of the scene, glancing around and twisting his bat around. But he said nothing.

Slowly, she turned the key, feeling the pressure build with each twist until she was satisfied and let go.

A small tinking music box lullaby began to play out, it felt unnaturally slowed and some of the notes were off, but its melody sang out just as strong.

“Ah yes… You are my sunshine- Adorable, right?” a voice called out, one that was distinctly not Jason.

Steph’s eyes shot to the rafters above as a new light flicked on, a light bathing The Riddler in all his glory, smiling down, cane in hand with a giant red button hanging just next to his head.

“Welcome, welcome my dear players, apologies for this being all I could pull together last minute!!" he projected down with a gleeful chuckle.

Steph glanced at the wall of boards, covered in wildly accurate blueprints for various stuffed animals. Yeah- last minute her ass.

“Now now, first we have to make sure you’re all ready to play!" Riddler laughed, and before either of them could react, he snatched the remote mid air and slammed down on the button.

Steph watched Jason whip around, bat raised and ready for whatever rope or weapon would come firing at them. She could see nothing. Slowly, she set the bear back down on the pile.

But right as she went to pull her hand away, suddenly it wouldn't budge. She looked down to see a bear, one of the new ones like on the machines, it had its little paws wrapped around her wrist.

“Bluejay…?” Spoiler called out as she grabbed onto the paws and tried to yank them off. Thankfully they did, but before she could even take a full step back- it launched itself at her from the pile of other bears.

With a yelp, she barely managed to dodge away, scrambling back onto her feet. From the corner of her eye she saw Bluejay swing his bat in the air with a yell, several identical bears now lunging at him.

She looked at one of the higher belts as one of the rabbit’s stood up, and moved to jump right on top of Jason. “Look out!" she yelled.

Jason cursed, but swinging his bat in air, she could only watch in horror as the bunny landed on its target, fluffy arms extendeding and wrapped under his arms like the straps of some fucked up backpack.

Spoiler rushed forward, ready to help, only to feel the impact moments before fluffy arms wrapped around her waist.

Her arms darted down, ready to tear the stupid thing off but instead was greeted with a far from pleasant shock. “Ow what the fuck man!!"

Riddler gasped. “Language! My little critters have little ears and shouldn’t be exposed to such filth.”

“I'll show you filth-” Bluejay snarled, trying to force his bat under the bunny rabbit's arm to pry it off, only to curse loudly and drop his bat.

Well- fuck.

“Don't worry- the little friends are just a safety precaution, and they shall release you as soon as you win my little game.”

“And if we don't win?" Spoiler sneered, already half tempted to reach for her beacon just so she didn't have to deal with this bullshit.

Riddler’s smile only grew, one of his hands leaving his cane to grip the edge of the railing. “Why- if you're not clever enough I think a little shock therapy might fix you right up!"

Double fuck.

“Fuckin fine-,” Bluejay groaned, “what game are we playing?"

Riddler grinned even more, swaying in place like an overexcited child. “Oooh a fun one I assure you!"

“Rules are as follows, no attacking the host- but of course my little friends will help with that.”

Maybe they could cut the wires of his platform? Of course they’d (probably) catch him before he fell to his death. And then they’d avoid all the bullshit.

“You will work together to solve my riddles one by one, each in order giving a clue for the next- but of course if it’s too much for minds such as yours, I will provide clues whenever prompted and I feel it’s appropriate.”

Trying to be subtle, Steph reached for her belt. But the bear's arms tightened just enough to be uncomfortable, only loosening as her hand moved away. Damn- so much for that.

“Now that that's settled- time starts now!!" Riddler said, tapping his cane against the metal and with a small flash, a giant screen below lit up displaying a little more than an hour, the timer already beginning to tick down.

“Be careful which little ones you mess with! Some hold essential clues, but others are sleeping and will get very cranky if woken up from their naptime!" He laughed, sounding far too amused.

Well- so much for a boring night on the town, but by god did she wish they could at least listen to music while dealing with this bullshit.

Bluejay had already begun to examine the first “task,” just a set up of torn up bears that needed to be put together based on blueprints. “You coming to help or what?” He grumbled, but paused when he caught her eye.

“I could- b u t…”

He paused, glaring as he turned to her “What could possibly be the but here?"

Spoiler said nothing, just keeping his gaze and making a small nod towards Riddler. She was good at a lot of things, hell she was great at puzzles, but they were just- annoying.

Hell, the overlap between riddles and daddy issues alone was enough for a migraine.

But she could be useful in other ways, like reminding Riddler that they weren’t just stuck with him, he was stuck with them.

She saw the moment he got it- lips curling into a cruel grin as he gave a single nod, turning back to the task. A light as green as Christmas in the middle of May- except in, well, April.

With that, she waltzed over and sat atop one of the conveyor belts, keeping both Bluejay and Riddler in eyeline before turning her attention to the latter.

“So- Eugine.”

“I- wha- my name is Edward!” He balked then quickly shook his head. “No no it’s Riddler!"

“Whatever you say Edwardo, anyways-” Steph said, waving him off as she crossed her legs. “How familiar are you with the mastery that is the MARINA discography?"

Despite the annoyance of a bright pink bunny rabbit clinging to his back and preventing him from chunking a batarang at the stupid highrise Riddler waltzed on, Jason was honestly pretty calm.

It was easy to focus, especially enjoying the entertainment of Stephanie terrorizing Edrick between giving him riddles that turned out to be horrible puns, throwing random parts at him, and constantly correcting his own name- it was good background noise.

Even as the timer ticked down through each task, more annoying than the next, he knew damn well no matter what he was not going to call Batman.

The first task was easy, go based on the blueprints- find some bears that didn't meet “quality control” and toss them aside. Get a dozen “perfect” bears, put them on a display and apparently the magnet bases helped unlock a drawer.

Inside was a stupid note, in code of course- which Spoiler took a pause from tormenting Edgar to help him solve.

They found the “previous owner’s” key card stuffed inside the head of the lone dog plush an apparently “discontinued model.”

Which hey- you gotta respect Edwin’s dedication to keeping the lore consistent.

Another magnet puzzle, one bomb to defuse strapped to a robo dolls head (which Steph also tried to chunk at Eddie, didn't make it though because of the damned backpacks) and one where they had to organize a dozen dolls by what year whatever music box song they played came out.

Honestly this was a vacation at this rate. And he'd only been attacked by “waking up” a few robots like a dozen times. Thankfully, a few bat swings and they were down for good.

It took about forty minutes, according to the ever ticking monitor clock, and they just had one puzzle left.

“This is just a picture frame,” Bluejay called out, holding up the frame he had received as the last “clue” after finishing the music box puzzle.

Riddler, who looked moments from bashing his own brains out with his cane while Spoiler rattled on, lit up like an overexcited puppy. “My my- are you asking for a hint my dear player?"

Well he was- but he was not one to turn down being an asshole to well, an asshole.

“No, just making conversation.” He smirked, then whistled to get Spoiler to turn to him. “Hey Purple- what do you think?"

“It's a picture frame and there's an entire wall of ‘family photos’ with the bears, we just need to make our own family picture,” Steph said, moving over and gesturing to the pile of bears.

“So grab whoever looks like our masks, set them up, and then throw it on the board, where I imagine the final solution needs the game master's confirmation outside the magnet latch connected to the thumb tack we’ll use to attack the picture, right Edwyn?"

Riddler just deflated. “Perhaps…” he muttered out, looking like he was half ready to just accept defeat.

Bluejay nodded, looking at the pile of bears and already spotting an itty bitty black cat with a trademark scowl. “Well that's simple enough- mind helping for once?"

“Hmm- if you’re that helpless, I suppose.”

A big dark brown bear with its arm half stitched back on sat in the center, to the left a duo of darker brown bears- one with a little sailor outfit and the other in a newsboy get up.

To the right a pure black cat with a little ribbon bow sat next to a slightly bigger tan bear with round glasses and a pure white bunny with a purple neck ruffle.

In the front, Jason set down the black kitty plush he’d spotted at first right next to the-

“Wait- whose this meant to be?" He asked, holding up the brown bear with striking blue bead eyes- he half guessed it was the one Steph had picked up earlier.

“That's-” Spoiler paused, taking a moment before walking forward and taking the bear from his hands. “I- actually have no idea…”

Jason looked down at the bear, it was dirty, torn in more places than worth stitching back up- and yet its fur still looked soft and those eyes stared back.

“Whatever- we only have a few minutes left, so let's take the damn picture and get these dolls the hell off of us.”

Steph nodded, setting the bear aside and snapping the polaroid of the rest seated.

It took just a few moments of waving the picture before it was fully developed and pinned right next to the wall of other faded staged photos, all adding to the “story” the Riddler was trying to tell.

Riddler sighed, but ever the performer put on a big smile as the clock counted down the last ten minutes- only to fizzle out and be replaced with a “CONGRATULATIONS!!" in big bold lettering, animated confetti shooting across the screen.

“Congratulations players, you have won and proved you are smarter than the average bear hue hue hue,” he said, chuckling to himself. “Well, a promise is a promise, and I do respect those who follow my rules.”

Once more, his hand reached up to the remote by his side and pressed a button. The relief was instant as Jason felt the furry arms detach and flop to the ground as the rabbit's red eyes turned dull.

Spoiler groaned as she stretched her back, kicking her bear companion to the side with a grin. “That wasn't so bad.”

Bluejay paused, walking back over to pick up his bat and smashing down on the rabbits chest, just in case.

“God- overkill much?"

“I won't deny it, but I won't apologize for it either,” Jason sighed back, turning his attention to the Riddler.

“Alright- we won, now come on down because if we have to chase you into these damn rafters it won't be pretty!"

Normally he'd expect at least a little restraint, a loophole where he'd agreed to remove the backpacks but not to give himself up. Annoying but predictable. Though he wondered if Riddler could make a run for it faster than he could snap one of the supports on his lift.

But it seemed the hour of Spoiler’s psychological torture was enough for him to lose most of his fight.

“A good player knows when it’s game over, I surrender,” Riddler sighed, holding his hands up, cane in hand.

“Huh… that was easy,” Steph commented, tilting her head. She took a step, ready to begin dragging his jester ass down the stairs and back to the van.

Bluejay watched, glancing back to the bear that had been set aside, just a few feet from the rest of their half assed “family” rendition. But before he could dwell, he spotted a flash out of the corner of his eye.

The screen, displaying the big CONGRATULATIONS and shining down on them had started glitching. Damn- had Riddler really cut corners with tech?

He was bathed in red as the screen completely changed, now displaying the bold text. CATALYST OVERRIDE ACTIVATED

“You- motherFUCKER!!" Bluejay yelled, watching the bear that had just detached from Spoiler suddenly sit up again. Only stopped as he slammed his bat down on its head, sparks flying as the circuitry was destroyed.

More and more of the damned things began to hop off the conveyor belts, clawing and leaping their way towards the center of the room. Barely thirty seconds had passed and already Bluejay was being bombarded from all angles.

A loud scream came from his right, but it was not Steph.

He smashed a bear into a steel beam and risked glancing up. Spoiler was flipping down the staircase, batarangs flying and pinning several toys to the walls nearby as the Riddler practically cowered behind her.

“Shut them off!" She screamed at him, attaching a small grenade to one and chunking it at a swarm of his friends, stuffing flying everywhere.

“They were deactivated the moment the game was won, they’ve gone rouge!!" Riddler moaned in utter horror. His scream only growing as one latched onto the edge of his question mark.

Edwin’s scream pitched up as he wildly swung the staff, trying to shake off the rabbit that was slowly clawing its way closer- stuffed jaw opening to reveal rows and rows of metal teeth.

Spoiler growled, snatching the bear with her bare hands and chucking it across the room. “Dammit there's too many!” He saw right as she reached to her belt, more instinct than anything.

Bluejay swung his bat, half denting a pole as he smashed another one to bits. “We are NOT calling fucking Batman!!"

She balked, sparing just a moment to glare at him. “That wasn't- this isn't the time to be stubborn!"

“I'm not-” he huffed, smashing another one, “being stubborn, we can deal with this ourselves!!"

“Oh my fuckin-” Spoiler yelled, frustration coloring her words. “It’s not about if we can, it's that this is too much and I’m already low on Batarangs from earlier!"

“We don’t need his damn help!"

Bluejay enjoyed the crunch as another damned bot smashed to bits, parts flying and sparking across the room. The moment didn't last even a beat more before even more came. But he would sooner be down on his knees than dare call.

He saw it in their eyes, the exhaustion, the pain, when he just couldn't be better. When he wasn't strong enough to fix himself. It took years for them to finally stop looking at him like it was a miracle he came home every night.

It seemed to reset just about any time he pressed the damn beacon, and he would be damned if he dared treat it as anything more than an absolute last resort.

“-THIS ISN’T FUCKING ETHIOPIA!” Spoiler’s scream shot a bolt down his spine, materializing in a physical flinch as he whipped to face her.

Her mask was half undone, one glove missing and a giant bite wound visible as she glared down at him. “I fucking get it okay, but you can’t keep pulling this shit- I get they’re assholes who will take any opportunity to coddle you and in turn, make you feel like some helpless weakass damsel, I get it.”

Her face contorted into rage as she snatched Riddler’s staff, ignoring his yelp as she spun the wood, slamming into an entire row of bots and sending them flying with a feral look.

“Constantly having to fight to prove to them, to yourself that you can fly solo- that you aren’t weak enough to rely on their help every fucking moment, but goddammit I won’t let your self pity party end up with both of us benched!"

Jason balked, ignoring the batarang soaring right past his helmet and mechanical screech as he continued to stare at her. Fuck- fuck had he really been that bad?

“I'M CALLING BATMAN!!" Riddler warbled, reaching for Spoiler’s utility belt only to have his hands smacked away by his own cane.

“No dammit!" She turned back to Bluejay. “You’ve been a sulky asshole for the better part of a month, now get the hell over yourself and help me fix this!”

Right as she met his eyes, she was suddenly knocked off balance by another bear slamming into her side. Bluejay could only watch as sparks fired off, her scream cut off as she managed to throw it aside.

“Fuck Spoiler I’m coming hold on-” he yelled, jumping on top of one of the side crates just below the highrise.

Jason moved to jump again, only to feel something pull him back. His head whipped around and locked onto a dumb pink bunny, its eyes glowing bright red as its clawed paws wrapped around his utility belt.

He pulled again, trying to pry the claws off, only for them to swipe for his hands. Yeah enough of that. Jason wrapped his bat around one of the bars and pulled. He continued to pull until he heard a distinct rip.

Suddenly, he felt weightless as he shot forward and halfway over the rail. Arms grabbed onto the collar of his jacket and helped pull him over as he managed to throw off a few more.

Righting himself, Jason looked down at the floor below. It was covered in destroyed dolls, and yet dozens remained, their eyes glowing red with more malice than a stuffed animal should be able to produce. Metal jaws and claws, limbs extending all over- it felt like something right out of a fear gas hallucination.

Bluejay reached for his batarangs but fuck just his luck he was out. A quick glance at Steph, who was still wielding the Riddler’s cane, showed that they weren't in a great position.

“Shit, look, we can finish the whole self worth talk later, but I think this counts as last resort now.”

“Yeah yeah- you’re… fuck I’m pressing it,” Spoiler said, though it came out more like a wheeze. Her ungloved hand removed itself from the staff long enough to grab onto her utility belt and flip on the beacon.

But- nothing.

No beeping, no lights, just nothing.

“Fuck I think mine got fried-” The moment the words registered Bluejays hand shot to his own only to come up empty handed and goddammit.

He shot forward, half leaning over the railing as he spotted, amongst the gore and swarm of stuffed animals- one stupid ass bright pink bunny had his torn belt in its claws, rapidly beginning to scale the machinery.

As if reading her mind she shook her head “I'll be fine, hurry and go- I'll try and hold off, and worse comes to worst, I still have a few grenades.”

Bluejay gave her a salute as he threw his legs over the railing, falling back into the chaos below- eyes set on a new target as he ignored the high pitched yell from Riddler.

“GRENADES!?”

He booked it, dodging past a few of the machines that seemed to be crumbling from damage and the weight of hoards of stuffed animals crawling over themselves. But with each beat, the bunny continued to stay just out of reach.

It hit him, a flash of light. The warehouse had gotten darker since several lights had been broken or outright shattered in the chaos. But this wasn't a spotlight.

Above- it was a skylight, the clouds parted and the moon shining brightly above. It was wide open- and the rabbit was climbing right at it, emergency beacon in its jaws.

Bluejay hooked his bat around a pipe, pressing his feet against the end and pulled using the tension to climb as fast as he could, the light growing stronger as they both grew closer.

He reached a bend of the pipes, quickly skirting across as he watched the damned thing swing now just a few feet from the exit.

By instinct, his hand latched onto his grappling gun, pulling forward to shoot out and ready to grab the thing midair.

But- nothing. The stupid fucking thing fell off.

He could only glance down to see Steph, still fighting with all she had- and even Edward with a broken pipe swinging as they barely made a dent in the onslaught of attackers.

The bunny made no expression, but he could practically see the evil cackle as it reached the opening, the light dimming as its figure cast a shadow as it, and their hope, climbed away.

Bluejay’s head dropped, there was no time for frustration or self pity. He needed to fight. It was different this time, he knew they would come for them. Given enough time, his dad would come.

He just needed to make time.

But right as he went to take the leap, the moon was snuffed out once again. He looked, and his eyes met amber as the bunnies' jaws were held in silver claws.

Cardinal was here.

The red bird leapt down, and the light returned.

Cardinal met Bluejay’s wide eyes behind the mask, and tossed the metal jaws- the beacon half crushed inside. He would know what to do.

In turn, their hands now freed- they clicked their claws against their wrist, staff coming undone and straightening. The metal seemed to shimmer in the moonlight as they landed, a large rush of electricity firing out from his staff and shorting out at least a dozen bots in their wake.

They spotted the Riddler, half limping as he swung a rusty pipe- Spoiler on his back, his staff in hand, and the question mark stabbing through a bear as it was chucked off the ledge.

Most of the bots were already ripped to shreds, their metallic interiors exposed as nothing more than half stuck together limbs and sharp gnashing jaws.

Cardinal activated their magnets, jumping up to latch onto one of the pipes before throwing themselves over and coming back to Bluejay.

Bluejay didn't even address them, just held out the beacon. “It’s busted-”

They nodded, perching aside and surveying the room once more until, there- a water pipe. It looked old, but if their memory of the old construction efforts were right, it should still be running to some capacity.

That and the room was filled with plenty of wires.

Cardinal tapped their claws on the metal loud enough to get Bluejay's attention, Jason met their eyes and they gestured over to the pipe. Voice coming out in a crackling hiss “Flood the.. Water- then… spark?"

“You wanna fry the fuckers?” Bluejay asked, half disbelieving. “There's no way that's safe-”

They said nothing, just letting out a small whistle chirp.

Bluejay sighed, though his mouth quirked up into a small grin. “You’re right- let’s cook the fuckers. Yo Spoiler!"

Cardinal knew they could handle themselves, and instead made quick work of cutting wiring from across the room, careful where the sparks fell. They wanted a shock, not a fire.

By the time they managed to cut enough down, they had to bat away over a dozen little creatures themselves. They heard Bluejay’s shout and watched as they shoved over an entire platform filled to the brim with the bots.

Spoiler took Riddler’s staff, slamming it into the waterpipe and causing wood to shatter. But water quickly spilled out and began coating the floor below.

Within moments, the sparks began to fly as the cut wiring hit water and the bots were fried out by the dozen, their mechanical screams echoing across the warehouse for a good few minutes until- nothing.

It was over, just like that.

Cardinal climbed over the siding to the double doors and down the side. With a loud bang of their fist, they popped open the fuse box and flicked the lever. The power went out.

They paused just a moment before landing below, the water already beginning to reside, flowing through the rest of the facility and out from the cracks in foundation below.

“It- safe now,” Cardinal called out, watching as Riddler practically stumbled down the steps, already shouting his praise of their efforts in saving him.

Well- it worked out didn't it?

Tim sighed, glancing up at the skylight where Wisp was peering inside. Almost invisible to anyone who wouldn't be looking, or had night vision attached to their goggles, of course.

They shifted on the pipe they had rested on, no more than ten feet above the ground. But it was far enough away from reach, or at least it would have to do for now until he could find an opportunity to leave.

“I don't know what went wrong, the puzzle was perfect!" Riddler blubbered.

Tim looked past him and spotted Bluejay, half leaned over Spoiler and speaking in a hushed tone. She seemed to be okay though since just a moment later she raised her head high and approached, Bluejay just on her tail.

“I believe this is yours,” she said, handing Riddler the two halves of his question mark staff.

“Ah- tis nothing that cannot be replaced compared to my mind.” Riddler half laughed, but his shoulders were still slumped over.

“You can’t complain much when it was your fucking protocol that got into this mess” Bluejay snarked, throwing his bat over his shoulder. He sounded confident enough, but Tim could see the slight limp as he approached.

“I swear it wasn’t me!!”

Same old same old, though Edward did look genuinely spooked, just meant his “get out” clause had backfired. Tim glanced at the carnage of robotics and stuffed animals, majorly. But this was an opportunity, slip out now before the Bat got suspicious and decided to check in.

Besides what better opportunity than when they’re occupied with a half hysterical Riddler?

“- the bots were on an independent server, I was of course in Arkham when they were engineered, but my friend had insisted he was trustworthy enough- but of course not if that maniac decided to hack my bots and almost kill me!”

Wait- now there was something.

“What do you mean your friend?" Spoiler asked, taking a step forward.

“An old colleague- just a connection whenever I'm locked away so I don't have to wait as long for the fun to begin.” The Riddler began rambling, his words picking up speed the longer he spoke. “I-it’s just how it is! But of course I had big plans, and he knew nothing about robotics, but he knew someone and I thought well why not-”

“Who’s this someone then?” Bluejay demanded, spinning his bat in hand.

The Riddler took a loud gulp before composing himself enough to stutter out an answer “I- I don't know!”

“They’re mostly underground for what I hear, make money off of a project here, a task there- a hired man you know? Or well woman- I'm not sure but just as capable,” he said, glancing between Spoiler at Cardinal, neither of which looked that amused.

“So what you’re saying is you have nothing-?” Bluejay asked, head jerking to the side as he leaned forward. He wasn't as tall or bulky as his Jason used to be, but he was still a presence. And he had the punch to follow through.

“I have a name!” Riddler yelped, hands in the air. “Or w-well, A pseudonym at least?”

A beat passed in silence.

“Well?” Spoiler asked, waving her hand.

“O-oh oh yes-” Riddler coughed. “Well I'm not exactly sure, but it was a C name, I know that.”

“Oh my god-” Bluejay said, sounding halfway hysterical himself. “This is it, this is my limit- I've found it, and it’s dealing with YOUR bullshit.”

“Come on lay off or we won't get any info” Spoiler huffed, stepping closer “C name you said? Like Crimson?"

“No no not that-”

“Chaos? Crystal? Claw?”

“No none of those-” Riddler said, beginning to rock in place slightly, hand coming up to clutch at his hat.

“This is a waste of time, he knows nothing- now enough stalling and let’s book the bastard,” Bluejay said, already reaching to his utility belt only to curse. Must have lost his cuffs as well, Bruce wouldn't be pleased. Tim was at least glad he was spared that lecture.

“Conqueror? Chroma? Clarity?” Spoiler continued, seeming to wrack her head for more ideas.

“Spoiler, give me your cuffs-” Bluejay asked, setting his bat down by his side as he held his hand out.

“No no wait I've got this-” she said, waving him off and keeping her attention on Riddler. “Crucible? Cloud?”

Unfortunately Jason was probably right and this was a waste of time. Besides, no information Riddler had was something he couldn't find out himself later with enough digging.

Tim looked up, lifting up one clawed finger and making a small loop. Wisp took off, disappearing from sight. And Cardinal slowly began to scoot further into the shadows, silently making their way up the piping and towards the exit.

Hopefully, he'd still manage to get a few more hours in looking for Crane before calling it a night. Batman was back in town afterall, but still needed to rest. A rule he knew Alfred would enforce.

“How about Cascade-?”

“No no that's-.. Wait, yes!” Riddler cried out, sounding euphoric at finally getting it “right.”

Tim paused in his climb just long enough to ponder that reveal. Cascade? Really? Well he's never claimed to be that creative but still, that was weak.

“No no- Catalyst!"

No…no no no no no-

“Huh, it was called Catalyst protocol on the screen when shit started going south…” The voice sounded far away, fuzzy. But the words were alarmingly clear.

This… this couldn't happen.

Not again.

“Huh, it was called Catalyst protocol on the screen when shit started going south…” Spoiler remembered, eyes practically sparkling with the idea of a new mystery to solve.

Bluejay stepped forward, but was cut off between the Riddler by a wall of red fabric. He flinched, having long expected Cardinal to have vanished, like they always did after a mission like this.

But no- the vigilante was now only a foot in front of him. Their clawed hands gripping onto the Riddlers shoulders and body lined with an intensity that made him feel… uneasy.

“Did you find a note?” Cardinal spoke, voice still echoing, but speaking much clearer than Jay had ever heard.

He took a step back, falling in toe with Steph who looked equally as confused and concerned.

“Note? No no! I- I had nothing but the instructions on activation, and they were verbal!” He defended. “I swear if there was-”

Riddler was cut off as a clawed hand clamped over his mouth, muffling him to a whimper.

The room was silent except for the still soft dribbling of water from the pipe nearby. It was only because of the silence they were able to hear Cardinal as they spoke.

“Someone’s here,” they hissed, sending shivers up Jasons spine as he quickly lifted his bat, eyes scanning what little of the room he could see since the lights went out.

Cardinal let go of Riddler, enough force the man stumbled, falling back onto the still damp ground below.

They stayed silent, whipping their staff out from behind their back. How fucking many did they have? Of course no time to think of a sound answer as their beaked mask twitched in place, darting across the building in almost a frenzy. A soft clicking sound emitted from their mask and echoed around the room.

Almost comically, in any other circumstance- it was a small ear piercing squeak that echoed, making them all snap their heads to the source.

A figure, shadowed by backlight stood, one foot lifted just above a half torn yellow bear. Its head glanced up, and Jason felt eyes staring back.

There was barely enough time to blink before the figure bolted, the outer doors slamming open and bathing the group in blinding light as it vanished. Only the fading sound of footsteps as it left.

“The he-” Steph started, but she was cut off with a yelp as she was almost bowled over.

A flash of red was the only clue they had. Cardinal had taken off after the figure- bolting with an unnatural speed and slamming the doors open, already beginning to disappear after something.

Brain finally catching up to whatever the fuck was happening and quickly knew exactly what needed to be done. “Stay with him, get Oracle on comms- I’m going after them,” Bluejay ordered, getting a small nod from Spoiler before bolting after them.

All things considered, Jason was used to feeling he was way out of his league.

He felt it trying to keep up with Bruce that first night, trying to replicate tricks like Dick, do stealth like Cass, or even fire off quips like Steph.

And yet as he darted across rooftops, keeping almost in step with Cardinal as they chased a figure, someone in a hood of yellow and blue that seemed just out of sight. He felt like he was one mistake from falling behind completely.

It felt like hours, but in reality the chase lasted no more than fifteen minutes. But it was more than enough to leave them both panting as they sat on the roof nearly two miles away from where they had been.

Jason looked up, Cardinal half leaned against a brick wall and bracing up with their staff. It was a wonder they’d stopped at all.

Even after the figure had long vanished, not even a trace in the wind. They continued to push forward, refusing to break, to rest- until they physically couldn't push on anymore. Practically collapsing against the brick wall of the building they stood now.

Jason felt his own muscles fighting against the strain, thankful for the break and now only pride keeping him from splaying out on the gravel below.

It was only a few minutes of rest though- before Cardinal righted themselves, using their staff as a crutch as they began to pace.

They barely spared Bluejay a glance before tapping their wrist. Screens, holograms very reminiscent of a Lantern’s except for the slight blue hue, appeared in the air.

Their claws swiped over several screens and Jason swore he saw a few street cams. Then again, if Oracle had eyes just about everywhere, it wasn't that big a surprise Cardinal did too.

It was… weird. He was so used to perception being limited to glances or moments at the most. But being so close for so long…

For once? It was like the mask slipped.

Gone were the twitchy moments and eerie otherworldly sounds, gone was the strong silent presence, hell even as his eyes scanned the city- there didn't seem to be a single bird in sight.

The absence of what made Cardinal the omen they were, it was… jarring. But it was also eye opening. In the way that suddenly he could perceive.

Jason could see them.

He could feel the tension lining every muscle, the anxiety coming off in waves. The movements, more like aborted gestures than habits.

He saw it in the way they had flown across the rooftops, taking every dangerous dive and leap, not caring for the crash if it meant sparing a few seconds closer to their target. And now as they paced in place, kicking gravel and yet keeping steady.

He could hear the panting breaths and mumbled words, distorted by- whatever tech was inside that damned mask. But each breath, the quick rise and fall of their chest. It felt real.

It felt human.

Jason may not be Robin anymore, not for a while. Steph and Damian did the legacy proud. But just because he'd gained his own wings didn't mean he'd forgotten what it meant to be Robin.

To be the outstretched hand.

And it was like Steph said, he needed to get the fuck over himself.

“I’ve been investigating rumors in the alley,” Bluejay called, lifting his head and pausing until he saw Cardinal’s movements pause. “Only a few weeks old at most, likely a meta- hasn't caused any major trouble but around enough trouble to be noticed.”

“I dont know if that’s this Catalyst fucker or not- but if it is, then I need you to tell me what you know.”

Cardinal’s head turned, the wisps of their scarf falling back against the wind as the mask faced him. Silent.

“I can tell that name, it scared you- and hell I’ll admit you being scared by someone who could create that mess is pretty fucking unsettling.” Jason tapped his glove against his side, wrapping around the hilt of his bat.

There was no way he expected a response, so Cardinal’s voice- coming out no more than a whisper caught him off guard.

“You will stay away,” Cardinal spoke, venom lacing every word.

“Then I'm right- you’re scared, on my behalf for whatever reason.” Bluejay twisted his bat in hand, more comforting in any way than threatening. “All the more reason I need to know what you know.”

Cardinal paused. He couldn't tell if they were ready to rush off or if they were debating taking him seriously. He hoped it was the latter, even though he kept pace, he wouldn't be able to keep up another chase like that so soon.

“This does not concern you.”

“Except it very much does,” Jason was quick to snap back. He was pushing it- but he didn’t know when else he'd have a chance like this. “Whoever they are, whatever they want- if they’re a threat to Gotham then it’s my responsibility to make sure this hellhole lives to see another sunrise.”

“Gotham will be fine-” Cardinal hissed, silver claws wrapping around their staff once more. The shine of red and gold illuminated in the moonlight. “I will make sure of it.”

“I'm not going to back down from this- none of us will, and I know that whether you wanna admit it or not, we need each other,” Jason said, feeling even more ballsy with each response. “Why else would you give Oracle that computer?"

Silence.

Not even a cricket or car horn could reach this high. Among the gargoyles.

It was only them, staring each other down, weapons drawn but not readied. Just the moon in the sky above, and the scent of sea and rain carried by the wind whipping past.

Cardinal stared down at Jason, emotionlessly. Then, tilting their head, red fabric rippled as the gravel shifted under their feet. They turned to face the city, the mountains of cloud cover framing their backdrop.

“I will handle it.”

A sea of red reached towards the sky, and then plummeted to the ground below.

Jason remained still, he knew, as if a fact- that if he rushed forward to peer off the horizon, Cardinal would be long gone.

His helmet buzzed, as Barbara's concerned voice filtered through “Just received word from Spoiler. Do you need backup?"

Jason peered over the side, and was greeted with nothing but the city below. That, by some miracle, had made it to yet another sunrise.

“Thanks Mama bird,” he said, pulling away from the edge. “It's handled.”

Tim’s heart was racing with each movement his feet pounding against the city below. He was far from being as stealthy as he prided himself on, but finesse was the last thing on his mind. He couldn't bring it in himself- too much else was at stake.

Desperation to get away as he hadn't even realized Jason was on his tail until his legs had given from under him. His panic forced to repress enough, but it wasn't enough.

He saw- and now he knew, he was worried. Worry was a stubborn thing, he was right- Tim wouldn't be able to get them away now. It was ruined,

How how had he been so careless?

Tim should’ve known the bastard would come back, but not now, not as him- not while Tim was in the mask- he couldn't know of course no no of course.

Had they picked a new target then? No no it didn't make sense- why even contact the Riddler? Maybe they really were just contacts?

But hell what did he even know.

A name and a note, that was it. Detective he was no detective, he was barely-

Maybe he still had more time?

But no- no it could never be that easy. It was never that easy.

Crane had just fallen off the cliff that was his priority list, but he'd already scoured the city and nothing, just- nothing.

They got away- there was no use combing the city with the whole flock on the hunt, and Jason's stubbornness was more the sum than the outlier. He knew that- but fuck fuck it all.

Focus Tim- do not crack, a splinter is a break. He could handle this- it had yet to spiral. This- he planned for this, not well of course, but he planned.

A list- he needed- he needed a list.

He needed Wisp, he needed to get home. God he just wanted to go home.

Oh god- where was she?

Right- he- that was, he sent recall right? Circle- just a few times. That would be enough, be his eyes in the sky, she was good at that. He hasn't called her back, he should- she needed- yes.

Practically ripping off his mask, Tim ignored the sting as the mechanisms lurched back. He gasped in air, trying desperately to fill his lungs even half to capacity, but no matter how much he took in, relief did not come.

“W-w," He tried, only to gasp half way through. Words were failing him, everything was. He was failing.

“Wisp,” Tim finally managed to force out, his heart taking up more and more room than his lungs. “R-recall position, return t-to base."

Silence. Silence that was all- just absence.

There was no chirp in response, or even an alert on his watch.

He slammed his hand on his wrist, watching the screen come to life, the dot of Bluejay circling around back to the warehouse alongside Spoiler, the rest still at the manor.

But Wisp- he looked.

The small green dot appeared, but further away from the warehouse than he realized, closer to him. At least that meant avoiding Jason.

He held his mask over his face as he ran, as fast as his legs would take him as the dot grew larger, closer.

The entire journey was a blur, his head on a swivel as every alley cat and kicked can was a threat until proven otherwise.

Tim was panicking, but there was no use trying to calm himself down now. He was functioning, compartmentalizing.

Just- focusing on finding his girl, then check, go home, then check- and go from there.

It was such a frenzy that the moment it slowed it felt less like a decline and more like slamming face first into a brick wall. The startling change of panicked numbness into eerie awareness was jarring and took a few more moments than he would like to adjust.

This isn’t working- what was the trick? No no the other- yes, from Lucius.
Senses- back into the body, a simple thing really. Though easier said than done.

Taste.

Metallic, did he bite his lip? He couldn't recall.

Smell.

Like gas, gas and rubber- burning almost. Hopefully tires, you never know in Gotham of course.

Touch.

Gloves, the metal was cold- but his hands felt very very warm. The pressure of the mask against his face was another thing.

Hear.

Wing beats.

That was when Tim seemed to come into himself, the familiar sound- so unlike the rest of the Gotham chatter it caught his mind in a moment. Around him, his flock was gathered.

More than a dozen birds, all within sight at least- their numbers only grew as the sound of the beeping grew louder, closer to his target.

Then- right around the corner. He paused long enough to see the power lines, almost every spot full of… his birds.

They weren't coming to him, demanding treats or affection, they weren't even looking at him. Their eyes were all trained on the alleyway ahead.

Tim reached down, grabbing at his staff and readying a charge- trying to force his eyes to adjust to the darkness ahead and yet he could see nothing. The beeping had grown louder. He was here for sure.

Where was she?

“Wisp, it's time to head back, I'll even open you a can of corn- a treat!” Tim called out as he slowly stepped closer. “Wisp?"

No response.

The beeping had stopped as soon as he stepped foot into the alley. Now it was just quiet, the birds above did not make a single call. In fact, they were silent.

“Come on- now isn't the time Wisp we need to g-”

CRACK

.
.
.
.

Tim froze, feeling his weight shift as he stepped on something. He pressed his staff against the ground below, taking a half step back to peer at whatever it was.

It was hard to tell even as he flipped his claws back and wrapped gloved fingers around, lifting it up to his face, just far enough away from the mask.

Sight.

It was pink.

A light beige pink, though most of it was covered by a small sliver of worn paper, wrapped around and around and tied with twine, resting just above the foot itself.

…
A.. Pigeon leg, with a note attached.

Tims hand was shaking- there was no gore, not even a drop of blood. But the multicolored wires looked torn from the ends in his hand.

“W-wisp…?”

He looked. And lay, just a few feet ahead, obscured by the clutter of the alley. There was a pile of feathers and what looked to be a body.

But it was mangled beyond what a simple alley cat could do.

Oh... Wisp

Tim shot forward, knees slamming onto the concrete below. Hands clutching at every bit he could grasp, his hands were trembling- tears were already beginning to flow down his cheeks. “No no no this- Wisp?”

Wisp’s little head was bent to the side- not fully detached, but her eyes were completely black. The only sign of much of anything being the occasional sparks that fired off. But Tim didn’t care.

Gently, he shifted feathers aside- desperately searching. The note could wait- he needed to know if, if.

Slowly, he shifted her breast plate, piece by piece until- there.

Tims shoulders fell, a sob tearing its way out of his chest as he felt his lungs finally release the breath trapped in his chest.

Her chip was intact.

Slowly, he grabbed the side of his scarf and ripped. He laid the piece out, and one by one, placed each part a top the fabric bed until he was sure he’d salvaged as much as he could.

Her chip was intact.

Tim gathered the end of the fabric, closing it tight before clutching it against his chest like a lifeline. He barely took a glance as he stumbled out of the alley.

Her chip was intact.

“I can fix you,” he promised, an oath he intended to keep.

As Tim shuffled out, the sound of beating wings returned as the flock followed. Trusting- that he could fix her, save her, that he could make it better.

Cardinal returned to the nest before the sun rose above the clouds.

The flock followed close behind.

It would be okay, it had to.
There was no other option.

Chapter Text

Memories between lives, they blurred sometimes. Some things he'd learned to forget, or that had become buried except for fragments left in dreams and nightmares alike.

It all felt so… distant. The whole saying of time is relative. Why days always felt longer as a kid, and that the older you get the faster time seems to pass by.

A day when you’ve had so few stretches longer than when you’ve lost count.
But Tim remembered clearly, being fourteen. The second time around.

It was a slow morning. That should have been his first clue something was wrong. The manor was always quiet, but it was an empty quiet. A result of having such grand halls and yet never enough people to fill even a single wing.

Tim remembered being a kid, when his parents would be away- he'd stand in the center of the grand ball area. A place that rarely saw even a fraction of its capacity. He would stand there, cup his hands to his face, and yell as loud as he could.

Not out of some semblance of rebellion, or just because he could. It was because he always wondered how far he could reach, how many doors away did his scream become a mere whispered echo.

The staff had grown used to it, even though he hadn't done it in years. At least, that's the only justification he could bring as to why no one came running that slow morning.

When he turned into his fathers study, two cups of coffee shattered on the floor as he saw them. Accompanied by the scream that tore out of his chest before he could even breathe.

Tim knew better than to contaminate a crime scene, but that didn't stop him from rushing to their side, ignoring the striking pain as he all but let his legs cave beneath him as he felt for their pulses.

But even before shaky hands cradled under their chins, he knew the truth.

They were gone.

Memories were hard after that. But he remembered the feeling of sitting on cold steps of the manor, a long beige trench coat that smelled of cigarettes wrapped over his shoulders, just… silently watching as Ms. Mac stood next to the two officers not inside the house.

Ms. Mac was a lean woman, her hair always neatly done up in a tight grey bun, and who spoke softly but with a clear irish lull that was obvious she was trying to lessen.

Now though, she was hunched, her bun half leaning to the side and her accent coming out stronger than he'd ever heard it. Her voice sounded nice, even as it shook, holding back tears as she tried to answer the officers questions.

He remembered she was clutching at her chest, her wedding band making small tink sounds as it brushed against the rosary she had pulled out from her robes.

She kept glancing over at Tim, but he didn't dare meet her gaze, he couldn't handle seeing the pity on anyone else.

What brought him back to reality was a squeal of tires over gravel, he watched the officers flinch and reach for their duty weapons. One fumbling enough that, if who arrived was actually a threat, he would have been a goner.

But it wasn't. Instead of some rogue tearing down the lawn in a tacky ride, it was an old grey Lincoln that skirted to a stop mere inches from slamming into the center fountain.

The door swung open and within a blink, calloused hands were wrapping around his chest, for a moment Tim panicked- for a moment he felt his training trying to kick in, and yet for a split second- he had almost accepted his fate.

It wasn't until the voice registered in his mind, the soft gravelly tone with a sort of comforting hum you'd only hear on old jazz records, and the whispered reassurances as his face was tucked into a shoulder that smelled like pine and cigars, that Tim relaxed.

Lucius had only pulled him in tighter, continuing to chant reassurances that he was okay and that everything was going to be okay.

It was a lie. But right then? Tim trusted Lucius.

He hugged back, and ignored the small slip of paper hidden just inside his sleeve moments before. Tim didn’t keep it forever, as soon as Gordon decided he was out of shock enough to interview, he forked over the evidence without complaint.

At that moment, he didn't care about keeping up Timothy. He didn't care about the bats, except for wishing that next door wasn't so far away.

Of course, Gotham PD did a full investigation, despite the department's shortcomings. Two sudden deaths of powerful elites on the edge of the public eye even outside Gotham? There was no expense spared.

But Tim knew, as he sat tucked under the old green and pink quilt Tanya's mother had made and she pulled out the first night he spent in the Fox house, when he heard the door open and smelt the faint waft of cigarettes accentuated by a gruff voice.

He knew it was over even before Gordon had knocked on the guest room door, a small case of evidence in hand, things his parents had worn that he still needed to decide if they would be buried with.

Even then, even looking the man in the eyes as he asked if Tim really wanted to deal with the funeral on top of everything else, it wasn't until he left the soft press of paper against his palm, the note he’d found clutched in his mothers hand, that it set in.

He failed.

By his incessant demands, the case was reopened four times, and each time the same conclusion, no matter how many times he held out hope, it was always the same.

Jack Drake’s COD was nothing more than medical error, heart problems ran in the family, and he was just being cautious by taking some meds, had been for years now. All it took was one dose too strong, and he was a goner. That was what the mortician had said at the trial of the doctor.

Mr. Bartosz was an old man whose hands shook with age and glasses that made his eyes bug. Tim had met him several times over the years when he did house calls, he was a nice man, spoke frequently of the “old country” and always offered all sorts of sweets he kept in his medical bag.

He remembered sending flowers to the funeral on his fathers behalf, gold chrysanthemums. Jack didn't show it, but it was clear it affected him just by how passive he was about it after.

His father used to insist on personally visiting Mr.Bartosz in his home office, a place that resembled more of an old apothecary shop than a legitimate pharmaceutical area.

But after his passing, when the new doctor took it over, Jack hadn't bothered with more than signing off the request for a refill.

‘It was only a matter of time’ they said, examining the mess of paperwork that Mr.Bartosz had left behind. Nothing more than a prescription misread and not double checked. A tragic accident.

It was only a tragedy that mistake had taken a man like Jack down.

Janet Drake was the cherry on top of an already tragic case. A woman driven to hysterics over the loss of her one true love, so caught up in grief that she saw no other choice than to do the unthinkable. To leave her son, to join her husband.

All that was left behind was a note, clutched in her hand alongside the now empty bottle of Jack's meds.

The note that was now displayed in front of him. Tim barely remembered grabbing the rare earth magnets from his fathers study, really he didn't remember going in at all that evening. But he must have to have grabbed the sheet.

The sliver of wrinkled paper he had hidden under the secret pop hatch his father used to hide treats whenever his mother was trying to force them both on her new diet.

The note that seemed to mock him as it hung perfectly positioned on the muted corkboard wall adjacent to his workbench. No actual pins were used, his father taught him better than that.

x

It was a tragic selfish goodbye.

A cautionary tale of love blinding grief, one you'd read in a story book, shed a tear, and then move on. But Tim knew better.

The Drakes were complicated people, marked by legacy and yet forging their own path. They treated smiles like baring teeth, a reminder never to cross a dragon and threaten their hoard. But despite it all, they were fundamentally flawed people.

Tim had always resented his parents for many things, reasonable things at that.

He resented the way his mother would linger in a hug when saying goodbye, her hair falling over his shoulders, and hands clutched with such care as not to dig her nails in.

She held him as if she didn't want to go and yet not once was that longing enough to convince her to stay.

He resented the way his father shined with such pride at his work, sharing the wisdom of a thousand men whose hands had sculpted his life, how stories of ages marked by every trinket that filled their home had a thousand tales he could recall without pause.

And yet he always hesitated on any detail involving his own son, minor things he'd always misconstrue, and yet in his confidence never bothered to check their truth.

But he loved them, and they loved him. And despite their flaws, their absences, their hidden glances and veiled words, he knew them better than anyone else.

Jack Drake was a man of passion, he laughed and loved fiercely. Never accepting anything less than what he felt he deserved, always pushing for the new, the better, with a bared grin daring anyone to try and stand in his way.

But Tim knew, he was a fool, someone who adored a shiny new toy only shelf it away when faced with something new. He was a person who never held his tongue even for his own good. He'd stayed in good standing with half of Gotham’s elite entirely due to his mothers influence.

That's why Tim could believe his death. The parent that had managed to cling on for so long, being the first to go this time around. It made sense for a man who felt so untouchable to be taken down by a fate that felt so… ordinary.

His mother however? That was a different story.

Janet Drake was a woman of many words, but none of substance. People who lamented over the loss of their close friend, but the way they spoke of her, they never knew her.

She was a vicious woman, someone who worked in perfection and nothing less. She knew the game and played it well. Every word, every moment, perfectly calculated to a desired result. Her image was carved in stone by hand since she was younger than he was, perfectly shined and displaying only ever the parts she allowed people to see.

Her true feelings are always behind a mask, not as an attempt to deceive, but because she knew those worthy of the truth could already see behind it.

Janet had never told Tim she loved him, never needed to, he heard it ringing just under every word and soft smile sent his way. They never needed to point out the obvious.

Which is why he knew the letter was a fake, even if no one else believed him.

With a blind hand, Tim flipped on a small switch and watched as the entire surface was bathed in blue. The true message staring down at him as the blacklight washed away the mask and showed the truth.

x

A simple anagram, one that the entire Gotham City police department overlooked, four separate times. All because no one else could stomach the thought of such a seemingly intimate suicide note being a fake.

But Tim knew Janet - the real Janet - and she knew that as well. All that note said were things he knew she didn't need to say. It was unspoken between them.

Jack would have caught it in an instant, but his voice couldn’t be heard. And Tim? He knew fighting for a fifth time would only lead to him being brushed away as a grieving child desperate for an explanation that mommy didn't leave him.

Understandable, if he were anyone else. But instead, he was Timothy Drake, not so freshly orphaned and with the only proof he had, he couldn't share, not with what was at stake.

Besides- as vain as it may be, he had earned the mark of world's greatest detective and if he couldn't solve it, what hope was there in anyone else? Call it deluded, but he was a Drake after all- a fundamentally flawed human being.

Tim glanced up at the desk, where his computer stood, still booting up as it prepared to undergo the monumental task of rebooting Wisp’s software, ensuring everything was back as it should be before she could be turned on again.

Just below, the desk itself was bathed in waves of dark red fabric, folds and ripples of cloth twisting in on itself. It resembled a nest. And at its center lay the broken form, dirty stained feathers, their oil shine hue now dull. The color hadn't changed, he knew that, but it did.

On the bench, just behind the crimson nest, the parts of Wisp he couldn't salvage lay neatly placed to the side. The screen behind lit up and bathed the otherwise dark room in just shy of enough light.

One piece was set aside even from that pile, a pink pigeon leg. The same leg that had been replaced not even two weeks prior and one of the only pieces that didn't require any major repairs, yet he still decided she was better off with a new one.

Around the piece tied around was the very thing that drug all this back up from the repressed recesses of his mind. It looked so innocent, just a small white slip of paper.

Tim hadn't dared touch it outside of setting the part aside. He’d managed to compartmentalize enough to focus on piecing Wisp back together and starting up the computer. But now, with nothing else to keep him busy, he had to face it.

A small innocent slip of paper could change everything. It could be the final key, the final spark to fuel the fire that had died out years ago. Or it could send him on another senseless endeavor, chasing ghosts until his body gives in and shuts down once more.

He hoped it was the first option, but he knew better. Even if the pieces don't click now, he knew.

Slowly, Tim reached down and pulled at the twine, watching it slip loose as the paper slid effortlessly off the part, falling onto the silver workbench surface below. He didn't bother with gloves, he knew there would be nothing there.

With far too little effort, he unfurled the note, and he began to read.

Tim’s arms locked into place, his hand spasming hard enough that the note began to crumble in his hands. He cursed as the paper slipped from between his fingers and drifted to the cold concrete floor below.

He sighed, elbows practically slamming onto the workbench as his hands carded into his hair- pulling in a meager attempt to ground himself. Emotions were too much, he needed to compartmentalize. There was no time to freak out now.

He wasn't a child in need of coddling.

He was a detective. And what kind of excuse of a detective couldn't bear to look at his own damn evidence.

With a quick intake of breath, he filled his chest with air until it hurt- and even then, he waited a few seconds more. Then release, mid breath leaning down to pick up the discarded paper and bring it back up.

He needed this.
…
So he read.

Every syllable, every word, every letter feeling as if it was being carved into his skull with an ice pick. It was prose almost, maybe in another context, he would have admired the words. But now he felt only full of disgust for every line.

It said, simply enough.

x

“Ha-” Tim let out a sharp breath, feeling his eye twitch just slightly. But there was no humor to be found as his hands trembled, quickly he watched the white sheet strain under the stress, just enough tension that the paper seemed to be fighting to stay together.

“Are you fucking serious!?” he yelled, crumpling the paper in his hands with a screech and chunking it against the far wall. Shooting to his feet he ignored the loud bang as his chair shot back, colliding with yet another wall.

There was a small crack in the background, but he didn't bother checking, just another thing on his list to do.

It was nothing nothing new- all the same old prose bullshit he had struggled with for almost four fucking YEARS.

Catalyst was toying with him, whoever they were- they didn't just target Wisp on a whim- no, they had to know.

“But who the fuck would know?” he asked no one. “It doesn't make sense- it doesn't make sense.”

Tim’s breathing was beginning to pick up again, his vision swimming and yet every muscle in his body felt wound up and on fire. He needed answers when he had none, what good was evidence when he'd failed so far?

How many more years until they came back? Was he just destined to spend the rest of this already pathetic new existence looking in every shadow? As if he wasn't paranoid enough.

It didn't-

DING

A small sound caught Tim’s attention, and he paused. Fuck- he winced, suddenly aware of the stinging from his hand as several drops of blood dribbled onto the floor below.

With a sigh, he grabbed a small cloth from his tool rack, far from sanitary, but hey- he had a spleen for that.

Pulling the cloth taught just enough, he stepped over the shards of glass from… whatever he'd broken and moved back over to his computer.

The screen now displayed new text that took him an embarrassingly long moment to comprehend.

The bar light blinked in and out as Tim’s hand hovered over the keys just a foot or so away. It would still take hours before she would be up and running, but the sooner it started the better.

“I can fix this,” he muttered, though the words sounded hoarse. But they needed to be said, if he voiced it, it became real.

He pressed the key.

“Oh my god Alan you will not believe what happened, so you know how Wednesdays Ms. Yunitz comes to pick up her muffin order for church group yeah? Well apparently we were busy and she was waiting ‘long enough the lord himself would’ve snatched me then and there.’ So she decided to go into the back and get the damn muffins herself-”

The voice cut off with a small snort , a bit of rustling on the other line before continuing. “Well her eyesight hasn't been good since her third husband, and that god awful birkin that smells like roast beef and shame- well she grabbed the muffins and tried to whip around only to knock into the big trolly that was holding six pounds of flour.

“I mean-” the voice gasped, a little breathless. “You could imagine my reaction, finishing up some orders only to see a puff of white burst out the serving window and Ms. Yunitz come shuffling out looking like a frikin ghost oh my god- not to mention Zeek’s scream? I was frozen so it was good Obi had enough sense to help the poor woman because I swear if I looked at her too long I would’ve lost it, and another thing is, wait how long do voicemails la-”

"Timothyyyy it's Arison, me and the guys were heading to the cape for the week and we haven't hung out in ages." A young man's voice filtered through the speakers. His accent was formal, but the words were slurred.

"I get you’re all busy with professional shit but we live in Gotham for christ sake, not exactly an ideal vacation spot you know? So all I'm saying is that your last public appearance with the Waynes isn't a great look." Another voice faded into the background, indistinct for a flash, before continuing on.

“Besides last thing you want is a vulture like Vicky digging into your shit, people are so sensitive these days and I don't think it would help if they got their hands on the footage of the blowout between you and that streetra- I mean, that guy- now I know I'm bluntly honest but just trying to hel-”

“Mornin kid - I was going to talk to you in the office but just saw the report you called for the week off so I’ll make the message quick,” a man’s voice sounded. It was deep, but smooth.

“I managed to postpone your interview with Ms. Vale, thankfully Mr. and Mr. Hagen were more than happy to take your slot to talk about their new promo movie the clay man, a real thriller I’d say- Jace has been begging Luke to take him when it’s released for early view in Gotham theater.

“And before you start, don't worry about Izbel, I’ll keep up your scheme and bang hanging as long as I can- might even have some fun doing it,” the voice chuckled.

“Now then- I have some news, it's a surprise of course so let me know when you can make dinner, sooner rather than later to be preferred. But by now Tanya and I both know how wrapped up you can be. Hell even when you lived with us she said she was lucky to catch you outside a quick trip to our coffee pot. Which has still yet to change-” the voice sighed, taking a moment's pause.

“I trust you have everything handled, and you know well enough by now to call me or Leslie if you get in over your head alright?” A small creak sounded out. “Let me know Tim, talk soon.”

The moment the audio came through, it was accented by a heavy wind and what sounded like crunching footsteps in snow.

A new man's voice spoke, but softer, a bit of an accent, Russian. “Ah Cardinal hello, it is Victor, just me this time, Nora is busy with Katerina. My little snowflake's birthday is coming up soon and well, I know things are going to get busy so I thought I'd send the update now.

“My research has made many strides in improving life out here, for my own and the rest whose lives now revolve around the polar climate we call home. Turns out my curse has a blessing yet.

“Things have been well, the suit is still holding strong for when the sun decides to frequent. Katerina especially is quite enjoying our life up here in the cold, she insists on filling our lawn with snow people just about every morning. I've lost track of their names now, much to her continued frustration. Nora seems to have no struggle in discerning Alexei from Dimitri based purely on the hue of their carrot noses.”

The soft crunching sound filled the silence between his words before coming to a still.
“The times I felt guilty for dragging them here have waved, and the community has become more than Gotham ever could ever be for us and for that I am forever thankful. I hope the Night City treats you well, and that despite your lack of a response, you find some joy in my updates.”

Silence, except for soft whipping wind remained.
“до свидания, young hero.”

Tim blinked at the screen, the periodic flashing red had faded out of his awareness by about the third hour of working on Wisp. It was by hour five he’d let the computer do its thing, just staring at the notes, unable to read either of them.

Now? The text had turned back to its off white hue.

He leaned forward, holding his breath as he stared down at the velvet nest. “Wisp?” he asked, no- begged for a response. For anything.

A beat of silence. Then a soft whirring, as beatty little orange eyes opened and peered around the room.

Time stopped, and began again a new. And Tim could finally breathe.
“Hey girl…”

Wisp perked up, her eyes darting to him, looking at him, seeing him. Little feathers puffing up as she let out a soft coo, it sounded off, tired, but it was there.

It was alright now. He fixed it.

He fixed it.

It was dark. But not the sky dark- it was a different dark. How strange?

Oh sensors inform- optical receptors were covered, that was an easy fix.

Wisp opened her eyes, blinking slightly as she took just a moment to survey her surroundings. She was in the lab, wrapped in her boy's scarf, it was always so comfortable. But she could feel just scarf, not her boy.

Where was her boy? Just as she was about to call out to him, she heard a soft rustle followed by a sound. A voice.

“Hey girl…” The voice, her system recognized. It was her boy!

Wisp tilted her head and puffed up her feathers as her sensors swept over her boy. He was still in uniform, how strange, but his beak was detached, his big blue eyes met her own. They looked sad. Had he eaten?

Such a silly thing her boy, needing mouth bones to eat. But no matter how many times she offered him grit, her boy refused. But her boy was no stranger than any other human she supposed.

Wisp let out a coo, though her song felt weaker. Her boy looked distressed. She looked at his left hand, the cloth wrapped around, that was far from sanitary.

She leaned forward, nipping at the cloth slightly as her boy only smiled. “An accident, or well… sorta, I'll finish fixing it later- for now I want to know how you’re doing?”

Was she the one in distress? She could not recall. Her system had rebooted, but prior data was… inaccessible.

Wisp tilted her head, and leaned forward as her boy lifted his other hand down, fingers gently petting her feathers. It felt nice. She opened her wings, hoping to leave the scarf. She loved the scarf, but it was not the same when not wrapped around her boy.

“Hey hey easy- I just reattached that wing and I'd rather not repeat that process,” Her Boy said, letting out a chuckle as his hand that was not petting her reached to rub at his neck.

Was he molting? No no he was still more than shiny enough to be fine. She looked at the sheen covering his cheeks, the redness hue that was unusual coloration for her boy. Was he alright?

“I know what you need,” he said, rolling back, but careful to move in a way his hand did not leave her head.

His hand reached into a drawer, tugging at the handle for a moment before it gave and slid open with force. Rummaging inside for just a moment, the sound of metal tools being shuffled and strewn about nothing new.

But what was interesting was the moment she could tell her boy succeeded in his search, his hand stilling as he pulled out a small container that. Oh- oh yes.

Her boy spun in his chair, one hand still gently on her head and the other now holding the holy grail itself. A can of grilled corn.

Wisp was not one to disobey her boy unless for his own good, but corn was a most definitely exception to her obedience. She quickly lifted herself from the scarf, ready to open her wings and demand the instant opening of the prized can.

But to her dismay, her wings were quickly pinned to her side as her boy's petting hand tightened just enough to keep her still. It would be easy to escape, but she would not risk losing her prize.

Wisp glared at her boy, only pausing enough to look eagerly at the can of corn as he set it aside on the workbench.

Her boy, thankfully recognizing her demand as he usually did, was quick to use a tool to pop open the lid, pulling aside a small black bowl and pouring some in, careful to avoid the juices.

He looked at the corn a moment before pushing it over. Wisp head tilted over the side, eagerly analyzing every kernel. They were of the utmost quality the grocery store had to provide.

Cracking open her beak, she lifted her head, ready to indulge in the golden goodness only to pause. She looked at her boy, the rest of the can shoved aside as his eyes were trained straight on her.

Her boy was not ill, but he was distressed. It had been a long night for them both, furthermore by her system data that was available, she had been offline for six hours, of which she doubted her boy rested.

His brow furrowed in slight concern. “Wisp? Is something wrong? Status what system is down-”

Wisp's automatic response chirped out from deep in her chest. “All systems, online.”

That did not seem to lessen her boys worry. He only leaned closer, scooting the bowl to her. “Come on, please eat...”

But she could not.

Wisp tilted her head down, but her beak now carefully picked up a single kernel. She held it in her beak, looking at her boy and arching her neck towards him.

He paused, then ever so slowly lifted his unbandaged hand out. She opened her beak and dropped the single kernel into his palm. Then after ensuring he would not drop it, she reached back in the bowl and picked one for herself.

This continued back and forth, one in her boy's palm, and then one for her. She waited until a small pile had gathered before pausing between her kernels, now looking up at her boy.

“You- want me to eat the corn?”

Wisp jerked her head up and down with a small chirp. Now staring more intently, sure to know if her boy tried to slip the corn back in. But he knew better, 360 vision was hard to elude after all.

But just as she had not fought his grasp, he knew better than to fight her. With a sigh his shoulders dropped and he slowly lifted the corn to his mouth, one by one and popped them in.

Satisfied once the pile vanished, Wisp returned to her method. One for her boy, and one for her. And despite his continuous groaning and occasional pleading looks, he continued to enjoy the sharing of her bounty.

Her boy was far too skinny, and she could see the exhaustion in his gaze. The shine of his cheeks had not faded either. But it would be okay, she was fine, and it was her mission to make sure her boy was as well.

Even if it meant sharing her treat, anything he needed.

She would fix it, for him.

Tim wiped his chin, having finished off the other half can of corn. Both from Wisp’s slightly unnerving insistence and the fact after the first few bites his body was very roughly reminded he hadn't eaten since before patrol.

But with that fixed he now had more, pressing matters. Ones he had been avoiding for far too long. Starting with reexamining the one case he could never solve.

Wisp shuffled, twisting inside the fabric of the pocket from the soft red hoodie hed managed to change into. Tim was careful to hold as still as he could as he rolled the chair over to the main monitor, just adjacent to the corkboard.

Written was a very rough draft of the events over the course of that patrol.

Beginning right at sundown, 7:43PM.
Patrol was paused for Arkham drop offs at 8:13, 9:34, and 10:52PM respectfully.
With a slight delay due to avoiding Indigo team’s drop off at 10:45PM
Snack break at the Elote stand on 14th street, 11:05PM.
All looking pretty normal, all things considered.

Far lighter than his load as Red Robin, but then again his old mask served a completely different purpose. Cardinal was meant to be a unicorn sighting.

Things started to go awry post snack break at 11:34PM when they suddenly were blessed with the disaster that was a massive communication systems error in all capacities except emergency beacons. It was a mess by the time they’d hopped online.

He didn't doubt Oracle's capability, but for his own self controlling tendencies, he preferred to be in the loop.

Alarm bells went off when at 12:08, Bluejay and Spoiler’s location had not updated.
It didn't take more than a quick check in on Pigeon spy cam #013, dubbed Quincey, to be able to get eyes on the warehouse that was most definitely a Riddler trap.

12:23PM, Cardinal arrived on scene and by 12:30, the system had been completely regained and Riddler apprehended.
12:35PM, He sent Wisp to observe on her own, circle the perimeter.
1:12AM There was a glimpse of her camera as Cardinal and Bluejay sprinted out of the warehouse, hot on the tail of someone.

Then by 2:08AM, He found Wisp in the alleyway, practically mutilated and-

Tim shook his head, glancing back up at the screen that had finished out the recording, now stuck on a fuzzy blur right as her camera had cut out. He leaned forward, ignoring the small sting in his wrist as he rewound the footage.

1:13AM
It was hard to make out someone was there at all if he hadn't known where to look, and of course for how advanced Wisp’s software was. His clever girl was quick to lock onto the target and make chase from above.

He watched, silently bathed in the off blue hue of the screen as the chase went. It was especially annoying to realize that after the eight minute mark, they had completely vanished. And after that they were chasing thin air.

1:32AM
Tim tapped his fingers across the table watching as Wisp ducked down an alley, a very normal maneuver for her to dip in somewhere and reroute just in case the suspect had doubled back.

Down two blocks,
Left,
Right,
Around the Underpass,
Left again.

She was only a half mile away from him.
Out of the corner of the screen, a small flash. The camera view tilted towards the flash for just a moment.

1:40AM

A much larger flash, and out of the light a hand gloved in dark blue reached out. There was a panicked screech from Wisp, and in a blink, the camera fuzzed back out.

2:08AM,
He found Wisp.

Twenty eight minutes unaccounted for. One thousand six hundred and eighty seconds of Wisp left alone in that alley in the hands of someone who sought to destroy her, who left her broken almost beyond repair.

It was a miracle her chip hadn't been destroyed, like a case of a knife stopping a few millimeters from the heart. It was a miracle, and one that Tim didn't know how he'd survive otherwise.

The other birds? They could be rebuilt. Their base code was the same, and while it wouldn't be exactly them it would be close enough. Hell most of them had all but joined their own flocks around Gotham, only stopping by for food and otherwise just being free flying cameras.

But Wisp? It took him years to figure out her code had mutated and he never removed her chip for any more time than necessary, so that excluded any opportunity to study let alone recreate the results.

Even then- it wouldn't be her.

Tim watched through the video, again and again, each time searching for details, for something of note. The way the light shined, the blurs of people she passed, even the slightest traffic sounds trying just about everything.

It wasn't much.

But the video wasn't all the evidence he had now was it?

Slowly, Tim managed to pry his eyes away from the screen, shoulders already tensed as he turned to the corkboard.

He had long since retrieved the note, smoothed out most of the crinkles and stuck it just alongside the first. They now sat, side by side on the surface.

Catalyst thought themselves a hunter now did they? Tim would love to return the favor, but even with the video and the new note, there wasn't much of a lead.

He'd solved cases with less- but this was different. He was too involved, and he couldn't risk getting the bats involved, not after coming this far. Besides, it was better to keep them as far away from this as possible. Keep them safe.

Besides, two incidents alone didn't exactly make a pattern, but if they’d waited this long- be it because they hadn't figured out who he was behind the mask or not, he had time. At least more than normal.

But where to even begin?

Wisp was fixed sure- but he'd be damned before he let her join patrol again for at least a few weeks.

Timothy could come and go as he pleased, but be gone too long and it would raise some questions, both from Lucius and the general public. The last thing he needed right now was more eyes.

Alan would be… fine. Just spin a story of a big project to explain his frequent visits becoming slightly less frequent. They would be fine without him regardless.

Still- he rarely dealt with cases alone unless he already had all the details, and even then he tended to just send everything over to Oracle via the shitty old computer. Then he just had to give a little nudge here and there to ensure someone actually found the answer without him telling them.

He didn't even know where to start.

“Ouch!” Tim yelped, yanking his hand up and glaring down at his lap.

Wisp looked up at him, her head barely poked out of his hoodie pocket and simply staring as if he was meant to magically understand her twisted little mind.

“What?” He sighed, lifting his hand away, just out of her range.

Wisp seemed to only take that as a challenge, almost throwing herself out of the fabric with a frantic wiggle. He barely had enough sense to grab onto her before she went careening onto the floor below.

Tim lifted her to his eyeline, meeting her gaze with a glare. “Girl- why can't you just be easy for once? You basically had major reconstructive surgery- and yeah nothing’s going to go falling off but still.”

Wisp just chirped, managing to wiggle one of her wings out from his grasp, slapping his wrist. A rookie mistake, Tim tried to adjust his grip, only for her to seize her moment and take off.

Within moments, he went from calmly spiraling in his work bench rolly chair, to now half sliding across the tile as Wisp very expertly dodged his frantic attempts to catch her mid air.

“WISP- for the love of, what do you want!?” Tim asked, barely catching himself from slamming his hip into a corner bench as he held his hands out- just in the slim chance both of her wings simultaneously fell off and she came crashing down.

Wisp, unperturbed by his pleading, did a full circle across the ceiling before suddenly taking a dive mid flight. Thankfully, for his heart, she gently landed to the side against the far end of the lab.

Tim was quick to speed walk over, hand outstretched for her to step up. But he paused just before, finally taking a moment to look at exactly where she was.

Her little clawed feet hung onto the rim of the bulky box set computer as she rested directly in the middle of the now lit screen.

The screen that displayed [NEW MESSAGE] in bright blinking letters.

“You, little lady, are still a little shit, you know that right?” Tim huffed as Wisp now gracefully stepped up onto his hand and allowed herself to be moved to his shoulder.

She only let out a chirp in response, now nuzzling herself half inside his hood before fixing her eyes on the screen.

Tim just shook his head but was quick to reach down and enter a few keys, pulling up the message to full screen.

…Oh fuck.

Tim slumped slightly, earning an annoyed chirp from Wisp as he leaned closer to the screen. Goddammit Jason he didn't need to be involved in this.

That was- unexpected?
And what- Babs just agreed to help hide a potential supervillain that was the closest connection any of them had ever discovered related to Cardinal just because Jason asked her to?

Actually… that wasn't that far fetched. She was a menace who hacked into the CIA for fun to “scope the competition” so this shouldn't be news. Well- better than having Bruce involved. Tim rubbed at his temples for a moment, taking a beat to breathe before continuing the rest of the message.

Furry abominations huh? That got a little snort out of Tim. But a possible Joker connection was- concerning at best and downright alarming in any other case. The man hadn't had any recent escape attempts, but it was only a matter of time.

Tim scrolled and suddenly froze as he processed the next few lines. No fucking way.

Tim clicked the attachment, and low and behold- months worth of data. Most being rumors, but it matched what little info he gathered during the chase.

He clicked down on the keyboard, and stepped back, away from the computer and back over to his main station.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he watched as the message and the file attached popped up on the main monitor, the data already beginning to sort itself and several back search engines beginning to scan police reports, informant statements, and even some whispers from Arkham.

The entire process was accentuated by a mechanical whirring and clicking sound just off to the side. By the time Tim had most of the searches set up, the whirring had stopped and instead cut off with a loud click.

He picked up another of his fathers display magnets as he carefully peeled the image off the printer. And with a sense of sick joy, he lifted the paper just above and centered between the two notes, pinning it in place.

The paper showed nothing more than blurry security cam footage, a random alleyway in what seemed to be Old Gotham territory. But just in the corner, barely perceivable in the array of shadows and moonlight, you could see a hooded figure who seemed to be sprinting away.

Nothing but their back was visible to the camera.

But he didnt need a face, just a trail to follow.

Drakes were a complicated kind of people, the kind who could smell blood in the water at one glance, the kind who fought tooth and nail for their desires, no matter how impossible the odds.

They rarely gave love without something in return, even to those with whom they shared blood. But to be given a Drake’s love? You would be given the world if asked for it.

Tim never asked his parents the world, and they never asked him much of anything really. But he could give them this. To have earned what they gave, once and for all.

Wisp let out a small chirp and Tim’s grin softened just enough as he carefully stroked a finger across her head, gently adjusting the hood as to further tuck her as she settled down.

Besides- it wasn't just for them. Tim Drake loved few, especially in this life, but he would be damned if he let anyone steal the world from those he'd given it to so freely.

Tim reached down, picking up a pin from further across the board and sticking it right in the center of the figures back.

“May the hunt begin.” He grinned, because for the first moment all night, he had direction again.

And after four long years of waiting?

This ends now.

Chapter Text

Two blocks right, down the road - check the light then off you go! It was a little matra repeated over and over to Isabella as she went past what she assumed was… well, the name didn't matter.

It was a route she’d taken many times before, more than she could really count. Then again she couldn't count that high.

She clutched her bright green frog umbrella tightly above her head, craning her neck to try and get a look at the street sign as she padded closer.

P….att….er?

Patt-er…sooooon?

Patter-son

Patterson!

With the right street confirmed, Isabella shuffled around the corner, speeding up just a little past the crooked stop sign. That was the second block, now just down the road!

Isabella hummed under her breath, a half skip in her step as she made her way down the sidewalk. It was one of the nicer ones, so she didn't have to slow down as much to avoid cracks for her Mama’s sake.

The rain was really coming down now, but that was exactly why she had on her bright green froggy boots as well. Mama had reminded her to pack them after listening to Tio Curren.

Mama said that Mr. Curren wasn't her tio, and just a weatherman but he never looked THAT tired, and besides she saw him every morning on the TV. So he was practically family.

Reaching the end of the road Isabella paused. She didn't always remember things right, too many thoughts in her mind. But her Tia taught her to shoo away the bees in her brain and remember her steps.

Steps made remembering things so much easier! You'd know if you forgot something and could go figuring it out. Isabella liked her steps, and right now she was onto a whole new set. She checked the light, it was red.

Isabella pushed up her glasses doing her best to tuck her hair under her jacket hood, but her fingers kept getting caught in the curls. Thankfully she was on her way to Tia Carmen, she worked at the salon and of course she would be well equipped to help in her dilemma.

She managed to move her glasses enough to see, and side stepped over to the pole. Moving her umbrella to her other hand, she clicked on the button.

“Please wait to cross Lincoln Ave,” the sign remarked back.

Don't worry Mr. Sign, she knew her steps. Press the button, wait for the man... um… something something, then you can!... Okay maybe she didn't know her steps that well, but that didn't matter, she could ask her Tia when she got over there.

“You may cross!" Mr. Sign announced, but she was careful.

Isabella glanced across the street, her glasses were a little foggy but she was able to squint enough to make out the walking man across the way. Jumping off the curb with a start, her froggy boots splashed onto a small puddle below.

One foot in front of the other, she couldn't help but look down at her feet. It was funny, the googly eyes in her boots would shake every time she took a step, and the water splashed.

She giggled. But- she couldn't hear it?

The rain hasn't gotten that much louder, but it was loud what was-

Isabella turned to the side, and all she saw was a shadow moving at her and two bright lights staring down at her.

Oh… she remembered the step now.

She forgot to look both ways.
.
.
.

For a moment, all she felt was floaty. The next, the pain sunk in. But- she didn't feel broken. Her arm really really hurt though.

Isabella half stumbled, something stopping her from falling fully by the pull against her arm. Something was wrapped around her arm… it hurt.

She sniffled, her chest heaving as she tried to breathe. Where was her umbrella? Reaching, she felt at what was tangled around her arm.

It was long and kind of cold, with little bumps across- but she couldn't tell what it was. It felt like a chain, like the one from her big brother's necklace.

Isabella was terrified, but her Mama had taught her what to do. Even as her head was spinning and her arm still hurt, and the long necklace she couldnt move away. She needed to follow her steps.

Opening her eyes, her vision refused to focus, her glasses nowhere to be found. She could make out the wrap on her arm was silver and shiny, and it was pulled away from her.

Trailing up the line of silver there was a hand covered in black. It looked like a monster. But then she looked further and saw it.

Blue.

A figure of blue, staring down at her. They were tall but that just meant they were an adult. She couldn't make out their face, it was covered, but she couldn't say by what.

Isabella was scared. She didn't always know what was going on with Tia saying her head was in the clouds. But she knew about cars, she paid attention during Mr.Curtis' lecture on road safety.

She should have been hit. But she's okay?

Or well- her curls were beginning to sag as the rain continued to hound down, her glasses and froggy umbrella long gone, and she was stuck with a strange adulty person she didn't know.

But they had saved her- right?

“Are you a hero?" Isabella asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The figure paused, and she felt as the necklace slowly unwound from her wrist. Yellow and black gloves pulled it all away.

They didn't speak, and she didn't either.

When the weight was lifted she rubbed at her arm, it stung, but nothing a bandaid, vapor rub, and kisses from her Tia and Mama couldn't fix.

She blinked, and the hand was now in front of her. Well- they had not hurt her yet, and if they tried anything, she could scream really loud. She took their hand.

Slowly, one foot in front of the other- she could see the little movement as the black froggy eyes on her boots shook each time she took a step, and felt the water splash against her pants leg.

They stopped, and slowly the figure moved its grip from her wrist and opened her palm. She felt something pressed inside, tracing fingers across the familiar curve and point outline of her glasses.

Isabella gasped, quickly flipping open the arms and slipping the glasses onto her face. Her vision cleared and she blinked, letting out a happy gasp as the blurred colors gained shape. Only pausing when she felt something brush against her leg.

A green froggy umbrella lay, upside down, propped against the pole just next to her. Reaching out, she spun the umbrella enough to knock away the water and lifted it over her head.

But right as she lifted her head, she noticed something.

The blue was gone.

She quickly whipped her head around, hard enough it made her a little dizzy. But nothing- even the sky was just another shade of grey.

Isabella wasn’t sad though- she was safe, and she didn't have time to look for the blue, not when her Tia would start getting worried if she wasnt there soon.

So she tucked her froggy umbrella in the crook of her arm, shifting her feet till her heels touched and looking up at the grey sky, covering the layered rooftop horizon.

With her now free hands cupping her mouth she belted out as loud as she could “THANK YOU!!!”

A few birds startled, flying into the air around her, and she saw a few people turn to look. But she paid them no mind.

Quickly pulling her froggy umbrella back into her hand and one foot after the other, continued her steps.

________________________________

From the rooftop, despite the static quality- it was easy to make out the little girl as she skipped up a step and buzzed herself into her Aunt’s salon. Taking just a moment to shake off the topmost layer of rain before being greeted with a warm embrace as they disappeared behind a wall of glass and old brick.

Barbara leaned back in her chair with a sigh- once again, they'd gotten just a glimpse of the figure that had been at the center of her mind for the past week now. But funny… just like another red bird, the cameras never seemed to catch more than a glimpse.

“Got another sighting, little girl saved from a swerving vehicle, police apprehended the drunk driver but the vigilante at the scene part of the report…” Babs trailed off as she half spun her chair away from her set up to face the other wall of the clocktower.

“It's blank.”

Her gaze focused on a very wide eyed looking Jason, lounging on her beat up couch and dressed in nothing more than a white tank top and wonder woman sweats. A bright green cucumber mask plastered on his face and a copy of Grapes of Wrath loosely in his hand.

“Are you sure it's not Cardinal?" He asked with a lifted brow, setting his book aside.

“Officers would have marked it- or Cardinal would have already hacked into their system to flag it,” Babs sighed, shaking her head. “Besides, no one reported even a flash of red, let alone an unusual concentration of birds.”

Jason cursed under his breath, shifting off the couch and slowly walking to stand next to her. His hand slipped under one of her side desks before latching onto its target.

He spared only a moment to ensure he didn't knock over her cane before whipping a small rolling chair out from its nook. All it took was flipping up a small latch and the chair expanded, unfolding until it was a full fledged office chair.

Jason was quick to prop himself right alongside her workspace. “Have you already checked the alternate systems?"

Barbara leveled him a glare. Of course she had, those and the systems that even the Bat himself didn't know about. She pushed her glasses up her nose as she gestured to the wall of screens. “All of it- nothing.”

“Well it's something-” Jason corrected, moving to access the monitor himself. “Something we can give them.”

The screens were flying past- but it wasn't hard to keep track of what he was doing. Familiar motions she'd repeated hundreds of times.

A motion she’d done just last week, when Jason showed up at the clocktower right after she had gotten word from Spoiler about what went down after they had gone offline.

The reboot hadn't been fast enough for him apparently enough as he began slamming his hand against the keypad and incessent of buzzing demanding to be let in. She would have been pissed if he didn't look so… rattled.

Hell- it unsettled her enough to check his cell right after buzzing him in.
But no- the bastard was still there, carving stupid smiles into blocks of cheap soap.

Then what on earth had happened to get that look?
She got her answer when Jason snuck upstairs. Instantly asking if she could “go dark” from even Bruce.

It scared her. But she wasn't there for him the first time he and Bruce went through a row- and the way that turned out? She turned all systems on faux dark, with just a few lines of code, the clocktower was more secure than the darkest rooms of area 51.

“Talk to me… please,” she'd insisted. And he did.

If it wasn't for the fact that she’d lived in Gotham for so long and been trained under ‘The Batman’ before the rest of the kids softened him up, she wouldn't have been able to save face.

Cardinal had finally slipped.

Bluejay had managed to almost touch their shoulder- and gained more insight in just a half hour than years of research and careful monitoring had even come close to achieve.

She should feel happy.

But watching Jason, shoulders hunched, looking so much smaller as he clutched his helmet in hand. His eyes wide as he looked into her very soul. The kid all grown up, who used to look at her with such admiration, now looking, pleading, for answers she didn't have.

It made her sick.

Cardinal always felt so, untouchable.

It was how she felt about The Bat before she truly got to know the man behind the mask.

Both served as figures of justice fueled wrath in a city that otherwise swallowed good people whole. They were alike in a way that she couldn't quite nail down, no matter how much she wished to.

But Cardinal being rattled as Jason had described? If they were anything like Bruce- it was cause for concern.

Barbara could count on one hand how many times she had seen Bruce truly terrified.

Once early on, just a few months after having Dick. Back when so much as a sneeze set the man on edge. She was dragged along by her father to a charity event the Waynes attended.

Dick, the stupid boy wonder he was, decided to show off to the guests. Ignoring Bruce glances as he climbed onto the banister, ready to leap and latch on to the chandelier in the center of the room.

It would have been fine, except for the fact that said acrobat never had to do tricks in slick leather shoes. He slipped. Only managing a sharp screech before beginning to plummet down.

It was by some miracle, she thought at the time, that Bruce had managed to bolt across the crowd and dive right down to catch him. He was fine- but that almost left Bruce hands shaky and eyes wide in a way that caught her eye outside the blubbering fool she thought him to be.

The second time…. well that time was her own damn fault.

They had received the alert from Cardinal themselves a few weeks prior, about the Joker's new target.

Not Batgirl, but Barbara Gordon.

Bruce had rationalized it to her that this was his twisted way to try and “break” her father. But that only fueled the red hot pit in her chest. That the peace outside her mask had been stolen by him without even lifting a finger.

The event, the one she had been so proud to put together for her city, was cancelled. And even after that, she was put under some bullshit protection order.

She just wanted to return her library book.

It was a five minute walk, seven in the rain. But the skies were clear. A walk she could do deaf and blind, and had done a thousand times since she was a girl.

In the moment, she hadn't thought to do more than take her pepper spray and text Dick where she was going, knowing full well he was out of town and was too nice to rat her out.

It was only just as the familiar weathered stone came into view that she noticed something that hadn't been there the first thousand times. Laughter.

But not like the bell-like sound of a child, or hearty bellow of a cheery man after a long day. It grew louder, closer.

It wasn't the soft melody of an older woman walking by, or the loud out of breath cackling of some teens making their way home.

The laughs rang right behind her, so close she could practically see the white tufts of hot air meeting Gothams chill night.

It was sharp, digging into her brain in a way that felt almost violating. She barely had a moment of recognition before it was too late.

The thing about being shot is that, in the moment, you feel next to nothing.
Your body doesn't know how to process such a thing, sometimes it doesn't until several minutes after.

Barbara knew though, almost instinctively the moment her legs gave from under her. She could hear the bastard saying something, standing over her with the only thing not spinning being his smug grin.

She was exactly what she had always dreaded the most, helpless.

In a blink, he was gone. Something she only recognized because she was suddenly bathed in a cloak of silence outside her heart pounding in her ears.

The first thing she had felt was the warmth leave her cheeks and coat her hands. Her hands, shaking, reached into her inner coat with enough gathered strength to pull out her phone.

“Call… Boy wonder.” She had managed to choke out, her mouth tasting so strongly of metal it made her want to gag.

It was a blur-

She knew only from the later police report that she had been laying there for no more than ten minutes.

Despite the odds, the bleeding was fairly slow, at least slow enough with her pressing against her own wound to not black out quite yet. That was until she felt, more than heard, the thundering footsteps racing closer.

For a moment, she had feared the worst, that he'd come back to finish the job.
But instead of those toxic green tearing their way into her soul, she met blue.

A bright baby blue, soft and yet warm, already overflowing with matching tears dripping down the sharp outline of cheeks.

Bruce had come for her, and despite the utter terror lining every inch of his body, and the helplessness in his eyes. She knew it would be okay long before she woke up in her hospital bed.

The third, and the last time was the worst.

Barbara had just barely recovered enough to be able to go more than a week without wandering through those sterile halls. Visit after visit- to the point the staff knew her by name.

Her father was with her, and she was grateful for his presence but- it only helped so much. Every moment felt too much and not enough, as if her life was ticking away faster than she could keep up.

The closest thing to “grounding” she had was her family close by.

And the “gift” from Cardinal. The old monitor.

As if her recovery wasn't tumultuous enough- she remembered sitting at that dinner table. Her dad made chicken noodle soup, extra sliced carrots just for her.

The house phone rang, the old one he still insisted was “too reliable to bother replacing”. She had ignored it until she heard the sharp gasp as he received the news.

He didn't need to speak. She saw it in his eyes.

The Joker had escaped again.

Shutting down was just- too easy of an option to ignore.

Even when Jason came banging on her door, she turned him away.
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Something she lived to regret when she was startled awake by a banging on her window no earlier than two in the morning just a few days later.

The helplessness of her own attack was nothing compared to what she felt, stuck in her chair, desperately trying to get Cardinal’s warning to Bruce.

Something had gone wrong with communications- the message they’d sent about Sheila Haywood had been sent a whole week ago, a system glitch. They hadn't realized the message wasn't received until Bruce and Jason were both long gone and resorted to handing it over directly.

Barbara didn't have time to grapple with Cardinal suddenly existing in the flesh. She half blurted out an explanation as she stole her dads keys, rushing to the tower and barely bothering to wait for the elevator as she began to try to reach Bruce. But the coms were down- she could only use the backup messaging system and pray it would reach.

If he were any other kind of man. A kind of man who would put off checking in every few hours, Bruce wouldn't have seen the message.

Bruce wouldn't have rushed disarming the weapons as much as he did.

He wouldn't have had enough gas to get as close to the warehouse as he did.

He wouldn't have thought ahead enough to call for backup.
And if it weren't for the big boy in blue, Bruce wouldn't have beaten the timer.

“The hell Barbie-?" Jason's voice snapped her back into focus. She met his eyes as he half waved his hand in front of her face, brows knit with concern though they were hard to see under the now wrinkled face mask. “You alright?"

Barbara swallowed the lump in her throat, it wasn't often she slipped into the past, even on the scheduled “Wounded Birds” bonding sessions.

“Sorry just- drifted off,” she hummed. “What do you need?"

Jason paused for a moment, though seeming self aware enough for her thought process, peeled off the mask and chunked it into the can nearby. Whatever he was going to say- he seemed to decide otherwise.

“I need your permission code to send the information to the CRT- The sooner we can send the data over the better odds they have to catch this... Catalyst”

Babs nodded, pulling her keyboard closer as she pulled up the file. It was annoyingly bare, rival to Cardinal themself, though considering the years it took to get that information- slightly less impressive.

“Catalyst” had appeared in Gotham just a few weeks prior, at least in the now recognizable dark blue and grey hooded attire, with just a few hints of yellow in the gloves and boots, and fitted with a full face gas mask.

Of course, what would seem to be a pretty unique set up, in a place like Gotham? Gas masks and well, masks in general were as common as wearing a hat.

Details were the only thing hinting to their status as more than a weirdly dressed civilian. And It was Jason who even bothered to take note of them in the first place.

The metal guards wrapped around their shins and secured in place with worn belting, the side pack adored with bright colorful vials of god knows what, or hey maybe it was the fact they carried around a fashioned chain whip occasionally swapped out with a dull metal hook on the end.

Not to mention you can't be within a mile of Gotham without being present in a fair share of disasters and incidents. But one person being present for over 300 recorded incidents in just two months?

That number only being the ones confirmed by just a glimpse or two from various surveillance, but they always seemed to slip by.

Always just out of reach.
________________________________

Jason was well beyond being “on the edge” at this point.

What was supposed to be a relaxing day with Barbie bonding over their shared amount of waning patience dealing with the rest of the bats’ BS, especially towards him, had quickly turned into something else when getting eyes on Catalyst.

At least- who he really hoped was Catalyst, because otherwise? Sending Cardinal on a wild goose chase would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Then again who knows if they even took the evidence seriously, a message back beyond a simple “received” was few and far between. But something about the silence now felt different, he could only hope the literal gigabyte of information they managed to pump through the monitor would be received.

Their words still rang in the back of his mind.

“I'll handle it.”

He really hoped they could.

Looking at Barbie as she seemed to space out once more. It was an off day for her, but then again it was nothing new.

Jason being there gave her the chance to relax without being pestered with a hundred “are you okay?"s. Because love his dad and siblings to death, but somehow Steph managed to have the most tact when it came to trauma shit.

Shaking the thought away, he stretched out his hands as they found their way back onto the keyboard in front of him.

He had already fully transferred the file over, including the data analysis, predictions of travel movements, possible eye witnesses both on and off scene, and even passwords to a few nearby networks.

Most of the information was no doubt something Cardinal would easily gather themselves, given the time of course. But right now if there really was a threat right under their noses- one that their only source was far from forthcoming about.

They had no choice but to give them the advantage of time on their side. And hope Cardinal knew what the hell they were doing and weren't getting in over their head facing this bastard.

Jason's hand hovered over the keys, just a click and all the information would be carded over. Nothing revolutionary, but in their line of work facing against otherworldly power, men playing god with scientific abominations, and magic beyond what they could comprehend.

Information was the only weapon they had.

Palm lifted, his pointer extended, he reached to press the enter key- hand over the torch so to speak. But- he paused. Feeling eyes on the back of his head.

Jason turned slowly and ignored the creaking from his chair as it shifted against the wooden floor, he faced Babs, meeting her gaze.

She said nothing. Honestly most times he would brush it off and simply mind his own damn business, but he couldn't. Something felt… off with her- even as they kept their eyes locked for more than a few beats, she continued to stay silent.

Well- he wasn't a damn mind reader, and he didn't want to push, not when it felt like traversing a mine field with no idea what kind of trap he'd walk into.

“Everything... okay?" Jason asked, one chance to voice herself before he laid it to rest. For now at least.

Babs looked a bit startled, blinking a few times as if she hadn't even registered he was looking at her until he addressed her. “Yeah yeah I'm… don't worry about it.”

Definitely an off day.

Hell if it wasn't the middle of the night he'd shoot a text to Steph for a coffee run- give her an excuse to flirt some more.

But- best to leave it alone for now. And with that, Jason spun his chair back around, uncrossing his arms and hitting the enter key before he could think to psych himself out otherwise. A beat passed, the files flashing on the screen once, twice, before vanishing with a small ding sound effect.

Off they go, the screen turning black just a moment after.

Now then- to get back into the proper mood for broken bird bonding.

Jason slid his chair over until it bumped into the side of hers. “Hey Barbie- you got any other stuff or just those masks?"

Babs gave a small snort, pushing her glasses further up her nose and leveled him a look “What am I? Cass? It's in the medicine cabinet, third shelf to the right- grab the clay mix.”

“Oh god- I swear no matter how many times Dick steals her 3 in 1, she finds it-” Jason laughed, quickly hopping up to his feet and walking over to the stand alone sink just outside the makeshift toilet area.

Unconventional for a bathroom, but hey, this was a literal clocktower. And Babs refused to let Bruce pay anyone to spruce it up anymore.

“You don't have to tell me- I've been begging her to get a proper hair care routine since Bruce fished her out of the sewers.”

“How is she by the way? I haven't called in a few days.”

“She's great! Last I saw she was hanging out with reindeer herders in Mongolia- showed me a newborn deer, birth juices and all.” Babs shuttered with a look of horror in her eyes.

Jason opened up the cabinet, pushing aside the dozen bottles of medication, half of which most certainly were not labeled, but hey nothing new.

On the third shelf the array of neon orange shifted into an array of clear and dark amber glass bottles. Further right were several containers, right besides a display of various animal themed face masks.

“Mongolia, huh? I thought she was in Thailand. And wasn't it Cass that fished him out of the sewers?" Jason asked, picking up the large white container and shutting the cabinet as he set it down on the sink. “Oh shit- what's the water ratio again?"

“Who fished who out doesn't matter- they both emerged from the sewers and decided to take over my shower instead of risk giving Alfred a heart attack,” Babs sighed, and he could hear the faint tapping of keys from behind.

“And she moves fast- said she already had plans to head towards Pakistan next.”

“Huh, I think I know a restaurant in Gotham, guess she can tell me how authentic they really are,” he joked. “Oh and- the water?"

“Ah yes- equal parts, but if you don't want to have to use the wet wipes add a little extra clay.”

Jason nodded, picking up a small bowl from the side of the sink and measuring out a bit of the clay powder, pouring in what he assumed was enough water. Mixing it together with the end of Dick’s spare toothbrush, of course.

Babs spared him a glance as he sat back down beside her, a small smile appearing as she noticed exactly what he was using. “Really? You know it's going to harden and he's going to notice right?"

“And? He's your ex. Why are you defending the man who broke your heart?” Jason asked with a raised brow, not even pausing in covering just about the entire handle in the clay sludge.

Babs rolled her eyes, “Correction, I broke his heart- he got a heartbreak mullet and everything.”

“So you cursed us with that disco nightmare existence?”

“And here I thought you supported women's rights and wrongs,” Babs shook her head, mockingly. “But half of that was also Bruce's fault.”

“Always fucking Bruce-” Jason laughed, glancing down at the bowl.

It was only like ten percent dry powder chunks, so that was basically good enough. He had enough tact to lay the clay-covered toothbrush against a napkin. Couldn't risk hurting Babs' good tables.

Jason set the mix aside and leaned back in his chair, or well as much as he could without the risk of tipping it over. “So what's our entertainment for the night?"

“Well… I have whispers that Scarecrow is planning to end his visit sometime soon so I've been keeping a side eye on Arkham. Bruce and Damian are patrolling together so better to leave them alone unless they need me. And as far as I'm aware the alley has been a good kind of quiet right?”

Other than the obvious yeah-
“Yup nothing there- so wildcard cold case maybe?"

Babs cracked her knuckles as she scooted her chair closer into place. “Domestic or international conspiracy?"

“Uhh… surprise me?”

A semi feral grin marked its way on her face as she practically hunched over the keyboard, fingers flying across every key faster than he could really tell what the hell she was typing.

It was a reminder just why “murder bird” Dicky was so taken by her, at least until they decided they were better off as friends. Hell, she even got them shitty matching “Exes are Bestes” t-shirts once, and he loved them.

Without even really meaning too, Jason's mind and eyes wandered towards one of the tall clock window walls that made up the room.

It towered high above into the rafters where he could see some pillows and blankets strewn about- a perfect roost so to speak, though much... homelier than his era here.

It was weird- spending so long just dropping in, only to be stuck in this place after what happened.

A part of him was happy when Bruce finally backed off enough to let him back in the scene, even if it was the behind the scenes.

Suddenly, there was a closeness he didn't quite care for. That understanding in Babs eyes everytime they watched Bruce and Steph leave through the escape hatches, up the rafters, just like he used to.

She understood- of course she did. She was the first bird to be ripped out of the sky against their will.

And there they were- two miserable assholes together in an old tower. Both desperately battling the two overlapping versions of themselves, but refusing to accept the others senseless coddling.

All because of him.

But hey- it wasn't all for nothing. He learned a lot from Barbie- and they got a hell of a lot closer than he bet they ever would’ve otherwise.

It was even more bittersweet when he returned. He was the “lucky one,” afterall. But she was the one who helped him come up with a new mask, one away from Robin and entirely his own.

Bluejay, a symbol of perseverance. Proof that he lived.

Everyone was happy when he finally entered the streets, but it was Babs who stayed with him the whole night. Reassuring words echoing in his ear every moment he felt it was too much.

And with his wings returned to him, the uncanny sensation of feeling like he was walking into a bird cage every time he entered the place had long faded away.

It became another home away from home. And it was.. nice having someone he could go to when the laughter got too loud, or even just to have a stupid self care night every other week for the hell of it.

Because no one else really understood.

Or well…

Jason paused as he looked away from the towering windows of frosted orange glass and his gaze fell to the other side of the wall of screens. To the one panel that wasn't filled, but instead sat a lone monitor.

What could drive someone to become a hero? A villain? It was something he'd wondered a lot back before he knew what a tea kettle was. And over the years he'd gotten a hundred different answers.

But every single one was defined by a sense of loss, of friends, family, purpose, innocence, you name it.

You get pushed far enough after losing a piece of yourself and you end up in spandex tights. It was a whole phenomenon at this point.

“OH FUCK-,” Jason shouted, jerking away and cupping his hand on his cheek. Or well- just above, his wrist held tightly in Babs hand. On her other hand was a glob of the cold clay mix she'd decided to smear on his cheek.

“What the hell Barbie!?” He whined. “That's cold.”

Babs lifted a brow, already moving back in to smear more onto his face. “You were the one who decided you were too impatient for the water to heat up.”

Jason huffed, but did her the favor of leaning forward just slightly enough she wasn't having to reach as much. It was cold, but after the initial shock the cooling felt nice.

Only a minute passed and his entire face was caked in the mixture, Babs’ own seemingly already covered. Her bangs were held back by a soft green headband that had strands of red shooting all over the place from how carelessly she’d pushed it back.

He reached to touch his cheek, but his hand was quickly, albeit gently, smacked away as she set the mix aside.

“Now we wait for it to harden before washing it off,” she said, picking up two cans of soft drinks and handing one to Jason. “Oh, by the way, we shall be looking into none other than... William Pokhlyobkin!"

Jason sported a half grin, cracking open his drink and listening to the sizzle sound out. “Oh fuck yeah- I gotta know who deprived the world of Cuisine of the Century!”

Babs grinned, already beginning to pull up some files she most definitely shouldn't have access too within the Russian archives.

Jason lifted his drink to his lips, the carbonation dancing across his skin. But as she typed away, his mind once again wandered as he spared one last glance at the monitor.

For just a moment.. he wondered about Cardinal. One of the few so close to home, yet whose origin was a mystery. A mystery they couldn't solve over some face masks and a couple Dr. Pepper cans.

What did you lose?

He asked, but there was no one to ask. Instead he just hoped that Catalyst wouldn't just be the first step to building a deeper trust, but in them getting the justice they deserved.

Jason took another sip, turning back to the screen as Babs pulled up a 3-D model of Pokhlyobkin’s apartment, already beginning to digitally “recreate” the crime scene.

He tried to ignore the gnawing pit in his chest at the thought. At least someone deserved to get justice, even if Jason knew he never would.
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The clown lives on, after all.
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The small sound was quickly muffled as a gloved hand wrapped around the communicator. Slowly, fingers stretched around the ends and lifted it out from the pocket it was buried deep within.

A message displayed clearly on the screen. New spotting, just down on Lincoln. Which meant they were in inner Gotham, and recently.

“Hey doll- what's caught your eye?" a nasally voice called out.

The man was dressed to the nines, if the nines included his bright orange and black biker-esque jacket with several chains layered across his blonde haired chest, which for some reason he insisted on keeping open despite the close to frigid temperature.

Shaggy blonde spikes fell over his face that was otherwise colored in an array of blues and reds by the club lighting. A grin stretched his cheeks bringing more attention to the thick goatee that lined his chin.

He was stretched back against the deep emerald green upholstery, fastened together by the double diamond gold thread stitched pattern that stretched high over the ends and disappeared among the array of wallpaper and curtains that made up their private booth.

A gorgeous seat, overlooking the lower level of the lounge. The VIP section, of course. The chill in the air was tolerable for the sake of the multiple elaborate swan ice sculptures in just about every direction- and ice buckets of “complementary” champagne.

Chunks of ice that seemed to sparkle like jewels matched the ones on display down on the main theater stage, the heart of the entire place. The whole “gimmick” was the giant iceberg, a so-called taste of the antarctic- though this time without the animals on display.

However, it was mostly obscured behind panels of frosted glass and giant towering blue and jewel encrusted curtains that flowed down onto the stage, circling around the floor and drawing many eyes to the one soft yellow spotlight.

Illuminated and at center stage stood a woman in her tailored purple suit, braids falling down her back as her arms lifted a shiny gold trumpet to her lips. She played in a way that slipped right into the atmosphere.

A one man band, seeming to savor every moment as the crowd began to file in. The rest of the band were likely hidden behind those jewel decorated displays, finishing setting up as the night was really starting to begin.

Soon the place would be full, the lights would dim, and the alcohol and secrets would flow like water. Jack would have called it a “sinner’s paradise” with a lopsided grin, and earned a playful slap on the shoulder from Janet- not that she would disagree.

But that was then. Now? Well, who was she to deny an early taste?

Caroline smiled as she slipped the communicator back into her pocket. A hand carding through the layers of dirty blonde hair that fell over her dark brown almost black eyes.

“Just a friend asking about drinks- but I told her I have more important company to tend to,” she assured, hand trailing along the folds of her leather jacket as she hid the communicator deeper inside.

The man, Garfield Lynns, seemed to accept the answer with a laugh, puffing out his chest with pride as his hand slipped over the dark oak table that separated them. His fingers wrapped around his seventh drink tonight at the Iceberg Lounge.

His face was already tinted a soft pink as he continued to ramble on about nothing of substance. There was only one thing she, or well he needed from this man.

In a past life Garfield aka Firefly was a man for hire, usually a saboteur or thief. Really he did just about any job that let him fire up the jetpack and flamethrowers.

Now, though? He was instead a known connector in Gotham, especially to the less than savory crowd. Mr. Lynns served as a “middle man” to communicate in and out of Arkham just outside the security cameras and guards’ not too watchful gaze.

But instead of just another partner for hire, he served as the reason Rogues who managed to get out always had a place to go, a plan already half in motion, and were supplied to the nines.

A nuisance, but much less than his pyromaniac counterpart in another life. The man was still suspected of a few arson charges and Tim swore he had that damned bug suit stashed somewhere, but at least this time around, he was somewhat more tolerable, if just as vain.

In the end, he's still just a man. But a man Tim had very strong reason to believe was the supposed “friend” who had connected Riddler to Catalyst in the first place.

He'd prefer not tangling with such a close primary source, just in case Catalyst got wind before he could scrape a step ahead. But as annoying as it was, even after a week of running himself ragged working all his other ins, most came up on dead ends.

The data from Bluejay and Oracle was useful- but never enough beyond patterns related to Catalyst. Fortunately it was helpful in another way- the patterns had given much more information then he had before. A small glimpse into who was behind the mask, though the closer he looked, the more questions arose.

Some things were surprising. Like the fact Catalyst was… sloppy, unpracticed really- at least for in-the-field work. They seemed to fall far behind most foes he was used to.

But when it came to moving through the city, undetected at that- they were a master.Even without the camera blocking technology like Cardinal utilized, they still managed to stay almost completely behind the scenes.

That brought along the most confusing aspect of Catalyst- they never hurt civilians. Hell- eighty seven point thirty nine percent of their “appearances” were rescues.

Knowing the streets could hint to a Gotham native, or someone who had been in the city for a long long time. The idea of them lurking around every corner for the past few years was one truth he didn't want to confront just yet.

Did they feel connected to the civilians? Neighbors, friends, people they didn't want to be hurt- a noble cause from someone who seemed anything but.

Even then- why target The Drakes? Was it a remark on class? Then why had none of Gothams other elite fallen victim?

Was it really just personal? Then why come back after so long and target Cardinal through Wisp. Did they recognize that the Drake’s spoiled brat was nothing more than a mask? Or had they switched targets to Cardinal and found out by sheer coincidence.

Did they even know at all? Or was it just a matter of time before they would find out?
Motivation was the key and it was exactly what he was lacking.

Caroline brought the glass up to her lips, careful not to smudge deep red lipstick as she took a sip. Sparkling water of course. She may not listen to Bruce about drinking underage, but missions were an exception for sure.

“So- you were telling me about your latest in, with the Riddler no less? He's always been one of my favorites,” Caroline rasped, batting her eyelashes a bit and ignoring the unsettling sensation of the glue from her falsies coming unstuck as she blinked.

Garfield, or well- Firefly, sounded better. The man grinned, his pearly whites and small silver smiley on full display as he seemed to peacock. “Ah yeah- Riddler, a smart guy, that one, even when he doesn’t know what’s best for him. I swear that guy is gullible as hell, fucker even got himself caught in his own literal honey trap before.”

“And you know how long it took me to find a honey dealer willing to ship out tons to Gotham? It was a fucking mess- but worth it seeing a few angry slick birds.”

Tim nodded, well aware of the irony luring him into his own “Honey Trap”, but he stayed silent. No better way to get a man talking then to simply sit there and look interested, no banter needed outside the occasional prompting and faux gasp of awe.

“Riddler is a quack for sure, but a fun one to work with when you can actually comprehend half the shit coming out of his mouth- not that I imagine your pretty little head would have much trouble,” Firefly bantered with a small smirk.

Caroline snickered before quickly motioning for him to continue as she picked up her drink, holding it just an inch away from her lips.

“Of course I'm always more than happy to help out a friend, if the price is right- and Riddler is a stand up guy enough to never short on money,” he sighed, polishing off his drink and setting the glass down with a sharp thud.

“Guy’s never in it for cash- just for his next big brain teaser, which while I can't wrap my head around, gotta respect.”

Caroline sat up in her seat, ignoring the small squeak of the wooden chair as she leaned forward, quickly setting her drink aside propping her elbow against the table. “How kind of you- was it at least any fun?"

Firefly looked away, his hand slipping up to a small button on the edge of their booth and pressing it down, it began to blink a soft red but made no sound.

“So so- wasn't a direct involvement, just a connection opportunity for another guy who seemed interested in the gig- paired ’em up, took my check and wiped my hands clean.”

“Wiped clean hm? Charges and all?”

“What charges? Can’t stick what does not exist,” he replied. “Of course I'll probably call him up soon from the big house, just to check in.”

“Like the good friend you are, of course.”

Firefly chuckled, his head half lolling back as footsteps approached their booth. A gloved hand slipped inside and pressed off the call button as the waiter smiled down at them both.

Caroline just smiled back as the bartender's silver penguin cufflinks shone as she placed down the drink, offering a small smile and then disappearing back into the crowd.

Her eyes trailed as she watched the woman pass by the lower level of the bar, the stage that radiated soft jazz tunes as their star singer took five.

The dark velvet banners contrasted with the icy white flooring and pillars. The center split into threes divided by a small display pillar, each adored with a small cage covered in a silk wrap and a bright glittering sapphire on top.

No detective skills were needed to deduce what Penguin had under there.

Whatever “fortune” he managed to scour up from his schemes only served to feed his obsession of restoring the Cobblepot name to glory. For him, what was more glorious than rare expensive birds you could afford to cage by the dozen? Tim knew gauche, but Penguin was a whole other breed.

He doubted they were local, Penguin had learned his lesson considering how many of his little pets had joined his flock. Which meant they'd need to get back in with a few old contacts. God... just a mess.

Blackmarket anything found a prime audience in Gotham- the smuggled bird market was no exception to Penguin’s taste. Something that would need to be dealt with.

But he wasn't Cardinal right now, hell he wasn't even Timothy and he needed to focus unless he wanted to scare off his only informant before it dried up.

“-f works for you?"

Tim blinked, and Caroline spoke with a ditzy laugh. “Sorry, I spaced out- the decor is just so pretty I couldn't help but admire it.”

The lie slipped off easy enough. Aided by the flush of Firefly’s cheeks, he seemed to accept the excuse without a single wonder.

“No worries doll- I was just saying I know why you’re here.”

“Oh? And what's that?"

For a moment, the lights in the bar seemed to dim just slightly, at least enough that the shine in his eyes all but vanished for a moment.
Something changed- and it set him on edge.

“C'mon doll- this is Gotham, and I aint a fucking amateur but I’ll admit you’re not half bad.” Firefly tilted his head with a sigh, lifting his drink up and spinning it in the glass.

Hard enough the liquid swirled to the edge but never spilled over, not even a single drop. “For your information... ya aint my type.”

Caroline paused, drink clutched in her hands as she dared to meet his gaze. “Am I not?"

“Nah- I prefer a woman who'd just kill me, emphasis on the woman.”

“Is…” She swallowed hard, “That so?"

Oh- oh fuck- oh fuck did he know? But that didn't make sense, even without the dress he's been mistaken for a girl plenty of times before. Was his wig cap showing? Just meant he wasnt a natural blonde, but even then thats still pretty fucking rude to point out.

Firefly chuckled, a free sound that definitely confirmed he was wasted, so at least that part of his plan had worked out.

Regardless, Tim’s panic must have been blatant on his face, but how the fuck were you meant to hide when being called out like THAT. Even with his panic, he could still save this right?

Actually- fuck any part of the plan. Tim was already identifying the 37 reasonable exits he knew by heart- and another thirteen he could make work on the fly.

But before he could get his press ons to corporate enough fully around the hook of his smoke bomb- Garfeild continued.

“No offense doll- but you seem a few years too young to be my type, and more like a young woman ready to rob me blind- but like I said with Riddles, I can respect it-”

Okay they were dropping “the act” though it was a news flash to Tim that Garfield was even acting. He knew he wasn't an idiot- but this was new.

Tim’s hand slowly left his pocket as he met the man’s gaze. “You said Riddler was never in it for the money-”

Has he really been that rusty? Caroline was gone- but hell Tim could keep up some sort of act long enough to keep the man talking- it would be good enough, it had to be.

“Then why indulge me?"

“Because business is business doll- another reason I gotta decline. Anyways, I can't quite say what you’re after but I assume it's something I can provide.” Firefly set his drink down, sitting back in his chair and stroking the goatee that adored his pointed chin.

“So tell me. What connection can I provide?"

Tim leaned forward, setting his drink in line with the one already on the table. Both half finished. And despite Tim being basically sober, he still had the feeling that he was no longer in control of this conversation.

He just hoped whatever direction it did go didn't end up in him needing to rely on escape plan number 23. Flamethrower in an ice lounge was never really a good combo.

Looking around the room, his gaze went to the stage as a burlesque singer, adorned in strings of pearls and the finest of faux furs and feathers, waltzed back onto stage. Her emerald green eyes greeted the crowd with a catlike grin.

Two long white gloves slipped out from the coat and wrapped around the mic. A small beat passed as the club fell into silence, a beat quickly broken by the sound of a soft horn starting up again.

The woman began to sing a velvety tune, every word seeming to entrance and just a glance he could tell everyone's eyes were on the stage.

But when he turned back, Firefly only spared the stage a glance, seeming far more interested in the puzzle before him. No wonder he and Riddler got along. Seemed the situation had changed- but maybe in just the right way.

Tim picked up his glass again, lifting it to his lips and pausing right as it obscured his speech from any wandering eyes. “Is the name… Catalyst familiar?"

Firefly’s face split into a grin, his head leaning forward in interest like a cat eagerly locking onto its prey “Who's asking?"

“Someone who can afford the right price and is looking for a connection.”

“Ha… guess that explains it, then- can’t be after money if it's what you already have.”

“I guess not,” Tim chirped back.

He could feel it in the air, that this was the moment to decide it all. This was a rogues bar, after all, and he was willing to bet Garfield had a relationship with about half the clientele.

A hoard of goons would be nothing he couldn't handle, but he was in heels and would rather not have Caroline “die” as a useful identity. She just renewed her library card.

“Well I guess that settles it then-” Firefly mumbled, reaching behind him.

Tim tensed, well aware of the panic buttons hidden all throughout the lounge- one press would have the whole joint buzzing about a possible cop or bat infestation.

But he didn't reach for the button, instead he reached up to the small ribbon holding the curtain close and slipped it loose, letting the curtain fall shut on his side.

Tim didn't hesitate to do the same, both drawing shut and enveloping the booth in a cocoon of velvet, the only light being from the soft warmth of the crystal chandelier above.

“A little privacy of course-” Firefly smirked as he slipped his hand into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small disk, similar to those restaurant buzzers.

The disk, placed in the center of the table, laid there for a moment. A moment long enough Tim glanced up to try and gauge if he was being played.

click-

A small sound came out and he watched as the disk unfolded itself, growing and filling half the table to the point it looked dangerously close to bumping their drinks off onto the wooden floors below.

But it stopped, a small puff of steam escaping as it looked to breathe and settled into place, only a soft orangish glow now emitting between each of the lined parts.

“Cool, huh?" Firefly grinned as he reached out, dragging his fingers across one of the many indentations across the metal. It popped up and a small screen came to life.

“This is...” Tim paused, identifying half the pieces from just a glance- expensive pieces. “More than I expected from you.”

“Sleek has its charms, but I prefer a little more flair, ya dig? Now then- let's get down to business shall we?"

“Of course- and don't worry about my means, all that matters is what you can provide,” Tim reassured. He may be ‘in’ but negotiations were half the fun.

“That depends,” Firefly hummed, “how much are you offering?"

Well- he could afford just about any price, but it needed to be reasonable enough that he wouldn't need to dip into Drake Industries or “Timothy's” main accounts, unless he wanted to purchase yet another cover up yacht. Thankfully that one was solved by a quick “gambling gone wrong” with Arison, but that was besides the point.

“Tick tock doll- my night is reserved for you, but time is never guaranteed around here.”

That much he had right- especially with a soon to be clash of cat and mouse- or, well, bird- which would be a sure fire shot into the bats nest.

“You get me a meeting spot with Catalyst, day after tomorrow- and I can do five thousand wired to you,” Tim demanded, lowering his voice to the point he needed to lean in. “Two and a half now, two and a half post meeting”

“Five is nice, real nice, but setting up a spot on such short notice?" He hissed, “And I'm a businessman, I try to ensure my clients don't get arrested while I'm still within a half mile- I’d need to ensure bat free, and that's at least another k…”

Firefly looked up as if running the numbers in his mind before smiling back at Tim. “How about eight, eh?"

More than within budget- but if he agreed too fast then he'd pull some other “hidden fee” out from his ass.

“Eight? Can you even guarantee that he’ll be there?"

Firefly laughed, reaching for his drink and swirling his finger around the rim. “Well that’s why it’s only in the tens range- it's simply a connection opportunity, not a marriage contract I’m offering.”

“You aren't offering a contract at all, simply word of mouth and a pinky promise. Anything above five is robbery.”

“C’mon, I need a bus fare, don't I?" Firefly bit back. His shoulders were lax but there was a tenseness in his gaze.

Well, might as well take the shot. “Seven and a half, four in cash right now- is that enough?"

Firefly paused for a moment, and it wasn't hard to notice the way his eyes trailed over to the purse Tim had sat on the seat beside him. “Sure you got four in cash?"

Tim leaned forward, placing himself in the line of sight from the bag and met his gaze. “Depends- have we got a deal?"

Firefly maintained his gaze, tilting his head to the side, and he could see in his eyes the hundreds of scenarios, win and loss, passing by in just a moment. Well, whatever credit he'd denied this guy, even half wasted he was a comfortable player in this kind of game.

“Tick tock Mr. Lynns. My time isn't any less precious, I promise you that.” Tim smirked and watched as his eyes widened significantly.

“Why… I don't think I told you my name, doll?" Firefly stuttered, his voice now coming off a bit shrill. Garfield Lynns was a player, but Tim was the master of this game.

“Is that relevant?"

“Depends… is my information at risk here?"

“Of course not- we’re both people of business, aren't we?" Tim smiled, fluttering his eyelashes again.

Firefly opened his mouth but quickly snapped it shut as the disk in the center began to blink. It flashed several times in different hues of orange and yellow in tandem. Looked like time was up.

Holding his hand out, Tim didn't hesitate to shake it, quickly grabbing his purse with the other hand and slipping out the several wads of cash onto the table.

Firefly let out a low whistle, quickly snatching up the wads and shoving them into the center of the disk and pressing a small button.

The device once again began to fold over itself, but now the shiny metal began to fold out into what looked to be a dark red fabric of sorts.

It was a bit fun to watch as the metal sheets fashioned themselves in the form of a pretty sizable duffle bag, one that was quickly scooped up by Firefly as he stood up from the booth and positioned himself by the curtain doorway.

“I'll send you the details over a private network later- whatever you send the wire through-” A small crash echoed from on the other side of the curtain as he turned to Tim. “Need an escort out?"

“I'm afraid I'm all out of cash- but I’ll be fine, just do me a favor yeah?" Tim smiled, “Don’t get arrested before our deal is done hmm?"

That earned a sharp cackling laugh from Garfeild who somehow managed a slight bow in the enclosed space, and within the moment, he had slipped past the curtains and vanished from sight.

Tim sighed, feeling the last bit of tension leak from his shoulders. Well that could’ve been worse? He only had to hope that all his intel of Garfield having pride enough not to scam anyone would pay out.

Reaching into his purse, Tim pulled out a small black gas mask, beginning to fasten it to his face while reaching down to click a small switch on his heels. It was a bit of a balancing act as the heel began to collapse in on itself and warp into a more convenient flat.

Only once he was surebat.

Now how could a girl ask for any better a distraction?
________________________________

Nature was a cacophony that somehow made a melody. It was a marvel how even the most ear-grating sounds served a place in the greater symphony.

At least that's what Mother had taught him when Damian had complained about the parrots squawking driving him crazy. That they were creatures who deserved a voice, more so than most humans.

Now he recognized her - as well as grandfather's - beliefs on the superiority of nature to humanity were a bit “cultish” (as Richard had put it). But he did still hold many of the beliefs instilled upon him.

“HOW DARE YOU UNFEATHERED FIENDS FLOUNCE YOUR WAY INTO MY ESTABLISHMENT!?" Penguin squawked, waving around his umbrella like a mad man on top of the stage as his furious gaze scanned the crowd.

A squawk can be a beautiful sound, but coming from a man who is an insult to his namesake, it made Damian wish Father approved of bodily mutilation short of killing so he could rip out the man's vocal cords.

Batman held his gaze with the man, lenses narrowing as he yapped on. “Penguin. I must insist that you close up early for the night.”

He turned to the crowd of still bumbling patrons. “Unless you all would like to witness half of Gotham PD storm the place looking for black market goods?"

That was enough to kick some people into gear, half already beginning to squeeze their ways through the grand double doors that looked remarkably quaint with a dozen patrons attempting to squeeze through at once.

“Robin, make sure the patrons get out alright. Our only interest is here,” Batman ordered, pulling out a fan of batarangs and freezing Penguin in his tracks.

The man had finally ceased in his squawking, probably realizing just what a position he was in. Good- it meant that perhaps he would be home at a reasonable hour, reasonable for a vigilante lifestyle at the least.

“As you wish,” Robin responded, quickly firing his grappling hook up to the higher levels and taking flight over the crowd.

It was laughable how little time it took from there, a simple swing and wrap-around technique from Father, and Penguin lay wiggling on the stage like a fish out of water and yelling all the more.

Robin stayed perched just inside the doorway, eyes still scanning the now empty room. He could see the remains of a few dinners left behind, even what looked to be a half eaten creme brulee. A pity.

He glanced over to Father, a quick once over to confirm the situation was handled and that he hadn't gone and injured himself against Penguin of all people.

With that, he pushed himself off the wall, dodging past a few upturned tables and a swan ice sculpture with its head lay melting on the floor below.

Robin stepped past it, keeping his own target in mind as he approached the main floor. It was… pretty. But nothing when compared to the grand opera houses that resided within Grandfather’s more favored bases.

Stepping onto the stage, he spared a glance at the three pillars, each adored with a covered cage. His face pulled into a sneer- but that could be dealt with as soon as he confirmed the main point of their arrival.

No need to harass the poor victims until he was sure they could be removed safely.

Gloved hand slipped under his cape and he pulled out a small vial, filled almost to the top with a shimmering blue liquid. It didn't take much force to pop open the stopper as he approached one of the jewel encrusted stage curtains.

Ever so carefully, he tipped the vial and watched as the liquid poured over the fabric, making it turn a slightly darker shade of blue.

Robin held up the end of the curtain as he slipped the now empty vial back into place, his hand instead tucking into the side of his utility belt.

He was quick to whip out a small robin shaped keychain, whose unfortunate design by Bluejay had remained unchanged long before his time.

With a soft click, the robin's beak opened and a blue light shone down on the fabric. Each of the jewels lit up as if emitting light themselves.

“Tt.” Robin clicked his tongue as he lifted his finger from the light and turned back to face the rest of the lounge.

Batman stood at the doorway alongside two GCPD officers. They seemed to exchange basic pleasantries as Penguin was handed over to one of them. The man wrangled him, quickly stepping away, letting the door shut and leaving the vigilantes alone.

“Father,” Damian called out, watching the shadowy figure of his father’s silhouette turn just enough to know he was being looked at.

He said nothing in turn, simply flipping back on the light and showing off the almost neon glow of the “gems”.

A gust of air blew, rustling his cape as Batman landed on the stage beside him, looking down at the evidence with an impartial glare. Then, a gloved hand reached over to the top of Robin's spiked hair and ruffled it slightly.

Damian scowled, fighting his instinct to lean into the touch while also being a bit annoyed at the blatant display while they were meant to be professional.

“Well, I've kept you in the dark on this mission. What have you concluded from the evidence?" Father asked, as if this was a simple school lesson.

But ever one to indulge him, Damian let go of the curtain and stepped back.
“Penguin needed a new get rich quick scheme, and since he's already the prime suspect in any Gotham based robberies, he opted for a new path. So instead, he chose to monopolize a more luxury branding of methamphetamine products.”

Damian gestured to the empty dining hall, now vacant of what was before dozens of wealthy patrons. “You can order a glass of top shelf Italian wine right alongside a bag of crystals - and to a crowd unfamiliar with drug trade it would be easy for him to jack up the prices in the sense of faux luxury compared to what's out on the streets - and yet still just as damming a fate.”

Father hummed, but made no move to respond, so he continued.

“Of course, having such a ploy would require available supply to match demand. And with how many eyes are on him, the buffon had a smart idea for once and instead opted to decorate his entire establishment in his product, as a means of hiding in plain sight.”

Damian dusted off his gloves in half disgust. While smart against police, it still felt overcomplicatingly foolish. Something straight out of one of Jason's Sherlock novels.

“Very good Robin,” he praised, making Damian preen... just slightly. “And what piece are we missing?"

Damian paused, meeting the cowl's gaze. What was he missing? It wasn't like Father expected specific names- otherwise he would be given more of the files. What had he failed to mention?

“I know you glanced at the cages, but I also know your concern for exposing the birds to any toxic chemicals distracted you from looking closer.”

The cages- he turned and stared at each one. He'd noticed their orientation, even down to the most definitely not jewel encrusted fabric on top…

On top there were three identical gaping holes where something was missing.

“I- but how- I kept my eyes on all of the exits,” he insisted, fist clutching at the edge of his cape. “I would have noticed any fool snatching three giant crystals!"

Father held out his hand, placating. Damian took just a moment of pause, for an explanation.

“I know you would've,” Father replied with a small smile. It wasn't the kind of smile he had when he deemed Damian ‘irrationally upset’ - no, he was being truthful.

“Then ho-” Damian cut himself off, more out of instinct than any true knowing but his senses tuned into focus all at once.

A small click sounded off, but it wasn't the click of a gun safety or even a lighter. It was familiar. A heel- not unlike Mother’s, but lacking the small metallic ting from her hidden blades.

“Aww- I was having fun, but I hate to see a little kitten with his fur all puffed up,” a voice called from behind the curtains. The second culprit was still within the lounge, and had slipped right under his nose.

Damian reached for his sword, but paused when he saw Father made no similar movement, instead taking a step forward towards the alarmingly familiar voice.

In his mind, he knew, but the rational part of his brain still refused to accept what he simply did not want to.

Out from behind the curtains first came a heeled foot, and another, until the entire figure was pulled from the shadows. She stood with her faux feather boa loosely over her shoulders and giant sapphire earrings shaking as she stepped.

Oh… Selina.

________________________________

Bruce watched as Damian, almost disappointingly, re-sheathed his sword as soon as Selina’s cheshire grin was bathed in the stage lighting.

She looked radiant, adorned in silk and pearls, feathers and fur. Her edges were gelled down and framed her face with each twenties style curl, and dark green eyes filled with mischief from the moment she laid eyes on him.

Selina smiled, a hand carding across the feather boa. “Your father is right, little Robin- you would notice any fool. Thankfully, I am no fool.”

Damian visibly relaxed, though he still held a half hearted glare from his mask. He hadn't completely relaxed, but it was a vast improvement.

Selina still had the small scar on her shoulder from when they first met, though that was before she introduced her colony of adopted and foster kittens.

“Ma’am- this is an active crime scene, I must insist you follow the rest of the patrons and leave the premises immediately,” Batman warned, but with a bit too much Bruce still present.

Selina stalked forward, lifting her boa up and curling around just one of her arms. “Oh don't be a dummy, I took care of the security beforehand.”

Bruce let out a small huff of a laugh, or well- the closest to a laugh he'd allow in the mask. “Then I take it my theory was right?"

Without dignifying him with a response, her hand ran along the edge of her coat, and as if magic she held out three giant glittering gemstones in her paw.

“Hate to part with such pretty things, but I'm after real treasures- not some chemical waste,” she sighed, quick to drop the jewels in the small evidence bag Bruce had produced from his own coat.

“Well we appreciate your cooperation to the investigation- and as such will not be pursuing any further charges,” Batman droned, quickly sealing the bag and setting it aside to be handed over later.

“Oh lucky me~”

Even from under the mask he could see how Damian rolled his eyes. Selina seemed to catch on as well and turned just slightly to face him.

“Alright alright- I'll stand down little bird, no fun flirting with a kid around,” she droned, shooting a quick wink to Bruce before side stepping towards the cages.

“Now then- would you like to see what exactly we have on our hands?"

Damian perked up just slightly at the remention of the birds, he was quick to join Selina standing in front of the covered cages. “Are we sure they won't be disturbed?"

“Well- my conservation expertise is more the feline kind, but sometimes a disturbance is necessary,” she assured, giving him space as he stood beside her. “Such as when we need to figure out what exactly we have here, as the first step of sending them where they need to go.”

Damian nodded at her logic, and without further hesitation reached his hand up and ever so slowly lifted the fabric from the first cage whilst Selina did the same for the middle.

The two cages now uncovered, their unwilling captives were on full display. For better or worse. Looking at the birds, they were frankly… well, Bruce had no clue what they were.

One looked like just what you'd expect from an “exotic” bird. Its white body with angled black markings, the two pointed feathers atop its head, the metallic blue chest, and the almost oily rainbow wings were stunning.

The other one? Oh gods the other one.

It looked like something reminiscent of a warped children’s drawing. The moment the cloth was taken off revealed an inflated brown and black blobby mass perched in the middle.

Its jaundiced yellow googly eyes stared directly into his soul, or at least they would, if they were looking in the same direction.

“Is it… diseased…?" Bruce asked in genuine concern. Only feeling guilty when Damian whipped his head to glare at his father.

Selina held a hand out and put on her best showman smile. “Well they’re…I bet they have a great personality.”

Damian sighed but made no argument as he pointed towards the deformed mass. “The one on the left looks to be a Potoo, an uncommonly seen nocturnal bird from South America-” he turned to point at the first cage “-and the other a Lapwing, they are found just about everywhere near water but North America.”

“Know your birds then, kitten?"

“It's not like it's hard,” Damian huffed, as if it were common sense.

“Since when are you well educated in bird species?" Bruce asked, managing to tear his eyes away from the cages.

Damian puffed up, his cape falling further over his shoulders though his eyes didn't stray from the birds. “It's been a… recent development. A… friend… gave me a very fascinating book on the subject.”

Selina shot Bruce a look as if he wasn’t already going to be on the lookout for sudden charges of birdseed to his accounts. But, then again, they had managed to sneak an entire barn construction and cow on the grounds without him knowing.

He just hoped Damian would pick something less… disturbing. Like a parakeet, maybe, or- had Babs mentioned pigeons? Bruce accidentally caught the bird's gaze as it seemed to hiss, its non-existent jaw basically unhinging to show nothing more than a blanket of fleshy mouth.

God, he hoped for a parakeet.

“And the Potoo is a fascinating bird- just watch,” Damian cited before stepping up onto one of the stage decorations. The small ledge made him just a few inches taller than where the cage sat.

He carefully took one of the cloths and dangled it over the cage, effectively blocking all the light from the bird.

Whatever Bruce expected to happen, came nothing close to watching the comical yellow eyes suddenly warp into black pits that somehow made him miss the jaundice stare.

“Ah!” Selina yelped, her voice raising several octaves. “That's… why?"

Damian, ever bothered with others' discomfort, continued to look down at the bird with a terrifying wonder in his own gaze. “They can control their pupils, and as nocturnal birds, adapted to be able to expand to extreme sizes to better suit their lifestyle. A very useful adaptation- don't you wish you could do the same, father?"

Bruce was once again, at a loss for words towards his youngest. “Just… please put the cloth over the cage, I can't imagine the club lighting is all too pleasing.”

Bringing up the wellbeing of the bird seemed to be enough for Damian to drop the cloth, sparing them of its existence.

Selina, however, seemed to latch onto this new tidbit of information “Do you know anything else about them?"

Damian took a moment, seeming to debate if he would respond to her or not. But it seemed his desire to share his current fixation outweighed his pride in silence.
“Well.. the Potoo has a lot of cultural and mythological symbolism, but I was informed they symbolize longing.”

Bruce couldn't help but catch Selina’s eyes, turning away to stare down at the evidence bag he had set on the table, picking it up to reexamine of course.

“That's lovely- and anything for the Lapwing?"

Damian's expression stuttered for a moment as he gazed at the cage, the stunning bird inside seeming content in preening at its oil colored feathers. “It symbolizes deceit.”

“That’s um…” Selina paused, justifiably unsure on how to respond. “Thankfully I don’t suppose we will be tricked by a pretty bird anytime soon”

“No. I suppose not.”

Selina took a step back as Damian got a closer look at the lapwing, but paused mid step in a way that caught Bruce’s eye. “Wait- there's still another one.”

And sure enough, on the other side of the Lapwing - closest to Bruce - was the third and last uncovered cage of the trio. He had been so in shock by the Potoo he’d completely forgotten the other cage present.

The trio fell into silence for just a moment, and then another, and the silence continued to stretch as the three looked at eachother.

“Someone should uncover it,” Damian said, breaking the last semblance of tranquility in the moment.

“Yes, someone should.” Selina was quick to chime in her support.

Of course, when he noted neither of them made any move towards the third cage, Bruce took in a deep breath through his nose, accepting his fate. It was just a step away, but god it was already fifty percent odds of it being a normal bird and fifty percent odds of it being… not a normal bird.

He hoped it was a bat, as he wrapped his hand around the edge of the cloth. Pausing only a moment to wonder if faking a heart attack would be too dramatic. For any of his other kids sure, he could try it, but Damian would likely try to restart his heart.

The cloth slipped off as the rest of the golden metal wire was exposed to the light surrounding them. Selina and Damian both peering around him to get a look at-

“It's.. empty?" Selina questioned aloud, heels clicking on the wood as she examined the cage.

Bruce managed not to startle when a moment later Damian appeared at his other side, pulling open the small door. It had already been unlatched.

“It escaped then.”

“Not to worry kitten, this place barely has a vent let alone a window over four feet high. I'm sure whatever little feathered friend was in here won't be far and can be left up to wildlife services to retrieve.”

Damian didn't look pleased with that option but it was getting late, or well- early. And the sooner they could do their final sweep and check in to the clocktower, sooner he could rest for the night.

“Selina is right, Damian. Now then, let's finish our discussion with Gotham's finest and make sure all birds end up in their rightful place.” That being shipped back home, jail, or tucked in bed on a school night respectively.

“I can deal with the wildlife contacts, my ride is sure to be delayed,” Selina commented, as if Bruce wasn't well aware she couldn't practically sneak out when the entire lounge was already surrounded by police.

For a moment, he remembered the last conversation he had with Dick and against his better judgement, he paused in following Damian to the exit.

“It was good seeing you,” he admitted earnestly.

Selina paused, looking ashamedly surprised at his comment. But her eyes shine matched the diamonds that adorned her. “Likewise. You'll have to let me know when you and the boys wish to reschedule our monthly meet.”

Bruce nodded, yet another thing on his seemingly never ending to do list. But he was the one who cancelled for business in space he was well aware Clark could have handled on his own.

“I'll get to it,” he promised.

He could feel the tiny hand latch onto his wrist as Damian had seemed to decide their interaction was over with, sparing not a moment to throw open the door as the night consumed them whole.

The stars seemed brighter tonight. He could only hope the sky would continue to stay clear. But of course, a part of him knew better.

________________________________

.
.
.

The sound went almost unnoticed if his mind wasn’t almost unconsciously seeking it out. In that split second the noise registered, Jason had all but zeroed in on the monitor, now a lit with a new screen display.

Five new messages. That was definitely more than a simple “received” or check in, Jason thought as he practically slid across the room and opened it up. The messages lay clearly in view.

Jason's breath stuttered as his eyes landed on the last of the string of messages.
.
.

“What’s that?" Babs chimed in from just over his shoulder as Jason jumped a half foot in the air.

“Jesus Christ Barbie- you’re worse than Cass!"

“Who do you think she learned it from, hmm?" she teased with a raised brow. “But seriously- I thought you were making popcorn.”

Jason took a moment to glance at the still half open microwave and the unpopped bag that lay abandoned on the counter. “Right yeah sorry. But this takes priority.”

He slid aside enough that she could get closer to the screen to see all the messages sent, not saying a word as he watched her reaction.

“This… oh my gosh,” Babs breathed, leaning in closer and adjusting her glasses as if she couldn't believe her eyes, which he completely understood.

“This is it Barbie- our chance to show support in a way we never could before,” Jason beamed, quickly pulling away entirely as he began to pace. Fuck, there was already so much they needed to cover.

“Now we don't have much time to plan specifics, but if you focus on Big Bird and Robin, I can handle Spoiler and Bruce.”

It wouldn't be hard to bribe Steph, hell she would probably be more than happy for an excuse to avoid the warehouse district. Bruce would be- harder, but Jason could always pull one of his many trump cards and solidify Cardinal a night flying solo.

“Hold on- they want us to pull back everyone for the sake of a meeting?"

“Not pull back, just keep away from said meeting area. I mean sure, inconvenient, but you gotta look at the bigger picture.”

Babs slowly sat down in her chair, her gaze still locked onto the screen but occasionally flickering to Jason. “So that’s the plan- go behind Bruce’s back to help Cardinal?"

“Woah woah you make it sound like shit when you say it like that,” Jason was quick to protest, pacing further away from the computers. “It’s a… trade of trust, so to speak- and besides, it’s not like Cardinal will go supervillain overnight.”

“In that case couldn't we just tell Bruce?"

“What? Of course not- he'd get his grimy little hands all over it,” Jason sneered, approaching the counter and picking back up the previously discarded popcorn bag. “Of course his control freak nature wouldn’t dare give Cardinal more than ten yards distance.”

He set the bag face down on the little glass disk, giving it a small spin for good luck before closing the door with a small click into place.

“No, we’re more than enough to come up with a plan to suit whatever they have going on. It’s not like they ever need our help otherwise- if we don't help now, who knows if we’ll be given the chance ever again?"

Two minutes and thirty seconds, an extra thirty seconds more than normal for the name brand. But they were probably out of stock last time she went and Babs refuses to let anyone else pick up groceries on her behalf.

As the microwave lit up in that soft golden glow, Jason leaned back against the pantry doors adjacent, arms crossed over his chest.

“Besides, I know damn well you’ve been waiting for a day to bring Cardinal into the loop- are you mad because it isn’t on our terms?"

“That’s not what I’m-” Babs started, her shoulders hiking up. But whatever she was going to say died on her lips.

They sat there for a moment, in that early silence before she decided to speak again. “If you’re so confident it's what's best, then I guess I support you…”

Wow.

Well that was about the most “I don’t fucking agree with you” sentence he’s ever heard. It wasn’t even passive aggressive.

Jason sat up straight as the sound of kernels popping became background to it all.

“That isn’t instilling confidence in me Barbie,” he tried to joke, but the look in her eyes was beginning to ring alarm bells. It was uncomfortably uncertain, and he had no clue what to do with that.

Or well he did know- normally, he just wouldn’t do anything with it. He would always drop it whenever they got to this point. But here? Now? This was different.

She could make or break everything.

And he knew damn well if she knew any of the.. other motivations he had- she'd shut it down. Hell, she’d practically usher him into a straight jacket and holding cell for dear ol’ dad to fetch.

Maybe that's the reason he couldn't help but escalate so much.

“I’m not a fucking idiot Barbie- what exactly are you not agreeing with here?" Jason asked plainly. Tact was one thing, but Barbie was a woman who worked through the direct.

Babs straightened her posture just a tad, but he could see how she gently scratched, picking away small pieces of foam from the handle of her cane.

“Jason- I said I support you, let’s just drop it, okay”?

Jason stormed forward, ignoring the now ear-grating sound of the microwave beeper still calling out. “No, not okay!”

“Jason-”

“Barbie-” he bit back, cutting her off and steamrolling on. “Tell me what the hell your problem is instead of acting like such a bitch !?”

The word shot off his tongue like a bullet, firing out faster than he could recognize he even pulled the trigger. Only noticing the way Babs flinched, eyes widening and the way her face changed from passive to all out rage in just a moment.

But hey- just meant whatever she had to say wouldn't be filtered through thirty layers of niceties.

“Well you’re acting like a fucking idiot right now- I mean come on Jason I’m not going to just accept whatever impulsive half concocted plan you came up with, that didn’t very well work for you the last time did it?!" Babs practically roared out, knocking over several empty cans as she slammed her cane into the edge of her desk.

Jason froze, and slowly, his hands slipping from their crossed position and falling limp at his sides, hands curling into tight fists. Okay- he asked for that- but goddamn.

In that moment of silence she seemed to recognize her own words, dropping her cane as her hands shot to cover her mouth, eyes wide and filled with remnants of anger now fueled by regret.

“Jason I’m so-” She began, but was cut off by him shoving his hand in the air. They sat in silence for a moment before Jason collected himself enough to find the words.

“So- you’re worried I'll get myself in shit, that's what it is?” He asked earnestly, he needed to know. “That I need saving again? Well news flash, this doesn't involve him and even if it did- is it really that big a deal?"

She could stop now, admit it was a bad day, a rational and some spur of the moment blurt considering the fact he’d called her… what he would apologize profusely for once he calmed the fuck down.

But... he could see in her eyes she wasn't about to retract her words, even if they’d come out far harsher than she would’ve ever intended.

“I'm just- Jason there are so many red flags here and I'm worried we're overcome by the excitement, that it's clearly going to be an utter disaster,” Babs reiterated, pulling her palms together as her fingers interlaced, keeping steady.

“We both respect Cardinal and their capabilities, justifiably so considering all they’ve done for us let alone Gotham as a whole.” She sighed, “But we know nothing about Catalyst- hell we didn't even know they were called that until Cardinal’s freak out.”

“Your point being?” He couldn't exactly reject the ‘freak out’. Hell he'd probably used that exact wording while describing what happened on that damn rooftop that night. But for some reason- he couldn't help but feel… defensive.

“Of course we didn't know! They were barely anyone worth noticing until shit hit the fan,” Jason bit back. She would definitely be able to tell he was getting fired up, not that she would react any differently.

“I know. But if this is anything like Bruce-”

Jason could feel the way his hackles raised at the comparison, they were in a much better place- but goddamn nothing made him gear up faster than Bruce.

“They are NOTHING like Bruce.”

Babs had the audacity to look sympathetic, her eyes all too understanding despite the way he raised his voice. “Jason… if they are anything like Bruce- this taking on the world solo could kill them.”

.
.
Oh.

That was enough to make him pause, physically freezing as he now half hung off his seat. He- hadn't considered that. She wasn't worried about Jason being a dumb kid- it was Cardinal.

He hadn't considered what could be at stake- the risks beyond a lecture or hell maybe a few broken bones. But death at the hands of the unknown? Wouldn't be new.